#my brain: adam. write adam getting his queen’s kisses.

[thelionheartedo3]

kiss prompt: kissing each other breathless for ely x any ub member (definitely not thinking of a certain camelot au 😇, no pressure ofc!), please!! 🥰 (~agentnatesewell)

hello, Mar, thank you for the prompt!! you said camelot au and my brain went uh....... places. places it probably shouldn’t have with this, but uh—queen ely deserves kisses from any of her knights, I guess!

It isn’t uncommon for Farah to lounge about with Ely, especially when neither have duties to attend to. They’ve stolen away after dinner, treats and goodies tucked not-so-secretly away as they retreat for the night, Farah sprawled across the hearthrug with their tray of goodies next to her as Ely flips through a book and tries not to spill anything on it, lest she hear an earful from both the keeper and her king upon Nate’s return.

“I don’t know if I like orange cakes as much as I thought I would,” says Farah.

Ely’s head snaps up, looking over to where she’s wiping crumbs from the corner of her mouth.

“What?” 

Farah glances over to her and grins at whatever expression is currently on her face—which she figures is a mixture of shock and offense, undoubtedly unqueenly.

“It’s good, but I don’t know, I think it’s too much.”

“Too much?” Right, yes, she’s definitely offended. 

It sends Farah into a cackle as she sits up, grabbing one of the oranges on the tray Ely had planned to have tomorrow morning in a bath. 

“It’s not as good as an orange slice.”

“It is good, though!”

Farah laughs again as bright, citrus aroma bursts forth as she starts to peel the orange in her hands. “I didn’t say it wasn’t good, Ely,” she says. “But I think I prefer my oranges in their pure form.” Farah beams at her once more before popping a sliver of the fruit in her mouth.

Ely’s pouting. She’s always pouting. Farah tries her hardest not to snort around her mouthful of food and proffers a slice of the fruit towards Ely. With the book still balanced in her lap, she doesn’t want to risk her fingers getting sticky with juice, so she leans forward, taking the fruit from Farah’s fingers with her teeth.

Farah pauses. She blinks.

Ely processes what she’s just done and sits back, the sweet fruit in her mouth only a slight distraction from how it got between her lips in the first place. 

Don’t, a voice tells her, sounding far too much like her mother for her to listen to it.

“Farah. . .,” she begins, soft, hesitant.

“Ely,” comes Farah’s reply. 

Her tongue darts out, tracing across her lips, and Ely moves before her brain has caught up with her. The book is pushed aside, her hands moving to the curve of Farah’s hips, and her lips are chasing the taste of citrus into Farah’s mouth. 

It’s eager, the way they kiss one another. She doesn’t think she’s ever been kissed back so enthusiastically as Farah abandons the fruit to wrap her arms around Ely’s neck, pressing her closer as they taste sweet on each other’s tongues.

Ely’s skirts get in the way as she tries to press closer; a noise of discontent falls from her and Farah swallows it down with a breathy laugh as she moves herself, her breeches giving her the freedom to move as she pleases as she adjusts them without their lips parting for more than a second. 

She’s dizzy with it all, wanting nothing more than to keep up this act, but breathing through her nose can only get her so far when her mind’s occupied with licking the back of Farah’s teeth. She moves back only to gulp in a breath, delighting in Farah meeting her again for a gentler kiss this time.

“Alright,” Farah says after a moment, tilting her head away, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, “mayhaps I see your way.”

“No,” Ely tells her, tongue licking across her kiss-swollen lips. She sits back on her haunches, not certain what just came over her. “No, you’re right, I do prefer an orange slice.”

They stare at one another for a long, long moment, both catching their breaths before Ely’s hands go to the fruit. 

When she proffers a slice towards Farah, there’s a glint in her golden eyes, a grin tugging at her lips, before she leans down and delicately fetches the fruit with her teeth. 

[jjenthusee]

Moonlight And Intentional Mistakes

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: This is inspired and dedicated to @heavysighing-dreamyeyes amazing post linked here (show it some love) and their numerous sweet words especially on my Broken Mug writing drabble (also linked), so after crying reading their messages, i had to do something about the intense rush to write and the best way i can think of thanking you is by doing what i know, art and writing. i had no idea that i was influencing anyone, i only hoped my love for Jason was communicated correctly. i hope every single one of you that comes across my account has beautiful things happen to u. i’ll give u all a million kisses. please continue to write, i would love to continue reading what u have for us next <3 there’s also a surprise at the end :D (as always comments are appreciated if you’re comfortable <3 let me know your brain rot thoughts) ENJOY

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, soft Jason, touch starved Jason lowkey, siri play Never Grow Up by Niall Horan 😔, might have inspired the direction of the fic

Word Count: 3.4k

The moon was high.

Moonlight had casted a faint glow on the window blinds, it peaked in through the tiny gaps.

Only a small lamp was on, cascading light from the living room into your room. It gave enough light to see the outlines of your room. Bathing everything it could touch in a faint warm glow.

It was still dark enough that the details were too fuzzy to point out, but most objects were wrapped in shadows, bringing a unique calm to your room.

In the chill of night, the bed was warm. Jason was the perfect heater. The blankets were cozy and the sound of a fan whirred at the corner of the room.

It didn’t make sense covering yourself head to toe in a fuzzy blanket with a fan blasting air at you, but the sound mellowed you into the night, calling slumber closer to you.

It would have been easy to sleep if you were given the chance, but your gentle giant boyfriend was adamant to prove to you that he needed to sleep as physically close as possible to you.

It would have been fine, but today you couldn’t find a relaxing sleeping position. You had to shift your body around before finding the state of mind and the right amount of comfort to drift off, but tonight was difficult. Not only were you constantly shifting in the bed sheets, you were keeping Jason awake.

As your body moved to a new spot on the bed, Jason followed. Turning his body to follow the heat you left behind on the sheets. He wasn’t fond of the fact that a blanket fully engulfed you while he didn’t, it wasn’t fair.

When he got close enough to throw his muscular arm over you, you beat him to your next journey across the mattress.

If the queen bed the both of you were laying on looked like a college dorm twin XL with Jason laid out over it, then you shouldn’t have cornered yourself onto the edge.

Now half of your body dangled off the mattress. The bed was definitely big enough for the both of you the last time you checked, but with Jason getting closer to you every time you moved, it looked like he teleported a smidge closer when you blinked.

It also wasn’t ideal when he rolled onto the corner of the blanket that had unraveled from your legs.

You teetered on the end of the bed when he purposefully made sure to take up ninety percent of what was left of the mattress. Locking you on the edge, wrapped in a blanket.

You had been laying on your side, but Jason kept nudging you, tickling your face with his messy hair when he got close enough to attempt to burrow his large self into you. You kept scooting back, but once you didn’t feel anymore mattress, your legs were feeling where the cold air invaded the bed.

Now you settled on the dangerous edge with one leg completely off. Despite your avoidance of Jason, your free leg locked around Jason’s leg for any support to keep you safely on the bed. Your entire upper half was swaddled like a baby as the blanket blocked out any of the chill, your arms completely smushed against your sides with no way to free yourself besides Jason moving his body off of the edges of your blanket.

You had no control whatsoever.

It was you and your straining leg on Jason that was the only thing keeping you from plopping on the cold floor. Now in a vulnerable position, did Jason have the bright idea of asking the question you’ve been avoiding all day.

Where were his pudding cups?

———

“I take it back!” You pleaded with Jason as he kept the blanket tightly wound around you, preventing you from moving your arms to retaliate.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Jason playfully faced at you, laying on his side. His voice melted with innocence, but had underlying amusement.

Your blanket was your savior and your enemy as it saved you from the hard floor, but it was also securely caught by Jason’s entire weight. He had you completely trapped inside with only your head and legs poking out, the fabric slung around you.

Moving his body an inch closer to the edge, Jason pushed your body further off, further with no support beside his mere weight and strength keeping you from falling.

“I swear there were two pudding cups before you left!” You screamed, your hair falling off your face, the ends gravitating toward the ground, your impending doom.

“Sweetheart, let’s play world’s greatest detective and I’ll ask you something. If I didn’t eat ‘em and we are the only two people who live in this apartment, then who do we have left? Hm?” Jason’s voice, honey sweet, as he emphasized the contradictions in your statement.

With the blanket bunched in his hands, Jason easily lowered you slightly, juggling your weight effortlessly while laying on his side. You cursed at his perfect athleticism.

The room may have been dark, but you didn’t need the moonlight to know he had a shit eating grin trying to get you to confess.

You felt like this was probably the closest you would feel to people walking the plank in those pirate movies you watched as a kid, a sick waiting game not knowing when your fate was inevitable. It was fun at the time and maybe the cold ocean was different from your bedroom floor, but otherwise it was still cold.

“I don’t even like sweets!” You playfully laughed as he teasingly let his hands slip, clearly seeing through your lie. You squealed as you felt your head dip and your leg fall from on top of Jason’s.

“And my hand slipped.” Jason equally lied through his teeth, his threat filled with no malice whatsoever as he securely held onto you.

“I’m starting to feel like this has nothing to do with pudding cups.” You raised your head back up to look at Jason, a full smile present on your face, testing your vulnerable state.

“Oh?” Jason raised his eyebrow as he looked down at you from the edge of the bed. The angle looked great on him.

“My world’s greatest detective intuition is telling me that you’re just mad that I kept rolling away from you.” You mischievously pointed out.

“My love, you need to use those skills to find out why all our pudding is gone.”

“Do you do this to all the criminals you interrogate?” You deflected, using your eyes to point to the current position both of you were in, dangling from the bed in a blanket while Jason kept you there.

“Only the pretty ones.” Jason sung, pulling you up slightly so you weren’t as close to the floor, not quite on the bed, but in a better spot than before.

“I didn’t realize the Red Hood had such malicious threatening techniques.” You shook your head feigning disappointment as you struggled to readjust your leg to latch onto his again. It probably looked awkward, but you were desperate. It wasn’t your fault that your boyfriend was built like a tank. “I promise to not rob anymore banks anytime soon. I’ll straighten myself out. Scouts honor.” You breathed out, exhausted from the movement.

“Just admit you ate the pudding and I’ll erase everything. Your speeding tickets and the bounty on you in 15 countries.”

“It’s 18 actually, don’t defile me—“

Jason effortlessly lowered you again. The blanket slipping slightly from jostling you around.

“Okay, okay!” You cried out. “If I fall you’re limited to two kisses a day!”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Three, take it or leave it.”

“Tell me where the pudding is.”

“Four kisses and you can cuddle suffocate me when we sleep.” The blanket around you felt noticeably loose.

Jason scoffed, offended by your choice of phrasing.

“If our lives are ever on the line, I gotta remember I can’t ever let you negotiate.” He tauntingly called above you. “And I don’t cuddle suffocate you.”

“So it was ‘cause I moved away from you earlier!” You cried out as you slipped further. The blanket loosening completely around you, your gasp blurring into Jason’s name. A plea to catch you.

Jason quickly bent down, rolling his body off the bed and slipping his arms around you as he followed you to the floor. He rolled his body forward enough to quickly shift your position so his body plopped on the ground first while you landed on top of him.

It was a soft landing as you laid on his chest. Quickly finding a comfortable position in his arms.

“You only get one kiss a day.” You flatly said. “Why is our bed frame weirdly tall?” You nuzzled your head into his chest.

“Our deal was two.” Jason tenderly caressed your head. Moving your hair in motions that made you want to fall asleep.

“Looks like we’re both liars.” You barely whispered, sleepiness taunting your body.

“I guess you’re still wanted in 18 countries.”

You lazily laughed into Jason, his body slightly shaking from your movement. His arms wrapping around you, engulfing the feel of your laughter and locking it between your bodies. He smiled into your shoulder. Smelling your comfort.

You lifted your head, freeing your face. You were still being held by Jason, but you had a clearer view of his loving gaze lost on you as he traced your features, entranced by your smile.

“Missed opportunity.” You drunkenly watched and felt Jason’s fingers caressing your face.

“If you let me ‘cuddle suffocate’ you, you might have another shot.” Jason’s thumb rubbed your cheek, pressing into the softness. His calloused finger pads feeling slightly itchy, but you would never pull away, too endeared by how gently he treats you.

“Worth it.” You say after snapping out of your trance that was locked on your boyfriend. He knew the right areas to get your mind lost on his touch, focused solely on him.

You pulled yourself up from laying on top of Jason, grabbing for his hands as you stood. Straining to help pull him up, but almost all the effort came from his own strength, not yours.

Playfully, Jason never let go of your hands and let his body be dragged completely onto you, dramatically coming forward to rewrap himself around you.

You giggled as you threw your arms around him. Enjoying the warmth that radiated from him, reheating the once empty space. Your own personal heater. You were glad tonight was one of the nights he stayed home with you, cuddled in bed all evening. You tried your best to soothe his mind, away from the thoughts of patrol as much as you could.

Giving his mind a small mental break, to hold you close and whatever else he needed. Both of you continue to work hard to develop and maintain the kind of trust that Jason needed to work through the hard days, silent but never alone.

With reassuring hugs while he counted your breaths, holding onto your hand just to thoughtlessly memorize them, standing in your presence just to observe you.

His difficulty with readjusting to the mundane and useless tasks of every day life was the biggest challenge. Too many conversations about why we need to treat ourselves because we want to. Jason’s mind was filled with too many needs.

He needed a reason to buy himself something, he needed to push his body to the limits because there was no other option, he needed to work alone.

So you showed him that he didn’t need you to hold his arm while you walked around the city, but he wanted you to do it.

He didn’t need you to take care of him, but you wanted to because you cared.

As you lost yourself in the shared closeness, you swayed your body. Jason unconsciously following your movements, swaying with you and letting his hands intertwine behind you, letting it gently rest against your lower back. Once you held on, Jason had silently vowed to never be the first to let go.

As you moved your bodies, clueless about Jason’s promise to himself, you didn’t let go either. So the two of you clung to one another.

It was one of the millions of things you cherished about Jason, he showed his devotion through his mannerisms. He helped put away your bags after a tired day of work, when he brought you a blanket if you fell asleep on the couch then carried you to bed. He bought your favorite snacks if he was at the store. He effortlessly followed you, content to be next to you.

Of course, he still put up limitations. He wouldn’t put your safety at risk. He sat closer and became more aware of restaurant doors, he kept you walking on his side or always in front of him, when he slept he made sure to determine the layout that suited you best, away from the window. His eagerness to make sure your wellbeing is priority.

It led to him not sleeping once you switched your position too many times tonight. He wasn’t satisfied with you being closer to the window, but he also was determined to get you to cuddle.

Numerous times you wanted to tease him, but after a Red Hood reveal that had you debating if he collaborated with his brothers to pull a twisted prank on you and an emotional talk, you couldn’t blame him for any of it. The fitted suit was just an added bonus you could outrightly ogle at.

You two were standing, holding each other in the dark. His head nuzzled on the base of your neck, his hands gripping your shirt, crinkling at the desperation. Sometimes Jason felt overstimulated when his feelings were ready to burst. His unfamiliarity with so much tender affection makes his mind unable to process all of it.

All you can do is to tell him that your there. Reminding him that you were unwilling to go anywhere.

“I’m here, Jay.” You softly reassured. “I’m right here, in your arms.”

Jason was unaware of the same silent promise you prayed to yourself, to never let him go.

When Jason’s grip loosened, your lips softly kissed the side of his head, soothing the thing that gives him a hard time. Repeating the motion, feeling his breaths even.

You never said that you were limited to how many kisses you can give him.

As you methodically swayed and with one final kiss against his hot skin, Jason shifted himself to standing taller, resting his forehead on yours. His hair laid flat against your skin.

You closed your eyes, enjoying how docile he became once you initiated physical touch. A craving he wanted and you unconditionally gave him.

When you opened your eyes, adjusting to the darkness, you grabbed one of his hands to intertwine them, your other hand gently falling onto his shoulder. He noticed the familiar stance, mimicking that of a dance. He silently rested his free hand on your waist, once again feeling the fabric of his shirt that you wore.

There was no music, but you leaned into Jason once again, swaying to the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and in tune with his breaths. The further closeness let you settle your head underneath his chin, his hand following around the width of your waist pulling you in more.

Everything felt perfect. It was the middle of the night in the dark, you wore pajamas, no music played, both of your hair messy, but you held Jason. A sweet grasp of his shirt bunched in your hand, your feet bumping into his, the smell of your soap radiating from his skin from his shower.

If this was your last day on Earth, you would think you were blessed to be in front of the most loving, tender man. Watching his eyes softened and sparkle as he feels a breath of peace.

That was all you needed.

In an act of surprise, you moved your arm to wrap around Jason’s waist and attempted to dramatically swoop him back. It was haphazardly done, but he gladly played along despite the difference in height making it a little awkward. He dipped back then came forward, reuniting your embrace, both of you laughing at your clumsy attempt at a slow dance.

“Why does this feel like an awkward school dance?” You breathed out, breathless from the laughing, talking into his clean shirt. Most likely you were taking it to wear tomorrow night.

“We’re just swaying, we aren’t really moving how we’re supposed to.” Jason rubbed your back as you caught your breath, his voice softly surrounding you as you rested on his chest, feeling every word.

“And how would you know?” You looked up at him, a teasing tone. “It’s not like either of us know how to slow dance.”

Jason paused, looking down at your eyes, contemplating.

“Would you like to learn?” He hesitated, combing his hand through your hair.

You completely stopped swaying, Jason’s hand dropping from the top of your head to rest on your cheek. He carefully watched your reaction, your eyes widening, a stunned look in your eyes.

His grip tightened, barely noticeable if you didn’t feel his thumb press on your waist, helping to remind you to respond.

“I mean, I’ve always wanted to try it.” You looked down toward your feet, slightly feeling the embarrassment creep up at your confession, but Jason rubbed his thumb on your cheek. A silent comfort. “But, I don’t have a reason to learn. I’m way past school dance age, I rarely go to events where it might happen, and…no one has ever asked me.”

A silence settled between the both of you, Jason’s thumb pausing. He looked between your eyes, glancing back and forth.

“Can I get my phone?” He asked with no explanation, no other detail leading to your earlier confession.

You felt the mortification creeping at you. You nodded, letting go of Jason.

He stood there until you removed yourself first. His grip fleeting, walking in the dark to grab his phone, illuminating the room with its screen where he stood. You curiously watched him, not quite understanding his intentions.

“I might be a little rusty.” He voiced, a broad back facing you.

A gentle melody played from his phone. Quiet, but getting louder as he pressed the volume button on the side of his phone.

“What?” You stood there awkwardly.

Jason turned to face you, throwing his phone on the night stand as he walked back over, raising an open hand to you.

“May I have this dance?”

He stunned you again, your brain having too many delays at once.

Your hand trembled as you raised it to meet his. You couldn’t respond to his question because your throat ached, ached in a way that you wished the world ended right there, to consume the pounding heartbeat in your ears, the firm grip of Jason, and attempt to swallow up all the love swelling in your heart. It would put up one hell of a fight.

Once the both of you met, bodies close, Jason repositioned your hands as it was before. Gently guiding you through the steps as you nervously looked at your feet, your tense body adding to your struggle.

Once you felt a decent rhythm and Jason patiently assisted you, memorizing your expressions, movements and the smile you beamed when you finally felt comfortable.

He grabbed your chin. Guiding your head back up to look at him. Bringing his head closer to yours.

Your eyes closed halfway before he gripped your back, dipping you back, holding your weight as you inhaled in surprise.

“Jason!” You laughed his name as he swung you back up, extravagantly twirling you from him, clasping your hand to twirl you back into his embrace.

“Rusty, huh?” You quipped, eyeing him, trying to stabilize your steps.

“What can I say, Alfred beat the movements into me. He would feel a shift in the air if I got it wrong.” Jason smiled, picking up the swaying again, enthusiastically moving both your bodies.

You continued dancing through laughter, not watching your feet as much as you were, letting the feeling of the music guide you.

Not knowing where your body and his separated, a beautiful blur.

How could you have missed out on something so sweet?

A dance shared between two individuals who adore one another.

Jason stamped another mark onto your life.

First dances laced with intertwined hands, lips brushing against one another, tuning out everything but each other’s voices.

Maybe the world did end, but you wouldn’t have known, too immersed in the moonlight on Jason’s skin, the warmth of love and home enveloping you.

[sc0tters]

His Home | Adam Fantilli

summary: it’s Adam’s birthday and his debut in the NHL, little does he know you’re there watching

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, p in v, oral (fem receiving), swearing.

word count: 3.07k

authors note: welcome back to what I like to call, kei told me not to behave (soft edition?). I’m kidding (sorta) this is a really different to what I usually write because it had a bit of angst in it? The first bit of regular italics are from the Adam birthday video that the bluejackets did and the second is a regular flashback!

It was the clip Adam loved rewatching the most.

You were sat in your dorm in his hoodie and his hat (a detail that only he would pick up on) as you smiled “hey baby!” You smiled as you looked at your phone “now I’ve tried redoing this like eight times now.” You confessed letting out a little laugh.

The picture of Adam on draft night that you had taken after you two snuck out to Dairy Queen stared back at you “I keep on crying and you really don’t need to see me get all snotty again.” You shook your head as the pile of tissues on your bed was beginning to build.

Adam couldn’t help but stare at you in awe as you nervously thought about what it was that you wanted to say “point is I’m so proud of you for getting this far.” You two started dating in October of freshman year and you swore you’d kill him before he broke up with you with before trying long distance “I miss you and I love you.” You confessed wiping your cheek as another tear fell.

As you sucked at your cheek smiling unaware that Adam was doing the same thing “you’re gonna smash it tonight, so happy birthday and play your little heart out there.”

You brought your fingers up to your lips “I’m so proud of you my star.” The video ended as your kissed fingers pressed against the camera ending the video like you did all of your FaceTime calls that you had with him.

Honestly Adam was surprised that he wasn’t sick of that video anymore with the amount of times that he had replayed it “sorry she can’t be here tonight.” Kent knew how upset Adam was that you were unable to make it to his first game.

What was the actual twist of the knife was that you hadn’t responded to anything on all platforms and went as far as to turn your locations off on everything “I just don’t remember making her mad.” Adam sighed as he frowned looking at his lock screen that was a picture of you two in front of the yost one evening.

You were in your Fantilli jersey and he had his arms wrapped around you as he kissed your head “she’s probably just stressed with that class you said she was taking.” Kent shrugged trying to keep a straight face.

The whole team had come together to plan this. The only thing that could possibly be making you stressed right now was the fact that you were trying to not get caught in Columbus.

Yes, the boys convinced you to change around some things as they felt like you being there was the birthday and debut gift that money truly couldn’t buy “I guess you’re right.”

Thankfully for you, Adam never noticed that you were there as you sat far away from his parents and family.

The game ended in a win and Adam was even able to get some points on the board so it was safe to say that you were all excited about more than just the win.

Wanting to give him some time with his family you stayed hidden for a bit mainly getting to know more of his teammates “you know he’s clueless about this right?” Kent smiled as he saw the excited look on your face.

Adam knew it probably sounded terrible but as he listened to his dad’s opinions about the game he couldn’t help it as his eyes wondered off to find you.

His brain hoped that by some divine act you were actually there.

And that was when he saw you.

Well not you, actually the top of your head “shut up!” Adam let out a gasp causing you to turn around in his direction.

Both of you had grins on your faces and tears forming in your eyes “w-what are you doing here?” He asked quickly pushing past people to making sure that he wasn’t dreaming.

As your flowery perfume pushed into his nostrils he knew that you were really there “couldn’t not be here tonight.” You mumbled holding your arms out as he pulled you into a hug.

Usually you would have groaned at how sweaty he was but today you just loved feeling him against you “happy birthday my love.” You smiled looking up at him before you placed a kiss on the hockey players lips “how long are you here for?” The hockey player wanted you there for as long as possible “fly out on Sunday my love.” So that basically meant that you had three whole days with him as well as another game to watch.

At this point the cameras had turned away wanting to give you and Adam the moment in private or at least as private as it could be for being stood out in the open “go get showered and then we can all catch up.” Julia proposed looking at her son as she wrapped her arm around you.

You had gotten to know his parents over the summer and nothing made them happier than seeing the smile on their sons face whenever he looked at you.

So you knew that you were going to sound bad when you thought about this because as fun as it was getting to catch up with Adam’s family and watch him smile as he interacted with his parents.

What you truly wanted was to be with him on the couch talking like you used to.

The Michigan air was cold around Ann Arbor but that wasn’t something you and Adam were complaining about.

No instead you two were comfortably on the couch in your dorm as your roommate was in a class “what are you thinking about?” Adam smiled as he realised that you were staring at him.

His thumb massaged your hip as his baggy basketball shorts left the area of your skin exposed “I’m gonna miss these moments with you.” You confessed as you two loved being on top of each other on the tiny two seater couch.

Before a frown could form on your lips as the thought of the draft came along Adam brought his face closer to yours “the draft is a long way away baby.” The hockey player cooed “so for now let’s enjoy this.” He added pressing his lips against yours.

So as the Uber let you two out at the door of Adam’s apartment building you couldn’t help but smile as you grew excited “are you guys sure you don’t want to come up for a bit?” Adam looked at his family members in the car as he wrapped his hand around you “you two should go have fun.” Julia clearly didn’t mean it in the way that flashed through your mind but it still made you smile as you send her a nod.

You two watched the car drive off before you turned to make your way into the building “can’t believe that you’re truly here.” Adam mumbled pressing a kiss onto your head as he took in the familiar scent of your shampoo.

His hand slid lower now resting on your ass that he gave a squeeze “Adam!”

You squealed jumping as you walked into the elevator.

That resulted in a laugh from the boy who quickly joined you before the doors shut “you can’t blame me for missing you.” His words were true as he locked his hands on either side of you “thought about you all day.” Adam confessed hovering his lips over yours.

A smile formed on your face “I did too,” as you leaned up to kiss him the doors opened causing an awkward meeting for you two with an elderly couple “I’m gonna need to you walk in front of me.” The hockey player‘s whisper sent shivers down your spine as you looked down to see that he was hard.

Trying to keep the giggle from leaving your lips you nodded adjusting yourself so that you could walk in front of Adam who now had one hand on your waist and the other carrying your bag “have a good night.” You sent the couple a smile as the boy forced you out of there as quickly as he could.

You looked to Adam with a teasing look on your face “you got a little problem?” You joked seeing that nobody was in the hallway.

Adam scoffed as he shook his head “not only is this your fault but it also isn’t little.” The boy corrected you as he stopped in front of his door “let me get your keys.” You smirked dropping your hand into his pocket.

If he could tell what you were trying to do then Adam was being a good sport for putting up with it “those aren’t my keys.” He warned as you palmed his dick between the fabric of his pocket and his boxers “I know.” You pressed a kiss against his ear before you pulled his keys out quickly unlocking the door to his apartment.

There was a spilt second before Adam practically pushed you both into the apartment “someone’s needy.” You teased watching as he dropped your bag pressing the door shut with his hand before he made a beeline for you “I know.” Adam repeated your words as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

Giving you a small moment to bring your hands to his neck before he kissed you. You two finally had that moment you had longed for where he could kiss you properly.

His tongue fought with yours as there was no longer the need to behave as someone was watching “fuck,” you moaned feeling his hands cup your ass “jump baby.” Adam didn’t need to tell you for a second time as your legs locked around his waist.

The walk to his room was short, not that either of you truly would have cared because you two were just enjoying the feeling of each others lips “god I’ve missed this.” The hockey player cooed dropping your body onto his bed.

You smiled up at him as he joined you on his bed still wanting to soak in the taste of your lips.

Sure it was etched into his brain but that didn’t mean that Adam wasn’t feeling this sense of being high each time he got to feel your lips against his skin “Adam,” you whined as his hands ran over your waist.

His smile was clear as he pecked your lips one final time “I wanna taste you baby.” Adam shook his head as your hand brushed over his cock.

You tried to protest “it’s your birthday,” you pointed out as you simply wanted to make him feel good “and all I want to do is taste that pretty cunt of yours.” Adam shot back as he shifted down his bed.

Adam hooked his fingers in the waist band of your pants “you look so fucking good today.” The hockey player gushed as he was met with the sight of your lace panties “you knew you were gonna get fucked tonight didn’t you?” The Canadian smirked as he let your panties slide down your legs.

Your head bobbed as you nodded “please A,” you pleaded grabbing at his sheets as Adams breath fanned your cunt.

To say that you were soaked was an understatement as even in his dimly lit room Adam could still see the way that your pussy glistened “gonna make you feel so fucking good tonight.” The hockey players voice was shaky before his tongue ran up your slit settling on your clit.

It was like he was starving at the way he locked his hands around your thighs “shit Adam!” You cried bringing your hand down to his hair gripping onto his locks.

His eyes caught yours as you drove your hips into his face desperate to get off in that very moment.

His tongue swirled around your sensitive nub as he brought his fingers to your soaked cunt “god I’ve missed this,” the vibrations of his laugh sent shivers up your spine as your body shook.

Sure phone sex was a thing but this was a whole new level.

After weeks of not being able to get off through phone sex as your fingers and the sound of Adam’s voice could only do so much.

You were now getting exactly what you wanted “I’m gonna come,” you groaned scrunching your face as your body shook.

Adam nodded as you clenched around his fingers “let go baby.” He smiled lapping up your release as he was reminded how much he missed this.

But just like usual Adam didn’t slow down his movements as you rode his face through your orgasm “n-no A,” you shook your head trying to bring your body up and off of the bed.

His smirk was clear as he continued sucking you clit “baby,” you whined literally pulling his head up as you kissed his lips.

Tasting your release on his tongue made you squirm “you taste so sweet.” Adam groaned as your cunt rubbed against his clothed dick “baby I’m gonna come and I gotta do it in you.” He grunted as you nodded.

It took him seconds to undo his pants as you pulled his jersey over your head leaving you in your bra “god you’re gorgeous.” The hockey player smiled as he grabbed the condom from his wallet.

After you two were caught up after a big game with no condom Adam now had one that lived in his wallet for whenever you two would need it.

Before Adam could rip the wrapper open you had your hands capturing it so that you could wrap it around his cock “don’t tease me baby.” The hockey player warned bringing his hand to your head as you kitten licked the tip of his cock.

His precum oozed out of his swollen tip as you looked up at him with a smile “giving you everything you want tonight.” You mumbled pushing the condom over his cock as you kissed his lips swallowing his moan in the process.

Slowly Adam’s knees sink into the mattress as he comes down to your level “I just want you tonight.” His confession made your heart burst with love and pride “you have me Adam.” You nodded watching as he pressed his hands against your shoulders softly pushing you against the mattress.

Adam let his lips start at yours showing you an immense amount of love before he moved them to your cheek then to your jaw.

His journey slowly continued to your neck “A-Adam!” Your voice shook as your eyes screwed shut.

It made him smile as he pressed a kiss to each of your breasts “I want to take my time with you.” The hockey player cooed rubbing his fingers in your hips as he kissed your stomach “Adam please.” The desperation in your voice made him smile as he stopped.

The boy moved up to the point where his head stood just above yours “I love you baby.” Adam mumbled pressing his forehead against yours as his free hand drove his cock over your clit before he let it slide into your cunt.

You both gasped as the familiar feeling came over you both “this cunt feels like it did just back then.” Adam let out a grunt as you nodded “please move.” You begged making him smile.

He listened to you beginning to slowly bring his hips away from you before he brought them back to yours “you feel so good.” The Canadian cooed as you lifted your legs up to wrap around his waist like it was on instinct.

Like usual he was always so vocal “don’t stop,” you pleaded leaning forward to kiss his lips.

Adam almost collapsed at your neediness “god you’re out of this world.” Your cunt clenched around his cock at those words.

The moment was soft, it seemed that you two weren’t interested in having hot and steamy sex tonight. Not when you had missed the simple sheer contact that you two were having now “so full.” You blurted out as you swore that his cock had grown as it hit parts of you had it had never seen.

The hockey player didn’t think that he was going to last long as you continued to drive your hips against his “I love you.” You cried as his hand found its way between your bodies landing on your clit “this cunt was made for me.” Adam groaned as you nodded “all for you.” You agreed as you kissed him.

It was needy as Adam’s thrusts grew staggered at the way you clenched around his cock “I’m not gonna last,” Adam confessed as he shook his head “me neither,” you cried as the pressure on your clit increased.

It made your eyes shut as the coil in your stomach threatened to snap “love those noises.” The hockey player felt his head drop against your shoulder.

The sound of your whimpers hit the walls making Adam sure that he was going to get an awkward knock on the door tomorrow from his neighbour “right there oh-” your voice broke as pleasure pulsed through your body.

It made you shake against him as your hands locked in his hair “so so good,” you groaned gasping for air as white specks painted the backs of your eye lids.

Adam’s orgasm came right after yours making you both sweat as you came down from your highs “you okay?” The hockey player asked as his hands brushed your hair out of your face.”

You nodded with a smile “yep.” You watched him throw the condom away in the trash can next to his bed before you made grabby hands wanting him to come back to you “I want a cuddle.” Your confession made him laugh.

Of course Adam listened as he held his hands out to you “happy birthday baby.” You mumbled as you lay your head against his chest.

The boy smiled as he ran his fingers through your hair “thanks for making my birthday one to remember.” He cooed enjoying how this felt.

With you in his arms he knew that one thing was sure.

Home for Adam wasn’t a tangible place, it wasn’t a rink or his childhood home.

His home was right here, you were his home.

[piratewithvigor]

My first thought in regard to every band that gets played on my radio station

ACDC: Every dad’s favourite band

Adams, Bryan: Every mom’s favourite singer until Michael Buble came along

Aerosmith: haha they thought Vince Neil was a lady

Alice Cooper: he’s a Game Of Thrones fanboy and I have proof

Alice In Chains: my sister doesn’t like them because she decided AC were Alice Cooper’s initials ONLY

Allman Brothers Band: good music for dropping acid to

Allman, Gregg: That’s too many Gs for one name

Animals: House Of The Rising Sun, or who even cares

Argent: Sometimes Hold Your Head Up is really catchy

Asia: Tuesdays

Autograph: one of the members went on to be a pharmacist

Bachman-Turner Overdrive: There are just so many pop culture jokes about Taking Care Of Business that whatever I say won’t be as funny

Bad Company: with their song; Bad Company, off their album; Bad Company

Benatar, Pat: Always getting her confused with Patti Smith

Black Crowes: I like them for Lickin, but it doesn’t seem to exist outside of one shoddy video on youtube and my old CD

Blackfoot: this band name feels kind of racy

Black Sabbath: Dio was not better or worse than Ozzy; just different

Blondie: I like Call Me, but Blondie confuses me stylistically

Blue Oyster Cult: MORE COWBELL

Bon Jovi: Hello, childhood trauma, I missed you

Boston: ONE GUY. ONE GUY DID IT ALL AND NO ONE KNOWS

Bowie, David: Don’t let your children watch The Man Who Fell To Earth, or David Bowie’s will end up being the third penis they see in life

Browne, Jackson: Another musician ruined by Supernatural

Buffalo Springfield: Jack Nicholson was at the riot they sing about

Burdon, Eric: no ideas, brain empty

Bush: ditto

Candlebox: ditto once more. Who are these people?

Cars: This band feels so gay and so straight at the same time, I can only assume they’re the poster children of bisexual panic

Cheap Trick: I played Dream Police on Guitar Hero so fucking much because it was the only song anyone who played with me could keep up with

Chicago: Chicago 30 exists, but they do not have 30 albums. Fucking riddle me that

Clapton, Eric: 6 discs in one Greatest Hits is too many. That’s called “re releasing your discography”

Cochrane, Tom: For some reason, everyone thinks Rascal Flats did it better

Cocker, Joe: Belushi did it right

Collective Soul: who?

Collins, Phil: If his biggest hits were done by MCR, they would be emo anthems, but because he’s 5′6″ and from the 80s, they’re not

Cream: *Vietnam flashbacks on the hippie side*

CCR: *Vietnam flashbacks on the war side*

CSNY: David Crosby; meh

Deep Purple: THEY’RE SO MUCH MORE THAN SMOKE ON THE WATER

Def Leppard: the only music for when you’re a heartbroken bitch but also a sexy one

Derek And The Dominos: Clapton and ‘Layla’ broke up

Derringer, Rick: Tom Petty if he was from the midwest

Dio: You thought it was an anime reference, but it was me, Dio

Dire Straits: You can tell how bigoted a radio station is based on how much of Money For Nothing they censor

Doobie Brothers: I have yet to smoke weed, but I listen to the Doobies, and I think that’s pretty close

Dylan, Bob: I take back everything I said about him in my youth

Eagles: Hotel California isn’t their best song, but the memes that come from it are second to none

Edgar Winter Group: @the--blackdahlia

Electric Light Orchestra: Actually an orchestra and sound a fuckton like George Harrison

ELO: I really hesitate to ask what happens with the 7 virgins and a mule

Essex, David: no prominent memories of him

Fabulous Thunderbirds: cannot spell

Faces: Who on earth thought that was a good album name?

Faith No More: I got nothing

Fixx: One Thing Leads To Another is a damn bop

Fleetwood Mac: I ain’t straight, but I’m simply not enough of a witch to enjoy them to full potential

Fogerty, John: He got sued cause he sounded like himself

Foghat: Slow Ride slowly becoming less coherent feels like a drug trip

Foo Fighters: He was just excited to buy a grill

Ford, Lita: deserved better

Foreigner: dramatically overplayed

Frampton, Peter: a masterful user of the talk box

Free: dramatically underplayed

Gabriel, Peter: leaving Genesis changed him a lot

Genesis: if someone likes Genesis, clarify the era, because yes, it does matter

Georgia Satellites: sing like you have a cactus in your ass

Golden Earring: Twilight Zone slaps, but it doesn’t slap as hard as this station thinks it does

Grand Funk Railroad: Funk

Grateful Dead: I like their aesthetic more than their music

Great White: there are so many fucking shark jokes

Greenbaum, Norman: makes me think of Subway for some reason

Green Day: the first of the emo revolution

Greg Kihn Band: RocKihnRoll is literally the most clever album name I’ve ever seen

Guns N Roses: They have more than three good songs, but radio stations never recognize that

Hagar, Sammy: I’m still trying to figure out where he lived to take 16 hours to get to LA driving 55 and how fucking fast was he driving beforehand?

Harrison, George: He went from religious to rock, and if he had continued rocking, he would have gotten too cool 

Head East: I respect people who use breakfast foods as album names

Heart: Magic Man and Barracuda are played at least once every goddamn day. They’re not even the best songs!

Hendrix, Jimi: I have both a cousin and a sibling named after Hendrix references

Henley, Don: Dirty Laundry gives me too much inspiration

Hollies: Somehow sound like they’re both from the 60s and the 80s at the same time

Idol, Billy: he’s doing well for himself

INXS: Terminator vibes

Iris, Donnie: knockoff Roy Orbison

James Gang: too many funks

Jane’s Addiction: if TMNT had a grunge band representative

Jefferson Airplane: *assorted cheers*

Jefferson Starship: *assorted boos*

Jethro Tull: The only band to make you feel not cool enough to play the flute

Jett, Joan: icon

J. Geils Band: I requested them on the radio once and it got played

Joel, Billy: he really did just air everybody’s business like that

John Cafferty And The Beaver Brown Band: literally wtf is that name

John, Elton: yarn Elton sits in my basement, unstaring. Please someone take him from me

Joplin, Janis: Queen

Journey: Stop overplaying Don’t Stop Believing. It takes away from the rest of the repetoire

Judas Priest: literally started the gay leather aesthetic

Kansas: another fucking band Supernatural stole

Kenny Wayne Shepherd: the man confuses me to the point where he isn’t in the right place alphabetically

Kiss: Mick Mars and I will simply have to disagree on the subject

Kravitz, Lenny: runaway vibes

Led Zeppelin: Fucking fight me if you don’t think they’re the most talented band (maybe not the most talented individually, but collectively, no one comes close)

Lennon, John: My least favourite Beatle for reasons

Live: I got nothin

Living Colour: slap a decent amount

Loverboy: do you not get TURNT the fuck up to the big Loverboy hits? Who hurt you??

Lynyrd Skynyrd: Sweet Home Alabama is a Neil Young diss track

Marshall Tucker Band: no opinion

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band: VERY STRONG OPINIONS THAT THEY AREN’T GOOD

McCartney, Paul/Wings: Power couple

Meatloaf: I have nothing but respect for a man who willingly named himself Meatloaf

Mellencamp, John: voted cutest lesbian of 1987

Metallica: I liked their appearance on Jimmy Fallon

Midnight Oil: I get them confused for Talking Heads a lot

Modern English: who?

Molly Hatchet: Hollies vibes, but also Georgia Satellites vibes

Money, Eddie: DAN AVIDAN, IF YOU SEE THIS, COVER TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT

Motley Crue: Stan Mick Mars and John Corabi. They’re the only ones who deserve it

Mott The Hoople: no one loves them except for David Bowie

Mountain: props for naming an album ‘Climbing’

Nazareth: I want to make a John Mulaney joke here, but I can never come up with one

Nicks, Stevie: witch queen

Night Ranger: I get them confused with Urge Overkill

Nirvana: Kurt Cobain was the ally grunge needed

Nova, Aldo: he’s Canadian, at least

Nugent, Ted: *serves a ghost as jerky*

Offspring: nothing here

Osbourne, Ozzy: this bitch crazy

Outfield: Your Love is kind of a sketchy song, but it slaps hard

Palmer, Robert: low quality Eddie Money

Pearl Jam: *grunts in Eddie Vedder*

Petty, Tom: I have so many feelings about Tom Petty and they are all good

Pink Floyd: which one is Pink?

Plant, Robert: solo career is a crapshoot, but his voice is unparalleled

Poison: I want them to write a song called ‘Alice Cooper’

Pretenders: I want to say good things, but I have nothing to say

Queen: A doctor of astrophysics, a screaming girl, a disco queen and a diva walk into a bar. It’s Queen; they’re there to play a gig

Queensryche: neutral opinion

Quiet Riot: they got big because of a song they hated. I love that

Rafferty, Gerry: the second-sexiest sax opening in all of music

Rainbow: Ritchie Blackmore created something very magnificent

Ram Jam: one good song and they didn’t even write it

Ratt: I’m sure they have more than Round And Round, but I don’t know it

RHCP: funky, but if you have paid money to hear them, you’re going to The Bad Place (I don’t make the rules)

Red Rider: basically Golden Earring

Reed, Lou: Walk On The Wild Side would be such a cool song if it wasn’t so dull

REM: American Tragically Hip

REO Speedwagon: Props for having a dad joke as an album title

Rolling Stones: Never in my life could I imagine the drummer being named anything but Charlie

Rush: How to make being uncool the coolest fucking shit

Santana: The world needs more Santana

Scandal: There’s something really funny about The Warrior being my brother’s “song” with his girlfriend

Scorpions: Was Wind Of Change written by the CIA? Only the spotify podcast I got an ad for once could say

Seger, Bob: A different variety of Eric Clapton (frankly a better variety, but that’s just me)

Simple Minds: we ALL forgot about you

Skid Row: Sebastian Bach is prettier than all of us

Soundgarden: music that makes you feel like you dunked your head underwater

Springsteen, Bruce: my arch-nemesis. Maybe someday, he’ll find out about it

Squeeze: according to my friends, the stupidest band name ever, but they’re theatre kids, so you know

Squier, Billy: If he can make it through 1984 alive, you can make it through whatever bad day you’re having

Stealers Wheel: Yet another band who I always mistake for George Harrison

Steely Dan: my house’s nickname for the Robber in Settlers Of Catan

Steppenwolf: Either makes me think of Jay & Silent Bob, Jack Nicholson, or that time I had to cut 6lbs of onions

Steve Miller Band: when you’re in the right mood, they slap hard

Stewart, Rod: my soundtrack to summer 2015

Stills, Stephen: Love The One You’re With Is Catchy, but the lyrics are questionable

Stone Temple Pilots: the only band to write a song about goo you smear on yourself

Stray Cats: an obscene amount of merch is available for them

Styx: Supernatural would have ruined them for me too if I hadn’t been into them previously. 

Supertramp: I hunted for Breakfast In America for two years and it was worth every hunt

Sweet: I will never understand my two-month obsession with Ballroom Blitz when I was 15, but it was legit all I listened to

Talking Heads: you may find yourself in a pizza hut. And you may find yourself in a taco bell. And you may find yourself at the combination pizza hut and taco bell. And you may ask yourself; ‘how did I get here?’

Temple Of The Dog: I keep confusing them for Nazareth

Ten Years After: somehow still relevant

Tesla: not the car or the dude

The Beatles: Evokes a lot of opinions from people. Mine is that I love them

The Clash: I showed my sister the ‘Lock The Taskbar’ vine ONCE and it still kills her

The Doors: evokes teenage terror from deep within my soul

The Guess Who: Canada’s answer to confusing question-themed band names

The Kinks: kinky

The Police: wrote the theme of 2020 and everyone somehow forgot it was about a teacher resisting becoming a pedophile

The Ramones: playing all of their songs in a row wouldn’t take more than 2 hours

The Romantics: you don’t think you know them, but if you’ve seen Shrek 2, you have

The Who: If someone can explain Tommy to me, I’d be glad to hear it

The Zombies: I think they happened because of the 60s

Thin Lizzy: Could the boys maybe leave town?

Thorogood, George: blues, but make it modern

Toto: the most memed song behind All Star

Townshend, Pete: just makes me think of the end of Mr. Deeds

T-Rex: Mark Bolan is an icon

Triumph: The no-name brand of Rush

Tubes: like the yogurt

Twisted Sister: they did a christmas album and my mom does NOT hate it

U2: U2 Movers; we move in mysterious ways

Van Halen: RIP Eddie

Van Morrison: honestly, who’s named Van?

Vaughn, Stevie Ray: Steamy Ray Vaughn

Walsh, Joe: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get

War: Foghat, but even groovier

Whitesnake: the most successful band to be named after a penis

Wright, Gary: the 90s thanks him for writing the song every movie used for the “guy sees cute girl and it’s love at first sight” scene

Yes: To Be Continued

Young, Neil: The best part of CSNY

Zevon, Warren: the album cover of Excitable Boy makes me deeply uncomfortable for reasons I don’t understand

ZZ Top: has been the same three guys since 1969. Lineup unchanged. 

3 Doors Down: They feel a little modern to be on a classic rock station, but whatever

38 Special: Why 38?

[sophielovesbarnes]

All or Nothing

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Winchester!reader

Warnings: none yet

Author note: Hello! ❤️ so this idea has been running on my mind for months and I hadn’t brought myself to write it, but due to the COVID my classes are cancelled which has me with a lot of spare time in my hands.

The story will make a kind of crossover with Supernatural, pretty much I will be using some of the characters in a AU.

Please let me know what do you think and dm me if you want to be tagged.

Chapter one.

You’ve always loved this; the adrenaline that rushes through your veins when you are thrown into the air and you fly so high that it feels like you are going to touch the stars, the excitement that fills you with every jump, the rush you get when you listen to the joyful voices that surround you, cheering every move you make, the smile on your teammates' faces that assures you that they are as passionate about this as you are.

These are the great things about being a cheerleader, things that not many people see or understand; you’ve been called vain, bimbo, basic, the thing is that you don’t people that have never felt this emotion will ever understand.

They won’t understand the sacrifices needed to get there, to make every move coordinated, the weeks of practice behind fifteen minutes on the stage; they wouldn’t understand the permanent calluses and blisters covering your feet and hands, feeling your muscles so weak as noodles after practice, the hours of training devoted everyday, the sweat, the blood and the tears; but those fifteen minutes, God, they made you feel like heaven.

**

After the music ends, signalling the end of the halftime you and your squad head back to the edge of the field, waving hello and throwing kisses back and forward.

When you finally reach your bench, you throw yourself to your water bottle and feel the relief of it’s cold contents hydrating your throat.

"It went well." Ingrid says, you can see her chest going up and down rapidly and short black hairs sticking to her sweaty forehead. "Truth be told I really thought I was gonna mess up that basket."

"Double kicks are a bitch." You agree and take one last sip from your water bottle, after you both catch your breath and both football teams are on their spot ready to start the next time you put down your bottle and grab your pom poms, preparing yourself to keep everyone's spirits up until the end of the game. "Ready?"

"Let’s do this." She smiles, and you both go back to position chanting and cheering for your team.

Forty-five minutes later, the crowd erupts into claps and screams when your team scores their last touchdown making them victors of this game, the squad jumps into hugs celebrating your victory.

The game is over and everyone starts to abandon the bleachers, so you take your bag and head to the locker rooms followed by the rest of the team, discussing what went well and wrong on the routine, the pre-spring break stress that’s building up, how cute the linebreaker looked, but mostly everyone is talking about the upcoming celebration party.

When you get to your locker, you untie your ponytail, letting your head recover it’s proper blood flow, you get undressed, carefully folding your uniform and proceed to step into the shower. The hot water loosens up your muscles and brings you to a sleepy point of relaxation. You finish showering and step out, wrapping your body with a fluffy white towel.

"Are you sure you’re not going to Liam’s party?" A tall brunette girl asks as she walks behind you. “It’s the event of the year.”

"Thanks Alice but I really want to attend the FBI lecture tomorrow and a hangover would keep me from actually paying attention." You reply simply as you get dressed and pack the rest of your stuff into your bag.

"Well I’m sure Liam will miss you." She implies. "He was very enthusiastic about having you there."

"He’ll survive." You give her a playful smile and throw the strap of your bag over your shoulder. "Night girls see you tomorrow."

They reply almost in chorus and, you wave goodbye walking out from the locker room, spinning your car keys on your finger. The parking lot is almost empty, most people are either back on their dorm rooms or on their way to Liam’s party, so the way back to your apartment is peaceful, just the sound of the wheels rolling on the road and the wind running through the windows.

Originally you lived on the dorm rooms like most of the squad, but at the beginning of this school year your brothers had surprised you buying an apartment just for you, quoting Dean's words it was easier to concentrate on your own space and you deserved a nice and private place to live, after all, you had a full scholarship ride so you didn’t have to worry about paying tuition.

Truth be told, you really liked the apartment; the building is fifteen minutes away from your school, and your neighbors are nice and quiet. When you first got the place, you, Dean, Sam, and Adam had spent an entire weekend painting the walls, decorating and equipping the place so it could fit all your necessities.

The kitchen is right next to the entrance door, behind it it’s the living room, there’s only one loveseat and the tv is in front of it, there are photographs everywhere, your brothers are on the most of them, there’s one from your first competition, you are sitting on Dean’s shoulders, holding high the trophy you and your squad won, Sam and Adam hugging Dean from each side, there’s one from your graduation, the KU game where Dean finally decided to introduce you to and your brothers to Castiel, next to it is the one from their wedding, there’s also one from your prom where you and your ex where crowned king and queen for the last time; you still keep the crown and the band displayed on your room.

You love the apartment, even though you live alone and far from Kansas and your brothers, they made it feel like home.

You leave your keys and your bag next to the door and then head to your bedroom where you strip out of your clothes and put on your pjs, you fall asleep the second your head touches the pillow.

The next morning your alarm starts beeping exactly at 6 o’clock, you have made a cocoon in the blankets that’s so warm and comfortable that you refuse to move, but eventually the beeping sound off the alarm becomes unbearable and you know for a fact that if you don’t get up from your bed soon you are going to be late for class; so you begrudgingly get up from the bed and slam the button of the alarm turning it off.

One hour later your hair and your makeup are neatly done, you have replaced your pajamas with jeans and a white bustier with puff sleeves, and you are ready to step out if the door, bag on one hand and coffee on the other one.

When you get to the auditorium, your best friend Maia is already there saving a seat for you, you distinguish her from her curly hair and her cinnamon skin, she smiles at you when she sees you.

“You’re late.” You drop your bag on the chair next to her and then take a seat.

“My bed and I were too comfortable together this morning.”

“I getcha.” She replies, her New York accent marked on her words. “Are you excited?”

“Totally, I’ve been looking towards this lecture for weeks.”

A few minutes later three men step on the stage, accompanied by the principal, there’s a man in his sixties, with black hair and a kind smile, you know he is David Rossi, you have re-read his book over and over since you were little. There’s also a bald black man, and you can almost see his muscles through his shirt.

But the third man is the one who has your complete attention.

You’re completely fascinated with him from the second he steps into the podium, there’s something on his messy brown hair, his shy smile, and the way he fidgets nervously with his fingers that makes your heart flutter.

A few moments later the room starts to fill and when every seat is taken the older man takes a spot on the podium and clears his throat.

“Good morning, I am Agent David Rossi, and these are my partners, agent Derek Morgan and Doctor Reid.” He points at each of the men and they both give a courteous nod.

“Research, casework, and training to hunt down monsters, rapists, terrorists, pedophiles, and our specialty, serial killers.” Agent Rossi turns his back and lets agent Morgan continue.

“Does anybody here know what a serial killer is and what makes it different from a spree killer or a mass murderer?” He asks, and you raise your hand almost immediately, he grants you the word and you smile.

“A mass murderer is someone who kills four or more people on the same location and on the same time period, spree killers murder two or more victims on different locations and they don’t have a cooling period.” You reply. “Serial killers have three or more victims; they usually select the victim with anticipation and there is a cooling period between each murder.”

“It’s very good, by statue three is the magic number, and it’s actually more qualitative than quantitative for us.”

“Today we’re gonna talk about how some serial killers get made.” Rossi continues, “Because if you can understand that, then you can figure out a way to catch them.”

After that Morgan proceeds to introduce two girls, both victims of the same serial killer; whom as Rossi describes as the most prolific killer they’ve had.

“One thing you should understand is that no two killers are the same, they each occupy their own point on the behavioral spectrum.” After listening to agent’s Reid’s rapid voice, you officially consider yourself a goner. “Genetics, brain chemistry, psychology, and environment are all factors.”

“We believe that this particular killer grew up in an environment so adverse that he never had a chance.” Morgan adds. “He endured years of cruel and abject physical abuse as well as horribly profound psychological abuse.”

“Now let me be clear, most abused kids do not turn into killers, but this particular unknown subject, or unsub suffered extreme abuse and it has everything to do with why he does what he does.” Agent Rossi explains, after that they project the images from the unsub’s murder scenes and they give the details of his MO.

“I’m gonna be sick.” Maia whispers to you as she covers her eyes and retreats into her seat to avoid watching the gruesome pictures displayed on the wall.

When they finish explaining the case, sharing the details and the profiling process they open the podium for questions, again you are the first and only one to raise your hand.

“Yes? Miss…”

“Winchester.” You complete “So, you said that not all abused kids become killers, but what is the breaking point where some of them do and some don’t?”

“The majority of the most prolific and dangerous serial killers were genetically disposed to behave antisocially and furthermore grew up in an environment that cultivated a disregard for the lives of others.” Agent Reid answers “One gene in particular is linked with an increased risk of violent or aggressive behavior; monoamine oxidase A, it controls the production of a protein that breaks down brain-signaling chemicals like dopamine, noradrenalin, and serotonin, which all influence mood, there’s a variant of the gene called MAOA-L, it causes people to produce less

of the protein that breaks down these signaling chemicals, which in turn causes them to build up. An excess of these chemicals, leads to impulsive behavior; such as hypersexuality, sleep disorders, mood swings, and violent tendencies.

“So it can be inherited?”

“The heritability of the antisocial personality disorder is estimated to be 0.38. Heritability is the proportion of differences in traits in a population that are due to genetic differences as opposed to differences in the environment. A heritability of 0.38 tells us that, on average, about 38 percent of the individual differences that we observe in degree of “sociability” or “anti-sociability" are in some way attributable to individual genetic differences.”

“Thank you.” You smile at him, and you can swear there’s a pink blush coloring his cheeks as he smiles back at you.

There are just a couple more questions, most of them directed to morbid curiosity about the case, when they are done answering, agent Rossi opens an invitation to all the attendees to join the FBI, which brings a query about the requirements and the preparation his team had; again, Spencer is the one who answers.

“Most of us have done extensive postgraduate work in areas such as abnormal psychology, and sociology, as well as an intensive study of relative casework and existing literature.” He keeps his hands in the pocket of his navy blue pants.

“But that is after the selection to the unit, first you have to be an agent, work in a field, and that’s what we are here to talk about.” Spencer retreats himself to the back of the stage, almost leaning against the wall. “For that, the academics are wide open, everyone in this room, once you graduate; regardless of your course study; is eligible to apply to the FBI.”

“What did you study?” The guy wearing the Cardinals hoodie, sitting two rows behind you asks.

“Criminal justice, but sports appreciation was all full up at my Community College.” There’s a soft general laugh, but you can’t take your eyes from the Doctor.

“And you Doctor Reid?” You ask, looking him straight in the eyes. “What did you study?”

“I-I hold doctorates in Chemistry, Mathematics and Engineering, as well as BAs in psychology and sociology.”

“You’re drooling.” Maia mocks in a whispered tone, causing you to blush.

“Shut it.” You whisper as you try to slow down your heart rhythm. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four as of last month, thirty-four; I, I also completed an additional BA in Philosophy, which reminds me that I have a joke.” He chuckles nervously and keeps talking “How many existentialists take to screw in a lightbulb? Two, one to change the lightbulb and one to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in another world of cosmic nothingness.”

You giggle softly, but the rest of the room seems to remain silent, Maia looks at you with an eyebrow raised like she is trying to figure you out.

“It’s fun, you know? Because that’s what existentialists do.” You explain on a murmur.

The silence of the spectators makes Spencer shift timidly and he starts to speak again, trying to explain the joke when he gets cut off by agent Rossi.

“Okay, before he does his Quantum Physics knock-knock joke.” This is what makes the class laugh while you stay quiet “Do we have any other questions about opportunities in the FBI?”

There are only a couple more questions, and when the lecture is over Morgan and Rossi find themselves surrounded by curious students, and girls fussing over them, Spencer stays alone and he starts to pack his things on his bag, you take a deep breath and make your way down towards him.

“That was really interesting.” Your voice seems to startle him, he turns around and runs his fingers through his hair messing it up just a bit more. “I really enjoyed it.”

“Uh thanks, Miss Winchester.”

“Y/N is fine.”

“Y/N.” He repeats and changes his weight from one foot to the other. “You seemed interested in the BAU.”

“I am, I mean, I still have a couple years left in college but joining the FBI does sound interesting.”

“Well, if you have any more doubts, you can... you know, call.” He hands you a white card with the FBI emblem on it, as well as his name and phone number; you take the card without breaking eye contact and give him a coy smile.

“Will do.”

A/N: so that’s it, please let me know what do you think ❤️

[angelsswirl]

Been Through

Chapter 4: Must be confused about me

Get ya, get ya, get ya shit together. Girl, I got 20/20 vision, and that's the reason I'ma keep my distance.

"I'm on my way to work now. Just dropped Lily off at preschool......Yes, Mom. I vetted the school extensively. She was on the waiting list since she was 2, so it better be worth it.....Okay. I have to go. Yes....I love you too."

You sighed heavily as you removed the phone from your ear.

Your mother, bless her heart, had a affinity for calling you at inopportune times, such as this one.

You were running late for a meeting. You don't like to blame your problems on your daughter, but this one was definitely her fault. After only two and half hours she had gotten attached to both Lisa and Jennie (you wish she would have just picked one and made this easier for you) and proceeded to have a mental breakdown when they eventually had to leave.

That mental break had caused the both of you to lose sleep, which meant you slept right through your alarm, causing Lily to be late for the one day a week that she went to preschool, and making you late for work.

And you hated being late for anything.

So, This was all your daughter's fault.

"Howdy, Boss." Your assistant, Max, greeted you as you trudged into your office. He handed you a warm cup of coffee. You took a sip, letting out a satisfied noise.

"Thanks, Max. I needed this."

He smiled, happy to be of service, "No problem, Boss."

You rolled your eyes, "Didn't I tell you to stop calling me 'Boss'? I'm a publisher who works for a publishing firm, I'm not the owner of this building. I don't sign your checks. That's the boss."

Max just shrugged happily. The beta was always infuriatingly happy.

"And stop saying 'howdy'. It makes me upset."

"You got it, Bos-Mrs. Y/LN."

You sat at your desk with another eye roll, "Maxwell. You know I'm not married. Just call me Y/N."

"But-"

"Aht! Call me Y/N."

You glared at the poor boy until he nodded back. You could feel a migraine sneaking up the back of your skull. After mumbling something unladylike in Korean, you set about turning on your computer.

"So, what's on the agenda today, Max-a-million?"

The twenty year old perked up at the question. The weirdo loved organizing and things of the sort. You're pretty sure his favorite part of the work day was when you asked him what you were supposed to be doing.

"Today is Tuesday. You've got a meeting with the boss in twenty minutes. Then, you have a manuscript in your email that I forwarded you. It needs to be approved by lunch. And by then it will be time to pick up Lily, and you can leave for the day."

You nodded slowly, "If a full manuscript needs to be approved in three hours why did you just now send it to me today?"

Max gulped, you watched his Adam's apple bobble in his throat. You felt bad at the look of pure fear on his face.

"I um...I'm sorry. It was only sent to me this morning. I was told that you already knew about it."

You wracked your brain for any mention of a manuscript approval by absolutely anyone you had ever had a conversation with.

You turned to Max, the headache was shifting forward towards your eyes, "No one told me anything. Ugh! Fine. I'll just have to skim. You can go back to your desk. Thanks, Maximus."

The boy scurried out of your office.

You sighed, then opened your email to locate the manuscript.

It was the last email you had been sent, you hurried to click it open and download it onto your computer.

It looked like a normal manuscript. No frilly font. No decorative cover. Just bare and unblemished. Just how you liked it.

Rosès Are Pink

Though, it had an absolutely shit title. That was an easy fix as long as the author didn't get attached.

Speaking of the author. You could tell it was a pen name. C.R. Park. There was no telling who that could be. But if you approved this manuscript then you'd probably be getting to know them a whole lot more.

You read the first line and frowned. Then you read the next. And the next. And the next. And soon your were through the first five chapters. The frown soon turned into an angry glare.

You dug into your cardigan pocket for your phone. You pulled it out and dialed a increasingly familiar number.

"Hel-"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Good morning to you too, Y/N. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE WRITING A BOOK?!"

"I didn't think I needed to?"

"Of course you fucking needed to. I'M IN IT."

"How do you even know that?"

"YOU FUCKING SENT IT TO ME!"

"You can stop yelling now."

"Boss? Are you okay?"

"GET. OUT. MAXIMUM."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I would like to reiterate that I didn't send anything to you. My managers probably did."

"What's the difference? You know I'm a publisher. I was bound to hear of it eventually." You wiped a frustrated hand down your face.

"What's the big deal, Y/N? Did you even read the manuscript?"

"Not all of it."

"Did you like it?"

"Chae, it's magnificent."

"So, what's the problem?

A heavy sigh left your mouth, and with it, your shoulders sag, "I-do you really want to put all of BP's business out there like that?" 'Do you really want to put all of BP's business with me out there like that' is what was really being asked.

"Yeah. The girls and I talked about it for weeks. The group is slowing down and we haven't liked the idea of lying by omission to our fans for awhile now. And I like to write. You don't have to worry anymore. " You could practically hear Chaeyoung's shrug.

"Okay. If you're sure. I hate the title."

Chaeyoung giggled, "So does Lisa. I'll let you fix it. Besides, it's not finished yet."

"You sent me an unfinished manuscript?"

"It doesn't have its happy ending yet."

"And what will that be?"

Chaeyoung paused for a second, "...You tell me."

~~~

"Mommy!" Lily bounded into your arms as soon as she saw you.

You brushed the brunette locks from her eyes and kissed her on the forehead, "Hello, my beautiful baby girl. How was your day today?"

"Good. Miss Taylor let us paint." She bounced in your arms, a semi damp peice of paper in her hands that she wouldn't let you see.

"That sounds like fun. What did you paint?"

"Families."

"Oh?"

"We see Lisa and Jennie today?"

I hope not.

"Not today, sweetheart."

"Oh."

You thought back to the previous day. Lisa was bonding with your kid while you were making out with Jennie on your bed....yep, sounds like you. You had been fine with that turn of events until you stopped kissing Jennie. Well, she stopped kissing you.

She stopped kissing you like she had suddenly remembered she left the stove on at home. You shared a very weird look before she pretty much ran out of your room like a terrified puppy. Or probably, more accurately, someone who just realized they made a mistake.

So, yeah. Now, you weren't so fine with the kiss and you could deal without seeing either of them for a good month.

"Mommy? Why don't I have a daddy or other mommy like the other kids?"

Your kid is trying to kill you. Hmm. What an ironic way to go out.

"Sometimes, kids only have one daddy, or one mommy. Some don't have either at all. But that doesn't make them different or any less special."

"Oh. Okay, " Lily laid her head down softly on your chest. "But I want another mommy. I don't like daddies."

"And you're absolutely valid for that. Mommy doesn't like daddies either."

"I want Jennie or Lisa to be my other mommy."

You had been so close to dodging the fattest bullet in parenting history, but no, your kid really did want you dead.

"We'll see, Dancing Queen. We'll see."

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 3

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1       Part 2     Part 4     Part 5

Same day, later in the evening

“What are you doing, Pumpkin?” The Joker crawls next to you although he has an idea about why you look upset.

You’re on your tummy scribbling on a piece of paper and he can tell you are concentrating hard while working on the current project: writing down your name. Only got the first three letters then the rest went blank.

“I….I can’t think…” you intensely stare at the blue pen in between your fingers.

“Of course you can!” J reaches over so he can guide your arm since it’s clear you need help. “There you go… done. Now try to copy it bellow, alright?”

“Hm?”

“Try again Princess,” he taps on the sheet and watches Y/N struggling to imitate the word. “Well done!” The King of Gotham praises. “Wanna give it a shot with a few more simple words?”

“Mmmm…” you debate. “OK?...”

You analyze The Joker’s movements as he depicts four letter words, one of them getting your attention in particular.

“Love?” you smile, happy you deciphered the meaning.

“Yes, a basic…”

“Love?” you scoot over, more and more excited and it clicks for your boyfriend.

“It’s just an example for you to exercise and relearn how to write, understand? It doesn’t mean anything!”

You giggle and touch his nose with yours.

“Love!”

“No Pumpkin! I don’t love you, how did you get such atrocity from my note??!! It has no hidden meaning! I barely, from very afar, remotely, not even similar to love, sort of like you and that’s it!”

You snicker and quickly slide to grab the yellow teddy bear, whispering in its ear:

“Love.”

“Aren’t you listening Princess?? Don’t start fake rumors!!”

Still…Y/N lives on her own little planet and her damaged brain grasped a wonderful concept despite The Clown vehemently dismissing his actions.

“Serves me right for being supportive,” he grumbles and resorts to diversion, the best weapon against your new found logic.

“Wanna read to me?” he points at the pile of children’s books resting on the nightstand: they are the best to use in your present circumstance.

“… … Read?... ” you ask, confused.

“Here,” J picks a random publication and gives it to you.

Might as well fully take advantage.

“Spoil me!” he buries his cheeks in your cleavage, guiding your free hand towards his green locks.

You never figured out how he doesn’t suffocate with his face glued to your skin; sometimes he sleeps like that for hours. Must be a special talent.

“The … ummm… the…. The duck…” you read the first page and massage his scalp, frowning at the words you can’t make sense of. “Cross… … crossed?...”  

“Yeah,” The Joker’s mumbled voice agrees.

“… the… g-glass…” you stutter at the sentence.

“Grass,” J corrects you.

“Hm?...”

“Grass Pumpkin, not glass.”

“Ummm… grass…” you continue to read the best way you can and he rectifies your errors until no more sounds emerge: The King is softly purring, a clear indication he’s dreaming.

You toss the book on the floor, fed up with the difficult task of organizing your thoughts; pampering him is better. You slowly tilt his head backwards so you can kiss him: The Joker frowns in his daze and you pinch his butt, chuckling.

“What is it?” he opens one eye and you pull down on his boxers. “Princess, we had sex an hour ago. Do you think I run on batteries?” the complaint is fast to follow.

... … … Batteries?... …                                            

You jump from the bed and stump to the closet, fumbling around for a couple of minutes before returning to a puzzled Clown.

You stretch the elastic of his underwear, dropping two batteries you snatched from the flashlight inside.

“How… how long do we w-wait?” you innocently ask.

The Joker bites his lip, attempting to contain himself yet he can’t: he bursts out laughing at your quirky solution while dragging you on top of him.

“You’re the funniest and smartest person I know, Pumpkin!” he cracks up, actually convinced he’s telling the truth. “Who’s my clever girl, huh?”

He’s talking about a girl again…What girl?...

Y/N peeks behind her and J reminds his baffled half:

“For God’s sake, Princess! I’m talking about you; you’re my girl! Can you get my phone?” he gestures at his mobile ringing by your pillow.

You give the cell to J, ignoring his conversation with Frost: you keep kissing him with the sole purpose of getting undivided affection.

“I guess Adam is here to pick up the cars you damaged,” he finally ends his chat. “Let’s go supervise the process. Don’t be disappointed, Pumpkin, we’ll have fun later. It’s your fault for destroying my collection!”

****************

The Joker watches his crew sweeping the concrete in the garage: broken glass, pieces of metal and debris scattered on the pavement after his vehicles were hauled inside huge trucks in order to be transported to Adam’s workshop for repairs.

“Thanks a lot, Y/N!” he growls, frustrated.

“Y-you’re welcome,” you serenely reply without a care in the universe.

“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me, Princess!” he huffs at your indifference.

“Love,” you confess to the fluffy toy squished in your embrace.

“I heard that and it’s an aberration! Why do you keep persisting with this nonsense?! I’m literally stating the opposite!” J admonishes but who’s listening to him?

Not Y/N.

“Nolan is texting me,” he changes subject. “He wants me to meet him at his warehouse to inspect the boxes of ammo for the deal. Will you accompany me?”

“Hm?”

“Car ride?” The King of Gotham simplifies his request.

“U-hum!” you nod, preparing to enter the purple Lamborghini which luckily wasn’t in the garage when you smashed J’s cars.

“Frost, if you see me parked up the street in the driving alley, don’t come investigate, got it? This woman’s been pestering me for extracurricular activities, might not make it inside the mansion.”

“Of course, sir!” Jonny finds it wise to consent to his boss’s rambling.

“Tell everyone: if the Lamborghini’s rockin’, don’t come knockin’!”

**************

You’re sitting on J’s lap, completely blocking the arrangements happening at the table: you’re more preoccupied with your game than whatever it is they are negotiating about.

“What are you playing, Y/N?” Nolan curiously inquires because your thumbs are surely moving at a crazy speed on your cell’s screen.

“Hm?” you stop and gaze his way.

“What are you playing?” the man repeats.

“Mmmmm… Tetrixx Bricks.”

“What level are you on?” Nolan leans over, his eyes getting big at the revelation. “Holy shit, Y/N! How did you make it this far??! I’ve been striving to pass level 98 for a month!”

“She’s smart, that’s how!” your boyfriend sassily underlines.

“Do you think that you can help me?” the guy slides his phone in front of you.

“I’m sorry, is this a gaming party or a business matter?!” The Joker scoffs.

“Well, we’re pretty much done: we accepted the terms, we just have to move the merchandise in the morning.”

You are already matching the colorful blocks on Nolan’s game, his face ecstatic when the obnoxious song announces with great fanfare: “Level Up!”

“Holy cow!!!!” he shouts and you return his phone. “Thank you!”

“Hey Y/N,” one of the mobster’s henchmen dares to voice his demand. “Would you help me too? I’m stuck on level 76.”

“I’m dead on 105,” another goon mumbles under his breath, stepping in the line forming to your left.

J would normally cut off this useless waste of his precious time yet he can’t deny the gratification building up in his heart: heavens knows how it feels to be trapped inside your own mind and his girl has definitely battled unimaginable odds to be where she’s at right now.

Living with cognitive impairment is not easy, but she’s still here and it beats the alternative.

“Good job, Pumpkin!” The Clown boasts at the long string of cell phones parading through your fingers while you aid Nolan’s team leveling up on Tetrixx Bricks.

And somehow his hands are holding you tighter, not even bored with the random outcome of his meeting.

**************

You escaped on the terrace for a break and J is discussing the last details with your host: tomorrow you have a routine checkup, thus he has to wrap it up soon.

“Out of my way, half-wit!” Derek aka Nolan’s oldest son pushes you. Would he have done it if you were the same individual from almost a year ago? Nope. Apparently he believes he’s entitled to take advantage of Y/N since she’s alone outside.

“Why did Mister Joker bring you anyway?” he lights up a cigarette, annoyed. “Stupid monosyllabic bitch!” he ogles your summer dress, swiftly lifting it. “Are you wearing diapers?” he chuckles as you walk backwards, trying to process what he’s throwing at you. “Come on, show me!” he approaches and carefully scouts the premises to ensure you two don’t have company.

Perhaps the neurons in your brain are overcharged for the moment; nevertheless, they warn of imminent altercation: the dude’s a total douchebag.

“Are you shy?” Derek grins. “C’mon, lemme see!! Oooohh…fuuuuck…” he bends over in pain when your knee unexpectedly kicks him in the crotch: you used all your strength and he drops down, curling up in a ball. “God…dammit!” Derek shrieks at the defense he didn’t anticipate.

“I…I’m not wearing diapers!” you stammer and because he landed on the edge of the pool you roll him in the water also.

The loud splash makes The Joker wave at you, glad he eventually found you: he’s been searching around the warehouse for the last 5 minutes.

“There you are! Quit playing around, Pumpkin; we have a swimming pool at home!”

You rush by his side eager to bail before the asshole pops up from the bottom of the pond.

“Sushi for dinner?” J suggests and Y/N is not the type of individual to reject one of her favorite dishes.

“I…I love sushi,” you smile elbowing him. “Love.”

“Don’t start with me again!” The King barks at your obvious hint.

*************

“Are you eating the last piece?” he glares at your salmon roll.

“No,” you offer the treat to him. “You…you need it more,” Y/N verbalizes her concern regarding his well-being.

“Can’t disagree, Pumpkin. You exhausted me you naughty girl,” J pretends to be super tired. “What can I do? Princess wants, Princess gets,” he inhales, resigned.

You’re not focusing on his whining: frankly, your intellect has been challenged enough for today. You cuddle in his arms while he chews on his food and watch TV without paying attention to the movie.

“Don’t forget tomorrow morning you have your doctor’s appointment,” J mentions. “I have to stay and wait for the guns I purchased from Nolan; you’ll have to manage without me. I’ll send an escort, deal?”

“U-hum.”

“Don’t yawn, Pumpkin. I’m the one that should yawn,” The Joker scratches his thigh. “This move sucks,” he pouts and turns off the TV. “I have a better idea,” he chooses a kid’s book from the stack. “Read to me.”

You open the textbook and although your brain is overwhelmed, you still make an effort for his sake.

“Mmm… Rainy… sky… Skies?...”

“Yup,” he turns on his side and nuzzles in your hair.

“Float over…hmm… t-town…”, your voice echoes in the room, soothing a worn out Joker.

Strange he can’t properly rest unless you read to him: after all J barely, from very afar, remotely, not even similar to love, sort of likes you.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[mi6-cafe]

HERE ARE THE DRABBLES FOR WEEK 2!

Ready to READ&VOTE?!

Well, let’s refresh your memory first.

This week our competitors were asked to write exactly 200 angsty words inspired by the phrase: ” to strive, to seek, to find, but not to yield ”

HOW DO YOU VOTE?

Read all the drabbles. (they’re below the line)

Choose three that you like the most.

Fill out this VOTING FORM, telling us your favourites. (You can even leave anonymous feedback for the author).

NOTE: If you are a competitor, you CANNOT vote for your own fic. But please, do vote. :)

The voting period ends at 11:59 PM EST on Sunday night. Results will be posted and anonymous feedback will be emailed on Monday.

#1

Title: Sisyphean Author: Anyawen Warnings: MCD (Major Character Death) Summary: Cause. And effect.

He had refused to give up when the signal was lost. If there were the slightest chance, the smallest trace, he would find and make use of it. He wrestled with technology, fought bureaucracy, and ignored his own limits. Like Orpheus, he followed a trail gone dark and cold to find the hell where his beloved was held. A team already en route for rescue, he activated a camera. Like Orpheus, his love was lost as he laid eyes on him. An indicator light on the camera blinked to life, betraying their surveillance, and they gained visuals only to watch his agent's execution. Unlike Orpheus when he lost his Eurydice, he did not fall prey to despair. He would not betray his lover's memory or dishonor his sacrifice by pining away. He channeled his grief into ingenuity, political savvy, fierce protectiveness, and an icy, vengeful fury. He focused on the interests of the country for which his lover had given his life, and the other agents who continued to risk everything in that same service. He would do everything in his power to keep them safe and bring them home. Gods have mercy on any who tried to stop him.

#2

Title: Savvy Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: no Archive warnings apply Summary: Bond is missing...

He couldn’t find James.

He’d often had to remind the newer techs that the double-oh agents might play dumb to get out of filing reports but the nature of their job these days required them to be almost as computer-savvy as Q Branch themselves. And Bond was more skilled than most, though he kept it quiet. So an unaccustomed panic threatened to overwhelm him the longer James was missing.

There was no trace despite hours of desperate searching through surveillance footage. He’d even hacked into dashboard-camera databases online. Bond had walked into that bloody meeting and all electronics had gone dark.

“If he were dead, there’d be a body!” he’d shouted at M. Other agents were out looking, but there was no evidence at the location. If Bond had been abducted, there was no rescue possible yet. Q refused to think of torture.

James would leave a sign...somehow...somewhere...if he could.

In frantic desperation, Q started checking logs of internet-connected devices. A smart bulb in an industrial warehouse was reporting an intermittent error, probably from faulty wiring, but Q mapped the errors and times from the online log and found a rough pattern: long long short long. Morse code for Q.

#3

Title: Blind Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: None. Summary: He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t see.

He needed to find them, but he couldn’t see.

Fear. A fist, seizing his heart. Squeezing his chest until all he could feel was sheer panic. Struggling to breathe.

A hundred scenarios ran through his mind, a warning of what might happen if he failed. Cyber attacks going unprevented. Terrorist attacks unthwarted. Agents dead. All because of him.

Because the Quartermaster wasn’t at his post.

He needed to find them. The Quartermaster needed to return to his post.

But he couldn’t see.

Where were they? All the intel said they would be here. They must be here. They had to be.

What if they weren’t?

How would he explain?

What would he say when M asked him why the Quartermaster was missing?

There was no other option, he had to find them. He couldn’t give up.

But he couldn’t see.

Blindly, he reached out, feeling around. His fingers brushed over the debris of a life interrupted. He recoiled as his hand came into contact with a pool of liquid. Still warm.

Oh, God!

More urgently now, he sought, knocking things aside. There wasn't enough time!

There!

Q put on his glasses, finally ready to face the day.

#4

Title: Tennyson Author: sorion Warnings: - Summary: Bond loves more easily than he would like to.

‘Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.

"What utter nonsense," Bond said, drink in hand. It wasn't his first. Nor his second.

If he could travel back in time, he'd choose not to love. Every time.

Love brought him nothing but betrayal and pain. How could loving and losing be better than never loving in the first place? He wouldn't be blind to the inevitable betrayal (and death) without love.

Today's reason for the drinks was that time travel didn't exist, and Bond had once more been confronted with the frustrating fact that he couldn't not love, time and again. Much as he would have liked to.

"Just how drunk are you?" someone asked, sidling up to his solitary spot at the bar.

'Not drunk enough to purge you from my system,' Bond thought. Despite his best efforts and iron will, he made the mistake of lifting his head, meeting questioning but undemanding eyes.

Reflected in those eyes, he found the truth that love was as much his constant companion as death. Neither weakness nor enemy, but the backbone of his very nature.

"Perhaps... 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world."

#5

Title: Hunger Author: sunaddicted Warnings: canon typical violence, toxic relationships Summary: the truth hurts more than a bullet wound He pursed his lips, eyes contemplating the ruin spread out at his feet: his life, his career, his dreams - everything lay shattered on the ground, all of his hard work and his striving aspirations turned to dust. "Hungry - you were always hungry for more than you can chew, clever boy" Q pursed his lips, refusing to look at the other - stubbornly staring out at the moors, fog slowly raising from the earth like poisonous vapours "It's your fault, Raoul" "Shut up" "It wasn't the plan!" "¡Callate!" Suddenly there was the cold circle of a gun's barrel pressed in the middle of his forehead - so icy that it almost burned against his skin. Q swallowed, tightening his hands in fists that would do nothing to protect him from a bullet straight to the brain "She doesn't give a shit about you, she never has" Raoul sneered "And you do?" "Yes, I do" Raoul laughed, derisive and cruel: it hurt more than a bullet ever would but Q wasn't giving up on him - he wasn't sure he could; yielding under pressure and escaping just wasn't an option, they were together for life, inextricably bound together. No matter how deadly Raoul's love was.

#6

Title: Lost and Found Author: Ksania / starrboned Warnings: implied canon-typical violence Summary: James made a promise he couldn't keep.

James finds him kneeling in the ruins, a dark silhouette against the fiery sky.

His sword makes a quiet "slink!" as he unsheathes it, flaring in the dying light. The blade's pale as it kisses Q's neck.

"Hello, James," Q says. "I hoped it would be you who'd find me."

Waves clash beneath them, salt heavy in the air.

"Nothing to say?" Q asks. "You always were a man of few words."

"They're coming," James breathes, watching as Q rises to his feet, turning.

His eyes are bloodshot, face pale. Black cloak hanging from skinny shoulders. A shadow of the man who held James's heart.

"James." Q cracks a smile. "You promised."

Once upon a time, when they were a Queen's mage and her knight.

James grips his sword, knuckles white.

He lets the blade drop. "I'm not killing you."

"You must." Q takes a step closer. "You know what she'll do -"

Footsteps approach. James pulls Q into his arms.

"Then we both die!" Q hisses, clutching at his cloak. "And everything was for naught!"

"So be it," James smiles, kissing him. "We both knew it was going to end this way."

Q sighs. "They're here."

James raises his sword.

#7

Title: Adamant Author: IrishWitch58 (captain-magicalkitty) Warning: Effects of violence Summary: Q ponders the similarities between himself and 007

The monitors beeped steadily, monotonously. Q hated the sound that screamed the fallibility of his systems, that made him face the ways in which he couldn't keep his agents safe. He shifted in the chair, the same he had occupied for the past 10 hours. He was connected to his branch, overseeing ongoing activities but that mattered less than the silent battered figure in the hospital bed. James had once again both succeeded and failed in that spectacular fashion that made him the best MI6 had. The mission goal had been accomplished but the medical evac had been a skin of the teeth exercise. More damage done, more scars. Bond's resume was written clearly on his body, scars upon scars marring the skin Q valued more than his own. Q acknowledged that his technological efforts could only do so much. It was the indomitable spirit of the man that was at issue. His nature was to push beyond the known and see for himself and to never give in to circumstance. In his own way, Q was the same, which was why he would sit and wait and plan how to avoid the next disaster, as unyielding as any agent.

#8

Title: The End Author: Venstar Warnings: angst(?) Summary: farewells.

It was all coming to a close with this next mission. It was a death trap. Once he went in, there was no coming out.

“Duty calls, I must go.”

“That's bollocks.”

007 smiled down at Q and brushed a finger across his chin and down his jaw. “This will be your first resurrection to witness, won’t it? Every story has an ending.”

“There’s only one 007 in my books.”

007 laughed at the jokes Q valiantly made with effort.

Q’s eyes narrowed and his lips compressed into a straight line. “I’ll find a way to get you back.”

“Seek and you will not find me,” Bond whispered, “It will be a new 007 when you finally yield to the inevitable.”

“Never!”

“So they replace me and they will replace you.”

Q shook his head. “We could leave. Would that be so terrible?”

007 looked at Q with pity in his eyes. “That would be treasonous.”

“It’s not like you’ve never skipped town before!” Q blurted out, his cheeks red.

“I am no traitor.”

“No, you’re a loyal dog. Now I understand why M kept that hideous thing on her table.” Q spat his words at 007’s feet.

“Goodbye, Q.”

#9

Title: Never Yielding Author: iambid (flantastic) Warnings: None Summary:  James is bullish, Q just wants him to stop.

Q waited for him outside M’s office.

“What the hell, Bond?”

James didn’t miss a step as he carried on down the corridor forcing Q to trot to keep up with him.

“James!  Talk to me!” He pleaded.

James stopped abruptly and whirled around.

“About what?  What exactly would you like to talk about?”  

“This!”  Q responded hotly, gesturing.  “Why are you going back out into the field?”

“Because they need me.” James snapped.

“But I thought…”

“What exactly?  That a gunshot wound would put me out of action permanently?  That I would want to spend the rest of my days hanging around your house like some kind of rescue dog?  I have a job to do, Quartermaster.”

He went to turn but Q grabbed his wrist.

“What about us?”  Q asked quietly.

“There is no us.” James said and then, when he saw the hurt in Q’s eyes, he added; “It was a dream.  Thank you for taking me in and taking care of me, but it can’t continue.” He looked down at Q’s hand, still resting on his wrist, and regretfully shook it off.  “People like me don’t deserve people like you,” he said sadly before walking away.

#10

Title: ghost Author: azure7539 Warnings: none Summary: Question and answer.

-

What went wrong?

By the time he arrives, there’s nothing of value left. He takes in the sight of the cramped room—one bare mattress in the corner, energy bar wrappings pushed into a pile, empty water bottles strewn around the floor—and stops at the coffee table. The near humid scent of cigarettes lingers in the air, unseen but winds like spidery gossamer, spooling from the crushed fags in that full ashtray next to an abandoned laptop.

His eye twitches.

Barely gone but not within chasing distance, his mind grudgingly concludes, and he sits down on the cracked tiles with a grunt. Despite the Caribbean sun flaring outside an unrelenting spot of heat as it pierced in through the windows, the place sustains a perpetual coolness that settles on his shoulders a phantom weight.

Really, he should worry more about potential booby traps in the laptop, but the thought doesn’t even stir his apprehension, and he opens it anyway.

The words he finds on the screen seize his breath before flickering back into an empty void.

His earpiece crackles to life with a hissing fit. “Status report.”

“He’s gone,” Bond growls, shutting the device with a harsh click.

/I went wrong./

#11

Title: The Perfect Gift Author: Shush_MummyWriting Warnings: None Summary: "to strive, to seek, to find, but not to yield."

The moment he saw her, he knew she was perfect.

Madelaine was not just beautiful, but brave, smart and had a backbone of steel. Knowing her background, she was the ideal partner for an old warhorse like James Bond.

Q felt the tiny flame that had been nurtured by every bit of banter, every special look sent his way, every promise extracted, compounded by every risk he had taken for Bond, flicker and die.

When he returned to his favourite workstation in the bowels of Q Branch, the information he had requested from the Archives had already arrived. Q had followed Bond’s career even before their first official meeting and as he looked over the old blueprints, he realised this would be the perfect farewell gift for Bond.

Besides, it would make an excellent project for the Garage minions. With a little creative accounting, sketches already flowing from his fingers to his screen, he would pour every ounce of his brilliance into the DB5 and it would be ready when Bond got back.

Then Q would be able put all those inconvenient feelings behind him and say good-bye to James Bond, with a smile, like the friend that he was.

#12

Title: 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world Author: scarytheory Warnings: mention of character death, depression Summary: James's got his happily ever after with Madeleine. Still – he's struggling every day.

...you should know-

James wakes up from a nightmare, panicking, trying to catch his breath. Madeleine is used to it by now. She just whispers ‘you're safe, you're home’, still half-asleep. But he gets up and pours himself some whisky because he doesn't know what home means anymore.

Everything is blurred. Maybe he made the wrong choice. Even though she's here, and he loves her.

But he's still thinking about that phone call. It's been six months, and he can't stop thinking about it.

“Q died. I thought you should know.”

Wrong home.

More whisky.

And more nightmares.

There is a weird inner ache that James can't even name; he is too afraid to do so. A little bit of it belongs to Madeleine because they can't be happy together; it will never be enough. It's also about Q because James failed him. He knew and he left anyway, left everything that could have been.

But mostly it's about James himself. Because he's so tired and scared to go back and fight again. But in the end, he knows that he will do what he always does.

Not yield.

Not yet.

Even though the whisky is burning in his throat.

#13

Title: Unyielding Author: AtoTheBean Warnings: None Summary: Q will hate that fucking poem for the rest of his life...

“You’re going to lose him.”

“I’m not,” Bond grunts over the comms.  

“Repositioning 006 to intercept,” Q replies, signaling to R.

He looks back at the screen to find Bond has stolen a motorbike.

“007, stand down.  The plaza’s too crowded.”

“All the more reason to stay with the bomb.”

Q sighs, switching screens to an aerial view.  Bond’s so stubborn since his return.

Though, not at first.  At first he was accommodating… practically deferential….  And Q was unyielding in his anger.  It’s taken months to find their rapport... for Q to acknowledge they still make a good team, ignoring the dull ache of what else he wishes they might be.

“Approaching the bridge.”

“I see you,” Q says, refocusing.  

“Good place to douse a bomb...”

“But how would…” Cold dread fills Q. 007 is still fast, but even he acknowledges his reaction times have slowed...

The motor revs. “'We're not now that strength which in old days—’.”

“James Bond, don’t you dare quote Tennyson at me!”

Q watches Bond grab the mark—

“JAMES!”

—and hurl them both off the bridge.  He hears the rush of wind, a splash, and then static.

The water-muffled explosion on the screen is silent.

#14

Title: The Balad of Sir Bond Author: ladymars Warnings: Implied Major Character Death Summary: A prince seeks for his knight.

Lady Moneypenny, from her kneel and still wearing her tattered armor, presented a scrap of burnt fabric to her prince. "This is all we found of him, Your Highness." Cold ice ran through the prince's veins. His breath left him. "No, that can't be..." "I saw him go into that cave myself," the knight interrupted, her voice tight, "I told him we should return, call for reinforcements, but he pushed inside." "Stubborn bastard..." Sir Bond had escaped from dire situations, deadly situations, returned to life with a smirk, a swagger, and the head of their enemy in hand (never his sword, of course, always losing and breaking those), but from a man-eating monster? Of course he's stupid enough to jump in without hesitation. Something pushed the prince up from his throne and to his feet. He staggered as if grief had possessed him and moved his limbs like the automatons he assembled, a yearning pulling him forward. "I'll find him. He's out there. I'll search the ends of the world for him." Moneypenny paled. "But sir—" "No!" His voice did not sound like his own, strangled and high. "He's out there!" A fury flickered in his eyes. "I'll never yield."

__

Thank you all for writing these wonderful drabbles!

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[rae-gar-targaryen]

only as alone as i wanna be | [bh]

A/N: Well instead of working on my Peter Parker writing challenge fic, Billy Hargrove won’t leave my brain alone. So here we go. 

I’ve retconned the Billy & Max relationship a bit for this, so it’s a lil au. Sorry!

Please let me know if you think I should continue!

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!Reader (I’m still trying to get the hang of writing for the “reader.” Hopefully this is vague enough that you can imagine yourself. If not, send me feedback so I can get better!) 

Warnings: Language. Passing, vague mentions of sex. Some Billy Hargrove chain-smoking. Bad writing with a jumpy plot. Seriously, I think I’m way too abrupt. Please send feedback. This one is probably doomed for a re-write. 

Word Count: 2.4k of nonsensical, self-important musical references and haphazard, fleeting feelings.

Summary: The snarky record store girl does not like Billy Hargrove. Not at all. 

**NOT MY GIF!** 

—

Winter, 1984

The bell dinged above the door, a jarring interval between the wistful tones of Siouxsie and the Banshees’ Take Me Back. Prompting you to look up from your stack of records in mild annoyance. It had been such a productive day until now, and the vinyl wasn’t going to restock itself. 

Well. 

Had you known Mr. Born-In-The-USA-Bruce-Springsteen himself was going to walk in, you would’ve played something far less his taste than Siouxsie. Just to annoy him. Serves him right, right? 

He paused in the doorway of the shop, wrinkling his nose almost imperceptibly as the sound hit his ears, before striding on toward the “Pop/Rock” section of the store, thumbing his way through Motley Crue’s latest.

Figures, you thought. A man who douses himself with as much commercial-ass hairspray and cologne would like some commercial-ass garbage “metal.” Besides, you’d walked past the blue Camaro enough times in the school parking lot to hear the dulcet tones of whatever bland-ass hair metal he was currently into trying its best to blast the doors off of his beloved metal steed. 

You felt a twinge of guilt. You shouldn’t judge the customers for their musical taste so quickly– but between the old church ladies who came in for Handel’s Messiah or whatever they had heard over public radio that week, and the girls from your class riffing on Madonna, you had had just about enough. 

Hadn’t anyone experienced the true depth of Queen? Keep Yourself Alive, man!

You had been working at Hawkins’ local record store during the summers since childhood – Old Mr. Cohen who owned the place used to let you sort tapes into piles for cents on the hour until you were old enough for a real job. Immersed in the music since a young age, you appreciated the breadth and depth the shop had to offer– your favorites developing into pieces heavy on synth. Bonus points if the lyrics made you feel especially existential. You loved that moody shit. 

Now, at 17, you practically ran the place, Mr. Cohen comfortable with leaving you to your devices at the store, so long as the till was counted and inventory was properly stocked. You were grateful for the freedom– squeezing homework into slow nights and chatting about deeper portions of discography with regulars.

Billy Hargrove was not a regular. Neither did he promise a slow night, if the rumors amongst your female classmates were to be believed. Not that you partook in the Hawkins High rumor mill. 

He was a recent, but obtrusive, arrival in your high school’s social scene. Mere months into his appearance in your town and the age-in-kind female population had seemingly lost their brain cells faster than inhaling their usual clouds of hairspray could do it for them. 

Still, you had to admit, he was good-looking. The Springsteen comparison was apt. Billy Hargrove wore jeans like he was doing the denim a favor. His shirts usually two-thirds of the way unbuttoned, even in winter, which was not an unkind sight. His sun-kissed, California boy skin stood a stark contrast to the pallor of the Indiana natives you grew up with. His eyes were crystalline and swam like oceans of trouble and broken promises. 

My god. You were a moody-ass bitch. Waxing poetic about this jock-strap of a human being who you’d heard pummelled Steve Harrington and nearly drowned himself in beer and barely-legal pussy. Come on, babe. Get it together.

He strode up to you at the counter, his boots clunking against the store’s tiled floor. Shout at the Devil was clutched in his fist. 

He dropped the vinyl on the counter, eyes cast down and swiping a cigarette out of the packet in his jacket pocket and lighting up, the clink-thwip of his lighter meeting your ears before you could tell him to put it out. 

“You can’t do that in here,” you told him. 

He hummed in not-acknowledgment-acknowledgment, choosing to ignore you as he inhaled deeply.

“Seriously, dude. Old man Cohen hates that shit. Put it out or go outside and finish it. If your tits don’t freeze off. Since they’re, you know, halfway out of your shirt like that? You do know it’s December. In Indiana. Right?” You pressed, knowing full well you were being obnoxious. If only to make a point. Game recognize game, right? 

He looked up, ocean eyes meeting your own. His frown was instantaneous. 

“Fine,” he huffed. Before promptly stubbing out his cigarette on your freshly wiped counter, dropping the butt to the floor and twisting it under his booted heel.

“Ugh. Come on, man. I have to clean that now.” 

“You were so adamant about it before.” 

“Whatever man. Just the Motley Crue for you today?” You pressed. Why is he prolonging this interaction?

He rolled his eyes, his line of sight catching on the promotional sign above the counter. 

“Well, now, that says new vinyl is two for one. Which one can I get with this?” 

You dropped your head and exhaled deeply– So this was how this evening was going to go. You gestured at the New Release wall to the left of the front counter. 

“Anything from here, Pretty Boy. New vinyl.” 

Cool as you please, if you please.

Billy glanced at you, sensing your annoyance. A smirk graced his lips. He knew if he prolonged this interaction it would surely get a rise out of you.  

He held up Burning From the Inside, Bauhaus’s latest release. New, but not new.

“What about this one? Cover art is alright.” He gestured at the gothica aesthetic adorning the front jacket.

“That’s Bauhaus,” you informed him, as though that would explain everything.

“Bauhaus? What is that?” 

You snorted. 

“No, seriously. What is that? Is that like … a sex thing?” he asked, derisively. 

“It’s not a sex thing. It’s more of a not-your-kind-of-thing thing,” you stated primly. 

“And how would you know what my thing is, princess? I’m guessing by the black-on-black and torn fishnets you’d be all to familiar with whatever a Bauhaus is,” he retorted.

“Well….” You went to the used pile and grabbed Press Eject and Give Me the Tape, before putting it over the speakers. As Bela Lugosi’s Dead started to play throughout the store, Billy looked unamused. 

“They broke up last year. Gone too soon,” you explained, wistfully. You put your hand over your heart as though in mourning. 

He leaned one arm on the counter, Motley Crue seemingly long forgotten. 

“So, what is this song?”

“Bela Lugosi’s Dead? Like, Stairway to Heaven, but for goths, I guess,” you reasoned. “I’m guessing you’re more of a Scorpions kind of guy? We have Love At First Sting,” you gestured vaguely toward the wall. 

Billy quirked an eyebrow at you. 

“And how would you know what kind of guy I am, princess?” His voice lowering as he leans even further over the counter.

“Um. If the female population at our school is to be believed? Well, you get it…” you trailed off. “Plus, I don’t know, have you looked in a mirror lately? Scratch that. You probably don’t stop looking in mirrors. Should I cover the reflective surfaces in the store, lest you get distracted?” 

Billy at least had the decency to look shocked at your barb. 

But not before recovering quickly. 

“Maybe you just cover the reflective surfaces in here to hide the fact that you don’t have a reflection,” he quipped.

You were stunned. Your eyes widened.

“Was that a– vampire joke, Hargrove?”

Billy shrugged. “Well, If the post-punk bullshit shoe fits… I mean, what even is playing over the speakers right now? I’m in here enough to know Cohen lets his employees pick the music from the Used pile during their shifts. Though clearly I don’t come in often enough during your shifts.”

“Thank God for that,” you sighed. 

Deciding he’d had enough of the banter, Billy snagged Black Flag’s latest off of the New Release wall. 

“Two for one, right?” he snarked, slapping down enough cash for one album before grabbing his findings off of the counter and striding out into the wintery evening– the bell over the door clanging after him for good measure. Like an exclamation point on whatever the ever loving fuck that conversation was. Did you— offend him??

You decided, sweeping up the not-forgotten ash from his cigarette off the floor that you didn’t ever need to have an interaction with Billy Hargrove again. You were most decidedly not post-punk bullshit.

–

Billy Hargrove had never been so ruffled in all of his life. 

Throwing the two vinyl sleeves down in the passenger seat of his beloved Camaro, he slammed the door behind him.

Clink-Thwip.

Billy lit up, the chemical rush of his deep inhale-exhale instantly soothing his frazzled nerves. 

He flicked the lid of his lighter a few more times, for good measure. A nervous habit. Clink-Thunk. Clink-Thunk. Clink-Thunk. 

“ ‘Never stop looking in a mirror,’ my ass,” he grumbled, meeting his eyes in the rear-view before realizing what he was doing and looking away. 

He’d seen that girl before. She sat alone in the cafeteria most times, headphones on, reading a book. She seemed like the type to enjoy Slyvia Plath. Not that he knew enough about Slyvia Plath to really know what that type of girl was. He swore his mom owned a coverworn copy of some novel or another with that name on it. 

He drove away, tires squealing behind him, hair metal blasting from his speakers. Okay, so maybe you’d been right about his musical taste. It’s not like he’d give you the satisfaction. Besides, he’d bought BLACK FLAG, for Christ’s sake. You didn’t know him. 

But still, he couldn’t deny, there was something about your demeanor. Your witticism. Your bad type. And yeah, maybe he’d sneaked a peek at your ass when you came around from the counter to scold him for smoking. Sue him, he was only human. 

He knew there was more to you. A sweet undertone– like peaches and cream. Also maybe he liked ruffling your proverbial feathers. Just maybe. 

He had asked Tommy about you at school the next day. 

Tommy shrugged, but not before looking over at the corner of the cafeteria where you sat. 

“I don’t know man. She’s hot. But, like, in the way weird girls are hot. You can look, but touching may cost you.” 

Billy didn’t know what that meant. But Tommy was literally too stupid to insult. So he bit back a comment effectuating that he didn’t care and slammed the rest of his can of Coke. 

–

You had seen him before. From his tire-squealing entry into your town, you were certain you’d had him pegged from Jump Street. The chain-smoking, that infernal clink-twhip of his American Flag lighter. The keg stands. The raucous screaming in Steve Harrington’s face.

“Plant your feet, Harrington!”

Plant your feet indeed. Lest you be bowled over with unwanted, obtrusive thoughts of the potential depths of Billy Hargrove’s soul. If such a thing existed.

Seriously, though. Why would he buy a Black Flag album? If there was one thing Billy Hargrove was not, you decided, it was punk rock. 

You’d seen him take his sister to the arcade, and wait for her after school. Was it brotherly affection that motivated these little Babysitter’s Club moments, or was he forced to? Still, you saw the way that girl on the skateboard looked up at her seemingly cool older brother. Like he hung the stars. 

He did brush off Tina after the basketball game last week. And, he bought Black Flag. That man had never listened to Black Flag in all of his life. You were sure of it.

Could he really be all bad? 

–

The semester pressed on. Billy Hargrove at the fringe of your thoughts and your eye-line. Was he trying to talk to you in school?

You had the closing shift at the store again on Saturday. You were in the midst of carrying a box of tapes up the stairs from the storage room when you heard the ding of the bell above the door. You sighed, put the box down, and made your way toward the front to greet the customer. Upon seeing the back of Billy Hargrove’s perfectly coiffed, curly head, you were ready to turn back around and act like you hadn’t seen him. Too late. He clearly knew you were working. 

“Please don’t let it be you,” you groaned. 

“No promises, dollface.” 

You stood in front of him, hands on your hips. 

“So? What can I do for you?”

Billy smirked. “I can think of a few things, sweetheart,” he drawled, quirking a perfectly arched brow just so. You hated that you now noticed these things about Billy Hargrove’s perfectly stupid and stupidly perfect face. 

“I don’t have time for this, Pretty Boy.” 

“When are you off?” He asked.

“After close,” you said. 

“Go out with me.” Billy Hargrove said, now surely unsure of himself.

“And why in the ever-loving-fuck would I do that?” You had to hand it to yourself. You were doing a damn good job of looking like you didn’t care. Meanwhile, your insides were pudding and you were just sure he knew it, too.

“Because you want to. Because I want you to. Because– Because I want to. Because I listened to Black Flag. Because I get your whole thing, plaid skirt and all,” he stated, gesturing vaguely over your person. 

You rolled your eyes, choosing not to answer him. Instead, you diverted. Diversion is good, right?

“Where’s your usual crowd of hairsprayed hangers-on? Or are you always alone after school?”

“Only as alone as I wanna be, doll,” He drawled. 

You’d had to hand it to Billy Hargrove. He could definitely turn a phrase when he wanted to. His crystalline eyes could definitely see right through you. As the flush travelled through your body, taking in his artful smirk and powerful visage, you knew:

Billy Hargrove was going to be the death of you. Like the satisfyingly sweet pour of languid waves of syrup cascading over waffles, drowning you in a beautiful, thick avalanche of a saccharine dream. A powdered sugar kiss dusting over your better senses, coating them in the flush of dripping endearment. 

Surely you could be alone together? The crystal ball and the odyssey. 

Would you go?

tagging bc you inspire me:

@nappingtopknot @ayeayecaptaingally @hey-its-grey @tigerlilynoh @andallthatmishigas @oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall @youngmoneymilla @noturjacky  (If you don’t want to be tagged, feel free to ignore, or tell me firmly -- but possibly politely?? to fuck off) 

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Children

My brain is mush again, thanks

Anyway The Wayhaven Chronicles is my current obsession, still, and writing Adam is absolutely one of the most difficult things I’ve done. Sorry if what I post comes out a little OOC, I just really wanted to see Adam and Rory’s children interacting. It ended up being mostly just one of them, but I really hope you all enjoy. 

I love getting to write for people.

Very mild spoilers for Book Two. This is mostly time ambiguous, happening sometime after the events of book one, in the future. Also points to pronoun-fluid characters. You’ll see what I mean.

*blows kisses to the sky* Thank you Seraphine for writing this masterful CoG and giving me inspiration. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It wasn’t like the detective to not pick up their phone. Adam knew this, knew it like he knew the back of his hand, or when Felix was about to cause a whole hell of a lot of mischief. Rory should have responded by now. His fingers twitched as he paced the living room, ignoring the knowing grin on Nate’s face. They have their own life, they won’t be attached to their phone all the time, another part of him argued. It wasn’t like he needed to see them. It was a small matter, confirming that Rory was still showing up tonight for more combat training. Still…. “Adam.” His head snapped up at the mention of his name, his hands releasing their destructive grip on the dining room table. There would have to be another order to replace it. He’d left a mark. “My child hasn’t responded to any of my calls,” Rebecca Argent said, walking up to the living room. “Would you mind doing me a favor and checking up on them? I would, but I have a conference call in fifteen minutes.” She gave him a thankful smile as he nodded, the motion curt, and watched him stride out of the room. “Thank you, Agent Argent. I was afraid he was going to wear a hole in the floor.” Adam heard Rebecca chuckle softly as he walked away. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Sewell. I was just concerned about the table.” As the front door closed behind him, he missed Nate’s laughter in response.

-

A cool breeze swirled around the Wayhaven PD parking lot, kicking up a small dust storm that swirled and crumpled as it hit Adam's feet. It was a chilly afternoon, almost too cold for his liking, and he quietly relished the burst of warmth as he walked through the precinct doors. That strange, melancholy peace was immediately disrupted as a small form collided into his legs. "Oops! Sorry!" Looking down, he saw a young girl with a mass of wild curly blond hair, maybe six at the most. She rubbed her nose, pouting, before looking up. And up, and up. He watched as her eyes went round, noting bemusedly that they were same shade of green as Rory's. The same color as Detective Argent's. "Sorry mister!" She chirped, clearly unapologetic is the way children often are. Watching as he kneeled down to her level. "Be careful next time. You could hurt somebody, you know." He internally winced at the gruffness in his voice- his job didn't allow for much experience with children, and now was no exception. But the little girl simply giggled. "I don't think I could hurt you, you're buge!" Someone sighed, exasperated. "'Huge', Sage. The word you're looking for is 'huge'." The girl whirled around, and Adam had a brief second to meet Detective Rory Argent's eyes before they were being climbed like a tree, the small child quickly making her way to hang off their side. Rory seemed used to this, their eyebrow quirked in dry amusement. "Good morning, Adam. Glad to see you've already met one of my daughters." "Good-" rising to his feet, he stumbled over his words. …. Daughters? "Good morning, Detective. I was...unaware you had children." Thinking back, he tried to remember whether Agent Argent had mentioned any grandchildren, whether he'd seen any family photos in Rory's home. Not that he should have remembered it so well. The Detective's style was too much like his own. Too much like feeling like he belonged. Rory chuckled, adjusting Sage to their hip. Seemingly reading his mind, they tilted their head and said, "My mother was unaware of my children until recently if that's what you're trying to figure out. Our tumultuous relationship included a bone of contention- I sent her an invitation to the baby shower while I was pregnant with the twins, and she never responded. I assumed she wouldn't visit, I was living in Germany at the time. I didn't realize she wouldn't respond *at all*." He nodded, watching as an identical version of Sage moved to cling against Rory's leg. The other girl seemed to barely notice him at all, her nose stuck in a book. Unlike her sister, her hair was neatly braided back, a few curls wriggling free of their bonds to fall around her face. "Adam du Mortain," he snapped to attention the moment Rory said his name, unable to ignore the detective. Never able to ignore them. "This is Sage and Rosemary Dietrich. They're my twin daughters. Rosie girl, Sage, say hello to Agent Du Mortain." The child reading a book glanced up at him, seeming to shrink back a little more behind her father when she realized there was a very big person in front of her. "H-hello," she mumbled quietly, "it's nice to-" "It's nice to meet you! Hello! I'm Sage!" Her sister immediately interrupted, her voice loud and cheerful. She wiggled in Rory's arms. "Daddyyyyyy, I want down!” The detective sighed, giving Adam an exasperated look before they knelt down, setting their daughter on her feet. “Pumpkin, we’ve talked about this, you have to ask nicely…” The words they said seemed to fade for Adam as he watched, feeling his heart twist at seeing the softer side of Rory. The way they patted their daughter’s arm gently, tucking an errant lock away from her face, lovingly tugging away wrinkles and folds in her shirt, despite the fact that it was most likely a futile attempt. As the detective glanced up, their more excitable daughter slipping out of their arms and running off somewhere, they met Adam’s gaze. The world around them became almost nonexistent. Rory smiled, almost tenderly, and the Vampire felt his heart twist in his chest. “Adam,” the detective said softly, his name precious and treasured upon their lips, “Would you like to join me and the girls for-” The phone rang sharply, cutting through the air, and Rory made a face. “Hold on. I’ve got to get that. Rosie my girl, would you mind accompanying Agent Du Mortain to the round table?” The shyer daughter nodded, looking up at him and slipping her tiny hand into his. It seemed he had been vetted as a trusted person, at least for now. “This way,” she said solemnly, watching as her father ducked into their office. She tugged gently at his hand. He followed. Normally he would politely but firmly refuse, but he doubted the little girl would listen. And when large green eyes glanced back at him, checking to make sure he was still there, all of his resolve crumbled away. She looked too much like a miniature Rory, even with a big book tucked underneath her arm. Would he and the detective…? He immediately crushed that whisper in the back of his mind. No. He refused to even entertain that line of thought. The detective deserved better. It wouldn’t happen. Rosemary let go of his hand only to reach up and twist the doorknob, before swiftly reclaiming it once more. "This is the round table," she said solemnly. "Daddy and his knights meet here." Adam practically choked on a breath as she said that, leading him into the room. He was very familiar with it, seeing as it was where Unit Bravo and the Detective had met many times before. Rosemary tugged him over to the table, pushing herself onto one of the chairs and opening her book. Adam glanced down. Should he attempt to reclaim his fingers? He hesitated. The little girl likely had no idea what he was, what he had done. He felt so much animosity towards humans, and yet… She was so fragile. Rosemary settled easily, her eyes flicking across the words on the page. He could hear her heartbeat, the rush of her blood, the slow breaths in and out. The detective’s daughter was as confident and brave as they were, it seemed. Both of their daughters, although in seemingly different ways. Rosemary held onto his fingers, completely relaxed in his presence, and he couldn’t help but think that he didn’t deserve it. “Daddy’s going to be right back.” He glanced down at the girl in surprise, so lost in thought that he hadn’t realized she’d begun watching him in return. “He’s just got some phone calls. He’s important, you know. Daddy’s the king.” Adam quirked a brow, kneeling down. Even in the chair, she was small for a child. Now that they were at eye level, he responded in kind. “What is he the king of?” She shrugged, lifting up her book, struggling a bit with the weight of holding it one-handed. *Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, and Other Tales*. “Daddy’s the king of Camelot,” she informed him loftily, as if he should be ashamed for not knowing such information. He bit back a smile at her tone. “My uncles and Z are his knights. Sage thinks that Verda’s Daddy’s grumpy jester, but I think it’s Douglas. His hair is silly.” She made a motion with her hand as if to show Douglas’s hair flipping up. “But Daddy added new knights to the story.” “Oh?” He felt the smile on his face try and widen, breaking through his serious demeanor. Rosemary’s solemn nod was too much like Rory’s, all business, direct and to the point. It made his heart ache sweetly, a melancholy that almost left him breathless. He understood now why the Detective hadn’t mentioned their daughters beforehand- all he wanted to do was wrap Rosemary up and hide her from the world. Hide her from people who would be looking for her father’s blood. “Yeah. He calls them the Knights of Bravo. Grandma, the old Queen, sent them to help protect Daddy.” She shrugged. “But Daddy can beat anyone, so I don’t get it. Daddy says even a King needs help sometimes. He says they meet at the round table sometimes, but usually at the Knights’ house, or Grandma’s castle. He says it’s why he’s away so often, and why he can’t call Sage and me like he used to.” She huffed, and squeezed his hand a little harder. It was barely anything to him, barely any pressure on his skin. He tilted his head. “Does Da- er. Does your father,” he said, correcting himself quickly, feeling his cheeks heat, “live with you? Why does he need to call you?” “Daddy lives in his castle,” she replied simply. “Papa and Daddy used to be happy together, but they started to make each other sad, so they live apart so they don’t make each other cry. But Papa cries anyway…” she glanced down, sighing. “He tries to hide it so Sage and I don’t hear. But he also used to yell at Daddy, and we heard that, too. Daddy moved away because Papa was being mean to him, and Sage and I make them both laugh so that they don’t think we’re being mean to them, and they won’t move away from us, too.” Adam took her hands in his, swallowing hard. He was the wrong person for this. *Why isn’t Nate here when I need him?! This is not…I am not equipped to handle this.* He took a deep breath in, and then out. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Rosemary,” he began softly. “I think you’re a sweet girl, and that your father loves you very much. Er, both of them. I’ve known your father for a while now. He’s kind, and caring, and devoted. I don’t know your other father, but I do know Rory. Trust me when I say the detect- er, Rory, probably loves you very much. I think you’d have to be very, very mean to hurt his feelings, and even then he still wouldn’t leave you.” She sniffled. “You mean it?” “Yes.” He surprised himself with the vehemence of his response, although he knew he meant it, the feeling resonating through his bones, through his soul. The detective already considered Unit Bravo their family, reluctant as they were to work with their mother. From the very beginning, from their first meeting here in this very room, Rory hadn’t once stopped caring. Often at the risk of losing their own life. Remembering the feel of their touch against his cheek, covered in their own blood after Murphy’s fight, their words of reassurance. Remembering how they made Mason laugh with a snide remark, hugged Felix tightly after a tender moment, chatted excitedly about books with Nate. The detective loved them. And in return, Unit Bravo, Adam included, loved- Oh. Oh.  He felt a tiny hand slip out of his own, touching his cheek and coming away wet. “You’re sad,” Rosemary stated matter-of-factly. “Did I make you sad?” He shook his head, surprised at the slight coolness from his tears. He hadn’t even realized they were happening. “No. I just thought something that made me hurt. I’ll be okay.” She frowned, her brow furrowing in the way her father’s often did, a tiny mirror image of the detective. “But you’re still crying.” Rosemary suddenly perked up. “Do you want me to read you a story? Daddy reads them when Sage and me go to sleep every night. Sometimes he sings, but I’m not very good at it. Daddy says Grandma wanted him to be an op-er-a singer.” She made a face. “I don’t like op-er-a. The girls and guys’ faces are always weird and scary. Sage thinks they’re funny, and she always wants Daddy to play it on the TV.” Adam chuckled, rising up to pull a chair next to the little girl. “Well, if you think the faces are scary, perhaps we should stick to the books. I like your idea. Tell me your favorite story.” Rosemary gave him a bright grin, front teeth gap-toothed, and flipped through the book. She stabbed a finger at the page. “It’s Morgana Le Fay! She’s a witch, and Z always does her voices when they’re around. She’s their favorite. I like Daddy’s version of the story. I think Morgana just wants a friend.” She glanced at him, making sure he was paying attention, before starting up. “Okay. Once upon a time, there was a little girl living in a big castle with her mama and sisters…” Later Rory picked up Sage, hauling her over their shoulder, grinning at her squeals of laughter. “Okay, Sagey bean! Let’s stop bothering uncle Verda, he’s got work to do! Should we find your sister, little princess?” The little girl burst into laughter, wriggling in her father’s arms. “Noooo, Daddy! Rosemary is the princess, I wanna be a knight!” Rory rolled their eyes, glancing over to a grinning Verda, who shrugged cheerfully. Kids. Whatcha gonna do?  They blew a raspberry into the fat of their daughter’s chubby cheek, smiling wide as more laughter burst from her. “A knight, huh? A knight should be able to find a princess, no matter what! Are you prepared for the journey, brave warrior?” Sage wriggled some more, like the worm she secretly was. “Yeeeeees!” The moment her father set her down, she took off like a shot, scrambling up the stairs of the basement, heading up into the precinct proper. “I can’t believe you let Rosemary just hang out with Agent Du Mortain, Rory,” Verda teased softly. “I’ve seen you growl at the mayor before when he even brought them up in conversation. You must trust him, huh?” His expression danced with light humor, even as his tone grew serious. Verda alone knew the sheer lengths Rory went to, keeping their home life separate from their work. Even if he didn’t know how strange Rory’s work life truly was. The detective nodded. “Yes. I trust him with my life.” They smiled softly. “So now that that’s out of the way, it means I can trust him with my children, too.” Rory looked up at the sound of little feet descending the stairs, quickly reaching out and catching Sage as she stumbled down the last few steps. “Sage, did you find your sister?” The little girl nodded. “She’s speeping, Daddy.” “Sleeping, Sage. Wait. What do you mean, she’s sleeping? Where?” They sighed as Sage wriggled out of their hold, grabbing their hand. “I’ll talk to you later, Verda.” Verda nodded. “Good luck, Detective.” Being led through the precinct, Sage took them to the meeting room door. Inside, they could hear a mellow voice, familiar and smooth, like liquid smoke. “‘I am the rightful king’, Arthur proclaimed. ’With Caliburn in hand, I shall reunite Camelot as one, and the kingdom shall once again be brought to prosperity!’ And the people rejoiced as a single ray of sunshine lit upon the boy, illuminating the golden hair of their new king like a crown gifted from the heavens themselves, and knew that they were saved.” Rory heard a book close softly, the old bindings creak shut. “And they lived happily after.” Opening the door, they watched as Adam reached out a hand to Rosemary, settling it on the thick curls on her head. Her eyes were closed, her head upon her crossed arms, and her chest rose and fell slowly. Rosemary was deep in slumber. “The end,” Adam whispered. There was something tender and sad in his expression, a longing and heartbreak Rory ached to see. They wondered if vampires could have children. If Adam had ever wanted any, before his life would be changed forever. The idea of Adam and children gave them a funny feeling in their chest, fluttering and quick, too fleeting to be recognizable. As if hearing the very stutter of their pulse, Adam sharply glanced up, his hand jerking back to his side. His expression closed off, becoming professional as he stood. “Detective. I didn’t realize-” he stopped himself, then started again. “Your daughter wanted an audience for her storytelling, and she was having trouble getting through some of the words. So I assisted her.” Rory smiled softly. They raised a hand soothingly. “It’s okay, Adam. I’m hardly upset. It’s about time I get these little ones back to my place anyway. Z’s plane landed a few hours ago, and they should be back home from their police training.” They nodded to Rosemary’s sleeping form. “Would you like to help me? I didn’t bring the car today, the girls wanted to walk.” They watched as Adam glanced at the sleeping girl, and nodded. “I would be honored, Detective.” “Why do you call Daddy ‘Detective’?” Sage asked bluntly, staring up at the tall man. “He’s Daddy, and ‘Rory’ to everyone.” Rory rolled their eyes, nudging their daughter. “Because it’s polite, baby. He’s being respectful. It’s okay.” The little girl seemed to chew on this information for a second before shrugging, seemingly no longer interested. “Okay!” She grabbed her father’s hand. “Can we go see Z now, Daddy? I want goldfishies. Ooh! Or fruit snackies!” She wrinkled her nose as Rory reached down and tugged her ear gently. “Sagey bean, your sister is asleep. Please keep your voice down. But yes. Adam and I will be taking you two home.” They glanced at Adam, giving a half-smile. It brightened at the amused expression he returned. Gingerly, Adam walked over to Rosemary, picking up her book, and then picking up her. The little girl barely even stirred. If anything, she snuggled closer in his arms, and Rory wished they could have taken a picture of Adam’s expression. It screamed Oh god, repeating over and over. Rosemary’s cuteness tended to have that effect on people. Rory was so proud. Their daughter could conquer a kingdom. “Shall we head home?” They asked softly. Adam nodded. “Yes. Let’s go home. To your home.” He flushed slightly as he corrected himself. Sage ran off with an excited yell, and the detective and agent shared an exasperated smile before following close behind.

[sincerly-kate]

Falling Skies (Crowley x Fem!Reader)

A/n: Hello! So I’ve decided to start writing on here, and I hope that you guys like it and feel free to let me know about any requests or ideas that you’d like me to write in the future, enjoy! Also thank you to @ourownsideimagines for getting me out of my writers block!💙💙

Warnings:Slight angst, fluff ending and kinda swearing?

Summary: Crowley and Y/n have known each other since before his fall. Unknowingly to the other, they both ended up falling for the other over time. Crowley responds to this in his own ways, but what happens when Armageddon starts and they both need to pick a side?

Y/n; the sister to the archangel Gabriel. Some may say that this had its perks and that she could get away with whatever she wanted whenever she wanted; the ones who said this obviously didn’t know Gabriel very well. If anything, she was kept under a much more watchful eye. In y/n’s eyes, this was so she didn’t hurt his perfect reputation up in heaven. There was only two people in the entire world that truly knew y/n.

An angel named Aziraphale, that was more of a brother to her than her actual archangel brother ever could ever be,

and a certain demon named Crowley.

unknown to the other, they both shared feelings for the other.  And as one normally does, they both decided to ignore this feeling.

The three of them have known each other for about 6000 years, and over the years they’ve seen each other through it all.

From the garden of Eden to modern day, they became a trio of unlikely friends. but if it came down to it, they would be sacrifice themselves for the other when it came down to it.

Right now, you and Aziraphale were in his bookshop. You were there to keep him company, while Aziraphale on the other hand was trying to find a certain object that he refused to tell you about.

"Y/n? Are you quite alright dear?" you were snapped out of your thoughts by a certain blonde haired friend of yours.

“Oh,” You turned your head towards Aziraphale, “I’m fine.” You moved your head from the palm of your hand that you had it resting on and gave him a thin lined smile.

Aziraphale gave you one of his knowing looks, he knows you were lying but he knew you didn’t mean any harm by it; that’s just the way you were.

No thanks to Gabriel and the others, you always kept your thought and feeling to yourself. You were always told that they were a sign of weakness.

You sighed and pushed yourself off the couch and walked towards the bookshelf Aziraphale was in front of.

“Now, I think both of us know that far from the truth.” He gave you a sympathetic smile before taking his attention from the shelf, and to you.

You sighed and leaned against the shelf and looked to the ground in defeat. ‘Damnit, he knows me too well for my own good.’ You thought.

“Now, are you going to tell me why you were daydreaming about Crowley, or are you going to lie?” He said bluntly, not even phased by your cheeks suddenly turning a bright pink. You then straightened out your back, and tried to may your way towards the door.

“Uh- erm. I-I don’t know what your talking about Az…” As you slowly sauntered towards the door to make an exit with at least some of your confidence intact, a force decided otherwise and pulled you backwards by your jacket.

“Dear, you are not leaving until you tell me what’s going on between you two. I may be oblivious at times, but I’m not blind.”

You turned around, to look your ethereal friend in the face. You sighed and then began to speak, “He hates me, I just know it Az! In all of my centuries existing, I’ve never once done anything to him! One day he wants to talk to me and then the next he wants nothing to do with me. He wouldn’t even care if I didn’t even exist.” Your voice becoming lower and lower as you continued.

A book then slammed onto the table, “Y/N! In all my millennia of knowing you and Crowley, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else look at another like the way you two do.” You jumped at not only the sudden noise, but also his words.

Crowley; in love with you?

You don’t think you’ve heard anything more impossible.

“Goodbye Aziraphale.” You said in a monotone, as you walked out of the shop; but this time he let you.

As your face confronted the cold air, you headed into the direction of your flat. Once you were halfway there, you got shoved by one of the pedestrians on the sidewalk.

You turn around to confront them, “Hey! Watch it!” but by the time you turned around all you could see is what looks like to be the older man in an army jacket who was already halfway down the street, and seemed to be heading in the same direction as the bookshop.

-

You were just about to have a nap when you suddenly got a phone call from the demon himself. You picked it up, and before you could tell him off for ignoring you for the past five days, he started to talk.

“Y/n, I need you to meet me at the Tadfield air base. Now.” You could hear something in his voice, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Crowley, if this is one of your little-” once again; you were interrupted.

“No, seriously angel, I need your help.” You knew it must’ve been serious if he was actually asking, nearly begging, for your help.

“Alright, is Aziraphale coming with us?”

“… no Y/n...” By his tone and lack of nickname, you could tell that something must’ve happened, but you decided you’d ask him once you got to the air base.

“Alright, I’m on my way.”

-

Once you had gotten to the air base, you noticed two other individuals were at the gate as well. This made you confused as to why they would be at the air base, that was supposedly abandoned from what you could see.

“Hello?” You tried getting their attention and hopefully some answers, but as they turned around you noticed that one of them looked familiar.

“Hey! You were that idiot who almost knocked me over!”  you started to aggressively stomp towards him, but a female's hand had stopped you, and spared the gentleman from your wrath.

“Lady, I’m going to have to ask you to get that hand of yours off of me!” you shoved her hand off you, and what happened next will still confuse you till the end of time.

“Y/n dear, I’m going to have to refrain you from harming that man.” Aziraphale’s voice then suddenly coming out of the mystery woman.

“A-Az?” Your brain was incapable of processing what the hell was going on, but before you could ask, a certain Bentley that was engulfed in flames and the sound of Queen coming out of it was turning towards the base.

You were still speechless by the time Crowley got out of his Bentley,

“Hey, Aziraphale! I see you found a ride. Nice dress. It suits you.”

Your head then turns towards ‘Aziraphale’ with a more than confused expression, he waved it off and said he’d explain it to you later.

Once you guys got into the base, you could already see the four horsemen, and in front of them were four… children?

Upon closer inspection, you finally realized that one of the children was standing out most to you.

“Is that? -” You pointed to the child,

“Yes, that’s the antichrist, get with the program here!” Crowley said to you with an underlying irritated tone.

That just pissed you off more.

“Oh, that’s IT!” You then turned your body around to tell him off; screw Armageddon; he was pissing you off. Unfortunately, ‘Aziraphale’ stood in front of you to stop you.

“C’mon dear, don’t do something you’ll regret.” He then guided you towards the children and the horsemen, but also knowing damn well you wouldn’t actually harm him.

-

Somehow, the children and the Antichrist who you found out eventually was named Adam, got rid of the horsemen. You were about to turn around and head back to your flat, until you heard a wretched voice.

“Y/n! Good to see you, shouldn’t you be in heaven with the other angels?” Gabriel said to you, his voice was laced with an undertone of annoyance and his violet eyes filled with fury, seeing that you were quite literally in between another angel and a demon, both that have been giving him issues since who knows when.

You felt yourself shrink into yourself, and feel your white wings become exposed as you were about to fly up.

But something stopped you, or more like someone.

Crowley was holding your hand and keeping you from leaving again, especially since he realized he’d have to fight you if Armageddon was to start. He would rather be discorporated then fight you in what he’d know would become the death of both of you.

“No, she’s not going anywhere, especially with you.” Crowley then for once stood up to Gabriel, you never thought that in your life he would do that; especially for you.

You were completely shocked but felt a warm feeling that he would even dare stand up to him for you, but I guess what has he got to lose if the end of the world starts in a few minutes?

“Fine then, you win then!” You were confused as to what he meant, until you started to hear a high pitched scream.

You then realized that this scream was yours.

Your back was burning, and you let go of Crowley’s hand as you fell to the solid ground underneath you, and both of your hands went to your back; more specifically your wings.

You then your vision was becoming darker and darker, but before you completely passed out, you heard Crowley and Aziraphale scream for your name.

-

Once you came back to your senses, you tried to stand up, but your back felt as if it was on fire, so you fell back onto the bed.

This caused you to let out a groan from pain, and this also alerted the two beings that were in the other room.

“Angel?” You heard Crowley’s voice coming from the other room and the sudden sound of two pairs of feet making their way towards you. Crowley then turned the corner with Aziraphale in his own body in tow.

“Angel, you’re alright.” He then came up to you with relief filling both of your faces, he then grabbed both sides both your face and kissed you with a passion you never knew he had for you.

You started to kiss him back, tasting some of the salt from tears that were falling from both your faces as you both then pulled away, realizing you weren’t quite alone.

“FINALLY!” You both hear Aziraphale yell, as he makes his way out of the room to give you both privacy to talk.

You laughed at him, but then a sudden jolt of pain stopped you from laughing harder. You tried to grab for your wings, but Crowley’s hand stopped you from doing so.

“Don’t worry Y/n, we’ll get him back for what that bastard did to you, even it’s the last thing I ever do.” He kisses your hand, as you turn around to see your now broken, burnt, pure black wings behind you.

[rogersbabyyy]

enemies with benefits, part 2 | roger taylor

summary: Your ‘arrangement’ with Roger (that was born from an unexpected fuck at Freddie’s party) has been working out just fine. But as the insults start to fade, the kisses becoming increasingly tender, you find that you like the man a whole lot more than you’d like to admit.

word count: 4.4k+

warnings/tags: smut (unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it) A LOT OF ANGST, fluff!!!!!, foul language

a/n- THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT! enemies part 2 is here! i hope it lives up to your expectations ahhhhHHH im sister scared. i finished writing this listening to elvis ballads and jeff buckley and i feel all lovie and my uwus are ready to be snatched. i’m not entirely happy with this, but then again i never am with anything. i also welcome feedback with open arms so please don’t be afraid to tell me what you think xox

read part 1 here if you haven’t already!

Two months later.

“Y/N,” Roger’s voice and a gentle nudge on your bare shoulder awoke you from your slumber. “Y/N.”

You shifted slightly in bed, subconsciously tugging at the silk sheets that adorned Roger’s bed to cover your naked chest, rolling on your side and feeling a dull ache between your legs. A soft grunt left your throat as confirmation that you’d heard him, and you heard him leave your side.

Opening your eyes ever so slightly, the black spiderwebs of your eyelashes filtered the London sunlight that poured through the open windows in Roger’s bedroom: a rare occurrence in the Autumn months. You caught a glimpse of Roger jumping up and down, trying to pull the skinny jeans that you threw to the floor last night over his legs. Stifling a chuckle, you raised an eyebrow at him.

“What’s so funny?” He grunted, a final bounce allowing the denim to slip up to his hips, his fingers nimbly fiddling with the zip of his fly.

“You look like an idiot.” Your voice was hoarse, presumably from yesterday, your memory of which was still somewhat hazy.

“Mhm, you weren’t saying that last night.” He leant over the queen size bed to kiss your temple, his voice climbing an octave or two as he launched into a rather unfortunate and somewhat unforgiving impression of yourself, “Oh, Roger, baby, fuck you feel so good! Your cock is so big-”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, and I never said your cock was bi-”

“Don’t start!” His breath tickled the wisps of your hair that framed your face as he laughed.

“Where are you going, anyway?”

“Thanks to your insistence that I fuck you twice last night, I bloody well slept in, didn’t I? M’late for the studio again, Fred’s gonna have a field day.” Roger’s voice was muffled as he tugged a t-shirt over his head, before peering in the mirror and ruffling his hair as an attempt to look somewhat presentable.

“Can you lock up for me after you leave?” He looked at you expectantly, a keyring dangling from his fingertip. And you hesitated. The simple request made your pulse flutter; that was something men asked of their partners, as they were leaving for work, as casual and unconcerned as asking them to pick up milk or eggs if they got a chance during the day. Whatever this thing you had going on with Roger was, it wasn’t supposed to be like that.

Yet, the two of you found yourselves becoming increasingly comfortable with each other, insults fading to gentle teasing, along with moments where you’d feel his gaze on you when you weren’t looking. Freddie had picked up on the change, giving you a knowing smile when Roger brought you a cup of tea without you having to ask, or when you’d rewrite his lyrics in your spare time to save his bandmates the struggle of deciphering his unintelligible handwriting. Thankfully, Freddie carefully chose not to mention it, but it worried you that after two months of this whole ‘enemies with benefits’ thing, Brian had begun shooting you strange glances.

Brian was, perhaps, your closest friend. You’d desperately wanted to tell him what happened between yourself and Roger since you’d fucked in Freddie’s bathroom at that damn party, but you couldn’t. Roger was like his brother. It felt like you’d betrayed his trust somehow, hiding the dirty secret that was Roger Taylor.

The subconscious nodding of your head was enough to rescue your brain from the spiral it has descended into. “Sure. I’ll come by the studio later and drop the keys off.”

“Thanks, love, but make sure Brian and everyone doesn’t see, alright? Don’t want them asking questions.” He grinned at you, tossing the keys onto the foot of the bed, and you forced a quick laugh in response.

What if you wanted them all to know?

-

Later that day, you were sat in your parked car outside the recording studio, a take away cup of coffee cradled between your hands. You blew the steam rising from the cup, watching it curl before evaporating into the air; and then returning your blank stare to the dashboard. Your denial of having feelings for Roger had left you miserable, and the thought of having to come to terms with it all was frightening, to say the least. With a sigh, you patted down the pockets on your trousers to make sure his bloody keys were there, before unlocking the car door to make your way to the studio.

You pushed the door to the control room open carefully, so as not to make any noise in case they were recording. Roger’s keys were concealed in your first, and you intended to slip them into his palm or on a nearby table when everyone’s attention was required elsewhere. That was the intention, before you saw Roger’s arm around a lovely brunette, who was giggling into his chest. Roger himself snickered around the cigarette balanced between his lips, devouring the girl with his eyes and making no attempt to hide it.

You only realised you’d forgotten to breathe when you suddenly felt inexplicably dizzy, his keys slipping from your sweaty palm and clattering to the ground, catching his attention.

“Y/N!” His grin faded and he rose from the couch, stubbing out his cigarette in the process,  “Are you alright? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

This caught Brian’s attention, who was alerted to your presence as Roger expressed his concern.

“S’just vertigo,” you shook your head once to steady yourself, then leant down to swoop up the metal in one hand. “Here’s your keys.” Your breath caught in your throat as Brian shot you a confused glance. “Um, you should really stop leaving them lying around, Miami told me you left them in his office… yeah. Anyway. I think I left the iron on, so I better get going.”

“You just got here, stay for tea, at least.” Deaky chimed in, his eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Really, Deaky, I should go. You guys look busy, anyway.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” The quip came from Roger, and his words stung you a lot more than you’d have liked to admit. The smile on his lips died quickly as he saw the hurt expression on your face, and you pulled the door open, leaving the studio without another word.

Brian’s voice filtering from inside the room was the last thing you heard before your sobs overtook your senses.

“What the fuck is going on between you two?”

-

What you and he had, it wasn’t monogamous or exclusive. You’d both agreed on the fact early on, giving explicit permission to each other to see other people. He shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t, mean anything to you. Above all, you hated that you’d forgotten how to hate him. You bit your lip against a fresh wave of tears and wiped your nose with on sleeve, chin resting on your knee (you’d been perched on the couch all evening, feeling sorry for yourself).

Three quick raps at the door was enough to pull you out of your self-lamenting melancholy trance. You immediately knew it was Roger, and as much as you wanted to ignore him, you couldn’t. You spent a precious moment deliberating this, when a further three knocks prompted you to open the door against your better judgement.

“What happened back there?” He demanded as soon as the door swung open, a hand perched on his hip. “Could you have made it more obvious? Not to mention you looked like you were about to pass clean out, are you okay? Jesus Christ.”

“I’m fine, Roger. Sorry about the keys. Just… Now’s not a good time, alright?” You looked at the floor to hide your face, cheeks most likely streaked with the day’s coat of mascara. Attempting to swing the door shut, Roger’s foot halted it’s motion; and you had no choice but to let him finish.

“Hey… hey.” His voice was soft, earnest, sincere, as he ducked his head to try and get you to look him in the eye. “Have I done something wrong?”

“I just feel so fucking stupid, Roger. I don’t know what I expected, I… I just want some time alone. I think this thing, whatever we had going on, was a mistake.”

“Was it that girl?”

You paused, debating on whether or not to tell the truth. “I never presumed you to only be with me, that’s unfair.” Breathe in, and out.

“I’ve just realised that I like you a lot more than I’d care to admit.” It came out as a whisper, and you were unsure if he’d heard you from the silence that followed your statement; until his fingertips brushed underneath your chin gently to raise your head to meet his eyes. You were surprised to see he was smiling, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re an idiot,” it came out in a breathless laugh, “you’re an idiot, Y/N. That girl, all the others, I don’t want them. They’re groupies, they’re so easy and they’re nothing compared to you. S’my vice, and it’s fucked up. I get with other women when I don’t want to think about you.”

“Rog,” you blinked, reaching up to grasp his wrist. “If you’re fucking me around-”

“No. No. Not you. S’why I didn’t want this to be serious. If I ever hurt you,” he swallowed roughly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “I’d have to let you go.”

You inhaled sharply as your eyes searched his despairingly.

“I’ve fucked up every relationship I’ve ever been in, you know that. I’ve cheated on girls, Y/N.” His voice shook and he looked at the ground, his hand residing in his back pocket. He frowned and shook his head, “I can’t be with you.”

“I want you.”

“Don’t, just don’t-”

“I’m in love with you.” In truth, you didn’t realise you were in love with Roger until those words left your mouth in a last ditch attempt to make him stay. The confession cut him off abruptly, and his face crumpled. “I’m in love with you.” You repeated it again, trying to make the words sound right in your voice, because you hadn’t prepared for this.

His trembling hand reached up to gently cradle your face, his fingertips tracing soft lines over your skin. “Silly, silly girl.” A shaky smile tugged at his lips as he leant down to let his lips barely connect with yours, ever so delicately, the touch of a fairy.

“I was fucked ever since that bloody night in the bathroom,” His lips were still touching yours as he whispered, “And because I’m a selfish piece of shit, I love you too.”

“You should probably come in,” was the only thing you found yourself capable of saying, blinking against the sudden pricking of tears that threatened to escape.

He laughed softly, slowly standing up to his full height as tugged his jacket closer to his body against a sudden rush of wind.

“Thanks, m’freezing my balls off out here.”

You opened the door wider to allow him to pass through beside you, before shutting it with a soft click. Seeing him standing sheepishly in the hallway of your modest home was always enough to make you laugh, even tonight. With his leather jacket and aviators dangling from his neck of his shirt, he looked the part of a proper rockstar, and here he was. Surrounded by photos of you cradled in your mother’s arms as a baby, and baskets of laundry that you’d been meaning to sort out for a week.

You approached him shyly, arms crossing over the dressing gown that adorned your body.

“Scared of me?” He frowned, reaching a hand out to you to pull you into his body.

“Not you. Never you.” Your arms wrapped around his sturdy, comforting torso, cheek against his chest. He returned the gesture, as he buried his nose in your hair, arms circling your waist.

“Of getting hurt, then?” He rocked you slowly from side to side, his voice cracking barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.”

His fingers traced your jaw to prompt you to look up at him. He was even prettier from up close, you thought. Your nose almost touching his, you could see the tiny sun spots that were scattered on his cheeks, the stray eyebrow hairs that you constantly itched to pluck. Paired with his unparalleled mind that you’d had the privilege to see in action more times than you could count, he was a breathtaking man.

“It’s going to be alright, ‘ve got you. Mine.”

“Is this a bad idea?” You turned your head to whisper into his neck, and his hand squeezed your arm gently.

“Yes, s’what I’ve been trying to tell you. We’re too alike, you and I. Haven’t you noticed?” He pulled back. “Stubborn. Proud. Determined. Quick tempered, pretentious... I could go on, love.”

You suppressed a smile as he paused, deep in thought.

“But we’ll never know if we don’t give this a go. I love you. I love you, alright?” His hands rested on your arms firmly as he spoke into your eyes,

“Who would’ve thought,” your voice became softer as he drew closer to you, “Us. Together.”

“Fred’s gonna lose his shit.” And he kissed you properly for the first time since he’d told you he loved you, different from the frantic kisses after a studio session with the constant fear that someone was going to walk in, different from the sloppy kisses with alcohol on your breath on Roger’s leather couch. This was almost painfully slow, his tongue gliding beside yours, his arms fully enveloping your body to pull you into him.

“Bedroom?” You murmured, as his fingers swiftly began undoing the first button of your blouse.

“Mhm, you read my mind.”

-

You weren’t prepared for this side of Roger. During sex, he could be almost politely emotionally detached, always determined to show his dominant side with a hand around your throat or letting a string of his saliva drip into your mouth. You weren’t expecting the gentle kisses that laced your collarbones, nor how his fingertips fluttered over the sides of your hips.

“This is different,” you murmured, eyes closed as his tongue glided over a particularly nice spot on your neck.

“Never made love to you properly, s’always so rushed,” he sighed. “Let me take my time with you, believe I owe you one anyway.”

“If anything, I owe you, been so awful…” you trailed off while Roger’s lips continued to travel the length of your body

“Oh, don’t start getting soft on me, lovie.” He laughed, his breath tickling your stomach as he trailed gentle kisses down toward your thighs. “Just ‘cos we’re together now, don’t change, alright?”

Together. If you’d heard those words out of his mouth two months ago, or even heard him merely suggest the notion, you’d have decked him right in the face. Funny how things change.

Your hand easily found its way to tug at his hair as he nicked the soft flesh of the inside of your thigh. “Stop teasing!”

“Sorry, angel… ready for me, yeah?”

You nodded, almost timidly, feeling a strange wave of shyness overcome you as Roger glanced up at you with an eager, desirous look in his eyes. He’d been between your legs many times before, but you were never in love with him. Making love and fucking were two very different experiences, as Roger would agree. Not to mention, you’d never been with a man so utterly skilled and eager to please you

“Nervous? Never thought I’d see the day where you’d finally become starstruck.”

“Shush. Just…” You took a moment to admire how truly lovely he was, his lips a tantalizing shade of pink, his chin gleaming with your wetness as a soft smile played at his doe-like eyes. “I love you.”

His smile transformed into an almost childlike grin, which he, almost bashfully, attempted to hide by pressing a kiss to the top of your pubic bone.

“Love you.”

A soft squeal escaped your throat as Roger took you by surprise, eagerly pressing a slow French kiss to your core. His eyes were shut as he licked a few slow, careful strips over your entrance, his button nose nudging your clit just right. An explicit moan elicited from your lips, prompting him to delve further into your wetness.

His tongue entered you and flicked tongue swiftly against your walls, as he slid a single finger in with it. The pleasure this elicited was sensational, and you let him know, whining obscenities intertwined with his name.

You were squirming underneath his skillful tongue, your thighs convulsing as you gripped his hair desperately, and when he added a second finger, you knew you were done for.

“I’m so close, oh my God-”

He hummed softly against you, his free arm hooking around one thigh so he could press his mouth as close as possible to your clit, nicking the bundle of nerves ever so slightly with his teeth before easing the sharp pain (that was just the right amount) with his tongue.

Choked moans left your lips as your back arched, his skilled mouth leaving you unable to even speak.

“Say my name. Say m’name, lovie, wanna hear you…”

“Roger...Roger, R-Rog-”

His name left your lips in a tumble, like a prayer, your chest heaving as you pressed your pelvis toward his impeccable mouth. Your orgasm washed throughout your blood like a wave, to the point where tiny silver stars interrupted your vision. Clenching your thighs around his head to keep him in place, you shook violent against his very touch.

His tongue didn’t stop, not even as you finished, and you cursed, tears from the overstimulation stinging your eyes, as you tugged at his hair to pull him away.

“Too sensitive, too much, Rog!” You whined, and he finally pulled away with a satisfying pop, his chin glistening with your wetness. His brows turned inward, looking concerned as he saw a tear track its way down your cheek.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I? Oh, love.”

You shook your head, shakily propping yourself up on a couple of pillows so you were able to grip the back of his head and kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips. A soft whimper left his throat as he rose from his knees to meet the kiss

A sort of empty feeling had arose in your pelvis, along with which came an insatiable thirst to have him inside you. It almost made you upset, something which only added to your post orgasmic hazy tears. You just needed him.

“Felt so good,” you sniffed, “So good.”

“Why’re you crying, then?” He asked, delicately stroking your cheek with the back of his fingers.

Shaking your head again, you fumbled for the bulge in his trousers, evidently straining against the restriction of the fabric.

“Jus’ want you,” you murmured, “Let me.”

“Nope.” He caught your wrist, smiling against your skin. “Tonight’s ‘bout you, angel, remember?”

“Rog,” you whimpered, “Want you-”

“You’ve got me, love-”

“No, no. Want you. All of you.”

You looked upward, desperately searching his baby blue eyes as you intertwined your fingers with his. He looked taken aback, something that was utterly unusual for Roger.

“You mean without-?”

“Yes.” You sighed, squeezing his hand. You’d never done it, had sex, that is, without protection. Roger was, of course, privy to the fact that you’d had limited sexual encounters before him, and they hadn’t exactly been fantastic. But a sudden urge had overwhelmed you to feel him, and all of him, now.

“What if-”

“It’ll be okay.”

“If you’re positive, love.” His eyes softened as he kissed your hand, his mouth lingering as he awaited your response.

“Never been so sure in my life. I love you, Roger.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” His lips found yours once more, the kiss becoming messy and passionate as he pushed you onto your back. You giggled at the sudden movement, legs circling his waist as you found yourself underneath him once again.

You reached down to his belt, and this time, he didn’t stop you. You unbuckled the leather in a practiced motion and easily slid it through the loops of his jeans, throwing it with a clang to the floor beneath the bed.

“Careful, s’was expensive.” He grinned, his fingers already tugging at his fly.

“S’pose you haven’t got any money from all those best selling albums, then? Twat.”

“Watch your mouth, darlin’, don’t make me tease you…”

“You wouldn’t.”

He paused, making a show of considering your statement.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. Not when I want you this badly.” His words dissolved into a playful snarl as he placed a wet kiss on your neck, simultaneously shrugging off the denim that hugged his thighs.

The aching, empty feeling in your pelvis returned, and you whined.

“Need you. Need you, now…”

He silenced you with a quick peck as he removed his boxers, his cock slapping his tummy, the head a pale shade of scarlet with droplets of precum leaking from the tip. It looked almost painful, and yet he took particular care to maintain a calm manner

“Shh, shh. I’ve got you, yeah? Got all the time in the world. Wanna make this special for you.”

“It’s already perfect.”

His cock nudged your entrance unintentionally as he re-positioned himself closer to you, and you hissed, a noise which he silenced with a soft kiss.

“M’not gonna last long.” You whispered, your forehead pressing against his.

“Oh, neither am I, can tell you that right now. Not when I’ve got the most lovely girl,” he brushed away strands of hair clinging to your temples, “in all of London, perhaps even the world,” he grinned, “underneath me.”

You laughed breathlessly, shaking your head at his words.

“Be quiet, silly boy.”

“Apologies, m’lady.” He smile softened as he gazed at you lovingly. “This is going to feel different, alright? Better… a lot better, actually, but jus’ prepare yourself, alright? Don’t want t’give you a shock.”

Roger gripped the base of his cock and gently pushed past your folds, and you immediately shuddered, your eyes rolling back in your head. Having his skin against yours so much more intimate than you could have ever imagined, especially being able to feel every imperfection and bump. Condoms could sometimes leave you rubbed raw, especially at the speed Roger tended to achieve, but everything was already so much smoother and utterly perfect. The both of you fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, he wasn’t too big, you weren’t too tight. Perfect.

“Alright?” He murmured, sighing into your neck. “You’re so warm, fuck, feels s’good…”

“Can feel everything,” you breathed, nails digging into Roger’s back as he continued to slide further into your warmth.

“Me too, angel, Christ-” His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and you yourself gazed at him lazily through your lashes, drunk on lust and love and all the feelings that you had for the man.

“I’m so in love with you.” He whimpered, supporting his weight on one arm as his free hand cradled your cheek. “M’ so in love. Don’t deserve you.”

“Stop saying that, Roger.” You whispered, both of you inhaling sharply as your walls briefly spasmed around his cock. “We deserve each other. You’ve got me forever if you want me.”

He smiled, pulling out halfway before slowly bringing his hips back to meet yours. “I’ll always want you.”

You tilted your chin up to kiss him as he thrusted into you once more, as your fingers, seemingly having a mind of their own, found your throbbing clit, desperate for more friction.

“Nope,” Roger gasped, brushing your hand away to replace it with his own, something you were grateful for; his touch was forever superior to your own. He nimbly rubbed against the bundle of nerves, applying just the right amount of pressure that you whining and bucking your hips to meet his touch.

“Roger, oh my-”

His speed increased in a perfectly timed crescendo; his incredible in-built sense of rhythm always left you astonished, both in the bedroom, and in the studio.

“Fuck, baby, feels so… s’good, s’good…” you gripped his shoulders desperately as he rocked against you, biting into his shoulder in an attempt to quieten your moans.

Roger transferred his weight onto his elbows, so his forehead was against yours, the new angle allowing the head of his cock to nudge a soft spot inside you that caused you to cry out.

“Tha’s the spot, yeah?”

You nodded frantically in response, not trusting your voice. Craning your neck, you watched him sliding in and out of you, the slick, heavenly, wet sounds of skin on skin only pushing you closer to the edge. The sensation of him, bare inside you, was almost, almost, simply too much to bear. Even Roger, a man who you’d once called a whore, was seemingly overwhelmed, his face contorted with pleasure as his grinded his hips against yours.

“M’gonna… cum…” he grunted, his lips parting as he moaned your name desperately, burying his head in your neck. “Where’d you wan’ it?” His words became slurred, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he began to lose himself to the wave of euphoria he was about to experience.

“Stomach,” You gasped in response.

Roger quickly, yet gently, pulled out of you, your sheer amount of wetness making it an easy task. He fisted his cock furiously, pumping his length, as he threw his head back, and it was his turn to chant your name.

“Y/N, fuck me, love, m’coming… oh!” Expeditious white, hot ribbons of cum shot onto your pelvis as he growled, strands of his tousled blonde hair clinging to his forehead. “Fuck, fuck!”

You furiously rubbed tight circles over your clit at the sight of him coming undone, and came again yourself, your orgasm creeping up on you without much warning. But, soon enough, you found your muscles seizing, eyes fluttering, your entire body feeling like it was on fire; in the best way.

Roger collapsed on top of you just as you finished, fighting to catch his breath.

“Gonna get cum on you,” you breathed, referring to the mess he’d made on your belly.

“Don’t care,” he panted, pressing light, butterfly kisses over the span of your chest and collarbones. “Beautiful, beautiful lady, n’all mine, too.”

“All yours.” You smiled, kissing his cheek and taking his hand in yours.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that. Almost didn’t think it was gonna happen.”

[myevilmouse]

2019 Fic Year In Review

2019 was the year I joined AO3 and the year I also joined tumblr. So my year in review is literally everything I have written for the Star Wars fandom.  I was not going to do one of these posts but then realized some people here may not be on AO3 and appreciate links directly to something that sounds interesting.  So if you want to know more...

I do not plot, I do not plan. I either write to an idea or a prompt or create a challenge for myself, so I will give you that little background for each fic, in case you care 😉  I like reviewing how I wanted to write the fic and how it ultimately turned out…so here we go, in chronological order, more or less:

1.            Command Performance

Idea: write hot springs sex and try to work in a non-con type scenario/fantasy

Result: My first foray into Luke/Mara. Fun and hits many of my kinks.

2.          Unity

Idea: Wanted to try writing Thryce smut and was given the TV Trope dialogue prompt “YOU!”

Result:  Wound up being long and not smutty at all, but I enjoyed writing those two self-sabotaging fools and decided I would do more of it.  Basically the fic that convinced me to write more Thryce.

3.          Deal With You

Idea: Wanted to write dubcon/hatesex, set post-TIE Defender factory blowup when Thrawn tells Pryce he will “deal with you later.”

Result: didn’t succeed in writing dubcon/hatesex, instead a power play between these wicked Imperials which wound up with an odd and unexpected happy ending.

4.          The Annual Stormtrooper Relief Fund Ball

Idea: write something cute and short for Thryce Discord “Friday Fluff”  

Result: A Gone With The Wind-inspired dance auction which still gives me those fluffy fuzzies.  I like this one.

5.          Artoo’s Viridian Adventure

Idea:  write something my young nephews could read AKA non-smutty.  Husband insisted Pikachu be involved.

Result:  Crack crossover that is suitable for all ages

6.          Corrupted Cake

Idea:  write Sex Pollen for Luke/Mara

Result:  wrote “how they got together” story for Luke/Mara.  What started as a one-shot turned into a three-chapter fic that is one of my most popular and probably most romantic.  

7.          Conduct Unbecoming

Idea:  write Uniform Kink for the fic whining circle kink challenge

Result:  Mara and Luke in a married roleplay

8.          Interpreter

Idea:  Thryce Discord talking about an AU with Pryce in Vanto’s role

Result:  One of my fave fics, as it plays to basically all my kinks. 

9.          Camera Obscura

Idea:  inspired by Phantasmagoria, a fic by @teagrl​, what would happen if sub!Luke stopped playing by the rules?

Result:  It would not go well for him.

10.     Endure

Idea:  HOW CAN THERE NOT BE ANY LUKE/MON MOTHMA FICS WHEN SHE IS LIKE THE ONLY WOMAN IN THE OT HE’S NOT RELATED TO???

Result:  Something I am proud of, written in a fragmented, experimental style since I figured the audience who dared to read would also be open-minded enough to humor my muse.

11.       Something of Significance

Idea:  Thryce Discord May the Thirst Be With You prompt:  Naboo Wine

Result:  Something sweet?  I hope? That allowed me to indulge in my wine and chocolate kinks.

12.     Common Thread

Idea:  using randomly chosen Kiss and Dialogue Prompts for inspiration, write a series of ficlets about Luke.

Result:  Lots of different scenarios, mashing Luke’s lips with many different women but usually Mara, and inspired a couple other fics!

13.     Kinetic Countermeasures

Idea:  written for “Ascension Week” challenge on the Thryce Discord, and I always wanted to write fuck-or-die…

Result:  The closest I’ve gotten to writing a threesome so far (waves at Vanto), and strangely romantic. I like this one, and had fun coming up with the chapter titles 😊

14.     Something Real

Idea:  Thryce peeps wanted a sequel to Something of Significance

Result:  This “how they got together” story for Thrawn and Pryce

15.     The Warrior’s Dancer:  Sienn’s Tale

Idea:  Another woman Luke isn’t related to, available for Jedi-lovin’! What if Luke/Sienn/Oola had a threesome?!

Result:  This fic got way longer than intended and didn’t turn out the way I had planned (no threesome sorry) but I love Luke in it and had fun fleshing out the character of Sienn who is from a short story in the Tales from Jabba’s Palace collection.

16.     THRYCE:  The Musical

Idea:  What if I did @ap-trash-compactor​’s fic A Dealer In Hope as a musical using only Billy Joel songs?

Result:  Yup, exactly the ridiculousness you would expect.

17.     Fan Mail

Idea:  Epistolary challenge in the fic whining circle

Result:  Hopefully amusing view of Luke Skywalker’s fan club and his life as a celebrity Jedi.

18.     Five Times Luke Skywalker Surprised Ahsoka and One Time She Surprised Him

Idea:  Write Luke/Ahsoka after my Common Thread chapter got such positive feedback on them, limit it to 5 + 1 format so I don’t get carried away.

Result:  I like it.  This is a ship that needs more love.

19.     Conflicting Aesthetics

Idea:  written for the SW Rare Pairs fic exchange, @elsajeni​ requested Thrawn/Original Art Forger.

Result:  My longest fic to date, completely took on a life of its own. I had way more fun than expected creating an OC, and there are way too many plot bunnies for sequels in my brain.

20.   The Art of Disguise

Idea:  Halloween Fic for Thryce, prompted by my sister suggesting Pryce dress as Thrawn for Halloween and my adamant refusal that would never happen in a gazillion years.

Result:  Fluff

21.     Corporeal

Idea:  Halloween fic for Luke/Mara, where I keep trying to get these two non-conny, and I tried to sneak a ton of Shakespeare into the fic just add to the complications of writing it

Result:  Hopefully something disturbing and spooky.  Also needs a sequel.

22.   Impetuous

Idea:  Play in @celinamarniss​’ Thrawn/Luke/Mara sandbox but get Pryce in there!

Result:  I got Pryce in there but had to neglect Mara, oops.

23.   Uneasy Alliance

Idea:  write a Padme/Thrawn treat for @theartofcertibbs​

Result:  in the course of my research, learned Zahn ships it.

24.   Anamnesis

Idea:  write Hera/Thrawn for the SW Rare Pairs fic exchange for @ysalamiri-queen​

Result:  something disturbing

25.   The Politics of Gifting

Idea:  write a holiday Thryce fic

Result:  fluff from Faro’s POV

26.   Catalysts

Idea:  write a holiday Luke/Mara fic for the Secret Santa fic exchange with two dialogue prompts and trying to get them to huddle for warmth, a trope I’ve always wanted to write.

Result:  fluff and tropes and wampas, oh my!

Other stuff:

Sonnets:     I wrote a bunch of sonnets about Luke’s outfits and one about Han for @jadedjo​.  I love sonnets.

31 Days of Star Wars:  I put all my Fictober prompts into one fic on AO3.

It’s been a productive year and I want to thank everyone in the Luke/Mara fandom and the Thryce fandom and all the other readers who encouraged and supported me.  I’m really happy to have found this creative outlet this year and look forward to providing you more fluff, smut, and angst in 2020!

[babywarg]

untitled ficlet for Ironstrange Bingo Square “Joy”

I GOT AN HOUR TO WRITE SOMETHING (checks watch) MAKE THAT 47 MINUTES LET’S SEE HOW I CAN MANAGE THIS.

Title: [tba, taking suggestions]

Summary: Tony deals with feels he’s starting to get around the wizard, convinced that Stephen had cast a spell to bewitch him.

(Pretends they got the gauntlet and somehow defeated Thanos on Titan, then came home to Earth and were all Avengers together - everyone happy and healthy and alive.)

Notes: Absolute fluff. Listening to “I’ve Put a Spell on You” by TAWK Feat. Juliet on loop while writing this. Nina Simone is still queen, but this version reeled me in somehow.

...I’m lying, I’m actually listening to “Criminal” by Disturbed, idk why.

Will be put on AO3 once I’ve fixed it up.

For the Ironstrange Bingo square “Joy.”

***

“Whatever you’re doing to me,” Tony snapped, “cut it out, right now.”

That was a hell of a greeting, Stephen said to himself.

“I -- “

“Don’t try to deny it.” Wagging a finger in his face, now. Charming. “I’ve talked to Rhodey and Natasha and Bruce, I’ve even talked to Steve. They all agreed with me that you’re doing some magic thingamajig.”

Stephen didn’t really know any of the other personalities Tony had named, but knowing Tony as well as he did, Stephen knew Tony had probably talked all of them into agreeing with him.

...or was bluffing, and they didn’t agree at all, but Tony had to invent some sort of backup for his ridiculous claim.

“What, pray tell, kind of ‘magic thingamajig’ could I possibly be doing?” Stephen quietly challenged.

Tony folded his arms tightly across his chest. Standing as close as he did, Stephen could practically feel the nervous energy that emanated from him.

Was Tony blushing?

“You used the big yellow hamster ball thingy to save the three of us when the donut ship crashed, right?” he began in a confrontational tone. “Since then I’ve felt all weird. Around you, especially.”

“Oh?” Stephen was genuinely interested. Tony’s concern for his own well-being triggered his “doctor” mode. “Can you describe the symptoms more? It would make it easier for me to prescribe treatment.”

It was possibly not magical. Perhaps it was an allergy. But could it be a magical allergy? There were books in the Sanctum that talked about that...

“I can’t sleep,” Tony began. “I have trouble eating. All I think about is you and your stupid face and your stupid voice and you kicking Thanos’ ass with me until we got the gauntlet. While I’m working, you pop into my head and I get distracted and nothing gets done. It’s like you’ve infected my brain or something. You walk into a room and everything looks brighter. When I see you I feel...happy. At peace. Like everything’s going to be okay.”

Stephen listened to all of it silently, keeping his poker face on.

“It was the yellow hamster ball thingy, I’m sure of it,” Tony finished in annoyance.

“If that were the case, Peter would also be affected,” Stephen argued.

“Yeah, I guess you haven’t noticed,” Tony said sarcastically, “but the kid’s been hanging around you a lot. And hiding it from me, even!”

“He wants to learn magic,” Stephen explained. “He thinks it’s fascinating and complementary to his scientific studies. And he knows you’re uncomfortable with magic, so he thought it best to keep you out of the loop.”

“Shyeah,” Tony scoffed, “as if that’s a better explanation than magic in this situation.”

No amount of debate would change Tony’s mind, Stephen decided. Wow, the little jerk really thought I cast a spell on him and Peter.

Then Stephen asked himself, Why not have a little fun with that?

“Oooh,” he said with an exaggerated sense of dread. “I think I see. Yeah, that's a...side effect of the big yellow hamster ball thingy, I'm afraid. Uncommon, and never intended, but could be quite potent. It’s a love spell."

Tony’s eyes went wide as plates.

“A LOVE SPELL??” he exclaimed.

“And it looks like you got hit bad,” Stephen said with a tiny pout of sympathy. “Peter did, too, but he can still function normally. On the other hand, you - Tony, you. Need intervention.”

“What?!” Tony squeaked (yes, squeaked) in alarm. “Seriously??”

“Maybe we caught it early enough. A few sessions in the Sanctum with magic therapy ought to cure it. Maybe some psychic surgery...”

“NO.” Tony all but jumped back from Stephen, holding a hand out defensively, as if he was going to blast Stephen with nonexistent repulsor rays. “NO more. Magic got me into this mess, I am NOT letting more of that stuff in me.”

“This is serious, Tony,” Stephen said, advancing boldly. “You could die.”

“From a love spell??”

“From stupidity,” Stephen said fondly, stopping just a few inches away from Tony’s face. With a smirk, he explained, “I didn't hit you with a love spell, you idiot.”

Their closeness seemed to take Tony’s breath away. He looked away, his blush becoming more pronounced.

“Then...what did you...?”

“Tony, I didn't hit you with anything.” He ran his gaze over Tony’s face, softly continued, “Speaking as a doctor...what you’ve got appears to be a little bit of what I’ve got.”

Tony swallowed. Stephen enjoyed watching that stark Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Which is...?”

Stephen reached out and tentatively touched Tony’s face. Far from tensing up, it seemed Tony relaxed under his touch.

Tony closed his eyes and parted his lips. It was all Stephen needed. He leaned forward and touched their lips together gently.

Tony kissed him back hungrily, and that was the final confirmation.

When they finally broke apart, Stephen smiled and confidently answered, “A crush.”

***

 (6 months later) “Still convinced you used your magic on me...” Tony sleepily murmured.

Stephen couldn’t believe they were having this conversation again. It was 2 fricking AM.

“Are you ever going to give me any credit?” Stephen groaned, gently rubbing Tony’s bare arm reassuringly from behind. “I didn’t need magic to get you to fall for me, okay? Just like you didn’t need any to get me to fall for you, and you did it first.”

Tony caught his hand, brought it up to his face, and kissed it.

“Wizards,” he muttered with absolute conviction, “can’t be trusted.”

Stephen pressed his lips against the back of Tony’s shoulder.

“This wizard can,” he promised. “Go to sleep, Tony.”

“Are you sure you didn’t hit me with anything? Because whatever I got, I still got it bad...”

“I’m going to hit you with something soon if you don’t shut up and go to sleep.”

Tony twisted round under Stephen’s arm so they were facing each other.

“That sounds like a threat, Mr. Wizard,” he whispered in a low, annoyingly seductive tone.

Annoying, only because it was 2 AM and they both had to get up in a few hours.

Apart from that, it was really, definitely not annoying at all.

[catchester]

12 Days of Christmas

Title: Ten Lords a Leaping

Authors: @evieplease​​ and @catchester​​

Which character: Actor!Tom and OFC Rocky

Genre: Humour/Explicit

Fic Summary: Tom and Rocky spend their first Christmas as a couple and Rocky meets Tom’s Mum for the first time. Expect 12 gifts, too much boozy, bad puns and lots of fun!

Rating: Mature

Previous Chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138390/chapters/40304798

Chapter 13 - 10 Lords a Leaping

Knowing that the Ten Lords a Leaping was looming, I’d spent ages wracking my brain to come up with something for Tom’s Tenth Day of Christmas present. Why did I ever agree to this mad scheme? But after his Nine Ladies Dancing I needed to raise the bar. Wait. Oh dear. If I couldn’t get Lords to Leap, maybe Tom and I could do the Leaping? From barre to bar? There are loads of pubs with Lords and Royalty in their names in the greater London metropolitan area! 

An hour with google maps and Bob’s yer uncle! I had a list of pubs and a walking map. There were some really terrible pub names out there! I mean, The Royal Flush? Really? They’d better have excellent plumbing! 

However, I found the best, most wonderful name of all. The Queen’s Scepter!! I can’t even think of it without laughing out loud! Though it sounds like it ought to be the name of a sex shoppe where one can buy really quality dildoes. 

I arranged our pub ‘leaping’ so that all our stops were within walking distance. We’ll take a cab to the first one, because it’s The Queen’s Scepter, (snicker!) which was farthest away, walk from pub to pub, and take a cab back from the last one, as we’ll probably be legless by then.

I checked I had all my ‘leaping’ gear. I needed to be comfortable and warm for a long day in and out of doors. I wore the red wool peacoat that Tom had given me for Christmas of course, a rather deep cut v-neck black jumper, and my good jeans, the ones that cup my arse just right. I bounced on the toes of my old comfy black trainers, eager to get to our adventures.

A beaming Tom met me on the stoop, pulling me indoors, wrapping his arms around me and bending me back to kiss me as if he hadn’t kissed me in months, instead of just this morning.

Naturally, I gave as good as I got, my tongue dancing with his, my hands in his hair and my leg winding around his thigh. Finally he let me up for air and grinned down at me.

“Now will you tell me what you have planned for today?”

I grinned slyly back. The only clue I’d given him was to wear comfortable shoes. He’d taken it a little far, if you ask me, he looked more like he was going hiking, but that wax jacket with a hoodie underneath did suit him, and he was in those lovely old, soft, black jeans so I wasn't about to ask him to change! I kind of liked the tan Caterpillar boots, they gave his posh image a working man’s edge, which oddly suited him. I realised I’d been staring at him for longer than was perhaps appropriate. 

“Um, right.” I surreptitiously checked for drool in the guise of fixing my lipstick. That might have been more suave if it hadn’t been lip balm. 

“This was a tricky one! I mean, short of setting Parliament on fire, where the hell am I going to get Ten Lords a Leaping?! And anyway the lazy sods aren’t even in session!” I waved my arms about in exasperation.

Tom looked faintly alarmed. “Well, not to mention that it is Christmas,  and you’re not Guy Fawkes, after all!”

“And aren’t you glad I’m not!” I wriggled my bum and batted my eyelashes at him, just to remind him how lucky he is. “So, while I wouldn’t mind doing something that would shift that lot off their arses, I can hardly wait to see what you’ve laid on for Eleven Pipers Piping, and I don’t want to be languishing at Her Majesty’s pleasure for it! Plus, your Nine Ladies Dancing was so brilliant! I needed to raise the barre, so to speak… And anyway, they say that ten out of Ten Lords proof-er drinking in the daytime!”

Tom glanced out the window at the chilly, grey day. “So we’re going to a pub...?” He frowned. “What does that have to do with Lords a Leaping?” 

I crossed my arms and shook my head in mock disapproval at his slowness.

“Well, I figured that if the lazy bastards won’t leap to it, it’ll have to be our job! And there are loads of pubs named after Lords and other Royalty, so we’re going on a Ten Lords Pub Leaping!”

Tom choked “Good Lord! That’s…so bad, it’s actually good!”

“Why thank you,” I curtsied. “So you approve, then?”

“Certainly! It sounds marvelous fun!”

“Well, I’m glad I won’t have to gin up any excitement, because I’ve been tankering with the list of pubs and maps all morning!”

“And will we have to order particular drinks at each of these noble establishments?”

“Nah. Let’s just play it by beer.”

“ Well, you’ve done an excellent job, as far as I can see.”

“It’s ale in a days work!”

Pulling up to the Queen’s Sceptre, Tom stepped from the cab onto the kerb and gallantly offered me a hand out. I stifled a snicker. If my Posh Idiot wants to treat me like a grand lady, am I going to object?

Besides, his hand was warm when I slid my cold fingers into his palm, and when he tugged me onto my feet he met me with a kiss. I shivered in the cool damp air and he bundled me into the pub.

The Queen’s Sceptre was a traditional olde worlde pub with dark beams overhead and a quiet fire in the fireplace, immediately warming us.

Tom helped me off with my coat. “Thank you again for my pretty wool coat, Tom.” I stroked the sleeve. Tom smiled, pleased. “It’s totally baa-aa-d-ass!”

Now he groaned and rolled his eyes. “You know, when I was shopping for your gift, I had a conversation with myself…” he trailed off expectantly. Ok, I’ll play.

“Oh yes? Do tell!” I raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“It’s a coat, I said to myself. What could possibly go wrong with a coat, I asked myself. I totally forgot to check for puns!”

I stood on my toes and kissed the end of his nose. “Now you know! It’s good to learn something new each day, right? You should write it up as a life-hack!”

“What, and give some runny nosed kid online the opportunity to say ‘Ok, boomer’ to me? I think snot.” Tom raised an offended eyebrow and I snickered. I’d like to see some kid try to get away with calling Tom old!

After we ordered our drinks at the bar, I plopped down on the bench and looked around the scarred old place. There were cracks in the plaster, probably left over from the London bombings during the war. The rough wood floor had probably never been polished, the tabletops were gouged and scratched, and the mullioned windows were filled with wavy, bubbled old glass. There were only a couple of other drinkers there. But the place was perfect. It carried the rich, warm, smell of good ale, and the scent of the logs burning on the fire.

“Your sheep impersonation needs some work, by the way,” he told me. “That ‘baa’ sound needs to come from the throat,” he rubbed his hand suggestively along his throat, tracing a finger around his adam’s apple. “You need to practice until you can literally feel the vibration and-”

I stared at him, my mouth falling open. Was he seriously trying to give me an acting lesson here to improve my sheep bleating?? I’m supposed to be the weird one in this relationship, not him!

“Then with a little-” he stopped and burst out laughing. “I’m sorry... your face!” he said between guffaws. 

I could feel my blush rising but hopefully he’d think it was still from the cold outside. He’d got me, but there was no way I was going to admit that!

Fortunately the barman interrupted for our drinks order. I went for a lager, and Tom asked for a glass of wine, whee aren’t we adventurous?

Soon we were sitting at a table in the window of the nearly empty pub, looking out at the grey day.

“I have to say, I’m impressed by your choice of a pub crawl,” Tom grinned at me over his wine, his eyes twinkling merrily. “This ought to be interesting, since you can’t hold your liquor.”

“Can too!” I drew myself up indignantly.

“Darling,” he drawled, “you were three sheets to the wind the first time you met my mother! Your first words to her were, if I remember correctly, to stumble over calling her ‘Mum’, ‘Hiddleston’ and ‘Mrs. Posh Idiot’! You were squiffy!

“How long are you going to bludgeon me with that one for?” I teased. “But, that’s fair,” I nodded judiciously. “Of course I’d had nearly half a bottle of scotch on my own, and it was all your fault!”

“My fault?! How was you turning up trolleyed my fault?”

“She was your mother!”

Tom blinked, confused. “Well yes, she was. I mean, she still is.” He shook his head.  “What’s your point?”

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously, I’d never have got drunk in front of your mother if you hadn’t insisted on introducing me! It stands to riesling.” 

“You’re treading a vine line, there.” He snorted and looked skeptical, but he had to concede my logic. Reluctantly.

“Now let’s have a look at this list of Lordly pubs of yours.”

I pulled the list and map from my bag and set them in front of Tom with a flourish: 

The Queens Sceptre

Sir Vesa’s

The Lord Lucan

The Royal Flush

The Barons Bollocks

The Duchess and Tipple

Down for the Count

The Bloody Queen Mary

The Earls Whiskers

The Laird of Scotch

The Princes Licker

The Rummy Lord

The Fresh Prince

The Dukes Drunk Ducks

The Kings Cocktail

Tom ran a finger down the list and laughed. “You’ve got fifteen pubs listed here, love, not ten!

“Hey, it’s not my fault that London publicans have an over fondness for kissing Royal arse!” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, some of them are too far away for our walking programme. I only included the ten in walking distance of each other. Check the map. See?”

Tom flipped the list over and looked at our proposed ‘leaping’ route.

Tom laughed, pointing at The Prince’s Licker. 

“Is that really what it’s called? The Prince’s Licker??”

I grinned. “Well no, it’s spelled Liquor. But I like my spelling better, as in ‘Candy is dandy, but lick-her is quicker to her heart’!”

Tom pulled me closer and nuzzled behind my ear. “It certainly is with you.”

I nuzzled back. “And you have a very good licker…” I trailed off suggestively.

Tom promptly licked a broad, very wet stripe up my cheek as I squealed and ducked away. “Guess I deserved that,” I said ruefully, scrubbing at my face with the sleeve of my jumper. Tom innocently drank from his glass, returning his attention to the list.

“The Lord Lucan.” he mused. “Isn't he the one who murdered his nanny, tried to murder his wife, and then disappeared, never to be seen again?” 

“Yes,” I said with a grin. The macabre nature of the pub’s namesake had played a little into my choice. “You order your drinks at the bar, then they hide them and you have to find them before you can drink.”

“Are you serious?” 

“No,” I laughed. “But it is said that only 50% of customers are ever seen again.”

He wasn't falling for it this time, no matter how deadpan my delivery. 

“And the staff all carry pokers to bludgeon rude customers?” he suggested. 

“Not far off,” I grinned and explained. “They stage murder mystery nights once a month, so if we like it here, we could try one sometime.” 

“That sounds perfectly gruesome. We should go some evening.”

“I’ll check their schedule.” I promised. “You can’t get near it at Halloween, but it should be ok at any other time of the year.”

Tom looked back at our list. He grimaced at the next one.

“The Royal Flush? What is that?”

“I know, right? I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a pub, a gambling hell, or a shop that sells gold toilets!“

“I don’t know, darling. I don’t have high hops for a pub that has the word Flush right in its name.”

“Yeah, I think urine trouble if they can’t come up with a better name for a pub! It’s out of our walking zone, so we’re spared that one, anyway. What about the next one?”

“The Barons Bollocks?” Tom narrowed his eyes at me. “Did you spell that one wrong as well?”

I laughed. “Maybe? It used to be called the Barons Bullock, but some wag went and painted over the original letters on the sign. Every time the landlord fixed it, someone would come round and change it back. Eventually the landlord just gave up and left it that way. I hear their drinks are strong enough to put hair on your chest, and further south!” 

“But darling, I like your chest just the way it is!” Tom traced a finger along the neckline of my jumper.

I glanced down. Oops. There was a bit too much of the girls on display for the public. I gave my jumper a tug and Tom sat back looking disappointed. 

“Too bad.” I consoled him in mock sorrow. “But I wouldn’t want to get a chest cold.”

“Or a cold chest, I suppose.” Tom brightened and nuzzled my ear. “But I’d be happy to warm them up for you.”

“I’ll let you know,” I said dryly. I shook the pub list at him to get his attention off my boobs.

“The Duchess and Tipple is supposed to have quite a good wine cellar. And they have 2 for 1 House wine at happy hour!”

“Well, that’s an offer we decant refuse!

We finished our drinks at the Queen’s Sceptre and pulled on our coats. I grabbed Tom’s hand, tugging him out  the door. 

“Come on, Sir Vesa’s is only hops, skip and a jump from here!” I did my best to hop, skip and jump, but it’s not as easy as it sounds.

“Come on!” I urged Tom, who was laughing as he watched me. “Live a little!”

“How far is this pub?” he asked. 

“According to the map, we’re only a quarter of a mile away.” I gave him my best side eye. “Yeah, you’re probably too old to skip for that long.”

His eyes narrowed. I was going to pay for that quip later. I couldn't wait!

“Fine.”

And so we ended up going this weird sort of flailing hop scotch dance down the pavement. Do you know how hard it is to hop, skip, and jump while laughing and dodging other, more sedate walkers? For a miracle nobody grumbled at our cavorting like ninnies, some even laughed and joined us for a hop or two! It must be the season.

Laughing and breathless from leaping about playing silly buggers down the pavement, I saw my chance. A narrow space between buildings was dark, a street light shining faintly through at the end of the gap, showing that the space was deserted. It was just the thing!

I tugged his hand and pulled him into the dark, turning and slinging my arm around his neck, reaching up on my toes to lick my way into his mouth.

Fingers ran over my cheek and down my neck, moving around my nape to dig into my hair and return the favour.

Tom braced himself with a hand on the bricks beside my head, brushing his lips teasingly across mine, but I wasn’t having it. I wanted his body against mine, and wrapped my hands in his jacket, pulling to grind against him. Tom chuckled into my mouth.

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea…”

The warm wool of my coat cushioned me against the frigid brick wall at my back, but I could still feel the chill seeping through. It was bloody cold out there! Tom, however, was warming my front nicely, his body pressing into mine as he took over the kiss, heating me up from the inside. I wanted to put my hands in his hair, but my damned gloves…

Tom lifted his head, searching my face for something. I was about to pull him down for another kiss just to see if he really could make me burst into flames, when he startled and his head whipped toward the entrance of our dark little niche.

I’d been so lost in his kisses that I hadn’t even noticed the chattering and noise of passersby until that moment. A loud burst of laughter echoed around us as a group of men walked past, joking and pushing each other as they passed only a couple of meters from us.

Tom took a step back with a shake of his head and a regretful sigh. Yeah, that place was too public, and I didn’t fancy getting caught doing Tom Hiddleston in a dark alley! I’m not into exhibitionism anyway, and the reminder that we were nearly in public cooled me right off. 

I shrugged and grinned ruefully at Tom, standing on my toes for a quick brushing kiss over his lips.

“Baby, it’s cold outside…”  I sang. Tom chuckled.

“Then let us repair to somewhere warmer. Perhaps to yon public house?” Tom made a grand sweeping gesture and offered me his arm with a bow.

“Delighted, good Sir!” I laughingly tucked my hand in his elbow and he drew me back onto the busy pavement, nonchalantly merging us into the bustling foot traffic without a ripple. We were only a couple of doors from our destination.

Sir Vesa’s turned out to be surprisingly posh, with menus at the tables and waitstaff to take your order. My tummy rumbled. I immediately determined that I hadn’t had enough chips in my life.

“Oh look! I pointed at the drinks menu. They have Budweiser on tap! I’ve never had any, have you?

Tom made an adorable moue of disgust. “I have. Listen to me well when I tell you, Bud you’d be wieser to choose something else.”

“Yeah? Like what?”  

 “Like watered down goat piss!”  Tom muttered quietly.

I choked. Eugh! I flipped the menu over, glancing down the list. “Oh, do they have that here?” i feigned innocence.

Tom looked at the menu over my shoulder, pretending to be serious. “Doesn’t look like it. Nope, no goat’s piss. Only the Budweiser.”

“You mean they don’t have real goat’s piss on offer, they only have the artificial stuff in a Budweiser can?? Well, all I can say is that’s a bitter pils to swallow!” I made my most outraged face and looked ‘round for the barman. 

Tom slid an arm over my shoulders, holding me firmly in my seat, obviously not trusting me not to leap up and give the barman a piece of my mind on his lack of authentic goat’s piss. Wise man, our Tom.

“Now darling, you mustn’t harass the barman over his stock. You wouldn’t want to booze his ego, would you?”

“Who said anything about egos?” I eyed the man behind the bar. “He looks a stout young man, but I bet I could take ‘im…”

“Darling, I forbid you to take the poor man anywhere!! I’ll nip this in the bud!” And then Tom used his patented distraction technique, snogging me until I forgot what I was saying.

“Mmmm.” I blinked my eyes open and tried to stop my knees wobbling. Well, that was… refreshing. “Um. What was I saying?” 

“We were perusing the menu,” Tom said with a sly smile, and I turned my attention back to the menu in my hand. Luckily while page one was the tried and not-so-true international brands, page two made this beer bar worth the visit. Of course the cervesa pun didn’t hurt, either! I don’t think you could have kept us out once we heard that name.

The various beers were described like a posh wine menu that had been turned into beer porn. 

For example, Vienna Pale was described as “Based on the classic Vienna Lager style (though technically an ale), and annoyer of a certain type of beer geek, Vienna Pale is a sweet, malty drinking pint, with plenty of Saaz, Citra and Cascade dry-hopping to keep things interesting”. 

I giggled over the menu. It might have been a little pretentious, if someone hadn’t come along and dirtied up the prose, but what the hell.

 In the end, I chose a Pilot Bucks Peach, of which the menu said ‘Pilot is a Leith microbrewery that specialises in kick-arse brews. Lovingly handcrafted by braw men in kilts, it’ll lay you out with a smile on your face!’

Apparently it came in flavours! I didn’t fancy the mochachino flavoured one, which seemed more like a breakfast beer, if there is such a thing, but the Buck’s Peach sounded good.

Tom opted for one called, with devastating originality, An IPA. 

I knew that meant an India Pale Ale. It was described as “An interpretation of the challenge ‘Create a New Scotland IPA’. A mix of malted oats and barley, then dry hopped both during active fermentation, then once fermentation is complete. A juicy, orgasmic starburst of a beer.”

“Tom, you know that it’s just beer, right? I mean it’s a bit much to expect the earth to move from a beer..” I cautioned him, shaking my head at the over-the-top description.

Tom’s lips twitched.. “But I have such high hops for it!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I hope it moves you to cheers!” I patted his hand. “If the earth doesn’t move, I’ll move it for you when we get home, dear.”

The beer turned out to be pretty good, but nowhere good enough to move anyone’s earth. Eh, the chips were much better, golden crisp on the outside, lovely, hot, and mealy in the center. With lashings of salt and malt vinegar they were the orgasmic item on the menu!

Tom took the last chip on my plate as I was swallowing the last of my Bucks Peach, which was a good lager, but not peachy at all. My other hand came down on his wrist, pinning it to the table. I carefully set my glass down and narrowed my eyes at him.

The fucker gave me those big puppy dog eyes and I lost all desire to fight him for it. I let go his wrist and gently took the chip from him, brushing his lips tantalizingly with it.

Tom delicately took it between his teeth and nibbled it down to my fingertips, licking the last of the salt away. 

I sighed. “The sacrifries I make for you…” and shook my head. Tom chuckled.

“Darling, I always pay my debts.” His hand slid around to the nape of my neck and he leaned in to take my lips in a searing kiss that I felt all the way down to my toes.

“That’s only the down payment, you’ll get the balance when we get home,” he murmured against my lips. I tried not to whimper too loudly when he sat up.

“Right. Get off your heineken, it’s time to go. What’s next?” Suddenly Tom is all business. I blinked, and after a moment to gather myself, got the list from my bag.

“It says here The Lairds Scotch. And it’s only three doors down.”

A quick dash into the cold and we were there.

Tom took my coat, and when he came back I nodded at the bar, turning innocent eyes up at him.

“If you ask the barman to help you find the good scotch does that make him your spirit-guide?”

“Dear god, I hope so,” he groaned. “I’m going to need all the spiritual help I can get after that clanker!” 

“Oh look,” I pointed to an upright piano next to the opposite wall to change the subject. I could just imagine people having a sing-song around it in the old days. “You should give us a tune,” I cajoled as we stepped up to the bar. 

Tom ordered a Laphroig, but I couldn’t face any more scotch after my last go round. I asked for a G&T. 

“It doesn't look like it’s been tuned since the war,” Tom deflected. 

“They play it every Sat’de,” an elderly gentleman at the next table interrupted. “Owner’s son is studying music and he or one o’ ‘is friends play for us every weekend.” He nodded judiciously. “They’re not bad.”

Tom did not look thrilled by this news, but I’d seen his eyes linger longingly on the old piano. 

“There you go,” I smiled smugly as I sipped my G and T. 

“If I’m playing, you’re singing,” he challenged. 

Ooh! Things just got interesting. Well, whatever my reluctance to be caught singing in public, if he wanted this, then I would give it to him. But I’d make him work for it!

“Is that right?”

“Of course, the only song I know is Little Drummer Boy,” he said as if that settled it. Bloody hell, I hate that song!

“No,” I shook my head. “There will be no pa-rum-pa-pums! Besides,” I sassed, “Drummers are the twelfth day of Christmas! And I definitely remember your Mum saying something about how you’d regale them with Christmas carols every year until you left for Uni!” 

“My darling,” He affected a world weary air. “Do you have any idea how long ago university was for me?” 

“Sure, grandpa,” I teased. “But you don’t play something for that many years and just forget it.” 

I polished off my G&T, and went to order another from the barman. I’d need more booze to get me up to the piano. Either I sing better when I’ve had a good belt, or I only think I do. But it’s all in the mind, right? Let’s hear is for Dutch Courage!

I brought another scotch for Tom as well, even though he doesn’t actually need any Dutch Courage to perform. He’s in his element. But fair is fair, right? If I need to get tipsy to sing in public, well, he’s just going to have to keep up!

“I’ll tell you one I do remember.” The twinkle in his eye had an evil slant. 

“Hmm?” I was cautious. God knows what he’d come up with

“I’ll be Home for Christmas.”

I smiled smugly. He thought he’d stump me? Ha! I know that song. By heart, even. I love that old tune. Dad had a bunch of old LP’s, and an honest-to-god turntable, and he loved to play the old songs at Christmas time. His favourites, and mine as well, were Nat King Cole, and Bing Crosby. 

But I decided to be difficult. Anyway, if he thinks I don’t know the tune, he’s in for a surprise! And there’s nothing I like better than surprising Tom.

 “Sorry, I don’t know the lyrics.”

“And you say I’m the old one,” He laughed. “Google them on your phone, you numpty!” Tom rolled his eyes and shook his head despairingly.

Yeah, I was sort of hoping he wouldn’t think of that. What the hell, I’d made him work hard enough for it. I relented. Besides, he has to pay for that ‘numpty’ crack!

“Bring it.”  I tossed my hair behind my back and straightened my jumper, giving it a little tug downward to distract him.

It’s a song written from the perspective of a soldier in World War II, to his girl back home.”

His eyes closed and I could see him relax, his shoulders went down and his head fell forward, drawing a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. His long fingers carefully picked out the tune as if reminding himself how it went. 

His fingers danced over the keys as he launched into the slow, romantic song. It did have a world war two vibe to it. I swear he could have been one of those old fashioned crooners as he began to sing in his smooth baritone. I shouldn’t have been surprised, he’s an amazing mimic, and I saw I Saw the Light.

“I'll be home for Christmas...You can plan on me… Please have snow, and mistletoe...and presents by the tree…”

 Tom lifted his chin at me, commanding me to sing with him. I smiled and purposely set my mobile down on the piano, joining in with my alto voice.

 “Christmas Eve will find you...Where the love light gleams...I'll be home for Christmas...If only in my dreams…”

The old gent and his friends, as well as the barman joined in and sang the rest with us. They clapped when we’d finished, encouraging Tom to play more.

One of the old gents waved his pint glass at us. “Can you give us Oh Holy Night, lad?

Tom nodded. “If you don’t mind the odd stumble, I might just manage it, “ Tom said modestly. Then he launched into the old church music, the old men singing along with us. Dad had always dragged us to Christmas services, so I was able to keep up.

Where I didn’t remember the verse, I sipped at my G&T and enjoyed the men’s voices winding together. They weren’t half bad! Everybody clapped happily at the end, egging Tom on to play another.

Tom laughingly agreed, sliding me a sly challenging look. He was a picture, his face flushed with exhilaration and happiness. It’s a good look on him. And it melts my knickers!

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…”  There went that challenging eyebrow. I wrinkled my nose at him and joined in.

“Jack Frost nipping at your toes...Yuletide carols being sung by a choir...And folks dressed up like Eskimos…”

The old gents were silent, not knowing the lyrics, I suppose. So we gave them a duet. Dad would have been proud.

When we’d finished and the last lingering note faded the gents applauded and called compliments, offering us another round, which we both declined. But we gave them Auld Lang Syne for an encore, and they all joined in. Tom laughingly refused requests for more.

“I’d better get back to my date, or there won’t be any kisses for me tonight!” he kidded. “And she’s ever so much better looking than you lot! Thanks for letting me play your piano!”

I tend to forget that Tom is such a born performer until moments like that. Watching him perform for an audience is like watching a rose bloom on fast forward; all that is hidden quietly away burst into full colour, and everyone nearby just basks in it.

When we went to finish our drinks back at our table, I slid into his lap, nuzzling his hair and wrapping my arms around him wordlessly. He is so precious to me, and I’m not making a Lord of the Rings joke.

At the Duchess and Tipple Tom made me drink a big glass of water after I called it the Duchess and Nipple, and couldn’t stop giggling. We agreed it was time for dinner.

“How about the Dukes Drunk Ducks? That’s not too far from here.”

“The what?”  

“Dukes Drunk Ducks. It’s an old legend. It used to be called The Dukes Duck. One day the landlady came down to find all her ducks dead. Being a practical sort, she shrugged and put duck on the menu for that night. But as she was preparing them to cook, they woke up! Apparently they were only drunk and passed out after drinking from a leaking barrel of ale, not dead, and the name kind of stuck.” 

“Yeah, okay, they sound like ducks I’d want to know.” 

“I haven't been there for a few years but they used to do good food too.”

I checked my watch. “We do need something to soak up the alcohol,” I agreed. That and the mile long walk there should help sober us up enough to finish the crawl, I mean ‘Leap’,  without being totally blotto. A good night out is no fun if you can’t remember it the next day! 

“We’d best have a pee before we leave,” Tom cautioned. 

“Good idea.” Yeah, a mile long walk with crossed legs didn't sound like much fun.

***

The Drunk Duck took its name and theme very seriously. Every wall was adorned with pictures of ducks, including duck portraits of ducks in Victorian clothing, some in military uniforms with high ranking titles. 

Mr Firequacker, Sir Quacks a Lot, and Admiral Moby Duck were among my favorite names, although the fanged duck in a black cape titled Count Quackula topped my fav list. 

“I’m surprised they don’t have duck a l'orange,” I said. 

“You don’t kill your namesake,” Tom said with mock shock, clutching his chest. 

“I don’t care how much I like this place, I am not giving up crispy duck pancakes with hoisin sauce. Not even if I can never look another duck in the eye again.”

Tom Laughed as the waiter set our plates in front of us, wished us bon appetit, and bustled off. I smiled at Tom over my Shepherds Pie and he smiled fondly back, and we both took a bite.

“It’s pretty good stuff, this.” I scooped a bit more onto the back of my fork.

“Not as good as yours, though.”

“Well, cheers!” I lifted my glass of wine and tilted my glass to him.

“Mm. Pudding was even better, as I recall.” Tom purred, sending shivers down my spine. My brow furrowed. I didn’t remember any pudding.

“What pudding ? We drank beer and watched Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen destroy some poor sod’s house!”

Tom wiped his mouth with his serviette and grinned wickedly.

“Oh yes! I distinctly remember I had a couple of lovely frozen bombes with cherries on top.” Tom’s eyes fell to the v-neck of my jumper, and I felt my face warm.

“Uh huh. Icy what you did there.” 

We each nursed only one glass of wine during the meal, but we ordered water too and stayed for desert. I was feeling almost sober as we left, but I could do with the walk to the next bar to help the food digest. 

“Where to?” Tom asked as we stepped out the door. 

“Oh, um…” I felt my pockets but couldn’t find the list. “The Bloody Bits of Barons or something?” 

“Do you mean The Barron’s Bollocks?”

“That’s the one. But I think my name is better.” 

“Definitely more memorable, darling,” Tom piped up. “And rather bloodthirsty. If I ever become a publican I shall definitely call my establishment The Baron’s Bollocks.” He discretely hid a belch behind his hand.

God, I adored that cut glass accent of his. He could say absolutely ridiculous things like that and still sound like a sexy toff. It wasn't fair! I was about 50% sure I was drooling by now, and I’m absolutely certain that my mascara has migrated south since I put it on before we left. Tom meanwhile just had that sexy, tousled look about him. All he needs is some lipstick. Which I was happy to provide! I grabbed his chin and snogged him hard. Leaning back, I surveyed him. Damn, that shade looks as good on him as it does on me.

I eventually found my list in a pocket I was sure I’d checked three times already. 

I slipped my arm through Tom’s and leaned my  head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly as we strolled along.

“You seem happy.” Tom noted. 

“Mmm,” I wrapped my other arm around his too. 

“If I’d known feeding you was all it took to tame the beast, I’d have tried it months ago,” he laughed. 

The idea of having been tamed made me giggle. Okay, maybe I wasn't quite as sober as I felt, but I was feeling very happy right now, even if I was freezing my metaphorical bollocks off.

“Feeding’s not the only thing that tames me,” I purred, but the effect was rather ruined when I slipped on a patch of ice. Luckily Tom was there to catch me up. I might have hammed it up a bit.

“We still have three more pubs to get to!” Tom groaned, scrubbing at his face to wake himself up

“No, two more!” I corrected.

“Three!” 

“Look, mister, this is my day and if you keep arguing, it’ll be four.” I crossed my arms and glared at him. We’d been arguing about whether it was Ten or Eleven Lords a Leaping all evening. Tom liked the alliteration, the drunk posh idiot. Alliteration! I ask you!

“But, that’s brewtal! I’m sure-”

“Five.”

“Alright! Okay, you win! Please don't make me go to five more pubs! We’ll be drunk as Lords until Easter!”

“Now see how much easier it is when you agree with me?” I smiled my victory and batted my eyelashes.

“Well the alliteration is still better with Eleven Lords a Leaping,” he grumbled,  “but if you make us go to 13 pubs neither of us will be having much fun after! So, what’s it going to be?

“Fine, we can skip the Duke of Marlborough. Never liked his ciggies anyway.” I drew a rather drunken line through the name, and Tom took it from me, stuffing it in his pocket.

Tom grinned, pleased to have won. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Oh yes you will!! What’s next?” I patted my pockets again. Wait. Now Tom had my list as well! But he had an excellent memory. Well, he did when he wasn't drunk. I reached for his pocket to retrieve the list of pubs, but he wasn’t having it. After tussling with him for a minute I gave up and tried for a stern expression.

“Hang on, this is my game! I make the rules.” I tilted my head, thinking hard. “It is my game, right?” 

Tom snickered into his pint of cider. “You, my darling, are drunk.”

“You wouldn't exactly pass a breathalyser either, buddy! Better still, I’d like to see you do those American tests, where you walk heel to toe and touch your finger to your nose!” I swayed as I made my point. What was it again?

“I’d rather touch your nose,” Tom smouldered as he leaned in close, his nose inches from mine. 

I shook my head as if shaking off a stupor. “Hey, no fair using The Smoulder to distract me!” I paused, trying to puzzle out where I was going with this. “Um, what were you distracting me from, anyway?” 

“Hell if I know.”

“My good sir, you are snockered!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Not!”

“Too!”

“That’s the way to do it,” the barman said with a chuckle as he wiped down the neighbouring table.

“Sorry?” Tom asked. 

“Am not, are too?” he imitated them. “I thought you were doing pantomime. ‘Tis the season, right?” 

“‘That’s the way to do it’ is Punch and Judy,” I corrected him.

“Oh no it isn’t,” the barman teased.

“Oh yes it is!”

“This could go on for a while and I need to pee.” Tom drained the rest of his cider before he stood up and headed for the toilets. “Behave yourself!” he shot over his shoulder as he ambled away.

“Right, onward to the next bacchanalia! The Bloody Queen Mary was it?” 

I pulled the list from my pocket and unfolded it. “Yes.”

We staggered out into the cold night air. I breathed deeply, letting it sober me up a little. 

Not that I was roaring drunk. Not quite. Not yet. This next one was our second to last pub of the night though, and we were only having one each. Two more couldn't hurt too much, right? 

Down for the Count was our final pub of the night and I held up my glass of sherry and giggled. I was definitely getting tiddly. And naughty. “Here’s to every Tom’s Dick and Sherry!”

“That, my dear, was a toastament to bad puns! And who’s this Sherry bird, anyway?” Tom squinted at me. “You aren’t setting up a threesome are you?”

“No fear,” I snickered, “I don’t think Tom’s dick would be up to the job after all this!” I waved my glass around, spilling it over the rim. 

Tom grinned. “Apparently Sherry is sloshed as well!”

I snickered and made a small noise of annoyance at the sherry trailing down my wrist, glancing around for something to wipe it off, but there were only glasses and coasters on the small table.

Tom tisked, taking my glass from me and lifting my hand to his mouth. “May I?” The fucking smoulder was back.

“Be my guest.” My voice had gone all breathy, and I swallowed hard as his tongue came out and delicately licked the trickle of sherry from my wrist to my fingers.

Hot blue eyes stared into mine as he sucked a finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around each one to clean the sticky sherry from my fingers.

I breathed out hard, squirming in my seat to ease the need building below as he left a kiss in my palm.

“Mmm. Sherry tastes sweet, but you taste sweeter…” 

“I’ll call us a cab,”

It started to snow on our way home in the cab, just light flurries at first, and then big, fat flakes drifting down out of the sky just as we were climbing out of the cab in front of Tom’s.

The cab left, and Tom wrapped his arms around me, turning my back to his front, and setting his cheek next to mine. We stood on his top step, tranquilly watching the snow fall , peacefully muffling the city noises all around us, listening to each other’s breathing as it fogged in the cold air.

Tom was warm at my back and I leaned against him, wrapping my own arms over his, and just simply enjoying the quiet moments.

Eventually I realised that I needed to pee. With that came the awareness that my feet were freezing in their trainers, and a headache was beginning to bloom behind my eyes.

I turned my head back and up, kissing Tom’s cool lips for a long luxurious moment.

I whispered in his ear, “I really need to pee.”

He didn’t laugh, he simply nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket and let us in. Tom took my coat as I kicked my trainers off and padded through the dark house to the loo.

I gasped when I flipped the switch, light stabbing through my eyes and waking my incipient headache. I quickly flipped the light off, deciding that there were some things that I was perfectly capable of doing in the dark.

I did what I needed to do and had a quick wash before I opened the door and found Tom leaning on the wall opposite, with two bottles of water and a bottle of paracetamol crooked in his elbow against his chest.

He took my hand and quietly drew me up the stairs, undressed me, and sat me on the bed. Setting down his burden, he twisted the cap off a bottle of cold water and handed it to me, quickly doing the same for himself.

“One more drink, darling. What shall we drink to?” 

“Don’t know, don’t care!”

“That’s good enough!”

He tapped his water bottle against mine and we both drank thirstily. I moaned at the cool liquid sliding down my throat, it felt so good.

“Nothing like copious amounts of alcohol to dry you out.” Tom set his half empty bottle down and opened the paracetamol, tapping two out on his palm and offering them to me.

I’m nobody’s fool, I took the damn pills even though I detest swallowing them. If I didn’t  I knew I’d be sorry in the morning.

I fell back on the bed with a groan. Tom settled me under the blankets, chuckling and ignoring my uncoordinated attempt to do it. I gave up and let him man handle me because I really was tired.

Stripping off as he made his way a little carefully into the ensuite, I listened drowsily to the homey sound of Tom humming to himself as he did whatever. I think it might have been a bit of the Nutcracker. My eyes were drifting shut on the slightly swaying bed, feeling warm and sleepy.

Tom lifted the blankets and slid in next to me, wrapping around me and dropping a kiss below my ear.

I woke some time before dawn with Tom’s warm body spooned around me from behind, and my bloody phone ringing far too loudly.

[razorblade180]

Melody of the Heart 2

Everyone: The category is love!!!?

Jaune and Ren: That shouldn’t be too hard.

Adam and Mercury:We’re screwed......

Tai:......*looks at Raven and Summer* oh boy....

*Yang, Sun, and Ilia smile at Blake*

Blake:*red*(Why?)

CFVY:*thinking intently*

Ruby:So.....how do we know who goes fi- *embers swirls around her*

Ozma:The fire picked you.

Ruby:What!? So soon!? A love song!?

Penny:Good luck!

Ruby:Wait wait wait wait wait!!! Shouldn’t the person who knows how this place works go first? Seems a little unfair to throw people into this so recklessly.

Roman:*shouts* You’re just scared!

Ruby:Do you want to go first!!!?

Roman:.....fair point.

Ozma:I’ll gladly go first if it makes you all feel better. *steps in front of the fire* Alrighty then, flame who do I have to sing to?

*embers circle around Salem as words form above her head*

“Drag her and impress the audience”

Yang:Damn, evil ex right from the start.

Ozma:*appears as his first reincarnation* Might as well fully comment to the part. Now what to sing.....

Salem:Gods I hate this place. *glares*

Penny:You can be rude in a love song?

Weiss:Honestly most love songs are rude if you ask me. I wonder how this will turn out.

*everyone is silent as Ozma’s magic makes the instruments play themselves*

Cardin:That’s cheating.....

Salem:Everyone will have this option, so don’t worry about it. It would be hard to get a bunch of you to help in every performance.

Salem:*glaring*.....

Ozma:*takes a deep breath* Here goes nothing...

Ozma:🎶 Easy come, easy go, that's just how you live. Oh take, take, take it all but you never give.....

Should've known you was trouble from the first kiss. Had your eyes wide open; why were they open?🎶

RWBY:*shook* Daaaammmmnnnn! (/0.0)/

Ozma:🎶Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash. You tossed it in the trash, you did...🎶

*embers flow around Tai and Adam as they try not to sing*

Ozma:🎶To give me all your love is all I ever ask cause what you don't understand is- I'd catch a grenade for ya!!! (yeah yeah yeah) 🎶

🎶Throw my head on a blade for ya (yeah yeah yeah)🎶

🎶I'd jump in front of a train for ya (yeah yeah yeah)🎶

🎶You know I'd do anything for ya (yeah yeah yeah)🎶

OAT🎶 Oh whoa oh~🎶

Ozma:🎶I would go through all this pain. Take a bullet straight through my brain!!! Yes I would die for you baby........🎶 *points at her*

🎶But you won't do the same!!!!🎶 *music intensifying*

Velvet:*whispers* Do we know these people?

Coco:Shhh, I’m watching the drama unfold.

Tai and Adam:Why are we singing!?

Salem:Apparently some part of you empathize with his song and compels you to sing along. Just go along with it; you all sound great!

Ozma:🎶No no no no. Black, black, black and blue; beat me til I'm numb. Tell the devil I said hey when you get back to where you're from.🎶

Salem:*glares*

Ozma: *smirks* 🎶Mad woman, bad woman that's just what you are. Yeah you'll smile in my face then rip the breaks out my car.🎶

OA:🎶Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash. You tossed it in the trash, you did!🎶

OT:🎶To give me all your love is all I ever ask. 'Cause what you don't understand is.....🎶

Ozma:🎶I'd catch a grenade for ya🎶 (yeah yeah yeah)

Tai:Throw my head on a blade for ya (yeah yeah yeah)

Adam: 🎶I'd jump in front of a train for ya (yeah yeah yeah)🎶

Ozma:🎶You know I'd do anything for ya (yeah yeah yeah)🎶

🎶Oh whoa oh🎶

Ozma:🎶I would go through all this pain; take a bullet straight through my brain... *tears up*Yes I would die for you baby....🎶

🎶But you won't do the same....🎶

Tai and Adam:🎶Ooooooooohhhhhhh🎶

Ozma: If my body was on fire *glares* Ooh you'd watch me burn down in flames.

Salem:(Shit.....)

Ozma:🎶You said you love me, you're a liar 'cause you never ever, EVER did baby🎶 *crying*

Salem:*refusing to look at him*......

Ozma:...... *grits teeth*

Ozma:🎶But darling I'd still catch a grenade for ya!!!! (yeah yeah yeah)🎶

🎶Throw my head on a blade for ya (yeah yeah yeah)🎶

🎶I'd jump in front of a train for ya (yeah yeah yeah)🎶

🎶You know I'd do anything for ya (yeah yeah yeah)🎶

Ozma:🎶Oh whoa oh I would go through all this pain heh......🎶

Ozma: 🎶TAKE A BULLET STRAIGHT THROUGH MY BRAIN!!!!!🎶

Coco:Yes! Drag her!!!👏

Ozma:🎶Yes I would die for you, baby.....

But you won't do the same. No, you won’t do the same. You wouldn’t do the same....... Ooo you’d never do the same.🎶 *wipes his eyes*

🎶Oh no no noooowooooh....🎶

*embers fly back into the flames, glowing brighter than ever*

Everyone:*shock and awe*......

Roman:Well damn.....got my approval.

Coco:Agreed!!!!!

*many approvals around the circle. Actually, a majority of them.....*

Ozma:*takes his seat and goes back to normal* That a good example for you Ruby?

Ruby:How am I supposed to that!? How can anyone top that!!!?

Ozma:As long as you give it your all then everyone here will do well. Also get help from unsuspecting friends and foes.

Raven:Tai was that towards me wasn’t it?

Tai:I have no idea what you’re talking about. *turning away* just felt like singing.

Blake:*looking at Adam*......

Adam:*watching the waves* don’t read too much into it.

Blake:Whatever you say tough guy.

*embers fly towards Ruby again*

Ruby:Sigh, guess I gotta go now. *walks to the flame* lay it on me bonefire! Who’s getting me to sing?

“Convince others to help you serenade Weiss Schnee and when her approval.”

Weiss:......whaaaaaaa?

Ruby:Well then......wasn’t expecting that. *grabs guitar* Magic, can I get you on drums and play that song? I got a feeling you can read my mind.

Ozma:It totally can *immediately starts playing*

Ruby:*starts playing guitar* (Wow, you really can play anything here)

Weiss:Ruby I sort of have an ear for music so don’t feel bad if-

Ruby: 🎶Ooh girl you're shining; like a 5th avenue diamond!

And they don't make you like they used to. You're never going out of style!🎶

Weiss:*Blushing* What!?

Ruby: *smirking* 🎶Ooh pretty baby, this world might have gone crazy.

The way you saved me, who could blame me when I just wanna make you smile?🎶

🎶I wanna thrill you like Michael... *swaying her hips* 🎶

🎶I wanna kiss you like Prince....🎶*winks*

🎶Let's get it on like Marvin Gaye, like Hathaway Write a song for you like this.🎶 *points*

Ruby:🎶You're over my head; I'm out of my mind!Thinking I was born in the wrong time. One of a kind, living in a world gone plastic. Baby you're so classic!🎶

Weiss:*can’t think fast enough*.....

Jaune:*looks at Neptune* 😏

Neptune:😏

Ruby:🎶Baby you're so classic. Baby you,baby you're so classic!

Four dozen of roses; anything for you to notice! All the way to serenade you. Doing it Sinatra style.🎶

Jaune and Neptune: 🎶Ima pick you up in a Cadillac. Like a gentleman bringin' glamor back. Keep it real to real in the way I feel; I could walk you down the aisle!🎶 *rushes to Ruby*

Jaune: I wanna thrill you like Michael *sways hips*

_NPR: Go Jaune!!!

Neptune:I wanna kiss you like Prince *winks*

Sun and Ilia: Kill it Neptune!!!!

Ruby: 🎶Let's get it on like Marvin Gaye; like Hathaway Write a song for you like this!🎶

Yang and Blake: Woooo! Ruby!

RJN: 🎶You're over my head; I'm out of my mind!Thinking I was born in the wrong time

Let's start the rewind, everything is so throwback age!🎶 (I kinda like it like it)

Jaune:🎶Out of my league,old school chic. Like a movie star from the silver screen.🎶

Ruby:🎶One of a kind living in a world gone plastic. Baby you're so classic. *grinning* Baby you're so classic. *heroes clap to the beat* Baby you're so classic!🎶

Neptune: Baby you're class and baby you're sick. I never met a girl like you ever til we met! A star in the 40's, centerfold in the 50's; got me tripping out like the 60’s

Hippies Queen of the discotheque. A 70's dream and an 80's best. Hepburn, Beyoncé, Marilyn Manson. Girl you're timeless, just so classic!

Weiss:*atomic blush*!!!!!!

RJN:🎶You're over my head; I'm out of my mind! Thinking I was born in the wrong time!

Let's start the rewind, everything is so throwback age🎶 (I kinda like it like it)

Jaune:🎶Out of my league, old school chic. Like a movie star from the silver screen🎶

Ruby:You're one of a kind living in a world gone plastic. Baby you're so classic. Baby you're so classic🎶

*dashes to Weiss and puts her in the middle*

RJN:🎶Baby you're so classic!!!!🎶

*embers fly away*

Ruby:*sweating* So......how was that?

Weiss:........

Weiss:*covers her face* You guys are so ridiculous; of course I liked it!

RJN:*High five* Oh yeah!!!!!

Ruby:That’s for the assist you two!

Neptune:Please, like we were gonna miss that!?

Jaune:There was no convincing needed.

*various loud cheering from people*

Ozma:This place is the best.