#pool table moving companies

[pooltablemoversla]

Pool Table Movers Los Angeles County CA - Trusted Billiards

Understanding Pool Table Moving Services

Pool Table Movers Los Angeles offers a wide range of services that are essential to the safe and efficient movement of pool tables. Understanding pool table moving services will help you appreciate the complexity. The moving services are available for both residential and business needs, and ensure precision and quality in each task. Pool tables are heavy and require special handling, packaging, as well as unique transportation methods. Here is where Pool Table Movers Los' expertise comes into play. The van is specially designed with a rail box and slate box to ensure the safety of your pool table. They also cover a large service area including Ventura County and Santa Barbara County.

Pool Table Repair Professionals are Important

Professional repair services are essential to maintain the functionality and durability of pool tables. Repairs of pool tables are best performed by experts with many years of experience. This ensures that the tables maintain their performance and quality. Professional pool table repair services are essential for the proper disassembly and repair of pool tables that can weigh up to 1,200 lbs. Professionals who are trained to repair pool tables can prevent costly mistakes. This is especially true when refelting the table or relocating it. It is wise to hire professionals for pool table repairs in areas such as Orange County. This ensures the table's longevity, protecting the owner’s investment and providing countless hours of gaming for years to come.

The Closer Look at Refelting and Recovery

Refelting and recovery are two of the most important services in pool table maintenance. Pool table movers Los Angeles provide both tasks to maintain a high-quality, smooth playing surface. Pool table repair experts restore damaged billiard fabrics and recreate the ideal playing surface. They transform your game and improve gameplay. ServiceDescription Refelting Replaces worn out felt to restore smoothness and improve ball roll. Recovering This involves removing the old cloth and replacing with a new one to ensure optimal playing conditions.

Los Angeles pool table movers are experts in the field of pool table repair. This includes refelting, recovering and refinishing.

Service List: Pool Table Movers Los Angeles

Pool Table Movers Los Angeles offers a wide range of services, including installation, repair, and refelting. They offer a range of services to keep your pool table in top condition.

Moving Services They will disassemble your pool table and transport it to a new place, making sure that it is transported safely and then reinstalled.

Installation Services: They handle everything from uncrating slates to leveling tables.

Repair Services: Includes refelting and leveling as well as bumper replacement.

Free Quote Services: They offer free quotes on all services, as they understand the importance of budgeting.

You can choose Pool Table Movers Los Angeles to receive a professional and hassle-free service.

Residential vs Commercial Pool Tables

To better understand the skill and expertise needed to handle them, it is important to know the difference between residential and commercial tables. Residential tables are usually smaller and have decorative elements. They're ideal for use at home. Commercial pool tables, on the other hand, are designed to be used frequently in public places like bars or clubs. They're more durable and built for heavy use.

Let's look at the table below to illustrate: AspectResidential pool tablesCommercial Pool Tables Size Smaller Larger Construction Decorative and Customizable Sturdier and Durable Use Home Use Public Spaces

You can choose Pool Table Movers Los Angeles to meet all of your pool table requirements for a number of compelling reasons.

Experience and Expertise With more than 18 years of experience in the industry, we have mastered moving, installing, and repairing all types and sizes pool tables.

Safe and secure moves We use specialized equipment to move your pool tables and make sure the slate box is secured.

Comprehensive Service We offer not only moving and installing pool tables but also recovering, recushioning and repair services.

Wide coverage area: We provide services to customers throughout Southern California.

Our commitment to provide a high-quality and reliable service is demonstrated by these reasons for choosing our services.

Southern California Areas covered by Service

Pool Table Movers Los Angeles offers comprehensive moving services throughout Southern California. This includes Ventura County and Santa Barbara County. It also covers the West Side/South Bay area, San Fernando Valley, San Gabriel Valley Antelope Valley Long Beach, Valencia, Pomona, Goleta, and Long Beach. They offer superior moving services to those living in San Bernardino County. Area Covered Availability Ventura County Moving, Installation and Repairs Yes, Santa Barbara County Setup, Moving, Reclussing Yes, San Bernardino County Recarpeting, Moving, and Storage Yes, Long Beach Installing, Moving and Setting Up Yes, San Gabriel Valley Moving, Recushioning and Repairs Yes,

We offer a level of service that is second to none.

FAQs

How much does it cost to move a billiard table?

The price of moving a pool table depends on several factors. These include the size and weight of the table, the distance to be covered, and the difficulty of disassembling and reassembling the table. The price may be affected by additional services like recushioning and re-carpeting. To compare costs, it's best to get quotes from several professional movers. Contacting the company directly is usually the best way to obtain a free or firm quote.

How much does it cost to have someone set up a pool table?

Costs for setting up a pooltable can vary depending on a number of factors. These include the type and size of the table, the location and any other services needed. This may include leveling the pool table, replacing felt or adjusting rails. To ensure proper installation, and to prevent damage, it's best to hire a professional. It's best that you contact a pool table professional for an accurate estimate.

Can you move a pool table without professionals?

It is possible to move a pool-table without the help of professionals, but it's not recommended. Pool tables are heavy, complex pieces of furniture which require expert handling. The wrong disassembly and reassembly of a pool table can cause damage or imbalance. Imagine moving a table weighing 1,200 pounds with delicate slate. The risk of damage would be high. Hiring professionals will ensure safe transport and proper setup so you can enjoy your pool table with no hassle.

Do you tip pool table movers?

Tipping pool table movers or other service providers is common and an excellent way to thank them for their work. Tipping can be varied, but the standard is 5-10% of total service costs or $20 to $40 per mover. You can consider tipping extra if you feel the movers did a great job. Tipping is appreciated but not mandatory.

[moversperthau-blog]

Moving Your Pool Table? Let Us Handle It!

At Movers Perth, we specialize in safe and efficient pool table relocations! Our expert team will disassemble, transport, and reassemble your table with care, ensuring it arrives in perfect condition.

✨ Why Choose Us?

🔹Experienced professionals 🔹Safe handling and transport 🔹Affordable rates

Ready to make your move easy? Get a free quote today! - 0452 117 474

👉 Visit Our Website at - Pool Table Removals Perth

[door2doormovers]

Planning a move? Let us handle the heavy lifting!

Our professional team ensures a smooth, stress-free relocation experience from start to finish. Trust us to make your move seamless and efficient!

Contact Our Experts Now ☎️ - 0492 800 028

🌐 Visit Our Website at - Movers Adelaide

[bestmoversadelaide]

Need To Move Your Pool Table

Trust our expert team to handle the heavy lifting and ensure a smooth, safe move. Contact us for reliable, professional pool table relocation!

📞𝗖𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝐒𝐏 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡 𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗮𝘁 - 𝟎𝟒𝟎𝟐 𝟒𝟖𝟗 𝟏𝟒𝟓 | 𝟎𝟒𝟓𝟎 𝟔𝟎𝟔 𝟓𝟔𝟑

🌐 Visit Our Website at: Pool Table Removalists Adelaide

[harrisonmover]

Moving company: relocate without losing your mind

It can be challenging and exhausting to move from one home to another. There are countless minor choices to be made, one of which is whether or not to enlist the help of a reputable moving company. Numerous homeowners use expert moving assistance to relocate their possessions into a new house. If you are searching for a moving company near me, the following are some of the most important benefits of hiring one for a local and long-distance relocation.

Let professionals do the packaging

The tiresome packing procedure won't be a concern when you employ a full-service moving company. Professional movers have the expertise and know-how required to quickly and effectively pack up all of your stuff safely and securely. Your valuables and antiques will be wrapped in the best packing materials, which will prevent any damage from occurring during the moving process.

Relieve some of the stress of moving.

Relocating can be a very stressful process, whether you're moving across town or the nation. When you use a moving service, you can relax knowing that your belongings are being handled by seasoned movers and packers. When you work with the professionals at Quality Services Moving, we'll manage the packing and transportation of all of your possessions to relieve some of the pressure on moving day.

Working with a moving company saves time.

Hiring a reputable moving company can help you keep on track and schedule for the big day if you're in a bit of a time constraint to move from point A to point B. Hiring a full-service moving company will allow you plenty of time to work out the details of any deadlines you may already have for tasks like switching your cable or utility services. Professional movers can pack and unpack your stuff swiftly, allowing you to settle into your new home as soon as possible.

Store your items safely to protect them.

Consider renting a storage unit if you have time between leases or need a place to keep your possessions after moving out for a month or two. Modern storage warehouses condition and provide both long and short-term storage. You can trust that your belongings are in good hands because these warehouses are very safe and constantly watched.

Prevent annoying moving injuries

An injury is the last thing you want to deal with while moving. A professional moving company should always be contacted if your property has massive furniture pieces or very heavy boxes to prevent physical injury. A skilled fleet of movers will have the equipment necessary to carry large items without jeopardizing both their and your safety.

Save money by hiring movers

The cost is likely one of the major obstacles keeping you from hiring movers, but did you know that doing so can potentially result in cost savings? You won't need to worry about buying a ton of bubble wrap, packing tape, markers, or boxes if you employ a reputable moving company because the latter will already have these supplies on hand.

Harrison's by Apple Moving

Phone: (757) 397-1248

Address: 1010 Cavalier Blvd, Chesapeake, VA, 23323

[aaaspecialisedremovals]

Pool Table Removals in Brisbane

Choosing the right pool table removals in Brisbane will make your move go smoother and will ensure that your pool table is protected during the move. If you're looking for a company to help you with your move, you need to consider a few factors, such as the cost of the move, the cost of damage to your pool table, and safety precautions. Thankfully, there are many different companies that can help with your removal, so choose wisely!

Giffen Furniture Removals

Whether you are moving into a new home or office, you may have to relocate your prized possession. Fortunately, there are companies like Giffen Furniture Removals that can handle the task. They offer a wide range of moving services from local to long distance moves. This includes services like piano and pool table removal, which is a pretty sweet deal.

There is no doubt that a pool table is a great addition to any home or business. However, they can be pretty heavy, which can lead to injury or damage if not handled properly. For this reason, you should call in the professionals. They can disassemble and reassemble the table for you, and do the packing for you. As well, they can save you a lot of time and money by doing it all for you.

Australian Billiard Table Removals

Using a specialised pool table removals service is a sensible option, as they are trained to deal with all types of pool tables, from small home billiards to large, commercial sized ones. Having an expert move your billiards can mean the difference between getting your money's worth and getting your billiards ruined.

There are many things to consider when it comes to the best way to get rid of your billiards. The OH &S rules surrounding full sized pool tables should be considered, as they are particularly heavy and can present some unique challenges. However, there are several options available to make the task easier on you and your family. TopShotz is one of these companies, and can assist you with any removals, no matter how large or small your billiards are.

Dismantle and reassemble the pool table

Whether you are moving your pool table from one room to another, or moving it from one location to another, it is important to take your time and properly dismantle and reassemble it. This is important to prevent in-move damage to the table.

The first step to take is to remove the pocket liners from the pool table. The pocket liners are held in place by staples and screws. They can be removed with a flathead screwdriver. You should label all parts of your pool table. This will make the reassembling process easier.

Once the pocket liners are removed, you will be able to access the rail bolts. These are typically three bolts underneath each rail. It is a good idea to have an extra socket wrench and a bag for all the bolts and screws you will need.

Safety precautions during the move

Having pool table removals Brisbane done by a professional is not only convenient, but it also ensures that the furniture gets to your new house safely. A reputable company like Giffen Furniture Removals takes great care to protect your valuables. Whether you choose to use their service or pack the furniture yourself, a small mistake can cause irreversible damage to your property.

Pool tables are heavy and bulky and it can be difficult for one person to move them. It's best to get a team of strong people to help you with the job. This will prevent the pool table from falling during the loading process.

It's important to follow the manufacturer's instructions for disassembly and reassembly. The manual should be close at hand for easy reference. It is also a good idea to label everything you remove.

Cost of damage during the move

Whenever you move a pool table, it is important to plan the destination and how to dismantle the table before the removal. This is important because pool tables are very heavy and can cause damage to your walls and floors.

If you have plans of pool table removals Brisbane from your current home to a new one, you should hire the services of a professional moving company. This will save you the trouble of dismantling the table and transporting it yourself.

The pool table can be extremely heavy, and it is advisable to hire the services of professionals for a smooth and safe move. If you are not experienced with the handling of pool tables, you might end up causing expensive damage.

[traveler-at-heart]

How to train your spy

Request by @happychopshoppenguin

Summary: You meet a hot stranger in a bar. The next morning, there's a familiar face at your SHIELD training.

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

-

Of course it was a bad idea. Irresponsible, unbecoming of an adult who had just gotten her dream job.

But your new life started tomorrow and you knew that from then on, it was all about duty and service.

In that case, who could blame you for going out to dance one last time?

“Another round of shots” you requested at the bar, looking over your shoulder.

“Can I buy you a drink?” a man said next to you and you politely declined. However, he moved closer, eyeing you up and down. “Come on, sweetheart. We can have a good time”

“Hi, baby. What’s taking so long?” a raspy voice said behind you. You were about to correct the person, who had probably mistaken you for someone else.

Green eyes met yours, and you were breathless at the beauty in front of you. The woman rested her chin on your shoulder.

“Is this man giving you trouble?” she said in a playful tone, but her glare was murderuous. It was enough to make him give up, turning around to leave.

“Thanks” you said, relaxing against the woman’s chest. She smelled incredible and you were a little drunk. It was hard to keep your distance. “Can I buy you a drink? To thank you, of course”

“One more couldn’t hurt. But seems like you have enough to drink” she commented when the bartender gave you a tray with six tequila shots.

“Oh, these are for my friends. I can’t get wasted today. I’m starting a new job tomorrow”

“Congratulations…” her words hung in the air and you picked up on the intent, jumping up to introduce yourself.

“Y/N Y/L/N. And you are…?”

“Just Nat” the woman shook your hand and you blushed at the contact.

“Well, just Nat. What brings you here on this fine Sunday night?”

“Waiting for a friend. He should be here in…45 minutes”

“Can I keep you company for those 45 minutes?” you offered, sitting next to her on a bar stool.

“Sure. Why don’t you tell me what was your plan if I hadn’t shown up to save you from that creep?”

“Oh, you saved me, huh?” you chuckled and Nat nodded, bringing the glass of scotch to her lips. You were enthranced by her beautiful, elegant jawline and neck.

“Is that what you were planning on doing? Stare at him?” she mocked and you rolled your eyes.

“I’ll have you know I am good at fighting”

“Like karate or…”

“Like many things. And I can throw a punch. A good one. I can show you”

“Maybe some other time. How about we play some darts?” she leaned forward, arching an eyebrow. All you could do was nod dumbly.

Nat took the tray of shots with her and you agreed that the loser would drink for each turn.

“Crap” you said after the third shot. “You’re really good at this”

“I should have mentioned that before we set the rules, huh?”

“Let’s just play something different” you said, sitting in a quiet corner of the bar. “Truth or dare”

“Alright. I’ll start. Dare”

“Tell me your name. Not just Nat”

The redhead grabbed a shot and downed it. You laughed.

“Now you”

“Alright… truth” but before Nat could ask anything, you took a shot, and began speaking, slightly slurring your words. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen”

The woman blushed and you chuckled, realising that’s not how the game worked after it was too late.

“My turn. I dare you to…”

“I’m supposed to dare you, isn’t how this works…?” you wondered out loud, drinking yet another shot.

“I dare you to kiss me” Nat said, louder. Her gaze traveled from your mouth to your lips, and you didn’t have to be told twice.

The kiss was messy, and desperate, teeth clashing as you pulled the woman by the collar of her jacket. The force of your movements made her stand up, and pretty soon you felt the edge of a pool table against your legs.

Were you about to have sex with a total stranger in the corner of a bar?

Nat bit your lip, making you moan against her tongue.

Well, yes, apparently you were about to get fucked by a beautiful woman in a bar…

But then…

“Seriously?” a voice said behind you. It was a man, carrying a… bow and arrow?

“You told me to hang back” Nat answered. You turned to glare at the man for interrupting you, but a couple of men in black suits followed close behind. “Messy work, Barton. They followed you all the way here”

“Help me out or get a room”

The latter would work for you, except the men began to throw punches, some of then carrying knives. In spite of the alcohol, you were able to knock down one.

Apparently that wasn’t so impressive, considering Nat and Mister Bow and Arrow had taken care of the other six on their own.

“Good work” you gave a thumbs up, practically passing out on the chair. The alcohol had finally kicked in enough to make you dizzy.

“We have to go” the man pressed and Nat sighed.

“I didn’t get your phone number” you complained, less and less focused on the woman in front of you. You felt arms around you, leaving you close to the table where your friends were sitting.

“I’ll see you around” Nat promised, kissing your cheek. You smiled, but the last thing you saw was your friend’s face as you dropped to the floor.

—

Stupid. Stupid.

Idiotic.

After coffe, you ran 10 miles and swam for 30 minutes. How unfortunate that intense physical activity was the only way to cure your hangovers.

Luckily, SHIELD had the best facilities and you were able to shower before your introduction to the program.

After acing every test -physical, psychological, medical and polygraph- you were set to start your training to become a SHIELD agent.

You entered the first floor gym, noticing there were more men than women -which was to be expected, but made you anxious nonetheless. It was hard to stand out in a male dominated field, especially if your instructor was a man as well.

But as everyone stood around the gym and the doors opened one last time, you turned around.

Nat.

Nat was here, wearing a black jacket with the SHIELD logo and training pants.

Your eyes met for a brief second and she smiled, clearly amused.

“Welcome to SHIELD” she said in an icy tone. “Your training begins today. There are no days off and if you have a problem with that, you might as well leave now. Agents on the field don’t rest, or let their guard down because if they do, they get killed. Training starts every day at seven, do not be late. You’ll also have to study languages, technology, weapons and cryptography”

Everyone in the room stayed silent, their eyes on the redhead.

“Now, I’ll be honest, my idea of fun isn’t training new recruits. I’m not very patient and I won’t tolerate people who don’t take this seriously. Today, we will begin with combat training. Y/L/N, come over here”

Wait, what?

Well, fuck. Scratching the back of your neck, you sighed and walked to the front of the line. With her back to the group, Nat smiled, signaling for you to stand next to her in the sparring mat. You were far enough from the rest of the people to at least speak.

“You had to pick the girl with a massive hangover”

“Yours is the only name I know” she lied and you rolled your eyes.

“I was hoping we’d meet again, but not for you to kick my ass”

Assuming a fighting stance, you figured she wanted you to attack first. You were barely able to throw a punch when she had you pinned to the ground.

Every time you got up, she found a way to knock you down. And not just that, she’d place her face close to yours, or end on top of you. Not only was she impossible to beat, but also completely intoxicating. The memories from last night were foggy, except for the way her lips felt on yours.

“Why are you all staring? Find a partner and practice” the woman said to the recruits.

“Can I at least get your name now?” you asked, panting on the floor.

“Natasha” she gave you her hand to help you up. “Natasha Romanoff”

—

Natasha - no, Agent Romanoff-, was giving you a masterclass on psychological warfare.

She teased you endlessly, with little touches that lingered and made your skin feel hot. Or with words spoken when you were close enough to be the only one to hear them.

Like that time on the shooting room, when Natasha approached you, making you relax your shoulders by squeezing them, lowering your elbow to improve your stance.

“Good girl” she whispered against your neck, making you miss the shot completely.

To make matters worse, you had an entire class dedicated to breaking free from different restraints.

Of course, Natasha was the one that handcuffed your hands behind your back, her eyes lingering on the way your chest stuck out.

“Not a bad view” she commented. “Though I do think you’ll enjoy the ropes a bit more”

And yes, you absolutely did. Especially when she squeezed them tighter around your wrists and you groaned.

It wasn’t just physical contact. Natasha could say one small thing in that sultry tone and you’d be on your knees.

“Your foreign language skills seem fine. Russian could be better, though” the redhead commented after your latest review.

“It’s hard to find someone to practice with” you mumbled, your eyes following Natasha’s body as she stood up, walking towards you.

“It’s all in the tongue. You can do wonders when you know how to use it”

“I bet” you mumbled, feeling hot as she leaned past you, opening the door so you could leave her office.

“Be sure to work on that. Wouldn’t want that pretty mouth to disappoint me”

Thoughts of what you could do with your mouth to please her were the only thing on your mind for the rest of the day.

Between the endless teasing and the grueling preparation, the first month went by. You were better at combat, managing to go toe to toe with Natasha. In everything else, you were top of the class.

There was one girl called Lindsay who was particularly fond of you. Natasha realised you were too nice to ignore her, and too naive to notice she was flirting with you.

“I’m meeting some friends at a bar later today. Would love it if you could join us” she said, smiling as you both walked down the hallway to the gym.

“Oh, I was thinking of staying home, I have to catch up with Grey’s Anatomy”

“Come on, you should find time to relax. It must be so hard to have Romanoff all over you”

“Y-yeah”

Yes, all over you but in a totally different way than Lindsay meant.

As if on cue, Natasha opened one of the doors, emerging from a conference room. Lindsay blushed, wondering if the woman had heard. However, Natasha didn’t even look at her.

“Y/N. A word?”

“Yes, Agent” you nodded, walking past her to the empty conference room. “Is everything ok?”

“There’s a mission tonight. Nothing major. Thought you might be ready”

“Seriously?” you said, excited at the idea of infiltrating a terrorist organziation, kicking ass, saving people. “That’s… I’m ready, of course”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight”

You couldn’t even imagine she’d asked you because she was jealous of your friend.

—

You couldn’t complain. For one, if you did, Natasha would kick your ass. Second, it was a great opportunity, especially for a new recruit.

The fact that the mission was sitting around in a car waiting for something to happen was irrelevant.

“So, once we see that dude Rinderknech, we go inside? Hack into his computer? Bug the place?” you said, grabbing the camera and pointing the big lens towards a window of the building.

“We watch and report back” Natasha answered. You turned to her, and she shrugged her shoulders. “Intelligence is 90% of the work. And that means a lot of hours on your ass looking out for bad guys”

“Right” you said, trying to ignore the cold air inside. You couldn’t turn the car or the heat on.

“Here” Natasha said, pulling a blanket out of the backseat. Before you could thank her, she handed you a plastic cup of coffee and a scone.

“Hey, these are my favorites” you noted, biting into the pastry. Remembering your manners a second too late, you muffled a thank you to Natasha. “How did you know?”

“It’s the first thing you pick up at the cafeteria every morning” she rolled her eyes.

“Thank you, Tasha” you said again, unaware that the term of endearment had made the woman blush.

Her hands flew to the car radio, desperately trying to fill the silence.

“Leave it there” you asked when one of your favorite songs came on, placing your hand on her thigh. Natasha had to choke back a whimper.

What the hell? She’d been the one making you all hot and bothered for months now. And here you were, eating a scone and patting her leg, making a mess out of the best spy in the world.

“Keane was my first concert” she heard you say. Her blank stare made you insist, waiting for a reaction. “Keane? English band?”

“I don’t listen to a lot of music. And I’ve never been to a concert either” she muttered, pretending to look out the window for your person of interest.

“A concert virgin. If you ever interested, I’ll be happy to be your first” you joked.

“Thanks. That might be fun”

“Not as good as playing darts and getting drunk, though” you said and Natasha bit back a smile.

It was the first time either one of you mentioned that night. Mainly because bringing it up only made you think about how good Natasha felt.

Green eyes met yours and the intensity made you shiver.

The sound of a text on your phone interrupted the moment

“That your girlfriend?” Natasha said, feigning indifference.

“Who, Lindsay? She’s just a friend”

“Right. Don’t be naive. That’s how you get yourself killed out in the field” the redhead grumbled.

“Sorry, I haven’t noticed much other than how ridiculously good you look on your SHIELD uniform”

“Stop that” Natasha said, blushing.

Blushing because of you? Accomplishment of a lifetime.

“I’m only giving as good as I get, Agent”

Natasha chuckled, moving forward in her seat to get a better look out… and probably hide that she was blushing again.

“There they are” she nodded towards the corner. You recognised Rinderknech by the tattoo on his neck. He was speaking to a group of men when their attention turned to your car.

“Nat?” you said when two of their bodyguards began to approach you. “What do we do?”

Turning back, Natasha noticed a black SUV, blocking the back street. It was impossible to escape without making a scene.

Her mind went blank, the only concern she had was that you could get hurt, all because she made you join her on a mission that wasn’t that necessary.

The men kept walking and Natasha remained frozen. Then, it came to you.

“Kiss me” you turned, urgency in your tone.

“What?”

“PDA and all that. Will make them uncomfortable. Just do it” you said, pulling her by the shirt until her lips met yours.

This time, her lips tasted of coffee and sugar. After a few seconds, Natasha’s mind drifted from the mission, and all she could think about was you. As your mouth parted to give her access, Natasha’s hand went up your leg all the way to the button of your jeans.

“Excuse me?” a man tapped on the glass.

Damn it. You rolled down the window, swollen lips and the first two buttons of your shirt undone. When did she do that?

“Oh, never mind” the man looked amused, but seemed convinced enough that you weren’t a threat.

“We should go” Natasha said, knowing it wasn’t safe to stick around after a close call.

You spent the rest of the ride in silence, but it was pretty obvious what was going through your head as you shifted uncomfortably on your seat of the car.

“We should…”

“Do you want to…?”

As Natasha parked the car, you spoke at the same time, looking at each other and smiling.

Before you could start over, Barton approached the car, surprised when he spotted you inside.

“Hey, you must be Y/N” Barton said, looking at the coffee cup and the bag with half a scone. He smiled again, turning to Natasha. “Jesus, Nat. Just ask the girl out”

“Shut it”

“Crappy coffee in a car during a stakeout is not a proper date” the man insisted and walked away before Natasha could slap the lights out of him.

“And here I was, thinking I was on the mission for my talents” you laughed, exiting the car.

“Y/N, wait!” Natasha called. “I did. Wanted to ask you out. I’m just… not good at this”

“That’s ok. I am” you said, pulling her close to you. “Let’s just not do darts, tequila or fight against organized crime. I think we’ve had enough of that”

“What about all the kissing?”

“Oh, that is definitely happening” you smiled, leaning forward. “I can’t wait for you to hear all the Russian I’ve been learning, detka”

With a kiss on her neck, you walked to the SHIELD building, pleased with Nat’s shocked stare.

All these months, she’d been teaching you how to be a spy; and more importantly, how to be a tease.

She was about to found out how good of a teacher she was.

[inkonparchment]

sentinel - re4r bodyguard!Leon x college student!reader.

how are you supposed to enjoy college when Leon's always breathing down your neck?

"You're scaring them off," You huff, slouching back in your seat.

"That's kind of my point." Leon replies matter-of-factly.

"Your point is to keep me safe from any kidnappers or psycho murderers," You glare at him, "Not to scare off guys who want to talk to me."

When he only replies with a shrug of his shoulders, you roll your eyes and concentrate back at the drink in your hand.

The bar was quite busy today, music blaring in the background as the noise of chatter filled the air. If you craned your head far enough from your booth, you could spot the pool table that was currently hounded by a group of guys, pool sticks in one hand, and a beer in the other. Your eyes strayed over to the girls that were lounging near them, a sigh escaping your lips.

What else were college students supposed to do at Friday night anyways except to drink away their stress?

Your eyes fall back to the brunette man that was now walking away, redirected by Leon's presence from where he was clearly coming to talk to you. You bit the inside of your cheek in frustration, the condensation on your glass slipping down into your fingers.

Leon doesn't even sit. Oh no, he stands there to the side with some distance between you two like a guard dog. All sharp angles, harsh eyes, and shoulders so broad that he's nearly always blocking light from reaching you.

"You could just sit, you know," You scoff not trying to hide the irritation in your tone.

Leon finally looks at you, his icy gaze sending an electric shock down your spine. There's no softness behind the look he's giving you; a glare if you squint. And you've been at the receiving end of it many times now, scaring you once but now its just boring you.

You take a sip of your drink. "Okay, if you think that look is gonna shut me up, then you have another thing coming."

You're not sure if Leon has anything to say in reply to that because you lift your eyes to see Mia walk back to you from the bar with a shy look in her eyes. You grin, knowing what she's going to say, witnessing her talking to Johnny, chuckling to yourself at the way they were standing close to each, flirty touches and all.

"So," Mia giggles airily when she comes to a stop, "I um, I think me and Johnny are going to head out now."

Her giggling is infectious because it has you caught in it too. "Yeah, no shit. He looks like a man in love with the way he has his eyes on you."

Mia's eyes flit to Leon for a second, who is determinedly looking away. "You'll be okay?"

You grin and wave her off. "Absolutely. Now go, have fun. And be safe!"

She fixes you with a mortified look before she's tumbling out of the pub, hands locked with Johnny.

You sigh, albeit a little pathetically unable to help yourself from looking at Leon. You thank god that he's not suited up but instead in a pair of washed-out jeans, a black tee, and a leather jacket that's hiding the way the shirt stretches across the expanse of his chest.

You still remember the first day he had shown up to your dorm, clad in a suit and sunglasses, dressed up exactly like the men that would surround your father when you would visit home.

You had slammed shut the door in his face, furious as you had called up your dad and told him how this was going to be social murder. But it was pointless, and Leon was to keep you company from now on.

One kidnapping attempt and suddenly everyone loses their mind.

With yet another sigh, you clamber out of the booth, straightening up to see Leon beginning to move as well. "Okay woah," You hold your hands up, "I'm just going to the ladies room."

"Let me go-"

"And what? Camp out in one of the stalls?"

"At least let me check."

"Leon, no one's going to jump me in the bathroom."

He fixes you with a knowing stare, and you feel your cheeks get warm. "And I won't try to ditch you this time."

With that, he relents and steps away, allowing you to walk to the small hallway in the back. It's mostly empty, smiling politely at the girl who's exiting out of the bathroom as you take your place in front of the mirror.

You're not sure why you're in here, staring at your reflection in the mirror, only the sound of the running faucet keeping you company. Leon's presence always puts you on the edge. Not uncomfortable, no. In fact the gnawing sensation in the pit of your stomach that was there since your kidnapping attempt has long since quieted after Leon's arrival.

But he does something to you. You just can't tell what it is, frustrating you to no ends.

After splashing your face with cold water, you step back out, stomach dropping slightly when you see a man standing with his back against the wall next to the men's room door. He seems drunk, his posture a bit folded up on himself, shoulders slouched and eyes slow.

You don't spare him a glance, hoping to quietly evade him and go back to your booth. But it doesn't work, doesn't help because as soon as you're in front of him, you feel rough fingers encircle your wrist, nearly yanking you back.

You let out a gasp, a mixture of surprise and pain, hand jerking out to stabilize yourself but finding nothing causing you to stumble. Your misbalanced state allows the man to slither his free hand around your waist.

"You're a pretty doll," He sneers. And you almost choke, the smell of alcohol hitting you like a barrage.

"Let me go, please," You try, voice coming out weak and immediately hating yourself for it.

His fingertips are drilling into your skin through your shirt, pain beginning to fester. How long will it take to scrub him off from your skin? You struggle against him, breathe hitching in your throat as you're unable to release yourself from his grip his hand begins to wander down.

But just before he's able to move his hand down from the small of your back to your hips, there is movement. An exclamation of pain and a loud crashing noise.

You blink.

You don't see the drunk man anymore, his grip on you now vanished. Your vision is now flooded with Leon's back, his blonde hair glowing underneath the overhead light. Your stomach tightens. You didn't even see or hear Leon approach, unbelieving how he had gotten that man off of you.

Leon makes forward towards the man who's sprawled on the floor, but your hand around his bicep stops him. He turns around to see your eyes fixed on him, blown wide in worry. You shake your head, "He's just drunk."

His eyes flit across your face, eyebrows scrunched together and nursing your bottom lip between your teeth. You watch the storm brewing in his eyes dissipate, his jaw relaxing, replaced by something so warm and gentle that you look away, unconvinced of being worthy enough to be looked at like that.

His soft fingers curl around your chin, pulling you back to him, "You okay?"

You let out a hum of affirmation, feeling bare under his gaze, the scent of aftershave nearly knocking you off your feet as you suppressed a shiver.

All you can manage now is a whisper, "Take me home Leon."

[almostfoxglove]

THE PRETTIEST

PART I: ANNOUNCEMENT

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes' #MONSTERSMASH24 challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader CREATURE: GHOST + MAX PHILLIPS WORD COUNT: 4.3k CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), Max is a bit of a creep okay he's doing his best here, protective!max, jealous!max, enough manager speak that I got tech startup flashbacks.

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in.

read on ao3 | series masterlist | almostfoxglove masterlist

Of all the hell holes where one might waste eternity, Max is pretty sure his vacant duplex is the worst of them. Six rooms, two floors spined by a spiral staircase—all boring and hollow and dusty. Disgusting. How difficult would it have been to let him haunt the office? He could’ve leered over all those pathetic little office drones, driven them crazy forever. Fucked with their desk chairs, their hard drives, mixed up all their coffee mugs. Not that Max has mastered the art of affecting the material world yet, but he will.

Petty? Sure. But you can’t blame a guy for feeling a little owed after all management’s little reorganization. His relocation to the goddamn fucking afterlife—and to this prison of an apartment where there’s no one to subjugate or fuck, no less. 

What a waste of his potential. His talents.

Who knows how long he spends stuck alone in this place until someone shows up, but eventually people do. The real estate agent—Doreen and her little beehive hairdo, her eyebrows always penciled on too thin—and, over what Max estimates to be about three weeks, a parade of nobodies she tours around, preaching godless, truthless sermons of the duplex’s good bones and the good life they could have in these dreary fucking rooms. He’d be proud of her sales pitch if he weren’t so goddamn pissed.

He tries, he really does. Yells often, I’m right here, Dor-een, honey, right fucking here! And waves his arms in front of her face, but he can scream as loud as he likes; nobody hears a thing. 

For the first time in his many lives, people walk straight through him. 

There might be, possibly, some karma in that. 

Max doesn’t care for it.

It’s misery until the day Doreen brings him you.

Come on, Max whines, slouching lazily on your couch. Curled up with your bedsheets cloaked over your head, you rot on the cushions beside him, four hours deep in a Desperate Housewives marathon, oblivious to his company: your usual Sunday routine.

As usual you don’t hear him, don’t see him either. Sitting right beside you, making no dents in the pillows, his glossy dress shoes kicked up on the coffee table. Still he finds himself complaining, one hand gesticulating wildly at the screen, You’re killing me, baby. It’s obviously the fucking neighbor! Guy’s got a box of death under his pool!

Meanwhile you just sit there, enthralled as Eva Longoria struts about in her tiny skirts and tiny shoes. Max tells himself the only reason he stays in the room when you watch this garbage is for her and all the other pretty housewives or to leer at what bits of you peek out from your duvet each time you reach for your tea on the coffee table—a wrist, your elbow, and when you knock over the popcorn bowl and slip the sheets from your head, the lovely hollow of your perfect neck. Truth is, if you were to quiz him, he’d be able to cite the plot of the whole season beat for beat.

Not that he’s enjoying this, this—this garbage. Never.

No fucking way. He’s just perceptive. Has an excellent memory.

Plus this is the one way he gets to be close to you. Such a pretty little thing, taunting him without ever knowing it. That sweet mouth, those clever eyes. Showering with the bathroom door sometimes cracked like you know he’s here and dying to peek through the veil of your jasmine-laced steam. Chewing the ends of your pencils while you sketch out some masterpiece on looseleaf that you never get around to painting.

Sitting on your couch, at your dining table, at the foot of your bed while you brush out your hair after a long day—it’s the closest Max gets to feeling like being stuck here might not be hell, just purgatory: always a breath away from the thing he’d like to touch, but at least he’s not simmering in battery acid or being flogged. He’s had his share of blood-bag roommates—brief fascinations that drained so quickly—but you? You’ve lived in Max’s apartment for three months and he’s no less drunk on you than he was the day Doreen toured you around. Can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the longing, the forest fire that sears through his ice-box chest every time your eyes skim his face by accident, never lingering. 

What can he say? Max is a man, after all. Under all the blood and monster.

And you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever seen.

When the show cuts to commercial you mute the TV, immune to the serpent-tongued promises of liars like him. Lured by nothing, by nobody. Already slinking from your bedsheet cave, all bare legs and cute little ankles striding out of the room, leaving him with the ghost of you, the smell of your perfume kissed into the duvet.

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sell himself to you. He’d charm you all the way to your perfect knees.

In a way, you and Max are the perfect couple. You’re free to do as you wish, and he’s free to watch you every second that you spend at home, miserable the moment you leave for work in those tight fucking pencil skirts. No better than a dog, he spends his vagrant hours of isolation alternating between puppy-eyed pouting and anxious pacing, tortured until your evening return. 

How did he ever live here alone? Alive or otherwise. He can’t remember now. There are too many rooms, too few sounds, too few breaths, too few footsteps. He misses you. Your bedhead and pajamas, your blanket nest in front of the TV, the cute way you answer the phone. 

Today, you don’t come home till eight fifteen—and Max has spent thirteen hours losing what’s left of his mind.

Baby, he sighs, rushing for the front room at the first turn of the lock, a grin stretched to dimples in his cheeks. Seems even if you can’t hear him, Max can’t help talking to you, perhaps childlike in his belief that someday you will. Where the hell have you—

His sentence hacks itself in half, drops to silence, because you’re blushing when you come in, eyes shyly downcast, one hand shaking the rain loose from your hair, tendrils clinging to your cheeks. “Here,” you say, and for a beat Max thinks you’re speaking to him. His mouth drops, stunned. 

Is this it? Can you finally see him?

“Come in, come in,” you say.

Then a man steps in behind you, shuts the door behind his hulking form, and if there were any blood to speak of in his veins, Max is certain it’d boil at the sight of him. Tall and empty-headed, dopey as a dog, stomping his blocky, muddy shoes all over your hallway. Yours and Max’s. Getting goddamn filth on your hall carpet. Given just a few material cells, Max’d have this guy dead before he makes it to the living room, wouldn’t even bother drinking him. This breed of dumbass isn’t worth the mess.

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather. 

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

On second thought, maybe this is hell after all.

“S’a nice place,” the dumbass says, laying his knockoff blazer over the back of a barstool. Cheap stitching. Terrible, too-thin lapels.

You look about the room as if standing in it for the first time and for a moment your eyes pass right over Max, whose long-dead heart winces. Yelps. If you could see him, there’s no way you’d entertain this guy. This nameless little worker bee. Max would make you laugh properly, how you laugh when something funny happens on TV or when you get a letter in the mail from your brother. Sudden and twinkling, often ending in a snort. Adorable.

Shrugging, you turn into your fridge and say, “Yeah, I like it,” and exhume two slim cans of vodka seltzer to set on the kitchen island.

Thank you, Max says, his arms crossed over his chest.

The dumbass’ brows flicker up as he regards your offering. Idiot. What was he expecting from a girl like you, a PBR? These are delicious. Elegant. Calorie wise. Max understands. Max would drink that with a smile and a thank you. 

Or maybe he’d skip right to drinking you.

Sensing his hesitation, you crack your can and take a sip. “They’re not as bad as they look,” you say, a nervous chuckle bittering your lips as you watch your date open his can and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Sorry. I don’t have anything else.”

You can do so much better, baby, Max sighs. You’ve got better right here.

Against his will, the hours pass. The evening goes on. You and the dumbass only drink half a can each—him with a half-snarled lip and you with a self-conscious twinge—but somehow by nightfall he’s got you scooching your barstool closer to him, allowing his slimy hand to rest on your thigh. 

Max bristles. Seethes. Don’t do it, he pleads to you, unheard. He’s not gonna fuck you right, just look at him. Send this idiot home and watch TV with me. Do anything but this guy, baby, anything but him.

You bend in slow motion and it’s agonizing, the tilt of your head as you press your lips to his. The wet slurp of his mouth taking the second you meet. A terrible kiss, though you’re polite enough not to flinch. Breaking from the prod of his pink-slug tongue to offer your neck, his mouth immediately moving, and fuck baby, it’s like you’re trying to kill him all over again. Drive a stake straight through Max’s blackened heart by giving up what he longs to claim.

In an instant, anger births itself from the hollow of his chest. His hand shoots out in useless violence, swinging as if to strike a seltzer can from the countertop and knowing it won’t do a lick of good as ire devours him, igneous and fervid, searing hot as life in his icy hands.

The can jumps from the counter and clunks to the floor, its contents gluggluglug-ing across the tiles.

“The fuck?” Max hears the dumbass gasp as he leaps from his barstool, eyes bugged wide and child-like and weak. You freeze, lips pink and swollen, staring down at the emptying can. 

It’s a shame neither of you can see the way Max smiles. 

Now that’s what I’m talking about, he crows. Finally a little substance around here! 

This is good. No, it’s better than good. This is the rush after a promotion, after the deal that closes out the quarter over target. The look on every sad sack’s face knowing they lost and he won.

This is the bite that finally breaks skin.

Maddening, burgeoning, addictive.

He’s real again. A goddamn Beetlejuice for you, baby. He’s gonna scare this fucknut out of here and have you to himself. First was the can, next is you, and he’s gonna kiss you so much better than that. In celebration, Max kicks one foot to send the can soaring across the kitchen floor and watches his shoe pass right through it, aluminum undisturbed on the floor. No, he mutters, kicking again. No, fucking—come on, you worthless piece of shit—

Your nervous laugh is too far away to comfort him. Distant too is your voice saying, “My room’s this way,” and the shuffling of your footsteps as Max loses his shit on the seltzer can that now refuses to budge no matter the swell of his outrage. By the time he snaps from his incensed trance, your barstools are empty. He blinks, breathless with muscle memory—his lungs wheezing because they remember wheezing, not out of need.

Baby? he calls out.

But you reply. A murmur too lusty to be a giggle—Max’s body coils up at the sound, taut and needy, and carries him toward the sound. He forgets, briefly, who you’re with. Believes he’ll find you in your bedroom alone beneath the covers, hands fluttering as you bring yourself to the edge of release. How beautiful you’d be, gasping in pleasure. He might close his eyes and pretend it’s him drawing out your every breathy, needy sound.

You’ve left the bedroom door cracked, and though in death he’s no longer bound by silly things like permission, Max has since you moved in found himself in the habit of respecting closed doors. Walls are chalk outlines over which he’s free to step, but he doesn’t, not if you’ve closed the gate. He’s not a monster. Or not a total monster—whatever, semantics. Point is that he only spies on your showers if you’ve cracked the door. Indulges in the soft moments of you sleeping only when you’ve left him that sliver of room.

Like the room you’ve left him now: slender and tempting, this stripe of your bedroom wall. A Degas print in a copper frame, the wooden post at the foot of your bed. 

Your sweet voice cooing here, like this, and the creak of your mattress.

Something black and silty sinks in Max’s stomach when he steps inside. Not the rage from moments ago. Something darker, heavier. Jealousy. Half-sheeted by your duvet, the dumbass you’ve brought home rocks above you, his shirt gone, his beefcake arm blocking the view of your chest, and though you’re making all the right sounds it’s obvious this isn’t any good.

He’s not fucking you right.

Your hands clawing at his back are too stiff. Your yeses a beat too slow. As the idiot pants—thrusts choppy and graceless—Max watches your hand tap his shoulder blade as you breathe, “Flip over.”

“What?” bumbles the guy, his hips stalling. “Oh shit—fuck yeah. Okay.”

Another grunt, then he rolls off and Max gets a glimpse of you—your red bra lacy and see through, your nipples so pretty underneath. It just isn’t right, the awkwardness of this colossal douchebag as he settles on his back and you ruck back the covers to straddle him, not at all breathless, hardly even flushed, your hair all messy at the back from disappointing friction.

“Shit,” the guy gasps as you sink down on him, clamping those boorish hands onto your waist.

You don’t even whine, not even as you start to rock, though his breathing gallops beneath you. Guy looks two seconds from nutting while you look years away from anything even loosely resembling an orgasm—your rhythm changing often as you try and fail to find a pace that suits you. “Christ—oh my god, ” the guy groans.

Max sucks his front teeth, tongue soiled with venom.

“Touch me,” you sigh, bouncing now. The curtain of your hair shivering down your back. 

This guy fucks like he’s never touched a woman before. At your request his knuckles only pale, fingers pinching you tighter. That’s not what she means, Max growls. Touch her fucking clit, you pin-dicked imbecile. Can’t fucking please a woman, should be fucking ashamed—

His pointless ranting is cut short by a sudden moan as the guy lifts you off him in time to come all over his stomach, chest rapid in its heaving, upper lip snarled in pleasure he doesn’t have the goddamn decency to return to you. For a long moment you hover above him, waiting, but his head just slumps back against the pillow, satisfied. 

Done.

He’s actually done. Motherfucker.

When you crawl off him to sit back against your headboard—arms crossing over your stomach self-consciously—Max sees red. Sees fire. Sees the roiling magma at the center of the earth where someone oughta make this fucker take a nice hot bath. 

He’d do this right. He’d fuck you properly, have you coming apart at the seams, go down on you until you beg for his cock and edge himself for as long as it takes to have you screaming his name. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel him here, right now? Can’t you feel how bad he wants you? Can’t you imagine how much better he’d be? How good he’d make you feel?

Letting out an airy chuckle, the brute wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and pushes himself to his feet. Redresses with a goddamn smirk on his face—not one of cruelty, but it might as well be. He thinks this is a job well done. Time to go home. 

A peck to your lips, then he’s rattling on about calling you, seeing you again, maybe Thursday? Friday? While you just sit there, blinking up at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you say, dazed and not quite thinking. “I’ll call you.”

Yeah, she’s not calling you, Max snarls, following the guy out of the room. Watching as the jackass plucks his jacket from the back of your barstool, steps over the mess of seltzer without a thought to clean it up for you, and waltzes right out the door. Not a care in the goddamn world. 

Though he hears you get up shortly after to use the bathroom, you don’t emerge from your bedroom and Max doesn’t disturb you. He spends that time in the kitchen, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the dish towel hung over the handle on the oven door, trying to pull it off. 

For at least an hour, his hand glides through the towel as if it’s water, not a flutter or sway in the fabric. Not even a brush, a compromise. It just hangs there, indignant. Mocking him. Deaddeaddeaddeaddead. Maybe it’s the Senior Sales Manager in him, the apex predator at the top of the food chain—but Max can do this all night. He’s not backing down, not letting a stupid fucking towel get the better of him. That lazy curtain of terrycloth will disintegrate before he waves the white flag. 

Beyond the picture frame windows that stare out into the barren, colorless street, the sun has shied to navy blue, letting out the round-mouthed moon, and you have not emerged from your bedroom for hours. He wants to check on you, ask if you’re okay. Frankly, baby, he’s getting a little worried. On the next sweep of his hand, the towel gives up the ghost; Max pulls it from the oven handle, marveling at the toothy fabric. He’s holding it, really holding it, all on his own. 

Thank fuck he’s not haunting the office. If any of those bull-brained fucks saw him now, as he kneels on your kitchen floor, he’d have to die all over again. Somehow. The technicals aren’t important—what’s important is that no one’s here to see him on his fucking knees, mopping up the spilled drink. Something like joy burbles in his chest when he reaches for the can and seizes it, placing it safely on your counter. The floor dry and shining again, clean. 

Max folds the towel carefully and returns it to the rack. 

As if on cue, the bedroom door croaks down the hall and you emerge. A huge t-shirt slumps from your frame; you’ve tied your hair up, put your glasses back on. Dressed down for the last dregs of night, rubbing the back of your hand in one eye, tired. 

You look so, so tired.

I’d rub your shoulders, baby, Max sighs quietly and though you won’t hear him, it still—after three whole months—doesn’t feel any less right to hope.

He steps out of your way as you round the corner into the kitchen with a yawn, hands clasped behind his back, cheek dimpled and eyes alight. Just like he wanted, just like he hoped, your eyes fall immediately to the floor where the can is missing, the spill wiped. Lashes flickering—the towel dark at the hem on its handle, the empty can on the counter. Your brows pinch low over your nose, curious. 

Pretty good for a dead guy, Max grins.

How sweet, that lifting flinch at your mouth’s sharp, pink corner. The soft hm you make in reply. It’s not much, but this strange, fluttery feeling in the dark cavity one might wrongly call his heart? It doesn’t feel half bad. 

Not bad at all.

He’s getting better at it. Not great, but the projections look good. Give him a little time, he’ll have this whole place dancing. Put on a big show, announce himself properly. 

In the meantime he practices when you’re not looking. Small stuff—he opens cupboards. Shuts them. Hits start on the dryer when you forget to press it yourself. Some days he wastes reaching for things and coming up empty, but now again his luck sparkles. Things move. Bend to his will. Isn’t long until he can hold it for a while—gathering the matter to run the vacuum around, or reorganize your pantry. A tidy house makes a tidy mind, baby. No good living in a dump. You’re so busy, always cracking around like a ping pong ball, and hell, it’s not like Max can leave this place, get a little air in his idle lungs.

He likes being useful to you. Likes that tiny smirk on your lips when you find something fixed or organized for you, even though you likely chalk it up to having forgotten that you did it yourself. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need the credit. Isn’t that strange? How often he smiles at you? How perfect he finds the taste of your name.

Winter has arrived like a secret—whispered about for weeks and then suddenly let loose on the world. You come home from work in the evenings with icing sugar hair. Usually unbothered, far as Max can tell, but today you stagger in flushed from the cold and dark in the eyes.

Shit, baby, Max says when he sees you. Bad day?

Sniffling, you drop your coat right there in the hall, let it puddle over your shoes, and stalk off on a mission, barreling into the kitchen. The fridge door rips open, casting blue-white light over your face, and you must feel a hell of a lot worse than you feel because you don’t even blink at the contents inside. All the shelves wiped clean, the bottles arranged with the labels facing out, those wilted, bad greens deposited in the compost. You just reach in for the half-drunk bottle of Riesling that to Max smelled mostly like juice and swipe off the lid.

You chug on your way to the couch, leaving the fridge door open behind you.

Max closes it when you’ve gone, the TV already switched on in the living room, the lilting strings of the Desperate Housewives theme song swimming through the air. When he turns the corner he finds you wrapped in the throw blanket he now knows the texture of—supple and velvet, weighted and warm—with the wine bottle nestled in your lap. 

A silver tear hangs on your cheek. 

Really bad day, whatever it was. 

He wants to ask. Wants to pull you into his arms and pet back your hair. Wants to lick that sadness from your skin. 

Maybe this isn’t the show he’s imagined. Not much of a reveal—but you look so small right now, alone on your couch. Wine splashing in its bottle as you bring it to your lips, not bothering to wipe that tear away. If Max had a heart that beat, it’d stutter as he watches you. Helpless isn’t something he cares to feel.

No time like the present. Max sighs, scrubs a hand down his face as he ticks his jaw to one side, and nods. Alright, baby, he relents. Hang on.

On his way to the bathroom he cracks all the knuckles on his left hand, rolls his neck, swings his shoulders. Stretches himself long and limber like he’s about to run—but this is it. Curtain’s coming up. Time to find out if one glimpse of him sends you sprinting for the hills. Though he casts no reflection, Max stands before the mirror hanging over the sink and straightens his tie, corrects his lapels. Old habits, but it never hurts to look good.

Hand waggling, then, over the tissue box on the counter. He slaps himself hard, sending a delicious ripple of pain across his cheek. Come on, he begs. Don’t play hard to get.

The box lifts.

Here he comes: tissue box in hand, stalking tall and proud down your hallway with his chin up, shoulders back. Gets the momentum rolling, doesn’t hesitate, just waltzes in.

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes round and brows rising. To you it must look like the tissues float through the air to your side. Max steps back with butterflies jittering in his bones. 

Don’t be scared, he pleads. It’s just me.

With your head cocked to one side you consider this, though you’ve not heard his voice. Probably for the best. Came out a little softer than he meant it to, a little needy, and that’s just not becoming of a man like him. He has a reputation to uphold, even now. 

After a long, bludgeoning pause you click your tongue, swiping one white tissue from the box to turn over in your hand. Deliberating. Then your face cracks, possessed by a slithering smirk. Your gaze flickering so close to him it’s almost as if you’ve looked him in the eye. 

Deep in his chest, Max feels a strange throb—his stirring heart—as you say out loud, 

“I knew someone was there.”

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals!

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed 

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Dungeon Bats

Animagus!Snape x Animagus!Professor!Reader Wordcount: ~1000 Summary: Severus Snape thinks the Muggle Studies professor is strange only to find out she is an animagus with an awfully familiar form.

Read here or on ao3

The Muggle Studies professor was strange.

Hogwarts always had its fair share of odd characters occupying teaching positions. Even a ghost, evidently, was capable of teaching. But he couldn’t place what it was about you that made him so suspicious. 

You were human, not like Firenze or Professor Binns. You weren’t kooky like Hagrid or Professor Trelawney. Outwardly, you appeared perfectly normal. However, there were oddities if one looked closely.

You ate fruit. Lots of it. Every day at breakfast, instead of toast, eggs, bacon, sausage, things the other teachers would partake in, your breakfast consisted of fruit and only fruit, including a cup of pumpkin juice. Your plate appeared almost like a small pyramid, stacked with cubes of cantaloupe, pineapple, strawberries, honeydew, and grapes, leaving behind a pool of sweet juices when consumed. 

You also had a tendency to pop up and disappear seemingly out of nowhere. One time he went into your classroom to talk to you about moving a couple of detentions around only to find it empty, having swept his gaze around it. Just as he approached your office door to knock on it, you uttered a soft “hello” as you stood in the middle of the classroom, making him jump out of his skin. 

Furthermore, Filch had brought up to him once that he could hear some perplexing screeching noises echoing from random parts of the castle at night and even what sounded like right outside the windows. What was strange about it is he only brought them up the morning after you were scheduled to perform rounds.

This wasn’t to say he disliked you. Quite the opposite. Out of everyone in the castle, he’d say he preferred your company. Who he'd rather sit next to at Quidditch games? Probably you. Even though you were the Muggle Studies teacher, you had plenty of knowledge about Care for Magical Creatures and DADA. Potions weren’t your forte, but you’d happily let him ramble about the subject, even when he’d realize too late that he was rambling. 

“Why do you eat so much fruit?” he asked one day when you came into his classroom eating a sliced-up apple.

“Oh, uh, that’s just my animagus urges. Sorry, am I dripping juice on the ground again?”

He blinked dumbly at you. “You’re an animagus?”

You chuckled, “You didn’t know, Severus? I thought Minerva would’ve told you. Yes, I am an animagus.”

“What animal?” he asked. You smirked and set down the apple slices on a nearby table before shifting. Your robes moved with you, swishing up and shrinking until you took the form of a fruit bat. You flapped and swooped about the air in a few circles before landing on the flat surface of the table, using your talons and thumbs hooks to wriggle toward your sweet fruit.

“You’re a fruit bat,” he observed. You screeched at him in confirmation and began to gingerly gnaw on the flesh of the nearest apple slice. Severus remained quiet for a little, seemingly thinking to himself as his fingers flexed and his jaw clenched slightly. Much to your curiosity, he wordlessly set his wand down and took a deep breath. Within a flash, his robes swooped around him, and in his place was a fruit bat, just like you, but bigger. He flapped his wings just hard enough to get him onto the table as he landed with an audible thud. It was pretty much impossible for bats to take flight without launching from a tree or a high-up place.

[Woah! You’re a bat too? That’s awesome! Is that why students call you a “dungeon bat?”]

[Yes, I am an animagus whose form is also a bat, and no, that’s just a coincidence.]

[How come you’re so much bigger than me?]

[You don’t exactly tower over me, Y/N.]

From then on, the two of you would sometimes go on day flights if both of you had some free time. While both of you wished to fly at nights, you still needed time to sleep and perform your teaching duties during the day. However, your favorite times were when the both of you were scheduled to do rounds. Your classrooms were on opposite sides of the castle so it was almost like a game to use echolocation to find each other in the dark and meet up. It was a little fun considering the dungeons were almost maze-like. If the two of you were sure that no students were out and about, you’d ditch your duties, ascend up the Astronomy tower, and take off into the night sky, playfully chasing one another or showing off flying moves. 

Severus hardly used his form unless it was necessary. It’s not like one got to choose which animal they could shift into. Admittedly, he was a bit let down when he first shifted all those years ago, but with you he learned to embrace his batiness, though he still resisted such urges when it came to eating a castle’s worth of fruit. He liked flying, of course, but he found that he quite liked hanging upside down too, especially when he needed a break from grading or just wanted a change of scenery. Sometimes he’d come hang around your office when you were grading and vice versa.

Dumbledore came to visit his classroom one late afternoon to talk about a particularly unruly Slytherin, but could not find the potion master anywhere, not even in his office. It was rather dark, all the lamps extinguished and curtains drawn. What he did notice, however, was two wands haphazardly tossed onto the stone ground near Snape’s desk, one of which he recognized as your wand. Dumbledore craned his neck up towards the ceiling where an old chandelier hung and sure enough, hanging from one of the rungs was a large fruit bat, and swaddled in its wings being held close to its fur, a smaller fruit bat. The both of you were napping. The old wizard smiled at the sight and slowly receded back through the doorway, happy that Severus had finally found a little bat of his own.

[whereforarthur]

So Much Restraint

Request: george (dom) smut where we have been on a group holiday and stopping ourselves from having sex cos of the other ppl (staying in the same villa/b&b) but once we get home its like practically clawing at each others clothes

Pairing: George Clarkey x Gf!Reader

Category: Smut

Word Count: 3.2k

*****

Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained. - William Blake

George leaned against the railing of the villa balcony, his gaze following the boundary between the sea, which was as blue as the ocean, and the sky above. After daybreak, the warm hue of the blazing sun engulfed the clouds, displacing the surging sea below that had looked so blue at the break of dawn. The warm wind blew through a coconut palm, and one could detect the smell of the sea and tropical cream. He sighed and glanced at the heavens, taking in the final moments of solitude before the party commenced.

The past week was a rollercoaster of enjoyment and annoyance. He and his girlfriend, y/n, had to restrain themselves from giving in to each other so as not to disturb their mates on vacation, just nodding and winking at each other as they walked around the living spaces with their friends—Chris, Arthur Hill, and Arthur TV. The villa was very nice, but with people constantly around them, there was no way of giving in to the passion that had been threatening to ignite ever since they set foot in the villa.

As the sun set that evening, George was weak, wanting to give in to his desires. It was a standoff, a power struggle that had been going on all week, one that was palpable yet wordless. As he got up, he saw Y/N standing at the door as she looked straight at him, suggesting that she was fighting the same battle as him. She wore a light summer dress that hugged her curves perfectly.

“It's time for dinner,” Y/N whispered, her words resonating melodiously. ”They are waiting for us downstairs.”

George nodded, yet neither of them looked away from the other. “I know,” he said quietly, the roughness in his tone giving her goosebumps. "I can only imagine what we are going to get up to once we get home."

Silence filled the space between them when he moved closer, and despite the heat in the villa, he only wanted her closer. As if in response, Y/N’s hand slowly extended, touching his chest lightly and causing his spine to tingle.

George saw her looking back at him, and for what felt like hours but could only be a few seconds, an incredible sensation engulfed his entire body and mind. He pulled her closer, the touch of his lips on hers hard and passionate. This was the kiss of love, of desire, the kiss that had been waiting to happen and which was ready to unleash after being pent up for this long.

But as soon as they started, they stopped. Hearing the boy's laughter from the pool below pulled them back into reality. They separated hesitantly, both attempting to calm themselves down. “We can’t,” Y/N whispered, her cheeks burning red.

“I know,” he said, calming her down as he took her hand. “When we get home, I will show you exactly how much I’ve missed you.” It was in his voice that she found the assurance she needed, and with that, she pulled him closer, her arms around his neck as they kissed.

They disappeared from each other for a while; the sound of their pulse echoed with the thump of the sea waves. They were able to keep it to themselves, and the anticipation of the arrangement made it seem like a couple’s promise.

At dinner, they had to wade through desire, circle it like a choreographed dance, sit across from each other at the table with friends, laugh, and chat about the delicious meal and wonderful company. But every time George cast his gaze at Y/N, he could see the same desire in her eyes.

After the meal, they made their excuses, claiming jet lag and the need for an early night. The boys raised their eyebrows in amusement but said nothing.

In their room, George and Y/N took turns in the shower, the sound of water a tantalizing backdrop to their stolen kisses and gentle touches.

Once Y/N emerged, her skin dewy and smelling faintly of coconut, George found his resolve slipping once more. They were both sitting on the edge of the bed; their legs were entangled; they felt the insatiable desire to strip each other. “We can do this,” George whispered, his fingers rubbing through her wet hair. "We can wait; we’ve made it this far."

Y/N breathed in deeply and exhaled, nodding her head slightly. “We have to,” she repeated, her voice a little weary as desperation began to creep in. "If we start now, I don't know if we would ever be able to stop."

They stretched out on the bed, their naked bodies rigid with the agitation of unsatisfied desire. The villa was silent apart from the faint sound of the sea in the distance and laughter from the party in the streets. They could feel the adrenaline pumping through their veins and could virtually hear the sound of their hearts beating.

George’s fingers lightly touched Y/N’s inner thigh, lazing dangerously close to the line of her shorts. "The boys are already complaining about the noises we make at home," he said, though he couldn’t fully hide his amusement. “What would they say if they only knew we have been holding ourselves back?”

Y/N blushed at the thought, gripping the sheets beneath her tightly. “We’ve got to be so much louder at home,” she said, though there was obvious affront in her words. "It will make them think that we have gone mad.”

They smiled at each other, and the tension reduced for a while. But the underlying current persisted; it was an active, waiting-to-detonate-at-any-moment kind of omnipresent tension. George looked down at her and then placed his hand softly over her thighs, delicately tracing lines on her skin. He immediately stopped his movements and faced her as he whispered, “It doesn’t matter what they say.” He smirks at her, “As long as you’re screaming my name.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with delight, and she couldn’t help but gasp at what he said. It was a familiar move, a classic sign of affection, but she went further to touch his face, specifically the line of his jaw, a touch that seemed to power through him like volts of electricity. ‘And what about when we get home?’ she whispered. For many, a dangerous question is the provocative “What do you want to do to me?”

George squeezed her thigh gently and looked at her with lustful eyes. “Everything,” he said, his voice turning into a growl. ”I wish to devour every part of you, have you quiver in my embrace, and hear you scream out my name until your throat gets sore.”

Y/N felt her heart racing just at the thought of it, her pulse rate rising through the roof as high as it could go. "Won't the boys still be home?” she asked, her fingers tracing over his hand.

George chuckled darkly. “Oh, they will hear us alright,” he responded, his eyes alternating between naughtiness and amusement. “But it’s ‘our’ house and ‘our’ rules.” The words slither through the air like a sultry whisper before he continues: “And if I remember correctly, you enjoyed 'screaming’ my name without a care in the world before.”

The atmosphere in the room became oppressively heavy, and the tension was palpable. Y/N moved her hand up his chest; she ran her nails along the surface and felt him shiver under her touch. ‘I have missed you, she murmured lustfully.

But just when George was about to surrender to this desire to strip her naked and finally feel her, a sound from the next room brought them to a halt. It was the Arthurs' unmistakable, slurred laughter as the duo clumsily barged into the room.

“Maybe we should try to get some sleep,” Y/N said quietly, waking up with concern in her eyes. ‘I don't know what I would do if they ever walked in on us.’

George let out a long-suffering sigh, his limbs trembling in protestation for not giving in. “Alright,” he agreed, even though he felt an overpowering urge to demand more. They kissed one more time and then lay gently beside each other, their limbs touching in the darkness of the bed where they slept.

The night was full of insomnious, restless whispers and secrets of lips pretending not to ache for each other. They found themselves lying side by side, and the distance that separated them seemed enormous.

Each time George moved in the bed, it made a squeaky sound, and this made them realize the importance of keeping quiet. They would go to bed and only wake up in the wee hours of the morning with the air between them pregnant with desire.

The next day, like all the previous days, the vacation by the tropical sun had arrived with no special warning, different from the fact that it was the last of the vacation, and the day felt weighty with the expectation of what was to come.

They packed their bags, the mundane task feeling almost erotic as their eyes kept darting toward each other, silently acknowledging the unspoken tension.

On their way to the airport, George’s hand lightly touched Y/N’s thigh in the back of the taxi, which sent a spark between them. She gripped his hand tightly, her knuckles white, and he knew she felt the same desperation. The flight home was torture; each minute seated in the plane was a silent plea for satisfaction.

The feeling only grew more intense once they got to their flat in London that they shared with Chris and Arthur Hill.

As soon as they both stepped inside and the door shut, George pushed Y/N against the wall and went in for it, kissing her fiercely as he had been wanting to for the past two days. She moaned, overly aroused, the suppressed passion of their vacation reacting.

”I need you,” George repeated softly in her ear, his teeth lightly touching her tender skin.

Y/N immediately grabbed his chest and shoved him backward with such force that it made him stumble. “No, not here!” she replied with a passion that radiated throughout her body.

George stared at her, his expression feral and filled with desire. “Let them hear,” he whispered, the possessiveness clear in his voice. “Make sure they understand that they belong to me.”

Y/N’s breath caught at the blatant demand in his voice. She realized he was correct; they had to give in now; they couldn't wait anymore. They fumbled down the hall, their clothes torn off in a frenzy as they moved. The door to their room banged shut, making the flat resound with the sound.

Their kisses became more passionate as they collapsed onto the bed, desperate to make contact and to take possession of each other. George’s hands traveled all over her, familiarizing themselves with every bump and hollow, every plane and line. It walked its long fingers up her dress, past her hips, his eyes locked with her the whole time.

In his mind, George was already preparing a symphony of sensation for them to get erotically lost in. He wanted to feel her completely, hear the moans of passion, as he thrusts in her. The idea of giving into their desires, giving in to their perverse passion was like a drug to his mind; he became dizzy with all the feelings that stirred his inner conscience.

Y/N’s legs tightened around his waist as he placed her on the bed; the springs of the mattress squeaked gently. He did not mind if the whole house heard them; what mattered to him the most was the present, the touch of her body. Their lips met once more; this time he reached down near her hips and touched the softness of her thighs through the delicate material of her underwear.

“You are stunning, so, so beautiful,” he murmured huskily, running his eyes over the curves of her figure. " I dreamt about this every night."

Too excited to breathe properly, Y/N stared at him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. "I wanna know what you’ve been dreaming about." She whispered seductively into his ear.

George tried to hide the darkness in his eyes as he whispered against her ear, leaning closer to her. ”I’ve dreamt of you open and spread for me, begging me to take you,” he said as his hand traveled higher up her thigh. “I have dreamt of your sweet cries echoing in the room as I continue to fuck you until you cum all over my cock.“

Y/N’s core tightened at the sound of his voice, a thrill of desire pulsating through her. She reached out her fingers around his hard erection, the warmth of it pulsating with his carnal need. “And what do you want now?” she whispered, her lips quivering with lust.

Obsession blazed in George’s gaze, his eyes fixed fiercely on hers as if he desired nothing else in this world. “Now,” he growled, the desire saturating his voice, “it is time to turn these dreams into reality.” Placing himself at her pussy, the head of his cock lightly pressing against her moist lips. “Are you ready for me?”

Again, Y/N’s eyes rolled back, and she let out a small moan. “Oh, much more than ready,” she exclaimed, burying her fingers into his muscles as he thrust deep into her. The feel of him inside of her was something she was yearning for. She moaned as she felt the fullness in her stomach.

The room was filled with their lovemaking: the sound of skin against skin, the creak of the mattress, the ragged panting. It was sweet music that only the two of them heard—an opera that unfolded within the confines of the room they both occupied. The zeal of their love deepened with every touch, with every kiss and every murmured endearment they exchanged.

”Scream for me,” George encouraged, his words heavy with passion as he thrust into her. His large palms were covetous, grasping her, possessing her, as if he had to stake out his claim on her.

Y/N closed her eyes, surrendering to his dominance effortlessly. She threw back her head, her nipples rubbing against his bare skin, and cried out as he hit the spot within her that seemed to make her shudder with delight. It was a sound that rang through the silence of the flat, a proclamation of happiness that appeared to shiver the pillars of their existence.

At the sound of her moans George began to rotate his hips even more exaggerated. He could sense it constricting around him, her thighs clamping around his middle as she clung to him. The pressure was intense, the tension that had accumulated on their trip was finally being set free, and George felt that he was close. He stretched one hand towards her, and his fingers quickly located her clit, pressing on it firmly but lightly.

"You are so wet," he whispered with a throaty growl that revealed how much he desired me. "So fucking wet for me."

Y/N blinked slowly, and her eyes were wide with desire as she gazed up at him. “More,” she pleaded, sulky and breathy, her tone sending a bolt of pleasure straight to his cock. "Tell me what you want to do to me, George."

Panting heavily, George followed the demand to release, his voice turning into a deep and monstrous growl. “I want to fuck you until you cannot walk straight,” he whispered, his hips thrusting into her with renewed vigor as the bed frame creaked. “I want to tear you apart and hear you scream my name as if it is the most important thing in the whole wide world.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled back in her head, her body reacting to his every word. "Harder," she begged, digging her nails into his back. "I want it all, George. Every inch of you."

George felt his stroke become more strained, his words dirty to the rhythm of their bodies. "You take it all in," he told her, his voice a whisper. "Every fucking inch." She felt him stiffen against her, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "You'll come so hard, you'll see fucking stars."

Y/N’s moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet sound of her pleasure. "I'm so close," she admitted, her voice shaky and hoarse. "I'm going to cum all over your cock."

George's eyes darkened with desire at her words. "Do it," he demanded, his voice a rough command. "Cum for me, baby. Show me how much you need it."

Y/N’s body reacted to his command, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. She screamed his name, her walls clamped together, her nails driving into his back. The feeling was too much, too perfect, and he knew this was just the beginning of their reunion.

"Yeah," George sighed, letting his release run out. "That's it, baby. Take it all." He leaned over and captured her lips in a crushing kiss, drowning out her screams as their bodies moved in perfect unison. The words that left his lips were a mixture of love and lust, a promise of all the dirty things he wanted to do to her.

"I'm going to fill you up," he whispered, his teeth brushing against her earlobe. “I want to hear you beg for more. Tell me to never stop fucking you.”

Y/N gasped, the words sending shivers down her spine. “Yes,” she gasped. Her voice was barely audible over the sound of their bodies clashing. “I need you, George.”

He moaned, and his voice echoed in her chest. “You are so fuckable,” he muttered, his hips thrusting deeper into her with every thrust. “I love how you feel this way, so wet, so hot, so perfect.”

Y/N's eyes rolled back into her head as she felt the pressure increase again. With her core tightening around him, "Come on, darling," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their bodies slapping together. “I want to feel you fill me completely.”

Those words were like a catalyst for George. His body responded to the primal urge to fill her up. To mark her as his own, he thrusted one last time. His cock throbbed as he released his seed deep inside her. The feeling was almost overwhelming. A sense of ownership that sent shock waves through his body.

Y/N felt it too. Her body trembled with pleasure as he poured into her. It was a time of pure connection. Moments that seem to last forever.

"Fuck," George said to himself, planting his head on her shoulder. "That was…"

"Perfect," Y/N told him precisely. Her body was still trembling with the shivers of pleasure. Together, they lolled there for a moment, their hearts beating as one, their breathing the only sound in the room.

The following days raced by in a haze of lust and gratification; every opportunity they got, George and Y/N would find a remote spot to give in to their insatiable lust for each other. It could be a quickie in the kitchen or a marathon in their locked-door bedroom listening to music. Whatever it was, they made the most out of it.

*****

Taglist~

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Jealousy Does Look Good On You - Benny x Reader

A/N: this was just me pulling something out of a hat, haha. Bit of writers block right now. But something is better then nothing.

Also, forgive me if this isn't that good. As well as, excuse my attempt at describing their kissing, its been a little haha.

Enjoy.

Tag list: @strayrockette

I wont look at him. I wont look at him. I wont look at him, you chanted over and over in your head. Determined to not pay Benny any mind. It's his choice if he wanted to entertain another woman across the room from you. It's not like you were together, nor his girl.

Your relationship with Benny was undefined, though you thought the striking Vandal was into you just as much as you were into him. But apparently it was just one sided; yours. And now he was showing another woman how to play pool. The very thing that led to you even speaking to Benny in the first place a month ago.

You had seen the raven haired vixen by the jukebox, eyeing up Benny for an hour before making her move. She had started talking to Wahoo and Corky, before Benny got roped in by the two men. From there – as you watched – she moved closer to Benny. Then she got touchy when they talked, laughing at jokes made. And then he was showing her how to play pool.

That was it. You had turned your back to the scene. Your heart not being able to take it any more. The beer you had been nursing, now your best friend. Kathy had been watching you, and the scene with Benny. Shaking her head she couldn’t believe how brazen the woman was, as well as Benny for going there.

“Forget him" Kathy said, shooting daggers at the pool table.

“I'm tryin'” you sighed. “I need another drink".

With that you got up and headed for the bar. Standing with your arms on the counter, you waited to be served. All the while hearing the obnoxious laugh of the raven hair woman. You rolled your eyes, wanting to gag at the sound. Finally you put in an order for two beers – you thought you’d be nice and get Kathy another beer – when an all to familiar body lent on the counter next to you.

Benny bumped his shoulder into yours. “Hi".

“Hi" you replied flatly, keeping your eyes straight. As you know one look at him and you'd be a goner, when you wanted to be mad.

Benny frowned, a confused look upon his face. “Everythin’ alright?”

You nodded your head. “Peachy" – your two beers were place before you, and you grabbed them – “you better go back to your new friend, she must be missin' your company".

And with that you walked off, leaving Benny even more confused then when he stepped up to the bar. Running his hand threw his hair, he was about to follow you, when Corky called him back to the pool table. With a moment of pause, Benny gave in and went back for a new game of pool. All the while trying to work out what was up with you.

“Here" you said placing a beer before Kathy, “thought I'd get ya one".

She thanked you, observing you after watching the icy exchange with Benny. Seeing the blank look upon your face, but eyes telling her how upset you were.

“What was that at the bar?” She asked, all motherly with you.

You sighed. “He came over and said hi. I replied back but I guess he could tell somethin's off, so he asked if everythin' alright”. You took a sip of your new beer.

“Your reply was?”

“Peachy...you better go back to your new friend, she must be missin' your company”. You took another, longer sip.

Kathy's eyes widened as she moved in her seat. “Was that smart?”

You shrugged. “Probably not. But felt good".

She laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah it usually does, until it wears off. Then ya feel like shit".

Again you nodded, taking a sip. “Yes, I know that. I'm feelin' it right now Kathy".

She patted you on the back. “I know. But do your best to not think about it. I doubt Benny is interested in her, I know he only has eyes for ya". She gave you a wink and a soft smile.

All you could do was give her a weak smile. God bless her for trying to cheer you up. But to be honest, you could understand why Benny would go for Raven locks. She was beautiful, dressed like she belonged here, and was confident. Everything you weren’t. You weren't an ugly duckling, but you weren't on her level. You were more of a young Doris Day, while she gave Marilyn Monroe.

After the exchange at the bar, Benny kept his distance. And that added to your despair. You really did shoot yourself in the foot. You stole looks from time to time. They looked comfortable standing next to each other. You even saw her rest her head on his shoulder with a giggle. But what put an end to the night for you was watching her wrap her arms around his neck in joy when she won a game of pool.

“I'm done" you informed Kathy gathering your cardigan and bag. “I can’t do it anymore. I'm headin' out”.

She frowned at you but understood. “Ya want to get a cab together?”

You shook your head. “Nuh, I'm good. I think a walk would be good. But thanks” you gave her a small smile. “Have a good night".

With that you moved through the bar, around various Vandals till you made it the main doors. The cool night air hit you, so you put on your cardigan, slinging your bag over your shoulder. With the briefest of a look in both directions, you crossed the road and began to head down the street. It would be a good twenty minute walk back to your place, if you walked at a decent pace. But with how you were feeling, a slow stroll would be your pace tonight.

Of course your mind thought about Benny, and how the night had gone. Usually when you came to the bar he would play a few rounds of pool before joining you and Kathy. He'd sit next to you, arm resting on the back of your chair. You both would share looks, you’d admire his beautiful blue eyes and killer smile. Or watch when he would smoke a cigarette. You'd watch him take a drag, hold it and admire how he would let the smoke out. As well as his hands, his fingers holding the cigarette so gently.

Other times you would lionize his arms. Noting his muscles and how they react to his movements. Or study the random tattoos that adorn those arms. But you'd always go back to Benny's face, taking in his stunning features. His strong jaw line that was covered in stubble. His cheek bones and full lips. And the messy blonde locks upon his head, just beginning to have a hand run threw them.

But here you were, walking home miserable and hearthaching. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, but you held them back. Just until you got home, and were safely behind a close door to finally breakdown. For you knew you were partially to blame. You probably pissed Benny off with your words. Or he didn't care, and took your words as a pass at the other woman. Either way, it didn't help you.

Turning right down a street littered with shops, you made sure to stay in the light and away from any allays. You weren't going to take any chances of some creep grabbing you. Maybe it might have been smart to get a taxi after all.

The closing in sound of a motorbike caught your ears, but you didn't pay it any mind. Too focused on wallowing in self pity and getting home. Hearing it slow down, before stopping by the curb caused you to panic a little. Why would someone stop near you, when the street was empty. You decided to pick up the pace, clutching your bag.

It was when a large, calloused hand grabbed your arm, did you jump and make a scared sound. They held onto you tightly when you tried to pull away. Then they pulled you back around, and you were met with concerned baby blues looking at you.

“Hey, it's only me" Benny said in a calm voice.

Hearing his voice you relaxed a little, letting yourself take a few slow breaths to calm your racing heart.

“What are ya doin' walkin' home, let alone, at this time of night, doll?” Benny asked, letting go of your arm to place his hands on your shoulders.

You shrugged. “Seemed like a nice night for a walk?”

Benny gave you a sharp look, not buying your words. “Really, what's goin' on (Y/N)?”

“I told ya” you replied stepping out of Benny's grasp.

“I don't buy it. Tell me what's wrong”.

You sighed, “nothin' alright. I am fine, perfectly peachy”.

He groaned. “There’s that damned word again”.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “What, peachy?” – Benny nodded – “it's a perfectly acceptable word".

He chuckled. “Yeah, you like to use it when you're upset. So what is it this time? Is it the woman at the bar?”

You stood there silent for a moment, processing your response. But from the lack of reply, Benny got his answer.

“No, not at all. You're free to spend your free time with whom ever ya like” was what you went with. Not a very strong reply, but its all you got.

Benny laughed loudly. “Jealously sure is a cute colour on you".

Your shot him a dark look, moving your hands to rest on your hips. “I am not jealous Benjamin Cross! Far from it!”

With that you turned on your heel and started to storm off, leaving Benny to laugh some more. But upon realising you were seriously annoyed, he took off after you. He tried to get to you to stop, even offered to give you a ride home. Which you refused.

“Come on, it's quicker and safer if I get ya home” Benny stated, following closely.

“I'm fine. I'd say its more worrisome to be with a Vandal” you retorted.

That hurt Benny. And it was a low blow, you know. But he irked you. So, your words were justified.

“Come on, please let me take ya home” Benny sighed, before he got a bad idea. “The quicker I get ya home safely, the quicker I can get back to the bar and that woman".

That was it. You stopped, before turning around in a flash. Anger and hurt shone in your eyes.

“If its that so important go back now! I said I am fine!” You said with a raised voice. “She seemed to like ya too, from how she was practically in ya arms or in ya lap! Don't mind me, I'm just stupid to think I stood a damn chance. But, like usual, I am-”

You didn’t get to finish your rant. For Benny – amused by your dummy spit – grabbed your arm and pulled you in, his lips silencing you with a kiss. He moved his free hand to cup your cheek, thumb caressing the soft skin. You were in shock. Benny was kissing you. He kissed you to stop you from talking.

He pulled back, looking down at you from under his eyelashes. “Ya good?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it. How does one speak after that? But your eyes told him that you were trying to wrap your head around what just happened. He saw shock, confusion and a small flicker of hope.

“What-why?” You sputtered out.

Benny chuckled, moving his hand so he could caress your jaw with his thumb. “Ain't it obvious? I kissed ya".

“W-why?!” You choked out.

Benny found this version of you amusing and adorable. “Because I wanted too, I’ve wanted to for weeks now. But I've been afraid too".

You looked into Benny's eyes, trying to work out why he would be afraid. So you asked that question. Waiting with baited breath for his answer.

“I was worried ya didn't like me, like I like ya, doll” he said softly. “But seein’ your reaction to Angela" – so that's the raven vixens name, you thought – “I got my answer; ya do".

You titled your head, giving him a sharp look. “Yeah, well...you could be wrong".

Benny chuckled, running his thumb down your lips. Letting it linger, pulling down your bottom lip. “Oh, I know I'm right. And if I was to kiss ya again, I know for a fact, you’ll kiss me back, doll".

“Ha. Try me” you retorted, a challenge.

With a small smirk, Benny moved in and captured your lips once. This kiss was harder. His hand holding your chin, as his tongue swept along your bottom lip. Without a thought, you opened your mouth, giving him victory. Benny's tongue entered, finding your tongue and caressed it with his own. He didn't waste time deepening this kiss, both of you had wanting this for so long.

Eventually Benny pulled back, you chasing his lips. He laughed at how kiss drunk you were. The way you opened your eyes and looked up at him, had him wanting to groan from how good that looked on you. He continued to caress your jaw with him thumb, as he rested his head against your forehead.

“I was right” he sighed. “Firstly, jealously does look good on you” – you softly scoffed – “And secondly, I was right ya would kiss me back”.

“Yeah, yeah...” you mumbled.

Benny pulled back with a chuckle. “Come on, let's get out of here".

With that you let Benny pull you to his bike. Once he was on and the bike was running, Benny helped you on to sit behind him. Settled in and your arms around his waist, be pulled away from the curb. No intention to take you home yet. For now, he wanted to spend time with his girl. Time he didn't get earlier.