#pour one out for rose tonight fellas

[daydreamgoddess14]

We lie awake in love and fear pt. 2

MASTERLIST

From a @lilacmermaid25 prompt - Rebecca's legs cause Ted's brain to short circuit.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The window was wide open, Rebecca could hear the boys shouting and jeering with each other. She continued to work her way through her inbox until she heard Roy call the whistle when she stood and went to stand at the window so she could see them all lined up. They looked so excited to give their gift to Ted. Sam and Isaac led them off - both surprisingly good singers. She giggled at the dance moves. Roy nodded his head in time to the music, she was so proud that he’d managed to arrange the routine. By the time Dani was stepping up for his solo, she was on the verge of tears - the combination of being so very proud of the team, and of the goodbye itself. Dani’s gentle chorus of "Adios" nearly tipped her over the edge and she clutched at the window frame, leaning over for a closer look. Ted and Beard turned to watch Dani join the others in the stands as they reached the finale. She could barely hold herself upright. Then she heard Ted, with a smile in his voice. 

"Thank you fellas. That was perfect." She sighed with relief, pulled the window closed and pressed her forehead against the glass. She'd need a very large glass of wine over lunch with her mum, the day was proving just as highly strung as she’d expected. She felt like an acrobat on the highwire just millimeters from a fall. 

After their slightly awkward morning, and fortified by the wine at lunchtime, Rebecca braced herself to talk to Ted. She knew realistically that it had to be today, tomorrow was match day and she didn't want it to overshadow the game. She knew he'd sneak off as soon as he could to avoid any prolonged goodbyes, so that left her with now. Right now. She went down to the office, but it was dark and quiet. Only the pink gift bags from Keeley stood out. He'll be in the stands. She knew exactly that that's where he'd be. 

"I'm ready to talk now." She stated. And she did. She covered every thought that popped into her head, the schools, the money, selling the club. Threw in a joke about going away to “sleep, drink, fuck.” She poured every ounce of love into what was ultimately a one-sided conversation. 

"You liven up the place, Ted. I don't think I can do this without you." A sob rose in her throat. "Believe it or not, I'm not trying to change your mind. I know you have your heart set on this. I just need you to know how I feel." She placed a hand over his, "Would you… would you come back to mine? For a drink?" He shook his head. That final dismissal was almost too much. She nodded in acceptance, not daring to speak any more. Reluctantly, she squeezed his shoulder and left him to his thoughts. 

Once again, she found herself in bed with a large glass of wine, still working on the same page of her book as the previous night. Again, she was distracted by the doorbell. 

"If that's Beard again…" She mumbled. She checked the app before she bothered moving. Hoping it could be someone she could ignore - an incorrect food delivery or taxi driver. It was Ted, and he appeared to be alone. He had his back to the door, only turning when he heard it open. She wore a pink silk cami and shorts set - no robe this time. No counter to hide her legs. 

"Fuck me." He whispered. Rebecca raised an eyebrow in surprise. Well, not quite a surprise given how he’d been looking at her that morning and been trying to hide. "Sorry, Rebecca. I didn't mean to disturb you. I feel bad for how I left things between us earlier tonight. I wanted to apologise." She didn't say anything, offering him the same silent treatment he'd given her. "I'm sorry." He tagged on. 

"Would you like a drink?" She asked. He shook his head. "For fucks sake Ted, I know why you're being so… not you. But quite honestly it's giving me the fucking creeps. This odd, emotionless version of you. I don't like it. This isn’t my Te-" she stopped abruptly. Not my Ted - don’t fucking say that, “this isn’t the Ted I know.”

"I'm sorry 'bout that, Rebecca. I'm just tryin’ to get through the next couple of days, that's all. Some big emotions goin’ round the place - the game tomorrow, me leavin’. Feels like we’re all just clinging on like Jack and Rose on that door. I’m just tryin’ to make it through in one piece."

"At what cost, Ted? You’re allowed to be upset for the life you’re leaving behind, you know? You’re allowed to miss us. I can't stand to see you like this. I miss the Ted who finds humour in everything, who is so giving and so caring and so passionate, I miss-" She was cut off unexpectedly with a searing kiss. He'd taken a stride forwards, taken her face into his large hands, and kissed her hard. "I miss you." She trembled. "I'm going to miss you. So much."

"I'm gonna miss you too sweetheart. Gonna miss how riled up you get, gonna miss how when you blush, it starts right here," he placed his hand in the center of her chest, "gonna miss how loudly you roll your eyes. I'm really gonna miss your legs." She shifted closer to him, bringing her hand to his waist. She leaned up to kiss his jawline, keeping her eyes on him. "This really ain't a good idea." He muttered.

“I feel like I should say something about not always getting what you want, but getting what you need?” She muttered against his collarbone. He raised his foot behind him to kick the door shut.

“What if they’re the same thing?” She pulled away from him slightly. “If I’m leaving, I want you to know that I want you and that I need you.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears and she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I wasn’t going to let myself do this. What if it hurts too much when you go?”

“If it was always going to hurt, then doesn’t this make it worth it?” She closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder and he swayed her slightly in his arms. After a moment, she looked up.

“Well then I want you too. And I need you more than you could possibly imagine. The trouble is I only have you for a few hours” He smiled sadly,

“I know. Do you want me to leave? I don’t want to make this goodbye any worse.” She shook her head firmly.

“No, I don’t care if it makes it worse. I don’t care, I just need you.” The tears threatened to spill down her cheeks but he kissed them away,

“I got you, baby. I got you. Let me love you.” He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her nose until he captured her mouth. He spun her on the spot and backed her into the door, the wood was cool on the silk of her nightwear and made her shiver, she pulled him closer seeking his warmth, and the weight of his body against hers. His hands and kisses were everywhere, Rebecca felt overwhelmed with trying to concentrate on one sensation at a time, trying to commit each one to memory. The roughness of his hands at her waist, on her thigh, the hot kisses against her throat and travelling down between her breasts. He caught a nipple between his teeth through her cami and her whole body arched towards him.

“Please, Ted-” she moaned. He lifted her top over her head to allow for better access and fell to his knees in front of her. She tangled her hands through his hair, pulling it gently and making him moan against her soft belly.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He smirked.

“Haven’t, ooof,” she gasped as his hands moved to grab her ass and pull her towards him, “haven’t done anything. Yet.”

“Yet. May I?” He asked, hooking her waistband under his fingers. She nodded, a little bashful, and a blush bloomed from the center of her chest - just as he said it did. He took his time, following the silk material down her legs with kisses and little bites. He found the spot just behind her knee that made her giggle. “Way to ruin a moment there, Welton.”

“It’s not my fault there’s a very fine line between you tickling me and you… oh holy shit, Ted, you doing that.” He’d taken one of her legs and placed it carefully over his shoulder, exposing her to him fully, and placed a kiss at her core.

“Haven’t done anything yet.” He threw her teasing words back at her, earning him a glare.

“I can still tell you to go home.”

“Really?” He stopped completely, sitting back on his heels. She had been joking, but his commitment to checking in had her legs turning to jelly.

“No. Stay all night, I dare you.” She smiled down at him, brushing his hair off his forehead and cupping his cheek. He leaned into her and kissed her palm.

“Anything for you, Becca.” She pulled him to standing.

“Don’t say that,” she said, shaking her head, “The one thing I want is the thing I can’t have.” The comment lingered between them. Everything she wanted would be gone by morning. “But let’s not think about that now. Take me to bed so you can finish what you started.” He rested his forehead against hers before kissing her softly and leading her upstairs.

Rebecca sat on the bed and pulled Ted closer by his belt buckle.

“You’re frustratingly overdressed, Ted.” She muttered, working to undo the catch. She pushed his Richmond sweater up, a hint for him to take it off, which he took.

“I was busy with you. I’d like to be busy with you again.”

“Patience. I’m trying to tattoo this into my brain so I can remember you like this forever.” He reached down to kiss her,

“You’ll see me again sweetheart.”

“Not like this. Not for the first time.” She pushed his khakis down his legs, heat coiling in her belly at the sight of him.

“Now can I finish what I started?” He kissed her and laid her back on the bed before kissing his way down her body, getting to his knees in front of her once again. "Have I told you how beautiful you are yet?"

"Hmm. Not yet." She giggled.

"Well y'are. So beautiful, so perfect." He placed kisses and nips across her thighs, getting closer to where she most needed him, placing a strong hand on her hip to hold her still. She writhed under his kisses, getting more and more impatient.

"Ted, please, please just touch me, you're killing me." Finally, finally, he flicks her clit with the tip of his tongue, her hands fly to tangle in his hair and fuck his mouth feels so good. She was so wet and ready for him, he quickly settled into a rhythm with his tongue before sliding a couple of fingers into her and curling them. He kept pace, knowing exactly where and how she needed him. He could feel her unraveling beneath him, shaking, with his name on her lips like a prayer. As soon as she regained the feeling in her trembling hands, she pulled him up her body and into a deep kiss. "My god, Ted," she sighed, "I really am going to have to insist that you stay now." He laughed, pressing kisses into her neck while she still tried to catch her breath. She feels him, hard and hot against her thigh and it's not long before his kisses move down to her breasts with a gentle bite to one nipple while he brushes the pad of his thumb roughly over the other. She arches her back, trying to get a much contact with his body as possible. Her hand trails down between, gripping him, before slowly stroking him. He stuttered against her skin with a low moan and moved between her legs to fully cover her body. He pulled back to look her in the eye, 

"You sure about this? We can still-"

"I'm sure, Ted. I need to feel you inside me, I need to love you." He kissed her firmly as he pushed into her, covering her obscene moans with his mouth, "Yesss" She hissed, bringing her legs up to lock around his hips, bringing him deeper.

"Fuck, Rebecca, you feel so good." He rocked into her slowly, languidly, the closeness pulling her apart once again. He considered speeding up, fucking her into the mattress, but she spoke directly into his ear, biting his earlobe first, "Stay with me, Ted, I need you right here."

"I got you baby, I'm always yours." Her body trembled in his arms as she called out his hand over, and over. His release came only seconds later, he went to move but she placed a hand between his shoulder blades.

"Don't move yet." She whispered. 

"I'll hurt you." He said with a sad smile, she shook her head.

"You could never." He rolled just enough so that she could breathe easier, but held her in his arms. "I'm always yours." She repeated back to him. They cleaned up together in the shower and climbed into bed. 

"You sure you want me to stay over?"

"I dared you, didn't I? If this night is all I get, then I want all of it." She ran her fingers through his hair as he told her his plans for when he got back to Kansas. She noted how he never called it 'home'. Eventually, they fell asleep, limbs tangled together. 

Rebecca woke at some ungodly hour with Ted's hands everywhere. She wasn't sure if he'd try to sneak out, a gallant attempt to make things easier for them both, but two orgasms before breakfast made her very pleased that he'd stayed. They ate croissants together, stealing shy glances at one another, before Ted looked up at the kitchen clock and sighed.

"Back to reality?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Regrets?" 

"Non, je ne regrette rien." 

"Now you're just being cruel." Ted laughed. "Those legs? That smile? Seeing you come apart over and over? And then you speak French to me?" He shook his head. "Cruel."

"I've got to leave you with something, Ted." She giggled. "Time to go. Good luck for the match." He kissed her one final time, briefly, chastely.

They won. Not quite the whole fucking thing, thanks to Man City, but close. They spent a magical night with the team at Ola's. The live band karaoke was wild and despite Ted’s impending departure, everyone was in good spirits. Rebecca left him alone to take some time with each of the team. She'd had her goodbye. She snuck off into the night, leaving the celebrations and her broken heart behind.

She watched five planes depart after Ted's the following morning. She hadn't been able to resist one final declaration, though she had managed to not kiss him. She held off until she knew he wasn't getting off the plane, sitting with Beard and Jane until he'd given her a small nudge and said, "I think that's it, don't you?" She'd told them to go ahead, she'd see them later, and emerged into the bright sunshine of a new Monday morning. 

"It… it's you?" A familiar Dutch voice spoke up.

~~~~~~~

Read the sequel? HERE 💜

[mushroom-gt]

rest of your life

(otherwise known as rose’s terrible horrible no good very bad day. follows rest stop and restless, both of which should be read first! around 3K words. cw for the usual fungus and corpse-based grossness. this piece was sponsored by episode 32 of the magnus archives. You Know Why.)

-

Rose’s eye snapped open.

The groggy remains of their brain shot into overdrive at the sudden influx of sensory information, burning away the haze of their dreams in light and sound. Too bright. Too green. Loud. Buzzing. Something in their back. Something in their face—away, get away, they swatted at the thing hovering too close to them, to knock whatever it was out of the air. Unfortunately it was too quick to actually hit, and instead darted back from their hand with all the grace of a housefly avoiding a newspaper.

Without a four-inch assailant in his personal space, the harsh spotlights and stereo sound dimmed, the colours congealed into comprehensible visuals, and he remembered where he was. The forest. The prince. His half-baked resurrection, the puppeteering tendrils, his impromptu nap. All of it came flooding back. And the very real pain in their back from the knot in the tree trunk they’d slept against indicated that, yes, as far as they could tell, this was not just a stomach-turning nightmare. A glance at their decaying arms further confirmed that they were exactly as dead as they remembered. Good to know. Great, actually. So much for resting in peace.

Their body ached as they took shuddering, unnecessary breaths. The world was still realigning in their eye, coming back into focus—or maybe they were the one coming back, back into their rotting physical flesh from wherever they’d gone in their sleep. The memory of it was dying by the second, but they had been… floating? Not floating, they hadn’t had a body, they were barely even there, and it was too empty, they’d been lost, alone, afraid—

“Finally. I was beginning to wonder if you’d somehow died again.”

Sebastian’s smug tone cleaved through his thoughts and turned them to dust and spores. He grit his teeth. Oh, he certainly hadn’t forgotten about the prince, but it was nice to pretend he wasn’t there while he could.

“How long were you waiting there?” they asked.

From the shade his hair turned—because of course a fungus pretending to be a fairy would blush through its disgusting mold-hair—Rose intuited that it had been a while. But the little creature puffed his chest and deigned not to answer, instead saying, “I’ve realized, corpse, that we failed to negotiate the terms of our little arrangement here. Thus our disagreements, leading to your… outbursts.”

Oh, this was going to be good. They slumped back into the tree and braced themself for what was sure to be an insufferable monologue. “Right. That’s why.”

“I suppose I’m to blame for that,” he went on. “You were unusually competent at following basic instructions. I barely had to move your legs once you began to walk. Most of my other reanimated servants couldn’t even stand on their own. Shame on me for thinking it a stroke of good fortune rather than an omen of rudimentary sentience.”

“Uh huh.”

“As such, I have drafted a pact that I believe we will both find agreeable. Neither of us are content with the current state of affairs; the sooner we strike a deal, the sooner we are rid of one another. I am not in the mood to repeat myself, so pay attention.”

“Sure,” they said, not paying attention. “Hey, what the fuck is that?”

It had somehow slipped their notice when they first awoke, but in their attempt to distract themself from Sebastian’s blathering they spotted the dead bird that had definitely not been there when they fell asleep. It was sprawled out on the ground in front of them, black feathers spattered with dried blood, fat, hairy flies circling it like vultures and covering it in their germs. Its neck looked like it had been snapped, and it stared vacantly at them.

“What—” The prince turned his head. “Oh. That. It was lunch,” he said, far too nonchalantly. “But I’ve had my fill. Help yourself if you like.”

Undeath apparently did not suppress the gag reflex. “Vegetarian, actually, but thank you for the generous offer. Get it away from me.”

“You have a perfectly functional pair of hands, for the time being.”

“I am not touching that thing with my bare—” They groped around themself, found a decently-sized branch, and used it to poke the decaying bird to a more acceptable distance. Even that was enough to make them want to hurl, not the least because its dead black eyes seemed to be looking directly into their soul. Watching them. Judging them. Eugh. “Did you…?”

“Kill it? Yes. Before it got the chance to strip the skin from your skull. You’re welcome. Now, are you ready to hear out my proposal, or would you prefer to stay locked in this frustrating tug of war for the rest of time?”

“You’re making it real tempting,” they muttered. “But whatever gets you to shut up faster.”

The prince landed in front of them, finally putting an end to the high-pitched drone of his wings. Only fitting, they supposed, that he managed to be loud and annoying even when he wasn’t talking. He cleared his throat like he expected them to sit up straight, and received a flat look and crossed arms for his troubles.

Sadly, this did little to discourage him. He merely shot them a glare before he began to speak. “You, human, will act as my mode of transportation throughout the yet-unclaimed territories of these woods. You will perform this role until such time as a sufficient replacement corpse is located, defined as the remains of a deceased creature with equal or superior physical strength to my present vessel—that is to say, you—which either lacks a mind of its own or agrees to assist me in my aims.”

Rose rolled his eye.

“Prior to the discovery of a sufficient replacement corpse, you will obey any commands given to you. You will not attempt to sabotage, obstruct, or otherwise slow the pursuit of a sufficient replacement corpse. This,”—he gestured towards them and the tree they had napped against—“will not happen again. In exchange for this service, upon the location of a sufficient replacement corpse, my present vessel—again, you—will be retired, as per your stated interest. You will return to death, and as the new lord of the Court of Scales I will personally see to it that your body is never again reanimated.”

They waited a moment for him to finish. He did not continue.

“… Is that it?” they asked.

“Is what it?”

“That’s—” They rubbed at their temples. Fucking hell. “That’s your deal. That’s the entire offer. I keep being your chauffeur, I carry you around this magic nightmare forest without arguing, and my grand reward at the end of it all is you kill me. Are you for real?”

For a brief flash, Sebastian looked genuinely taken aback. But then his face hardened, and he said, “In case you’ve forgotten, you are already dead, corpse. Did you not express a preference for quiet decomposition?”

“I mean, it’d be better, in the same way that fucking a cactus is better than fucking a woodchipper.” A bitter laugh escaped their lips. “Actually, no, that’s not even what you’re saying, is it? You’re trying to entice me into the woodchipper by promising me a chance with the cactus later. Fuck off.”

“Well,” he huffed. “Aren’t we confident in our choice?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty easy when you can’t offer anything better than ‘I’ll kill you once you stop being useful.’ What happens when I say no?”

… He shouldn’t have asked that.

The prince’s demeanour changed on a dime. Gone was the antagonism, the ire; in its place came an uncanny degree of glee that made Rose one hundred percent certain they’d just stepped in a conversational bear trap. His mouth curled into a too-wide smile, and he clapped his hands together. “I am so delighted you asked, my dear human!” he exclaimed, so upbeat he was nearly singing. “If you choose to reject my partnership, I leave you to your own devices. You will never see me again. I will disappear from your unlife… and I will take my ward with me.”

Oh, they hated this. He’d been waiting, he’d prepared for this precise opportunity, and they hated it. Hated knowing they were playing right into his hands, hated that they were giving him the satisfaction of following his script. Hated that they were going to ask for clarification, because he wouldn’t offer it on his own, because he wanted them to ask for themself. Wasn’t it enough to know that whatever he meant by his ‘ward,’ it was bad enough to be his trump card? Were the specifics worth their pride?

Yes. They were. “Your what?”

His laughter grated on their ears almost as much his buzzing as he lifted off to face them at eye level. “My ward, little corpse,” he said, the saccharine-sweetness of his words like cough syrup swirled with arsenic. “Certainly you didn’t think it was mere coincidence that you’re in such remarkable shape? Just a scant few fungal patches. Only one eye lost. Nothing like that poor carrion crow. Shall we take a look?”

“I’d really rather not—”

“No, no, I insist.” And with a strength disproportionate to his stature, roots shot from his gown, laced through the bird’s body, and dragged it back, so it was even closer than when they’d woken up. Instinct and germophobia forced them backwards, but they were already up against the tree, nowhere for them to go. All they could do was pull their legs to their chest as the rotting pile of feathers mouldered away in their personal space.

“It’s blooming quite nicely, don’t you think?” They’d been so repulsed by the crow they hadn’t noticed him fly up to their ear, and they flinched hard. “The blowflies came and went while you were asleep, I’m afraid, but they left plenty of eggs. Some are hatching even now, a million squirming maggots that will burrow their way into its breast. Not all will live, of course, and any that burst—well, they just become part of the buffet! And they’re not alone, no; other flies are coming, too, with larvae that specialize in exterminating early arrivals. They’ll go to war, just moments after birth!” He gave a fond little sigh, like he was recounting an old flame instead of a compost heap. “Creatures after my own heart…”

“Okay,” they breathed, trying not to choke on their own disgust. “Stop. I get the picture.”

“I really don’t think you do. That’s only the flies, after all. Why, you haven’t even seen the dermestids that will chew up its skin and feathers, the bursts of microbiota that will bloat it with putrid gases, or any of the lovely molds that will surely spring up! As we speak, their invisible spores are drifting through the air, landing on each and every surface, desperate for something dead enough to grow into. The ones covering your skin must be so disappointed.”

They knew what Sebastian was getting at. They weren’t stupid. But he just kept going, every rotten word turning their stomach, and if they weren’t too busy constricting their throat to keep the bile down they would have screamed at him to get it over with, to fucking say it already.

As if on cue, he giggled, and said, “Just think… without my ward, all of that could be you.”

There it was. He shuddered, pushed the thought out of his mind as much as he could. He still had a choice. The prince might have succeeded in nauseating him, but he was stubborn, and it’d take more than some gross-outs to change his mind.

“… So either I help you and I die,” he said carefully, “or I don’t help you and I die. This isn’t the slam dunk you thought it was.”

If they’d stepped in a bear trap earlier, then here was the bear itself. Peals of the fairy’s laughter rang out like awful, mocking church bells, and he nearly fell out of the air in his fit. “Oh, no, no, no, my dear, naive corpse,” he singsonged once he had caught enough breath to speak. “You misunderstand.” He dove towards their face like a dragonfly after a mosquito, hovering just before their eyes, wearing a ghastly, malicious smile.

“You don’t die if I remove my ward.”

No. “Get away from me.”

“You will feel every writhing grub that makes your flesh its home. Every scavenger and worm that strips away your skin, every bacterium that flourishes in your bloodless veins, every tendril of every spore that uses you as substrate. Any sleep you manage, you will awaken less whole, more infested, until your joints break down and you can no longer move or cry or scream.”

No, no, no. “I said get away from me.”

“You’ll be more than a host, sweet corpse. You’ll be a hive. Can you imagine it? Decomposers, parasites, feeding and breeding and multiplying, all within your body—for as long as it can meaningfully be called ‘yours,’ anyways, and not theirs. Their habitat, their haven, their environment. Oh, it’s a shame I won’t be around to see what nests within that empty eyesocket… It looks positively cozy.”

He was bluffing. He had to be. “I said get away.”

“And the best part? You’re the only case I’ve seen in which a reanimated body gets its mind back, too… Which means I don’t know when you’ll finally be released. Who knows? Maybe never! Maybe you’ll spend the rest of eternity in a hollow state of agony, long after your corpse is dust, kept forever from any sort of peace. Maybe your last sensation will be your skeleton crumbling into the dirt, but you’ll still be stuck, and you’ll go mad from lack of stimulation. Maybe you’ll reawaken spread far and wide in the digested bodies of everything that returned your cadaver to the soil, so thoroughly fractured you cannot even comprehend it. Which will it be? Do you want to find out?”

A tendril grazed their shoulder—

“Don’t FUCKING touch me!”

As quickly as it had arrived, Sebastian’s amicable affectation dropped, and his voice went cold. “I am not playing games, vessel,” he hissed, as they stared at him in horror. “I have a mission. You are lucky I haven’t already left you to rot alive for your disrespect. Make. Your. Choice.”

The only sounds in the clearing were the hum of his wings and Rose’s ragged, panicked breaths.

Later, he would regret letting fear make the choice for him. The pressure of the situation had been too much to think clearly. Grisly as the fairy’s threat was, he clearly needed Rose more than he cared to outright admit, and he could have leveraged that. He could have been more specific, negotiated more for himself, to make this nightmare more tolerable. And by the time he got the chance to think things over, it would be much too late to amend the contract.

But in the moment, he met the crow’s empty, glassy eyes, and found his voice before his reason.

“Two conditions,” he managed.

The prince clucked his tongue, but didn’t look away. “I’ll hear them.”

“One: I can’t keep roaming around forever. I need rest. At least once a day, at least a few hours.”

“Necromancy removes the need for sleep—”

“Maybe physically. But if you try to make me walk for a week straight without a break I’m going to snap and see how well you grow back from being peeled like a string cheese.”

“Always the brutality with you,” he said, as though he was in any position to judge. “Acceptable. Secondly?”

“You talk to me like I’m a fucking person. Okay? None of this ‘corpse’ or ‘vessel’ shit. My name is Rose.”

For a moment, Sebastian just blanked. Like they’d blindsided him. Was that… good?

Apparently not, because then he chuckled. Not with the manic schadenfreude from before, no, this was lower, darker. Disbelieving.

“… You really don’t know anything about the fey, do you?” The look on his face was almost pitying. “Handing your name over just like that.”

Wait. Shit. Shit shit shit that’s right you weren’t supposed to do that. They’d never cared for stories about the fey, but even they knew that was always like rule number one, fuck, they’d screwed themself over—

“You are remarkably fortunate that names cease holding power after death. Else, you would be serving as my transport and I would grant you a waking decay,” he tutted.

Oh. Okay. So… not immediately ruined. That was… about as much of a relief as they could hope for, all things considered. Not that that made them feel any less like a rabbit in a snare, especially when the prince had such a satisfied gleam in his eye.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I find these terms agreeable. Is that all?”

They kept their mouth shut. Not in the mood for their words to betray them again. Instead, they nodded, slow and deliberate, and Sebastian’s face lit up so quickly they immediately regretted it.

“Well then, Rose…”

Something shuddered in their veins as he spoke, old rotten blood standing alert at the call of a name, an echo of a force that could have once strung them along like a helpless marionette and still had the power to shake them to the bone and all at once they realized the scope of the mistake they had made.

“I believe we have a deal.”

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

Rock Bottom

Joe Liebgott x OC

*Rated T for language and adult themes. (5,471 words)

“Have you guys seen that new girl?” Frank Perconte asked as he squeezed into a small seat along the dining table bench.

“What new girl?” Bill Guarnere asked through a bite of food.

“The new intelligence girl,” Frank said as means of explanation.

“She’s an intelligence officer?” Joe Liebgott asked.

“I heard she was with the OSS before this,” Pat Christensen added.

“I don’t think intelligence officer,” Frank pushed the food around on his plate, “but apparently she speaks like 20 languages.”

“No,” Joe said doubtfully, “no way, that’s so many.”

“Who knows? Once you know one language it’s easier to pick up others,” David Webster said.

Joe shot him an annoyed look.

“I think she’s from the Bronx too, Web.”

“Well hey, there ya go! There’s so many languages going around in the Bronx, she probably picked them up there. It’s so much easier to learn languages when you’re young ya-“

“Where’d you get all this info?” Bill cut David off.

“Luz.” Frank was barely intelligible with his mouth full.

“Hm,” Bill grunted. The information was likely true coming from George Luz, the kid had a way of finding things out.

Their formal introduction to the newest G-2 recruit occurred the next day prior to starting their classroom instruction. The men hadn’t expected the classroom time. They knew the forecast had predicted rain but they didn’t dare to hope Sobel would let them off just because of “a little water”. However, by eleven, the early morning drizzle had grown into a downpour that even Sobel didn’t want to be caught in. He relinquished his company to the instruction of basic compass and map reading.

“Gentleman,” Sobel addressed them dryly, his hands folded behind his back, “before we get started, I would like to introduce you to the newest member of the intelligence general staff.”

The men were gathered in a large tent propped up by recently constructed whitewood. Beside Sobel stood a woman dressed neatly in an army issued pencil skirt, jacket and tie.

“This is Valerie Marchetti, she will be working with the intelligence office as a linguist.”

“Told ya she knew like 20 languages,” Frank whispered to Joe.

“Italian!” Bill nudged Johnny Martin.

“Please make every effort to make her feel welcome,” Sobel finished unenthusiastically, “Alright, let's get started. Radio men, follow Ms. Marchetti.”

“Lucky!” Floyd Talbert clapped George on the shoulder as he stood up. George winked at him with a grin.

“So, what’s she like?” Floyd asked as they headed back to the barracks.

“Aw she’s an angel,” George enthused, “so sweet, and she knows her stuff too!”

“You’d think anyone that pretty was an angel, Luz,” Frank said.

“That,” George said, “is because angels are beautiful.”

But George wasn’t the only one over the moon to have a woman among them. All of the Toccoa men were eager for any chance to ogle Valerie. They were oversexed and grateful to have a beautiful woman in their midst, if only for the hope of earning a smile. Most of the men were limited in their interactions with her seeing as she was part of the intelligence general staff but somehow Bill really got to know her, and by extension, Johnny Martin did too. They became a trio on nights out. Bill jumping from group to group, socializing with all the men while the more mellow Johnny posted up at a table with Valerie.

“Does she actually know 20 languages?” Shifty asked Bill innocently.

“Nah, not actually twenty, but she knows quite a few. She’s damn smart!” Bill said taking a long drink of his beer.

“What languages does she know?” Joe asked.

“Italian, her pa’s Italian. Polish ‘cuz of her ma. Yiddish and I think her German’s okay too,” Bill listed.

Joe nodded thoughtfully, “not bad,” he admitted. “Not gonna be any use to us if we go to Japan though.”

Bill shrugged, “who knows where we’re goin’, they got her here for a reason.”

“Was she posted somewhere else before this?” Moe Alley asked.

“She was a code breaker! Can you believe that? So smart,” Bill shook his head in awe.

“Ya sound like you’re in love there, Bill,” Joe teased.

“God damn right, I love that girl. She’s great!”

Joe chuckled, she was a good looking dame that was for sure. Just his type: curvaceous, dark hair and warm eyes. He admired her just as much as every other guy in the bar. There were plenty of local women around, some of who Joe had gotten to know quite well, but there was something about that army pencil skirt that just did it for Joe.

“She gotta fella?” Joe heard himself asking.

“Why? You interested Joe?” Bill asked.

Joe shrugged, “just curious.”

Bill looked over his shoulder where Valerie sat smiling, her full lips painted a rich red. “I don’t think so, but I’ll tell ya what Joe, she’s not any ol’ dame. She’s a spicy one that’s for sure. She’ll tell you what’s what.”

Yeah, Joe found that out for himself the first time he experienced classroom instruction with Valerie Marchetti.

“Well, actually we’d actually refer to this group as the Allgemeine SS,” Valerie said.

“Deutsche Ausrüstungswerke is German Equipment factories so I don’t-“ Joe defended.

“Well yes, but it’s important to know that this is an armaments division under the SS, Allgemeine SS.”  
“Are you sure? You said yourself you aren’t fluent in German, are you sure you’re translating-“

“Yes. I don’t speak fluent German but I know these terms and I know the organization of the SS. You would do well to listen to me, I know what I’m talking about.” Valerie snapped.

“Okay, calm down,” Joe threw his hands up.

Valerie sniffed at his gaslighting before spinning on her heel and walking away. After that it was game over, nothing about her was attractive to Joe any longer; not her silky, dark curls, not her full red lips, not the way the dark lines on her hose travelled seductively up her leg. He decided she was more trouble than she was worth.

A cheer rose up from the dart boards that Friday night where Bill, Johnny, and Bull were playing darts with Valerie. She was wearing trousers that night, which Joe found rather flattering. But he caught himself as his gaze travelled down from her waist, and quickly looked away.

“Okay, if I make this last one, drinks are on me.” Valerie bit her lip in concentration.

“Well now I kinda want you to win,” Bill said jovially.

“Ah!” The men around her cheered again as the dart hit another bullseye.

“Damn, how do you do it?” asked Don Malarkey in awe.

Valeria smiled coyly and shrugged. “Who needs a drink?” she asked to the men gathered.

“Nah, you can’t possibly cover all the drinks here,” Bill held up his hand in protest, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

“Don’t worry about it Bill, I pretty much owe everyone in here a drink anyways after the way they all tripped over themselves to buy me a drink when I first got here.”

The men sung her praises all the way up to the bar where Valerie instructed the tender to pour everyone in proximity a beer and to put it on her tab. She had come up right where Joe had been standing with Moe. Valerie glanced down at his nearly empty glass, “you need a beer Joe?” she asked.

“No thanks, still workin’ on this one.” Joe held up his glass.

“James?” Valerie asked Moe. He nodded appreciatively and accepted the drink even though his original glass held more than Joes.

“You sure Joe?” Valerie asked in a sing song voice. It grated on Joe’s nerves.

“I’m good, thank you though Valerie.” His dark eyes met hers. The piercing darkness of them sent a shiver down her spine and she abruptly looked away, blushing.

Joe was walking back from the latrine later that night when he heard some voices out in the dark, in the direction of HQ. The tone of the two male voices that carried on the air made Joe stand to alert. The speakers weren’t too loud, but there was a forcefulness to them. Then the voice of an agitated female broke through. A coldness rushed into Joe blood. He rushed towards the noise. He came upon two F company men who were walking on either side of Valerie. They were walking fast, the pace clearly set by Valerie who sped forward. The men kept in step with with her all while trying to box her in between their bodies.

“Hey!” Joe snapped, stopping them in their course, “what the hell is going on here?”

Joe looked at Valerie, a chilling look in her eyes: fear.

The men hardly seemed bothered by Joe’s presence. “We’re just making sure this young lady gets back to her quarters safely,” one said.

“Are you?” Joe asked, “do you even know her?”

“Sure we do,” the other said arrogantly, “mind your business pal.”

“Val, you know these guys?” Joe asked. Even with adrenaline coursing through his body he winced internally at his use of her nickname. He wasn’t familiar with her like that, why did he call her Val in that moment?

“Don’t worry about it Joe, I can take care of myself,” she said firmly, “I’m just right here,” she turned towards the main HQ building where she was posted up with the other few females. The men made to follow her into the darkness. Although it was only yards away, there were too many spots of darkness for Joe to feel comfortable letting those men follow her all the way up to her doorstep. Joe stepped in front of them, giving Valerie the time and space to disappear into the fold of the night.

“What’s your problem man?” one of the men snarled.

“It’s late, you’re just gonna have to accept you struck out tonight,” Joe sneered back.

The other man, who was significantly larger than Joe, took a menacing step forward. “She your girl or something?” he asked with narrow eyes.

“She’s no ones girl,” Joe said, and he turned away to head back to his barracks.

“Hey, you should’ve stayed out of it, guy.” Then Joe felt a hand on his collar spin him around before a fist made contact with his eye.

“Do you know what guys from F company?” Edward Tipper asked as he took in the blue and blackness that was beginning to come out around Joe’s eye socket.

Joe shrugged into his breakfast, “whatever, I’m not worried about it.”

“Those bastards,” Moe said, “we oughta give them what they deserve.”

“I said I’m not worried about it,” Joe said, “will you drop it?” His friends reluctantly sat back.

It was then Joe noticed Valerie standing a few feet away, a breakfast tray clutched in her hands. She was staring mournfully at the injuries he incurred. As soon as his eyes met hers she quickly walked to the table where Johnny sat, taking a place beside him and disappearing behind the figures of the Easy Company men she loved. Not Joe, he was not part of that group.

“Joe,” Valerie came up behind him as he was bussing his tray. He turned around to face her. Bags hung under her eyes but her signature red lipstick was applied flawlessly.

“Yeah?” he asked impassively.

“Um, I..” she hesitated, taking in his appearance. His jacket was unbuttoned, revealing his PT shirt. His dog tags hung heavy around his lean neck. His cheek bones were sharp, the top of the left one was split just slightly below where the blueness had spread to fill his entire eye socket. Valerie winced looking at him.

“I just want to say I appreciate you checking in on me last night,” Valerie began.

“Don’t mention,” Joe flicked his hand dismissively and began to walk away.

“But you didn’t need to, I feel bad, you’re eye, I would’ve been fine-“

Joe looked at her like she was crazy, “Valerie I saw how you looked last night, you knew it wasn’t goin’ in a good direction.”

“I was almost back to my quarters, I would’ve been fine,” she insisted.

Joe let out a sharp laugh, “why were you alone anyway? Walking in the dark?”

“It’s none of your business,” Valerie said.

“Wow, this is a hell of a thank you, Val,” Joe winced. Damn it, why did he keep using that nickname?

Valerie wrinkled her own nose in discomfort, “well thank you, but next time I got myself.”

“Valerie I wasn’t going to just leave you there!”

“You don’t need to worry about me! I can take care of myself,” she doubled down.

“God damn it, would you get over yourself?” Joe snapped. Valerie reeled back in momentary shock.

“Get over myself?”

“Those guys were trouble! We both know it!”

“Get over myself? What do you mean? You don’t trust me-“

“I don’t even know you, I would’ve done the same for any girl-“ 
“So because I’m a girl you don’t trust me to take care of myself?”

“It was two against one.” 
“I’m a soldier same as you and you were prepared to take them on-“

“Don’t be ignorant, it’s diff-“

“Ignorant? Who’s calling who ignorant?”

“See, you just think you’re so much better than every-“

“I have to be better than everyone! I have to work twice as hard as everyone here!”

“In your cozy little intelligence office? Yeah, sure, try doing the stuff we have to do.”

“I have to train too! I’m strong!”
 “But not strong enough to-“

“I am strong enough!”

“Look what those bastards did to me, you don’t think they would’ve done the same to you?”

“Well, maybe not, because like you said I’m just a girl.”

“Yeah well let me tell you that’s exactly why they could’ve done worse.”

“Do you just assume the worst of your compatriots?”
 “Do you not? How dumb are you? I thought you were from the city!”

“You know what, just stay out of it next time Liebgott. I don’t want you getting injured on my behalf.” Valerie stormed away angrily.

“You’re welcome!”Joe shouted after her defiantly. “God damn it,” he cursed under his breath. He kicked a trash bin nearly kicking it over, “fuck this.”

Joe was still heated later that night when he finally retired to the barracks.

“Tough day, Joe?” Bull asked. A cigar hung from his mouth as he unlaced his boots.

“Little bit,” Joe eased down on his bed. His face throbbed where he had been hit. Bull looked up at him thoughtfully, “everything alright now?” he asked cryptically.

“All good, Bull,” Joe lay back on his cot exhaling.

“Not all good,” John Martin was suddenly standing over him, “you were fighting with Valerie?”

“Not really, it’s fine,” Joe draped an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the little light that filled their canvas living quarters.

“It better be, I heard you two shouting at each other earlier. What’d you do to deserve that?”

Joe sat up, “I didn’t do anything!”

John crossed his arms and eyed Joe suspiciously, “well, if she’s after you you probably deserve it.” He stalked off and Joe fell back onto his bed.

“She’s a tough one that Valerie,” Bull said.

“So I’ve heard,” Joe muttered.

“No shit from nobody,” Bull continued.

“You gotta point, Bull?” Joe snapped glaring at the guy in the bunk next to him.

Bull chewed on his cigar, carefully considering what he was going to say next, “it was good of you to look out for her. You did the right thing, Joe.”

Joe hadn’t expected that. He nodded at Bull then rolled over in his bunk. He didn’t know how much Bull knew, or what exactly he had heard through the grapevine, but Bull’s words meant more than he thought the would. Finally a little acknowledgment for preventing the crime he had seen coming. No matter how tough she was, there’s no stopping that when two men decide they’re going to do it.

Joe slid his arm under his pillow, trying to get comfortable. That’s when his hand grazed something hard and rectangular. From underneath his pillow he pulled out a chocolate bar. Wrapped around it, fastened with twine, was a note. In neat cursive were the words: You were right. Thank you for your help.

Joe couldn’t help but smile a little bit. Who the fuck was this woman.

She was a goddamn rule following narc when she wanted to be, that’s who she was. Joe and Moe may or may not have snuck out of the base one Tuesday night and gotten pissed at a nearby bar. They were too drunk to be cautious when they stumbled back onto base, their arms around each other, singing.

Valerie was walking along the well lit path to the women’s latrine when she ran into them.

“What are you guys doing?” she hissed confronting them.

“Hello sweetheart,” Moe slurred with a grin.

“Valerie!” Joe said enthusiastically, “wow thank you for the Hershey bar.”

Valerie flushed bright red, “you guys are being so loud! You’re going to get in trouble.” She looked them up and down, “how drunk are you?”
 “Not drunk at all,” Moe shook his head.

Valerie wrinkled her nose, “sure smells like you are.”

“That’s rude Valerie,” Joe said jokingly.

“Yeah well you guys are going to get all of Easy in trouble tomorrow if you show up hungover.”

“We’ll be fine!” Moe waved his hand, “don’t worry about us, doll.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Valerie said sharply, “its the rest of the company you’re screwin’ over. Goodnight!” she walked off shaking her head.

“What a bitch,” Moe said off-handedly.

“She’s not a bitch,” Joe immediately snapped.

Moe swayed in place, grinning stupidly at his friend. “Whoa there, you’re not in love with her now too are you?”

Joe rolled his eyes and the men stumbled back to their barracks, now a little quieter.

He would never admit it after the way Valerie had confronted them, but waking up the next day was rough. Joe was determined to keep it together just to spite Valerie. He had muscled through the morning and was hoping for a moment of respite at lunch. But to his great misfortune, tuna casserole was being served. Joe’s stomach churned as he looked down into his plate. He was hungry but he was sure that the final remains of alcohol digesting inside of him would not be happy to share his stomach with this meal.

As he contemplated whether to eat or not, Joe felt eyes on him. He looked up to see Valerie’s sympathetic face from across the mess hall. She smiled at him tenderly at him and he immediately felt pathetic in her eyes. A irrational sense of anger flared up in him and he stabbed at the casserole with his fork. He brought a first big bite into his mouth all while maintaining eye contact with Valerie. The sympathetic smile dropped from her face as she watched his performance. She narrowed her eyes, her lip curling in disgust at his juvenile defiance.

After the meal ended she came up to him, her tray as empty as his was.

“Feeling alright, Joe?” she asked as sweet as syrup.

Perspiration was beginning to form on his forehead. He was not feeling alright, in fact he felt rather clammy. Moe had done the wise thing and only eaten his buttered bread. Joe was seriously regretting not doing the same.

“Feelin’ great, how’re you feeling, Valerie?” he asked obstinately.

“I’m feeling great too,” she said smugly, because she was, and he clearly was not even if he wasn’t admitting it. “Enjoy the rest of the day!” She sashayed off.

Luckily, the mess hall was mostly empty because as soon as she was out of sight, Joe dived for a nearby trashcan and regurgitated the lunch he had just consumed.

“Better out than in,” Moe said as means of comfort, looking equally washed up.

By the end of the week Joe was ready to go out again. Just as it happens to all young men, the short term memory of how he felt after a night of binge drinking had left him by that Saturday night. Having secured and successfully retained their weekend passes, Joe and his friends bought tickets to the dance that Saturday evening.

The majority of Easy Company had the same idea and they, along with the other companies of the 101st airborne, filled the local dance hall. Joe was having a pretty good time. Beer was flowing, the band was hopping, and there was an endless supply of beautiful women to dance with. Joe was taking a break from the dance floor when he spotted Valerie spinning across the room in the arms of a dark haired gentleman from another company.

“Look at her,” Edward said appreciatively from next to Joe.

“Who?” Joe asked, pretending not to know who his friend was referring to.

“I know you don’t like her much, but Valerie, she is a looker,” Edward whistled.

Joe scowled but allowed himself a moment to check Valerie out. She wore a slightly-outdated red belted dress. Little white flowers peppered the fabric from the hem to the shoulders where the cinched neckline generously revealed her delicate collarbones.

Joe cleared his throat, “yeah, but there’s lots of good lookin’ broads around tonight.”

Edward just shrugged and downed the rest of his beer before setting out for the dance floor again. Joe did his best to avoid Valerie. He distracted himself with drinks, jokes, and other beautiful women. Despite his best efforts Joe still found himself looking across the low lit dance floor directly into Valerie’s eyes when a version of Mood Indigo came on.

It wasn’t Valerie in his arms, it was another woman. A woman he hadn’t known long enough to truly enjoy the moody slow dance with. Valerie was in the arms of the same guy she’d been with all night and she did look like she was enjoying the dance. Joe realized she was enjoying it a lot more than he wanted her to be.

The glance they had shared had been brief, she had broken it off quickly to nestle her cheek against her fellas shoulder. But that short moment had stirred something in Joe. In the dark golden light of the numerous high-hanging light bulbs Valerie’s eyes had looked like melted amber. The shadows that flickered across the hall softened her face, giving it an ethereal look. She was breathtaking and Joe wanted to be the one with his arm around her waist. He wanted to be the one she leaned her cheek against. He felt an overwhelming unreasonable hatred for this random man he didn’t know simply because he was the one who held Valerie so close.

Once the song ended, Joe politely bid goodbye to his partner and made a beeline for Valerie. She stood talking to her partner and a few other guys Joe didn’t recognize. He approached their group stiffly, his hands in his pockets. Everyone looked surprised at his arrival, especially Valerie, who was obligated to introduce him considering she was the only one who really knew him.

After a quick nod to the group Joe said, “Valerie can I talk to you?” Valerie’s brow furrowed in confusion but she politely excused herself. Joe lead her to an unoccupied side of the room near the door.

“Is something wrong?” Valerie asked, a fresh glass of champagne clutched in her perfectly manicured hands. Joe had no clue as to what he had wanted to say to her or what exactly he wanted from her. His goal had simply been to remove her from that man’s presence. In all honesty, he had no plan because he was confused on how exactly he considered her; was she a friend? An enemy? Or just another beautiful woman?

“Well, I just wanted to give you the option to dance with me,” he hesitated, watching her face for a reaction, “or one of the other Easy guys,” he added.

“Um, I’m alright, thank you, I’ve been happy dancing with-“ she gestured back at her partner.

“That guy? Psh,” Joe said dismissively, “guys a cement mixer, don’t you wanna dance with someone good?”

Red rose up in Valerie’s cheeks, “who? Like you?” she asked.

Joe shrugged, “anyone’s better than that fool.”

“You don’t even know him, Joe.”

Fair point, Joe thought, but he didn’t like the guy. “I can tell he’s a dip, just look at him!” Joe laughed.

“This is a really terrible way of asking me to dance with you!”

“Hey, I’m doin’ you a favor.”

“Me a favor? Could you be more full of yourself?”

“Me full of myself? What about you little miss perfect. I’m not the one walking around acting like you know everything.”

“I know more than you!” “See there you go, why do you gotta go around putting people down?”

“No one seems to have a problem with me except you!” Valerie shot back.

“Take it outside lovebirds,” an intoxicated private said as he passed them.

His interruption killed the argument between them. Instead they just stood glaring at each other, dark brown eyes meeting golden ones. 



Finally, Joe said, “come on, let’s dance.”

“You wish!” Valerie stomped on his foot.

Joe swallowed his curse, “fuck,” he said in a strangled a voice. Valerie turned to stalk away but Joe grabbed her elbow.

“Get off of me,” she hissed, trying her best not to make more of a scene than they already had.

“Come on.” Joe pulled her out the nearest door, throwing them both into the cool Georgian night. Now engulfed by darkness they were really free to fight it out.

“What the fuck was that for?” he demanded.

“Who do you think you are?” she shot back. “Interrupting my evening for what? Just to invite me on a pity dance? I don’t need your pity, I was enjoying myself quite a bit tonight until you started all this!” She threw her hands up in frustration. Some of the champagne from the glass still in her hand spilled over the side, onto her hand. “Ugh,” she exclaimed. She wiped her hand angrily on her dress.

Jealousy stabbed through Joe’s chest at her words. She had been enjoying herself with that guy. “What’s so special about that guy anyways? Didn’t you just meet him tonight?” he sneered.

Valerie opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. She closed it, examining him. A devilish smirk crossed her face, “oh is this what it’s about Joe? You jealous?”



Yes. “No!” he said, “I just don’t know why you’re all moony over this guy. This is a social, not something you bring a date to.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t believe me about what? This isn’t a place for dates? Not usually-”

“That you’re not jealous! What’s your problem Joe? If you’re interested in me just be a man and tell me.”

“Typical, you thinking that everyone has got to be in love with you.”

“Then tell me why you’re being so rude tonight! Either you’re jealous or you hate me.” Was there a third option? Because Joe felt like he was somewhere in between. He definitely didn’t like Valerie. She got under his skin like no one else. At the same time, there was a magnetism about her that kept drawing him in. Those eyes, those lips, even that temper. He wanted to grab her and kiss her just to shut her up.

“And if you hated me you wouldn’t be bothering with all this!” 
Joe was barely even listening to her at this point.

He could feel his blood pumping; the adrenaline and anger mixing together to create a roar in ears that made it impossible to comprehend everything she was saying. He knew he was going to do it even as he counseled himself against it. He surprised himself with his sudden movement; he snatched her waist and pulled her into a hard kiss.

Immediately, she pushed him away. “What the hell!” she threw the remainder of her champagne in his face. Cooly, Joe wiped the liquid off his face with the sleeve.

“You told me to tell you!”

“Not like that!”

He stood glaring at her. She glared back, her now empty glass hanging pointlessly from her hand. There was nothing but silence between them, and the chirp of insects in the night sky. The faint sounds from the festivities inside filtered out but Joe and Valerie were completely in their own world, in a standoff.

Then suddenly, mutually, something shifted between them. Flaring rage turned to lust. Simultaneously they lunged for each other. Joe wrapped one arm around her waist, the other hungrily snaking up her thigh. Valerie’s fingers twisted in his hair, tugging at the thick, dark tendrils. He bit down on her lip as she pulled on his hair. Their kisses were messy and hungry; all the pent up anger and tension that had built up between them expressed in an intimate power struggle as they moved to devour each other.

“You drive me crazy,” Joe pulled away for breath.

Her lipstick was completely gone, its last traces staining her swollen mouth red. “I can’t stand you,” she retorted. He kissed her again, tangling her hand in her hair. Their pace slowed from the previous feverish speed to something more sensual without losing its fervor. Joe had her pressed against the building wall. His hands cupped her her jaw and slid down her throat. His mind was muddled with his detestation for this woman and the aching physical desire that was taking over him. She must have felt similarly as one hand pushed against his pelvis, as if warding him off, while the other dug fingernails into the nape of neck, forcing him in closer.

Once again they surfaced for air, this time taking time to really look at each other. The sound of their panting filled the space around them as her eyes searched his for some explanation.

“What’re we doing, Joe?” her voice was oddly vulnerable. Joe traced her jaw with a calloused thumb.

“I don’t know.” He pushed away from her and ran a hand through his tousled hair. Cold air entered the space where their bodies were previously connected. It sent a shiver through Valerie. “I don’t know,” Joe repeated.

He stepped back even further into the dark, his hand on his hips. He kicked a rock on the ground.

“You don’t like me,” Valerie said with the slight intonation of a question. Joe sucked his teeth. “And,” she continued slowly, “I don’t know if I like you.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you,” Joe said.

Valerie crossed her arms, her eyes bore into him. She was waiting for him to say something else, to offer a but. But it never came.

After a few unbearable minutes of silence she finally said, “I’m going back inside, Joe.” The patch of darkness he stood in was filled with a momentary field of light as she opened the door. Then, she was gone and Joe was alone in the darkness.

Joe did his best to avoid Valerie after that, but he felt her golden eyes on him in the mess hall. He wanted to provide her with answers, to tell her how he was feeling, but he didn’t know. He told himself there was a nothing to like about her - she was a pretentious kiss ass who seemed to have every guy wrapped around her finger. But he saw through her - he wasn’t going to fall for her like everyone else had.

Yet, she consumed his thoughts. All the pieces of love and hate swirled in his mind as he desperately tried to conceive a clear way to explain how he was feeling. He didn’t like her, but he might be falling in love with her. But even if he had realized this sooner, it still came too late.

In a matter of weeks she was stepping out with the dark haired guy she had hit it off with that night. He was a boring, strait laced guy, or at least that’s what Joe had gathered from Bill. The guys dullness was obvious. From what Joe witnessed, there was no fire between them. Not that it was his place to care, he reminded himself. Every time Joe saw them together he avoided her gaze. He knew he would see that look that was begging him to step in, to step up and interrupt this course she was on. But, as long as she was with this guy Joe had an excuse not to love her.

[catb-fics]

So I’ve decided to just make this a short story for now... there’ll be one more part after this but who knows? I might come back to it at a later date and write a longer story to include the other lads... maybe go a bit ‘Twilight’!

Love Bites (Part 2)

Warnings: Not yet but things are def heating up! / Word Count: 2.2k

Read Part 1 here

It's a dull, dreary Monday morning as you make your way to work. November has brought with it all the chill you might expect from a mid-winter's day, and you pull your coat around yourself tightly, wincing slightly as you catch the plaster that's covering the cut on your hand. It still smarts slightly, but the sensation is nothing compared to the embarrassment you feel when you re-play the incident of Van ordering you out of his house in your mind. It's silly really, you'd only just met him and you'd barely got past the introductions, but for some reason you've just not been able to get him out of your head.

You'd toyed with the idea of going to his house the next day and apologising, but Emma had talked you out of it. She was probably right. I mean, did you really want to get mixed up with someone with a temper that volatile?

"Hi Y/N!" Vicky, one of your colleagues, greets you as you walk into the office, a ridiculously huge grin plastered across her face.

You eye her suspiciously. "Why are you so cheerful on a Monday morning?"

"I should be asking you why you're not more cheerful!" Comes her reply, confusing you further.

"Why should I be?"

Now Vicky looks exasperated, shaking her head. "Why didn't you tell me you had a fella?"

"Because I don't..." you begin, but your words are cut off as she reaches down behind her desk, pulling out a beautiful bouquet of red roses.

"Oh well... you definitely have an admirer then!" She grins, thrusting the flowers into your hand. "These arrived first thing... Hold on... you really don't know who they're from do you? Look... there's a note."

You accept the flowers, staring at them dumbstruck. "It must be a mistake..."

But no, there nestled among the petals is a small red envelope with your name clearly printed on the front. You eagerly grasp it, gently placing the roses on your desk, your mind flicking through possible candidates and rejecting each one.

Dan, the boring guy from accounts you'd gone for a curry with two weeks ago? Not likely....

Steve, Emma's older brother who's always flirting with you? But he has a girlfriend...

The new guy from the office downstairs who you were chatting to in the kitchen last week? Impossible... you're not even sure he knows your name!

"Open it!" Vicky's urging, clapping her hands in excitement. "They're beautiful, hand-tied and everything. I think they're from that posh florist in town. You know my sister got her wedding bouquet from there..."

But you aren't listening to Vicky. You're reading the note, a shocked kind of disbelief paralysing you momentarily.

Y/N, please accept my apologies for how I acted on Saturday night. I'd like to make it up to you if you'd let me? Dinner tonight, 7pm, my house. Van x

Fifteen minutes later when you've finally managed to  shut Vicky up firing questions at you about your mysterious admirer, you're on the phone to Emma, who's equally shocked at your surprise gift and the offer of dinner.

"Oh my god, I can't believe it! So what are you gonna wear?" She says excitedly.

"Hold on... you're talking like I'm actually going to go."

"Y/N... of course you gotta go! The guy spends 15 minutes with you and he's already sending you flowers!" Her voice is raised.

"But you were saying he was a psycho for reacting how he did..." you protest.

"Well... that was before this! Go on... give him a chance... he's said sorry. Just go and see what he's like."

You pause, feeling torn. Emma speaks again, her tone teasing.

"And he's gorgeous!"

She's not wrong. You think back to the way he looked at you with a certain sort of hunger and flurries of excitement run through you. By the time you've come off the phone Emma's well and truly convinced you, and it's hard to concentrate on your work for the rest of the day. A tiny niggling doubt keeps surfacing as you wonder how the hell he knew you worked here, but you push it away. You've made your mind up.

* * * * *

On Emma's instruction 'not to look desperate' you turn up to Van's house that evening at 7.15pm, but then start profusely apologising for being late as soon as he appears at the door. You decide you're just not cut out for acting cool and aloof like Emma suggests. One glimpse at Van and you're acting like a schoolgirl with a crush again.

"Hey, stop apologising, I'm the one who should be saying sorry, remember?" He smiles as he beckons you inside.

"It's fine, really. And the roses were beautiful. Thank you so much."

He grins. "It's the least I could do... look I'm really sorry if I upset you. I don't know what came over me."

He starts leading you down another dark and winding hallway that's in the opposite direction to where the party took place. It occurs to you that if you didn't have Van leading you then you could easily get lost in this house. It's like a maze.

"Really it's fine Van, I was careless smashing the glass. And my cut's healing up really well..."

You offer your hand for him to look at. You've taken the plaster off, hoping it will heal better in the fresh air. Van suddenly stops dead in his tracks, grasping your hand, his eyes fixed on your injury. It looks red and angry still. He screws his eyes shut and visibly shudders, so you snatch your hand away.

"Oh... I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were so squeamish!" You laugh. "My sister's the same. Gets really freaked out if anyone hurts themselves. Can't stand the sight of blood!"

Van glances over at you, smiling, but his eyes look strange again. God, what is it about those eyes? It's like looking into an icy cold pool, and you feel if you look for too long you'll be pulled under the current.

A few more twists and turns down various corridors and Van opens another door to reveal a large room with a heavy wooden table flanked by many ornately carved chairs. It looks like something from a medieval banquet hall. You wonder what on earth Van does to afford such a grand house. He looks like he's no more than mid-20s. Maybe he inherited it.

Van gestures for you to sit at the head of the table, drawing the chair out for you in a gentlemanly manner.

"Oh, I've not taken your jacket yet," you hear him say from behind you and you feel his hands on your shoulders so you shrug out of your jacket.

Wow, this guy does NOT know the boundaries of personal space. No sooner as your jacket's slipped off your shoulders than you feel his head dip down so it's flush next to your neck. You've chosen to wear a pretty lace off the shoulder top and you're stunned when he sweeps your hair to one side, pressing his face against your bare skin and you actually hear him deeply inhale.

The gesture makes you feel both intensely awkward but excited at the same time and you're not sure how to react. You'd pretend not to notice if he wasn't still lingering there.

"It's Chanel again before you ask!" You laugh nervously.

He lets out a noise almost like a little sigh and it sends a spike of heat through you. "Mmm... I've changed my mind. I don't think it's your perfume after all.”

Okay... this is getting weirder by the second. So he's saying you smell nice? You'd be completely freaked out if you weren't so goddamn attracted to him.

Finally he pulls away and you realise you've been holding your breath. He takes the seat to the left hand side of you and looks at you for a long moment.

"Do I make you feel uncomfortable Y/N?"

What are you supposed to say? Come clean and admit that, yes, every little action, every look he gives you sets you on edge?

"No of course not," you hurriedly say, lying through your teeth.

The knowing smile he gives you tells you he knows the exact effect he's having and maybe he's actually enjoying it, and you're not quite sure how you feel about that.

Thankfully the door creaks open at that moment, distracting you both. A short, dark-haired guy with a cheerful smile steps into the room, carrying a bottle of wine and a fancy silver platter which he places on the table in front of you, removing the lid with a flourish. The food looks amazing, restaurant quality and presented beautifully, but you're confused. Van doesn't have any food in front of him.

"Are you not eating?" You ask him.

He leans back in his chair, taking a sip of the wine that's just been poured. "No... let's just say I have... a very... refined palate."

"Oh... errr... okay," you mumble, taking a large gulp of the wine. "I feel a little awkward being the only one eating."

"Please don't... enjoy the food," Van gestures towards your plate. "Besides... I'll be eating later... I hope."

There's something about his statement and the way he says it that makes your belly flip. He's looking at you almost like he wants to devour you, and you glance down at your plate, feeling flustered.

"That'll be all Larry, you can go," Van addresses the young man who brought the food with a wave of his hand and you find yourself smiling as he turns to leave.

"What?" Van says.

"Oh... nothing," you reply. "It's just I'm surprised that you have staff!"

Van outstretches his arms as if to indicate the whole house. "Well I definitely need a hand managing this big, old place. And you know... it can get quite lonely at times. It's so nice to have company."

This surprises you. Van seems so charming despite his little quirks, and you're surprised some lucky lady hasn't come along and snapped him up already.

The food is every bit as delicious as it looks and the wine's amazing too, some posh vintage that Van delights in telling you all about. Despite your earlier uneasiness you find yourself starting to relax. It becomes apparent that Van loves to talk, so there's never an awkward silence. He asks you lots of questions about yourself and seems genuinely interested in all you have to say. You're conscious that your life might seem boring in comparison, but Van seems rapt hearing even the most mundane details. In contrast, he seems evasive about the details of his own life, talking in vague terms or steering the conversation back to you.

Before long, you've finished your meal and Van enquires whether you'd like dessert. You have a real sweet tooth and you're tempted, but the fact that Van won't be joining you makes you decline. He tops up your wine glass instead and leans back in his chair, regarding you with a little smile and his eyes simmering with that same hungry look he had earlier. You feel the tension fall back over the room.

"You know, you should wear your hair up, you have such a pretty, delicate neck," Van says, and the comment catches you off-guard. You're not comfortable receiving compliments at the best of times, and his forwardness makes you feel even more shy.

"Err... thank you..." You find yourself pushing your hair back over your shoulders, allowing Van to admire you all the more.

He leans across the table towards you suddenly, raising a hand, letting his fingers gently trail from below your jawline down your neck to your collarbone. His hands are cool but you feel like his fingertips leave a trail of fire in their wake. You feel a deep flush rise right through your body.

“And your skin... it’s really rather beautiful... so soft.” His voice is smooth like honey.

Your words catch in your throat and you want to look away, but Van’s caught you in his gaze and you find that you’re not able to.

He smiles again. “I’m embarrassing you.”

“A little...” you admit, but you don’t want him to stop. Your pulse is racing and you can’t help but look at his full, pink lips, imagining what they’d feel like on yours.

“I like it,” Van says. “You know when you blush, the blood rises to the surface of the skin. Don’t you think the human body is amazing? You can tell so much just by observing...”

You squirm a little in your seat. Van moves even closer, leaning right in so he’s just inches away. He speaks again.

“Take you now for example. Your pupils have dilated. That tells me you’re feeling attraction... and desire...”

Oh shit, he’s so fucking intense. You just sit there, not daring to speak, your heart pounding, waiting for him to make his move.

“And your heart’s beating fast too. Believe it or not I can actually hear the blood rushing through your veins...”

What? Surely not?

“I doubt that...” you say in a quiet voice.

“Oh... I’m full of surprises Y/N,” he says mysteriously.

“Really? Like what?” You ask, waiting with baited breath.

He doesn’t say a word, just holds you under his enchanting gaze, letting his lips part slightly, just enough so that you can see his perfectly pointed white teeth.

Read Part 3 now...

[superdillin]

It's Better if You Do - Stripper AU Dorian X Lavelan

How did Seren let the two of them talk him into this in the first place, anyway?  A strip club wouldn’t fix his problems or help him get over Fin.  Still, they managed to persuade him and it would seem they were having more fun than you’d expect, considering they weren't remotely interested in men at all.  Still, here they were, Sera and Dagna taking ‘body shots’ and shoving their last remaining dollars down this nice fella’s hotpants.

And Seren tried to make himself as small and invisible as possible.  Sure, these guys were nice to look at, but he was lonely and heartbroken, not horny, looking to scratch an itch.  Staring at some straight boys gyrate in their underwear for a crowd of drunk women wasn’t going to fill the kind of need he had.

The dancers could mostly tell, it seemed, that Seren was uninterested.  No one came to his table beside the bartender, refilling his pint glass.  The stage did intrigue him, however.  There was a brass pole in the center that most of the men dancing seemed to use as a prop to grind against.  He’d wondered all night if any of them ever used it the way he’d seem women dancers do, or gymnasts.

I’m sure this is exactly what Sera and Dagna wanted me to be thinking about tonight, he mused to himself.

Sera brought over a pair of shots and placed one in his hand.  “You could at least try to have fun, y’know,” she said after they emptied their glasses.  “I don’t know what you see in men, but some of them are pretty, right?”

“I am having fun,” Sarcasm dripped from his lips.  “In fact, I feel better already.  Fin who?  Can we go now?”

“Fine,” She groaned.  “One more drink, though.  Then we’ll leave.”

Seren conceded with a roll of his eyes as she hopped back over to the dwarf at the bar.  His eyes froze there when they caught the stage.  A young man had walked out who was beyond striking.  Not much older than Seren by estimation, he had brown skin with natural highlights that seemed to glitter softly under the warm lighting, silver-grey eyes Seren swore sparkled, and tone muscles simply everywhere.  He wore red satin boxers that…clung in places, and two more red scarves tied around him just above his hip bones.

No one was nearby to tell Seren that his mouth was agape like a fool, and when the man began to dance, the poor boy forgot to breathe.  The dancer gripped the pole with only one hand and still, his feet hovered just above the stage as he spun, the light dancing across his skin as he moved.

He was strong without question, but there was more than that.  His movements were fluid and graceful, his body moving at a glacial pace from pose to pose both on the pole and off.

Seren tried to pull his eyes away when his friends returned, but it was too late, Dagna caught him staring.

“Finally,” she yelped.  “Someone shiny caught his eye!”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sera lifted her shot glass and, slightly hot with embarrassment, Seren touched glasses and drank his shot down.  With her lime chaser still in her mouth, Sera spoke over the music, “Change of plans, Lavellan.  We’re not going anywhere until we get you one dance with Sparkle Boy over there.”

Seren rolled his eyes with obligation but made no attempt to argue.

Once the dancer left the stage, he began walking the floor, smiling and making eyes at the gawking women and happily taking their contributions.  Seren took a deep breath, thinking he would just give a spectacular tip, tell him he’s a phenomenal dancer, and drag his stupid friends right out of here.

Sera just couldn’t let it be.

“Sparkle boy!” She yelled, waving too enthusiastically.  “Come over here!”  It looked like he was smiling, maybe laughing, as he obliged and came to their table, taking a seat next to Sera.  Seren tried not to stare.  Seren failed.

“Charmed to meet you gorgeous ladies,” his voice was deep velvet with an accent immediately identifiable as Tevene.  The noise in the club was enough to hide the hitch in Seren’s breath.  “If you enjoyed the show, could I interest you in something a little more...private?”

Dagna giggled loud and nervous, “Oh, oh my, Maker, no.  No thank you.  I mean, you’re cute and all, it’s just that --”

“We like girls,” her girlfriend cut her off with just a hint of a slur.  “Specifically each other.  But our friend here…”

Seren’s heart palpitated as the dancer turned his gaze on him.

“It’s his first time and he just got his heart broken by some twit,” she continued.  “He needs some dick in the face, or whatever it is you lot do, to get him to snap out of it.”

The man laughed, which relieved Seren a little bit.  He adored her, but some people were put off by his best friend’s audacious nature.

“Well now,” he pried.  “What a treat.”

“Really,” Seren objected. “It’s okay, I’m...I’m not sure this is something I...Look, you’re an amazing dancer and --” Seren dug into his pocket to tip as he intended, but it was gone.  A moment of panic set in until Sera held it up between her fingers.

“Uh-uh, rich boy,” She teased.  “This is happening.  How much?”

The dancer leaned in, putting a soft hand on Seren’s and holding his gaze.  “The poor man is so nervous,” he said.  “I think he’ll need time, and champagne.  That’s two hundred.”  His fingers danced on the skin of Seren’s palm.  “Worth every penny, you’ll see.”

Seren tried to protest, but the act was pointless.  To be alone with this man, drinking champagne?  Even if it were just a job to him...it sounded too decadent to pass up.  And, before he could pretend to object, he was being led by the hand away from the crowd.

In the back, the music was muffled by the walls, quiet enough that Seren worried he could hear his nervous breathing.  The room was comfortable.  Seren took a seat on the soft couch and more warm, red lights accentuated the flow of the dancer’s skin.  A bucket of ice sat upon a small round table, full of champagne and two glasses.

“What do I…” Seren caught himself stuttering and cleared his throat to start over.  “I never caught your stage name.”

The dancer poured their glasses before joining him on the couch.  He sat so close that Seren felt his warmth in the air around him.  He handed over one of the full glasses and answered Seren’s query.

“Maleficar,” he smirked.  “That’s what you can call me.”

Seren took a generous sip from his glass, trying to shake his nerves. “Is that Tevene?”

Maleficar’s eyebrows rose a bit, “Good catch, an underappreciated language.  I’m sure you’d agree.”

“I’m afraid I don’t really know any,” he answered honestly.  “Growing up Elven we were discouraged from learning anything that, well, wasn’t Elven.”

Seren was rewarded with an honest laugh.  “Quite right.  Well, I hope you feel differently about such things.  There’s quite a lot of this world to know.”

Seren wanted to ask a million questions, he wanted to find out who this person was.   The way he spoke, he sounded worldly and smart, and Seren wondered if he was a scholar.  What might he be studying?  Has he travelled, seen the world?  What brought him here,  to Ferelden of all places?  Did he miss Tevinter?

But he knew that wasn’t fair to ask.  The poor guy’s just trying to work, don’t invade his personal life.  Just drink your damn champagne.

He did settle for one question, however.  “Can I ask what it means?  Maleficar?”

The dancer leaned in even closer, his mouth so very near the most sensitive part of Seren’s ear.  Just his breath against it made him forget all his manners, and when he spoke it made him weak.

“It means ‘depraved’,” He sunk his voice deeper on the word, driving Seren to madness.  He was fully aware of how painfully hard he was, and the man hadn’t so much as touched him.

“If you’re curious about Tevinter culture,” he continued against his ear, sending shivers through him.  “I’ve a dance that will really enlighten you.”

One thing was sure, he wasn’t thinking about Fin anymore.

Maleficar stood up and untied one of the red silk scarves from around his waist.  Finding the rhythm of the music coming softly through the walls, he began to move.  Just like his stage set, his movements were slow and deliberate, pausing briefly in the poses that showcased him well.

Moving to the space just between Seren’s feet on the floor, he threw the scarf as a loop behind the back of the elf’s neck, holding both ends and pulling toward him just enough to create tension between them.

For long minutes, Lavellan’s eyes traveled back and forth between those piercing grey eyes and the dip in the muscles just above his boxers.  His hips were swaying in time, mesmerizing, as his hands pulled just a bit more on the scarf.  With eyes trained downward on Seren, he slowly came forward to sit straddled across his lap.

From here, Seren could smell him, not the light scent of cinnamon and sugar he sprayed on, but the delicious must just below that, it smelled like earth with his bare chest only an inch from his own.  And when Meleficar lowered his hips to his, Seren realized just how little fabric was between them.  For a moment, the dancer sat still in his lap, wrapping the scarf from behind his neck, under his arms, and up so that when Maleficar caressed Seren’s face with his hands, Seren felt the sensation of silk across his skin.

The faintest “Wow” escaped Seren’s lips, all the shame of enjoying this completely evaporated.  The man heard, and smiled, moving his hips again, this time against the hardness beneath Seren’s pants.  It was simply that for a while, with no words spoken, only deep breaths.  The elf trained his hands to the couch, trying desperately not to work himself up too much, to not forget that this man is just doing his job.

Doing his job well, he thought.  So, so well.

At some point, Maleficar took his hands from Seren’s neck and reached down to grab his.  Slowly, he moved them up until they were resting on the bare skin of his hips.  Seren cast his eyes up to look at the handsome face only inches away from his own.

“I thought this wasn’t allowed?” He whispered.  “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The man leaned in, this time his cheek grazing Seren’s as he spoke in his ear.  “It’s dancer’s discretion.  And believe me.  After another long shift of pretending to be attracted to women, this is a welcome indulgence for me.”

Don’t panic, Lavellan, he thought.  Sure, the gorgeous man currently grinding my lap just told me he was gay and enjoying this, but he’s also the man I paid to be grinding my lap.  It's just a bit. Relax.

He tried to continue reasoning with himself but the dancer’s hips were rocking against him harder now, and his chest was fully pressed against him.  Both of them had heaving breaths and soon Lavellan couldn’t keep focused at all.  His hands traveled the skin of his sides and back, and Maleficar’s hands had dropped the scarf, touching his face and neck with only bare skin.

Very, very good at his job. The diminished voice of reason in his head tried to argue.  Solid work ethic.

The Tevene man’s face was now an inch from his, each warm breath landing on Seren’s lips, and they both were in rhythm against each other now.  Their speed and intensity kept increasing, and eventually, a soft and genuine moan slipped from Maleficar’s lips onto Seren’s, which Seren leaned forward to catch, pressing their lips tight against each other for a long quiet moment before sobriety washed over them.

Maleficar pulled back, never stopping his dance, but slowing.  “Unfortunately that really isn’t allowed.”

“Oh, Creators,” Seren said, trying to wriggle himself free from under him.  “I’m so sorry.  I’m so, so foolish and you are so terribly good at what you’re doing.  I’m sorry, please, excuse me.  I’ll get my wallet from my friend, you were magnificent before I went and ruined it.  I'm sorry, I'll come right back.”

He rushed out of the room to find Sera in the crowd. She was easy to spot, an elf and her Dwarven girlfriend making out against the wall. All Seren needed to do was walk up and whisk his own wallet out of her pocket, heading back to the private rooms.

When he got back, the dancer was standing, a robe wrapped around him. Seren hated himself for the thoughts that were still bubbling in his brain when he looked at him.

The look on Maleficar’s face was difficult to read. Sad, or angry, maybe a mix of both, one couldn't tell. Seren grabbed whatever cash was left in his wallet after the girls decimated it, and reached out to hand it over.

He was fully prepared to head right back out the way he came, but concern and curiosity got the better of him.

“Are you alright,” he asked, clarifying “you don't have to answer, I just really hope I didn't ruin your night.”

The man stepped forward, “Ruin my night?” he sounded genuinely full of surprise. “I made my goals for the evening and I got to do it drinking champagne with a handsome elf.”

Seren was quiet, his confusion plainly read on his face. In response, the man stepped even closer.

“I know,” he let out a knowing laugh. “You can't figure out what I'm saying is true and what is work. It's alright.” He slipped one arm around Seren’s very tense waist, and the other placed a small scrap of paper into his hand.  “Maybe you'd have an easier time trusting me somewhere else.”

With a quick pace, Maleficar slipped out of the room. By the time Seren followed, he wasn't in sight. Grabbing his friends, he insisted that now was definitely the time to go, and he waited until they were both passed out in the cab ride home to uncurl his fingers from around the paper.

Dorian

555-9060

[wlw-imagines-blog]

Green With Envy. (Lou Miller x Fem!Reader)

Anonymous Asked: Lou from oceans 8 and sarcastic, funny girlfriend who's younger then her and part of the crew . Headcanon ?

Pairings: Lou Miller x Fem!Jealous!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: none I think?

A/N: okay, I really like this ask, also i have food poisoning! 

The Louvre heist went unbelievably well.

Lou and Tammy returned to the warehouse with the U Haul of oil paintings, welcomed with a round of applause from the rest of the ladies. It was the middle of the night, and everyone had slowly returned to base, first Nine-ball, then Debbie, Rose, and Constance. You arrived, then third to last, Amita.

Everyone was in the process of stripping the warehouse clean of any evidence of the heist.

“Well done, fellas,” Debbie called, unpinning several map diagrams from the wall. “Take a break tonight; the money will be wired to each of our accounts by morning, and we’ll be out of Paris before then.”

Lou hopped down from driver’s seat, clearly pleased. You were shoving your laptop into your bag when an arm wrapped itself around your waist.

“Good work today, hon.” You could feel Lou’s smile on your neck. “You were spectacular.”

You grinned. “You weren’t so bad yourself, babe.”

her hand wound around you and took the bag from your hands. “Once this place is clean, how about we head out for a late dinner? Marseilles is still open... we can split a bottle of wine and celebrate.”

You turned around, nose to nose with Lou. Her eyes were dark-ringed from the late nights, hair tousled from the long drive. Despite the exhaustion, Lou was smiling down at you. You wound your arms around Lou’s neck.

“I can think of a few other ways to celebrate,” You hummed, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “I’ve still got my apartment until tomorrow afternoon. That’s plenty of time for us to-”

“Hey! Lou!” Constance shouted from the cat walk. “Debbie wants to talk to you! Get your ass up here now!”

You could feel her deflate in your arms. “Alright, I’ll be up in a bit.”

Sighing, Lou pulled away from you with an apologetic look on her face. “Give me like, two minutes, y/n. I’ll be back.”

“Well,” You turned back to your work bench, mouth in a thin line. “Don’t expect me to wait for you.”

“Hey, don’t play that it way, kiddo.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” you rolled your eyes. “I’m not a kid, I’m 25.”

She smiled, all warm and coy, and you felt your heart melt a bit. “I know baby, you never fail to remind me.”

Lou turned on her heel and walked off to find Debbie while you packed away stray papers and notebooks. 

“Hey,Y/N, why the long face?” Nine Ball rolled over in a wheelie chair. “I know this is your first major job, but you did a good job, don’t worry about anything.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, leaning against the bench. “I’m just.. thinking.”

“Ugh, thinking? at this hour?” Amita sidled up next to you. “We just finished thinking; let your brain rest.”

Nine Ball waved her off. “Thinking about what?” 

“About Lou.”

Amita’s face changed. “Trouble in paradise?”

“No,” you responded. “Not really. It’s just that every time I think she and I are good, or that we’re getting to a good place; she puts the job, and Debbie before us. It’s getting exhausting. I just want to be with her, you know?”

Nine Ball nodded.

“Why don’t you say something?” Amita asked.

You shook your head. “I’m making a mountain out of a mole hill. Lou doesn’t think that anything is wrong, so why should I right?”

“Don’t be like that,” Nine Ball said firmly. “If you got a problem with your lady, you gotta work it out. There’s no point butting heads ‘til you fall apart. Especially if it’s about work.”

Amita pointed at her. “Solid advice.”

“I know, I know,” you sighed. “It’s not really about work, it’s more about...”

Amita and Nine Ball leaned forward. 

“...our boss.”

Their eyes widened as they spoke in unison. 

“Debbie?” 

You waved your hands to silence them. “Shhh!”

Tammy looked over at the three of you. “Everything okay, ladies?”

“We’re fine!” you called, plastering on a huge grin. “Everything is great!”

“Y/N and Lou are in choppy waters,” Amita called out.

“We’re trying to help her.” Nine Ball chimed in.

Rose perked up from her desk. “Oh no, dear. What’s the matter?”

“I- nothing is the matter!”

Tammy raised a brow. “Doesn’t really seem like that, purely based on your reaction.” 

Constance seated herself on your bench. “Anything we can help with?”

“Nope! Super okay without any help!”

“Y/N is jealous of Debbie, because Debbie spends more time with Lou, than Lou does with Y/N.” Amita supplied.

“That’s not true,” you groaned, hands over your face. “This isn’t really a group conversation.”

Constance laughed, hands on your shoulders. “Hey! we’re a team through thick and thin!”

“Are you going to talk to her?” Rose asked. “I think it’s best to bring it up with her.”

Nine Ball raised her hand. “I suggested that.”

“It’s a good idea,” Tammy agreed. “Any idea how you’re going to slide it into conversation?”

“Over dinner?”

“On the phone?”

“On the flight home?”

You held your hand up. “Okay! Enough! I will figure it out... alone.”

There were a couple of shoulder shrugs, but the group dispersed soon enough. Nine Ball grinned while Amita patted your arm. 

“You good?”

“Yeah,” You sighed. “I’ll talk to her at dinner.”

***

You folded your napkin over your lap, taking in Paris’ night scene. You sat in front of Marseilles, at one of the porch tables. The waitress had placed a bottle of wine and basket of bread on the table while you draped your jacket on the back of your chair.

The streets weren’t as busy as you had anticipated, only a few couples and pedestrians strolled on the road.

Police cars with their wailing sirens raced by, in the direction of the Louvre. You calmly sipped your wine.

You were trying to organize your thoughts, when a hand rested on your arm.

It was Lou, standing above you with that little smirk that reached her eyes. “Hey darling, have you ordered yet?”

“No,” you hummed. “I was waiting to see if you were going to show up. I’m glad you did.”

“I’ll never let you down, babe,” she joked, seating herself across from you.

You poured Lou a glass of wine while she flipped through the menu.

“Hey, Lou,” you sat forward. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Uh oh,” she whispered, still grinning. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not yet. I’ve been thinking about us and our relationship. I don’t know if it’s pressure from the job or maybe I’m over-thinking everything, but I feel like we’re changing.”

“Changing?” She swirled her wine glass. “In a bad way?”

You titled your head. “Maybe. You feel a lot more distant; more interest in jobs than us.”

Lou was quiet as you continued. 

“I mean- every time we’re together, something pulls you away. Let it be a heist, or running some club, or something Debbie needs-”

“Debbie?”

“- It always feels like I’m always second place.”

Lou sat back, thinking to herself. You looked at your hands, playing with the napkin. God, this was strange.

“Honey,” Lou finally said. “If you were jealous, you could have just said so.”

Your head snapped up, eyebrows furrowed. “I am not jealous, Lou!”

“But you are,” she laughed. “That’s okay, you know.”

“No, it’s not okay,” you fumed. “I’m not the jealous type. Especially if the subject is you and Debbie.”

Lou leaned forward, taking one of your hands in her’s. “Honey, I’ll be the first one to say that we haven’t been spending a lot of time together in recent weeks. But after tomorrow, we’ll be in Buenos Aires, and we’ll spend all the time in the world together.”

You nodded. “I feel ridiculous.”

“Please don’t. You’re allowed to worry, love.”

You grinned, raising her hand to press a feather-light kiss to the knuckles. “Come on, let’s order.”

The police sirens faded away as you and Lou sipped wine and enjoyed the Parisian evening.

[giingers]

All Mine

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader 

Request: Hello Love, I’ve read your work and it was really beautiful. So can I please request one ? Like one where the reader is curvy and naturally beautiful. And some drunk men at the Garrison try to flirt with her. When she say no they became angry. And then her boyfriend Tommy comes and get reallly really angry. If you have time, for sure

Tag list: @peachyblinderss @crazyonesarethebest if anyone else wants to be added to the list let me know x Hope you like it!! I have had a terrible day at work today dealing with a child protection case (which always upsets me) but when I came home I read all your lovely comments about my writing so please know that everything you say means a lot to me and has cheered me up today. 

The private room that was neatly tucked into a corner of The Garrison public house was now being polluted with a heavy and thick coating of tobacco smoke. The white tendrils of it swirled above the heads of the three Shelby brothers that now resided within its walls, and the culprit who’s cigarette was beginning to burn down now brought a whiskey glass to his lips. 

“This is exactly what we needed boys, eh?” Tommy wistfully commented as the burning alcohol made its way down his throat. Both his brothers nodded in agreement- both of them probably in the same mind as Tommy and being thankful it was a Friday evening. It’d been a busy week for the Shelby’s, but earnings were high and trouble was low. It seemed that that had been enough cause to celebrate. Plus the dingy pub had seemed most appealing to Tommy since he hadn’t seen you all day, and being here allowed him to at least be in the same vicinity as you while you worked.

He could hear your voice through the opening in the private rooms wall and he could spy you every now and again from outside the door as you flitted from table to table, cleaning up glasses and pouring alcoholic refills into the cups of the boisterous men who crowded the bar. You’d only shared a few words with him since his arrival, but he understood completely that you were undeniably busy. Besides Tommy could be a patient man when the need arose, and he’d be patient tonight. He could wait for your attention. He’d waited for it since he was fifteen, another few hours would inflict no harm on his heart.

It was as if you’d read his thoughts and had decided to grace him with your presence because suddenly he could hear your footsteps at the door, and as he looked up from the table he met your eyes. Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette as he raked his eyes over you, and as he exhaled the smoke he let out a low whistle that was inaudible against the backdrop of noise coming from the pub. 

You were a vision to him despite the fact you felt flushed and worn out, and those blue eyes of his appreciated how your skirt of midnight velvet clung to your body in all the right places and how the sweaty tendrils of your hair cascaded around your face. Your shirt was tight around your chest but dipped at the waist and Tommy let his mind almost run away with himself when he pictured how you looked out of our clothes. Curvaceous and utterly breath-taking, and the image was his and only his. 

“Refill, boys?” you smirked beautifully, making your way over to them and shaking the half empty bottle of whiskey in your hand. Arthur took it from you gratefully, beaming toothily at you. You smiled when Tommy rose from the leather booth to take your hands, his eyes burning with something that made a fire light somewhere deep inside you. 

“Give us a kiss, love” he said, voice rough and rugged from all the smoke he had consumed into his lungs and you grinned devilishly as you threw an arm around his neck. Your lips were on his then and you could tell he’d missed you all day because he kissed you so softly it almost felt like his lips were feathers. He gave your waist a little squeeze as he pulled away and you knew he was saving how he really wanted to kiss you for when you were alone and not in a crowded bar. 

“You alright? No one giving you any hassle is there?” he questioned and you didn’t miss how his eyes skipped over your head and straight to the crowd of Irish men that were rambling loudly and jeering from across the pub.

It was no secret that he hated the fact you worked here where there was always bound to be brawls and arguments. He would lose his mind if you were ever hurt. Plus the fact you were the most beautiful girl in all of Birmingham didn’t help either, since idiotic drunks always tried their hand at flirting with you. 

“I’m alright, love” you told him with a genuine smile “I can handle myself, you know” 

With that you leaned up and gave him one last peck, savouring the feeling of his lips on yours and then you walked away from him to return behind the bar. It was endearing how Tommy worried about you, and the fact yours was only a new relationship was probably the reason Tommy was displaying such care towards you. As you wiped some glasses clean you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you thought of him and how much you loved him. 

It’d only been two months since Tommy had confessed his feelings for you, late one night on your doorstep. Tommy had made it a tradition to walk you home each evening after your shift at The Garrison, even if he had been drinking there or not. Each night like clockwork he’d be there outside the pub (or sometimes he’d send a trusted Peaky Blinder to escort you home if he had business to attend) and each night outside your front door he’d bid you goodnight after kissing your cheek. 

Then, two months ago, he’d blurted out rather drunkenly how much he loved you and how he’d loved you since he was fifteen. He hadn’t stopped telling you he loved you since. Not that you were complaining. You yourself had loved him for a length of time that seemed like forever. 

A high pitched whistle that sounded from across the pub grabbed your attention and with it your wistful thoughts of Tommy trickled from your mind. The fleeting noise had come from the rowdy table of Irishmen and you narrowed your eyes when you spied one of them beckoning you over with a harsh gesture. You hated when people treated you like a servant, and all this man was short of doing was clicking his fingers at you. You grimaced to yourself and snatched the bottle of scotch from the bar as you began to walk over to their table. 

You walked through the hazy cloud of smoke that was rising from the table and making its way through the air, and as you did you tried to ignore the cat calls and whistles that followed you. You were used to it though, yet you still felt disgusted that men felt the need to objectify women and reduce them to something to whistle at. 

“You need a top up, fellas?” you said in your most polite voice even though you wanted to smash the bottle of Irish scotch over the head of one of the men who was now peering at you through glassy eyes like you were something to eat. 

“I’d drink a tall glass of you, if you’re offerin love” the man who spoke was burly and bearded, and had piercing eyes that made you feel as if he was undressing you in his mind at the way he dragged them over your body. Your eyes flickered to the private room where Tommy sat but it didn’t seem like he was looking your way. Good, you thought, you could handle a drunk flirt without the wrath of a Shelby getting involved. 

“Sorry Mister, the only thing I’m offering is scotch. Drink it or get out” you told him, your answer being mocked by a low murmur of feigned shock that was brought on by the other snickering men. Your words didn’t seem to register with the half inebriated Irish man as he leaned towards you with those eyes still gazing at you uncomfortably. 

“Come on lass, don’t be like that. Sit down with us and have a drink” his hand collided with your back side as he spoke and his actions seemed to bring on a rush of laughter from his audience, but you weren’t laughing. 

“Don’t touch me” you warned him, wrapping a hand around the neck of the bottle and beginning to walk away with the intention to go tell Harry to remove the men from the pub, but before you could take another step a hand came and gripped your arm. 

“I said sit down and have a drink” the man slurred, the stench of his breath ripe with the scent of whiskey and scotch “if you’re lucky I’ll take you home tonight and show you a good time” 

You struggled a little trying to remove yourself from his grip but he had his hand grasped pretty tightly around your wrist. You gripped the bottle of scotch tighter but before you could swing it to hit him, a voice that was cold and dangerous rang through the pub. 

“Get your fucking hands off her”

Tommy Shelby was a demonic shadow that now cast itself in all its mighty glory within the doorway of the private room, and in its wake the heavy cloud it brought silenced each sound in the pub. Men who had been deep in conversation within each corner of The Garrison, and who had not been paying attention to your struggle with the Irish now seemed to be entirely focused on the way Tommy stalked towards where you stood. The bearded thug still held your wrist in his dirty hand and his eyes now narrowed on Tommy’s dark frame as he made his way over with his shoulders straight and his fists balled at his sides. 

“Yeah? Who the fuck are you?” the Dubliner slurred angrily and the murderous way Tommy eyed the man made your heart pound. Trouble and violence hung in the air like an infectious disease, and by the way Tommy was beginning to tremble made you believe he had become contaminated. 

Arthur and John now flanked Tommy’s sides, reminiscent of the embodiment of conscience but instead of one being good and the other evil you could tell that they would both spur Tommy on when it came to fighting. 

“Who am I?” Tommy answered with “If you don’t fucking let her go I’m going to be your worst nightmare”  

Silence followed and the clock that hung over the bar ticked ominously like it was counting down the seconds before an explosion. Your heart rattled inside you and you tried to plead with your eyes for Tommy to not start any trouble. But when the Irish thug didn’t release his hold on you all hell broke loose. 

Tommy swung his fist and when it collided with the man’s face it made him drop his hand from your arm, the force of being knocked sideways then made you drop the bottle of scotch onto the ground. It shattered everywhere but the crisp noise of it was lost as a great and violent din erupted throughout The Garrison. The table that the Irishmen had been drinking at was flipped over- glasses and bottles smashing everywhere- and fists flew in every direction as all three Shelby men took out to fight. 

You were pushed out of the way by a concerned Arthur and although he was trying to help it caused you to stumble and fall on the ground. You huffed heavily as you fell on your bottom, landing right in a puddle of spilled whiskey that had trailed out of a knocked over bottle. Just one peaceful night, you thought, that’s all you asked for, and what did you get? A fucking fist fight and a soaking wet skirt that would probably smell like a brewery. 

“Hey!” you shouted loudly as you stood up but it seemed that none of the brawling men could hear you. You shouted again as you made your way over to Tommy who was now bleeding from his lip but those same lips were cocked into an evil smirk as he drew back his hand and brought it forward to meet the Irish mans face. The way he cupped his now broken nose with his hands gave you an opportunity to stand in front of him before he could retaliate to hurt Tommy more. 

“Stop it!” you yelled as you held up your hands in front of a now mad looking Tommy. It seemed that finally your shouts had worked because all fighting seemed to cease. All around you was chaos- smashed glass, broken chairs, flipped over tables and panting men who were bleeding and bruised. 

“Thomas, stop it please” you looked at him “it’s pointless, alright? He’s dumb and drunk, and definitely not worth it” 

He just stared at you for a minute, his shoulders heaving up and down rapidly and his eyes dancing in his head. It took a moment before that murderous glint made itself scarce from his face and when it was gone it was replaced by a much calmer danger. 

“You don’t seem to be from around here, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt” Tommy looked past you and spoke coldly to the man who minutes before had hassled you “but this is my fucking city, and my girl. You ever lay a hand on her again…..you ever so much as fucking look in her direction and I’ll have you strung up. Now get the fuck out, and don’t ever set foot in this pub again” 

Thankfully the men seemed to heed Tommy’s warning (they’d be foolish not to since in that moment he looked like Lucifer in a three piece) and they made their way out of The Garrison in single file. The bearded Dubliner eyed you coldly as he made his way out and before he left he spit viciously at the ground. 

“Leave it!” you warned Tommy as he made to lunge at the man again, your hands resting on his chest and pushing him back. His thrumming heartbeat seemed to slowly subside under your touch but his breathing still sounded erratic. The trouble was over though and you were thankful it hadn’t escalated anymore than Tommy would have wanted it to. If he had his way all those men would be sleeping in fresh graves tonight. 

After the brawl most of the other men had hurried off home, including Arthur and John who were both on the drunk side and had left hyped up from the fight. Tommy had stayed behind to help you clean up all the broken glass and fix the furniture, and he now sat perched on one of the stools at the bar, swigging out of a whiskey bottle.

He now watched you as you began to walk towards him from where you’d come from the back room, hips swaying tantalisingly as you placed yourself between his legs. You had a wad of cloth in your hands and you took the bottle of whiskey from Tommy’s and let the dark liquid soak the material. 

He winced as you began to clean the cut at the corner of his eye that had caused a trickle of crimson blood to run down his face. You continued to clean his face up, feeling how his eyes never left you and shivering slightly when he placed his hands on your hips. 

“I wonder how many times you’ve patched up my injuries over the years?” Tommy began lightly with a laugh, but that laugh turned to another sharp wince when you pressed the wad against the gash in his eye once more. It was true that you’d cleaned Tommy’s wounds countless times. Even before you were together he had always gotten you to fix him up after brawls. 

“And I wonder how many times I was the cause of those injuries?” you said to him crossly with a pout and a furrow to the brow, but he just held you tighter, his hands sliding down your hips. 

“I would gladly take a beating every day to protect you” he said as he rested his forehead on yours, but despite his words you sighed and pulled away from him. 

“The thing is Tommy, you don’t have to” you told him softly as you placed your hands on his face “not everything has to end in a fight. I told you I can handle myself, and I meant it. I’ve dealt with drunken men every night here since I was seventeen. I don’t need you fighting my battles for me” 

“I don’t like other men putting their hands on you” Tommy’s eyes were glinting with the haunting memory of fresh violence, and you sighed as you let your hands trail from his face to his neck. 

“You don’t need to worry about that. Those men think they’re brave in front of their friends, and flirt with me to gain a reaction. That’s all it is” you reassured him “I’m all yours, Tommy. I’ve always been” 

“All mine, huh?” he smirked coyly, opening his legs wider on the stool and bringing you even closer to him. You could feel his hands roam your body over the velvet of your skirt and you shivered when he placed his lips on your neck. 

“Take me home, Tommy” you whispered to him as he kissed along your jaw line, and you could actually feel him smirk triumphantly against your skin and then he pulled away from you. 

“Let’s go” he told you, a different sort of spark lighting up his eyes now and you knew he’d bring you home and make you prove just how much you belonged to each other. The thought made your knees tremble already. 

You leaned over to kiss his lips passionately, but you forgot how just an hour before it had gushed blood from the impact of a punch, and now it was swollen and bruised.

He winced greatly, and as you pulled away from him you said three words that made him chase you around The Garrison childishly until you both were breathless in a different way than you had imagined beforehand. 

“Serves you right” 

[ladyanaconda]

Irken of the Opera

After those doodles I made, i couldn’t help myself. I HAD to make this! 

Just so you know, though, this won’t be like my other fics following a linear plot. I’ll just be posting one-shots without any particular as they come without chronological order.

Enjoy!

                                                           -IZ-

Tenn poured her heart into her voice as she sang. Her song’s melodic tones echoed throughout the auditorium, captivating her audience. The glitter and satins in her dress’s lavender fabric almost seemed to glow under the white spotlight. Her hands delicately moved along with her singing in perfect synchrony, conveying more emotion into her performance. 

As the music reached an inevitable crescendo, Tenn knew the cue that the performance was near the end and followed it with her voice until it culminated with a powerful note. 

Tenn returned to the real world just in time to see her public clap their hands loudly and get to their feet in a standing ovation, all of them cheering as roses and exotic flowers landed at her feet. Tenn delicately lifted the gown of her dress and curtsied in gratitude before she elegantly made her way backstage, still hearing the echoes of her adoring public.

It didn't end there, though. All around her, the dancers, chorus girls and workers clapped their hands. Tenn strode through the corridor and towards her dressing room, proudly glancing at her carved name in the door before stepping inside and closing it behind her. 

Tenn’s dressing room was spacious and fancy, and as always, it was filled to the brin with flower bouquets, chocolates and many other lavish gifts from secret admirers. While Tenn accepted the gifts out of courtesy, she refused any advances anyone made. 

She had no time for silly romance, not now when her career is at its peak.

With a relieved huff, Tenn quickly removed the layers of makeup and changed into a more simple dress to relax. She loves to sing, but finds all the costume wearing and dressing up far too stressful. Letting herself fall into the couch, Tenn closed her eyes for a few moments to clear her head.

Bravo! You did spectacularly, my dear Tenn!

Tenn didn’t open her eyes. She merely smiled a bit as her unseen, maybe imaginary mentor praised her, just like after every performance. While she remembered her father’s tales of the Angel of Music quite fondly, she was far too old to believe in fairy tales.

”Miss Sakhak?” Tenn raised her lekku. That voice wasn't an hallucination. 

”Come in.” Tenn said, not moving from her spot even after the door opened and a tall Irken with crimson eyes stepped inside. 

”Exhausted?” he asked.

”What makes you think that? The fact that I am trying to nap?”

”No offense, but you are quite predictable.”

”What do you want, Red?” Tenn asked impatiently.

”I wanted to congratulate you on tonight’s performance. You blew them all away, as always!” Red said, smiling a bit. ”I don't know who your tutor is, but he certainly did a good job!”

Tenn sighed. She wasn't sure of who had provided her with singing lessons; all she remembered was an Irken dressed in a black cape in her dreams, but a figment of her imagination doesn’t exactly count. 

“Whoever he is, he is a great teacher.” she said simply. Red gave her an odd look, but said nothing on the matter. 

“Anyhow, if you need a break, Spork is willing to give you a free night tomorrow. Tak could perform the lead in Mausk.” 

“She’s back? Last time I heard, she threw another fit and left after a sandbag fell on top of her head.” 

Red shrugged. “You know Tak, she hates when the spotlight is on top of anyone that isn’t her.” 

Tenn chuckled. Tak is perhaps the only person she considered a worthy rival, but all her talent is wasted in her self-serving attitude and smeetish tantrums when things didn’t go her way. But in a way, Tenn was grateful; if it weren’t for her fits, she wouldn’t have had the lead in tonight’s performance. 

“Okay, then. I could use the free time for myself.” Red nodded.

“Very well, then. I shall inform Spork in a while. Meanwhile, you’re free to go home for the day. You deserve it.”  

Thanking Red again as he left her dressing room, Tenn shifted on her couch. She’d go home, alright, but first she’d take a small nap. She wouldn't like to fall asleep on the wheel. Better late than never, after all. Besides, it’s not like there was anybody waiting for her back home, anyway.

                                                           -IZ-

Once he delivered instructions and sent most of the dancers and workers home for the day, Red went to his usual spot in the rafters and lit up a small cigarette. It’s supposed to be forbidden, but everyone’s gone home, so it’s not like he’s bothering anyone right now. 

Besides, it’s not like Spork was roaming around like security; he’d rather lock himself inside his office and not come out. 

His lekku twitched when the metal planks behind him creaked. “You’re losing your edge, Pur.” 

The shadow behind him chuckled. 

“Ah, Red. You heard me because I wanted you to. Otherwise I’d already be next to you before you even blinked.” 

Red looked back at his companion. A tall Irken of his stature clad in a black vest and cloak; one might think he was his twin, except his eyes were a shade of purple instead of bright crimson. The defining feature, however, was the white half-mask his companion wore at all times, concealing the right side of his face from view. 

He’s got many names: The Phantom, Opera Ghost, murderer, Angel of Music, but Red knew his real name.

Purple. 

“How’s Miyuki?” 

“She’s coming back to work next week.” Red smiled a bit. “We had a little girl. Her name is Ilk.”

“One of these days, you should bring her. I’d like to meet her.”

“I will if you can spend the whole week without throwing the chandelier on top of the audience.”

“Hey, you should thank me for that! Thanks to that incident, Spork gave you your job back!” Purple countered. “Besides, the only person who got hurt was the guy who was supposed to replace you.” 

Red sighed. He kind of felt bad for that poor fella; it wasn’t his fault. Spork had gone against Purple’s will and fired Red, and Purple retaliated by frightening his replacement in an exaggerated manner. The guy didn’t die, but he quit as soon as he could speak again. 

Red didn’t hate Spork perse, but he’s been coveting his manager status for a good while now. Spork wasn’t fit for the job: he merely shouted orders without fully understanding them, all he cared about is to fill in his pockets. All the workers and performers feared him, but didn’t truly respect him. 

Red’s the one that takes charge and makes sure everything runs smoothly for each performance. He’s the one everybody looks up to for guidance when there’s a crisis or a clash between stars. 

“Miss Sakhak did a spectacular job tonight, didn’t she?” Purple said, tenderly caressing the petals of a blue rose. “She sings like a chorus of songuans from the Imperial Palace.” 

“Indeed. Not even Tak can hold a candle to her.” 

“That’s because I’m a great teacher!” Purple chimed. Red frowned.

“I thought we had talked about spying on people.” 

“Come on, nobody knows about that. Besides, you know there’s only one person I’m interested in.” Purple looked down at the rose. 

“Indeed. Anyhow, do you have any notes this time?” 

Purple looked inside his pocket and took out a black envelope, which he placed in Red’s open hand. “Make sure that he reads it tonight.” 

“Don’t worry, he’s learned to take any notes from you seriously.”

“Is Miss Sakhak in her dressing room?” 

Red turned to his companion.  “...What are you going to do?” 

Purple sighed and ran his hand over his head. “I think it’s time I actually introduce myself, Red. I’m taking her down to my lair.”

“Pur, are you sure you don’t want to just ask her out like normal people do? I mean, I’m not sure she’ll take it kindly that you just whisk her off underground and hold her there against her will.”

“It’ll only be for a few days until she gets to know me better.”

“She can do that on an actual date.” 

Purple tensed up, averting his gaze. “Right, and where do you suggest I take her? I mean, it’s not like I know my way around the city, and besides people would stare at my face…” 

“Pur, I still believe you’re being a bit too drastic. How do you think she’s going to react if you take her underground against her will?”

“I got it covered.” Purple said. 

Red had the feeling that he was lying, but shrugged it off. 

“Just a favor. At the very least make it look like she left home, otherwise Spork is going to have my head.” 

Purple tipped his hat and disappeared into the shadows, his long cape flowing behind him. 

Red sighed. Why do I have the feeling I’m going to regret this?

                                                             -IZ-

Tenn wasn’t sure of how much time she slept. When she woke up again, there was a long silence outside. Everyone must have gone home, even Red. Tenn looked up at her electric clock, which marked 01:19. Yup, it was very late. She better go home. 

As she grabbed her coat and headed for the door, she heard something. 

Tenn….

The irkenette looked around. Who said that? She warily reached out for the knob, but found her door locked. 

“What in Irk?” Tenn battled with the door's handle, trying to force it open. 

Don’t be frightened, my angel. I won’t hurt you. Come to me…

At some point, Tenn lost motion of her surroundings. The voice’s mysterious charm was captivating and familiar, calling her towards the mirror like a siren song she couldn’t resist, as hard as she tried.

I am your angel of music. Come to me, angel of music.

The lights in her dressing room suddenly became dimmer and the atmosphere turned colner. Tenn shivered at the sudden drop in temperature and rubbed her forearms. 

She soon found the reason why: she wasn’t in her dressing room, but she wasn’t in the  corridor either. Instead, Tenn found herself in a dark, dimly illuminated corridor. Tenn sneezed at the strong smell of musk and humidity.

And in front of her was a tall Irken clad in a black cape. She couldn’t see him clearly, except for the violet eyes glowing in the darkness

“Who are you?” She asked warily.

“As you can see, I’m no ghost or spirit.” the Irken said in a gentle voice, taking a step closer. “I am-”

“Stay away!” Tenn yelled, stepping back. 

“Hey, calm down, I’m just-”

Ignoring him, Tenn tried to go back the way she came, but the secret door had closed shut. She pounded on the door with all the strength she could muster. “Somebody!”

“Tenn-!” 

“HELP! REDDOK, TAK, ANYONE!”

Tenn panicked when she felt the stranger place a piece of cloth over her mouth. Desperate, she nailed at his arm, but soon her strength faded away as she saw black holes in her vision. 

The last thing she saw before slipping into unconsciousness was a white mask and those violet eyes looking down at her.

[gripefroot]

Sweeter Than Wine

He feels like a young buck again.  

Roving fingertips, brushing the hem of her skirt, past her knee - forbidden touches, in the dark of the cinema. Back row, and giggles stifled during the quiet scenes, but the soft, vibrating, Coke-sweet moans against each other’s mouths safe to risk during the dramatic reveals, the final fight, the climax. 

Further up - to the hard, skin-warmed buckle of her garter. She squirms in the seat next to him, seemingly ready to jump over the armrest - and Bucky wouldn’t blame her for that, frankly - and her own hands tighten on the lapel of his jacket, keeping him close for more fervid kisses. Tacky lipstick. He’ll have to use a handkerchief before they dare to leave the dark theater for the brightly-lit streets of Brooklyn. 

Beneath rough nylon, smooth skin. Gliding beneath his fingertips like sun-warmed satin. He can smell her rose perfume, too - better than the stink of other bodies in a windowless theater, anyway. Further still, and the elastic band of silk - there’s a hitch in her breath, hot and damp against his lips, and he pushes under the elastic. 

“Gotta be quiet, babygirl,” Bucky whispers into her ear, leaning his head close to plant tiny kisses on the sensitive skin of her neck. To unsuspecting eyes, just a fella and his lady date snuggling in the last row. Would be hard to see his hand beneath her skirt in the dark. And no one’s watching - everyone else, closer to the screen, is watching in fervid anticipation as the film plows on. He thinks of other plowing. 

For now, it’s just the wet slick of her on his fingers. Her panting breaths into his ear. She shifts in the chair, opening slightly for him - not enough to be obvious. Staying discreet. But still...a few gentle, tantalizing circles, and he nudges a finger inside burning velvet walls. Bit too squished for any more, even though he knows she could take it. 

“Bucky,” a breathy murmur against his cheek. “Bucky - we - ”

“Shh.”  

He moves faster. Time’s running out, but he knows she’s got it in her - he can feel the frantic beat of her heart through the pulse in her throat; feel her swollen lips against his cheek as they part, holding back ragged breaths from drawing attention. Scrambling for purchase, for something to hold onto - her fingers curl around his wrist. Clench down like a vise, and he groans slightly at the pressure. Her other hand is on the armrest, and a sigh pours from her lips. 

“Quiet, darlin’,” Bucky breaths against her cheek. “You can shout my name later tonight. Just think it, for now.” Finger move furiously; in and out, rubbing her sex hot and wet and ripe - he can smell it, and it’s making him achingly hard - he manages to slip two fingers in, and she shudders against him.  

Then, limp. A gasp from the patrons below - but it’s for the film, not the couple in the back, and his breathing starts to slow as her head lolls against his shoulder. Slowly, as the music quiets, he pulls out and smooths down her skirt. She squirms, crossing her legs primly as she takes a steadying breath, eyes firmly forward. Glowing in the reflection of the movie.  

“You - you absolute pervert, Bucky Barnes,” she hisses, but he knows she doesn’t mean it - not in the flickering smile on her lips, the mischief flaming her eyes as she glances over. Makes his heart beat faster; that expression lined with a little hunger, a little intensity. He only grins back. Lifts his fingers, makes a show of licking them clean.  

Oh, that’s more than a little hunger. That’s ravenous. That’s unbridled desire, ready to consume him.  

Bucky swallows.  

A waste of eighty cents when he could’ve just loved his wife at home in the privacy of their own, rickety apartment? Maybe. But she’d insisted - on her ma’s advice - that just because they’re married, doesn’t mean they oughta just stay holed up every night; they still need to get out, still go on dates…

Her ma was right. There’s a ferality, a ruthlessness in his wife’s eyes as they walk home that night. Quiet, on the sidewalk. Her steps strangely sure, considering how wobbly she usually is...after. Her eyes are bright in the streetlights, shining even beneath the brim of her heat, and her grip is firm on his elbow.  

Should he be scared? Maybe. But Bucky Barnes is no coward. He’ll face down any ferocity his wife chooses to show, and he’ll do so with dignity. 

Or so he tries. 

One step into the squeaky-floored apartment, and she nudges the door right shut - and then her lips are on his own, devouring without shame as she tips forward on her toes, and Bucky very nearly squeaks when her teeth nip at his bottom lip.  

“Darlin’ - ” he tries, but her wicked smile shines only for a moment - like a red-hot firework spanning the sky, warming his face - and she flicks the hat from his head with one elegant flinger to fall onto the floor, and his jacket is next. 

Oh, boy.  

He only manages to get a single lamp on in the bedroom - reaching over for merely a second for the confirmation of a click, and then her hands are on him again; guiding and coercing and urging. His knees hit the iron frame of the bed, and he falls - a strangled gasp of surprise, but holding her tight by the waist, she falls with him, too.  

Merry laughter. Bright joy, shining like more fireworks as she tilts her head to the side. Glowing from the light of that single lamp, and utterly beautiful with shadows that promise so, so much. Promises he can’t name, but ones he can feel in the swelling of his heart. Her smile grows wild as she crawls above him. 

“Teach you to tease your wife like that,” she scolds, but it’s light and ragged all at once. “And in public! For shame, James Barnes. For shame.” 

A grunt in response; his fingers are lifting the hem of her plaid skirt, and momentary distraction comes in the form of a gold chain holding a pendant falling from between the collar of her blouse to hang in front of his nose - the shining promise he’d clasped around her neck last Christmas ago. Before the ring or any talk of ‘forever’. Beneath the sparkle of electric lights, between branches of the spruce he’d gone up north cut down himself - at his sisters’ insistence, of course, to make his ma’s apartment smell so nice for the holidays… 

The last Christmas together. Becca had married in the spring, and he only a few months later. And Ruthie will be before the new year.  

Those sorrows are far gone, and overlaid with sweeter joys. Maybe next Christmas will find new babies or swollen bellies beneath the tree. Bucky grins, and slides his hands up further to snag on her underwear.  

“Well, darlin’,” he drawls. “If you think this sorta reaction is gonna stop me next time, you’re sorely mistaken.”  

A delighted laugh, and limbs tangle clumsily as he pulls down her panties - and she tries to hoist him more securely onto the bed. A thudding clang reverberates as his skull knocks against the metal poles - but it doesn’t hurt, not really, not when she’s so single-mindedly scooting down to fumble with his belt. 

Can’t be easy. Not when he’s poking out like that, and he grins, a little shakily, as she tugs the belt free to toss away. Pops the button on his trousers, next - and slides them all the way down his trembling thighs. But stops, around his ankles. Moves back up on all fours, her darkened eyes heady in the lamplight, and he swallows thickly.  

One soft leg thrown over his hips. A wicked stare, a curling smile - her hand brushing lightly over his exposed, throbbing ache. Fisting slow between soft fingers, and Bucky groans aloud before he can stop himself. Eyes squeeze shut without thinking, losing his own self between the seams. Between the glide, the responding hum of contentment.  

She stops. He peeks open an eye. 

Plaid skirt rucked up without further delay - he can see her sex, and saliva builds on his lips as his tongue darts out to wet them. Wanting a taste. He always wants a taste. But he won’t get one tonight, he thinks. She’s too determined.

Spread, flushed lips - where he’d worked her earlier, into such a tizzy. Wet. Soaking wet. Her earlier climax, sticky against his sensitive head, and is that an irony tang, as he bites down hard on his tongue? It’s all heavy musk and rosewater, and Bucky takes a deep, shuddering breath.  

The skirt drops. Her fingers instead scrape beneath his still-buttoned shirt, against the muscles of his stomach. Flexing beneath her touch as he holds himself tense and still. Letting her move - and boy, does she move.  

Petal-softness slides hot and silky against him. Not inside, though the more she moves - hips rolling elegantly at this hovering cusp - the more desperate he becomes to be engulfed completely. He remembers velvet, and he twitches against her, gnawing hard on his lip as he tries to breathe - but it just makes her laugh.  

“You like that?” his wife coos down at him. Doesn’t stop moving. He forces his jaw apart.  

“Y - yeah. Yeah, I do, babygirl. Oh - oh, jeepers - ” His head lolls back as red-hot streaks of arousal build at the base of his spine. Shoot through his veins like lightning, pooling hot in his limbs.  

Her smile is all he knows, all he sees - the rest is just background. That curve of her lips that he’s memorized with his tongue time and time again, that shade of lipstick that he remembers sticking to his lips the first time he’d kissed her - innocent, then - and that flash of teeth that he shivers to remember at the base of his neck -  

The plaid-print pools around his hips and belly - making it seem more sterile than it is. Gaze fixed firmly on his, a determined intent that she just dares him to protest, which she surely knows he certainly will not - her hand slides beneath the skirt, and lifts him, tall and proud.  

He can’t see. He doesn’t need to. Not -

Oh, criminey. 

Bucky bites back another groan, drinking in that slight sheen of sweat building on her forehead as she lowers herself onto his length - inch by inch of flaming velvet, dragging him deeper and deeper until he’s sure that’s gotta be it, but it’s not, and still deeper.  

Finally, bones on bones - snug and resting, chests heaving. Her bottom lip is caught between those pearly teeth, and still she gazes down at him as if he’s to be her final meal. And he will not complain, if that’s the case.  

“Like that?” she asks, breathless and raw and coming apart at the edges, rich and deep, and he thinks, I’m the luckiest schmuck to hear her voice like this.  

“Uh - yeah.” His hands shake on her thighs. Push the skirt slightly away to rest on bare skin, but no more than that. Then, she lifts her fingers to her chest.  

Cream-blush blouse, pearl-tipped buttons. Pushed through the buttonholes, one at a time, by lacquered fingernails. A sliver of bare skin, and then another. Down between her breasts, obstructed by her brassiere - gee whiz, Bucky hates that thing - and finally, as he lets out a long, steadying breath, the cream falls from her shoulders.  

A hoarse, whispered curse slips from his lips before he can stop it.  

She shifts her hips, and he moans at the silken drag of it - but it’s only a shift, and next, she works the clasps on the front of the blush brasserie. Bucky eyes the progress, quite intent on the outcome - and she laughs, soft and low.  

“You’re a pervert,” she teases, and the brassiere falls from her shoulders. His hands have a mind of their own, he swears - lifting to cup her sweet fullness, filling his palm just so as she arches against his touch with a sigh.  

“How can anyone not be?” he rasps back. “You’re like - like - you know that painting some old art schmuck did of the goddess of love? Whatever her name was.” 

“Aphrodite?” 

“Right. You’re prettier. Like when she’s coming outta the seashell and all she’s wearing is her own hair? Golly, darlin’ - you’re just - you blow her outta the water.” 

There’s another laugh for that one - he’s not sure what’s funny, though, as he’s being entirely serious - but then his breath catches and his mind goes blank, because she’s moving again.  

Shadows shift by lamplight across her bare skin. In the dips over her collarbone, the hollows of her throat. Bucky stares. Stares, because if he thinks too much how he aches where they’re joined, he’ll shoot the moon right then and there - and then ) stares, because she’s so beautiful like this.  

Brows furrowed in focused rapture, lashes spread against her cheek. Lips parted, drawing in ragged, even breaths as she rides him in her own pretty rhythm. On beat. Squeezing ‘round him in pulsing time; faster and faster as her breath hitches, and fingernails dig into the flesh of his hips.  

“Good girl,” he chokes out. “Darlin’, sweetheart - you feel so good.”  

The bed squeaks. Moans come higher and faster from between her lips now, his name dripping like honey to rest in his veins like fire. Setting him further on the edge, ready to fall off into a blissful sea at a moments’ notice.  

“That’s my girl,” he whispers. Thumbs over her pert nipples, tracing up to cup her jaw in his palm, and every inch of her is soft and smooth and hot. “Look at you. You’re so pretty like this.”  

She comes with a cry. A broken one; shivering at the edges and making his heart pound fast - make it constrict in his chest with a year of desperate love and fond affection bringing it all to bear in a single moment. And as those velvet walls clench him tight, he comes, too, with a gasp of his own as his hips jerk up into her, and in a panic he grabs her hips and holds them down.  

She blinks. Muddled-eyed and baffled and still the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Don’t wanna slip out and spill,” Bucky says stupidly.  

Oh, what laughter fills the room then - now that the rushing emotions fade into sweeter, more peaceful ones, the sight of strewn clothes, of her skirt now wrinkled around them - his pants are at his ankles, and his shirt is pushed up but still buttoned awkwardly. But these details didn’t matter. Still don’t.  

He grins as wisdom slowly returns. A perfect plan. Fingers press into her flesh, and he scoots and shifts - manages to roll her over onto his back without slipping out of her, keeping any and all mess contained. 

Her smile is all he sees. Now, and usually, to be honest. He dips his head to nuzzle his nose against hers, unheeding of the stick and sweat, and the bunched-up clothing keeping this from being truly comfortable. But it’s alright - the softness of her thighs hold him close, and her arms wind lazily around his neck, to keep him where he belongs. 

“So. You gonna give me a baby, or what?” 

A burst of fireworks in his chest. “You want me to, darlin’?” 

Lips curl - oh, he hasn’t kissed her enough, has he? - and Bucky lowers himself again to press his lips against her mouth. Gentle kisses, with the most passionate of moments fading, but sweetness seeps in its place. The tenderest of homes, the loveliest of peace.  

“Yeah.” A huff of breath against his lips. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Okay.” He tries to keep his voice steady as he smiles down at her. But really, he’s about ready to get up and dance like a goofball. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll give you a baby.”

continue

[themaskedwriter]

Movie Quotes - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You always quote movies around Steve, and when he admits he hasn’t seen most of them you organize a movie night. But does he have the guts to admit to you that he’s the Jack to your Rose?

Warnings: Fluffy, nothing really haha, swearing more than likely

Note: This is my submission. My three hints are: - I use an anonymous name for my blog. - My blog could go to war, with the name that I have - I often base my fics off of songs, such as Dodie. 

Word Count: 3,725

The coffee machine buzzed to indicate everyone that it was, in fact, working. However, the noise went past the ears of Bucky - who was leaning against the kitchen counter, hand clasping a mug of tea, as he conversed with Steve. The captain was already dressed - naturally - and he’d already been on a morning run, “to kill some time.”

Something about the air in the room changed when you entered through the open doorway, as you short pajama pants contrasted greatly from Steve’s blue jeans. You moved with a sense of ease to the coffee machine, placing a mug beneath the dispenser location, and pressing “release.”

“Morning, fellas,” you grinned, already chirpy despite the early morn that left only the three of you awake. Where as Steve woke up to run, and Bucky woke up to escape the torment of his mind, you didn’t have any specific reason to awake: or so they thought. In fact, you did. It gave you more minutes with a certain blonde, who was always dressed at 6 in the morning as though it was as normal as tying his laces.

They both shot you a smile in reply, and you removed your mug and took a long slurp - the heat barely making you wince. Moving towards the kitchen island, you placed the mug down before hoisting yourself to sit on the marble finish. Retrieving the baby pink cup to your lips, you took a rewarding slurp, before placing it back down.

“Stevie,” you called, and his eyes instantly darted to meet your own from where they originally rested on his mug - so he didn’t stare at your bare legs for what could be considered too long to be normal. A taunting smirk came to your lips, as you narrowed your eyes: “Hold my pie,” you remarked, in an exaggerated deep and (what was meant to be) masculine voice.

He brought a similar smile to his lips, as he gazed around in thought. “Um…robo-cop?”

“What!? No, you idiot! iRobot!” you laughed, and Bucky chuckled similarly.

“I knew that one,” he muttered, and Steve shot him a glare. However, his gaze weakened as he danced his focus back to you.

“Never seen it,” he admitted, and you almost choked on your drink.

“What? What! How?” you snapped, and as his mouth fell open to answer, you left him impersonating a gold-fish. “That’s it, we’re adding that to the list.”

“This list is gonna be as long as the girl’s who’ve rejected Sam,” Bucky now hissed, which earned a punch in the bicep from Steve. You couldn’t help but giggle though, as you jumped off the counter top with a now empty mug. It always baffled the blonde how you could down it without wincing, though the water was close to boiling.

“Buck does have a point though, we do need to start shortening this list. You free tonight?” you asked, placing the mug in the dishwasher before slamming it closed. Steve was close to having a heart attack internally, as the butterflies that raced around his stomach batted their wings against his heaving chest. Bucky had a smirk, able to hear the erratic heart-race, and so his cheeks naturally darkened in shade. He prayed you couldn’t hear how nervous your simple question made him.

“Yeah, sure,” he breathed, praying to any higher power that his voice sounded level and even: not like a school-girl being hit on by her crush. You shot him a grin, nodding your head.

“Wonderful. I’ll bring three of the movies on our list, including my favourite: iRobot.” And with that refreshing conclusion, like a glass of fresh lemonade during a heat-wave, you skipped out of the kitchen and down the hall. As soon as you were out of sight and ear-shot, and Steve could no longer hear your foot-steps padding, he turned to Bucky in alarm.

“Oh God. What do I wear? What do I do?” he panted, grabbing the elder’s shoulders. Bucky just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Buy some snacks, wear some joggers, and relax: it’s only Y/N,” he grinned, pushing his hands off of him, and vanishing out the room - though not with the same energy you radiated. Steve stared after the two of you, breathing out in tense worry.

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” he hissed.

***

***

After pulling bargains and deals with the rest of the avengers, you’d claimed the main living area for you and Steve. Some, such as Sam, were eager to have the two of you finally go on a date - of sorts - instead of (to quote) “eye-fondling each-other, all the time.” Some led to you being $100 short, as Nat made you pay her to use the other T.V so she could watch her season finale. Tony made sly comments about how he shouldn’t see any weird stains on the sofa, which was rewarded with a smack to the face, and Bucky simply agreed to leave the two of you alone out of the kindness of his scarred heart.

It was rolling to around 8pm, and you were actually shitting yourself. You didn’t think you’d be so nervous, spending alone time with Steve. After all, you’d watched movies with him before, except it was usually with someone else, and it wasn’t as intimate. This wasn’t intimate, though, was it? It was to educate him on the world of pop-culture, it was necessary for him to fit in with the 21st century. However, you knew that was a lie you told yourself in an attempt to clam the swarming thoughts in your mind.

Skipping down the hall in some Hollister joggers, and a black tank top - with three quarter length sleeves that flared out just after the elbow - you made your way into the living area. Steve wasn’t there yet, but it didn’t phase you as you’re agreed to meet at half 8, and it was only twenty past.

Picking up the remote, you went through Netflix and Amazon, getting ready to watch the movies you’d decided to combat for the evening. It first was iRobot - your favourite movie, and the one Steve had failed today’s movie quote quiz you always gave him. Then you’d watch Forest Gump, in which you’d once told him in reassurance that “life was like a box of chocolates” and he thought you were actually offering him a chocolate. Finally, the evening would conclude with Titanic - so you could make non-stop references about Kate and Leo, and Rose and Jack. Always, for your own viewing pleasure of the second hottest male on earth: young Leo. Just as you’d finished sourcing the movies, the door opened and Steve entered with a carrier of snacks, and some bowls stacked in his left hand.

“Hey,” you smiled, sitting up and turning to him. He wore dark blue sweat pants, that were loose around the crotch, and a loose black tee. You didn’t even think he owned loose clothing, but something about this look made him seem squishy adn adorable, and so you beckoned him over with a smile. He pushed the coffee table nearer to the largest sofa, where you were both sitting, and spread out bowls. “What’s in the bag?”

He rose his brows, before furrowing them in thought. “I’m not sure which movie that’s from,” he admitted shyly, and you giggled.

“It’s not a movie quote, silly,” you chuckled, pushing the blanket off your legs and moving closer. He shook his head with a chuckle, before showing you the contents of the carrier.

“Okay, so, we’ve got Haribo,” he said, and you nodded as he poured them into a bowl.

“Iconic,” you chimed.

“Pop-corn,” he spoke, whilst raising the bag of sweet-n-salty pop-corn.

“Classic,” was the grinning response.

“Doritos. You’re, um, favourite flavour,2 he said, mumbling the last part with a nervous blush. You smiled wider, heart fluttering a little at the sentiment.

“Aw, you remembered!” you smiled, your own cheeks heating a little: and you could imagine the teasing from Tony and Sam if they were here.

“And…two beers,” he smirked, before placing down the glass bottles along with an opener. You nodded, diving for one of them, as he collected the bowl holding the pop-corn, and made his way to the sofa.

When he first sat down, it was so apparent he was nervous. You could’ve fitted a small elephant between the two of you, and so you took the executive choice of moving closer to him. So close, in fact, that your thighs brushed. And his cheeks grew darker once more, as he placed the pop-corn bowl in his lap. You took a handful, dragging the blanket so it covered your thighs, and you decided to lean your head against his shoulder subconsciously: it was more comfortable, anyway.

“So, if we start with iRobot,” you said, lifting the remote and pressing play. “This is my favourite movie of all time. And Will Smith is amazing in this. Oh! There’s this really funny scene when Spooner - which is Will Smith - is like ‘a robot can’t paint a masterpiece,’ or something like that: and Sonny - the robot - is like, ‘can you?’ you rambled, smile almost bursting off your face, as you essentially spoiled most of the film before the opening was over. Though he was missing an important part of the movie, he couldn’t help but focus on your face, as you watched the all to familiar scenes whilst your mouth ran a mile a minute. When you were like this, talking about things you adored, he could fall into it and never want to find a way out.

***

***

By now, you were approaching the end of Titanic. You’re body had shifted, so your head was on Steve’s lap - that was concealed by the bright pink blanket - and he’d moved the Doritos to the side so you could snuggle down. Throughout the scenes, his eyes danced down to see your droopy eyes focused on the scenes, an easy smile on your face. From time to time, you’d giggle or repeat a line you liked under your breath, and sometimes you’d tell him a small fact about something in the movie, and the production of it. He wasn’t really listening, just admiring the way you were so intent on knowing everything about anything you loved.

At this moment, the room was pitch black aside from the light glaring off the giant flat-screen. It made the features of your face glimmer, and Steve’s own face look even more enticing, on the moments when you’d chuckle at a joke, and you’d glance up to shoot him a smile - happy he was enjoying this as much as you. The pop-corn was all gone, the Haribo dish half empty, and the beer bottles discarded.

The ship was nearly completely enveloped by the ocean’s relentless waves, bullying against the structure. People were diving off the sinking ship, yelling and shouting radiating through the room. Steve knew of the titanic, as it was before his time, but the movie made it seem more real: the images from the tragedy only drawings or sketches that were released in papers. He also discovered he was a sucker for romances, as he become almost emotionally attached to the couple who nearly got trapped within the filling levels of the boat.

Rose was in the water, yellow life jacket on, as she lay on top of some floating debris. Jack was holding her hand, but Steve knew he was a doomed man. A sniffle sounded, and he glanced down to see tears soaking your cheeks, as you tried to keep your reaction discreet.

“Jack. Jack! There’s a boat Jack,” Rose whimpered, shaking his hands as he lay lifeless. You couldn’t help it, this scene always tore you apart from the inside out. A sniff was all you could do, as snot tried to join the waterfall down your cheeks. Suddenly, a hand was in your hair, and you jumped a little. Then you felt Steve run his fingers through the strands in comfort, and you sniffled with a sad laugh.

“This part always gets to me,” you admitted, through a thick tone. He chuckled gently, watching the moments on the television.

“I’ll never let go: I promise.” she spoke, kissing his wrist before letting him slide into the water. Even Steve had to admit to himself that it was pretty emotional, but something about your reaction made him feel fuzzy inside. You were such a romantic. Suddenly, he felt you shift, as you moved to sit up to wipe your cheeks. He pulled his fingers from your hair, feeling a little embarrassed by the natural reaction - he’d always do it to Bucky’s younger sister whenever she was upset and her brother wasn’t around.

You let out a shy giggle, sniffing and wiping your nose on the back of your wrist.

“Wow. I mean, could you imagine that? Meeting your soulmate, and having to let them sink into the ocean?” you sniffed, turning to meet Steve’s icy gaze. He chuckled, shrugging.

“Been in a similar situation,” he joked, and you covered your mouth.

“Oh God, Steve, I didn’t even think. I didn’t upset you, did I?” you panicked, reaching for the remote to turn it off, though it was nearly finished anyway. He laughed, shaking his head, before catching your wrists.

“Don’t be daft. It was perfect. This whole evening was, pretty perfect,” he blushed, smiling down at your face. It was still flushed form tears, but you didn’t want to break his gaze, as you smiled back. And then his eyes flitted to your lips - for only a second - and your heart beat picked up. His smile dropped, as did yours, and you waited in pure anticipation.

He leaned closer, and your eyes closed, and…

Then you heard a sigh, and you opened to your eyes reluctantly, to see him back to how he was sat before. A feeling of regret and embarrassment came over you.He wasn’t going to kiss you, but now you’ve just completely outed yourself ad embarrassed yourself for expecting it. God, he probably felt pressured. Oh God.

His grip loosened on your hands, and you dropped them to your lap, as Celine Dion sang out the God awful theme song nobody likes. After clearing your throat, a painful silence painting over you both, you nodded.

“Well, goodnight, Stevie. Thanks for, um, joining me,” you smiled, meeting his eyes for only a moment before standing up and essentially sprinting out the room: feeling mortified.

***

***

“So,” Bucky started, staring at Steve - who was still in his running gear, from his routine morning run. Steve didn’t react, instead he watched the mug fill with coffee that had little to no effect on his metabolism. Bucky rose a brow, took a slurp of his drink, then sighed. “Hello?”

“What?” the blonde almost snapped, causing brown brows to raise from the elder super soldier.

“How was your date with Y/N last night?” he wondered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world: because, to be honest, it was.

“It wasn’t a date.” he muttered, taking his drink and refusing to meet his friend’s eyes.

“Oh no, what happened?” Bucky sighed,. moving closer and placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder. The blonde pulled away and shot him a glare.

“Nothing happened,” he spat. Bucky frowned, before grimacing.

“She didn’t show up?” he asked, sadly, voice dropping to be more empathetic. Steve let out a another huff, and as he was about to retaliate, and tell Bucky to mind his own God damn business, you waltzed into the room. However, it didn’t hold the same spring in your step like usual, and Steve didn’t let this go unnoticed: and neither did Bucky. Instead, he watched with a frown as you shot Steve an almost nervous smile, got your drink, and vanished.

“Okay, what happened?” Bucky snapped, once your footsteps had fallen out of ear-shot.

“What are you talking about, Buck?” Steve groaned, downing his drink to make his escape quicker. Bucky grabbed his best pal’s bicep and rose a brow.

“I mean, she comes in here looking like a deflated balloon, doesn’t say a word to either of us, and doesn’t give you her movie quote trivia question,” Bucky reeled, waiting to gauge his friend’s reaction. Steve sighed, staring at his feet.

“Well, we were watching the movies. And she had her head in my lap. And then she started crying, cause of the movie, and sat up. So, long story short, I nearly kissed her,” he admitted, with a slight blush, and a defeated look clear in his eyes. Bucky broke out into a smile.

“That’s great! that’s so great! So, then what?” he wondered, like a child eager to see what happens next in a movie. But Steve instead shrugged, before glancing up.

“I didn’t kiss her and she bolted.” Steve admitted, broken tone seeping through and making its way into Bucky’s ears. His shoulders sagged, and he frowned at his friend. “I just, I don’t know! I got overwhelmed and I haven’t kissed someone in so long!” he ranted, staring into his friend’s orbs with a pleading look. Bucky gave a sad smile in reply, and rubbed Steve’s arms up and down in comfort.

“You gotta kiss her, Stevie. She’s perfect for you, and she clearly likes you. Why do you think she never quizzes me?” he chuckled, and Steve met his eyes.

“I missed my chance, Buck,” he grumbled. Bucky laughed, shaking his head.

“Don’t do that again. You never got to take Peggy out, don’t do it another time.”

***

***

You sat on your bed, fingers brushing through the book Wanda had recommended - and you’d buried your nose in straight away. Your moment of serene silence was interrupted by a knock on your door.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, stop the music please,” you spoke, placing the book down after “dog-earing” the page. You jumped off the large comforter, moving to the door and opening it to see a tall, broad shoulder super soldier. He breathed out a sigh upon seeing your face. It wasn’t upset, or angry, but more questioning.

“Steve,” you said, a little aghast. He smiled, before sticking his hands in his pocket. “What can I do for you?”

“i need to tell you something,” he said, and something about his tone was almost grave and unsettling. You nodded, stepping to the side to let him into the room, as your heart beat picked up. you then let the door swing closed, and you turned to see him pacing a little, in the middle open space of your corner of the world.

“Stevie, is everything-”

“Don’t. I just, I need to tell you this,” he said, holding a hand up to cut you off. Then, his fingers dug into his jean’s pocket, and he lifted out a folded square of paper. You held your breath, heart pulsing in your ears, as you rung your hands together and waited for him to start.

“Y/N,  I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.” he said, voice shaking a little, and your heart lept. Dirty Dancing. “Because, the truth is, you had me at hello,” he continued, not daring to look up to see your reaction. Jerry Maguire. “I think you should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how,” he almost admitted, through the infamous lines of Gone with the Wind, and you felt a smile taking over your dainty features. His shoulder’s weren’t as tense, and his voice was calmer, as he knew the words held meaning that he couldn’t explain. “They say, when you meet the love of your life, time stops. And that’s true.” Big Fish. “And, when I’m with you, Y/N. Time does stop. And I don’t know why I didn’t kiss you last night, because I was going to. And I’m sorry for making you think I wouldn’t ever want to, because I do.”

Steve finally took in some air, before glancing up to meet your eyes. He held the paper in his shaking hands, though he didn’t need to read them any longer. You were smiling, the beams from it brighter than those from the sun, and he wanted to catch them in a jar and save for a rainy day. He took a step closer to you, and you decided to let him come to you, the same way he tried to last night.

“I’ve come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours,” he chuckled nervously, coming closer to you with every short step taken. You bit down on your lip, nodding to the words originally spoken from Sense & Sensibility. His pale hand took yours, and you looked up to meet his blue orbs that stared into your soul: oh how you wanted to drown in them.

“And you don’t have to feel the same way. I’m not expecting you to say anything. You can tell me to leave, and I’ll leave. But, if you want to give this a shot: so do I. And if it doesn’t work out…well, in all honesty, it would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.” Steve breathed against your lips, forehead almost pressing against your own. His eyes bore into yours, and he waited for you to push him away.

But instead, your lips curved into a smile, and you remarked, “The Fault in our Stars: I didn’t think you’d seen that movie.” And with that, he pressed his lips against yours. You wasted no time in wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with a smile, before titling your head to deepen the kiss. He was now grinning against your lips, causing you to chuckle from the odd sensation. Pulling away reluctantly, from lack of air, he looked at your blushing face.

“Now that, Steve, should be a famous movie quote,” you smirked, before pressing your swollen lips to his own once more.

[gattius-starfrost]

Harboring Shadows - Part 2

(( Follows Part 1, found here ))

“Tell me something only Alteris would know.”

The Cryromancer’s emerald gaze flickered over Alteris, expectantly. She didn’t recognize him - how could she? He’d changed rather drastically since he was a Blood Elf, bound to a body of Nepen’thea’s design. There were days he didn’t even recognize himself! If only Gattius were here… he could vouch for him! But he wasn’t sure how much longer the doctor would be. And time was running out...

“Oi, might be tough, lass. I know a lot other folks dunnae.” he smirked cheekily, stalling for time to think. “But… aye, gimme a second. Head’s a wee bit fuzzy, thanks t’ yer brutish friend, there.”

Alteris looked Grakkar over. Where had he heard that name…? No matter. He had to focus. The ren’dorei struggled to think of something that would prove who he was. To Gattius, it’d be simple. But to Syrielle? He had no idea what she did and didn’t know about him. Or about Gattius… But it wasn’t the time to be cautious with information. She may have thawed him out, but she’d proven decently enough that she didn’t mean to keep him alive if he wasn’t who he said he was. Especially if she thought he were Sunborn. He wouldn’t blame her, either. Sunborn was a dick. But walking all the way back into Quel’Thalas again sounded tedious… he had to give her something.

“Alright, well… I know Gatto’s favorite drink’s whiskey. An’ he smokes, thanks t’ me. Got ‘im hooked back durin’ the Outland Crusade.” he stated, almost proudly. “An’ he’s got a tattoo on ‘is shoulder. Phoenix-lookin’ bird. Had it fer years.”

These were all things that came off the top of his head. He hoped they’d be enough proof…

Syrielle crossed her arms. The information he gave matched up. Either this was Alteris, or this was another Ren’dorei that had done his research. A frown remained on her features. Obviously she wasn’t convinced.

“Let’s pretend you are Alteris. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be conducting… business… elsewhere.”

She made certain to leave out what ‘business’ meant. There were other ears in the room, after all...

“Oi, y’mean fuckin’ Gatto?” he shrugged - clearly far-less concerned about who heard. “Aye, normally we go someplace quiet fer that. But I ain’t ‘ere fer that.”

His smug smirk faded some, as Alteris shook his head. He sighed, heavily - coughing again a bit as a result.

“M’ situation’s changed. I need t’ lie low fer a bit.”

Grakkar’s face contorted in confusion. He looked to Syrielle, brow askew… but remained silent. Maybe that had multiple meanings in elf culture…? He’d have to ask Kai’eka later.

Syrielle’s ears twitched and she grimaced as the Ren’dorei so crudely clarified the word ‘business’. She let out a sigh, both upset that Grakkar had overheard, but also relieved that this was, in fact, Alteris.

“You can release him, Grakkar,” she finally said, “This one is a friend. And uh… not a word of this to anyone, yeah?”

It was difficult for Grakkar not to say anything in that moment. And while he didn’t utter a word… his expression said it all. He averted his eyes, awkwardly, from Syrielle, as he set to freeing Alteris. He gave the void elf a look as he unbound him. Alteris smirked back proudly in response. He felt vindicated at least - if this wasn’t proof enough, he knew Gattius would vouch for him once his work was done. As he was untied, he moved to stand up from the chair. He chuckled at Grakkar, noting the incredulous expression on his face.

“Hmph! Wot’s th’ matter, Orc? Ne’er fucked a lady’s husband b’fore?” he taunted.

A quick and strong hand thrust Alteris back into the chair, as Grakkar growled. He leaned in, teeth bare.

“Mind yourself, you little purple weasel.” he snarled. “She said you’re a friend… not that you needed all your limbs intact.”

Alteris only grinned wider. This Orc… was damn hot! He looked him over, lightly biting his lower lip as he did so. His face was… nothing special. But that muscular form, those tribal-esque tattoos, and that commanding presence he had… not to mention he’d managed to sneak up on him earlier! He nodded slowly, compliantly.

“Aye… whate’er y’ say, Muscles.” he winked.

Grakkar backed off, still snarling, and took position beside Syrielle. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he got the majority of it figured out. He was no stranger to meeting various needs outside committed relationships. This void elf was clearly some manner of vice to Doctor Starfrost… and Lady Starfrost seemed okay with it. Still, he didn’t like how this one eyed him up. It wasn’t sizing up for a fight… more sizing up for something else. He grunted.

“Quit looking at me.” he barked.

“Hard not t’, big guy.” Alteris smirked in response.

--Then it clicked. The name… he knew it from Kai’eka!

“Figured y’d be used t’ ren’dorei attention, aye? Seein’ as yer th’ one fuckin’ my sister, Kai.”

Grakkar’s shoulders sank. Eyes wide. He glanced quickly, wordlessly, to Syrielle… and the immediately away. Azeroth was too damn small…

Syrielle opened her mouth to ask Alteris to stop harassing her employee… but instead her jaw dropped and she looked over to the Orc. The way he snapped his gaze away awkwardly indicated that it was true.

“—err… you keep our secret, we’ll keep yours?” Was all she could think of saying. Clearly, she was in no position to judge.

She frowned, gaze turning to Alteris once more, “Wait… you mean the berserker woman is alive?! I thought she was dead!”

“--Aye, she died once.” Alteris grinned wide. “On that orc’s dick.”

Grakkar brought his face to his palms, sinking down where he stood. So much so, Kronk concernedly came to brush up against him. Ancestors, this was awkward! Alteris reveled in it, however, as he rose once more from his seat. He wandered back over to the bar, where his drink was still waiting for him. He felt rather securely in, at this point.

“Like I said, lass… I know ‘lot other folks dunnae.”

Syrielle brought a hand to Grakkar’s shoulder to give it a comforting pat. Part of her wanted to know exactly how he had ended up in bed with Alteris’s sister, but another… more wise part of her, told her to just let it be. She made her way to the bar, across from Alteris. Her fingers weaved in a specific pattern, levitating a bottle of arcwine and wine glass over.

“Want anything to drink, Grakkar?” She asked out of courtesy. He certainly looked like he needed it. She didn’t even wait for an answer, already pouring him a mug of ale now that she had her wine.“So, what’s going on, Alt? What’s got you running off to hide in Horde territory?”

The Void Elf looked Syrielle over, hesitantly. He felt no obligation to tell her anything, now that he’d proven who he was. She wasn’t exactly going to kick him out - she knew as well as he did Gattius would be more than a little upset if she did. His smirk grew a bit larger, before he took another swig of his drink.

“Long story, lass.” he shrugged the question off. “Suffice t’ say… I got nowhere else t’ turn.”

“Hmph. What of your sister?” Grakkar asked, as he took up the mug Syrielle offered. “Will she not take you in?”

“Heh, th’ only guy she’s been ‘takin’ in’ lately is you, big fella.” Alteris quipped - much to Grakkar’s displeasure.

The Orc growled lowly, drowning his anger in a large gulp of ale. He didn’t like this elf… not one bit! Alteris chuckled a moment longer at his witty wordplay, before sighing, and shaking his head.

“--Nah, but seriously… cannae turn t’ ‘er on this’n.” he vaguely explained further. “Won’t go inta detail… but I went’n pissed a lot o’ folks off. Includin’ Kai.”

He shrugged a shoulder, before taking another sip of his drink. It wasn’t exactly a lie…

“Gatto already said I could stay. Pointed me t’ ‘is lil’ passage inta th’ manor, an’ all that.” he gestured to the door through which he’d come. “Dunnae know how long I’ll be, but hopefully nae too long. Dunnae wanna… interfere…”

Try as he did, he couldn’t mask the disgruntlement with this situation. Specifically, with Syrielle. His tone betrayed it just a bit.

“I, uh… I know it’s askin’ a lot.” he added… for cover.

Syrielle raises an eyebrow, but took a drink of her wine. She highly doubted that Gattius would make a big decision like that without consulting with her first, but she didn’t feel much like arguing.

“We’ll do everything we can to help you out, yeah,” she finally said, “My only concern is this: do the people coming after you know to look for you here? I’m all for providing you with shelter, but we have a son to protect. I just need to know if I should be ramping up security measures or not.”

It wasn’t something Alteris considered, really - he expected the Coterie would know well enough to check here for him, given his history with Gattius. But at the same time… it felt too obvious a place he’d go. Kai’eka knew him well enough, from the last time he ran out on her. She didn’t find him for years after that. Surely she’d find searching Quel’Thalas for him to be a waste of time. Hopefully. Besides… if he could hide amidst Gattius’ shining Light before, he could do it again!

Either way, telling Syrielle seemed like a bad idea. One that could cost him his little hiding place… And he simply couldn’t afford that.

“Doubtful.” he shrugged, casually. “Folks think I’m dead. They won’t come lookin’ fer me. Jus’ need t’ keep outta sight fer a few weeks. Couple months, maybe. Let ‘em mourn an’ move on, y’know?”

He almost felt bad, lying to her. Almost.

Syrielle nodded, swallowing down another gulp of wine. She doubted Alteris would do anything to bring harm to Gattius and his family. She didn’t know him well, but her husband did, and that was enough for her.

“If that’s the case, it shouldn’t be a problem at all. I’ll let the staff know you’re here so that you can move about the manor, though if any of my co-workers drop in, you’ll have to stay out of sight, yeah?,” she twirled her glass as she made the to do list in her head, “I’ll have one of the spare bedrooms ready for you tonight… —Ah, unless you prefer sleeping in our room? Our bed is pretty big.”

Of course she couldn’t pass up making that offer. She gave him a playful smile. Gattius would no doubt roll his eyes at her if he were there.

"--Light, I leave you alone with him for two minutes…" came a voice familiar to the trio.

Gattius emerged from the door leading to his clinic. He looked frazzled, worn down from stress not only from working so much, but also thanks to Alteris' surprise visit. He did indeed roll his eyes at Syrielle, letting his half-quip hang as he went for the bar. If was only about lunch time… but the doctor needed a drink.

[itsjacktheknife-blog]

The Blue Midnight Romance

Sleuth and Slick got on a hate-date.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 9:40 PM

@Bunny (SS/07) Your name is Paciano Salvador, also known as Problem Sleuth. You walk through the streets, hands in your coat pockets with the brimof your hat low over your eyes. Slick invited you over, gave you the coords, and now you're on your way to the jazz club he's told you about. You get there and well, it was a real sight. Quite classy, really. You hum to yourself before walking in, only to be stopped by the guy on the lookout for flatfoots like you. You give him a look and you say you're looking for Spades Slick. You don't need trouble this early into the night, come on.

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 9:47 PM

The bouncer chuckles. Big Dersite fellow. Same or similar build to the one and only Hearts Boxcars. He cracks his knuckles, the freshly buffed shell of his fingers catching almost as much light as the clunky jewelry adorning them. They're the thick kind of rings designed to inspire respect and, if necessary, inflict serious pain. He leans in close to Sleuth and says, "Yeah? Well Spades Slick ain't lookin' for you hot shot. So how's about you tuck your coat tails between your legs and--" A man has never gone so quickly from 1 to 100 in terms of fear. He suddenly stands upright as you lay your hand on the slewfoot's shoulder from behind. You give his shoulder a shake, locking your eye on the bouncer. "This is that mop headed friend of mine I told you about," you say, sneering. He mutters his apologies, says he was just having a little fun, see, no harm, no foul, won't happen again. "Damn straight it won't happen again," you growl, steering Sleuth into the club. The Blue Midnight is one of your pride and joys. The front entrance is dark and understated but behind the curtain is an explosion of lights and life. You're grinning proudly as you start walking with purpose towards a back room. "Find the place alright?" you ask.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 9:52 PM

As the Dersite talked, you only stared at him, knowing full well that Slick would be here. Otherwise you'd probably just beat the guy up. That wouldn't have gone well though. The police strolling in at a club just to beat up a guy. The hand on his shoulder catches your attention and Slick appears. 'Mop headed friend.' Harsh. Your hair isn't that bad, jeez. In other news, you're happy he's here to stop something from going bad or totally neutral. You actually feel a smile come up when the bouncer backs off and you get led through the curtains where you whistle a bit. You smile a bit, giving him a bit of that smile of yours, "It's a real good place you got. I presume it's one of your crowned jewel establishments?"(edited)

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 9:55 PM

"Totally legitimate, too," you say, shooting him a smile of your own. As you walk, cigarette girl falls in stride and you pluck a pack from the box and pass it to Sleuth. "Here, on the house. Let's sit." You're in the back, now. A dim lounge behind the stage with a large, round table that can be curtained off. Looks like the sort of place a gangster might discuss private business. Go figure. "So. Whiskey, huh?"

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 10:00 PM

You take the cigarette goddamn you need it and you light it with that lighter of intricate design you have, slipping it back into your pocket before you're brought to the back room. Dark, easy on the eyes. Secluded. Nice. You shrug, giving him a smirk of sorts, no malice behind it, just a playful smirk, "I usually have it when I'm invited to drink. Usually with the white queen."

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 10:05 PM

"Oh ho, the night's barely begun and Sleuth is kissing queenie's ass," you tease, grabbing his arm and giving him a shake. "You know she fucked Snowman, right? They really went at it, I heard. Shit she's gotta be disgraced. And that's not a word I use often, Sleuth, but fuck, man. You're really gonna keep jumping at every chance to brown nose her even after all that?" You shake your head with a chuckle. "I thought I'd at least get tipsy before you pissed me off."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 10:07 PM

"No, she invites me, not the other way around," at the words of what happened between her and Snowman however, you pause. Cigarette on your lips before you take a long drag -- breathe, Paciano, don't let him get to you -- and you chuckle a little. "I at least thought this would be a night between us, not them."

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 10:11 PM

"I'm not the one who brought em up," you say. But you'll move on because you certainly didn't want to talk about either of the queens tonight. You're in a good mood, come hell or high water. The cigarette girl returns with two bottles of the Good Shit™ and two glasses. She sets them down and gives Sleuth a wink before sauntering off. You gotta remind yourself they're paid to do that. Dust off, ya filthy skirt. "How's that wound of yours doin'?"

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 10:14 PM

You nod, lean back a little and the wink doesn't go unnoticed. You don't clap back though. Take a long drag, breathe it out slowly that the smoke curls through the room as it rose. The question makes you look up as you take your hat off, and you hum. "Not as bad as you left me. A twinge of pain every now and then."

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 10:18 PM

"If it was as bad as I left you, you'd be dead," you murmur, pouring two glasses. The whiskey's on ice, which you could easily put into the glasses, but you want yours neat and you aren't about to ask Sleuth about his preference. You slide the glass over to him and hold yours up in salute. "Cheers you're still with us."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 10:23 PM

You chuckle, catching your glass as you pull the cancer stick from your lips, raising it in time with his, smiling a little before you sip on the amber colored liquid. The drink runs a line down your throat as you savor it -- the sweetness, the spice, it's over all taste -- Christ do you miss this.

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 10:27 PM

You finish your drink in one quick go. And a part of you appreciates watching Sleuth savor his whiskey. The other part of you wishes he'd hurry the fuck up so you could pour him another one. "You said you play the piano," you mention. "You any good?"

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 10:29 PM

You finish yours in two long sips and you pass him the glass for more. A little bit of you licking your lips to get that flavor because it has been too goddamn long. You look up at the statement. "I used to play everyday when I can. It's been a while though."

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 10:30 PM

"Yeah?" you say, quickly pouring another two full glasses, "I didn't ask how often. I asked are you any good. Don't be modest and don't be cocky, just tell me straight."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 10:31 PM

"Good enough," you say outright, taking the glass and taking a swift drink, "What, you wanna duet?"

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 10:32 PM

You bark a laugh at him. "Jumpin' the gun, Sleuth? I don't like your answer. 'Good enough.' I'm gonna hear you play before I let you in on my jam." You're smirking at him as you take a sip, keeping his gaze. That's an honest to god dare right there. A challenge: Impress me.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 10:36 PM

You raise a brow as you drink your whiskey -- always such the daring kind, huh. You shake your head as you lower your empty glass, putting your cigarette between your lips again and you card a hand through your hair. "Alright. Where's she at then -- let's do this."

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 10:39 PM

"Nah, nah, nah," you say, shaking your head. And you lean close, looking like you might lay a hand on his chest. No such chance-- you pluck his pillbox from his pocket and snatch a cigarette. "Listen," you say, pointing with the cigarette to the front of house, "Hear that fella playin? He's got a set. Hired him myself. And I wrote this set for him." You point to the whiskey and then light your pill. You take a puff before telling Sleuth, "We got four more tunes to go. Then the headliner goes up." You smile at Sleuth. The grin is, in a word, wicked. "Wanna guess who that is?"

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 10:43 PM

When Slick leaned in real close, you move your mouth to bring the cigarette away from his face. There goes your pillbox. But he points and you gkance that way, then back at him before he speaks again. You were listening of course. You take a long drag before breathing it out through your nose with a bit of a huff. That grin was wickedly toothy. "Who is it?"

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 10:46 PM

You place the cigarette on your lips and hold it there so you can have one hand on your drink while the other prods his chest. "Y. O. U, sweetheart." You lean back in your seat, still grinning like a bobcat. "If you don't put my bar to sleep, or get boo'd off the stage, maaaybe you'll have some company up there." You nod to his whiskey. "Drink up."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 10:49 PM

You hum, watching him and you stop breathing at the prod to your chest. 'Sweetheart,' huh? Is that how we're doing this? Fine. You shrug, barely fazed. You drink as he says and you keep your hair messily tossled back with your own smile starting to spread, "Challenge accepted."

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 10:56 PM

It's a wise man who knows how to play the long game with you. You're trying to get under his skin, to get him to crack. You want to intimidate him. But he remains relaxed. Finally, you back off, enjoying your drink while your enjoy the view. You don't doubt he's good. You'll chalk that up to vanity. If he's supposed to be your equal, he better be good.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 11:20 PM

You savor your drink again, since you were only waiting for the pianist on stage to finish. If your tolerance were any lower you'd probably be slurring right now. Thank goodness it wasn't then. One bottle of whiskey is done when you tap your cigarette end into the ash tray, then you bring it up to your lips for another drag.

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 11:25 PM

The time until the end of the set is filled with drinking and idle chatter. Civil chatter at that. You're done toying with him for now. He's here and you've been giving him a hard time. He's still here. So if he can tolerate all that abuse, you can tolerate him in return. You only smoke the one cigarette and you've long since returned his pillbox. Just the one is fine, so long as you stay one drink ahead.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 11:31 PM

When the set is finished at last, you turn your head to Slick -- you were on your second cigarette -- and you quirk a brow in his direction as if to ask if that was it.

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 11:40 PM

You're smiling at him, dipping your head and waving the way out of the booth. The crowd up front is clapping and a stagehand mentions a brief intermission before the headliner. He's a detective and he seems to have good enough taste so whatever he plays, you expect it'll suit the mood. You lead the way up the backside of the stage and adjust Sleuth's tie for him. Make it a liiitle more loose. There we go. "It's jazzy," you say, "So whatever cute little song you wanna play, jazz it up. And a fair warning-- you play any of that Prospitian shit, I'm gonna be the least of your worries." It goes without saying the primarily Dersite crowd would eat him alive. You pat his chest with a peppy grin. "Ready?"

Avery (PS/Sollux)Yesterday at 11:45 PM

You're inebriated enough to let the tie loosening go, but you're still in your right mind. You roll your eyes at the statement about Prospitian tunes. You weren't for those, if you were honest. You honor the classics. You raise a brow at the grin but you smile back as you roll your sleeves up seeing as your trench coat was with your hat on the table, carding another hand through strawberry blonde locks, "Let's go then."

Bunny (SS/07)Yesterday at 11:57 PM

The stage is set. A grand piano, years old but still in nearly-perfect condition, waits for someone to take a seat. You step out first, chuckling as you receive polite applause. But you're not here to play (yet). You take the mic and tell a story. The lights dim as you recount the night you met A Detective. Some snoop come to sniff around on your side of town. He sniffed himself right into your knife, you say. He sniffed his way into your knife three times. It's a purposefully vague tale that only the two of you know to be as factual as it is. You check to make sure he's seated at the keys before you introduce him as The Detective and an intrigued but reserved audience gives him a round of applause. You make your way backstage, patting his shoulder as you walk by. Good luck, flatfoot.

September 26, 2018

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 12:03 AM

The story has you rolling your eyes surreptitiously as you were seated on the piano's bench. He pats your shoulder and you turn your head a little, before nodding. A bit of a stretch, pulling your sleeves a bit away from your elbows. You stare at the keys for less than a minute before you start. Scarred skin on your arms moving to play on ivory and the tune was jazzy, true, jazzy with an energy the fully suited the mood for the club. He can't remember when he last played, but with the idea of him being rusty was certainly out of the window. It was expertise in the field of music -- eyes trained to stare at the black and white keys as fingers and wrist moves along with the arm in a fluid manner to play the tune. It was simply astounding.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 12:12 AM

Oh, it really does your heart good to hear good music. Thank fuck. Music, you decide, is a great way to get to know a person. That's how to jived with Clover. That's how you're getting to know Sleuth. It was nice exchanging stabs and drinks and cigarettes but this, now this is beautiful. Alright, you say to yourself, alright, maybe you'll really bring the house down with this guy. So you send out the small band, just a little more sound to juice up the noise. It's jazz, baby, jazz, they all find a way to fit right in. And you watch Sleuth intently to see how well he does in a group.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 12:16 AM

The group makes you look up and you shoot a glance where you know Slick was before you continue playing -- molding your music to better suit and fit the rest of the jazz ensemble. Your focus was on the music and your ears listened to every note of every instrument as you smirk a little, playing with little effort as you keep going. This was enjoyable. Even for him.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 12:20 AM

You let some time pass and watch as the audience loses their goddamn minds. Dancing like it's going out of style. But you've seen toms and janes hanging from the rafters. So you know you can push it. You've got another drink in you by the time you decide to step in. Sleuth's flushed with how well he's been keeping up. You light a cigarette, take a single puff, and seat yourself beside him. Plucking the pill from your mouth and placing it on Sleuth's lips, there you go, you earned it, and then hovering your fingers over the keys a few octaves higher. Give it a few measures. Make eye contact with the band. Smile at Sleuth. "Gimme all you got," you tell him, "I wanna bring the house down." You start to play.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 12:24 AM

The sudden cigarette snaps you out of your reverie but as if running on autopilot, you're still playing. You bite on the cigarette to adjust it so it doesn't fall, and you take a drag. The smile he sends you makes your smirk turn into a grin and you nod at the statement. "I gotcha," you say, following and meshing your music with his.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 12:31 AM

You go hard. You push yourself in order to push Sleuth. Your band is used to it. They're seasoned veterans in, "Oh shit, there goes Slick, get ready to be sore tomorrow, boys." And Sleuth gives you hell. The damn floors are on fire and by the end of the third song, you're laughing in a way you haven't laughed in years. Full of a giddy thrill and music bursting out of you from your fingers to your toes. It's a long night. But it goes by so quickly.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 12:34 AM

You're... enjoying this. You didn't struggle to keep up -- you were on par with him. And he didn't have to keep up with you, you were on equal footing here at least and it was.. exhilarating. His laugh makes you look for a second before you find yourself grinning with the cigarette still between your teeth and you take a long drag as the song reaches the end, breathing it out when you both slam on that last note. You would be looking for that soon and you hope you get to have it again.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 12:47 AM

They're going wild for it. You nudge Sleuth in the ribs and tell him he was being too modest about his skill. You'll get him back for that, you tell him. You were hoping to embarrass him in front of all these nice people. It goes without saying you enjoyed this way more, though.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 12:49 AM

You chuckle at the nudge and you lightly swat his shoulder in return. You make your way back to the backroom though, and the smile still had your pill between your lips as you tap it over the ash tray, back turned on where Slick would be if he entered. You were definitely going to look for this experience again.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 12:58 AM

You stand but stop. You watch Sleuth disappear into the back room and slowly take your seat back at the piano. You crack your knuckles and your neck and shoulders. With a whistle, a stagehand appears with a mic, setting it up over your piano. It'll be a good song to wind things down, you think, and then let the band carry the night owls away. You start to play, a smirk on your lips, and for that once in a blue moon, you sing. The song is slower when you play it and you play it alone. "Red lips. Kiss my blues away. Red lips. Kiss the night to day. Any old time you come cuddling near, ain't it strange the way that the blues disappear?"

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 1:09 AM

You're supposing that's it for the night. You're thinking that you'd overstay yourself after that. But when the words are sung on the microphone as you're rolling your sleeves down, you stop and freeze. What's your favorite love song? You look up from your trench coat, the cigarette still burning dimly where you are and with wide eyes, you turn around to see Slick playing and singing. ... For me? You find yourself staring, watching him and you feel a pang of admiration, because he remembered and is executing this wonderfully, and a pang of hatred, because he played that without you.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 1:13 AM

You walk your fingers across the keys to finish the song when it's good and ready to be done. The audience claps. You tell the boys to take over and disappear back stage. You see Sleuth looking half ready to leave. "Where you goin, flatfoot?"

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 1:16 AM

He's back in the same room with you and you're looking at him -- those green eyes of yours meeting his red ones and you close your mouth, moving to put the coat back on the table and the cigarette on the ash tray. You turn to face him, one hand carding through your hair, and the corner of your lips curling. "Nowhere, it seems."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 1:33 AM

You beam at him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and steering him back to the table. The ice kept the other bottle of whiskey cool. You pour some glasses and start asking him about where he learned to play. Self taught? Who are his musical influences? "I've gotta get you in here more often," you say, "Hell, I'd pay you. Better than half the posers who ghost their way through here." Just like that, you slip him your number on a napkin. "You ever get down on your luck and need an actual job, gimme a call, sweetheart." There it is. That thinly veiled insult, hidden in the guise of a generous offer.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 1:37 AM

You're smiling when he drags you back to the table for more drinks. You tell him what you remember -- self-taught for the most part and you state a few names. The compliment of having you play here instead of those guys has you shaking your head. The napkin with his number goes to your pocket after you look to him, listening. Hah, there's no way you'd actually go to him. But you keep the card anyway. 'Sweetheart,' there it is again and you give him a smile to keep him from knowing that it was indeed an insult. You take a long drink before pouring yourself a glass and you sigh after another drink. "I appreciate the offer, Spades. But you're on thin fucking ice for not telling me you were winding down with that song." It was a playful tease, but the undertones were riddled with subtle pitch.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 1:54 AM

"Oh, yeah? Am I?" you ask. And you wait until he's taking a drink before you tilt his glass a little too steep, sloshing whiskey over his face and down the front of his shirt. Grinning like an absolute madman. "Whoops."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 1:55 AM

The slosh was unexpected, but you don't have an outburst. Instead you lower your glass on the table and you take your tie off because fuck that shit, it's wet now. You give him a glare, before you're smiling too. "God, I hate you so fucking much."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 2:00 AM

Your pulse quickens in the best kind of way. You're scooting close to him and showing off those pearly whites. The ones that never seem to intimidate him no matter how serious you are about ripping his throat out with them. "Wouldn't you know it, Sleuth?" You snatch the collar of his shirt, somewhat damp from the whiskey, and tug. "I hate you, too. Moment I saw your clueless fuckin' mug pokin' around places it don't belong."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 2:03 AM

You bare your teeth back -- they weren't as sharp, but a small point nonetheless. Your hands reach up to grip his wrists and you make sure it's as tight as can be. "Well, guess what, Spades? I'n staying here and I'm going to keep poking my mug in places it don't belong," you say through a clenched jaw, "And I'm gonna do it to keep spiting you."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 2:08 AM

God, there's a brief moment where you're just... impressed. No one stands up to you like this. You'd kill them if they did. And he knows that. You almost got him before. But he keeps coming back. He refuses to show you fear. That just makes you want to see it even more. Plus, he's got a solid taste in music. That never hurt. Still about as close and personal as two people can get, you mutter, "Fuck you, Sleuth, I'm gonna have eyes on you at all times. If you even think about stepping into Crew territory, I'm gonna hear about it. Every man, woman, child, and dog is gonna be watching you. But they won't touch you, Sleuth. Cause the only one allowed to kill you is me."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 2:13 AM

"All eyes on me, Slick? That's a little too much attention, don'tcha think?" You still keep your grip on his wrists, "But if it's you that's gonna keep trying to end this flatfoot's life, then I'd tolerate all that attention because the same goes for me. You're all mine for the taking." Before you know it, you move suddenly and abruptly, smashing your lips against his as you keep your fingers wrapped around his wrists. You could feel the adrenaline pump through your veins with every moment that passed.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 2:20 AM

You're about to quip about how it's not enough attention, throw in a dash of something vaguely threatening, but he fuckin goes for it. The words die on your lips, which immediately get busy fighting with Sleuth's. He's got his fingers digging into your wrists so you close yours around his throat. By the time you two are forced to break for a breath, there's blood on your lips and your chin and not all of it is yours. Just like the night you met, you say (still out of breath), "This is fun."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 2:23 AM

Your lips are red and it's dripping down your chin. Well, fuck, you'd need to figure out which is yours when he speaks up. You grin, chuckling a little at the breathless comment. "It sure is." You hate him so much and the feeling of his teeth grazing your lips was something you never thought you'd find amazing, but you did. And now you wonder if he wants more of it too.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 2:31 AM

You push him off of you but only to thrust him against the back of the booth. Your gaze is tearing into him. The music you played together is still blaring in your ears. This, you think, is a good thing. A good and interesting dynamic. And you want more. Your claws drag down his arms before you sit back in your seat and flick the cap off of the whiskey. Fuck the glasses. You drink from the bottle and purposefully let it wash over your lips. The alcohol will help take care of those bites. Handing Sleuth the bottle so that he can do the same, you admire your handiwork and think of all the damage you'll do to him one day. But not today.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 2:34 AM

You bite down on nothing when he throws you off before you grit your teeth at the claws on your arms. Well, goddamn, that wasn't what you expected, but when you feel the stinging pain of those claws on your arms, you know you'll be drawing red in a little while. Heh, amazing how much tension there can be between two people. You take the bottle before taking a swig and you sit up, wiping your chin with the back of your hand that held the whiskey as you grin at him.(edited)

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 9:21 AM

You stare at him a while, smirking, feeling the burn of alcohol in the bites on your lips, and thinking of how good it would be to get in a fist fight with this fucker. Smug little dipshit. You keep your eye on him as you dip into your pocket and place a deck of cards on the table. "How about a game?" you suggest, letting them slide out from the box and shuffling them with one hand. Yes, you're showing off. "With stakes."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 9:23 AM

You take another swig before sitting up properly and you lean a little towards him. Sounds interesting, you tell yourself. A quirked brow and the stinging pain that's so sweet on your lips, you card a hand through your hair. "A game. What kind of stakes?" You ask, passing him the bottle if he wanted it.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 9:26 AM

Why yes, you do. You take a drink and leave the bottle between the two of you. "What do you want?" Your smirk tells him to make it interesting.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 9:27 AM

"What's the game first, if I'm deciding," you say, watching that smirk on his lips, "Gotta know the details."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 9:35 AM

"Afraid to lose?" you ask. And you focus your attention on the cards, shuffling fast and with flourish. You have a game in mind. You're not being even a little subtle when you suggest it, "High-Low-Jack," you say. A game otherwise known as Pitch.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 9:42 AM

You scoff, chuckling at the chosen game. Pitch, huh? You look up at him, trying to get eye contact again, "I'm not afraid to lose. But the stakes... how far are you willing to go with that?"

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 9:59 AM

You roll your eye into the fucking green sun and back. "Don't fuckin' worry about it, what do you want and if it's too much, I'll say something." You start laying out the cards. Would have been nice of you to let Sleuth check the deck and make sure it was properly shuffled. Yeah. That would have been real nice of you, huh. "Don't be a fuckin' pussy, Sleuth. Make it fun."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 10:15 AM

You don't want to overstep by asking to check the deck. You're humming before you nod and you take the bottle between the two of you, taking a swig and you wipe your chin with the back of your hand, extending the bottle out to him as you spoke. "If I win, you and your crew help us get rid of the Felt -- do things the law says under that purpose,  no questions asked, unless it's against my wishes, like say if the white king wants something atrocious done, but not a lot of us at the precinct like it, then you're out of the question on that one." Can never be too specific. Hopefully this doesnt bite you back in the ass. "But if you win... You got me under your thumb to do something as long as it doesn't harm or drag the rest of the folks at the precinct into this deal of ours -- the latest arrival and queen included."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 10:20 AM

You laugh in his face. "You want my entire Crew to do what they've been doing but with more rules... But I only get you? Well ain't we all high and mighty." You snatch his collar again but only to hold him in place as you sidle up against him. "If you win, how bout I let you in on a plan I got brewin' with the boys to put Snowman away for a while? We'll do it all legal like, scout's honor. If I win, I put Snowman away how I wanna do it and you help fill in the blanks. Our little secret." As clear code for "I'm going to do something illegal and you're going to cover it up" as it'll get. "I don't think I gotta explain to you how integral that'll be for taking care of the rest of the Felt. It's a win-win for everyone, don't you think?"

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 10:24 AM

Something legal for him, and illegal for you. Hm. You consider it -- you're already fried with your programming as we speak. You loom back to him, and you extend the bottle again. "Deal."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 10:32 AM

You take the bottle, take a swig, and lean in for another kiss. Gotta seal that deal, bro. "It's a bet," you say, grinning against his lips. You place the bottle aside so you can neck on him for a minute. You only call it quits when that same cigarette girl starts making her way over. She offers the two of you another bottle, eyeing Sleuth like a piece of meat (well he is but he's obviously your piece right now). You tell her to dust off, you're gonna play a game and then the two of your are gonna get some air. You say this while holding the back of Sleuth's neck and digging your claws in, watching her intently as she slinks back to the front of house. "...Think she likes you," you mutter.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 10:42 AM

You met him half way, having noticed the way he moved. You're fighting for dominance in that kiss. It's funny how much you get in one night whether it be from a kismesis(?) or some lady working for the guy you're currently hate-making out with. You see the girl eye you, and for just the heck of it, you give her one of those charming winks -- something to distract you with while you felt his claws dig into your neck. When she leaves, you chuckle at Slick's statement, "I'm not interested in a matesprit as of late. Quite fine on my own, thank you."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 10:46 AM

"..." You stare at him, deadpan. "...Matesprit?" you ask, holding back a laugh, "Sleuth, do you see the kinda joint this is? She ain't lookin' for a matesprit, either. She's tryna hit it and quit it." You really can't hold back with this much booze in your system. You laugh at him, reaching for the bottle and peeling yourself away from him to get a look at the cards. Alright, game time. Serious game time for serious men who seriously want to take down the Felt. Yes.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 10:48 AM

That has you a bit red. When you're finally free to move you rub the back of your neck to feel the area where he dug his nails in. Not too deep, at least. You can cover it up in the morning. But you sit up and you're waiting on him to deal the cards. Serious men -- hah.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 10:54 AM

You deal. The two of you decide how many rounds you'll go and how many points will cap each round. You share the bottle until it's gone and you relax into conversation about life. Interests, hobbies, goals. You jab at him but you have a lot in common, come to find. Already, you're thinking about when you'll have time to bring him back here.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 11:08 AM

It was looking well for you as it started. But you could feel the dread build up in you. You weren't afraid to lose. However, the stake of having to keep it clean for the Crew? You speak up just before you put your hand down -- which you feel is the losing bid -- and you look up at him. "You know, the inspector told me something about Snowman."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 11:09 AM

"Something I don't know?" you ask, cocking a brow. This has been an interesting game. He's pretty good. But you got wise to his play style a few bids ago.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 11:11 AM

"You know the night she disappeared with the White Queen, yeah?" You start, looking back down on your hand, "I was there."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 11:13 AM

Your brow twitches. "...And?"

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 11:17 AM

"Pembrooke told me that since we have her whip, that she used on me--" You raise your free arm, carding it through your hair, and suddenly all the scars become visible, "--that we could try to take her out with a case. It wasn't in her arrangement to clear that crime of assaulting an officer."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 11:21 AM

You stare at his arm and grab it without thinking, inspecting the scars. Pitch black hatred builds up. Towards both of them. Snowman for doing this to him. Sleuth for, once again, being in a situation he has no right being in. You sneer at him and release his arm. "...And?" you ask, "If you already got a plan to put her away, then why agree to the bet?"

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 11:23 AM

"That's the thing -- I don't think it'll work." And you lower your hand, revealing that you are, in fact, at a loss for this game. When he grabbed your arm earlier, you let him, and you still taste copper on your tongue -- you don't want this to end, whatever this is -- kismessitude, you know it to be. And you give him a small shrug, a small smile -- green eyes flickering up to him. "Just thought you'd find it interesting."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 11:29 AM

Well. It's definitely something to work with. You'll get a kick out of telling Droog about this later. You grin at his losing hand. Carefully, you start packing up the cards. "That is interesting," you say. Very interesting. You didn't realize the law was already trying to take down Snowman themselves. Sleuth asked you to help them take down the Felt. Little did you know just how common and specific your goals really were. Not that you're surprised, given everything that happened between the queens. But it's certainly... interesting. "So," you say casually, giving the cards a quick shuffle before putting them back in their box, "not lookin' for a matesprit huh?" Toss him a grin, tapping the box of cards back into your pocket. "How about a kismesis?" Yeah, that's right. You wanna make this official.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 11:33 AM

As he's cleaning it up, you're leaning back, keeping yourself sitting up with an arm behind you and the other just lazily draped over your gut. The casual throwback to your statement earlier as he cleans up the cards and you raise a brow. Then the question goes to your ears and you're sitting there, staring at him as he grins. Your lazy smile only widens before you crack a similar grin at him. "Thought you'd never fucking ask, you prick," you snarl through your grin -- you'd never let anyone send adrenaline pump through you like that. It was just him.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 11:36 AM

"Go figure, I gotta do all your dirty work for you," you say. And then you're sliding out of the booth, pulling him along with you. "C'mon. Let's blow this joint. Grab your shit and meet me in the alley."(edited)

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 11:37 AM

You let him pull you, and you suddenly remember all the fucking claw marks on your arms because moving was a bitch and you were hurt. Whatever. You nod and slide on your trench coat, slipping your hat over your head as you make your way to the alley.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 11:39 AM

You're a few steps ahead of him. Enough to light up another cigarette and take a single hit before he shows up. You tug him in and thrust him up against a wall, blowing smoke in his face. "Does it hurt?" you ask, nodding to his arms.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 11:40 AM

The smoke in your face was ignored when he thrust you up a wall -- huh. Deja vu, except he wasn't driving a knife into your gut. You nod but you keep your eyes on him, "Yeah."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 11:44 AM

You kiss him hard, latching your claws onto his arms. You've never done this before but you figure it's a good investment in this newfound relationship. After all, he's yours to hurt now. Anyone else who tries it will have to answer to you. Shadow magic builds in the palms of your hands and purple flames move over Sleuth's arms. They're hot but they don't burn. Slowly, the pain ebbs away and the once painful-looking scars fade until they're barely noticeable.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 11:45 AM

Kissing him back in that hateful way was a bit hard when he's got you pinned down by the arms. You close your eyes when you see the fire. He's healing you. For shadow magic to be that convenient, you wish you had it. Imagination was harder to wield in such a way, that you can only manifest a sword, but you're too busy kissing him to think of that now.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 11:48 AM

And to be fair, very few people can do what you to to this extent. He's fit as a fiddle when you're done with him. Quietly, breathlessly, you ask, "Better?" and you don't let him answer before you say, "Good. Now stop getting your ass handed to you."

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 11:50 AM

You're about to answer when he warns you and you chuckle, giving him a little nod as you move your none painful arms to hold his waist, pressing your lips against his again roughly.

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 11:57 AM

You're content to stay that way for a while. Kissing in the alley, fighting for dominance. The night is winding down and you'll have to go your separate ways soon. You don't want it to end but you shouldn't move too quickly, either. Damn, you got it bad for this one. "Hey," you say, "you need to know I'm pitch with Snowman, too. 'Cept she ain't frail like you so go ahead and rough her up when she's in the clink." Being poly, but also Spades fucking Slick, you don't usually care about laying things out like this. Being 'honest' or whatever. But you don't want someone to manipulate this situation and take Sleuth away from you. If he's going to hear it, he's gonna hear it from you. You tell him if he's got a problem with that, he can choke on it. No take backs. All sales are final. But you wait, watching him carefully to see if it's alright.

Avery (PS/Sollux)Today at 12:03 PM

Fucking hell, you think -- you don't remember when the last time was when you had a good pitch relationship. It was amazing at least -- he's pitch and so are you, nothing else. Hearing that, you raise a brow before you chuckle, breathing a huff through your nose and you roll your eyes a little, "You think I'm backing down from such an exhilarating pitch relationship just because you're pitch with the bitch who fucked me up? Think again." You give him another kiss, your hands moving on his waist before you finally let go, pulling away as you thumb away the red on your lips, both looking vibrant against your paling complexion in the darkness. You press it to his lips before you withdraw fully. "I'll be seeing you, Spades."

Bunny (SS/07)Today at 12:07 PM

Your heart is stuck in your throat. So when you move your lips to say goodbye, no words come out. You touch the red on your mouth. The lasting sting is... nice. And you watch him turn the corner before resting on the alley wall, holding a hand over your wildly beating heart. ...You gave him your number but you didn't get his. Mother fucker.

[lasagnabomb-blog]

Belargo the Coin Dragon

"Hey, shopkeep, what can I get for this? Found it on a recent venture in southern Duskain".

Kit faced a small roadside wagon set outside of Lupren in central Duskain. Drawing the short straw, he was sent out to run errands while the rest of the crew set up camp. Usually, they would stay at an inn when this close to town, but after being robbed of your gold and some of your supplies you learn to make do.

“Looks beat up, but the knife is still sharp. I'll give you six gold for it.”

The shopkeep was a stout man, short too. You could almost mistake him for a dwarf if he grew a beard. He stepped back from the counter and put away the knife. Kit looked around at the pines and straightened his coat. Winter was coming and it was coming fast, frost had been on the ground that morning.

“Aye, here you go. Six gold, as promised.”

In the shopkeep's hand. There were six coins, but there was also a tiny silver dragon clutching one of the coins. Kit tried to softly tug the coin away from the dragon, but to no avail as it growled and hissed at his hand.

“The dragon comes with the coin, sir.” The shopkeep gruffly spoke “Little guy never lets go of his coin, so he always goes with. He's traveled to about every shop in the town, and who knows where he was before that. Try and spend ‘im somewhere else so he gets to travel.”

“I… uhh…” Kit held out his hand. The dragon perked up and scampered onto his hand, up his arm, and perched on his shoulder.

“By the way, the lil guy responds to Belargo. Have a nice evening now.”

The shopkeep didn't give time for Kit to respond and closed the window to the cart. Dumbfounded, Kit decided it was best to spend some of the gold and get food for the crew.

After shopping for a while, Kit finally returned to camp with dried goat, dried fruits, and one gold. The camp had been set while he was gone, and his two companions were already sitting by the fire. On the left sat a black kobold named Arua, on the right sat a dwarf named Gurk. Both seemed to be laughing at some joke Arua had just finished, her jokes were known to be a bit raunchy and a favorite of Gurk's.

“Hey, Kit, we found a log for ya to sit on. Find anything good out there?” Gurk's voice rumbled deeply. “I can smell the meat, toss it ‘ere!”

“Fine, calm down Gurk, there's plenty for us tonight.” Kit, pulled out a piece before slinging the sack over to Gurk. “Got some fruits for the road as well.”

There was a moment of silence.

“We have one gold piece left” Kit said “though it uh… it comes with this little guy” Kit proceeded to reach into his jacket, and show off Belargo in the palm of his hand. “Merchant said the dragon comes with the coin, never leaves it either. Figured we can keep the little fella for now at least. His name is Belargo.”

Arua had already approached and convinced the dragon to her hand by the time Kit was done talking. “So, he's sorta like our little mascot now, huh?” Arua chirped. “ Who's a good wittle fella, huh?” as she pet the dragon with her finger.

“We should get to sleep soon. We have to catch up to Silvereye if we're going to claim that bounty.” Kit stated. “We've come close to losing the trail a few times, so we can't let him slip out of Lupren without us knowing.”

Belargo trilled happily as Arua rubbed his belly.

“Well, silver dragons are a sign of good luck.” Gurk said. “Maybe we'll catch Silvereye at the gate tomorrow before he gets the chance to slip!”

“Well, if we are gonna do that, it's best to turn in soon. Goodnight guys.” Kit yawned through the sentence.

The group had a peaceful night and rose early the next morning. After tearing down camp, the went into Lupren to try and spot Silvereye, the infamous murderer. She would leave a silver piece in the left eye of her victims, and was more than rich enough to pay off the law. The bounty was big, it would definitely make up for the money the group lost a while ago.

Kit was leaning in the gate of the town, watching over the street. The sun had barely risen, and the streets were near empty. Kit was having a hard time staying awake before his head flashed with pain and his vision went black.

When Kit came to, his hands were tied behind his back and his mouth was gagged. In a chair across the room sat a very large man with two other brutes standing beside him. One of them had a bloody bandage wrapped around his nose and cotton in his mouth.

“Ah, boys, our guests are finally awake.”

Kit looked around and saw Arua and Gurk both tied up. It looked like Gurk was hurt the most, he must've spotted the thugs before they got him.  

“Now, I have a question fellas.” The chair creaked as the man stood up “Why are you following miss Silvereye, eh? You couldn't be bounty hunters, could ya? I hear plenty in that profession die gruesome deaths.” The man towered over Kit now, blackjack in hand. “Some of ya even go through torture. So why are you followin’ the miss?

Kit spat at the man's boots. Before he had time to make a snide comment his head exploded in pain and his vision went blurry. Blood started dripping down his temple. Before he knew it, he was hauled up by his hair and pinned against the wall.

“Now, I asked you a question. I think it's best for you to answer.” His breath smelled like beer and onions.

Kit remained silent

“Fine, I see you won't talk If I hurt you. How about the little miss there? Skellen, grab her. Tie her up to the chair.”

Arua was hauled over to the chair. Her fighting back was pointless, she was much smaller than any of the thugs. After she was tied up, the leader let go of Kit and walked over to the chair.

Kit started struggling against the rope, trying to get free to save his friends.

“So, what's a little miss like you doing out here? It's easy to get hurt y'know.” The leader slammed his blackjack into her stomach. “I think it's best to admit to what you did, we might kill ya faster then.”The leader put a hand on Arua's shoulder and cocked his other hand back.”It's a shame sweetheart, you're pretty for a fucking lizard.” A small flash of fire hit the hand on Arua's shoulder. The leader roared in pain and reeled back, clutching the burn on his hand.

“FUCKING WITCH! SKELLEN, KILL HER!”

Kit had worked his bonds to the point he could slip a hand out. Skellen was standing over Arua, confused by the small dragon on her shoulder. Belargo had clambered his way up to Arua's shoulder from one of her jacket pockets. That gave Kit just enough time to tackle Skellen while he was confused. The third thug stumbled back, surprised by what was happening.

Kit took the knife from Skellen's sheath and cut his throat, then sprung back up to assess the situation.

Gurk was still tightly bound and Arua's chair had been knocked over, she was struggling with the rope. Stefan had cast aside his blackjack in favor of a shortsword. The third goon had drawn his sword as well and was getting ready to charge.

“So, you really do want to be tortured to death, huh?” The leader growled “I'm gonna put your head on a fucking pike in the middle of town!”

The leader rushed forward and thrusted his blade at Kit's chest. Kit turned aside and kicked at the ankles, causing the man to tumble. Before he could do anything else, Kit was pommeled by the other goon. Luckily, he missed Kit's head and bashed his shoulder instead, causing Kit to fall over in pain. The thug but his boot on Kit's back, pinning him to the floor.

The thug raised his blade, and readied to stab Kit through the neck.

Kit heard a loud thud and a crash, followed by a string of dwarven swears and a fist meeting flesh repeatedly. The foot was no longer on his back and Gurk was free of his bonds,  beating down the goon. Arua had also escaped hers, but hadn't gotten up yet.

“You think… that I'm just gonna go down that fucking easy?” The leader stood back up, and whirled his blade.

“I mean, I was sort've hoping so. I've had a rough week, and your fat ass made it worse. Sorry I have to take it out on you.” Kit threw the knife at the leader's head. It would've hit if the leader's reaction was any slower, he deflected the knife with his sword.

The leader charged, whirling his blade around and making it difficult to get much closer to him. Kit saw an opening, but the leader read his movements and slashed as his side while sidestepping away. The blade caught Kit on his upper arm, leaving a deep wound. Kit cried out in pain and clutched his arm, making a feeble attempt to staunch the flow. Having lost his balance from the blow, Kit crashed into the wall and fell back over.

“My name is Sellus Drihart, and I’ve never lost a fucking fight. I’m not gonna lose to some cut-rate bounty hunter.”

Sellus swung his sword at Kit’s head. Arua cried out, her lifelong friend was about to meet his demise and there was nothing she could to. She couldn’t make it in time. The sound of a blade cutting flesh and cracking bone echoed through the room. Arua screamed, and found the knife on the floor. Kit wasn’t dying in vain.

“... your blade isn’t as sharp as you think, Sellus… don’t you know it’s important to keep it sharpened after every fight?”

Kit sat there, blood pouring out of his right arm and his left hand, sword embedded in his palm. He seemed to barely be conscious. Sellus stood there, shocked. He then yanked the blade and readied for another swing.

Sellus had no time to swing though, Arua had already closed the distance and slashed his achilles tendon with the dropped knife. Sellus crumpled to the ground, unable to stand back up. Arua made quick work of Sellus, repeatedly stabbing him anywhere she could. After it was all said and done, Arua fell to her knees out of pure exhaustion. Kit had fallen unconscious, and Gurk had just finished off the last thug, with a few less teeth than before.

Silence rang through the room.

Gurk finally spoke. “ I guess silver dragons aren’t much luck after all…”

Both of them stared at Kit, he was basically their leader and what brought them together. Neither of them knew how to patch wounds like he had; especially his hand which was almost dangling off from the rest.

Belargo skittered over to Kit, and started lapping up the blood. Before Arua or Gurk could stop the dragon, the blood began turning silver in color, running up into his wounds. The wounds started shimmering, and then began closing. Scar tissue grew rapidly and stopped Kit’s bleeding. Belargo’s horns rapidly shrank in size until they were little nubs on his head, and then the dragon fell asleep.

Hours later, Kit woke up in an unfamiliar room. Arua and Gurk sat by his bedside. After a flurry of questions which were mainly answered with “I’m alive”, “I feel like shit”, and “I need water.”; Arua screamed something about Kit’s eyes. Kit didn’t really understand, his head started ringing. Stumbling over to the mirror, Kit noticed a few things immediately. His wounds were covered in a very rough scar tissue, it almost looked scaled. Each of those scars burned like fire when touched. Lastly, his eyes had taken a sterling silver color and resembled those of a dragon.

“Guys, What the fuck happened to me? Where are we?”

Gurk calmly explained that they were still in Lupren, in the Blitzed Imp Tavern. Then told Kit about Belargo and what happened after Kit had passed out.

“Little fella still hasn’t woken up.” Gurk explained “Fixed ya up and hasn’t moved a muscle since.”

Kit stumbled over to where Gurk and Arua had made a makeshift bed out of rags and a spare pillow. Belargo was nestled beneath the rags, with only his head sticking out.

Slowly, the dragon’s eyes opened. Kit’s eyes almost exactly matched Belargo’s. The two had been bonded by dragon magic in the attempt to save Kit. Nobody knew what this meant for them, but they were soon to find out. This was only the beginning of an adventure, the likes of which hadn’t been seen in centuries.

-END OF PART 1-

This was inspired by a writing prompt that was thrown my way! It had reached Tumblr fame before, but I figured I'd give it a shot too. Thank you of you've taken the time to read this, I'd love to know what you think! Have a good one!

[im-gabriels-bitch]

Guardian Angel

Chapter: 1 of ?

Tags/Warnings: Post - Gabriel’s s13 death, Dean’s not possesed, fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst, OFC is a hunter, Gabriel lives

Pairing: Gabriel/OFC

Word Count: 2094

Summary: So basically, Dean and Sam discover another relative they didn’t know they had, who ends up being another hunter. She runs into Gabriel (Her assigned guardian), shit goes down, and they eventually fall in love.

"Did you hear that?"

Eyes scouting the area, Sam Winchester slowed to a halt beside his brother, Dean Winchester. The Winchesters were sporting silver knives dipped in lambs blood, creeping around an abandoned factory. They were hunting a djinn in Las Vegas that was responsible for a series of recent disappearances.  

"Hear what?"

As if on queue, another loud scuffling, followed by some shouting, sounded throughout the warehouse. Sam looked over to his brother in an 'I told you so' fashion. "That."

Dean rolled his eyes before another shout broke the silence, which sounded female. Dean nodded towards the direction of the sound and made his way carefully to a hidden alcove in the otherwise open factory room. The pair approached the open doorway, and Sam peered around the corner into the chamber. There were two people fighting - one a tattoo-covered djinn and the other a woman with dark blonde hair tied back in a tight pony tail. He nodded to Dean, who moved to the other side of the entrance, raising his knife in anticipation.

As they were about enter the alcove, the sound of a gun firing broke the air. The Winchesters peered through the doorway suspiciously, seeing the woman standing over a lifeless djinn, gun still pointed at it's head, panting. As soon as she spotted the brothers, she immediately pointed her gun at them.

"Who the hell are you guys?"

Dean dropped his knife, raising his hands in surrender as he approached the woman. "Easy sweetheart, we're here for the same reason you are."

She lowered her gun, smirking to Sam, "Don't be shy, I don't bite." He let out a little laugh before coming in as well.

Her eyes returning to Dean's, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." He snorted, before pulling the neckline of his t-shirt down to reveal his anti-possession tattoo. She nodded in appreciation before pulling up her shirt a bit, revealing an anti-possession tattoo on her hip. She holstered her gun, stepping towards the Winchesters.

"Adelynn Campbell, at your service."

"Dean Winchester, this is my brother, Sam."

Sam nodded in a greeting before stepping forward, "Hey, uh ... how did you kill that djinn with a bullet?"

"Oh yeah, that-" Adelynn elaborated, "They're silver bullets with capsules of lamb's blood on the side. When they're fired, the friction from the barrel makes the capsule break, and coats the bullet in blood. Like a mini silver blade dipped in lamb's blood flying at them at 1700 miles per hour."

"So, you can kill them from a farther distance, huh?" Dean asked, and she nodded.

"Clever!" Sam praised, looking Adelynn over with a newfound respect.

"Thanks!" She smiled, "Sam, right?"

He nodded, and she peered at him, then to Dean.

"Winchesters ... Your mom's Mary Winchester, right?"

"Yeah ..." Dean began, "why?"

"Aah," She chuckled, "You fellas know who Christian, Mark and Gwen Campbell are?"

"Samuel Campbell's kids?" Sam asked, "Yeah, we knew them for a while. They're all dead now, though."

"Ooh, shame." Adelynn flinched, "Either way, bet you two didn't know there were four stooges, not just three."

"Hold on, what did you say your last name was again?" Dean asked quickly, eyes slowly widening in shock.

"Are you-" Sam blurted out, but before he could finish, Adelynn cut him off.

"Samuel Campbell's youngest kid."

---

"So let me get this straight," Dean blabbered as he and Sam followed Adelynn into her apartment, "Sam Campbell had a 5th kid that he kept hidden, you. He kept you hidden 'cause he wanted at least one kid safe from hunting. But, you wanted to be just like your old man, so you followed him out on a case here in Vegas when you were 12. You almost got yourself killed, and when he thought you were gone, he left you here."

"More or less, yeah." Adelynn confirmed, hanging up her leather jacket. "20 years later, I'm doing just fine. Make yourselves at home by the way."

Sam and Dean sat down on one of the overstuffed couches in the decently sized living room.

"You fellas want anything to drink? I got beer, red and white wine, and ... champagne?" Adelynn eyed the bottle of champagne in her fridge warily before mumbling, "Ahh, last week." A smirk spread across her lips slowly.

"What was last week?" Sam joked, and Adelynn stood up, smirking at Sam.

"One of the best nights of my life honey." She turned back to the fridge, "Lots of sex."

"Woah!" Dean let out a hearty laugh, "No subtlety with this one!"

"Whatever." She chuckled, "So, what'll it be?"

"Just a beer thanks."

"I'll take a glass of red if you don't mind."

"I like your style Sam," Adelynn smiled, pouring a glass of red wine for Sam and grabbing two beers for herself and Dean. "classy."

"I'm taking that as a complement." He smiled graciously as she handed the glass to him.

"You should kid," she continued, "I've never met a hunter quiet as nice as you."

She popped the caps of the two beers in unison, handing on to Dean.

"Strong too, I see." He praised, and she laughed at his comment.

"I might be wrong, but from my experience, hunting monsters puts meat on your bones." She chuckled, and the older Winchester smirked, "And sassy! I like you!"

"I like you boys too." She smiled, "You're not much like I've heard."

"You've heard about us?" Sam asked, confused eyes peering at Adelynn over the rim of his glass.

"Well shit, you're the Winchesters, aren't you?" She continued, "Every hunter who's not living under a rock knows who you guys are! People say your the leanest, meanest hunters out there. But from what I can tell you're just a couple of swell guys."

"Well if you think that you clearly know nothing about us yet." Dean grunted, taking a long sip of his beer.

Sam looked at Adelynn. She might not be great at figuring people out, but she sure as hell read the look on Sam's face loud and clear. She peered into the beer bottle she was holding and took a long drawl, closing her eyes.

The room was tense for a while, before Sam cleared his throat loudly.

"This is a nice place you got here." He added, looking around the nicely decorated living room, on a higher level of the complex as well. "You sure you're a hunter?"

"I'm sure." Adelynn chuckled, looking around as well. "I dunno how I got off so well, maybe I've just got an angel watching over me."

Suddenly, Dean's phone started vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out, standing, "Speaking of angels." He walked into the kitchen to take the call.

"'Speaking of angels'?" She looked at Sam with a quizzical expression, and he let out a sigh.

"Have you ever dealt with demons before?" He asked, and she nodded, "Well, if demons are real, then do you think it could be possible that the opposite could be real too?"

"Are you telling me angels are real?" She asked, eyes widening, waiting anxiously for an answer. Before Sam could answer, the sound of wings came from next to Dean.

Adelynn looked up to see, to her shock, a brand new figure standing her apartment.

"Dean, who is this guy?"

She heard him mumble 'Good timing Cas.' to the man standing next to him for he replied, "Adelynn, this is Castiel. He's ... an angel."

Adelynn looked the angel up and down warily. "An angel? Like ... 'with wings and a halo' angel?"

Castiel nodded, walking over to where Sam and Adelynn were now standing. "That is correct. Although, my wings undoubtedly are not all that they used to be." He extended his hand, and she took it hesitantly.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Castiel." She said, still sizing him up.

"It is nice to meet you as well Adelynn." He replied, "I see you are just as skeptical of me as the Winchesters were at our first encounter. I can assure you, I am an angel of the lord."

"Sorry if I'm a little skeptical," She answered, "It's just ... I never really believed in angels, and now there's one standing in my apartment. Uh ... would you like to sit down? Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, thank you." He thanked the hunter, taking a seat beside Sam and Dean. "And I'll pass on the drink. As an angel, I do not require sustenance as you humans do to survive. I simply ... exist."

After everyone had settled back into their chairs, Adelynn spoke up again, "So, you guys doing anything in Vegas besides hunting that djinn?"

"Not really." Sam replied, "We're kinda to busy to take any sort of vacation anymore. I think our last actual vacation was, what ... 2015?"

"I guess being a Winchester isn't all it's cracked up to be." She scoffed, "You know what, I'm taking you guys out tonight. You need it."

"I'm down." Dean smiled widely, "When do we leave?"

Adelynn laughed at his enthusiasm, "As soon as you guys get cleaned up. You look like dirt."

"I've got this." Castiel added, before touching the Winchesters on the forehead. In the blink of an eye, they were both in suits with black ties and waistcoats. Sam's hair was tied back in a slick ponytail.

"Damn Castiel!" Adelynn gawked at the Winchesters, then the angel. "How did you do that??"

"Please, call me Cas." Castiel simply smiled at Adelynn kindly, then to the Winchester, who were equally enthralled with their new suits.

"Man, I was just gonna wear my black cocktail dress," She began, "but do you think you could spruce me up too?"

"Of course. Anything for a friend of Sam and Dean Winchester's." Castiel replied, touching Adelynn's forehead. Suddenly, her flannel and ripped jeans were replaced with a figure-hugging white dress. Her combat boots were replaced with red-bottomed stilettos. A silver clutch appeared in her hand.

"Thanks Cas!" She cheered, gazing at her new dress.

"Looks like cleaning up nice runs in the family." Dean smiled, looking Adelynn up and down. His eyebrows slowly rose at the end of her dress, and Sam scoffed.

"Dude, don't forget, she's technically our aunt." He laughed, and Dean shook his head. "Right."

They heard a snap, and suddenly Castiel's trench coat was gone, revealing a similar swanky black suit, only with a navy blue tie instead of a black one, and his hair was gelled back.

"I gotta say, you fellas definitely look Vegas-ready." She looked all three men up and down with appreciation. "What do you say we hit the streets?"

---

"Damn it!" Dean snarled, having lost yet another $100 in a round of poker. Sam, Castiel and Adelynn, sitting on either side of him, were laughing; His loss was technically their win after all.

"You better quite before you go broke Dean." Adelynn chuckled, gazing at her impressive amount of chips.

"The woman's right. You should find another table." Came another voice from the opposite end of the table. The quartet looked over the the man. He was wearing a blood red tuxedo, though the bow tie was undone. Most of his face was hidden under his fedora.

"Excuse me?" Dean challenged. Even if he wasn't a drunk from the rainbow shots the group had had earlier, he would still be mad. This stranger had no business telling him which games he could play and which ones he couldn't.

"I said," He said, this time a hint of anger in his voice, almost an 'or else' tone, "you should find another table, Dean. This match might not end pleasantly for you if you don't."

"Was that a threat?" Dean barked, sitting up straighter in his chair. Being a hunter does make a person more suspicious.

"How do you know his name?" Sam added, and Adelynn realized the stranger hadn't gotten Dean's name yet. "Who the hell are you?"

Under the hat, the man's expression changed from challenge to fear. He stood up quickly, making his way towards the thick crowd. Castiel, being the closest to the stranger, managed to grab his arm before he could escape.

He grabbed the man by the collar and yanked the hat off. He was prepared to attack, angel blade ready in his sleeve.

But a look a shock replaced the look of aggression on his face.

His grip on the man's collar loosened, and his hand fell loosely against his side.

The hat fell to the floor, forgotten.

"What the hell-"

"Is that ... ?"

"Gabriel?"

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Balance on the Head of a Pin

Chapter Eleven

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x OFC  |  Word Count: 5102 Warnings: Swearing, violence, abusive relationship

Sleep was not something he needed with regularity, not like the humans of Midgard, so as Lauren slept curled against him, her body warm and soft, Loki simply lay content to hold her close and keep her safe. This was not what he’d expected coming home with her would be like.

Her mother was a harsh woman, he knew, had known from the call he’d been privy to, but the rest, all of them, made him ridiculously angry.

He had not felt such burning rage and hatred toward another since the day he’d been informed of Frigga’s death. The all-consuming need to plunge a dagger through the heart of the Dark Elf who’d killed her had set him raging, destroying his cell and everything inside it. When Thor had offered him the chance to avenge her murder, he had been most inclined to assist; as well as escape his cell.

He did not know what happened here, but something stunk of deceit. There was evil on the air, the scent of trickery and contrivance. As the God of Mischief, it was impossible to hide the fact from him. Someone was up to something, and his instincts screamed George’s name.

Kissing the crown of Lauren’s head, Loki shifted out from beneath her, making sure to tuck the sheets around her when she sighed and rolled to her belly.

Her hair was a waterfall of golden wheat over her back, her lashes long and dark resting on her cheeks. Sleek muscles moved beneath her skin, her night clothes dark against her pale flesh.

He ran his fingers through her hair, remaining knelt at her side for a few moments, imagining what it would be like to create many more of the garments from the pages of Natasha’s magazine. There were ones with lace and thin straps, appearing like cages, or the corsets which laced up the back, lifting the breasts and narrowing the waist.

He could envision her in gowns of silk, tiny straps barely holding the fabric to her frame, the silk so thin it clung to her breasts, revealing her pert nipples. It would be nothing, no barrier at all to his mouth. The silk would grow wet from the laving of his tongue, disappearing completely until it felt as if he sucked on her directly.

A rumbled growl of pleasure escaped him, his hand slowly closing in her hair as his body stirred to life. The loose pants he had donned for her sake did nothing to disguise his desire when they tented in the front. His usual sleep attire was none at all, but his innocent Lauren was not there yet, nor did he think he could keep himself from taking her should he find himself naked in her bed.

He was halfway through fulfilling his promise with two days left before the party in which she would wear the stunning dress of Sadie’s. He would have her then, make her his in full. Claim that which he’d waited so long for. “Elskan min,” he murmured, slowly releasing her hair and shifting away before he did something foolish.

He waved his hand and dressed as the god he was, still preferring his Asgardian garb to that of Midgard. He may cater to the sensibilities of others, but it didn't necessarily mean he liked it. Wandering the halls of the tower dressed in black leather, overcoat flowing around his legs, tended to have the team eyeing him sideways, wondering what he was up to.

He did it occasionally just to watch them sweat.

He slipped from the bedroom, setting wards on the doors to see Lauren remained undisturbed and vanished to move about without being seen. Though the house was quiet, people were still awake, and he made his way toward the first of the voices.

Samuel and Marabeth were arguing in hushed tones.

He slipped through the open door, settled into a chair near it, and watched the drama unfold.

“You’re such a coward,” Marabeth sneered, dragging the edges of her too tight robe around her.

“Because I refused to step between you and your sister?” Samuel snorted. “I told you before, I don’t care about your spat with her. Your jealousy of her ain’t my problem.”

“I’m not jealous of Lauren!” she scoffed.

He arched a brow, took the glasses from his face to clean on his shirt, Samuel gave her a sly smirk. “Lyin’ to yourself now, dear? How disappointin’.”

She flew across the room, her hand raised in anger, but he only caught her by the wrist.

“Do not think I will stand for that, wife. I am not your sister to simply take the slap.” He threw her hand away from him before walking toward the door.

“Where are you goin'?” she demanded, striding after him.

“Out,” Samuel muttered.

“To fuck your floozy?” she sneered.

He paused beside Loki’s invisible form to glare down at Marabeth with something akin to disgust. “Considerin’ how you have let yourself go since you had those brats you insisted upon, I have been forced to seek my relief from other sources.”

“You know I had to have the little bastards to please mama,” she huffed.

“Yes, well, at least your mother managed to retain her shape after havin’ three children. Somethin’ you clearly are incapable of.” Samuel turned up his nose and walked out.

Loki sneered silently after him. Like he was one to talk with his protruding gut.

Stomping across the room, Marabeth jerked the top from the decanter in the corner and poured a hearty swallow she threw back without hesitation. Her hand clenched around the crystal before she threw it at the wall with a snarl. 

Loki stood slowly, having seen enough. There was madness in Marabeth’s eyes, something he associated with mayhem and murder. Things were not well in her marriage if this conversation was any indication.

And the children, the ones Lauren loved with her whole heart, were not even wanted by their parents.

He knew that feeling all too well, having been abandoned by his own, but he at least had found a home with people who did care for him. These two were living in a situation where they could not help but be aware of their lack of value to the people around them.

While he wasn’t overly fond of the small ankle biters, children tending to be rather dirty and loud, he was not averse to having his own one day. The idea of watching Lauren grow round with his babe, it stirred longings to life inside him he hadn’t known were there. Finding her with the two cuddle up against her had been heart stopping the desire hit him so hard.

To find her sister did not even want them, appeared to care very little for them, had him contemplating what it would take to see they were removed from this home and placed in Lauren’s care. Dark thoughts of accidents in which both Samuel and Marabeth perished in flames and screeching metal as their car impacted something solid rose up, but he immediately banished them, no matter how tempting.

Should Lauren ever discover he’d had a hand in offing her sibling, she would despise him for eternity. She did not have a vindictive bone in her body. No matter how her sister continued to hate and hurt her, she would never forgive him if he took matters into his own hands in such a way.

Deciding it was something he needed to think on, possibly ask questions of someone better versed in the working of Midgardian laws than he, Loki moved silently down the halls to where George’s quiet voice was heard.

His door was shut tight, but Loki only waved a hand, shifting smoothly into the darkened room. Curtains closed, the only light on was the one on the stand beside the bed, though George was cast in the glow of a laptop screen, his clothing discarded down to dark boxers.

“Babe, look, I’m tryin’, but she ain’t havin’ none of me,” he murmured quietly, causing Loki to frown as he moved around the room to see just who Montgomery was speaking with.

“Well, try harder,” the woman on the screen whined. She was scantily clad, her choice of attire quite - what was the word Clint used? – Ah yes, trashy. Her dull brown hair was curled and teased high, her makeup heavy including orangey-red lips which smacked together as she chewed and popped her gum.

This was the woman George had chosen over Lauren? His contempt of the man kept growing. Curling his lip back in disgust, Loki leaned against the wall to watch.

“I can’t force her to marry me, Darlene! It don’t work that way,” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Well, we need the money, George, what with yer little one on the way and our other troubles.” She shifted enough to have her garments falling open.

Loki arched his brow at her protruding belly. 

“I’m workin’ on it, babe, but she came back with this snooty attitude and some fancy fella from New York. Tonight she walked out on the family, said she ain’t never comin’ back. Not much point in weddin’ her if she’s gonna end up on the outs with Magnolia. That old bitch’s got such a death grip on the family fortune.” He shook his head.

“You weren’t gonna be gettin’ access to that fortune anyway, right? I thought it was the crazy old biddy’s money you was after?”

Loki’s interest instantly sharpened for they could only be speaking of Ellie, Lauren’s grandmother.

“Shit! Y’all should see the money that woman’s got stashed. She lives like a hermit, crazy old witch, but damn, babe, she’s rollin’ in it,” George confirmed with a smirk.

Darlene rolled to her back and kicked her feet at the ceiling. “I’m so glad your daddy is too stupid to notice you’ve been goin’ through the accounts. You’d a never known about all that dough otherwise. You sure Lulu will inherit?”

“Damn sure. Who else would the old bitch give it to? Cissy’s a mean cunt. Marabeth, too. Ellie hates Magnolia, and Hoyt’s already got Jasper’s money. Nah, Ellie will leave it all to Lauren.”

Intrigued, Loki wondered at that. It had not appeared as if Ellie were well off, but, if he understood anything about this strange land he’d been thrown into, it seemed wealth begot wealth. Those who were rich married others of the same fortune. It would make sense for Jasper Annandale to court the young Ellie if she were not only beautiful but from a better family as well. However, the stealing of one’s fortune from an elder would not be overlooked. Especially as this was Lauren’s gran.

“Well,” Darlene cooed, rolling toward the camera, allowing for a generous view of her cleavage, “I do wish you’d get on with it.”

A quiet knock at the door had George pressing a finger to his lips. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Brow arching, Loki could hardly believe this turn of events.

“Gotta go,” George hissed at the screen.

Darlene grinned. “All else fails, you could always take pictures and blackmail the old lady into payin’ you off,” she snickered.

George smirked and shut the screen of his laptop. “It’s open,” he called out, placing the laptop on the nightstand.

Even knowing it was her, Loki couldn’t help but be shocked when Lauren’s mother sauntered through the door, a seductive smile on her face in a robe of deep blue.

“Hey, baby,” she simpered.

“Magnolia, darlin’. I thought Hoyt was home tonight?”

She swayed her hips as she moved closer to the bed Montgomery was laying on. The tie on her robe came loose under her fingers, revealing a negligee in the same dark blue.

Passing a critical eye over her, Loki could have snorted his contempt. She was a poor second to his Lauren though, clearly, she couldn’t see it. Quite frankly she disgusted him. Here she was, supposed to be Lauren’s mother, seducing what should have been Lauren’s husband.

It made him wonder how long this had been going on. Had Magnolia been sleeping with Montgomery when he’d been courting Lauren? Was this, then, why George had been so disinclined to be with her?

He’d said he hadn’t found her attractive when she was younger, but Loki found that hard to believe. He’d seen the pictures and found Lauren both beautiful and adorable.

No. Likely George was merely a gutter snake of the worst kind.

Still, Loki didn’t leave his place on the wall. Both were about to be seriously unhappy in the next few moments, and he had no plans to miss the upcoming show.

“Hoyt went to the club. He won’t be back for hours, and even then, ain’t like he’s gonna come crawl in my bed lookin’ for me,” Magnolia smirked, crawling up the mattress between Montgomery’s spread legs.

George grinned slyly, reaching out to touch her when Magnolia’s hands slipped over his boxers. “Well, ain’t I lucky, gettin’ to have a gorgeous woman all to myself.”

Magnolia giggled, actually giggled, and had Loki rolling his eyes in disgust. Had the woman no shame? His attention shifted to George. Had the man no technique? Freya’s tits, he had never seen a male paw at a woman with such lacklustre skill.

No wonder Lauren had been disappointed.

After a few minutes of sloppy kissing and desperate groping in which he watched George grow more and more frustrated, Magnolia finally sat back to glare down at him. “Just what is the problem, Georgie?”

Georgie? Loki barely contained his bark of amusement.

Embarrassment flooded George’s face, turning it red, almost puce really. “I-I…” he stuttered. “I, uh, had a few glasses of whiskey, thinkin’ I was sleepin’ alone tonight, so… yeah.”

Her face fell. “Oh, well. Ain’t that a shame,” Magnolia pouted.

“I can still, you known,” he reached beneath her, rubbing between her thighs. “If ya want,” he offered like the consummate gentleman he was pretending to be.

“Oh, would you?” Magnolia asked, voice pleading.

George smirked, urging her up to straddle his face, pulling the barely-there lace out of his way.

Loki wandered toward the desk with the papers upon it, ignoring the sounds coming from the bed. This too, he knew, would not last long thanks to the curse he’d cast, but he had no desire to watch the two of them together. 

Spread across the desk were financial statements, both Ellie’s and Montgomery’s. He knew enough from his own bank records, something he was required to keep now that he used Midgardian currency, to read these and found them enlightening.

It seemed George was in quite a bit of debt. There were far more zeros on the end of his statement than Loki had ever seen. When he checked the ones for Ellie, he found her substantial fortune would not only wipe out Montgomery’s debt but see them living comfortably for quite a few years.

No wonder he was after Lauren’s inheritance, but what had been the plan here? Ellie was spry, her health, while declining, was still good. It was unlikely George would want to wait for her to pass naturally for Lauren to gain her fortune.

Confused, he tugged the phone from his pocket and sent off a short text to Barnes, the only one he knew would be awake at this time of night. How does one go about gaining an inheritance from someone who is still living? Making sure it was on the vibration mode, he slipped it back in his pocket.

And once married to Lauren, how did George expect to bring his mistress home? Lauren may not be as vocal as some of her family, but he had heard the lash of her tongue often enough to know she would not stand for such disloyalty in her husband. How was George to go about having two women? It made no sense to him.

When the growl of displeasure came from behind him, Loki smirked happily and turned to watch gleefully.

“What is your problem, Georgie?” Magnolia huffed, clearly frustrated.

He shoved her away before wiping his mouth. “I ain’t got no problem, Magnolia!”

“Evidently you do,” she scoffed, getting off the bed in a flurry of fluttering fabric. “Can’t get it up and can’t seem to figure out how to please a woman. You used to be so much better at this.”

George ground his teeth together, likely to keep from saying something he shouldn’t to her. “Well I’m tired, darlin’, it happens. Add in all this shit with Lauren, and I ain’t exactly in the mood to eat out her mother.”

She flushed red, anger blazing in her eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it? You find her more attractive than me?”

He shook his head, but Loki could scent the lie in it.

“She ain’t nothin’ compared to you, Magnolia. You know how I feel about you. I’m doin’ this so we can be together, all the time.” He got up, followed her to the door where he pressed her against it and kissed her soundly. “You know I only have eyes for you. Even back then, four years ago, all I could think about was your pretty tits and sweet cunt.”

Face twisting in disgust, Loki reached for the phone buzzing against his hip.

Depends. You can ask for it, or you could off them and take it. Why?

Bucky’s answer had Loki growing cold. Was this it? Was that what he’d planned to do? Kill Ellie? Stage an accident so Lauren would inherit?

Rage washed through him, turning him cold, deadly cold. When he glanced to his hands, Loki noted the humanity he wore had fallen away, his true nature and blue skin on full display. Still, he held himself in check, waiting for the snivelling, slobbering male to finish placating Lauren’s mother while punching out a reply to Barnes of, Just curious. He did not need Bucky asking questions he was in no mood to answer.

“Oh my,” Magnolia whispered.

“Another night I’ll fuck you good and hard, the way you need, but not tonight,” he crooned, grasping her ass, rubbing his thigh between her legs.

Too bad George was doomed to be disappointed or to be a disappointment with Loki’s lovely curse. The man would remain sexually frustrated, as would his partners, for a very, very long time.

“Fine,” she whined, clearly disappointed. “But you owe me, Georgie.”

He opened his door and slapped her ass on the way out. Shutting it with a relieved exhale, George looked down at little George in exasperation. “Really?”

“Is it a regular thing you do, this speaking to your manhood?” Loki asked, revealing himself and flicking a finger at the door. Everything iced over, effectively sealing them in.

Fear erupted on his face as George backpedalled, falling over his feet when he scrambled for distance. “How in the fuck? How long you been there!?”

“Long enough.” Loki pushed from the desk he sauntered forward, stalking the man with deadly intent coated in calm. The room, again, was quite large, allowing Loki to take a seat on a small sofa while George scrambled to put pants on. “Let me explain to you what is about to happen.”

“You can't do nothin’ to me without endin’ up gettin’ kicked outta here,” the idiot human scoffed.

Tsking softly, Loki pulled his favourite dagger out of the air and proceeded to clean his nails with the tip. “I'm afraid you are the one who can do nothing for you see,” magic shimmered in the air around him, turning him into George, “it would be effotless to see you disappear from this realm, then take your leave of this house and never be seen again. No one would suspect me of foul play as I would simply stand to the side,” here he flicked his fingers, an avatar of himself shimmering to life, arms crossed and scowling, “and wish you good riddance.”

Loki let the magic dissipate, pleased with the fear which had paled George's face. “You are quite a despicable human. I will not allow you to take advantage of my Ástvinur’s family, heinous though they may be, and I will certainly not allow you to lay hands on Lady Ellie.”

George snorted his contempt.

Loki sent the dagger across the room, embedding it deeply in the wall beside George’s head. The man jerking out of the way. “She is a woman worthy of respect, and you will show it or feel my wrath a second time!” Rising from the settee, Loki prowled forward to jerk the blade free. “Your plan will not work. You will never succeed in taking Lauren from me. Therefore you will never gain access to Ellie’s fortune.”

His eyes widened in shock. “How did you…?”

“It took minimal effort to figure out your ruse. You are up against a God, after all, and one who has forgotten more of mischief and malice than you shall ever learn.” Turning on him, Loki let his magic swell.

The room fell into darkness, the furniture and all within the space disappearing, leaving only Loki and George, the later cowering before his might as Loki allowed the humanity in him to fall away and his frost giant nature to come to the forefront. Blue of skin and red of eye, he towered over the man before him. “Speak, mortal. Speak the truth, and I will not kill you where you stand. What were your plans for Lady Ellie?”

George gaped at him, his face a mask of terror. “Mon-monster!”

Smiling though the word was a hated one, Loki refused to let it affect him at this moment and reached out to pass a finger lightly down George’s bare chest. The skin burned and George screamed in pain.

“Yes, so I have been told, but if I must be a monster to protect what I love, so be it. Speak, human,” he snarled.

“It was all Darlene’s idea!” George gasped, recoiling as far as he could. “We need the money!”

“Mmh, for the babe. I saw, but why not use your own funds?” Was Montgomery not also from a wealthy family?

“My father cut me off when I broke the engagement with Lauren and left with Darlene. There weren’t nothing he could do about my trust fund, but when it ran out, Momma said the only way I could come back was if I did right by the family, and if I left Darlene.”

“So you fabricated this farce? All for money?”

He nodded slowly. “Darlene likes those crime shows. She said it would be easy. Come home. Grovel a little. Go back to work for my father. It was then I found out about the old woman’s money. I was gonna marry Lauren to get access to the Annandale fortune, but Ellie’s was better. Lauren’s gonna get it all.”

“And just how far would you have gone? Would you have killed Lady Ellie to gain that access? It is highly unlikely she would have simply handed it over, even should Lauren ask.”

George looked away with a shrug. “Old people fall all the time.”

His hand was around George’s throat, and the man was dangling from his fist in the air before Loki had time to think about it, barely managing to contain his nature to keep from freezing the air from the bastard’s lungs. “And Lauren? Would you have killed her, too? Would you have taken the life of my Ástvinur, all in the name of money!?” he bellowed.

George gasped and scratched at Loki’s hand and arm. “Clean… out… accounts and… disappear.”

The tip of Loki’s dagger tapped none too gently against George’s chest, slicing open tiny cuts which just barely beaded blood. “Now, you will simply… go. I will allow you to stay till morning at which point you will thank your hosts graciously before taking your leave. If you do not, or if you dare speak of our discussion this eve, you will disappear without a trace. Your child will grow up a bastard, never knowing his father, and you will die, slowly, painfully, in the realm of my choosing.” He released the hold he had on George, the man’s face an interesting shade of purple. George fell to his knees beside the bed, and the light returned to the room.

“You don’t,” George coughed, “understand! I need the money. I owe dangerous people!”

Loki sneered down at him. “Because you are a fool. Even on Asgard, we have people such as you. Those who spend frivolously, or indulge a greedy woman. Those who gamble beyond their good sense. But you are never at fault, are you, Montgomery? It’s always poor luck, or your woman made you, drove you to it. You can’t take responsibility for your own mistakes.”

“Like you did?” he wheezed, glaring at Loki with extreme hatred. “You’re nothin’ but a monster and a murderer. How many people did you kill with your actions in New York? How many millions of people have you hurt?”

Loki refused to be goaded into a reaction. “Unlike you, I have taken responsibility for what my actions wrought. I work to fix them every day, and do not run from them or make them someone else’s problem as you have done here.” Still, staring down at the man, he could see the desperation and the fear. “You are a fool, Montgomery, but I can be benevolent when I wish.” Rolling his wrist, a small pouch appeared in his hand which he upended on the man’s bed. Five coins of solid gold, as well as three precious stones, tinkled when they landed. “It is a small fortune, enough, likely, to placate those who wish you ill. Take it. Leave. Never return, for I promise you, if you so much as look my Lauren’s direction at any time in the future, I will kill you. Have we a deal?”

The greed in George’s eyes disgusted him, but when the man nodded his agreement, Loki grunted his approval, turned on his heel, and made for the door. At it, he hesitated while the ice melted away. “Be warned, human, you have bound yourself to a contract with a God. Break it at your peril.”

He shut the door quietly behind him and made his way back to Lauren’s room. Now, if only dealing with the rest of the people in this house would be so easy. Still, he would feel less on edge once George was no longer here. He would not put it past the man to try something nefarious.

Loki was quick to vanish from sight when Cissy came into view. She was standing hunched over, appearing to be trying to break into Lauren’s room, growing more frustrated with each passing second. He had no idea what her plan was, but he wasn’t about to let Cissy think she could succeed in sneaking into Lauren’s room. Gritting his teeth, angry and mentally exhausted with this family, he slipped between rooms, changed his attire back to what it had been, and jerked the door inward.

Cissy fell through to land on the floor with a shriek, waking Lauren who sat up with a yelp.

“Loki?” she called, hair a mess and eyes hazy.

“Apologies, darling. I heard a noise at the door which turned out to be your sister.” He looked coldly down at Cissy. “Something you need, Ms. Annandale?”

She picked herself off the floor, dusting off her knees. When her eyes lifted, caught on Loki's dishevelled appearance, they nearly bugged from her head. “Oh my,” she breathed, hand reaching for his chest.

Loki sauntered away, returning to the far side of the bed where he slid in behind Lauren, his arms going around her waist and lips falling to her throat.

“C-Cissy?” Lauren gasped, sleep colouring her voice.

“Oh, I, well you see, I broke my heel on my shoe while I was out tonight and just stumbled right on into y’all’s door,” Cissy said, blinking at the bed. “Did you redecorate or somethin’, Lauren?”

Quivering against him, clearly enjoying the stroking of his lips over her shoulder, Lauren tilted her head to the side to make it easier. “Loki did.”

A pout appeared on Cissy’s face. “How nice for you.”

Loki slipped his hand from Lauren’s stomach up between her breasts to rest against her chest in a clearly possessive act. “As it is late, you’ll understand if I ask you to shut the door on your way out, Ms. Annandale.”

Jealousy flared in her eyes, Cissy's gaze locked on his stroking fingers before they turned flirtatious and fluttered with her smile when she returned them to his. “Seein’ as how we’re nearly family, Loki, it would be completely acceptable for you to call me Cissy.”

“Goodnight, Ms. Annandale.” He drew Lauren back and encouraged her down so she was laid out beneath him in an unmistakable position. “Seeing as how we are both awake, my sweet….” he smiled suggestively, grin growing wicked when the door slammed. “She is just too easy.”

Lauren pressed her hands to her mouth to muffle her giggles. “She’s not used to bein’ ignored.”

“Then she will learn for I see no one but you, my heart.” Loki kissed her softly.

Stretching her arms up, Lauren sighed as she wrapped them around him. “I missed you.”

His brow arched. “Was I gone?” he teased.

“It got warm in here so I know you were, peaches.” Her sleepy eyes blinked up at him, the green a soft sage.

“I took a short walk.” And learned a host of interesting things. Brushing her hair back, Loki lightly traced her cheek. “You were asleep when I returned.”

“Dozin’,” she murmured, hands sliding down his back, already drifting, her lids fluttering as she fought to stay awake.

He chuckled softly and settled carefully to the bed, curling into her back when she shifted to her side. His fingers delved into the opening of her nightwear, drifted up, and cupped her breast.

“Mmh,” she hummed contentedly. “S’nice.”

Kissing her shoulder, he cuddled her close. “Go back to sleep, elskan mín.”

“Stay?”

“I promise, darling. I am not going anywhere.” He tucked his nose into her hair, flicked a finger to lock the door, and allowed himself to fall asleep when she did.

Next Chapter

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Kindness; Part One

Fandom: Fallout (3)

Pairing: Female Lone Wanderer/Charon

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: So! This was the first thing I ever wrote for Fallout. I decided to revisit it, do a little proofreading/retooling (I was much younger when I began this tale; I wrote it over the course of three-ish years) and then pop it over here and on my AO3.

There will be twelve posts in all, as I’ve grouped together the chapters into something more manageable.

I hope you enjoy!

It had been a quiet night in Underworld. Cerberus' processors whirred quietly as the robot made its rounds about the ghoul lobby. Inside The Ninth Circle, Charon leaned against the wall and narrowed his eyes at nothing at all.

 Bored. Bored bored bored. So bored. The ghoul groaned mentally. There hadn't been a single rowdy outburst in almost a week. After he had tossed Patches out, there had hardly been a voice in the place that was over a whisper. The soft drone of conversation threatened to put Charon to sleep. A low growl of discontent rumbled through his chest. The sparse patrons cast nervous glances in the seven-foot tall ghoul's direction, all used to his somewhat volatile nature. But they knew they were safe as long as Ahzrukhal didn't give him the go-ahead.

 The door to the lobby creaked open and a bundled-up figure slipped in. Ahzrukhal perked up noticeably, a smile creasing the leathery remainder of his facial skin. “Well well, lookee here! We got us a smoothskin I've never seen before.” Ahzrukhal rasped. “Welcome to The Ninth Circle, stranger. Take a seat and tell ol' Ahzrukhal your problems.”

 “I've heard quite a bit about you, Mr. Ahzrukhal.” The stranger murmured. “What I need right now though, is vodka.” He began rummaging in the large rucksack that had been slung across over his shoulder. “I have caps, of course. But I also have a few bottles of whiskey I'll gladly let you take off my hands.”

 Charon's patchy eyebrows rose. Easy there, smoothskin.

 “This is good stuff. Where you been scavenging, stranger?” Ahzrukhal wheezed, holding one of the bottles up to the light.

 The stranger shot the ghoul a quick grin from under the wide brim of his hat, pulling down a thick bandanna to do so. “That's for me to know and you to never figure out.”

 Ahzrukhal harrumphed, pouring the stranger his preferred poison as the other man re-buckled his rucksack.

 ...

 The stranger was in The Ninth Circle every night for almost two weeks. He had a quiet way about him, and never seemed to take his hat or bandanna off. Every evening he came in with a few more bottles of finer-grade liquor to trade for his bottle of vodka, which he would then nurse for several hours as he swapped tales with the residents of Underworld.

 Charon was always there, ever constant in his guard. The stranger seemed keen on taking a seat at the table closest to the glowering ghoul, but never actually attempted to converse with him. He didn't even really acknowledge his presence. Until tonight, that is. Charon caught a cautious brown-eyed look from under that wide-brimmed hat. The smoothskin quickly looked away, hauling his dusty bandanna up and jamming his hat lower. “Does he ever let you sit?” The stranger seemed to be deliberately keeping his tone light, like he was trying to be subtle.

 Charon shifted his weight, re-crossing his arms. A question. One that I can't answer. “Talk to Ahzrukhal.”

 The man grumbled into his vodka, “How about I fuckin' don't. That guy makes my skin crawl, and it isn't because of his looks.” Charon's arms flexed across his chest with the pent-up energy of agreeing wholeheartedly with the stranger. “So he doesn't let you talk, either. Freely, anyway.”

 Charon grunted.

 “M' name's Spoon. I know yours is Charon. He told me. He also mentioned that you're under some sort of contract. Is that right, or is it just a bunch of shit?” The stranger queried softly, swishing the vodka around in his battered mug.

 Charon's eyes narrowed. That fucking prick needs to be more careful about who he tells this shit. I don't feel the need to take on a smoothskin army in his defense. The ghoul grunted again. It wasn't necessarily a noise of confirmation, just a noise. Charon had found a variety of ways to get around his orders when he needed to.

 “Strange. Alright then. One more question, and then I promise I'll be off to Carol's for the night.” The stranger leaned forward in an almost conspiratorial manner, pushing his hat back a little so he could make eye contact with Charon. “Are you content here? Is this...is this what you want?” He asked, quiet enough that Charon could have ignored him.

 Charon abruptly felt like the room was too small, like everyone was watching them. He swallowed hard, tightening his arms across his chest. Ahzrukhal, it seemed, had finally picked up on the discomfort of his 'employee', and his voice rang out across the bar. “Charon! Get this waste out of here.”

 Charon's head snapped up, noting Ahzrukhal's annoyed look when the bartender pointed to Patches. The ragged ghoul, already falling apart and heavily inebriated, couldn't even run as with three easy strides Charon was on him. Charon grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, seething inwardly at the obvious show Ahzrukhal was putting on for the smoothskin. The bartender probably would dub it, “displaying Charon's prowess”, or some other equally sanctimonious bullshit. In The Ninth Circle Charon was both warning and promise, and Ahzrukhal never missed a chance to display the power he held.

 Charon hadn't noticed that the stranger (Spoon?) had followed him until he had deposited Patches in front of The Chop Shop and turned to go back to the bar. He almost ran over the smoothskin, large fists clenching tight enough to hurt for a second.

 “Easy big fella'. You didn't answer my question, exactly. But...” Spoon glanced down at Patchwork, “I think I can make a safe assumption.”

 Charon snarled, shoving past the stranger with a clipped, “Talk to Ahzrukhal.” A hand caught his arm though, the sensation so foreign it stopped the ghoul in his tracks. The fingers seemed cold to Charon's constantly fever-hot skin, and it jarred him a little. Never mind the fact that the smoothskin was touching him in the first place.

 But all Spoon did was sigh, somewhat heavily, as he patted Charon's arm. “Give me a week.” He muttered, tilting his hat back again to look at Charon. The ghoul was highly confused, to say the least. Spoon headed off to his room, and Charon returned to his corner, brain whirling with what the smoothskin might have meant.

 He didn't dare to get excited, oh no. Too many hands had been on his contract. Sometimes within minutes of each other. He snorted, ignoring what felt like little electrical jolts running through his body.

 Not excited, and certainly not holding my breath.

 Spoon was gone in the morning, payment for his bed bundled in a ragged square of cloth under Carol's pillow. Winthrop mentioned hopefully that the smoothskin might bring him some scrap metal to fix the rattling vents. “I'm getting too stiff to scavenge it myself.”

 Charon had rolled his eyes at that. That smoothskin doesn't owe you jack, old man. As much as he didn't want to hope though, Charon found himself counting the days until the end of the week. He stood up a little straighter every time the door creaked open, hating the sickening drop in his stomach when it was just another ghoul here for their fix.

 A week passed and the hope that Charon had been denying the existence of eased quietly into disappointment. He knew that it had been a futile dream from the start, he was a permanent fixture of this bar and no scavenger with a goofy hat was going to change that.

 Despite his dour view, his daydreams were full of the smoothskin striding into the bar in a blaze of glory, venom spewing from his mouth as he tore Ahzrukhal a new one and took Charon's contract. Though the scenario would change (sometimes the scavenger blew the bartender to kingdom come and emerged triumphant from the rubble like Grognak, sometimes he crept in at night and craftily slid the contract out of Ahzrukhal's pocket while he slept), the ending remained the same.

 “C'mon partner, we've got work to do.”

 Charon shook his head at himself. What a pipe dream. In all his years of service, he had yet to come across an employer who saw him as anything more than a killing machine. Some of them started out nice enough but just like his daydreams they all ended the same, with the large ghoul being sold off to the highest bidder in exchange for caps or resources.

 On a few occasions his employer had gone down in a hail of gunfire and Charon was forced to stop fighting, order-bound to dig through his employer's pockets with shaking hands and take his contract. Only to press it into the grip of the next person he came across, for good or ill.

 His leathers creaked as his arms tightened across his chest. I'm so damn tired of this.

 ...

 On the eleventh day, Spoon returned. He seemed to be in a bad way, according to what Charon overheard from the bar patrons. The story went that he had run into some Talon Company undesirables that had it out for him, and it was only through Willow's sharpshooting that he managed to escape.

 Yet as the day drew to a close, that familiar figure darkened the doorway to The Ninth Circle. He was instantly swarmed by excited ghouls, clamoring to hear his tale. He brushed them off though, murmuring that he needed a drink before embarking on his story. The young man threw some caps on the bar and Ahzrukhal tossed a bottle of vodka his way. Spoon tore the cap off and started drinking straight from the bottle, forgoing his usual chipped mug. “Alright, alright. Settle down. First, I need to know where Carol is. She ain't at her place.” Spoon finally said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

 “She headed over to Snowflake for her usual skinning.” One of the ghouls offered, giggling at her own choice of words. Spoon nodded his thanks.

 “Good. As far as my story goes, ain't much to tell. I'll be on my way tomorrow. Now that I've got the Talons on my tail, I don't want anyone else getting hurt.” His eyes strayed to Charon, and he slid off his stool, nodding his thanks to Ahzrukhal for the vodka. “I'll be back later. I have to go thank Willow, and I still have a whole bunch of goodies for Tulip. Oh! And Winthrop's scrap.” He grinned, giving his pack a shake so everyone could hear the heavy clank of the metal.

 A few of the patrons followed him out, no doubt interested in whatever he had to barter to Tulip. Charon sighed, maybe a little louder than necessary as he relaxed against the wall again. He should have known that the smoothskin would forget him. They always did.

 …

 Spoon was back within the hour, his shoulders somewhat tense as he took his customary table near Charon. “Sorry I'm late.”

 Charon thought his head might fall clean off his shoulders if this smoothskin kept surprising him.

 Spoon grinned up at him suddenly, face much paler under its layers of grime than Charon remembered. “Those Talon fuckers followed me for a few days. I was starting to get worried. I picked most of 'em off in the metros, but it was a little touch and go between them, the ferals and the Big Greens across the way. Lucky for me Willow's a crack shot, otherwise I'd have been mincemeat.”

 Charon remained silent.

 Spoon looked back down at his bottle, seeming deep in thought. “You're pissed at me, ain't you. I figured you would be. I really am sorry I'm a couple days behind. I'm horrible at schedules and shit. Not my strong point. But,” He continued, reaching into his rucksack and beginning to forage around. “I can make it up to you if you can hang on for a few more minutes.”

 Charon's brow furrowed as Spoon pulled a few good-sized bundles out of his bag. The ghoul's eyes widened when he heard the unmistakable sound of caps clinking against each other. Spoon rose and slung his rucksack back over his shoulder, shooting the ghoul a teasing wink.

 The scavenger sauntered over to the bar, and leaned in close to Ahzrukhal. Charon strained his ears and cursed inwardly when he couldn't hear a thing. Spoon spoke for several minutes in a low tone, seeming passionate about whatever the fuck he was saying as he used his hands to illustrate his points. Charon's body jolted when Ahzrukhal reached out a hand and ran it down the side of the smoothskin's face, and the large ghoul found himself fighting a wave of nausea, clearing his throat and looking away.

 Spoon gestured to Charon abruptly and Ahzrukhal drew his hand back in a quick jerk. The bouncer did his best to appear bored and like he wasn't paying attention as Spoon handed over one of his bundles. Ahzrukhal made a show of slowly counting the caps, bunching piles of fifty while Spoon looked on, leaning against the counter and continuing to slug off his bottle.

 The bartending ghoul finally nodded after what seemed like an eternity, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out...something. Spoon took whatever it was and carefully tucked it away into his own jacket. Charon forced down a growl at how Ahzrukhal's fingers lingered on the smoothskin's for far too long.

 The bouncer hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until Spoon casually sat back down and he released it all in a quiet whoosh. “Well big guy...Charon, that is, how would you like to go on an adventure?” Spoon's smile was genuine this time, not some cheesy showman's grin as he showed the ghoul the worn piece of paper he had gotten.

 Charon's breath caught in his throat, and it was with shaking legs that he lowered himself into the chair next to Spoon. Spoon murmured something sympathetic, pointing towards his bottle of vodka in an unspoken go ahead. Charon took a healthy gulp, his eyes watering at the strength of the stuff. “How did you manage to get my contract?” He finally said, his voice coarser than usual from disuse.

 Spoon looked worried. “I bought it, of course. He wanted me to kill Greta, y'know. But I couldn't. She's not the easiest person to be around, but nobody fucking is anymore. I refused that, so he asked for two thousand caps. I figured he probably thought I wouldn't be able to come up with 'em. I could, I just needed time to scavenge. I had to go a little more...out of the way than usual.” Spoon leaned back in his chair, balancing on the rear legs. “I got a little over two thou' once I traded most of my junk in Rivet City. I hoped he might be greedy enough to take a thousand, if he got to see it upfront. I did have the other thou', just in case. And the rest is history.”

 “That rat bastard got my contract for free and he just fleeced the shit out of you because you're too nice to kill his competition.” Charon snarled. “I'll go over the specifics of the contract with you in just a minute. Right now, I must take care of something.” He shoved his chair back from the table, and it was with measured steps that he made his way to the bar.

 The room hushed and Ahzrukhal looked up from his caps, sensing something was amiss. “Ah, Charon. Have you come to say goodbye?” He rasped, that insufferably sleazy smile on his face.

 “Yes.” Charon spat, whipping the combat shotgun off his back and aiming down the sights. Ahzrukhal's face froze in a mask of almost comical shock as Charon blew his body apart with two cool trigger pulls; the bartender was dead before he hit the ground. Some of his blood splattered across Charon's face and Charon hastily wiped it off. The idea of that evil man's blood on his skin made his stomach clench queasily. He spat to the side, then turned on his heel as people seemed to realize what had just happened.

 “Oh my God!”

 “He shot Ahzrukhal!”

 “He's gone feral!”

 The Ninth Circle was empty in less than thirty seconds. The only people left were the smoothskin, Charon himself, and what remained of Ahzrukhal. Charon came and sat back down next to Spoon, noting with a flash of amusement that the smoothskin seemed to be in shock. “Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. So long as he held my contract, I was honor-bound to do as he commanded. But now, you are my employer and I will serve you, for good or ill.” The binding phrase came from him easily. He'd said it so many times before. For good or ill.

 “Uh, you probably shouldn't have done that.” Spoon managed to choke out. Charon shrugged, flexing long-unused muscles with a sigh of satisfaction. The adrenaline felt wonderful. And the knowledge that Ahzrukhal would never touch or order him around again was almost its own reward. “No seriously, what if everyone thinks I ordered you to do that? They'll kill me!” Spoon continued, not noticing how Charon's eyes darkened.

 “No one will lay a hand on you. Every ghoul here tonight was already eavesdropping on us. They all knew I was unhappy, but there was nothing any of them could do. Caps are scarce in Underworld, especially when you have your own addictions to manage.” Charon grumbled. “They'll view it as an act of mercy that you freed me from him.”

 “O...Okay. If you're sure. I'm uh...I'm paid up at Carol's for the night, so you can come with me. Then tomorrow I've got to head out. Do you want to come with me, or do you have other stuff to do?” Spoon asked, obviously trying to avoid looking at the remains of the bartender on the floor.

 Charon snorted. “You don't seem to understand how this works, Master. I am bound to you. You are my employer. And until you see fit to foist me off on someone, or someone offers you the right amount of caps, or someone somehow manages to get past me and blow your brains out, I will follow you.”

 “Oh.” Spoon said weakly. “I thought that...I thought if I gave you your contract, you'd be free and you could kind of...choose whether you wanted to come along or not.”

 “No. That is not how my contract works. But it was kind of you to think that you would free me after paying that many caps.” Charon hesitated, then carried on, “I know the only things you've seen me do probably don't strike you as fine displays of my skills. But I swear on my life, I will make my services worth your kindness.” For good or ill.

 “Alright then.” Spoon stuck his hand out, cheerily seeming to ignore how Charon flinched at the speed of the action. “Let's shake on it, eh big guy?”

 Charon stared down at his hand, well aware that the distrust was plain on his face. “Equals shake, and I am not your equal.”

 Spoon made an exasperated noise, tangling his fingers with the tall ghoul's and moving them in a clumsy shaking motion. “If you're gonna' play it like that, at least don't call me Master. Shit's fucked up.”

 “What should I call you?” Charon asked. “Master was sufficient for my prior employers.”

 Spoon shrugged. “Whatever the fuck you want to call me, I guess? Doesn't really matter to me. If you're gonna' be stuck with me for a while, you might as well call me something you like. Everyone else calls me Spoon though.”

 “Very well. Spoon.” Charon could tell he had some adjusting to do.

 “Let's get to bed, huh?” Spoon jerked his head towards the door. “I dunno about you, but it's late as shit and I am exhausted.” He extended a hand to his new companion, that strangely-genuine smile back again as he helped the ghoul up.

 ...

 Carol was wearing a different dress. That was the first thing Charon realized when he took a cautious step into Carol's Place. It wasn't new. Nothing was new in this world that they lived in. But it was new to her. It was a gentle shade of purple. It made her look radiant, no pun intended.

 Spoon smiled tiredly at the woman. “It suits you! Couldn't wait to put it on, eh?” He jibed with a wink.

 “Oh quiet, you. It's been so long since I wore something different.” The ghoul hushed him, looking worriedly up at Charon. “What's he doing with you, dear? I've heard a few rumors. Something happened to Ahzrukhal?”

 “I bought his contract. Charon got...uh, really happy about it. So happy he shot Ahzrukhal in the face.” Spoon mumbled, seeming embarrassed.

 Carol sucked in a breath. “So he's dead?”

 Spoon nodded. “Yeah. Originally Ahzrukhal wanted me to kill Greta for the contract, but I worked out another deal.”

 Carol's eyes welled up and she pressed her hands to her mouth. “Not my Greta.” She said softly.

 “I don't doubt it.” Charon growled. “You and yours were his only competition. If I hadn't killed the bastard, he would have just gotten some other prick to do it.”

 “Language, dear.” Carol scolded absently, hugging Spoon tight. The man yelped, and Carol quickly let go. “I'm so sorry dear! I forgot.” she said with a frown.

 “I'll be okay, just a little tender still. No worries.” Spoon grimaced. “Is it alright if Charon stays here with me?”

 “Of course sweetheart. Are you two hungry? I can see if I have some Cram left over that isn't as purple as this lovely dress.” Carol said with a dry chuckle. Spoon nodded, thanking Carol for letting them stay even after what had happened. Carol brushed him off though, smiling and saying that he was too kind for the Wastes.

 For good or ill.

Part Two