#so may as well leave them in case someone comically slips and breaks a hip or whatever

[ruvviks]

my shift has left me dizzy headachey and moody and now i need to fuckig pack a suitcase

[demisewrites]

Kinktober #8

Glory Hole

(cw: teratophilia, public bathroom, mentions of alcohol, strangers having sex, mlm, modern AU)

Author’s Note: this is a fan fiction based on the teratophilia podcast, Fuck Humans. Pairing: Bask/Angel. Dedicating this to all the lovely people in the FH discord!

The idea of having random sex in a public bathroon in a crowded bar would have made Bask cringe, and he still did, to some extent. Yet, he couldn’t deny that the idea was a little hot.

Mentioning this to Asmodeus and Cheri while out for drinks, however, was a mistake on his part. They kept badgering him about “getting loose”, “you’re only 25 once, live a little, Bask!” and “You know, I do know a few bars you could do it at!”. Excusing himself to go to the bathroom for SOME peace and quiet, he sighs heavily as the stall door closes. Luckily, the music outside seems to be blocked by the door and the bathroom seemed clean enough for now. He slumps forward against the door, horned forehead thumping against the surface. Bask hadn’t had a lot to drink, but there was a pleasant buzz strumming throughout his body. He should go home soon, he thinks, besides, he has work in the morning even if it is just housework.

He gets a jolt of shock as he hears the outside door open suddenly, the loud music filling the bathroom before getting cut off as the door slams closed. Someone huffs angrily before storming into the stall next to Bask. The person seems to be muttering under his breath, clearly distressed by something. Bask stands still, debating whether he should leave as quickly as possible, before small sniffles start echoing from the other stall. ‘Is he... crying?’ thought Bask.

Against his better judgement, he clears his throat. “Are you ok?” he asks gently.

“H-Holy shit?! Y-You...! How long have you been there for?” the sniffles stop yet the angry voice wavers with emotion still.

“A while,” Bask admitted, “I was here before you came in. Are you ok? Do you need to call someone?”

A loud huff. “No! I’m... fine,” the voice grumbles, “just peachy.” Then a bit lower. “Besides, what do you care? I’m just some stranger crying in the bathroom.”

“Well... I just thought I’d ask...” Bask said awkwardly. He stood there for a moment, before reaching for the door. The voice sniffles again then sighs.

“No, no, you’re... I’m just being an asshole... “ the voice mumbles followed by a soft thump against the stall barrier, “just having a really shitty night...”

Bask stays and finds out that he, a human named Angel, had been humiliated by a date before he had stormed into the bathroom. He thought his date with another human had been going great until he found out that they had been using Angel to make his ex-partner, the bartender, jealous. They speak for a while, with the stall barrier between them, sharing vague information about each other as they were just passing strangers.

Angel sighs. “I’m probably keeping you from your friends. You should go.” Bask chuckles softly. “It’s fine, I’d rather sit here than going back to a list of bathrooms with glory holes.”

A choked, embarrassed laugh. “O-oh! Well... I hate to break it to you... you should probably look down.” Bask raises a brow before looking down.

There, between the barrier the two have been talking through, is a clean cut glory hole.

Bask groans in embarrassment, feeling his body flush with heat. There was a joke to be made about cruel fate here. Angel laughs, and it makes Bask’s heart skip a beat.

“I mean... it’s not the worst thing I’ve done... and you did just sit in a cramped stall listening to my pitiful ass crying over an asshole,” Angel says suggestively, “...and you sound kinda... hot.” Bask balks, totally not expecting that. “And, I’m not just like... saying that. You are probably one of the nicest guys I’ve met in a long time. I wouldn’t mind to, you know....”

A beat of silence passes before Angel starts stammering. “Shit, did I make it awkward? J-just forget I said anything...!”

“...I wouldn’t mind either,” Bask says before he has time to rethink his decision.

“I- wait, really?”

“...If you were... being serious, then yes.”

There’s another beat of silence before there’s some shuffling on the other side. “Well, then let’s see what you’re packing~” Bask can almost hear the smirk in Angel’s voice. Almost comically, tanned fingers poke out of Bask’s side of the glory hole, wriggling around to try to feel for something. He can’t help but laugh at the sheer comedy of it. Still, he doesn’t take long to unzip his pants and move closer to the wall.

The warm fingers press against the front of Bask’s boxers, feeling up the growing bulge beginning to strain against the cloth. Angel gasps lightly, unable to stop himself from squeaking out, “Y-You’re so big, what the fuck?! No fair...” Bask laughs to himself, his surprised comment somewhat endearing to him. “You wanted to see what I’m packing.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t think it was a whole ass rocket launcher!” Angel huffs, “j-just get it in here already!” Pulling down his briefs, hissing lightly at the cool air hitting his half-erection, Bask strokes himself a few times before threading it through the hole. Warm palms wrap around the shaft, caressing as it twitches in the firm grip. He groans deeply, any lingering embarrassment about the situation shoved to the back of his mind. His knees buckle slightly at the shock of feeling a slick warm tongue lap at the tender head, flicking at the underside and swirling at the tip.

“Gods, your tongue...” Bask pants, arousal making his mind go hazy with nothing but the thought of Angel. He lets out a rumbling moan as Angel takes him into his mouth, slowly bobbing up and down the shaft. Angel strains to take in as much as he could, though Bask is much bigger than anything he had taken in recently. The thought of taking this beast completely inside made his own erection twitch within his pants. Angel lets go of his dick with a loud pop, smirking as he hears Bask groan with a “Fuck...”

Bask’s brows shoot up to the sky as he hears the sound of clothes rustling in Angel’s stall. “What are you...”

“Hey, do you have any condoms? I mean, you’re cool and all, but we did just meet, you know...”

“...I do,” Bask replies awkwardly, remembering that Cheri had slipped in some cherry flavored ones. “Just in case,” she winked as he sighed in defeat. He pulls back, waddling awkwardly to dig out a condom from his pocket. He fumbles with the packaging as soft moaning comes from the other side. Angel may be a bit too eager with his fingering to do a proper job, but it’s not like this is his first time at the rodeo.

Bask threads his dick through the hole once more, now encased in a bright red condom. Angel snorts a bit. “Cherry flavored?” he teases. Bask grumbles out, “a friend gave it to me.” A laugh, the same one that made the dragon’s heart skip a beat. “Well, they have good taste, I’ll give them that.”

There’s a sharp inhale as Bask feels the tip prod against something and slowly slide into a suffocating warmth. Both let out shaky moans and curses, Angel slowly letting himself get adjusted to the large size. Angel groans in frustration, feeling the stall wall stopping him from completely taking in the full length. “B-Bask, you can move now.” There’s another sharp inhale as Bask pulls his hips slightly, and a loud moan as he snaps it back in.

Though the wall between them stopped their bodies from connecting, the creaking and rattling of the stalls mixing with the sounds of their moans and grunting made everything much sexier. Bask steadies himself by placing his hands on opposite ends of the stall, wishing that it was Angel’s body he could hold onto instead. Angel on the other side, was desperately trying to push himself back against the wall to take Bask in deeper, wishing that there wasn’t a wall between them.

Bask’s movement grows faster and deeper, and Angel presses his hands against the opposite wall, throwing his head back and arching his back with every thrust. He starts moaning out Bask’s name, breathlessly at first, then growing to a chant. His ass might be sore tomorrow, but gods if he wasn’t enjoying himself right now. He hoped Bask was too.

“B-Bask! I’m- fuck!” Bask grunts out Angel’s name as he feels him clenched tightly around his cock. The stall walls rattle with the force of his last thrust before he cums.

“T-That was...”

“...Indeed...”

They laugh quietly. Bask pulls back to clean himself up and allow Angel to recompose himself.

Just then, the outside door slams open. “WHO locked the DAMN door?! There are PAYING customers that have been waiting for HOURS!” a shrill angry voice boomed. Bask and Angel quickly stuff their clothes back on. “S-Sorry, I was taking a big shit...” Angel squeaks out.

“...Ugh, it does smell. Well, FINE! Just hurry it up!” the door closes shut once more. “...I um... I should probably...”

“Yeah, we should...”

The door locks click and slowly creak open as the two step out of the stalls. They stare at each other, breaths taken back by seeing each other for the first time. No wonder he was bigger than anything he ever had, Angel thought, because he’s only ever been with other humans, not a monster. Bask can’t help but think that Angel’s name suits him. He was stunning, almost angelic to him.

“Um... It was nice to meet you... and your uh... dick,” Angel says awkwardly. “Same... You and... your ass, I mean...”

“...We should probably wash our hands.”

“...That’s probably, yes.”

‘Fuck it,’ thought Bask, thought just as he opens his mouth to ask, Angel beats him to it.

“Do you... wanna get out of here and grab a coffee somewhere?”

“...I would like that.”

[mariequitecontrarie]

Death Becomes Him: A Rumbelle RCIJ Story

Summary: When Belle French witnesses three-time widow Zelena Kelly poking around the home of her next door neighbor Mr. Gold with a gun, she takes matters into her own hands and tells Zelena that Gold is already dead. Now all she has to do is convince Mr. Gold to fake his own death, with herself as his willing accomplice. Word Count: 26,000   Rating: NC-17 for smut   Artwork: @moonlight91 A/N: This is a @rumbellechristmasinjuly present for the lovely @nerdrumple, who prompted “Coming back from the dead.” It was lots of fun getting to know you and being your Santa, sweetie! Since you aren’t a fan of angst, I decided to turn the prompt on its head and make this into a caper. There’s some Jefferson and some Swanfire feels, too. This is a ridiculous, comical premise and not meant to be taken as a serious crime drama in any way. ;)  Many thanks to @still-searching47 and @magnoliatattoo for being extraordinary betas and to @im2old4this for the support and encouragement.

{ON AO3}

DEATH BECOMES HIM

“A slip of the foot you may soon recover, but a slip of the tongue you may never get over.” – Benjamin Franklin

Chapter 1: Zelena Saturday Afternoon

An odd scraping sound interrupted her whistling.

Belle puttered around her small porch, watering can in hand, while the scorching afternoon sun beat down on the back of her neck and bare shoulders. She should have paid attention to her plants earlier, but she’d been distracted by baking a cake and rereading Wuthering Heights and lost all track of time. Belle shrugged and smiled down at the wilting plants, brushing her fingers over the yellow petals of a daisy. She didn’t have much of a green thumb, but she didn’t let it bother her. Hopefully a long, cool drink and a happy tune would revive these beauties. If not, they were only plants—not pets or people. Belle tipped the watering can again, showering her hydrangeas with water and a song until the soil was dark and excess moisture dripped onto the porch.

There it was again. The scraping noise.

A flash of movement at Mr. Gold’s house next door caught her attention, and Belle stopped whistling. She shaded her eyes and scanned his front porch. Their houses were only about fifteen feet apart, her modest peach-colored two-bedroom ranch-style home almost comical next to his gigantic salmon mansion. Belle squinted. She could see the outline of a figure on the porch, but she didn’t have her contacts in.

Damned nearsightedness. She picked up her birdwatching binoculars for a closer look.

Zelena Kelly was peering in the front windows, running her long, pale fingers along the green and burgundy frames. What was she doing, casing Gold’s house? Zelena gave the locked front door an accusatory glare, and Belle snorted in disgusted amusement.

To say Belle wasn’t Zelena’s biggest fan was an understatement.

With long, flaming red hair and a willowy figure, Zelena was a classic beauty, but ugliness clung to her spirit. Her dour expressions and obnoxious, cutting remarks left people cold. Plus, the woman was infamous for losing books—she had misplaced the library’s prize copy of The Wizard of Oz and refused to pay the fine. What she did manage to return was always warped and dog-eared, as though she took all her books to the beach and dunked them in the surf. She had buried no fewer than three husbands, each of whom had mysteriously died a few months into their marriage, leaving Zelena to gleefully collect on their estates. She even kept her maiden name—Kelly—to signify her continuous availability to the male population at large. Some of Storybrooke’s less intelligent residents, like Keith Nottingham and Howard Hades, were stupid enough to trot after her like lovesick puppies. Future victims, Belle thought grimly.

If those sins weren’t enough to damn Zelena for eternity, she had been throwing herself at Mr. Gold for months like the snake and her proverbial apple. Several times, Belle had seen Zelena accost him at Granny’s and in his pawnshop, her spindly fingers and nails the color of fresh blood always digging into his arm or his chest. Now she was poking around Gold’s house like she owned the place!

Belle sharpened the focus on her binoculars as Zelena rummaged through the large, emerald handbag slung over her shoulder. Clenched in her hand was a sturdy, metal nail file and she was running it along the seams of the door and the front windows. Scrape, scrape, scrape.

What the hell was she doing, trying to break in?

Belle eyes widened when Zelena fumbled around in her bag again and pulled out a small handgun. No, she wanted to do more than break in.

She wanted to kill Mr. Gold.

Belle gasped, adrenaline kicking in, her heart slamming against her ribcage. She banged her leg against the patio table, upsetting the watering can, and water splashed across the front of her shirt. Zelena whipped her head in Belle’s direction. Belle jumped back, then dropped the binoculars to the porch with a clatter.

“You there—Bess!”

Please don’t let her mean me. Belle craned her neck down the road and prayed Zelena was shouting at someone else, but the sidewalk and neighboring yards were quiet. Zelena’s narrowed stare was fixed on her, the gun no longer in her hands. The metal file was gone, too. Belle’s throat clenched. Had Zelena seen her spying?

“Have you seen Gold?” Zelena hollered.

“He’s not home, Miss Kelly,” Belle answered from the safety of her porch. Her heart thrashed a nervous beat as she wiped her wet hands on her shorts. “And it’s Belle.”

“What’s Belle?”

“My name.”

Zelena waved a dismissive hand. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

“Mr. Gold doesn’t clear his schedule with me. But if the door’s locked and he’s not answering when you ring the bell…” It seemed rather obvious Gold was out of the house, but Zelena continued to patrol his porch like a bloodhound. Unless…was he hiding inside? Belle certainly couldn’t blame him for not wanting to open the door for that.

Then again, Gold never opened the door for her, either. Belle pushed the cloudy thought away and forced a smile. He may not answer the door when she knocked, but he always picked up whatever she left for him to enjoy—a wedge of peach pie, a plate of cookies, or a square of vanilla bean cake thick with fudgy icing. Belle could only consume so many baked goods on her own, and sharing was the neighborly thing to do. There was a solid explanation for his caution—he simply hadn’t taken the time to get to know her in the three years they’d been neighbors. If he gave her a chance, Belle felt certain he would like her as much as he seemed to like her treats.

Zelena abandoned her useless trolling of Gold’s porch, then slid up the steps of Belle’s porch, her long, pointy nails scratching against the banister. Belle squeezed the handle of the empty watering can and took an automatic step back. The only sound on the porch was the slow drip of water from the quenched plants.

“You don’t know where Gold is?” Zelena persisted.

“Did you try the shop?” Belle asked, her tongue feeling two sizes too large for her mouth. Her eyes darted around looking for the gun. She wished she’d gone inside to telephone Emma Swan at the sheriff’s station, but it would have been an act of cowardice. An eyewitness account would be more help, and by the time Emma arrived, Zelena would be gone.

“Well, duh.” Zelena glanced down at Belle’s wet chest and made a face. “I went there first, Bonnie.”

Belle opened her mouth to correct her again, then decided against it. There was a cold, eerie glint in the woman’s pale blue eyes and her overbearing presence was suffocating, making the already diminutive porch seem like a postage stamp. Even in the oppressive afternoon heat, Belle shivered, the cool beads of water feeling like pricks of ice on her skin. She was about to order Zelena off her property, when Gold came strolling up the sidewalk toward his home.

Oh no.

Gold moved down the street with a loose-hipped, charming gait, reminding Belle of a Regency gentleman out for a summer stroll. Good lord, he was handsome. Zelena faded into nothingness for a moment as Belle admired the view. His shoulder-length hair glinted in the afternoon sun, his dark, three-piece suit pressed and crisp, without a wrinkle in sight, the gold-tipped cane he carried an elegant accent. Even in this stifling August weather he looked cool and calm, but then he wasn’t expecting to come face-to-face with a homicidal maniac.

Belle flapped her sweaty fingers in front of her flushed face.

Gold froze on the pavement, his steps stuttering to a halt, his brown pupils growing large as saucers. His eyes landed on the back of Zelena’s head, and he went stark white under his tanned complexion. Belle read the panic in his eyes, then watched in helpless fascination as he hobbled through the side yard like a band of wild dogs was after him.

Zelena glanced around just as Gold disappeared behind the side of his enormous house, then turned back. “Brenda? God, you have the attention span of a gnat. With all that time you spend with your nose in a book…I thought reading was supposed to improve one’s concentration.”

Belle glanced in the direction where Gold had disappeared, thinking furiously. He was hidden and safe for now, but what about later today, tonight, tomorrow?

Zelena snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Hellooooooo! What are you staring at?”

She had to save Gold’s life, Belle decided, and she had to act fast. It was now or never. Do the brave thing.

Sweat dripped into her eyes, the salt stinging and making her tear up. She wiped her eyes, then allowed a tear to roll down her cheek, sniffling for effect. “It’s…I didn’t want to be the one to have to break the news.”

“What news?” Zelena tapped her foot against the porch floor, her stiletto heels echoing against the floorboards. Her eyes were feverish and wild, and twin spots of crimson popped out on her cheeks.  

“About Mr. Gold.” Belle looked down, her fingers twisting through the hem of her tank top, and heaved a labored sigh. “He’s dead.”

“Impossible,” Zelena scoffed, crossing her arms over her ample chest. “I saw him yesterday.”

“It happened this morning,” Belle said. She fixed Zelena with a melancholy stare. “Massive brain aneurism. So sudden.”

“But…” Zelena swayed on her feet and gripped the porch railing with white knuckles. She grappled for one of the patio chairs and sank into the wicker seat, her knees wobbling as she hugged herself. “I can’t believe it.”

“Well, I’d hardly make up something like that, would I?” A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Belle’s throat, the irony of the lie almost too much to contemplate.

Zelena’s lips were pinched and white. “He was a bit strange last night when I saw him. Still, I can’t get over it.”

Belle blinked; God, she’d been here last night, too?

The red spots on Zelena’s face gave way to a greenish pallor, and Belle almost felt sorry for her. Then she remembered who she was talking to—a woman who had tricked her third husband into marriage with an ’accidental‘ pregnancy, then done him in. Soon after they’d tied the knot, Robin Locksley had ended up at the bottom of the old wishing well with a broken neck.

“Guess we all have to go sometime,” she said, giving the chair a nudge toward the porch steps. She prayed Zelena would take the hint and leave. “Can’t mourn all day, now, can we?”

“But Gold was so…so wonderful. Talented. Handsome,” Zelena choked. Fat crocodile tears chased each other down her cheeks as she rocked herself in the chair.

“Yep, he was a real piece of ass.” Belle’s warm cheeks contradicted her casual tone, but she’d say or do just about anything to derail Zelena from committing murder.

Zelena seemed not to hear. “You know, Becca,” she leaned forward and dropped her voice to a stuttering whisper. “I-I was the last person to sleep with him.”

Bile climbed up Belle’s throat. She may be nothing more than Gold’s invisible next door neighbor, but she had enough sense to know when Zelena was telling an outright lie. She began to gag, then doubled over with a belly-deep cough, a hand plastered across her mouth.

Zelena twisted her mouth like she was sucking on a lemon. “If you’re going to vomit, could you do it over the railing? I’ve had the shock of a lifetime and a little compassion would not be out of line!”

Belle lowered her hand once the retching ceased, and drew two long, deep breaths. “Excuse me. I had one of those grocery store sushi rolls for lunch,” Belle said to explain away her disgust. “Must have been some powerful orgasm you gave Mr. Gold to shut his brain down.” Composure recovered, she shook her head and clucked her tongue in mock shame. “I’ve heard stories of people dying in flagrante delicto,  but I’ve never actually met someone it happened to. At least you’ll always have the memories.”

“You’d best not be implying I had something to do with this tragedy.” Zelena’s tone was icy, and she stalked toward Belle, one of those long, skeletal fingers creeping in front of her face. “You are the one who found the body.” She tapped her handbag, her tearstained face suddenly dry. “I’ll be taking my concerns to the sheriff, Bria. And in case you’ve forgotten, my sister is Mayor Mills—she’s the mayor in this town.”

“Mayor Mills is the Mayor. That’s right, Zelena.” Belle spoke in the tone she reserved for when the kindergarten class came to the library. “Regina is actually a friend of mine.”

“Not for long! Wait till I tell her what you’ve done!” Zelena flung her hair over her shoulder and clattered down the steps and Belle gulped, the weight of her half-cocked ruse beginning to sink in.

“You do that,” she announced to the empty porch.

Read the Rest on AO3: Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

[thatshankcallednewt]

The Maze Runner: High School AU - Gally: Together - Part Two

If you missed Part One: Click Here

He seems to smile at this, or at least the colour in his eyes goes lighter. You’re not sure, but something about his mood definitely changes. “That would be great.”

You sit back into the car seat after turning up the song just a little bit more, since it’s your favourite part, and quietly sing the lyrics until the song is over.

You follow Gally up to the steps of his house, onto the porch and then patiently wait as he twists his keys in the front door. The door swings open with a creak and you both walk in, he chucks his bag onto the kitchen bench and immediately ransacks the fridge. “Want anything to eat?”

You pause in the middle of the kitchen floor as you take in your surroundings. Dishes lay in bunches inside the sink, the dining table cluttered with books, magazines, mugs, and clothes that hang on the chairs. A wash basket sitting close by, filled. “Just… Just a glass of water would be fine, thanks.”

He fills up your glass with water, grabs a bag of half eaten Doritos, and then leads the way up the old, noisy steps. You look at some of the picture frames hanging on the wall, most include Gally and his parents, however there are frames that hang without any picture inside at all. He shows you to his bedroom and you hesitate only slightly before you walk inside. “I would have cleaned up a bit if Mr Francis told me about you before today.”

“It’s okay.” You look around the room, a lot of clutter of things without any other room to place them. Comic books, clothes, footballs or basketballs strewn around the place. You even spot a few sport trophies, but when Gally notices you looking at them he pushes them further back under the mess.

He sits down onto his bed, his legs stretched out and his back against the headboard, the springs inside squeak with his weight and he looks up to you expectantly. But you just look around the room instead, realising there is no couch or chair for you to sit on. His voice sounds out through the chewing of his chips, “You can sit on my bed, you know.”

“Oh, right,” you sit down on his bed, at the very end, and reach into your bag. Your hand stops for a moment when you realise you didn’t bring anything for the session anyway, so instead you just take out a pen and your notebook in case it’s needed. “Okay… so… is there anything your specifically having trouble with?”

Gally stares over at you, and then shrugs.

“Did you get given any homework for tonight? We can go through it together if you want.”

“Probably,” he mutters, licking the Dorito flavouring off the tips of his fingers. He then picks his bag off the ground and sets it onto the bed, the mattress shifting and bouncing a little from the movements.

You unzip his bag as he finishes off the last bits of Doritos, and peer inside. You pull out a few textbooks and sift through the work he’s been given. You then reach inside for another pen or pencil when your fingers touch something hard and cool. You look inside and see that it’s a CD Walkman. You pull it out with care, and stare at it as if it’s some sort of relic or piece of ancient history. “You use a Walkman?”

He frowns and snatches the thing from your hands, “Yeah, so?”

You raise your eyebrows from his sudden protectiveness over the object, “Just… haven’t seen one being used in while, is all.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry I don’t have access to my parents’ credit cards to buy things like iPods and what not.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to be insulting, Gally. I’m just surprised, okay?” You carefully lift it off his lap, and smile at his glaring stare, “I’m not going to hurt it, I’m going to put a CD in it.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, and doesn’t say anything back but instead watches your movements intently.

You take the CD you mentioned to him before out of your bag and slip it inside the Walkman.

“Why do you even have a CD; you’ve got an iPhone.” He challenges, lifting one of the earphones to his ear.

“I like to own CD’s,” you reply simply, shrugging your shoulders before you put the other earphone in your own ear.

He looks at you, and you feel the stare, but you ignore it by looking through his homework with more depth. Apparently, he has an English essay due in a few days. And a math quiz in the same week. You pick up the novel that the essay is about and flick through the pages to see if he has a bookmark anywhere, but his lingering stare makes you lose focus. Your eyes flicker over to him, the novel still in your hand, “What?”

He blinks and shifts uncomfortable, “N-nothing, nothing.”

You’re not convinced it was nothing, but whatever it was does not seem that important to him anymore so you let it go. “Have you read any of this novel?”

“Half.”

You frown, “Where’s your bookmark then? For a moment there I thought you hadn’t read any of it at all.”

“I just remember the page number.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Really?”

He raises an eyebrow back at you, “Problem?”

You laugh lightly, “Guess not.” You take the essay task into your hands and read the question he has to answer, “This is due in a few days, you think you can finish the book tonight?”

The raised eyebrow disappears and is replaced with two furrowed ones and a frown to accompany them, “It took me like three weeks just to get through half of that miserable book.”

You turn the novel over in your hand and read the title, Pride and Prejudice. You try your hardest to hold back laughter, but unfortunately it slips through.

Gally raises his hands, “Exactly! All I’ve noticed so far is that it’s about a couple of gold-diggers trying to get a rich husband or something.” He sits back further into his bed, listening to the rise of the music as it gets good, “Let’s just do other homework instead.”

You frown, “I’m the tutor.”

His eyebrows raise, “And?” He reaches for the novel but you jerk your hands away from him, still clutching to the paperback, an amused smile on your face.

“We’re going to read it.”

He lifts himself off from the bedhead, “I’d rather not.” He edges closer to you, “There’s no way I’ll be able to finish that terrible book tonight, so why try?” He leaps for it, his hand outstretched, his fingers carelessly grabbing for the cover. You pull back, and raise your hand above and then behind you and keep it hanging there, out of reach.

You look up at his face, which is surprisingly close to you now, “Gally.” Your so close in fact that you smell his deodorant, and a teenage male smell that, for some reason, is kind of pleasant. “Do you want help with your work or not? To finish the essay, which is due in three days may I remind you, you need to finish the novel!”

He continues to stare down at you, and for a second you think he glances down at your lips. But you must have been wrong as he quickly sits back onto the bed, a grumpy expression on his face. “Alright, alright…” Even so, it leaves a fluttering feeling in your chest.

You let the book rest on your crossed legs, “So, what page?”

“216.”

You open up the book again after pausing the music and brush your fingers over the pages you turn over until you reach page 216; you begin reading the first sentence. The words slide off your tongue with ease, having already read this book however means that there will be no surprises to keep relatively interested.

“What… what are you doing?” Gally’s voice breaks in between the string of words that come from your mouth.

You look up at him over the book, eyebrows creased slightly, “Reading it to you.”

He raises an eyebrow, the green in his eyes suddenly becoming more piercing than before, “Just because I need a tutor doesn’t mean I can’t read.”

You grin a little, “I know that but I thought if I read it to you, you would be able to put up with it more.”

He sits back into his pillow again, “Alright.”

You go on reading, sometimes getting stuck on a word but mostly being able to pronounce everything smoothly. You notice that he listens, too. Quite intently. You feel his green eyes holding you in his sight, never letting go, and it surprises you really. He could easily fall asleep, or direct his attention to something else of more interest, but he doesn’t. And you appreciate it.

You place the book down in front of you so that it keeps the pages open to where you were reading from, “I… have to use the bathroom.”

Gally blinks and then gruffly says, while pointing to the hallway, “Outside to your right.”

You walk into the bathroom, not many things linger. A few bottles of shampoo or shower gel lie about or sit on top of shelves, a few towels hanging on the door or off misplaced racks, tiles the colour of off white… Very different from your own bathroom is all you think.

Once you’re finished you walk back to Gally’s room, passing by a room about the same size. You stop and take a few steps back. It is neat inside the room, at least neater than Gally’s, but old. No, you think, not old… Deserted. Untouched. You shake off the weird feeling from within the room and walk back down the hall again, straight into Gally’s room; feeling slightly guilty for peering into someone else’s room.

Gally still sits on the bed but a phone in hand. Your phone.

“Hey!” You cry, coming closer to him as you snatch the phone away. “What do you think you’re doing?” Suddenly you don’t feel so guilty anymore.

“It buzzed!” He says in defence, eyes wide.

You put your hands on your hip, “And? That doesn’t give you the right to read my texts!”

He rolls his eyes, “It’s not like it would be a text from a boy.”

You frown, “What’s that supposed to mean?” A threatening tone of voice replaces your usual one.

He sighs, looking down at the bed covers. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Silence sits between you two; uncomfortable and awkward. You suddenly wish that you didn’t react that way but… You’ve never met this boy until now, so seeing him with your phone in his hands gave you an awful surprise.

“Look I… I wasn’t going to read it, but then I did because…” He looks up at you briefly, “It sounds like you’re supposed to be somewhere else right now.”

You look down at the screen.

u coming to the game?

It’s Teresa. Looking at the text now, the phone sitting gently in your hands, you realise you almost forgot about the lacrosse game.

“I just thought that maybe you were needed somewhere, and they might have gotten worried because you didn’t show up when you were supposed to… or something like that.”

The grip on your phone becomes tighter, “Well, it’s not important. I just forgot to cancel.”

Gally suddenly shakes his head, “No, no. You’ve been here long enough.”

“Excuse me?”

He gets up from his bed and slips on his leather jacket, and as he walks out he grabs his keys from the bedside table. “I’ll take you home.”

“But we… we haven’t finished the book yet.”

“You coming or what?” He calls from the end of the hallway.

You sigh and grab up your things, glancing at the book still left on its open page. You reach for it but then draw your hand back again, Gally wouldn’t have remembered the page number because you read it to him. So you leave it there and return the glass you used to the kitchen on the way out.

[sassyhazelowl]

Option B has been launched. I’d like to give a shout out to both @everybodys-chains & @lucylaneeffect for being terrible and supportive influences about things I really have no business writing. And also @the-archangel-of-zeref for pointing out the fact I have no idea what the fuck is actually going on in canon and all the bits I got wrong. All the bits that are still wrong are now me purposefully sticking my middle finger up at canon and choosing to ignore my education.

Disclaimer: Lots of middle fingers towards canon. Some shade may be thrown at certain popular characters. In the process of attempting to make them likable protagonists instead of walking plot devices, great liberties have been taken with cardboard characters with no consistent canon characterization. I might fuck this up but you’ll live. It has yet to be beta’d but I’m going to cram it down my friend’s throat because if she’s forcing me to beta her SessKag drivel, she owes me.

Also, yes, this is divergent canon where The Christina arrives 10 minutes early and ruins part of the canon timeline and the plot, hurrah! Blame Blue Pegasus for being awesome.

Prologue

“It’s got quite the view.”

She swept by without any acknowledgement of the view or the speaker, tilting her head down towards the wizen old man tottering along a half pace ahead with a spriness that belied his age. If she stared hard enough, she could just make out the outline of Ursa Major on that liver spotted pate. Casting a glance up at her because he felt her heavy gaze, he spoke with enthusiasm, quick to monopolize on the good point, “Yes, yes! You have very good taste indeed. When the harbor is clear you can see all the way across the bay to our sister town!”

“Hmm,” was the moody response as she realized she was one skin discoloration away from completing the bear’s face.

“Our town is known for its fresh air and fresh seafood,” he babbled on nervously, picking up on her discontent but not sure why. Did she know about the foundation problems? The sandfleas that invaded in the peak of summer for those few miserable weeks? Or had to come on too strong while she was enjoying said view, even though her mahogany eyes had been train elsewhere? “Very relaxed for those who wish to retire…”

Now that was entirely the wrong thing to say, and he froze, gray, watery eyes comically wide below peppered brows and mouth falling open in a hasty apology. He was too slow, far too slow, because the woman’s younger companion, who had been leaning against the rail burst into laughter.

“Your age is showing!”

The sigh she’d been holding in, so polite and proper it was smothering, burst out then, startling them both, and she mustered a bland smile for the man trying to sell her the property.

“Thank you, sir. I will certainly consider the… view. It is a lovely town but I am not sure it’s quite--” her eyes cut to the left sharply and the smile wavered at the edges as she took in the view for the first time; it was really was magnificent and she finished her decline regretfully, “What I am searching for.”

The man’s face fell into a mass of disappointed wrinkles at her gentle rebuff but he didn’t spring along or follow when she turned to leave. Unfortunately, the other woman did. And that, right there, was the problem. Sadly, changing location wouldn’t solve it.

The footfalls behind her weren’t a skip but they held a childish quality to them nonetheless. If she didn’t know better, she’d expect someone much different. It was that hesitant patter-pattering that had grown so familiar she didn’t know if she could remember a time recently she hadn’t heard it, even before the outcome of the trial. After all, since that fateful moment their eyes met across the battlefield, she felt a string being tied tight, very much like a noose actually when she paused to think about it.

“Again Anna?” It was less of a complaint and more of a curious question. Surprisingly, the other woman seemed wholly content simply to have the Celestial Wizard within sight. It was a fit of mild hilarity waiting to happen the moment someone from the Council came to check up on her ward only to find that Anna could barely slip away to the bathroom alone. Just who was the prison warden here again?

“It’s not right,” she mumbled, more to herself than her shadow. The footsteps skittered and stumbled a bit, this being the first time Anna had ever bothered to respond to the stream of comments, complaints and observations since the two had left Magnolia.

“I suppose,” was the hummed reply, much too thoughtful to be a child, but said with the same sort of flippant innocence, “The salt in the air would utterly ruin my hair in any case.”

Anna grunted at the assumption the sea wind was an inconvenience the woman and nearly whirled on her heel to take the blasted property; the grunt was a crass and unladylike sound, entirely inappropriate for civilized company. Fortunately, the only company she’d been keeping for the past few weeks was the current one, and Irene was far from civilized, Anna had found out.

“No one asked you to come along,” the Celestial Wizard pointed out, proud of the fact it was level and fair not snippy and petty. She was supposed to be locked up in the hotel room after all but making her stay put was impossible, and Anna had realized it was easier just to keep a personal eye on her.

But it was seriously getting on her nerves, and it seemed silly to keep up the charade of a noblewoman, of a learned woman, of one who was beyond reproach, but she’d been doing it for so long, she wasn’t sure how to stop. She wasn’t even sure if she could stop. Maybe that persona was all there was left to Anna -- proper manners, empty airs and graying blonde hair befitting a proper matriarch. The title she should have and would have held over her grand and sprawling estate four hundred years in the past.

Of course, there was dear Lucy now, she supposed. And her beloved Dragon Slayers as well.

But neither made up for what she’d chosen to sacrifice. The life and children and husband and sprawling clan she’d forsaken to save the future. It weighed on her. Those memories, that forfeited life she’d been born to have.

“I have to,” Irene replied immediately, seriously, “I promised.”

Well, she’s already broken her own rule about not speaking, so she might as well indulge her curiosity a bit, “To whom?”

“You.”

Regret was the feeling that came to mind when Anna considered it. Not regret for saving Irene’s life, never that. Nor regret for bring her aboard The Christina while rescuing young Wendy from Acnologia’s wrath… if they had been just five or ten minutes later, there wouldn’t have been anything left of the young Dragon Slayer to rescue. Nor Irene either for that matter, given what Miss Scarlet had said later, a cold look to her and not a shred of sympathy.

Anna was not surprised to learn about their blood relations; after all, family fostered the deepest bonds of love, and therefore, too, the deepest bonds of loathing as well.

But she was definitely regretting not slipping out of town in the middle of the night. And the permanent limp from her shattered and magically regenerated hip that made her slow enough that the recovering witch could keep pace. Most noteworthy, she regretted breaking her self-imposed vow of silence, and she promised this would be the first and last time she’d slip. If she were patient and mature, she could weather the next few months as mandated by the court with little stress or effort, and then she would be entirely free.

In the meantime, Anna mustn't encourage her.

She wanted to know as little as possible about the other woman. Truly, after all she’d done, was a little peace and solitude too much to ask for? Let her spend her last years alone with a cat and a garden and copious amounts of high quality tea.

Somewhere with an unaltered view of the stars.

“Perhaps you should try the mountains.”

Perhaps you should mind your own business, Anna’s snotty inner-voice snapped back irritable but she kept mum.

A wistful tone entered the other woman’s voice as she added uncharastically poetic and somber, “With thick pines all around and the mountain side filled with moonlight. So bright, so beautiful.”

A memory misty with age, tugged on Anna then, of a similar scene up in much younger mountains full of newly matured evergreens untouched by man’s saw and a cliffside no mere human could reach easily. How the crisp night’s air was more a biting chill on her exposed legs as they dangled carelessly over the edge, confident she was safe despite the lethal drop. Snug in a cocoon of heavy fur blankets, her back slumped comfortably against a firm surface. The heat being radiated was warm enough to tempt her to peel back the blankets, and the gentle lull of the motion behind her was rocking her to sleep, eyelids fighting the inevitable. She was up here to observe the stars without interference but it’d been a mere half hour and she was already losing the fight with slumber, all the stress and worries of the project having worn her down into a shell. It was so… quiet here… so safe and peaceful… so unspoilt by war. It was hard not to flinch when the tail flew up, swift and accurate, but it merely landed beneath Anna’s legs, drawing them up off the ledge and curling around her. A snout nudged her in apology from behind, knocking into her shoulder so hard she jolted and laughed ruefully. Crimson entered her vision as the a large horned head curled around, tucking her in, large bioluminescent eye already closed and breath deepening, and Anna smiled, settling back to look up at the stars, safe in the dragon’s claws…

Jolting back into the present, she took a long moment to smell the bay and listen to the screams of the circling gulls and stare across the sapphire blue waves dotted with cheerful fishing boats. It was lovely, anyone’s dream.

But it was just not… right.

Instead she pulled out a map, peering over it with intense scrutiny, before sighing and crumpling it up violently. In her annoyance, she forgot herself. Again.

“Your Universe One is a menace.”

If she was expecting an apology, which she wasn’t, she would have been disappointed. Irene shrugged her shoulders then, lip jutted out in a tiny bit of a pout, and replied as she sagged against the rail a bit to stand up straight, “I was planning to return it as it was… but Erza broke my magical container. Such a horrible little child, that one. I didn’t have enough magic to put it all back. Anna? Anna, surely you understand! I did give it a good try… most of it went back… all the important places in any case.”

Anna mentally questioned what she considered important but kept her mouth pressed firmly shut. Her lips were starting to burn from the pressure and her throat tickled. She’d spent decades shutting up and it was becoming a difficult and impossible thing to do, she was finding out, now that she was free to speak with nothing but her own sensibilities to hold her tongue.

Whatever. What was the point in silence now? If she was stuck with this other woman, she may as well use it to her own advantage and speak her mind fully. It’d be cathartic. 

Puffing up, she got ready to give Irene a piece of her mind about using magic irresponsibly, which was completely useless now but relevant and probably counted towards her community service of rehabilitation if she gave a lecture about magical mindfulness, when Irene cut her off with a careless motion.

“Besides, my magic is all gone now. All of it.” A hint of remorse had crept into her tone, although Anna suspected she just felt sorry for herself more than anything for having her wicked deed punished. The look on her face didn’t look particularly repentant nor sorry though, eyes hard with thinly concealed fury and mouth set in a wobbly smirk that refused to settle. Bitterness. Resentment. “After all, they made sure to render their conquered helpless and then claim compassion and mercy while releasing them to the wolves.” The smirk curled into a bit of a snarl thing, flashing an actual sharp canine fang that was most certainly not that of a full human, and her pupils turned to cat-like slits, “But magic does not a dragon make, and I await the day they learn this lesson the hard way.”

Paling a bit, all annoyance flushed away, all of Erza’s warning echoing in her head, Anna cleared her throat then, skin still prickling and crawling at the snap of dangerous crackling fury. Swallowing a bit, refusing to look ruffled, it was a rough reminder that this woman was not simply a childish shadow but an ex-Spriggan as well.

“Why don’t we try the mountains then?” she offered once she could get the words past her tight throat and Irene’s countenance cleared immediately as she clapped her hands a bit with delight, “You said ‘we’ Anna!”

“Yes, yes I did. Now come along. If we hurry, I am sure we can catch the next train before nightfall.” 

As expected, the patter-pattering started up immediately, but somehow with a bit more... pep? Anna felt a certain kind of doom settling but fought it off.

What was the worse that could happen anyway?

[emalynde]

Dwin’orrel & the Dinner Date 5

"A slight embellishment is good for the soul on occasion."  Thalandril swept his hair out of his face with a free hand, the movement playfully over-dramatic.  At the question of how, the rogue gets more serious.  "The intern informed me that if you were not at the office in the morning, something had gone wrong."  The grip on Emalynde’s hand gently increased as the tale progressed.  "I then took it upon myself to find out what had happened to you.  I would have no ill befall you."  His gaze drifted away as he got his emotions back under control.  "Not on my watch."

As Emalynde mentions Ethrend--and how he had been there to comfort her, the agent mellowed.  His voice was almost a whisper in a moment of weakness, "I… do wish I could have been here in Ethrend’s stead.  The last thing I wanted to do was leave your side, but sometimes the position calls for me to be elsewhere."  A hint of sadness appeared in his voice, not quickly removed.  "I am here now, and will be until you're released, upon which I think we should talk... somewhere private." *** Emalynde smirks knowingly.  Thalandril was occasionally playful with her in a more comical manner, but it was rare.  Was he trying to smooth over his worry--distract her from it?  Her golden eyes appraise the operative.  Maybe he was somewhat delirious from the extent of the Senate proceedings.  She was not exactly on her game either, but then again, Emalynde was much more likely to be silly than her stoic, stuffy counterpart.  

The redhead does sober at the mention of Dellanor, the intern with whom she had spent some time this past week.  "I am glad that he had the courage to speak to you; he greatly admires you, you know."  She laughs lightly, letting her face fall toward Thalandril and against the gentle embrace of the pillow.  Tendrils of fiery tresses curled in delicate designs about her head, simply laying there and staring off to the side of her companion's figure, a slight smile hovering against her lips.  Her golden orbs flick up to Thalandril after a few moments spent in comfortable silence, "I did not know if you would come for me... if something were to happen.  I was no longer... sure of our..." the freckled elf pauses, searching for the correct word, "...relationship."

The fiery-tressed elf watched the emotions play subtly against the handsome contours of her closest friend's face.  This was so... out of character, how emotional Thalandril was being--especially displaying as much.  Thankfully, there were few in their direct vicinity; perhaps that prompted his honesty.  Not knowing quite what to say (for once in her life), Emalynde simply squeezed the agent's hand.  Curls jostle slightly as the courtier nods, assuming they were to discuss the outcome of Thalandril's discussion with the Senate.  "How long must I remain?" ***

Thalandril was not used to being silly, but thought the action might help Emalynde to relax.  It did not suit him well, and he did not plan on doing it again; the action itself hurt his dignity.  Oh, the things he was willing to do for this woman.  Perhaps the fatigue was starting to get to him. He pours tea for both of them and offers a cup to the redhead, drinking deeply himself in hopes to remove the veil of fog on his brain.

"I am glad at least someone knew your whereabouts.  Had it not been for him, you would have been dead.  Although I'm sure I could have had you resurrected."  He gives her a scolding look as though she should know better than to go into a dangerous situation without more of a backup plan than trusting the 'intern'.  Tsk tsk.  "The cost of that, however, boggles the mind..." Thalandril sipped at the berry-flavored tea and gave an appreciative exhale before being startled by the mention of the term 'relationship'.

Thinking for a second about the question, Thalandril looks deep into the ripples in his tea. "Emalynde Ilayne Inara, there are few things in this world that I would allow keep me from you. Know that.  You are not just some simple courtesan I employ.  Nor a simple dalliance.  You are special.  To me."  Thalandril swirls his tea as he speaks, a slight crease forming against his forehead, unsure if it's the right time to speak his true feelings.  Monotone and serious, even the air around him ceases to make noise as to not upset him.  "It is not often I make mistakes.  Even less often that those I care for come to harm."  His hand rests back on hers, unless she pulls away.

"Thankfully, your quarantine has been over for a few hours now; I simply had not informed you, as it was easier to keep tabs on you this way.  Now that I am here, however, would you let me escort you out for a late dinner?  Anywhere you like."  Thalandril stands up crisply and reaches over to the side table, turning to back to present Emalynde with a package--perfectly wrapped and tied up with a beautiful pink ribbon. *** At being scolded, Emalynde favors the operative with her most disarming smile.  Even with what remained of her makeup and bed-tousled curls, she plied her charms.  It was more to be slightly light-hearted than anything else--given that the topic was rather severe.  If Thalandril had not thought to come to her aid, she would surely be dead--or worse--by now.  It was not a thought she wished to dwell on overly much.  Emalynde sits up to drink, allowing her blanket to fall away, exposing the fair-skinned elf to her waist.  She paid the covering no mind at all, as if it had never been there to begin with.  Her freckled form was no longer covered in markings and her pallor had returned.

Emalynde had not meant the term 'relationship' to have any more connotation than to indicate that there was a bond between the pair--romantic or otherwise.  Judging by the expression upon Thalandril's usually well-composed features, he may have assumed the former.  The redhead was about to console and correct her dearest friend, but she quieted at the use of her entire given name.  Perhaps the rogue was playing his hand and she had not meant to prompt as much.  He would not even look at her as he spoke.  The fiery-tressed elf knew better than to simply assume she knew what Thalandril meant, especially given that it was in stark contrast with what he'd said while at tea last week.  But Ethrend's words flit about her mind, toying with her inclinations.

The courtesan doesn't speak, nor does she prompt Thalandril to do so any more than he is comfortable.  For the first time in over a century, the redhead felt the flickers of nervousness twirl within her torso.  She'd fallen in love before--foolishly so in her youth--but it was wise of her to not indulge such emotions.  Hers was not a path where actual, true enamor survived well.  She knew well the sensation and tried to push it back into its box, despite having come to this conclusion logically on her own terms.  However, she does not shy from his grasp.  The silence between them shifts from easy and comfortable to tension-laden (not necessarily of a bad sort).  

Thankfully, Thalandril breaks the quiet, requesting that she join him for an evening meal.  Gods, when last had she eaten?  Her stomach growls betrayingly and the freckled elf cannot help but chuckle, slightly embarrassed but only because she was so caught off guard by the ambiguous, pseudo-confession.  She used it as an excuse to slip back into her coy demeanor--it was safer there.  Watching the rogue stand and proffer a present, a single, well-shaped brow lifts in playful intrigue.  "When you shower me with gifts, how could I refuse you?"  She does not meet his gaze upon remarking so, afraid that she might reveal more of her heart than she would prefer.  Instead, she flips back her blanket, attempting to swivel her hips to the side of the bed, her legs swinging over the edge.  Lifting a hand, she uses Thalandril's grip to steady herself, rising slowly to her feet--in case she was weakened.  Stark naked, Emalynde flicks her gaze up to meet the agent's flashing a beguiling smile. She would dress right then and there, requesting the intelligence operative's aid occasionally--partially because she was wary of her strength and partially because it amused her.  Intentionally, she toyed with him, moving as to elongate her form appealingly or brushing up against him slightly with her naked form.  It was easier to fall into the rhythms of their game, to tease and play.  There was a part of Emalynde that feared what would happen to their dynamic should anything change--for better or worse, really.  She had no idea the type of man Thalandril would become should he fall for her.  Honestly, the fiery-tressed elf had always thought him largely immune.

[ladyfogg]

China Shop

China Shop

Fic Summary: John visits you at work hoping for a little information, and perhaps some special attention. Constantine Oneshot Masterpost.

A/N: It’s been a really long time and it feels good to be writing again. This one came to me out of the blue and I ended up writing the whole first draft in like, two hours. So, yay me! Fic Song.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Fic Pairing: John Constantine/Female Reader

Fic Warnings: Language & Smut

The air is thick with the scent of smoke, musk, and alcohol. Lights are dim and the slow sensual music sets the mood. Nearly every seat is filled with someone: a demon here, a sorceress there, the occasional vampire or human…

At least, that’s what you can gather from your spot onstage. As you swing your hips and twirl around the pole, you get a better view of the room. A familiar face catches your attention, though you’re too professional to let it throw you off. You don’t remember seeing him arrive, and yet there he is. Really, you shouldn’t be so surprised.

John Constantine always pops up when you least expect him.

He leans back in his seat, surveying you with those watchful eyes. A nearly finished cigarette dangles from his lips, which are turned up at the corners, fixing you with his ever present smirk.

Focusing back on the task at hand, you make your way around the stage, giving each patron their own small show. John’s is the only regular you recognize. Their cash either falls at your feet or is tucked into your g-string, when you get close enough to let them that is. Of course then you have to coyly dance away from those looking to cop a feel. When you get to John, he removes his cigarette briefly to exhale smoke, before slipping it back in.

You crawl toward him, breasts barely contained by your too small bra.

John’s smirk widens and you bite your lip, raising your eyebrow questioningly. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a twenty, offering it to you. Really? A twenty? That’s laughable. You give him a pointed look, but then he fans the bill ever so slightly and now you see two more twenties with it.

Throwing him a wink, you take the cash between your teeth, gently pulling it out of his hand as you sit back on your heels. Gaze firmly fixated on his, you tuck the money into the small pocket in your bra as you carefully slide off the stage. Other patrons hiss and make noises of disappointment at the show’s abrupt end, which you ignore in favor of taking John’s offered hand.

With a sultry smile and promising hip sway, you lead him through the throngs of people, to the private rooms in the back. He slips past you into the tiny booth and you turn to close the curtain, taking a quick look to make sure no one is watching or following. Only a security guard takes notice, though he doesn’t seem particularly interested.

Once you draw the curtains, you glance over your shoulder at John. “Wasn’t expecting you tonight, sweets,” you drawl, slowly turning around. He’s closer than you anticipate and you have to stop short so you don’t collide with him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh trust me, love. The pleasure is all mine,” John smirks. He removes his cigarette and puts it out in the nearby ashtray.

As he reaches to touch you, you place a hand on his chest and shove him so he’s sitting down. “Cameras, lovely,” you say, reaching behind you to undo the clasp of your bra. The strip of fabric falls to the floor. “No audio, but plenty of visuals.”

John gives a nod of understanding, chancing a quick glance around. You see him note where the cameras are before his attention returns to you. “How’ve you been, love?”

“Oh, you know me,” you grin, slowly swaying to the music. “What can I do for you then? You only pay for a private dance when you want something.”

“As much as I would love for this to be a social visit, sadly I am on a case,” John says, watching every movement. You step in a little closer so he’s forced to crane his neck up to look at you. “Got a few questions I’m hoping you can answer.”

“Ask away,” you say, straddling his lap, your knees pressing into the soft cushions. You can feel the heat from his skin through the thin cotton of his pants and it’s tantalizing. It conjures all sorts of memories from your past exploits.

“Looking for a bloke who comes here often,” John says. He lean back to enjoy the sight of your rolling hips. “Little blighter by the name of Anton.”

“Why? Did he cross you?” you ask.

John chuckles. “Something like that,” he says. “Had a run in a few years ago and he may know where I can find his former boss. Didn’t properly scare him off last time, so it seems he’s still skulking about.”

“Well that’s too bad,” you lament, drawing in closer. You nearly press your chest to his, but then his warm hands are slowly trailing up your thighs and you have to knock them away. “No touching, remember? Not here.”

“Sorry, love,” John grins. “Force of habit. It’s so hard not to.”

It’s your turn to laugh slightly, getting off his lap, only to turn and roll your hips backwards, taunting him. You swear you hear a sharp inhale. “Is it, Johnny?” you tease. “Is it hard?”

“Getting harder by the second. Maybe I can show you later when you get off work,” is his gruff response.

“Maybe,” you say. “So, what’s this Anton look like?”

“I’ve got a picture on my phone—”

Hearing the rustling of his pants, you turn back around and straddle his lap again. “Don’t take the phone out,” you hiss in a low voice. “Cameras, John. If they know I’m feeding you information, they’ll kill us both.”

John sighs. “You need to find a new club, love,” he says.

“Not what we’re discussing,” you remind him, placing your hands on the wall behind his head, effectively trapping his body with yours. “Describe the guy.”

“Thin, messy hair, bug eyes, twitchy,” John lists.

“That’s nearly everyone who looks humanoid,” you say.

“He’s a soul broker,” John says, though he’s become distracted by the sight of your breasts which are currently eye-level. He follows their bounce as if hypnotized. “I suspect he’s on the run from the man downstairs after he broke a contract.”

Now that does ring a bell. You vaguely recall hearing him talk to some of the other patrons about it, trying to find someone interested in hiring him so he could get back into the First’s good graces. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen him,” you say, leaning down so your forehead brushes John’s. Without warning you briefly grind down on his lap, making him gasp. His hips buck, seeking more friction, but you’re already gone, sitting up straight and raising your arms over your head. “Actually, he should be coming in soon. Want me to lure him outside for you?”

“Could you?” John asks. You see him grip the seat to keep from grabbing you like he so desperately wants. “Really need that information from him.”

“Sure thing,” you purr, spinning quickly so you can brush the front of his black pants with your backside. You glance over your shoulder to watch the expression on his face. His pupils are blown wide and his tongue darts out to wet his dry lips. “It’s going to cost you of course.”

“I thought that’s what this dance was for,” John teases.

You chuckle. “Conspiracy to interrogate a customer isn’t included,” you tell him.

“Bollocks. You’re gonna drain me dry, you are.”

You turn back to face him, this time getting closer than you’ve gotten all night. His breath practically tickles your lips as you lean in. “That’s the plan, Johnny,” you whisper. “Also, wouldn’t be the first time. Come home with me after the job and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

John’s smirk is back and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Guess that’s a ‘yes’ instead of just a maybe? I’d be a bloody lunatic to say no,” he says.

“Yes, yes you would,” you agree. “So, I’ll dance for this Anton, ask him to meet me out back, and when he shows up you do your thing. Seems straightforward.”

“You should know by now, love,” John says. “Nothing I do is ever ‘straight’.”

Laughing, you slink off his lap and extend your hand to help him to his feet. “Likewise, Johnny,” you say. “Likewise.”

Luring Anton is way easier than it probably should have been. The scrawny man is practically drooling by the time you whisper in his ear and you swear he’s going to cream himself right then. He doesn’t (you hope) and you saunter away, catching John’s eye from across the room. He throws you a wink and slips out through one of the side doors.

Once your shift is over, you head backstage to get dressed and count your tips. It takes you a while to gather yourself, so by the time you leave, it’s extremely late. Anton is waiting exactly where you told him to, and you almost feel sorry for the bastard.

Stalking towards him, you smile. “Hey there, handsome,” you say.

“Hey,” Anton says excitedly. “So we gonna do this here? I think the alley’s pretty empty. We may want to go around the corner so no one can see. How much do you want?”

You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket, cocking your head to the side. “Oh, you poor sap,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m sort of sorry about this.”

Anton’s eyes widen and he spins around just as John shows himself. “Hello, Anton,” he grins around a fresh cigarette. “Been a long time.”

Anton turns back to you, anger in his eyes. “You, bitch!” he snaps, and takes a swing.

Without so much as blinking, you dodge it, hands still in your pockets. “John, did you see that?” you say, eyes never leaving Anton’s face. “I think he just tried to assault me.”

Anton’s anger fades and he suddenly looks terrified, as if he just realizes the mistake he’s made. His eyes dart around the alley, looking for any means of escape and unfortunately finding none.

“That he did, love,” John says. “Really stupid idea if you ask me. And a surprising move. You must have grown some stones since the last time I saw you. Wouldn’t peg you for someone to try to take a swing, especially at a woman.”

It’s comical how quickly Anton goes down when you sink your fist into his jaw. It’s even funnier when your knee breaks his nose and he collapses in a heap on the ground. Grabbing him by the hair, you hold him up as John casually strolls forward, sending cigarette ash on the pavement with a flick of his wrist.

“What do you want from me?” Anton asks, whimpering as blood runs out of his nose. “I already did what you asked. I ate that contract.”

“That was three years ago, mate,” John says. “Water under the bridge. I do need some information from you though.”

“I don’t know anything!” Anton immediately denies, shaking his head as much as you’ll let him. Your nails are digging into his scalp and you flex your fingers threatening. He whimpers louder. “I swear I don’t!”

John laughs as he squats down to be face-to-face. “I haven’t even asked any questions, Anton,” he says. “Which leads me to believe you’re already lying to me.” He puts the cigarette back into his mouth. “Where’s Midnite? How did he contact you for a deal?”

“I don’t remember! That was years ago!” Anton babbles. “And I’m sure as hell not in touch with him. Not after you blew my deal! No one will do business with me anymore!”

“Oh boo hoo,” you mock. “Poor soul broker can’t take advantage of desperate people anymore. What a shame.”

“Says the stripper...” Anton mutters.

Anger flaring, you kneel down, grabbing his wrist with your free hand and twisting it behind his back. “Don’t you ever compare yourself to me!” you snap. “People know what they’re getting into when they watch me dance. You prey on people who are waiting for a miracle. People who don’t understand just what selling their souls mean. Because of you, they’re ripped away from their lives and sent down to hell.”

“Listen, Anton,” John snaps, grabbing the front of the man’s shirt and forcing him to look at him. “Answer my bloody questions and I won’t have my friend remove your entrails. I’ve seen her do it before. She’s lured many a men to their deaths.”

“W-What do you mean?”

“It used to be my thing,” you tell him. “Granted, they all deserved it one way or another. It’s amazing what you can do with a melodic voice and swaying hips.”

“S-She’s a S-Siren?” Anton asks fearfully.

“Ex-Siren,” you say, with a shrug. “See, Johnny here helped me escape that life. So I owe him pretty big. Especially after we had that amazing weekend together.”

“And a fair few since then.”

“Very true,” you say. You dig your nails harder into Anton’s head. “Although I may not be in that life anymore, every now and then, Anton, I get that urge—”

“Alright, alright!” Anton squeaks. “I-I-I really don’t know where Midnite is. No one has seen him in a long time. I tried to reach out hoping to beg for another job but haven’t heard anything. He gave me a burner phone eons ago that I kept just in case. But that’s all I know. I swear!”

“Where’s the phone?” John demands.

“In my pocket!” Anton exclaims.

John digs his hands into the pockets of the dirty jacket, drawing out a phone and some more cash. He tucks both into his trench coat and gives Anton a wide grin, letting smoke blow into his face. “Good boy,” he says, patting his cheek.

You slowly release Anton and just when the soul broker relaxes, you punch him hard enough to knock him out. Getting to your feet, you smile at John. “Got everything you needed?” you ask.

“And then some,” John comments, patting his pocket where the money is. He stands with a slight groan, dropping his cigarette on the ground and crushing it with his shoe. “Hungry, love? My treat.”

“Save your money. I’ve got food at home,” you say, linking your arm with his as you step over Anton’s unconscious frame. “Let’s go. I’ve got a large apartment and a brand new shower I want to show you.”

“I am all yours, love,” John says, drawing you closer.

You live quite a ways away from the club, but you don’t mind the drive this time. John can’t seem to stop grinning, regaling you with tales of his recent exploits. There’s that familiar energy in the air, the kind that lets you know you’re about to have an evening of fun.

John lets out a low whistle when he sees your place. “Just how much are you making at that club?” he asks as you drag him towards the bathroom.

“Enough,” you say. “Come on. I want to see you naked and covered with soap.”

Chuckling at your enthusiasm, John hangs back for a second, giving your hand a squeeze. “Hold on, love. Let me just call Chas real quick so he knows I’ve got the info.”

“Suit yourself,” you say, letting go of his hand and removing your jacket. It falls to the floor while you kick out of your shoes. “I’ll just start without you then.”

Clothes are stripped off and forgotten as you start the shower. The hot water feels spectacular and you take a few minutes to just stand under the spray, letting the sweat and smell of that place wash away. John’s right, you should find another club. Maybe one closer to home so you don’t have to drive across town in the dead of night. Enjoying the peace and quiet for a moment, you hum softly to yourself as you wash your hair. Eventually the humming turns into soft singing as you rinse away the suds.

The door to the bathroom opens and you glance through the glass doors as John’s warped figure makes its way towards you. Smirking to yourself, you’re pleased that your songs still call him, even if he doesn’t realize it. He wastes no time removing his clothes and slipping into the shower. Now that you’re not at work, his hands immediately reach out to slide around you, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“Bloody hell, you feel marvelous,” he coos in your ear, nuzzling your neck.

You slide a hand in his hair and turn your face to capture his lips. He tastes of cigarettes per usual, and it takes some getting used to. But his quick tongue stroking yours more than makes up for it, as do his hands as they slide up to cup your breasts. Breaking the kiss, you present your neck to him while passing the bar of soap across yourself.

He rubs the suds into a rich lather, fingers tweaking and tugging your nipples into hard nubs. You place the soap on the shelf, before covering his hands with your own to help. His mouth has found your neck and he laps away the water, one of his hands dropping between your legs.

Gasping at the touch, you grind back against him, feeling the weight of his cock pressing into the back of your thigh. Two fingers spread your slit open so a third can teasingly press inside. Instantly your knees buckle and you have to grip the shelf to keep yourself from falling. He fingers you with practiced ease, occasionally pressing down on your clit. Soon, the wetness between your thighs isn't just from the shower.

“Always so maddening when I can’t touch you proper,” John grunts.

“That’s the point,” you smirk. Turning to face him, you fling your arms around his neck, pushing until his back is pressed against the wall. “But we’re not at work anymore. You can touch me all you want. You can even fuck me. Which I highly suggest you do right this second.”

“Don’t want to play a bit first?” John teases.

“Nope, did that already,” you say. You lift your foot onto the ledge of the tub, pressing your pelvis to his. His cock jumps and brushes your folds, forcing you to bite back a whimper. “We’ll have plenty of time to play later.”

John kisses you roughly, both hands reaching down to grab your ass. Every nerve is on fire and you're so ready to let it consume you. He grinds himself between your legs vigorously, seeking the friction you so brutally denied him earlier. Suddenly, you find your roles reversed and you’re the one against the wall.

It's always such a fun game. You love how you both try to wrestle dominance from the other, pushing the other until they submit. Which never takes long, because you both enjoy it way too much.

John grips your thighs and you follow through, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist. He works his cock into you with small, careful thrusts, shifting to make sure he doesn’t slip.

Gradually you feel him fill you and it’s deliciously torturous. Your hand tangles in his wet hair as you smash your mouth to his. Tongues dancing, your bodies rock together as he starts to thrust. The weight of his body against yours makes your skin tingle, especially when those firm hands grab your hips. He withdraws a bit, only to bury himself all the way. You moan loudly, head thrown back.

John takes you against the tile, each thrust deep and oh so satisfying. But you know he can’t hold you up for very long, so before he drops you, you lower your legs to stand. The loss of him is sad, but immediately remedied when he spins you around. You bend over slightly, hands resting on the wall as John grips your waist again. He practically slams himself into you, hips making a loud slap. Water is pouring over both of you, making your movements slick and fluid.

You can’t stop your noises as John fucks you from behind. He’s also grunting, alternating between quick and drawn out thrusts. One moment he’s pounding you with animalistic ferocity, and the next he grinding into you so he’s as deep as he possibly can be. Your hands are slipping on the wet tile, but you don’t want to stop. Especially when two fingers start to furiously rub your clit.

Your vision starts to blur and you can feel your body tensing as the pleasure continues to build. His free hand slides down the dip of your spine, lifting to give your ass cheek a brief, wet slap. The prickle of pain only adds to the feeling of slick fingers tugging on your nub. Without warning, his thumb circles your pucker and with the tiniest amount of pressure, you tumble into oblivion, eyes closed as you come hard.

Body locked in place as you ride the waves of pleasure, you’re powerless to do anything other than moan while John continues to take you. It’s nearly a full two minutes before he withdraws suddenly, and you feel the warmth of his relief coat the back of your thighs, immediately washed away by the shower.

Shaking, you sink onto the floor of tub along with John, both trying to remember how to breathe properly. His kisses are sloppy and open-mouthed, but you accept them regardless, body tingling with the after effects of his talented hands and cock.

“Mmmm, that was divine,” you purr, throwing your leg over his waist.

John grins lazily, giving your backside another slap. “Always is, love,” he pants. “Always is.”