#that might have been a good time to let his dear sister know he wasn’t a smoking crater

[letlionslie]

i love how chris is such a bad communicator that his sister ends up tracking him across an ocean because his silly ass can’t check his email or send a postcard…

… but apparently leon checks his email so religiously that claire knows she can just fire one off to him and within a matter of hours leon will track down her deadbeat brother and send him to pick her up from secret umbrella prison island.

[jyoongim]

Hello! This is my first time doing something like this but it’s kind of like another request you had done? It’s an alastor x reader

It might be odd but I saw a tiktok bout this trope and now it’s stuck in my head, what if vox had a sister just a year or two younger than him and instead of technology she was more based around recording stuff- and since he doesn’t let her meddle in his affairs Valentino and the other chick make her go undercover at the Hazbin hotel.

I think it would be funny :) it would be hilarious if maybe she had a phone that her brother contacted her from at the same time every day and when he drops in he either hears al flirting with him or literally making out with his sister.

Just a thought tho :)

“Just get whatever dirt you can on the devil’s princessa babe. Vox already has a phone for you to stay in contact. You go in, snoop, and bam! Leak any information that we can use to tear that shitty place down”

You had been at the hotel for a few weeks. Charlie had happily took you in and you quickly had grown use to all the antics of the hotel.

Alastor was rather intrigued as to why Vox’s little sister had decided to come to the hotel, but he let you be as you happily provided your services to the hotel.

Surprisingly, you and Alastor got along. He wasn’t as bad as your brother had made out.

You found yourself quickly enamored by the red demon.

You didn’t have to tell your brother everything…

———————————————————————————

It was rather late when you heard a knock at your door.

You opened it and there stood Alastor.

You smiled as you welcomed him in. “Alastor! What do I owe the pleasure?”

He made himself comfortable on your bed as you apologized for the state of your room.

Since you had took on the role of advertisement for the hotel, you had scattered ideas tossed everywhere. 

“Oh nothing serious my dear. I just wanted to pay you a visit”

You crawled on your bed and to his side, happily leaning against his side. You nudged him playfully “yea right. Youre always up to no good”

He hummed, curling an arm around you “true, but I hadn’t meant to actually come to you, but you see you have somehow clouded my attention”

You tilted your head “How so?”

The red demon curled his claw under your chin and lifted your head to his. His eyes were lidded and his smile was soft

”It seems I have grown some affections for you”

Your eyes widened and a blush rose in your cheeks

”R-really?” You had a hopeful tone in your voice.

He chuckled and lowered his face to yours, his lips pressing against yours.

He pulled away to see you glitching, sparks flying from you.

Before he could raise his concern, you lunged and wrapped your arms around his neck, knocking him on his back as you sought his lips again.

————————————————————————————

“She should have called by now” Vox growled as he paced around his video room.

Valentino and Velvette tried to soothe him, “Im sure she’s just sleeping. Who knows what boring exercise she had to endure today”

Vox’s screen glitched and he finally dialed you.

The soft buzzing of your phone made you groan as you pulled away from Alastor. You grabbed it and saw it was your brother

”Gonna answer it cher?” The deer asked as he rubbed your hips. You shook your head, hitting the power button “No. it can wait” you tossed the phone and bursted in a fit of giggled as he pulled your face back to his.

You thought you ended the call…

————————————————————————————

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Vox glitched as the sound of giggles and soft moaning from your line.

”Alastor…” your soft voice said before a gasp was heard.

Vox was sparking. There was no way. No way you, his sister was canoodling with that fossil!?

He heard rustling and a squeal from you before the line went dead

”Papito why don’t you-are you okay?” Val asked the television, who started glitching out.

The lights went out and Vox’s screen was static

Uh Oh…

[lavouredior]

Would you be willing to do Alastor x Shy!Bunny?

Like she constantly gets flustered easily around him and he enjoys making a game of it? Please and thank you!

i have been DYING for someone to request alastor & bunny!reader so i am going to be LIVING this one up !!! might do a part 2 of this one tbh

warnings: cannibalism mention, murder mentioned, reader is referred to as prey

“oh and who would this be?” a demon you’d never need before asked charlie who was touring you around the hotel as you were their newest resident. you didn’t make eye contact with the demon. you were small to begin with and one thing you knew from the demons you had met on the street is eye contact is a bad thing to make.

“our newest resident!” the cheery hotel owner replied. the taller demon nodded. “let me continue the tour with the little bunny charlie, i’m sure you have more important things to do.” charlie nodded excited that alastor was taking charge for once.

once charlie left alastor grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. “you know little bunny it is indeed rude to not make eye contact with someone.” you just stared back at him. too scared to say anything causing a static laugh to come out of him. “oh dear, little prey like you would have never made it alive out on the streets good thing you came here. although i do love the taste of bunny.”

his last comment scared you. “b-but you’re a deer? aren’t you prey too?” he took a deep breath at that comment. “i may be prey animal but you will find that i’m quite capable of holding my own unlike you.” he let go of your chin causing you to look back at the ground. “my i must’ve forgotten my manners. i’m alastor. the radio demon.”

your heart practically stopped at the last comment. although you are already dead so it was stopped to begin with . . . you had heard about the radio demon from many different places, specifically some tv demon named vox who was very angry about the demons return.

“oh don’t look so frightened my dear! i am not planning on harming you for now!” you chose to ignore the last part of his sentence. “now i must ask what did a little bunny like you do to end up in hell hmm?”

you just stared at the ground playing with your fingers. “i stole food once for my little sister.” your response caused the demon to let out another chuckle. “how pathetic! no wonder you’re a bunny.”

he wasn’t wrong. you lived a pretty pathetic human life and being a bunny in the afterlife caused you to be even more pathetic. your nose twitching at any sense of fear, like now. you just were scared at pretty much everything.

“why are you here?” you questioned, stupidly. “why i had killed a few people, ate a few as well.”

his response caused you to back up a bit from the demon. “y-you killed people?” he let out another chuckle this time crouching down to your height so you couldn’t fight eye contact with him. “oh my dear, don’t be scared.”

that’s when alastor got a specific idea in his head. you were horrified of him, he could use it to his own advantage. have a little fun with you and your pathetic self. make a deal with you so he owns your soul before ultimately forcing you to have some sort of usefulness to him.

alastor eventually toured you around the entire hotel before leaving you in the living room for the beginning of charlie’s “team bonding”

alastor had sat on a couch opposite of you, he watched you. even though you looked everywhere but him. a tap of his microphone on the ground and your attention was immediately to him. his smile grew as he saw your face start to turn red and you pull your knees to your chest for comfort

once the team bonding was over he motioned you over to him. “quite a shame you don’t hop around.” you just looked at the floor as you stood in front of him. “oh you pathetic little bunny. how long were you out on the streets before you found yourself here?”

“a couple months . . .” he nodded. “they were horrible weren’t they?” you nodded back looking up at him for a second before turning your gaze back to the ground. he shook his head at your refusal to look at him before pulling you onto his lap.

“you know i could help you. make sure you’re protected and safe.” your ears, which were usually flopped against your head perked up, causing alastor’s smile to grow again.

he set you on the ground before extending his hand. “you sell me your soul, i protect and keep you safe?” you just stared at his hand. “why my soul?” he chuckled “because hell is no place for a shy little bunny, my dear.”

[dollywheeler]

October 24th, 1996

Mike is such a DOUCHEBAG! What? Just because he’s back in town he thinks he can dictate how I live my fucking life?! I knew this would happen! Knew he would just go back to looking at me like the goddamn 5 year old he couldn't give a damn about! That was nothing but a nuisance!

As if I can’t take care of myself! God, if he thinks I give a shit about his opinion he’s going to be sorely disappointed! Sure, not jumping four feet in the air and possibly breaking my neck at seven in the morning where no one will find me for at least another hour, made sense. That I can place and admit to being dangerous! But just running? What? I’m so fragile I might twist my ankle?

Fuck, and the way he yelled at me? Like I’m some dumb child that should know better?? I do know better! Which is why I always leave a note with my exact route and expected time of return - not even because I think anything might happen, but because I have common human decency and don’t want mom to worry when she wakes up to find me gone! Something he could’t give a rat’s ass about!!

Seriously, it’s so fucking rich that he thinks he has the right to scold me about running around Hawkins - Hawkins of all places, as if there are more boring towns than this! - in the dark without adult supervision! I’m so mad it’s insane. I don’t think I’ve ever been this pissed off before, it’s genuinely quite impressive.

To think that an hour ago I was so content to wake up early and go for a run before school. I was in such a good mood too - he ruined it.

He just doesn’t understand! I already can’t practice my routine - not the full, difficult parts of it - so the least I can do is work on my cardio and stamina! But when I tell him that he’s all like “just ask a friend to come along next time!” And I try to tell him that’s not an option but he just - ugh. He doesn’t get it. There’s no point in practicing extra when everyone knows you’re doing it. It will just make everyone think I’m being a try-hard or a suck-up or whatever! Or just think I’m being weird for needing the extra practice!

Great, now I’m crying again because I'm pathetic! Fucking Mike. Fuck this shit.

Okay, so I didn’t actually finish this entry, for many reasons. I didn’t even start it properly - not that the “dear diary” really matters, I guess, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Anyway, even though it’s been hours, I’m still pissed off, don’t worry, but at least now I have the time and state of mind to finish. I’m skipping English as I’m writing this down - I know it’s terrible for a lot of reasons.

1, my school record, but what is Mike going to do? Report me? Fuck that. And fuck him.

2, It’s letting him win. I recognise that. But I guess I’m weak because I really can’t deal with seeing him right now. God I hate him.

3, Danny is probably wondering where I am, which means I’ll have to tell him what happened.

Damn - maybe I didn’t think this through. I can probably spin it - say I wasn’t feeling well or something. Except I don’t want to lie to him either… Well, it’s not technically a lie. Still, I’ll probably just tell him some part of the truth - he can know I was pissed at Mike. He doesn’t have any siblings but he’ll probably understand anyway.

To think that for a while I considered myself an only child… tragic. I was so fucking close to just having a cool older sister that was too far away to meddle in my life. I was in control of my life - I still am!

Mike just thinks he has a say all of a sudden - which he doesn’t. Two weeks of being civil does not a brother make!

Seriously, it was so disorientating to just be running one minute, thinking nice thoughts, wondering about the english assignment, only for Mr. Wheeler himself to actually see me and come storming out freaking out about me running in the dark! It's Hawkins in October! It's dark all the time!

I was so shocked, I could barely defend myself. God, the neighbours will probably have wondered what the fuck was going on - If our shouting match didn’t wake them I’m sure they’re dead.

The worst part was that I still had to go to school after… I'm sure everyone could tell I was off. Or at least Dylan would have, if she hadn't been a thousand miles away today herself. I'm kind of glad for it. Danny sending me worried glances was more than enough, and just getting to listen to Whitney rattle on about yearbook and today's lunch and whatever else was not living up to her standard was nice. Distracting.

Still, I wish I could just go home already - I want to lie down and mope and pretend like it's still three months ago when Mike was far far away! Then I wouldn't have to deal with his judgement and his meddling and his passive-aggressiveness towards mom and dad. And I could just kiss my boyfriend in school without fearing he might see.

Sadly, I still have cheer practice and I can't skip it. It's already bad enough that Dylan has a brace around her wrist again.

This just reminded me I'm still wearing Mike's bracelet - it really shouldn't make me feel better but it does. It's petty as hell, and he probably doesn't even remember it exists, but whatever.

He should just go back to not remembering me.

- Holly

[angelikook]

Keep Your Enemies Close

⤿ Pairing(s): Detective!Namjoon; Mafia boss!Yoongi; Mafia!Taehyung x reader

⤿ Genre: Slight angst, slight fluff, mafia, detective, crime

⤿ Word Count: 3.3k (unedited)

⤿ Warning(s): Murder(s), profanities

⤿ Summary: This time, you realize that your annoying brother, Namjoon, might not be so annoying after all. Not especially after what you two have been through.

⤿ A/n: This is the first fic I’m writing after years of hiatus :D I’m trying something different with this fanfic where Y/n is not the center of the story. This fanfic is not so much about the romance between Taehyung and Y/n, but more about Namjoon and his attempt to fix his relationship with his sister, Y/n.

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"Don't. Tell. Me. What. To. Do." Y/n slammed the door behind her, leaving only the Mandarin smell of her perfume, Vanilla smell of her freshly washed hair, and a gust of wind from the closed door.

Namjoon plopped himself on the couch, not minding the creaks it let out. His mind had other things to think about.

First, Mr. Lee. Somehow the killer of his parents disappeared with million dollars worth of drugs. It'd been reported that he might have stolen it and smuggled it somewhere. All of Namjoon's progress on finding him vanished. He had to start over.

Second, Y/n, his dear sister, the only family member left. After the death of their parents a few years ago, she became more and more distant with him. She barely ate the food he cooked, rarely answered his calls, and went out until late at night. And today was no different.

He came home to a messy house. Today's breakfast leftovers were still on the table. Stale and soggy. He gagged during the entire process of cleaning them.

Trashcan overflowed. It was still fresh in his mind when he told Y/n to take out the trash as she left this morning. Guess she didn’t listen to him as usual. Reluctantly, he grabbed the full trash bag and dragged it out. He really needed to give Y/n a word on discipline.

Upon returning to his dim apartment, Namjoon could've sworn the atmosphere in his apartment had changed. The strong smell of alcohol mixed with tobacco was a dead giveaway. He never arrived home smelling of alcohol or tobacco.

Namjoon slowly closed the door behind him. “Come out,” he says to no one in particular. He didn’t know who or how many people were there. Until the intruder chuckled.

“You’re well trained. Like a dog.” Yoongi walked out from his hiding place while clapping. The scar across his right eye glistened under the dim light.

Third, Yoongi was on the wanted list. Several smugglings of weapons and drugs couldn’t really get far without notice in this city. And for a criminal on the run to show up in front of you was not a good sign. Yoongi in Namjoon’s living room was a bad sign. A bad omen.

“I don’t have time for this.”

Yoongi sat on Namjoon’s couch. “But you do. Because fucking Mr. Lee ran away with my stuff and I know you’re on the lookout for him.”

Namjoon couldn’t say he wasn’t interested. But he wasn’t about to let a mafia boss interfere with his own mission. “What does it have anything to do with me?”

“Because I know where he is. And I know your people are looking for me. Go put two and two together.”

“Let you off the hook and I can kill him? Deal.” And as easy as that, Namjoon reached an agreement with a fugitive.

They shook hands and just a moment before Yoongi disappeared just like he usually did, Yoongi said, “Oh, and your sister, she’s safe.”

***

Unlike any other mafia gang, Yoongi’s wasn’t in a shady part of the city. In fact, his headquarters was in the nicest business complex in the city. Namjoon scoffed at the sight of the skyscraper. It was very on brand of Yoongi to hide in plain sight.

“What are you waiting for? Come on in.” Yoongi in his black suit, standing right in front of the door.

“I want to see my sister first,” Namjoon said as he followed Yoongi into the lobby.

“Not so fast. I don’t want to see any sibling fights here.” Yoongi headed to the elevator with Namjoon still in tow. “You should know why and how she got here.”

The elevator dinged and opened. At first it looked normal, until Yoongi gestured to the panel inside it.

“Real diamonds,” he commented.

Namjoon scoffed again. Only Yoongi would want his elevator buttons to be made from diamonds.

“As I said, you need to know why she got here. Only then you won’t yell at her when you see her,” Yoongi continued his speech as they waited until the elevator stopped.

“I have my reasons.”

“I know. That’s why I’ll explain to you why you shouldn’t.”

"You seem so confident I won't be angry after listening to your speech. But you should be aware that Y/n is my sister. Whatever I do to her is for her own good."

The elevator stopped and opened. The two of them walked out.

"Bla bla bla, that's what adults say to kids. Or you to your sister. But she's no longer a child. She knows her things."

"She clearly doesn't know anything if she ever chooses to stay with you."

"That's where you're wrong. She clearly knows more than you if she ever decides to stay here." Yoongi gestured to the long corridor in front of them.

The corridor reminded Namjoon a lot of the corridor of a hotel. Long, narrow, carpeted, cold, and quiet. Doors upon doors lined up with numbers on them. This floor must be where Yoongi's people sleep.

"This floor is one of the 'living' floors if you wanna call it that. This is where we sleep. Well, not me personally, but you know what I mean," Yoongi explained. "This floor is where my high ranks sleep. And to enter, you must go through facial recognition."

Only then Namjoon realized that in front of him was a glass door. Clear and almost invisible from how clean it was. On the side of the door, there was a panel in which Yoongi scanned his face. A beep and a green light showed that the facial recognition worked and the door opened.

"Let's go." Yoongi walked in with Namjoon following suit. The carpeted floor padded the clicks from his chelseas.

"The higher ranks only get a fucking glass door as protection?" Namjoon questioned.

"If the glass door is broken, it'll send an alarm to go off and enforce a metal wall as a temporary replacement. That wall is even stronger than the entire building. You won't go through unless you can knock down the entire building." Yoongi smirked. "Like I said, your sister is safe."

Yoongi stopped in front of room number 1017 and pressed the bell. As if their visit had been anticipated, a man opened the door.

The man was probably in his late 20s, not much younger than Namjoon himself. But despite the slight difference in age, he looked way rougher than him. His eye lines were clearly visible, his jawline sharp and decorated with razor scars from shaving. A toothpick hanging from the side of his lips. Namjoon didn’t know who he was, but he prayed it wasn’t anyone important.

“Oh, it’s you, boss. Come on in,” the man invited both of them inside. “Y/n is in the bedroom. Go sit wherever, I’ll call Y/n.” Then he left to what Namjoon guessed as the bedroom.

“That’s Taehyung. My right hand. My best strategist,” Yoongi said while taking out a lighter and a box of cigs from his pocket. He put the items on the coffee table before sitting on the white couch.

Namjoon followed suit, sitting in front of Yoongi. The couch definitely felt much nicer than his. No creaks nor groans even when you forcefully land your butt there.

“Why is he in Y/n’s bedroom? And why does she own a room here? Is this the reason why she’s rarely home anymore?” Questions upon questions left Namjoon’s mouth.

“I’ll answer them one by one. This is not Y/n’s room. This is Taehyung’s. You see how the room is two-storey?” Yoongi pointed with a nod of his head at the stairs that lead upstairs, something Namjoon had only noticed. “Best room for my best people. Y/n just stays in Taehyung’s guest room. I let my people bring important guests over, they are even allowed to stay as long as they want. Isn’t that great?”

Namjoon about to open his mouth when Yoongi continued. “I know you want to ask why Y/n is an important guest for Taehyung. Well, I’ll let Taehyung himself explain it to you.”

As if on cue, the man Yoongi mentioned appeared with Y/n in tow. Her wet hair and widened eyes upon seeing Namjoon said a lot.

“Well, nice to meet you.” Taehyung’s calloused hand shook Namjoon’s. “I never expected to meet you like this. As you can probably guess, I’m dating Y/n. I’m probably the reason why Y/n likes to go out a lot. But I can assure you, she’s safe more than ever.”

Before Namjoon could say anything, Yoongi said, “Yes. For my most trusted people, I also take great care of the people the love. Y/n is safer here than anywhere.”

To be frank, none of those reassuring reassured Namjoon. He wanted answers from his sister. “No. Y/n, how did you know them? How did you get here? Is home not safe for you?” The last question was rhetorical since Namjoon himself was constantly afraid of Y/n’s safety.

“Bro, I’m an adult.” Y/n took a seat beside him. “I’m gonna be honest with you. I know about Mr. Lee. I know I’m not safe.”

“Then why are you always criticizing me when I’m on my mission to find him?”

“Because, if you do something to him and he catches on, he might do something to us. I’m not scared of your safety because you’re the head of the city’s police department. If you ever go MIA for a few hours, they’d be on the lookout for you. But, what about me? Who’s keeping me safe?”

For once, Namjoon no longer saw Y/n as the little girl who used to follow him everywhere, but as who she was. A grown woman in her mid 20s. A grown woman who spoke sense into him.

Y/n continued, “Taehyung is my boyfriend. I met him during one of his missions in the cafe beside my office. My card kept being declined, then he helped me. And after a few weeks of returning favors, we made it official. Weeks later, he told the truth about everything. Mr. Lee, the coffee shop, and me. I was in denial at first, but everything he said made sense.”

“But why you never listened to my explanation about Mr. Lee?”

“You’re always yelling at me when you’re talking about him. You never once listened to me.” Y/n raised her voice but Namjoon wasn’t phased. He was here for answers, not fights. Especially not with his sister.

“I assume what I said about him aligns with Taehyung’s explanation.”

“Yes. That’s why I deem being with Taehyung is safer.”

“And even if Mr. Lee is captured and killed. You still don’t want to come home? Do you still want to stay here?”

Y/n took a deep inhale. “Yes. But for a different reason.”

“What is that? You love him?”

“Not only that. I’m marrying him.” Y/n grinned at Taehyung who returned her smile with his own. “Whether you like it or not.”

“But our dad wouldn’t want that. Our dad was a good man. He wouldn’t want you to marry a gangster.”

Y/n laughed bitterly. “Our dad is a dead man. Mr. Lee killed him because he ran with his money. If I want revenge on him, it would be because he killed mom in the process.”

Namjoon held back a snort. So Taehyung already told Y/n about dad’s involvement. “So don’t marry Taehyung. For mom,” he finally said.

“I’m marrying him for mom. She wouldn’t want me to marry a backstabber and Taehyung is very loyal.”

Not wanting to think about losing his sister, Namjoon sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about this later. At home.”

Yoongi clapped his hands once. "Good. Now let’s talk about business.”

***

If he were being honest, he would have expected Yoongi’s office to be on the highest level in the building. Instead, it was on the second floor.

“Would wanna be close to my hostages,” was Yoongi’s answer when he was asked. He sat down on his chair which looked more like a throne.

"You're sick," Namjoon commented, sitting in front of him. Unconsciously describing himself as the lavender smell in Yoongi's room slowly intoxicating him.

Yoongi bursted a laugh. "I'm the most normal mob boss. The others are all freaks and stupid."

Namjoon wanted to beg to differ but stopped himself. There were bigger things to talk about. "Are you not worried at all about showing me all these things?"

"We made a deal," Yoongi replied matter-of-factly.

"I know. But I also know your business."

"Even if the police come, they'll find nothing. I'm clean." Yoongi continued in a whisper, "I know how to hide."

Namjoon rolled his eyes. Of course Yoongi was right, that was part of the reason why his name had been sitting on the wanted list for years. It had been common knowledge that no one could find Yoongi. If one had met him, it was because Yoongi himself approached them first. Namjoon had initially thought it was just a fairytale, meant to scare children. But after seeing Yoongi manifesting in front of him, he started to question his beliefs.

"So, what now?" Namjoon finally asked.

"Let's just skip all the intro, shall we? I want you to cover my back." Yoongi placed a glass in front of Namjoon before pouring a drink into it. "Do you drink?"

"Not in daylight."

"Good. I don't feel like sharing." Yoongi picked up the glass and drank it whole.

"So you were saying?"

"Yeah." The glass clanked as it hit the table. "I have some ships coming, carrying my stuff, I want you to cover my back. If you say yes, I'll bring you to Mr. Lee. If not, you're going home. What do you say?"

"I'm in."

Yoongi was right when he said he wanted to be close to his hostages. He was indeed the closest person to them. The basement, where Yoongi kept all his hostages, was inaccessible from the elevator. There was only one way to get there and it was only through the hidden door in his office. The hidden door then led to yet another elevator.

Yoongi and Taehyung walked out the elevator first, leading the way through the tight, dark corridor to a room with many doors. The rows of doors kind of reminded Namjoon of the 10th floor, except this was less fancy, less lighting, and more cold.

They stopped in front of a random door, or at least what Namjoon thought was random. Taehyung inputted some code and the door unlocked.

"This is the moment you've been waiting for," Yoongi whispered to Namjoon before entering right after Taehyung did.

One thing Namjoon noticed immediately was the man tied to a chair in the middle of the room. He looked nothing like the Mr. Lee he knew. His unkempt beard and receding hairline made him seem older than he actually was. Eyes dropping, signs that he had been here for a while restless. Nevertheless, Mr. Lee had put on a grin on his face, greeting the three of them with yellowing teeth.

“Kim Namjoon, nice to see you,” Mr. Lee said loud and clear as if he was the owner of the place.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Yoongi says to Namjoon, not even once acknowledging Mr. Lee’s presence nor his words. “Do whatever you want. Taehyung and I will be outside.”

Just as Yoongi and Taehyung were about to step out of the room, Namjoon responded, “No need.”

He pulled his pistol, aimed at Mr. Lee’s grinning face, and pulled the trigger. In his mind, he was already thinking of an excuse for his missing bullet to his superior.

“Wow, that was quick.” Yoongi chuckled followed by Taehyung as they looked at the splatter of blood on the floor. “Call someone to clean up, yeah?”

***

A loud bang woke him up. He scrambled up from his bed before walking out of his room towards the source of the sound. A series of 'fuck fuck fuck' could be heard coming from the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" Namjoon crossed his arms at the sight of his sister facing the stove. "And when did you come back?"

Y/n quickly turned her back and grinned. "I wanted to cook us something. Taehyung drove me here around 11 p.m. You were already asleep."

“Tell Taehyung I say thank you.” Namjoon thought he should probably start to warm up to the young man.

Y/n brimmed. “Will do. I might bring him here in the future so he can properly introduce himself.”

Namjoon snorted. What an extraordinary life he had. “Why are you cooking, though? You can’t cook.”

“I cook because I want to say sorry.” Y/n put the pan on the dining table. “I guess I was wrong about you. I was too harsh. Taehyung told me everything last night, including what you did to Mr. Lee.”

Namjoon felt like his heart might burst from contentment. “I apologize, too. I should’ve seen things from your perspective. I was too rash and reckless.”

“Aww. It’s okay. Everything is okay as long as we’re together.” Y/n ran to him and hugged him tight. Her face was buried on his chest.

Namjoon snaked his arms around her frail shoulders. His nose took on the scent of burnt food on her hair. It had been forever since he had Y/n in his arms. The last time was when Y/n crying from having to let go of their parents too soon. It was nice to finally hug her again on good terms.

***

"What got you all smiling like that?" Seokjin said before gulping down his morning coffee.

The room was too hot for Namjoon, typical Seokjin. But since it was Seokjin's room, he wasn't one to complain.

"The case with Mr. Lee. It's done. I'll write the report soon."

Seokjin's eyes widened. He had been here longer than Namjoon had, hence he was Namjoon's only superior in the department. But during all these years he had spent rotting in his hot sauna-like room, not even once he found the trace of Mr. Lee. "How did you find him?"

A bead of sweat started to form on Namjoon's back he could feel. He really had to leave this room as soon as possible. "He was found dead. I'll explain the rest in the report."

Seokjin leaned forward, afraid that his voice could be heard from outside his room. "Does this have something to do with the missing bullet?" he whispered.

Namjoon shrugged. "Maybe."

As if it was timed, a knock could be heard from outside the room.

"Come in," Seokjin yelled.

The door opened and revealed the new, young police recruit whom Namjoon recognize as Mr. Jeon.

"Someone by the name Ms. Min wants to see Mr. Kim," he said.

Namjoon stood up from his seat. Silently grateful that he had a guest right when he was about to sweat bullets in Seokjin's room. "Bring her to my office. I'll see her right now."

"On it." With that, the young man closed the door.

"Guess I'll talk to you later?" Seokjin asked.

"Yeah. How about lunch?"

"Sure."

Namjoon's office was right beside Seokjin's so it didn't take time to get there. When he opened the door to his office, he was met with a waft of lavender, which reminded him of Yoongi's office back at his headquarters. He suspected the smell was coming from Ms. Min's perfume.

Upon hearing Namjoon walking into the office, Ms. Min stood up from her seat and faced him. Namjoon almost couldn't stop himself from gasping when he saw who wanted to see him.

Ms. Min smiled and extended her hand towards him. "Hi, Mr. Kim. Nice to meet you. I'm Yoonji, Yoongi's sister. I'm here because I have a proposal for you."

Masterlist | Join/Leave Taglist

[Taglist]

@lyoongx @jjddk @babeejeon @thehopelessromanticclub @okvmv

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 25

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: none for this chapter

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @athenepromachos @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019 @rosecentury

Masterlist

Day 221

The entire duration of his flight to Iraq, Sy attempted to entertain himself with a book. Of course, immersing yourself in a fictional fantasy universe was a little harder when you were sitting in a C-130 surrounded by a bunch of fellow soldiers who carry guns rather than riding through a forest on horseback and wielding a sword. And no fantasy world was exciting enough to distract from the pain of being torn away from the person you love.

Okay, maybe ‘torn away’ was a bit dramatic but that was how it felt. Sy had a newfound understanding of why his sisters had been so insufferable after their first heartbreaks back in high school. He did not have the emotional intelligence to deal with his current predicament.

And it had only been five days.

Closing the book, Sy dug the newly purchased hardcover journal from his pack instead. It wasn’t always possible to have their phones when they were out on ops, for obvious reasons, so he’d decided he would use the journal to write down the things he would want to say to Leah. On the inside of the front cover, he had taped a copy of the drawing Leah had given him. The original he’d left safely back in the States where it wouldn’t risk getting blown up.

Turning the page, he read over the first entry in the journal. 

Dear L,

I know I already sent you a message thanking you for the drawing but a text doesn’t feel good enough for the amount of work you no doubt put into making it. It feels even more inadequate with how we parted ways. Letting you walk away, knowing I was the one who put that look on your face, was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I can only hope you’ll allow me to spend my life making up for it.

It felt like yet another betrayal not to call her by her full name but it was too risky. If something happened and someone tried to return his belongings they might start asking questions. It was also the reason he hadn’t already made Leah his phone background.

She’d grumbled every time he tried to take pictures of her but he’d managed to sneak in a few shots while she wasn’t looking. He did notice that she was much less likely to protest if he was in the shot with her so he’d taken more pictures of himself in ten days than he had in ten years.

Soon, they were landing in Iraq and Sy was in the front seat of a humvee on his way back to Warhorse. This time however, it was only a short stay. He was meeting with the captain who had taken over during his leave to do a more formal handoff of the tasks and responsibilities now that he knew it was a permanent change of command.

“Welcome back, Major Syverson.”

“Thank you.” The handshake the other man offered was pointlessly strong, even just shy of painful. Sy didn’t have the patience for intimidation games, he just wanted to do what he needed to do and get the hell out. “Is there any particular reason the locals are out there yellin’ at us?” 

“You know them hajis, they’re never happy.”

Sy bristled at the choice of words. “They may not be particularly happy to have Americans in their country but when I left the locals were not demandin’ our heads on a stake.”

The man shrugged him off, turning to walk back inside.

“They’re just mad at us for dealing with a couple of troublemakers. God forbid they show a hint of gratitude to us for cleaning up this shit stain on a map. That would be a betrayal of their beliefs.”

The bullshit coming out of Captain Dickhead’s mouth didn’t wane once the entire time they spoke in Sy’s office. Well, Captain Dickhead’s office. He made it very clear that he thought Sy had been too soft on the locals and too hard on his soldiers. How dare he write them up for innocent teasing.

Sy was relieved when they finally called it a day and went out to chow. Looking around the mess hall, Sy noticed something missing.

“Where’s Aika?”

Captain Dickhead fell heavily into his chair. “Who?”

“Aika. You know, the green german shepherd that roams around the base.”

“That mutt had a name? All I know is that I checked and there were no K9 units out here so I told one of the boys to put it outside the gates where it belonged. Told him that if he put it out of its misery while he was at it, there would be no skin off my nose.”

Sy felt the blood drain from his face. As furious as he was, he couldn’t say a thing. He technically didn’t do anything wrong.

Aside from being a supreme asshole.

Aika was a stray and keeping her on base gave the extra burden of another mouth to feed—although she usually survived by taking a single bite of food from each soldier on base—but her presence was like a small flame in a dark, windowless room.

It might have been best that Sy hadn’t been the one to put her out or leave her behind but… He wished he had at least been able to give her a final goodbye.

The sound of the chopper was loud even through the earplugs Leah wore. She kept her eyes on Benjie as she waited for his signal while running through her mental safety checklist. On Benjie’s go ahead, she lept backwards and fell.

Once her feet hit the roof below, she unclipped herself and followed the others towards the door leading into the building. They fired at the stand-ins holding guns and ‘rescued’ the ones playing friendlies. By the time they had cleared the building, Leah was panting hard.

The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins as the team clapped each other on the back and waited for their score. The exercise had been made to test speed over strategy so Leah was ninety-nine point nine percent sure they had passed but it was impossible to judge time when you were in the thick of it.

In their first runs of the course, Ethan had taken to humming the S.W.A.T. theme song under his breath which gave a vague sense of how much time had passed but he’d stopped when someone pointed out that they were supposed to be in stealth mode. To Leah’s great dismay, it had actually caught on during exercises where they weren’t required to be silent and now people kept pointing out all the ways she and Michelle Rodriguez’s character from the 2003 movie were alike. Which led to them pointing out the similarities between Leah and all the other characters Michelle Rodriguez had played. It was possible they meant it as a compliment but considering half her characters died horrible, violent deaths, she wasn’t inclined to take it that way. 

The past few days in Arizona had been dedicated to what Jer affectionately referred to as ‘voluntarily falling out of flying objects’. Though he’d agreed to participate in the MFF course, this was far from his favorite part of the job. For now at least. He did a good job of keeping his nerves invisible to the outside eye so perhaps it would eventually grow on him.

Leah, on the other hand, one would think she had a death wish by the way excitement built in her body every single time she prepared for a jump.

Whenever they were doing a drill, Leah had total focus but, when they had gone through the refresher course, her mind had wandered to a certain set of piercing blue eyes. She could prepare the ropes and harness in her sleep so it hadn’t caused any catastrophic accidents but she would need to get her head on straight before they moved on to actually parachuting out of a plane.

Now that she and the guys were taking their gear off for the day, Leah got lost in thought again, only giving a hum of acknowledgement here or there as the others chatted.

After spending the morning in the wind tunnels and the afternoon doing drills, she was exhausted and ready for some food, sleep and a much needed shower. Not necessarily in that order. 

“I can’t remember the last time my muscles ached this much,” Ethan said as she joined them in the mess hall after cleaning up in her room.

“I know, I never skip leg day but no one prepared me for the amount of effort it would take to keep that arch.” Jer stretched his back with a wince.

“Maybe next time you make a girl stick her ass out while you’re backshotting her, you’ll have the decency to make her cum as a thank you,” Leah deadpanned, taking a giant bite out of her burger.

The boys guffawed while Jer tossed a fry which hit Leah square in the chest. “You spend a lot of time getting backshotted, Coleman? Is that why you’re the only one not complaining?”

“Nope”. She swallowed, washing down her bite with some water. “I’m just used to having to hold all sorts of bendy positions. Usually while dangling upside down and spinning in circles.”

While it was true that her experience with aerial arts helped her hold the position in the tunnels, it didn’t mean she wasn’t sore all over like the rest of them. She simply didn’t dare give the slightest hint that she found their training challenging. Even if the guys wouldn’t hold it against her, it didn’t mean any of the others never would.

More than once she’d been called on to answer questions or be the first to try one of the training exercises. Luckily, she’d managed not to make a complete fool of herself in the short time they’d been there. She just hoped it would stay that way as things continued to get more difficult because she really wanted to succeed.

Day 206

Leah couldn’t spend two weeks doing cutesy couple’s stuff. Cooking together and making a giant mess, ordering takeout instead, hand-feeding one another said takeout food. Okay, maybe those things only happened in movies but the idea of spending their time cooped up in honeymoon phase isolation made her skin itch.

It wasn’t that Sy minded going out, he just didn’t want Leah to feel obligated to come up with activities to fill their days. He wanted to get to know the real Leah, not the version of her where she attempted to act like the perfect host.

When she offered to take Sy out on her favorite hiking trails, there was no way he was going to say no. Leah had spent her childhood on the trails, what better way to get to know the real her?

She’d also managed to convince him to do some rock-climbing while they were there. Actually, she convinced him to hike up a section of the mountain, rappel down the side using a fixed anchor in the rock, then climb back up again. Sy had only trained in how to rappel off the sides of buildings, not climb rock faces, but he managed not to embarrass himself. Much.

He’d panicked the first time he’d slipped and caused Leah to lift off the ground but she’d just laughed it off as if being yanked six feet in the air was part of the fun. To be fair, to her, it probably was. Luckily, some other climbers had come along and were able to belay her so she could take a turn. He remembered the basics but he hadn’t done it in years and he was not going to take chances with Leah’s safety.

As he watched her gracefully scale the wall—yes, he’d just called her climbing graceful—he determined that it was the right thing to do. Leah wore leggings that fit like a second skin and the harness framed her ass in a way that made Sy want to blindfold the two other witnesses. He would definitely not have trusted himself with Leah’s safety with that much of a distraction right in front of him.

“Okay, this is obviously way too easy for you,” one of the climbers said as Leah came down. She’d finished the climb in one go, barely breaking a sweat. “Why don’t you guys come out and do some of the harder pitches?”

“That’s okay.” Leah unclipped herself from the harness and proceeded to pull her rope down. “I haven’t been out here in forever, I’m not shooting for a personal record. I was just showing my boyfriend what I love about Colorado.”

“Why not?” Sy asked, drawing the others’ attention. “We’re here now and we won’t be back in the country for a while. Might as well have fun while we can.”

Leah gave him a bright smile, skipping over to plant a kiss on his cheek. They spent another few hours in the park after hiking over to the other rock face which had harder pitches. Sy managed to muscle his way up one that had larger holds while Leah swapped her running shoes for talon-shaped ‘torture devices’—her words—to climb some of the sections where she had to clip the rope as she went. Once they were both tired, they said goodbye to the other pair and found a quiet spot to settle down and have a late lunch. 

While Leah was looking out at the horizon, a contented look on her face, Sy pulled out his phone and took a picture of her from over her shoulder. The sun was hitting her just right and the scenery behind her was incredible but as soon as she saw him taking pictures, she angled her face down and away.

“No you don’t, come here.”

Sliding a hand under her legs, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped an arm around her front. Sy lifted his phone once again, this time taking a series of selfies of the both of them. Leah rolled her eyes but stopped protesting, instead leaning back into Sy’s embrace.

She submitted to a few more pictures before turning around and diverting his attention with a kiss. After one final picture, Sy abandoned the phone in favor of wrapping Leah’s ponytail around his fist and deepening the kiss.

As much as he wanted something to remember that moment by, the taste of Leah’s lips would win out every time.

Chapter 26

[bellarkeselection]

I was woundering if could do a tyrion lannister short were there just newly wed and y/n bother is makeing a Speech about how his y/n is a trader to the family for agreeing to marry Tyrion

Could you also use this gif

Traitor to the Stark’s

Staring at myself in the mirror I brushed my hands over my dress I was so nervous. I was even more nervous than I was the day of my arranged marriage a few months ago. The chamber door opened and my husband Tyrion came in seeing that I hadn’t moved when he came to check on me once he was ready. “Y/n, my darling wife is everything okay?”

“I’m more nervous than I ever been in my whole life. Tyrion, I know I shouldn’t be since we are back in my childhood home. But…everything feels different now.” Running my hands through my straight hair I sighed heavily.

Tyrion moved away from the door taking my hands in his meeting my gaze when I was looking down at him. “You have absolutely nothing to fear dear wife. For it is I who should be more worried than you. Since this is the first time I shall be presented as your husband.”

“Tyrion, you have only ever been so kind and gentle to me. If my parents can’t see past the Lannister name then they are fools. I’ll be there for you.” Squeezing his hand in mine he let me lead him through the hallway since I knew the castle better than he did even though I hadn’t been there in a few months. We entered the great hall seeing my mother and father Lord and Lady Stark waiting with my twin brother Robb watching to,learn the duties if a Lord one day.

My father got to his feet bowing to greet us both with a smile on his face seeing me again. “Lord Tyrion, Lady Y/n, it’s so good to have you in our home as honorable guests.”

“As you it is you father - uh I mean Lord Stark.” I corrected myself blushing at the mistake I had made calling him something other than the Lord of Winterfell.

Tyrion nodded towards my mother even though she wasn’t quite as warmed up to him after what happened to Bran. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Stark. I know my darling wife has missed you both dearly.”

“I’m shocked she even remembers who we are. Considering she’s been transformed into a Lannister in the short mouths away from her former family. You can’t even recognize that she used to be a Stark with the way she dresses and she doesn’t even carry her dagger on her hip like she used to. I’d say she’s a traitor to the Stark name!” My twin brother got his feet snapping sharply at me.

Sucking in a breath I felt some tears falling down my face at his words thinking that he might be right. “Robb, I…I’m still your sister.”

“You may share my blood but you’re not even acting like your old self. You weren’t always proper and here you are in a dress rather than trousers and a tunic. I know my sister and you’re not acting like her right now!” He raised his voice stepping in from of me growling through his teeth.

Our mother finally came forward yanking him away for our father to talk alone with him. “Robb that’s quite enough. I’m so sorry Lord Tyrion. We will continue this visit later.” She walked out of the room to find my father and brother leaving us alone where it was just me and Tyrion.

“Y/n, Y/n, look at me. Please look at me.” Tyrion pulled me from my trance of tears and just watching the door that had already shut in my face. Seeing that I was crying through some tears and clutching my hands into fists at my side.

Shaking my head I cleared my throat yanking my head down to stare at him in those soft green eyes. “Yes Tyrion, what were you saying?”

“I said it’s not your fault that you’re brother looks at you differently. You were forced into a marriage with me but I thought I was doing a good job and letting you remain to be the girl I met that day I said our vows to the gods.” He dropped his gaze to the floor with a weak smile feeling like he had failed somehow.

Dropping to my knees so I could be eye level with him I didn’t care what happened to the now stained red Lannister dress. “Tyrion, don’t think for a moment that you have been a bad husband to me. I have heard the horror stories of girls my age marrying brutal men who are rough, who are old men like Walter Frey or who only spend time with their wives to put a heir in their belly. But you are none of these things.” Placing my hands on his shoulders he finally looks me in the eye.

“Thank you, Y/n my dear wolf. Even if your brother won’t see it. You will always be a Stark first and foremost before you were a Lannister.” Tyrion sent me a smile resting his hands on my face leaning down giving me a gentle kiss.

Kissing him back I squeezed his shoulders smiling into our soft kiss. “You will always be the best husband that I could have asked for, Tyrion.” We would be there for each other even if our families weren’t friends.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 21 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: I'd apologize but I'm feeling a little mischievous today. I hope you really enjoy the chapter (and the little sprinkles of spice that I've finally included haha). As always, let me know what you think!

Spring 1944

The Spring of 1944 brought about such a strange amalgamation of feelings.  Between the new crews consistently flying in every few weeks and the way that Rosie’s crew had jumped to being the most experienced pilots on the base, Ruth just wasn’t sure what to think.  Abe had seemingly turned into a man overnight and it was disconcerting. 

She saw it most in the way that he treated people like they were younger than him—and considering that Rosie’s crew was nearing 25 missions, that wasn’t the oddest thing.  They had experience.  They had survived a lot in the last few months together.  And if they could just reach those 25, then her heart would stop pounding a million miles per minute and they’d be gone—sent home and out of her hair. 

Until then, no rest would be given to her and nothing would make up for sending her beloved younger brother into the dangerous skies with Robert Rosenthal.�� For a moment, Ruth just stood there and watched the scene unfolding in front of her. 

There were nearly a dozen trucks full of new and fresh pilots, greener than the grass that lay on the ground in Thorpe Abbotts.  Abe directed officers to the right and the rest of the group to the left, all in an effort to streamline the chaotic process of the new kids coming in and mixing with the older and more experienced pilots.  

“Well that’s all of them in the barracks.  Ready to show them the ropes?” Robby questioned, glancing over at Ruth. 

Ruth had been gnawing on her lip as she watched the scene.  “Yes,” she turned, finding his hat slightly crooked.  “Oh for goodness’ sake,” she exclaimed, hands straying to his hat and fixing it. 

“Ruthie—” 

“Hey, if you’re gonna be the captain that’s showing them what to do and how to get to 25, then at least have your hat on straight,” Ruth insisted pointedly.  

“Well in that case,” Robby said, hands flicking to her tie and adjusting it.  “The same goes to you, Lieutenant.” 

An eye roll was sent in his direction.  “Do you mind?” 

“Of course not, dear,” Came the sarcastic reply.  Ruth and Robby matched pace as they strode inside of the barracks.  “Hello gentlemen.  I’m Captain Robert Rosenthal and I’m a pilot with the 418th—” 

“And I’m Lieutenant Ruth Sharpe with the JAG-Corp.” 

“It’s good to have you guys here.  Chow is at noon.  I’ll come back and take you guys over there.  Welcome to the Hundredth.  Anything to add, Lieutenant?” Robby questioned, gaze flickering over to her. 

“Just keep a weather eye out for surprise inspections. The Colonel has been known to do them from time to time,” Ruth said.  “I don’t want any funny business on this base and I’m sure that you just want this war to be over as soon as possible.  Keep those two things in mind and your time here will go smoothly.” 

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

“You know,” Ruth’s voice sounded in Abe’s ears.  He nearly flinched at the sound, gaze tearing away from his paper full of equations to look at his sister.  “You don’t have to be doing math right now.” 

Abe placed the pencil behind his ear.  “I’m just trying to keep up with the equations.  You know, so I can figure things out when I get home.  Otherwise mom will kill me.” 

A dry smile crossed Ruth’s features as she took a seat next to her brother.  “She just might.  After she kills me for aiding and abetting with your disappearance, of course.  You’re thinking about after the war?” 

“After 25.  I know it’s a little silly and maybe a little premature—” 

“No, no,” Ruth insisted, a gentle smile crossing her face.  “I think it’s good that you’re thinking ahead.  I want you to go home and live a life.” 

Abe was silent for a long second.  “Even if the war isn’t over yet?” 

“Even then.” 

“You know, Ruthie,” Abe started slowly, completely setting down his equations and facing her.  “I want you to live a life too.” 

“I have a life.” 

“I mean outside of work.” 

“Now who sounds like mama?” 

“I guess I do,” Abe gave a grin.  “But you’re the best big sister in the world and you deserve to be happy too.  Even if you don’t think so.” 

“I’ll get around to it eventually,” Ruth said in a reassuring tone.  Truth be told, she wasn’t sure when she’d ever have the time to sit and make a life with anyone, let alone get to know someone for that sort of thing.  The jazz music in the background only seemed to exacerbate the thoughts that were running through her head. 

Ruth’s gaze flicked over to the corner, where a lot of the officers and men were drinking and chatting amongst themselves.  Rosie sat beside Crosby, quietly talking.  As they sat and drank, Crosby glanced over at Rosie.  “So are you gonna request Florida or Texas?” 

“Already been to Texas before my tour,” Rosie admitted, taking a sip of his drink.  “Training pilots in Florida sounds better.” 

“Also, it’ll be good to show the new guys that 25 can really get done.  It’s been a while around here.” 

“Dave Minor and his boys are at 24 too,” Rosie pointed out. 

“What I wouldn’t give to train pilots in sunny Florida after a year in this pea soup,” Crosby murmured tiredly.  His job was taking a toll on him and given the fact that he had lost Bubbles, things had just been hard lately. 

“Your time will come, Cros,” Rosie reassured him.  

“Eh,” Crosby shook his head.  “It’s the problem of being kicked up to operations.  You hardly get a chance to fly.” 

“How is working with my lovely Ruth?” 

“You know, one day, I think you’re going to actually find her very likable.” 

“Ha, funny, Cros,” Rosie said, shaking his head as he took another sip of his drink.  “You find her likable?” 

“I find her to be easy to work with.  Nice—is another story.  You’re the one who’s always looking at her with those dumb little stars in your eyes.” 

“I do not.” 

“You do too,” Crosby said pointedly.  “I know love when I see it.” 

“What you see is mutual disdain and sometimes friendship at its best.” 

“Love and hate is a fine line.” 

“It’s really not,” Rosie would have added more to the conversation, but the alarm for a mission began blaring.  Almost automatically, he moved to get up, but Crosby was shaking his head at him. 

“Your crew is on standby for this one.” 

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

The day that Abe and Rosie hit 25 missions, Ruth had never felt so sick in her entire life.  It was the way they had gone up in the skies, it was the way that she stood in the tower, unable to tear her gaze away from the skies. 

It was the way she could barely form a sentence to either Kidd or Crosby about the entire thing, despite their best attempts to talk to her or distract her from such things.  “Stop doing that, please,” Kidd asked, gaze turning onto Ruth. Ruth’s leg had been going up and down as quick as a machine gun, unable to stop the nervous tapping. 

“Sorry, just a bit impatient.” 

“I think that’s rather fair,” Crosby said.  

Ruth thought it was more than fair, given the fact that just days prior, they had received a new Colonel—Colonel Bennett—and there was the fact that her brother and Rosie were up in the air and at this particular point in her life, she couldn’t imagine living life without either of them.  It was just too hard to think of. 

Please, please, please, please—

“There!” Kidd shouted, binoculars clutched tightly in his hand.  

All breath stole away in Ruth’s throat. Come on, come on, come on—just one plane is all she needed. “I see Rosie!” Crosby shouted. 

Immediate relief poured through her system and Ruth nearly collapsed on the tower.  She couldn’t quite help the fact that she nearly began crying and then Kidd was pulling her in for a hug.  “They did it!” Ruth breathed out, tears streaming from her eyes.  “They did it!” 

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

It was the most hopeful that she had been throughout the entire war.  And it was going to be very short-lived.  Glenn Dye’s 25 and done party had been the last one that Ruth had attended, but it had nothing on the party that was roaring right now. The band was playing something cheerful and everyone in the entirety of Thorpe Abbotts was excitedly drinking and chattering about the plans that they had to go home. 

The minute that Abe had touched down on the ground, Ruth had been peppering kisses to his face and holding onto him like he was just a baby and now he was going to get to go home.  Ruth had never been more proud in her life—and watching him dance with Helen on the dance floor, stumbling slightly over his feet, was altogether more joyful than she had been for a long time. 

Robby was finally straying from his crew and Crosby to get a drink, where he found Ruth already holding a drink for him and waiting expectantly.  “Now how’d ya know I wanted a drink, Ruthie?” 

“Because you’re predictable and this is me being nice before I’m rid of you,” Ruth said, a genuine smile on her face.  “So here you are.” 

“Well thanks,” Robby grinned.  His gaze fell on Kidd just a few feet down from them and he gave a frown.  “Kidd, why so blue, huh?  What, you’re gonna miss us that much?” 

But Ruth knew—Ruth knew because of the way that he was standing, unable to meet her gaze.  She knew because of the way that Jack Kidd’s shoulders were tensed up and guilt was all over his face.  “What the hell did they do?” Ruth breathed out, eyes locked onto him firmly. 

Kidd just let out a sigh.  Of course Ruth would be the first to figure it out—the Brass was always up to something.  “Brass is upping the end of tour requirements from 25 to 30 missions.” 

“Are you serious?!” Another pilot from nearby questioned, eyes going wide. 

Ruth just stood very still—the realization that her brother and Rosie were going to have to go up in the air again.  She stood still with the realization that this was a broken system and the men in charge allowed them to be having a party and celebrating what they considered to be a success tonight and in the morning, they’d rip the rug out from under their feet. 

Not Abe, not Rosie—not any of these good men.  It wasn’t fair.  Ruth was a beacon of justice and the hand of justice.  This was not justice, this was cruelty.  

“Only for new replacement crews coming next week.  Anyone between now and then will have to reach 28.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Ruth’s voice cut through the air so coldly that Jack Kidd immediately knew that she was about to go ruin the Colonel’s night. 

“Ruth, maybe—” Kidd started. 

“No, no—that’s not how this works,” Ruth snapped.  “Damn the illegality of changing the terms and conditions in the middle of it all.  Damn them—” She just slammed her glass down on the table.  “I’ll just—I’ll take care of this, don’t worry about it—” 

Watching Lieutenant Ruth Sharpe shake and rage in anger wasn’t something any of these men were used to.  Not even Abe, wide-eyed and standing next to Pappy, knew what to say or what to do about any of it.  Because he had never seen his sister so furious and angry in his entire life—not now, not ever.  But as she stormed out of the room, Rosie hot on her heels, everyone knew that something was certainly going to go down and it was not going to be a pretty sight. 

“Slow down!  Ruth, Ruth—” Robby started. 

His voice was just an echo to her ears and Ruth nearly tripped over her own heels as she marched down the hallway.  Suddenly, Robby’s hand had enclosed over her arm and everything that had been bubbling up in Ruth’s chest, the sick, the anger, the grief, the terror, the panic, it all just seemed to boil up to the surface and spill through her iron facade of armor.

Robert Rosenthal had been fully prepared to argue with Ruth all the way to Bennett’s office.  He had been fully prepared to haul her over his shoulder so she didn’t verbally eviscerate anyone.  He had been fully prepared to deal with the brunt of Ruth Sharpe’s rage and anger that he knew existed so well beneath the surface. 

He had not been prepared for the sadness. 

Was not prepared when she flung her arms around him in a tight hug and let a whimper spill from her throat as tears spilled down her cheeks.  “It’s not fair, it’s not fair—” Ruth whispered out the words. 

And for a moment, it was all Robby could do to just stand there frozen.  Because Ruth was hugging him.  Ruth was crying.  And she was clearly just as upset about this, if not more, than anyone else.  And that almost certainly had everything to do with Baby Shark Abe Sharpe who was still in the mess hall and talking with the men. 

In this one moment, where Robby Rosenthal held Ruth Sharpe in his arms, everything felt right with the world and it was the strangest thing he had ever experienced.  So he slowly reciprocated the gesture, holding her up and murmuring soothing words in her ears. 

And when Ruth was finally coherent enough to pull away from the hug, she just shook her head at him.  “I can’t—I can’t have him go back up.  I can’t.” 

“Hey, hey, Ruth—” Robby’s arms strayed to her shoulders and he looked her dead in the eyes.  “I’m not gonna let anything happen to the kid.  I made you a promise and I’ll be damned if I don’t keep it.” 

“I don’t want you to get hurt either,” Ruth murmured. 

“You trust me, don’t you?” 

Ruth gave a half-hearted nod, wiping at the tear-tracks on her cheeks.  “Unfortunately, yes.” 

At that, Robby gave a half laugh at her words. “There’s that bite I missed.” 

“Liar.” 

“No I’m not,” Robby said.  And as he stared at Ruth, he realized that this was the most vulnerable she had ever been with him.  It was a sort of softness that he hadn’t seen in her interactions with people outside of her family.  And oddly enough, he thought that she had never looked prettier than in that exact moment—tears streaming down her face and all. 

And as for Ruth, she didn’t fail to notice the way that Robby was looking at her.  The way that his gaze was entirely locked onto her face.  It was disconcerting, the way that he seemed to see right through her and every facade and armor she put up.  

“Stop looking at me like that,” Ruth insisted, voice barely above a whisper. 

His hand trailed up her face, wiping at a stray tear that had escaped from her eye.  When his skin connected with hers, she felt as though a thousand jolts of electricity were shooting through her body and she was suddenly and very acutely aware of every single hair on her body standing on edge. 

“Like what?” 

“Like—like I’m—” 

“Like you’re beautiful?  Because you are.” 

Ruth wasn’t given a chance to respond to that.  When his lips ghosted over hers for the first time, all thought process and chance of a retort died on her tongue like a damn weed.  Before, every kiss they had shared had been an act, had been in the public eye.  They were not in the public eye now.  It was just the two of them.  There was no show to put on, no reason for them to be doing this at a time like this. 

Maybe the show was just for themselves—to keep the other person together so that they didn’t fall apart. 

She wasn’t sure what overcame her—maybe it was the heat of the moment or the grief.  Maybe it was the damn mustache or the way that one of his hands entirely enveloped the back of her neck.  But Ruth kissed him back and she hated herself for it.  She knew that she’d regret this in the morning, regret the way that her hands tugged him back in for a more fierce kiss—regret the way that one hand curled up in his hair, ruining any damn gel that he had in the thing. 

But Robert Rosenthal was not a man that was meant to regret.  He wasn’t going to regret the way that they stumbled backwards until her back hit the wall.  Wasn’t going to regret the fact that one hand was cupping her delicate little neck.  Wasn’t going to regret the fact that the other hand was currently fisting her dress.  And he certainly wasn’t going to regret the fact that her lipstick was going to smear his mustache and lips and wouldn’t come out for a few days.  

Ruth had always known that they were two sides of the same coin—twin flames that would burn each other out eventually.  This was crashing and burning up in the most sensual of ways and it wasn’t until his hand was slipping upwards and testing the boundaries with touching her breasts that Ruth even had a sensibility to stop the entire thing. 

“Robby—” Maybe it was the tone of voice or the breathlessness of the way she said his name, but it seemed to spur him on.  She almost let out a moan at the way he pinched her breast and then sucked on her neck, but enough was enough. 

She broke away from him, eyes wide and in a panicked sort of state as she stared at him.  “What—did I—did I do something wrong?” Robby asked in an equally breathless tone. 

Ruth’s expression turned back to ice as she straightened up, running a hand through her mussed hair.  “This is not us.  We shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Ruth—” 

“No.  We didn’t have to put on a show for anyone else, let alone each other.  You’re emotional and I’m emotional—and—and it can’t happen again.  We have terms and conditions to follow and this is not one of them,” Ruth said in a steel tone.  The way in which she approached the entire thing was clinical—grief and high emotions made people do things that they normally wouldn’t.  She wouldn’t hold it against him or herself for slipping up. It was just a physical attraction, that was all. 

But for Robert Rosenthal, who had just experienced flying in a whole new way—who now knew exactly what Crosby had been saying about a fine line between love and hate—he was absolutely speechless.  Truth be told, all of these years, the affection he had for her had just been buried under the competitions and strife.  But now it wasn’t.  That affection and love for her—the intention that he had once had to make her his wife—it was there.  But Ruth wasn’t there.  And he wasn’t sure she ever would be.  

So he shouldered his pride and gave a nod.  “Alright.  I get it.  I uh—I’m sorry.” Lie number one of the night.  

But if there was one thing he knew, it was that he would wait a lifetime for Ruth Sharpe to reciprocate those feelings.  He’d wait forever if he had to. 

[missmaywemeetagain]

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

A/N: Ohhh, so y'all forced this out of me, what with all the talk about the "Blue Scarf" and expanding the "Scarf Universe" thrown at me this week! 😂 (I hear you, I hear you!) Be careful what you wish for, lil' darlin's!! Honestly, though, I've known since I ended Pink Scarf that this was something that was going to happen in this particular way to our dear Reader and E, I just never knew if it was going to see the light of day. And with this week's prompt, all the inspiration and stars seemed to align at once on Sunday, so this came out rather quick and may be rough, and it's possible I might go back and tweak it later, but I'm happy with it for now. I hope this satiates you for the moment. I hope it gives you all the feels. And, yes, perhaps I may expand this little Blue Scarf into a series and include a spicy story or two later, if you all are good lil' babies for me. 😏 💙🧣💙 Let me know in the comments and reblogs...😉

Thanks always to my sister wives @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @be-my-ally and @vintageshanny for allowing me to skirt by late with this week's prompt. 😇

Prompt: “How are we going to solve this problem?”

Rating: PG (ish?) || Word Count: 2.7k

TW: Fluff, angst (always), infidelity (sort of??), no smut (so sorry loves)

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

August 1971

It’s fitting, you think, that today of all days, you’re wearing his blue silk scarf in your hair. Elvis hasn’t worn it much since that fateful summer a couple of years ago—and only for a few more shows and a couple nights out—so you had absconded with it and made it your own, as you’d managed to do with many of his things. You loved how it smelled of him, the silk doused in his musk and cologne, and how it reminded you of the not-wearing-a-shirt-under-a-jacket/jumpsuit phase he gone through that summer and fall of ‘69. Lord, you’d loved that phase. It had been so easy to lay him bare before you.

Heat floods your cheeks at the thought of what this particular scarf has seen between the two of you, and then at the fact that this might be the worst possible time for a thought like that to pop into your head. You know it’s the shock of the bomb that just dropped on your lives that has your brain short circuiting a little. Because neither of you ever expected this.

You nervously twist the platinum and diamonds on your ring finger, the ones which pledged his love for you in front of your family, friends, and the world. Thoughts fill your mind of your lovely, small wedding, how this scarf had been there for that important moment, too, tied around your waist, cinching your white dress—being both your “something borrowed” and your “something blue.” Elvis loved that you’d included it, this piece of him, as part of your gown.

He also loved untying it at the end of the night and letting it flutter to your feet with the rest of your dress.

It’s counterpart, the pink scarf, had been tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket, a little secret for you both. You’d enjoyed it, as well, later that night.

“Y/n, did y-you hear me? I-I-I-It’s me,” Elvis says, snapping you out of your memories, his hand lingering on the phone he’d just placed back on its cradle. “How are w-w-we going to solve this problem?”

The wavering fear in his voice is palpable and in any other circumstance it might scare you, but a strange sense of calm falls over you. Somehow the domino effect of both of your actions two years ago have led you to this very moment. Tragic as it is, it seems meant to be.

Just like you and Elvis.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you breathe deeply. Yes, there is a part of you that is still jealous and angry about what brought you here. But you knew, even back then, that it was possible he’d been with others in your month-long absence, that his fear of losing you plus old habits could have driven him into the arms of another. It wasn’t a new revelation, just one neither of you had wanted to talk about after all was said and done. And it hadn’t been an issue since, so you figured bringing it up would be more trouble than it was worth.

Pushing that hurt aside, a much bigger feeling swells within you—one you’ve been hesitant to name for fear that it would not come to fruition. But now everything has changed.

“It’s not a problem,” you state, your voice surprisingly steady.

“W-w-what?” Elvis questions, those oceanic eyes of his widening in disbelief.

“It’s a gift, Elvis. From the most unlikely and sad circumstances, yes, but a gift all the same. Isn’t it?” You’re not quite sure if you are trying to convince him or if you are just stating the obvious, but those feelings continue to rise in you and have for days. And they overshadow the fading fissure of anger and the burgeoning fear that you refuse to let consume you.

Hope. Joy.

“A gift?” he repeats, letting the words roll on his tongue, letting them sink in. He blinks slowly, gaze shifting off into the distance for a moment. Then, he looks down at the paperwork on the table. At the picture. “Oh. Oh.”

A shuddering breath shakes his shoulders, his ring clad fingers clawing at his knees. It’s when the tears pool in his eyes, finally betraying his sensitive vulnerability after so many days of keeping it in, that you slide out of your chair and rush to his side.

He immediately buries his head into your belly, his arms circling around your waist, clinging to you. A sob wrenches out of him, one so deep that it brings tears to your eyes.

“I-I-I’m so s-sorry. I-I didn’t think...I-I-I din’t know,” he hiccups. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing to you or her or him. Maybe his apology is for all of you.

“Shhh, hush, it’s okay,” you coo, tears trickling absently down your cheeks. You run your fingers through his soft hair before pulling back, cupping his cheeks so he is forced to look at you.

He is so wide-eyed and young-looking staring up at you, his eyes now matching the scarf in your hair with their electric blue, a dramatic contrast against the redness caused by his tears.

“It’s not a problem, honey, it’s a gift. He is a gift,” you say, wiping the tears that linger on his prominent cheekbones. “We can do this. I want to do this. If you do.”

Elvis blinks up at you, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. If he’s a part of you, he’s a part of me, too. And—and,” you choke up, swallowing your past sorrows, “you know it’s something I’ve always wanted. Something I never thought we could have. This is…a chance to make something wonderful out of something tragic.”

You’re aware the reality is likely going to be much more complicated than either of you can fathom in this moment. There is a part of you that is utterly terrified it won’t live up to the miracle you want it to be and that you won’t be worthy of the task. But that is not what Elvis needs to hear, not right now. Your insecurities can wait.

Elvis looks down at the picture resting on the table of the young woman and her baby. Your gaze follows. The first time you saw it, you knew, based solely on the fact that the woman looked so much like a younger version of you, that something had happened between them in those weeks you’d escaped from Vegas to California, when you left him, trying to figure out if you could forgive him. When you were trying to recover from your life turning upside down.

Her likeness plus the look of horrified guilt on his face upon seeing the picture told you all you needed to know about that. His begging and pleading for forgiveness at your feet solidified it.

But it had been the way Vernon had blanched white as a sheet when seeing the baby that you understood the true consequence of Elvis’ dalliance.

It was a punch in the gut, at first. Of course, it was. But logically you knew that he’d been hurting in those weeks without you, unsure if you’d ever come back to him. It wasn’t altogether surprising that he’d sought out comfort from a girl who looked so much like you.

You wanted to be furious at the fact she had gotten pregnant by him so easily, but you knew that was a futile road to go down, especially after what happened to her.

According to the letter she’d given to her lawyer, who had sent it on to Elvis, the cancer within her spread like wildfire. It was too late to save her by the time her pain had sent her to the doctor. She—Theresa—had never planned to ask Elvis for a thing, she reiterated. Theresa had been content to raise her son by herself. But she had no family to take him in when she was gone, and she could not bear to think of her son alone and unloved.

“You don’t have to take him, Elvis, truly. But I beg you, please, please make sure he is placed with a nice family, that he is loved and taken care of. I cannot leave him all alone.”

His lawyers weren’t convinced, however, and didn’t want him to even entertain the thought. It could open you up for all sorts of future problems, Elvis.

But that didn’t stop him from finding out for himself because, as all of them knew, nobody tells Elvis Presley what he can and can’t do. He tracked her down, in Denver of all places, and took you and Vernon with him to the hospital to see Theresa. You didn’t know how you would feel seeing this girl Elvis had been with in a moment of weakness. Would you want to slap her face? Would you want to cry and scream? Would you want to tear her apart?

Instead, it had shocked you into silence, seeing someone that resembled you so closely withering away from disease, as if it were some sort of eerie harbinger. It made your skin prickle. But then compassion filled you, more so than you ever expected. The poor woman was on death’s door, but you’ll never forget the relief in her eyes when you all walked through the door. That look was something that couldn’t be faked. Nor was the toddler playing with the nurse in the corner, the little boy who Vernon looked at like he’d seen a ghost.

The boy was the spitting image of his father.

But that didn’t stop Theresa from encouraging a paternity test. She was well aware of what a mess this could be for Elvis, and she didn’t want there to be a shadow of a doubt for anyone involved. She wanted him to be sure.

“I don’t want to ruin your life,” she’d croaked, her emaciated frame limp and barely able to produce the tears she was trying to hold back. “I never want him to be a burden.”

The tiny blonde child chose that pivotal moment to break away from the nurse, waddling over and grabbing Elvis’ flared pant leg with chubby little fists, commanding Elvis’ attention downward. His chin tucked, gaze following the movement at his feet, and you watched him wrestle with what to do, what the protocol in this sort of situation was. It was intense, this first moment between them, and the boy’s all-too-familiar crooked smile and slow blinking blue eyes made your heart clench.

You watched Elvis come to an unspoken decision, and he lifted the boy easily and almost too naturally tucked the boy into his hip. The room collectively held its breath, watching the scene unfold. You’d never seen a child snuggle up to an unfamiliar person like that before, the way he buried his head into Elvis’ shoulder as if drawn in, inexplicably trusting. Granted, Elvis had that preternatural way about him, his essence bringing people to him constantly. But this was different.

Heart fluttering into a gallop, you watched Elvis take this moment in before nodding solemnly, sucking in his lip. With the child tucked into his side, it was obvious to you that he was holding back his pressing emotions to stay in control. Nevertheless, he was unwavering when he told Theresa, “Even if he’s not mine, I’ll make sure he finds a good home. I promise you that.”

She’d closed her eyes then, and when they opened, you saw a gratefulness and relief so strong it nearly bowed you over.

Elvis had done the blood test right then at the hospital. Everyone was quiet on the plane ride home. Elvis, pensive and withdrawn, clutched at your hand so tightly it tingled from the loss of circulation. And when the call came the next day that Theresa was gone, your heart broke for her. Sheer willpower had kept her alive long enough to make sure her son would be safe. A mother’s love.

You’d wept for her. You’d wept for you and for Elvis. You’d wept for that little boy.

Nicholas. Nicholas Aaron.

You didn’t tell Elvis that the moment you saw the 16-month-old toddle towards you that you knew. That you loved him instantly, like something magical locked into place. It was too early, too soon. But you knew.

Elvis hadn’t wanted to talk about it much as you all waited for the results. He was antsy and on edge, everyone giving him a wide berth. His guilt was trying its best to distance him from you, that deep seeded, insecure vulnerability in him trying to simultaneously push you away while needing you close. It was evident in the way he clung to you in his sleep. But you did everything in your power to let him know you didn’t hate him for the indiscretion, that you still loved him unconditionally, no matter the paternity outcome.

Of course, your mind whirled in overdrive, circling the drain around your surprising emotions about Nicholas. You found yourself worrying your nails down to the quick about whether he was safe and who was caring for him since his mother died. Your heart felt like it was tearing in two whenever you thought about it. You knew you shouldn’t get too attached, but you couldn’t help it. It was primal and biological, this response.

So when the phone rang this morning and Jerry had so seriously handed it to Elvis, you knew what it was, your breath catching in your throat. This was the moment that would change everything. And you hoped it was for the better as you sat across from him, wringing your hands in your lap. Silence filled the room as Elvis listened to the voice on the other end, his face going Hollywood blank, giving you nothing to hold on to. Your heart threatened to explode right out of your chest and onto the table.

He thanked the voice on the other end and hung up the phone.

“E, what did they—” you started.

“I’m his father,” Elvis finally whispered in shock.

And now you are here, holding him to you, being his rock while in your own state of disbelief and wonder. A thousand emotions roll through you all at once: Hope. Joy. Sorrow for Theresa. Guilt for being happy in the face of Nicholas’ tragedy.

“Do you want this, to take him in, Elvis?” you ask, prompting him to look up at you once more. You pray you know the answer.

“Of course, I do. I’m his father. He’s my son,” he says, as if the unfamiliar words have finally landed and he believes them. Then his signature 1,000-megawatt crooked smile spreads across his face. “I have a son! We have a son!” he adds, proudly.  

Elvis jumps up, grabbing you by the waist, spinning you around until the room tilts on its axis. You laugh breathlessly, arms locked around his neck, wondering how in the world you’ve managed to get here after all this time, in the most unlikely of ways.

A son.

When he sets you down, he looks at you, grinning from ear to ear with an unbridled passion like you’ve never seen from him before. It’s not sexual, and it’s different from the passion he has for his music. It’s the love of a new father, you realize, something you never thought you’d get to see. It makes your heart swell uncontrollably.

“Are you absolutely positive this is what you want, lil’ mama?” His questioning eyes search yours as he cups your face, his fingers catching in the blue scarf in your hair. The pet name suddenly takes on a whole new meaning, releasing butterflies in your stomach.

Excitement has your heart racing and your breath short, but you beam, winking, “Oh, I’m one thousand percent positive, Daddy.”

Elvis kisses you deeply, as though he’s merging with you, engulfing you. It takes your breath away completely.

“We have a son,” he whispers, smiling against your mouth. “Let’s go get our son.” There’s something in the way he includes you in this, a pointed clarity that you are not an outsider because you aren’t Nicholas’ biological mother. No, he’s telling you in no uncertain terms—this is your boy as much as he is mine.

And after so many years thinking it could never be, it finally, truly hits you, without a doubt:

I’m going to be a mother.

*

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[tgmsunmontue]

More than movie magic... 21/24

Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY

Chapter 16 is pretty much the only explicit chapter (so far), so you can skip it if you like, but it's not explicit by my standards, and it's very soft/tender.

                They both get out of the car, and his mom is walking toward them at a brisk pace. He swallows down his nerves.

                “Oh! Bradley. You go on in dear. I can talk to Jake outside.”

                “Uh, sure Aunty Kaye. Is there anything I can do?”

                “Just make sure Pete doesn’t touch my brisket. That man has some odd ideas.”

                “Oh god…” Bradley mutters, and he’s heading inside the house quickly and Jake feels a swell of giddiness that he already seems so comfortable to just head on in. He turns to his mom, not sure what the problem is, because it’s clearly not Bradley or Pete. Then she’s slapping at his arm, eyes flashing and oh no… he definitely did something wrong.

                “Why didn’t you tell me Tom Kazansky was Bradley’s other father!” She hisses, voice low and quiet, like they’ll somehow be able to hear her from inside the house.

                Oh. That. At least it’s something easy.

                “Because until this morning I didn’t know. No one knows. Well. More people might put things together now, but I don’t know how many people recognized him when he arrived. And I brought him up here just to have some quiet time with dad.”

                “You couldn’t have said something at lunch? Sent a message? A quick phone call? Anything?”

                “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize it was such a big deal,” Jake says, and he’s a little confused. “Uh, why is it such a big deal?”

                His mom goes bright red and Jake pulls back, realization hitting him.

                “Oh my lord mom… did you have a crush on Tom Kazansky?”

                “What do you mean did?” His mom says, voice slightly hysterical and Jake barks out a loud laugh. “Your father has been smirking at me all afternoon!”

                “Okay… well. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve been a little busy working,” Jake stresses and his mom scoffs.

                “Working? If all the photos showing up are anything to go by there wasn’t a lot of working happening today.”

                “I thought you knew better than to go looking for photos of me on social media,” Jake sighs.

                “Honey, I don’t need to. Your brothers and sisters send them to me. With commentary.”

                “Of course they do. Uh. They aren’t here tonight are they?” Jake asks, because his entire family being introduced to Bradley’s when they’ve been maybe dating for three days seems a little fast, even if a good portion of his family have in fact already met Bradley.

                “No. And your father will be getting his own earful once we no longer have guests.”

                “Well, extended family right? More than guests?”

                “Tom Kazansky, Jake. Tom Kazansky.”

                “Okay mom. Okay…”

                “Well, your father likes him. They’ve been… well. Reading. Playing chess maybe, but I don’t know. You could have warned me!” She says again.

                “I’m sorry, I didn’t think… sorry. I did worry about dad inviting everyone to dinner. Did he give you any warning?”

                “Well, sort of. Said Bradley’s parents would be joining us. I knew about Pete of course. You’d mentioned him.”

                Jake wisely keeps his mouth shut, because his mom isn’t going to let this go any time soon.

                “So, dinner. Brisket huh?”

                “I had started it for tomorrow night. It won’t be as good as it could be, but it’ll be fine. Just… I wish I had more time.”

                “You always do mom.”

                She makes a displeased hrmph but then sets her shoulders back.

                “Well. It is Saturday. No need for me to ask Bradley out for you. You’ve taken a chance and I hope you can see how good this could be for you sweetie…”

                “Yeah. I know. It’s just a bit scary.”

                “New things often are. But this boy Jake. Sorry. This man… Jake. You need someone that comes home with you and feels at home here as much as you do. That boy hasn’t seemed to bend or mold himself at all and he has slipped in and fits. Don’t you go thinking you don’t deserve someone like that. Something good like that.”

                Jake swallows and stares down at his boots, notices the layers of dust and nods once to indicate he’s heard her.

                “I do know that mom.”

                “Do you? Because I wonder sometimes.”

                He doesn’t know what to say to that, just lets his mom enfold him in a hug.

…            …            …

                “Pete, get out of the kitchen. Come on.”

                “I’m just trying to help!”

                “You’re as helpful as tits on a bull! Leave it alone!”

                Both Tom and Bill snort and Bradley shoots an annoyed glare over his shoulder, because why did Tom come if not to try and keep a tighter rein on Pete?

                “Mav, come and ask Bill all your bull riding questions. He used to do that when he was younger.”

                Finally Bradley thinks, but then Ice tugs him away into the room with the piano and he’s worried about leaving Mav unattended but Tom is looking serious.

                “What? What’s wrong?” Bradley asks.

                “Nothing bad. Just wanted to let you know I had my five-year check-up and it’s all clear.”

                “Oh. That’s great news. Is that why you came?”

                “Well, partly. I did want to tell you something else. Was the main reason I said yes to coming when Pete asked.”

                “Okay?”

                “I’m going to ask him to marry me.”

                Bradley feels his mouth drop open, because this is the last thing he expected.

                “What?”

                “What do you mean what? This shouldn’t be news to you.”

                “Sorry. I just… you know he’s going to want a big wedding right? Lots of people and photos and media…”

                “Things you do for love.”

                “Holy shit Ice… God. You must really love him.”

                “I do. At his worst, and my worst, I’ve still loved him.”

                “Yeah. I don’t know which of you is crazier.”

                “Do I have your blessing?”

                “You don’t need it, but you have it.”

…            …            …

                Dinner is weird. Not bad weird, just very different from the other night. He feels like he is somehow more under the microscope, his interactions with Pete and Tom being assessed as well as how he is with Jake, which isn’t different from the dinner only forty-eight hours ago and he cannot believe it was only that long ago, because it feels like a lot more time has passed than two days. Pete has calmed down, although he and Kaye drive much of the conversation, but both Bill and Ice add to it, along with himself and Jake.

                Bradley has several humiliating stories he’s worried that Pete will bring up, feeling tense despite the good humor present at the table and when Jake rests a hand on his thigh he lowers his hand to link their fingers, turns to give him a smile before leaning over to give Jake a quick kiss on the cheek, which makes him smile. When he looks back all the others are watching and smiling and he shrugs, ignores the rising heat in his cheeks.

                He learns that Jake’s first word was horsie. How he stopped talking when his younger sister was born. His favorite color was purple for several years and how he had to be bribed… for something; Jake pleads for his mom to stop and she actually listens. Then he finds out that she’d given Jake an ultimatum about asking Bradley out and he twists to look at Jake.

                “Really?”

                “If I didn’t ask you, she said she was going to ask you on my behalf.”

                Bradley’s lips twitch in amusement, Pete is cackling and both Tom and Bill are looking amused.

                “Good thing she’s on our side,” Bradley says, and he didn’t realize it was the right thing to say, but Jake leans into him and Aunty Kaye is giving him an approving look, somehow even happier than usual.

                “Can I take a photo? Post it to my Instagram?” Pete asks, and Bradley rolls his eyes, but Aunty Kaye is agreeing immediately, and to Bradley’s shock, so is Ice. Oh. That’ll do it. If his suspicions are correct anyway.

                The food is of course delicious, Kaye blushes when Ice compliments the food and Jake makes an amused snort that Bradley is going to ask about later. The two of them are put on washing up duty again, although Kaye reveals a dishwasher cleverly hidden behind a cabinet, and judging from Jake’s look of annoyance it’s a new acquisition he hadn’t known about two nights ago. Crafty woman. They still tidy up and clean the bigger items, taking time to kiss a little, although Pete lets out a loud wolf-whistle when he comes in, declaring he’s going to make cocktails.

                Bradley hadn’t realized just how alike Bill and Kaye’s dynamic were to Pete and Tom’s until he saw them all together. Kaye and Pete drinking freshly made espresso martinis, trying to foist one on each of him and Jake. Bill and Tom are both watching in bemusement, shaking their heads and drinking their glasses of whiskey and bourbon respectively and he’s turning it all down. Then they’re heading to the living room and he’s feeling quiet, not in the mood to socialize.

                What he wants is to talk to Jake alone, find out why he maybe needed a threat of possible humiliation from his own mom to make a move. Even if said move had been pretty simultaneous on both their parts. He also wants to explain why Pete is a little over-the-top protective. Ice is just as protective, but his is quieter and almost dangerous. Their respective parental figures already very invested, overly so and he hopes that isn’t too much for Jake. It doesn’t bother him, he’s pretty used to it now from Pete at least.

                Pete right now is drunk… but so is Aunty Kaye. They’re both talking about Now and Laters and how there was a flavor called Blue Jeans and Bradley has no idea if they’re actually both remembering something that legitimately existed, or if they’re having a collective drunken hallucination. The fact that both Tom and Bill are nodding isn’t helping.

                “Where are you guys staying?” Bradley asks, suddenly realizing that he’s the only completely sober person in the room and he might have to drive Pete and Tom somewhere.

                “Here of course! I made up the guest room,” Aunty Kaye declares, and everyone is looking at him and nodding, except Jake, who is shaking his head.

                “I‘m not staying here…”

                “We didn’t expect you to sweetie. Not when you have a perfectly adequate trailer closer to the set. More time in bed hmm?”

                “Mom!”

                “What? You always liked your sleep ins.”

                “Oh good, something else they have in common,” Pete says and Bradley groans, realizing that he’s leaving Pete with Aunty Kaye and lots of alcohol. He glances at Ice, who just looks cooly impassive and completely unconcerned. Lucky for him.

                “How about we leave you guys to it,” Jake says, standing up from his spot on the sofa where he’d been settled warmly against Bradley’s side. He misses his warmth already and he gets up as well.

                “You two have fun!”

                “Be safe!”

                “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

                Then Pete and Aunty Kaye are off laughing again and Bradley shakes his head, pats Ice on the shoulder as he walks past and just murmurs good luck under his breath. Bill clearly hears him and snorts.

                “Thank you for dinner again,” Bradley starts, but only Bill is paying him any attention and he just gets waved off. So much for trying to be polite. Jake is tugging him toward the front door, where he’s pulling on his boots and grabbing his keys and hat.

                “Come on, before they change their minds,” Jake mutters under his breath and Bradley rolls his eyes.

                “We’re adults,” Bradley replies, closing the door and following Jake to his vehicle.

                “And yet I feel like a teenager sneaking out my window…”

                “I mean, we walked out the front door and your mom left a gift basket filled with condoms and lube in your trailer, but yeah, I can definitely see the parallels.”

                “No, I meant the all-knowing smug expression…”

                “Yeah. They’ll get over it eventually right? She’s just happy for you.”

                “And Pete’s happy for you too huh?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Although he still got on a plane to come and confirm that for himself…”

                “Yeah. I guess we should talk about some stuff.”

                “Yeah. I guess we should.”

                He rests his hand on Jake’s thigh as they drive back, holds his hand as they walk to his bunk room where he grabs some things, a change of clothes being the bare minimum. Doesn’t want a repeat of this morning. Was it really only that morning? Jake makes him walk past the horses to say goodnight and he follows his gestures of stroking velvety soft noses and quiet whispers, refusing to let go of his hand.

                There are still quite a few people out and about, it’s not late and they return the friendly waves sent their way, but he’s glad no one approaches them or stops them to chat. He’s already mentally preparing himself for the necessary talk ahead. He’s not worried about it scaring Jake off at all, there isn’t anything other than a slight messiness which only helps explain Pete’s actions. A little. They get to Jake’s trailer, and he’s glad it’s located a bit away. Despite that on the door of the trailer is a sign, someone has gotten creative with colored paper and glue, there’s even remnants of glitter although it seems to have mostly blown off.

                Love Shack.

TWENTY TWO

[paulyenvol6]

Sweet Creature (Chapter 1)

Contains: No trigger warnings :)

(Set in 1811 and this is stronly inspired by Bridgerton...)

Masterlist of this story

Eunice’s pov:

„Eunice!!“ She didn’t even have the time to turn around before feeling tiny arms tightly hugging her from behind. „Clara?“, she laughed and tried to turn around the grip. Once she managed to, she also wrapped her arms around the young girl’s back and peacefully closed her eyes.

„I missed you so much, Nini.“, Clara said and ended the hug. „I missed you too, little one.“ „I’m not that little anymore.“, the girl pouted, put her hands on her hips and frowned. „Of course not. My mother told me you are playing the piano now.“ „I do. And Sir Lockins said that I am very talented.“

Eunice smiled. „I can imagine. Tell me, are your brothers and sisters also with you? My mother said your mother wasn’t entirely sure if they could come visit us with you.“ „Alfred, Isaac and Catherine are with us, but Evan and Rosanna didn’t come. Rosanna is set to marry soon, you know? And Evan takes care of the residency while we’re away.“, Clara answered.

„Rosanna is going to marry?“, Eunice said stunned. „Wow, I can’t believe it. Mother didn’t say anything.“ „Yeah, she is.“ Eunice winked. „And do you like him?“ „In the beginning not. He was so quiet always. I thought that something might be wrong with him. But he brought me Belgian candy last time for dinner. It was soooo good Nini. Dark chocolate.“ Eunice laughed. „So he bought his way to your heart, tsts.“ Clara pouted. „Mhmm maybe. Oh, actually I went up here to get you. Aunt Isabella wanted to send one of the maids to get you but I said I could do it.“ „Then off we go.“

„Grandmother.“, Eunice smiled and gave Clara’s and her grandmother kisses on her left and right cheek. „Oh dear, how good to see you.“, the woman chuckled and took a step back to regard her. „You’re tall! Tell me, what is your height?“ „Oh I don't know.“ „Yes, she just won’t stop, mother.“, Eunice’s mother sighed and patted her shoulder.

„But dear god, you are beautiful.“, Hellen said and shook her head in disbelief. „You don’t have that from you mother’s side. „Mother!“ Isabella scolded and Eunice and Clara laughed. „How old are you again, dear?“, her grandmother asked and Eunice well – behaved answered: „I turned 19 last month, grandmother Hellen.“

„And if your mother told me correctly, you are going to get married soon?“ „Yes I am. The date is set for August, so in about a year it will be time.“ „Will I meet the young man during my stay here?“ „If that’s what you want, mother, yes.“, Isabella nodded and gave her her arm to support the old lady.

„Of course I do. I want my granddaughter to be in good hands. 19, those are the best years, dear. Oh and there is my other wonderful grandchildren. Let your grandmother give you a kiss.“

Euince’s siblings, one by one was greeted by their grandmother. Hellen had been living with Isabella’s sister Jane, who therefore was Eunice’s aunt, ever since Hellen’s husband had died. It had been a hard time for the old lady, who had lost her husband of 50 years. Her daughter and grandchildren had been a good environment for her during this time.

In this moment Jane entered the room. „My dear sister, and all my beautiful nieces and nephews! Come here.“

One could say that Jane was a awkward person because she seemed a bit unnatural sometimes. She just had a stiffness to her, which was why Eunice didn’t really like her as a child. She was scared of her tensed facial expression and her tinkling laughter, that just sounded a bit too perfect.

But now, she had learned to like her. Eunice now knew that her aunt had had a difficult life and could understand the woman better now. Jane had been sent off to France back when she was 12 years old to marry a young French Prince. She therefore had been separated from her family and her siblings, who she had been very close with. As her sister Isabella was the oldest sibling, she was set to marry the Prince and heir of the throne of England, Eunice’s father Nathan.

So Jane had moved to a strange country, to a strange court with a strange family and had to marry a boy she didn’t know and couldn’t even talk with due to the language barrier. She just simply had to live with it and do as she was told because anything else would have enormous consequences for the relationship between both their families.

Jane eventually had started to feel at home in France and had learned to love her husband. She had many children who she loved and was able to call herself happy when her husband Pierre suddenly got sick.

Jane cried many tears for him and stayed by his side until his very last breath. It was an incredibly hard time for her as she not only had to deal with her own pain but also had to shield her children from it all.

And as she still lived in France she didn’t have a lot of family around her to support her during this time. Eunice once secretly read a letter that her aunt had sent to her mother shortly after her husband had died. The letter gave her a hint how desperate the young woman had been.

She described how it broke her heart to see how her young children slowly started to understand what was going on and what had happened to their father. And how she was scared of them seeing her tears.

But after a few months the whole family had moved back to England to be closer to the rest of the family. Jane thought it would be good for her children to get to know their cousins. Clara was the youngest of them and she was born shortly before her father’s death.

Her French was basically non existent and she mainly grew up in England. She was 7 years old now and Eunice loved her like a sister. They just simply had gotten along ever since they met and Eunice felt very protective of her. Eunice believed that Clara had sometimes felt excluded from her siblings, because they for instance could all speak French and sometimes still spoke it with each other.

And there was an age gap of four years between Clara and the second youngest brother, Noah. In Eunice, she had found a friend and a sister and so she was always happy to visit her cousins.

Jane now came closer to hug her and her siblings. „It’s so good to be back.“, she smiled and kissed Eunice on her cheek. „You look very good, my dear.“ „Thank you, aunt Jane.“ „My dear sister, let me hug you.“ Jane wrapped her arms around her oldest sister Isabella and held her tightly.

Isabella had always had a very good relationship with all her three sisters. One could think that Jane might had been jealous of Isabella for having the priviledge of marrying the future Prince of England while she was being sent to France, but they had always been supportive of each other, which Eunice admired.

„When will the feast take place, Isa?“, Jane now asked, which caught the attention of everyone else in the room. The reason why they all gathered in the Paignton’s residency was their annually summer feast. It had been a tradition for over 10 years now and every year a lot of relatives and friends came to London only for the Paignton’s summer feast which usually took place in July or August.

„Tomorrow at 5 pm. This year we’ll start with a ball in St. Burton’s and then go outside where we’ll eat and enjoy the summer night.“ „That sounds fantastic. What about our sisters Brenda and Mace? I heard that Brenda won’t make it until tomorrow?“

„Yes, Brenda will arrive with her family tomorrow noon, if everything goes well. And Mace has arrived the day before yesterday. She drove in the city today to buy a new suit for Dustin.“ „Very well.“, Jane smiled and Isabella grabbed her arm. „Let us have a tea, dear sister. We haven’t seen each other in such a long time. Children, will you take your cousins out to the garden? But don’t leave the property, I will have Ms Huxley look after you.“

The young members of the family left the house through the backdoor. The Paignton’s had a lovely garden. A terrace offered space to sit on warm evenings with a generous, elegant table made of stone with filigran decorations on the sides.

Two stone stairs leaded them down to the actual garden. The family had a little pond with fish inside which was surrounded by medium – high grasses. But this was not the center of attention for the children.

They directly headed for the trees in the back of the property. Magnificent oaks, birches and spruces offered some shadow on this warm day and additionally you could find a swing between two of the trees. It was a fight betweent them who was the first person to climb the tree and eventually Alfred won and proudly started to swing.

It was a beautiful afternoon and Eunice couldn’t stop smiling. She was happy to see her cousins again and she loved the smell of summer in the air. Of course she also couldn’t wait for the big feast, as it always was one of the highlights of the year for her.

[8-rae-rae-8]

special delivery o7 /ref

thinking about simon who’s been holding of regression for weeks and has been hiding it from the team for even longer, terrified of what they might think.

it’s not until a recon mission where he’s split off from the rest of the team. he’s awkwardly standing in the middle of a market. the stalls lined the street. the colorful tents barely hid the tall, townhouse-like homes lined the road. simon and his dark attire stick out like a sore thumb in the blur of human activity. a few people are looking at him oddly—fair, honestly, giving that he’s built like a brick shithouse and has a skull mask.

the woman at the fruit stand in front of him doesn’t seem deterred, asking him if he was okay. it takes a few seconds for his foggy brain to even catch up with what she was asking, and he just shrugged. simon didn’t know if he was okay—he didn’t know where mama price was, or even where he was. he doesn’t know where his gun is, and his gloves are missing. nothing is right and the voice in the back of his mind tells him that it’s because he’s small.

so he should definitely not let this woman move her rolling carts of jelly and pickles out of the way to invite him into her home. and he definitely shouldn’t let her usher him into a chair at her kitchen table and hand her some kind of tea.

if he wasn’t in a different headspace, all of his military training would be sending him bursting out the door and hiding in the shadows.

he’s snapped out of his fog when she asks him a question. he looks up and she repeats himself, “You’re far from home?”

Her voice is warm and sweet like the tea in his hands. Her voice is accented—Spanish, maybe—and it’s clear by her pronunciation that English is foreign on her tongue. Still, the genuine concern is clear in her voice.

“Work,” he mumbles back.

“And you’re alone?” She tilts her head, her warm smile never faltering. It makes Simon feel safe—a foolish feeling in his line of work, but makes him kick his feet excitedly under the table nonetheless.

“No,” he whispers, and the tears he’s been fighting for hours finally well up in his eyes. “Missin’.”

“Oh dear,” she exclaims. “We’ll give em a call, niño.”

He knows that this isn’t really possible, because they don’t have phone numbers for security reasons. And that would go against his objective—the 141 couldn’t know about him. “Can’t!”

She seems to understand, and he recognises something in her. She understands in the way Price kisses a knee when one of the boys get an ouchie, or how the captain ruffles Simon’s hair despite not knowing. He CAN’T know.

“Ah,” she nods. “You’re secret, no?”

He nods with a sniffle. “‘s bad.”

“My sister,” the woman waves her hand around, as if looking for the right words. “Small, niña. Like you.” She phrases her words like a question, despite the fact that Simon knows that she has the answer.

He looks up and nods silently. “‘s not good for me.”

“Well, you got your tea, murciélago.”

His brain is too soft right now, but it’s malleable enough to grasp the idea of what she’s saying. Again, he nods. Talking seems hard.

She then gets a look in her eyes and gestures to the radio. “Call your friends, I’m sure they wait.”

It hits him that he didn’t even think about the radio, and can’t remember the last time he heard anything out of it. He had just wandered.

She reaches over the table and connects a wire into the box and it hums back to life.“‘hank you.”

She stands and pats him on the shoulder and slips a little something into his bullet vest pocket. “Todos necesitan calidez,” she smiles, and ushers him out the door. ”Adios, niño.”

He gets to an alley and finally speaks into the radio, immediately getting requests for a sit rep and a location of the team at exfil.

As he makes his way there, the tea bag in the small pocket over his heart guides him home.

-🧪

HITTING YOU HITTING YOU HITTING YOU /pos /aff

Him :(((

Haven't you heard mr Simon Riley is the smallest guy around ??? Hmm????

He is, all facts (don't look it up)

[stories-and-chaos]

Tarnished pt 12

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 12/?? Word count 2746 Cw: burns, torture]

—————

15 years ago, while Octavia was still in the egg.

Stolas had been suffering through tea with his wife and brother-in-law when King Paimon ordered his son’s presence. Details of the owl prince’s formal investiture ceremony needed confirmation from both men and the use of Stolas’ grimoire.

While all options for this afternoon’s activities were distasteful, Paimon’s demands trumped Andrealphus’ social call. Blitzø helped him into more formal attire to meet with Paimon. The imp was staying back though. Stolas tried to keep the interactions between Blitzø and his father to a minimum.

Fortunately at this point the imp’s leash extended to all of the Pride Ring and some of Wrath. He didn’t have to accompany Stolas when the prince took the book from the estate. There had been plenty of times when Blitzø had been forced into Paimon’s (or other Goetia’s) presence because of that stupid binding. Being able to stay at the palace was a relief.

Which meant he was at the palace with no buffer between him, Stella and her brother.

Which meant he didn’t have a reason to refuse when the two royal demons ordered his presence.

Blitzø and Stolas had been in such a rush to get Stolas ready and out the door, the owl hadn’t thought to give his friend permission to leave the grounds. Both of the other Goetia expressed disdain over Blitzø in general. But so far they had mostly ignored him.

I gotta tell Floof for next time, Blitzø thought as he stepped into Stella’s drawing room. She had her own set of rooms within the palace, in an adjacent wing to her husband’s. Blitzø kept his voice as flat and expressionless as possible. “You called, ma’am?” He mentally choked on the phrase but managed it.

“Come here imp.” Stella looked down her beak at him and gestured to a spot next to her seat. Fuuuuuuuck me. Whatever she wanted couldn’t be good. Andrealphus, for his part, had a smug look as he watched Blitzø approaching.

Once he was next to the table, Stella swung her arm. The serrated steak knife in her hand was quickly deflected from his neck. What would have been a fatal blow instead gave her a stinging palm as the knife spun away.

Andrealphus sighed. “It seems the reports of protection on him were correct. I’d hoped with Stolas and his grimoire absent it would be weakened.” Blitzø wasn’t about to let this bastard know he was right. “Fucking bitch!” he growled, turning to run.

Shrieking with rage, Stella flung her teacup at him. The cup cracked on his horn just above his eye and the scalding hot liquid splashed over half his face.

He yelped in pain. “Shit!” Blitzø stumbled to the door, only for Andrealphus to grab a horn tip and pull him back.

“Well! I suppose the protection isn’t absolute,” he said with sadistic glee. Blitzø could feel icy magick radiating from the bird demon as he was hauled onto the table. “I believe this will require some experimentation. Don’t you agree my dear sister?”

“Indeed Andrealphus. It will be quite an educational experience for us all.” Stella retrieved the knife and ordered teapots filled with boiling water. While they waited for the pots to arrive, she used the knife to cut Blitzø’s clothes away.

He tried to get away, spewing a stream of curses at the siblings. Andrealphus, tired of holding the imp down, pinned his wrists and ankles to the table with magickal ice. It being magickal didn’t stop it from being painfully cold, as much as the burn on Blitzø’s face. It did prevent the ice from melting; neither his body heat or the boiling water had any effect.

Blitzø might not have been able to escape, but he wasn’t about to give these cocksuckers the satisfaction of him screaming. He’d seen the sadistic excitement in both of them and if he couldn’t fight back, he could at least make this less entertaining for them.

Besides, one of his special skills was pointing out people’s flaws. Another was making insults into an art form. So he kept up a litany of insults, criticisms, and curses while Stella poured boiling water on his bare skin and her brother applied more of his freezing cold magick.

There was a point when he couldn’t help but scream though. Thankfully, Stolas burst into the room moments later. The prince was panting after sprinting to the room; he still had his hat and cape on. Blitzø caught a glance of an imp behind Stolas. One of the servants, unable to stop the royal demons, had alerted Stolas as soon as they could.

Blitzø barely managed to whisper Stolas’ name before he fainted.

The imp spent weeks healing from the incident. Even though his kind of demon healed quickly, over half his body was covered in burns and frostbite. Even the Goetia would take a long time to heal from something like that.

He didn’t remember the first week, he was on so many painkillers. Probably for the best as when he was weaned off some, the pain was still intense. Some changes had already occurred in that first week.

Stolas couldn’t divorce Stella over this, not yet. The precautionary heir this arrangement was meant to produce hadn’t even hatched yet. He did however banish her to the other side of the palace. Stella’s new suite was as far from Stolas’ as possible. Their single egg remained in Stolas’ wing.

While Blitzø was recuperating, Stolas had the Hellhound guards rotated. It took some time, but between Vex, Scarlet, and Blitzø (once he was conscious) they determined which ones were loyal to Stolas, which still sided with Paimon and now Stella, and which were neutral. While the imp hated it, he had at least one friendly Hound guarding him until he was back on his hooves.

Stolas couldn’t keep Blitzø with him constantly. Technically he could, but despite their relationship turning intimate a few years prior, neither demon wanted to be glued at the hip together. He was determined to give his friend and lover as much privacy and freedom as he could. So he had the rooms next to his bedroom altered. It had been linen storage for his chambers. Now it was something like a studio apartment, complete with kitchenette and full bathroom. The only entrance was a door next to Stolas’ bed.

Blitzø said it looked a lot like a fancy cell, but something about the secure space was comforting. Stella couldn’t get into here. His friend had put a great deal of effort into warding the door. Only Blitzø, Stolas, and Scarlet could enter freely. Only Blitzø could allow anyone else in.

It took Stolas two months to get the spell tuned correctly. The prince felt every bit of effort had been worth it. Once Blitzø was able to be up and about again, he could see the fear his friend tried to suppress whenever Stella was near. His wife could see it too. She made every effort to be in Blitzø’s vicinity at least once a day, just to experience the thrill of his trauma.

So seeing the terror melt away in Blitzø’s new safe haven, it broke Stolas’ heart while validating all those hours of work. The first night they knew it was secure (Vex had been the test subject, not being on the entry list) Blitzø fell asleep the instant he laid down on the bed.

In an echo of their first days together, Stolas covered him in a blanket and tucked Waffle Iron the plush horse in the blanket with him. Waffle Iron had been the most loyal of inanimate objects, sticking with Blitzø through all the worst days and his battered appearance showed it. His stuffing was clumped in sections under the cloth. There were awkward repair stitches in spots and patches that were starting to get threadbare. Scarlet had offered to take Waffle to a ‘toy hospital.’ It was essentially a repair shop that specialized in toy restoration. But Blitzø had refused, saying Waffle Iron was perfect as he was. Privately, he admitted to Stolas that once Waffle’s legs started falling off he’d probably take Scarlet up on the offer.

But for now the valiant Waffle Iron was a steady source of comfort for Blitzø. Stolas remained in the room, reading on the couch. It wasn’t a velvet upholstered, gilded, and ornamented affair like so many others in the palace. Like the rest of the furniture Blitzø had selected, it was sturdy and comfortable, with no frills or added fanciness. Plain brown cloth with horse pattern blanket draped over the back and horseshoe cushions. If there was a way to make an object horse themed, Blitzø had incorporated it. He had a room in the palace before but this was the first time he’d been able to choose how a room was furnished and the imp ran with it.

Stolas’ reading selection was more work than pleasure tonight. He didn’t have many friends among the upper echelons of Hell’s society. Those he did count as friends were as passionate about learning and using magick as he was. One of whom had found some works concerning magickal bindings and contacts. Stolas was loaning one of his books on prophecy in exchange for the one he was studying now.

He still didn’t know the exact spell Paimon had forced him to use on Blitzø. They knew the results but demonic magick was a tricky thing, even for high ranking demons. There was a great deal of fuckery involved whenever something new was added. Even a different word tense could alter a spell.

The somewhat fickle protection on Blitzø was evidence of that. Stolas pleading ‘don’t hurt him’ while the initial casting was in process had changed a servitude binding to something they still didn’t know the extent of. We may never know all the specifics, Stolas thought glumly as he turned a page.

Like most books on magick, this used a runic alphabet and Stolas suspected there was a code in some sections as well. Annoying but he’d puzzle it out. By this point the prince was sure that the bond couldn’t be broken. If nothing else, his own growing power, while allowing Blitzø more physical freedom, was reinforcing the existing chains.

He was focused on nullifying the effects instead. Perhaps he could subvert the specifics of the bond. So any scrap of knowledge he could gather was helpful.

Stolas stayed up much to late and woke up to Blitzø snuggled up next to him, tail wrapped around the prince’s waist while he scrolled through his phone. “Morning Floof. You didn’t have to stay here all night,” Blitzø said dryly once he realized Stolas was awake.

“But I wanted to, darling.” Stolas nuzzled the base of Blitzø horn sleepily. Anything else he was going to say was forgotten by a pounding on the door.

“Master Stolas!” Vex’s voice had an urgent edge. “Your Highness! The hatching started sir!”

Stolas squawked and flailed for the door. Holy shit it’s happening! Terror and excitement filled him as he flung open the door. He thanked Vex, the paused. “Blitzø, you don’t have to accompany me if you don’t want to. Stella will likely be there as well.” Stolas wasn’t going to miss more of his child hatching than he already had; he could only assume Stella would be the same.

Blitzø paled and gulped. He’d been anticipating the egg hatching too, if only to see Stolas’ reaction to become a father. He wavered for a time while Vex helped Stolas change.

Stolas had dashed off to the nursery. The hatching had barely started; he could hear little peeps in the egg and the tap-tap-tapping as the baby worked at making cracks. He made soothing trills to his chick, letting them know a parent was nearby and encouraging them.

Half an hour later, minimal progress was made. Every egg took time to hatch and there was no rushing the process. If the chick was in distress, someone could help them. But forcing an egg open could kill the hatching. Stolas wasn’t surprised by the minute changes in the shell.

He was surprised by Blitzø’s arrival with breakfast. “ I’m not gonna fucking miss this Floof, not even the bitchy feather duster could keep me away.” Blitzø had decided he wouldn’t let Stella ruin what happiness he could manage and that included being involved with Stolas’ kid. “Besides, when else am I gonna get to see you look this stupid over a wiggly potato?” Stolas chucked a bit of toast at him, which Blitzø caught in midair.

The hatching took all day, it turned out. Stella arrived in the late morning, saw how little progress was made and told them, “Call me when it’s almost out,” before leaving the room in a swirl of silk. She grinned at Blitzø’s stiffness at her presence and the wide eyed look he couldn’t suppress.

But she couldn’t do anything to the imp with Stolas there. She left for some gossip as social plotting with her friends.

The egg cracked open about half an hour before midnight. The baby Goetia rested with part of the shell stuck to their butt and another part on their head like a hat. The palace doctor made sure no one touched the hatchling yet. “Give them some space; they’ll get the rest of the shell off when they’re ready. Send another message to Lady Stella.”

Stolas looked besotted with the wrinkled chick. He and Blitzø had both been talking and giving encouragement to the baby as the egg rocked and cracked over the day. Now he was crouched next to the nest, eye level to the newborn. “Well done, little one,” he praised them. “You’ve worked so hard, I’m so proud of you.” The hatchling peeped quietly in response. “Take all the time you need, Daddy is right here.”

Dammit, Blitzø thought, he looks stupid and adorable. Not fair Floof. That didn’t stop him from snapping pictures, including a couple selfies next to them. “Dude, they really do look like an angry potato.”

Stolas just had a stupid smile. “A precious angry potato, isn’t that right little one?” he cooed to both Blitzø and the chick. As if in retaliation to the potato comment, the chick kicked off the rest of the shell.

The doctor came up to examine them. After confirming the baby was in good shape, she wrapped up the hatchling and handed the bundle to Stolas. “Congratulations your highness, it's a girl.”

Stolas’ expression was full of wonder as he carefully cradled the baby. “Hello my darling girl, welcome to Hell.”

Stella walked in, yawning as she did so. “It’s finally done?”

“Yes my lady,” the doctor answered. “You have a healthy daughter. Congratulations.”

“Oh, well that is lovely.” She gestured imperiously to Stolas who handed her the baby. “Hello there, poppet. I’m Stella, your mummy. We’re going to do great things together.” She cooed down at the baby who wriggled in her wrappings. “Obviously once you’ve got some feathers and your feet under you dear.” She handed the girl back to Stolas. “The nursemaids are all prepared? Excellent. I’ll be back in the morning.” She turned to leave.

“Stella?” the prince called out to her. She looked at him over her shoulder. “The baby’s name? I was thinking ‘Octavia’ would suit her.”

Stella glanced between the baby and her husband. “It was on our agreed list of names. Octavia it is.” Then she was off.

Blitzø, who had stayed out of her sight, was flabbergasted. Even his own dad, the greedy jackass, hadn’t been so detached. “Christ on a stick, she might be worse than your sperm donor Floof.”

The prince just sighed. “Not to worry Octavia, Daddy will always be here for you.” He patted the tiny chick gently. “Would you like to hold her Blitzø?”

“Uh, I guess?” The imp carefully held the squirmy chick. “Uhhhhh, hey there miniFloof?” Octavia yawned hugely. “Aw dammit, you are a cute potato.” He gently stroked her wrinkly head. “Hi Octavia. I’m Blitzø, the ‘o’ is silent. I’m your dad’s friend, so I’ll be here for you too.”

His burns were still healing, so Blitzø couldn’t hold her for long. He passed Octavia back to her father and the two men enjoyed the bit of peace in the nursery. At least until Octavia started crying for food.

—————

<<First <Prev Next>

[pls-let-me-out]

Ancient Rome AU

Nico had just turned fifteen when his father married him off to Minos, a man from the northern regions of the empire, who owned cold but rich lands and a third of the roman army. Nico wasn’t particularly surprised, seeing as he was his father’s third-born child. It was his destiny, after all. Bianca’s death hadn’t changed much, it simply made Nico the second-born, behind Hazel. Their mothers had given them birth with only a month of difference, which had dictated the course of their lives.

It also wasn’t a surprise to Nico when he was called to Rome six months after his husband’s death. He reached the city in the middle of summer, sweating even as he stayed in the carriage with his servant.

“Do you know who it’ll be this time?” Drew asked him.

She had been Minos’ wedding gift to Nico. One of the many, surely Nico’s most treasured one. Even after he’d set her free, she’d chosen to remain with him as an employee. He considered her a member of his family.

“No,” Nico said. The walls of the city were getting closer, a sense of anxiety closed his throat.

“I hope it’ll be a good man,” she replied quietly.

Each night Nico prayed to the gods the very same thing.

When they reached his father’s villa just outside the city, one of the servants opened the door. Drew went first, then offered her hand up to Nico. His heart very nearly stopped.

His father looked older than he was, as if the six years they hadn’t seen each other had been many more. The hair on his temples was completely grey, almost white, a stark contrast to the black top. As usual, his face showed no emotion, perfectly stoic, as he stood with his hands behind his back. He looked Nico up and down, assessing him. Nico stood a bit straighter, berating himself as he did so.

Hazel had apparently just gotten out of practice. Her forehead shone with sweat, she was dressed for battle. She enveloped Nico in a hug. Six years. The last time they held each other was when Nico was leaving. They’d both grown since then, but in his sister’s arms, Nico still felt fifteen.

When they broke apart, the dark skinned woman who’d been at his father’s side stepped up.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Niccolò,” she said. Her voice was warm, and sensing who she was, Nico felt sorry for her. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Persephone, your father’s wife.”

Nico doubted she’d heard anything about him at all. Even before his marriage, he’d been at odds with his father, he doubted Hades spoke a great deal about him. “I prefer Nico.”

She smiled. She took one of Nico’s arms, Hazel on the other, and they escorted him inside. They told him about Melikoe, who apparently was his new sister. She was just three months old.

The next day, Nico met his future husband. Before that he was bathed and pampered in all ways, servants at his back and call with every comfort. When he looked at himself in the mirror, hair neatly done and every remnant of the journey scrubbed off his skin, Nico barely recognised himself.

Persephone gave him a heavy necklace, much too similar to those Nico’s own mother used to wear for his liking. They reached his new husband’s house with a carriage. Nico remembered the place, he thought he might have been there to visit before. His father used to take him and Hazel along, even when he only needed Bianca. It was hard to think of that side of his father now.

“Behave,” Hades said lowly as he helped Nico down the carriage.

“You are the picture of your mother,” somebody said.

When Nico looked up, he was met with Naomi Solace’s kind eyes. She reached him and took his hands in hers. Was his father marrying him off to a woman? Had he gone completely mad?

“I’m so happy to have you back in the city, dear,” she said. “I hated the thought of you married off to that old creature in the north.”

“Let me see the boy, Naomi. I’ll evaluate him.”

Naomi gave Nico one last smile, before stepping to the side. A few steps back, slowly limping forth, was an old man. He had white hair and even more wrinkles than Minos had. Nico sent a look to his father, but Hades was looking smugly at the boy behind the old man, whose blond curls shone like melted gold under the sun rays.

The man quickly arrived in front of Nico. Well, not quickly for any other person present, but quickly if considered that he looked like the wind might sweep him away. Hazel herself looked worried. Just the prior night, she’d told Nico that their father had kept Nico’s new husband’s identity secret.

Greasy, old fingers touched Nico’s chin, holding him still as washed-out brown eyes searched his face. Nico’s lips curled, but he didn’t move. He didn’t let himself look away. He forced every muscle of his body to stay relaxed, his lungs to not move too quickly.

“You didn’t lie about his beauty, Hades,” the old man said.

Naomi’s smile brightened. Hades slightly bowed his head, accepting the praise. Nico’s patience ran out.

“He hasn’t seen me in six years,” he said. As all eyes snapped to him, Nico put on his most saccharine smile. “Since he married me off to an old guy. So forgive me sir, but I’m really not in the mood to repeat the experience.” Nico took a step back, turning to his father, whose eyes were bulging out of their sockets. “Whatever your pact is, I’m now old enough to oppose.”

Silence fell on them. Even the birds stopped singing. Maybe the gods themselves were looking down on them.

The old man turned to the blond man behind him, who was watching the scene unfold with something akin to amusement - or awe - in his eyes.

“Well, the boy was clear,” the old man said.

Hades snapped out of his trance, and fell to his knee, head bowed. “Please, forgive him, my lord. Venus gave him beauty, just as Mars gave him spirit. Even too much of it, at times. He means well.”

“I don’t mean well,” Nico blurted out, crossing his arms on his chest. When he shook his head, the gold rings braided in his hair twinkled. “I mean to not get married to somebody who was here to see Rome being built.”

Much to Nico’s surprise, the old man laughed loudly.

Hades didn’t. He put his hands on his face, still bowing on the floor. “For the love of the gods, Nico, you’re speaking to our emperor!”

The old man laughed harder, until it sent him into a coughing fit. When he saw Nico’s open mouth, he laughed even louder. Naomi put her hands on her mouth, worried glances sent back and forth between the emperor and the blond man.

“Hades, old friend, stand. No need for that. Now that you know who I am, are you any more inclined to marry me?” Asked the emperor, once he regained his composure.

“Not really, no.”

The emperor’s lips twitched in a smile. “That’s good, because you’re not here to marry me. You’re marrying my heir.”

Again, Nico’s mouth popped open. The blond man behind the emperor stepped up, a smile lightening his freckled features.

“You are exactly as you were when we were kids,” he simply said.

Nico tilted his head to the side, finally connecting the dots. “Will.”

“I told you I’d marry you one day.” He’d kept a hand behind himself the whole time, and finally he showed it. He was holding a flower. “This is for you. I hope it’s still your favourite.”

When Nico took the poppy, his hands shook. He couldn’t quite believe what was happening. He didn’t remember much about Will Solace, but he was a kind, young boy, who saw the best in everybody. And now he was the emperor’s heir, and that in itself was quite unbelievable. Nico didn’t think he deserved somebody like Will Solace, but life wasn’t about what one deserved. So he went on with the wedding, and a week later he married William Solace.

[violet-lazer]

Terms of Engagement

Content / Warnings : Copia/Reader, Mature (Suggestive Content, Language), Gender-Neutral Reader, Kissing Booth Content, Mostly Fluff, 3.1k words. Thanks, please enjoy! (AO3)

Copia isn't feeling exceptionally hopeful about his shift at a Ministry-fundraiser kissing booth. He's even less hopeful about the possibility of you being in his line.

Three minutes before he’s due to duck out from behind the shoddily-rigged curtain dividing him from the assembled congregation, Copia has officially decided that this is a silly idea. A less generous man might even use a phrase like ‘an exercise in humiliation’ but Copia is nothing if not forgiving. Still. The situation at large is not what he’d call ideal.

The ghouls had done an…acceptable job of converting the chapel into an event space but, purely objectively, the backstage area could use some improvement. Copia is stationed before a small antique dressing table and mirror so decrepit it may well have been pulled out of a gothic author’s nightmare, the buzz of the congregation mere metres away is ringing in his ears, and he feels the faintest hint of nausea creeping up on him. Pull yourself together. Adjusting his collar, he takes one of those deep, sighing breaths that’s never quite as cathartic as advertised.

To his left, seemingly without a care in the world, Primo, Secondo, and Terzo are maintaining a pleasant level of small talk with nary a hint of anxiety to be heard in any of their voices.

Copia’s gaze slides over them. Terzo catches his eye and raises an eyebrow.

Ah. The culprit.

Approximately one week ago, at a bi-weekly meeting that had already run approximately twenty minutes too long, Sister Imperator had presented an issue.

“There’s a hole in the roof,” she had said plainly, leaning forwards in her chair, fingers steepled. “I don’t believe it’s an organic hole. No- let me start again. I know that an object has been punted upwards from the second floor hallway with enough force to make a sizable exit wound. I know this because I discovered several pieces of what used to be an icon of Lilith strewn across the courtyard.”

Ah yes. Copia had been waiting for this all week. News travels quickly in the Ministry, especially news concerning priceless antiques being launched through ceilings.

“I also know that the single shred of evidence we have is an eyewitness statement of a ghoul’s tail disappearing around a corner. Remarkably, nobody seems eager to own up to causing some very expensive damage to the Ministry, so we are at an impasse.”

The weariness was palpable in Sister Imperator’s voice. For what it was worth, Copia was sure it wasn’t one of his ghouls. Someone would’ve told him. Wouldn’t they? The room settled into a heavy, uncomfortable silence.

Sister Imperator shook her head. “I don’t care whose ghoul it was. I very much want this to be over and done with. Those roof tiles are costly, so we’re going to have to raise the money. Any ideas?”

Oh good. The perfect time for a discussion session. Copia resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Through the leaded window in Sister Imperator’s office he could see twilight encroaching, and he was beginning to get restless. By the look of things, though, he wasn’t the only one. Even Primo, pantheon of dedication to the Ministry, seemed more interested in examining the embroidery on his sleeve. Lucifer help him, could someone just-

Terzo raised his hand. “Kissing booth.”

No elaboration. Copia furrowed his brow, shifting in his seat to better face Terzo. “Excuse me?”

Terzo rolled his eyes at him. “I think it is self-explanatory. We charge some monies for kisses. Our dear congregation lines up in droves. We raise an obscene amount of cash. We fix the roof.” He spread his arms wide, clearly very pleased with himself. “You are welcome.”

Ordinarily, when there was an issue to be discussed, the presentation of a possible solution by certain members of the clergy would be followed by a period of what some might call unnecessarily critical discussion and inquiry. A roundtable of vote and veto that threatened to descend into pettiness and name-calling were Sister Imperator not there to moderate. The distinct lack of dissent that followed Terzo’s suggestion was almost troubling. Copia spied Secondo covertly checking his watch.

Sister Imperator shrugged. “Any objections?”

Well. Not in theory. To be honest, it wasn’t Terzo’s worst idea. Not for a Ministry where none of the clergy were exactly strangers to getting up close and personal with the congregation. It was no secret that some Siblings made a sport of catching the eye of whichever Emeritus they fancied that week, angling for an invitation to bed. And for every Sibling bedded there were surely more who were curious for just a taste. So, a Ministry-sanctioned event guaranteeing a bit of action for any inquisitive Sibling? Terzo was probably right, there was money to be made there. For the noblest of causes, of course. But, there were a lot of logistical considerations that should be…considered, no? What’s the market rate on a kiss? Is tongue extra? Hmm.

Primo waved a hand languidly. “It is acceptable.”

“If that’s all..?” Sister Imperator was glancing towards the door. It was veering dangerously close to half past six, which was around the time she usually disappeared to her room with a bottle of wine and turned her phone off. “We can work out the specifics later.”

“Alrighty,” Copia had said. They had time. It would be fine.

Presently, there’s a definite pang of anxiety settling between his ribs. He’s had some time to think about it and it’s not the concept that’s the problem; Copia’s a good kisser. Well, he’s never had any complaints- is that the same thing? And he’s not uncomfortable with the scenario itself- there had also been no pressure on him to participate, it had been made perfectly clear to him that this was entirely voluntary. There were always other financial avenues if need be. There’s a part of him that thinks it might be nice, actually. It’s been a while since he’s pursued any romantic endeavours. He’s a busy man. The Ministry’s apparent reluctance to train anyone to fill his previous role up to his standards meant that even as Papa, Copia still found himself responsible for many of the duties that occupied his time as Cardinal.

He supposes that it’s his own fault for choosing to take on responsibilities beyond his station; there are key processes in the running and maintenance of the Ministry that apparently nobody else but him has bothered to learn. Copia’s days are full, and his nights are no freer. He’ll plan his Masses in his office, from where he has an excellent view of Primo tending his roses. He’ll trudge back towards his quarters, oftentimes crossing Secondo escorting someone to bed. He’ll hear chatter and laughter from the kitchen as passes, and he knows if he peers in he’ll see Terzo surrounded by his admirers, wine in hand and an easy smile on his face. Well. If it’s loyalty to the cause they want, it’s there in Copia’s sleepless nights. That’s why he’s Papa now.

The point is, Copia’s busy. Which is fine, but it does mean that before he knows it, it’s been a solid three months since there have been any overnight visitors and the paranoia is beginning to creep in that the rats are squeaking about his dismal love life. He deftly pushes aside the thought that suspecting his beloved rats are gossiping about him is probably a sign that it’s time for a holiday. So. It’s not the idea of the kissing booth that’s causing him such anxiety. It’s just-

It was cruel, almost, having them all go at the same time. Putting their stations next to one another and giving everyone the same hour. It was inevitable that some lines would be longer than others, yes? A measurement of desirability for the entire Ministry to see. It’s all very well having ghouls who know to say things like you’re doing a great job and the congregation really likes you and it’s another to have any semblance of blissful ignorance torn from you by way of a hastily-assembled kissing booth.

Eugh. This wouldn’t be good for the old self-esteem.

Copia’s not unpopular, he knows this. His Masses are well-attended, people greet him in the halls, he’s propositioned with respectable frequency. But if it’s a stark, exclusionary, time-sensitive choice between him and the other Papas? An array of men who have years on him, multitudinous loyal followers, reputations commanding respect? Hm. It’s not going to look good with upper management if all he can muster are a few sympathy kisses from charitable Siblings after they’ve had their fill of their first pick.

There’s…one other thing. It’s a thread that’s been tugging at the back of his mind since he applied his first stroke of paint this morning. It’s the thought of where he’s going to catch your eye. It’s irritatingly pervasive, the idea that amongst all these people his eyes will finally meet yours and you’ll be in someone else’s line. As would be your right, he reminds himself. But still- if it’s not him then…don’t let it be Terzo. It’s a selfish thing to think. Entitled. But Copia doesn’t want to see you in Terzo’s line. Terzo, who flirts so easily with you, pulls Copia’s words from under him as he’s just a bit quicker, a bit bawdier. It’s the repartee Copia craves with you, not marred by hesitation or awkward pauses. But then, it’s easy for Terzo because Terzo doesn’t mean it. Not like-

Copia feels a hand on his shoulder. Primo is looking at him with mild amusement.

“Come.”

Ah, fuck. Time to go. Before he can change his mind, Copia follows his contemporaries beyond the curtain, heart hammering rudely in his chest. Deep breaths. The chapel has been arranged in a simple setup- four stations a few metres apart, with room to queue in front. If he was honest a lot of the prep work for the event had passed Copia by- it had been a particularly hectic week- but they’d all had a walk-around yesterday to inspect their booths. The tables themselves had been knocked together by the ghouls with what was apparently solely hot glue and positive affirmations, but they would do. Rustic, one could call them. “Shit,” Secondo had called them.

There’s a lot of adrenaline coursing through him; as he reaches his booth he doesn’t quite know where to let his eyes rest. He settles on looking ahead, and to his relief, he spots Aether. Aether who, upon hearing about this little function, had preemptively offered to marshal Copia’s line, saving him the embarrassment of asking. And there he is, a ghoul of his word, dutifully stationed at the start of the designated queuing area, arms folded. He gives Copia a thumbs up. And behind Aether- well. His frame is taking up rather a lot of space but Copia can see there are people there. For him. A line. Fucking hell, this is happening then.

Sliding into his seat, he takes inventory. Someone’s furnished his booth with drinking water, lip balm- thoughtful- and the all-important tip jar. He has his script memorised- a short dialogue with each Sibling would establish terms of engagement, the…intensity of kiss they were looking for. He knows it by heart. There’s comfort in predictability, preparedness. This is just another stage; Copia is a performer, and by Lucifer he’s going to put on a show.

Copia gives Aether a decisive nod. Aether steps aside, and Copia makes direct eye contact with the first person in line. And- it’s you.

Ah. Copia can feel his heartbeat in his ears. You came. You’re in his line. And you’re first.

You give him a gentle smile, and he finds the presence of mind to motion you forwards.

Swiftly, you cross the distance and stop before him. Before he can say anything, you drop your money into the jar and meet his eyes.

“Hi,” you say. Your gaze is firm, but your voice is tinged with nerves.

“Hello,” Copia replies. “Thank you for, eh. Choosing me.”

Ooh, this isn’t the script. He’s tripped at the first hurdle, but in his defence, he wasn’t expecting the first hurdle to be you.

You laugh. It’s genuine. “Who else?”

Who else? And his thoughts are of the errands you insist on running for him, the nights you’ve woken him at his desk and chastised him for working too hard. How you know all the rats by name. Then- he thinks of the occasions he lets his gaze linger on you and permits himself to indulge in the fantasy of mutual interest. The handwritten card inviting you to dinner that’s been buried in his bedside drawer for weeks.

Who else?

Copia stands up. Leaning forwards, he plants his hands firmly on the booth before him. The distance between you isn’t far and you’re already shifting to match him, eager. He pauses to meet your eyes before slowly pressing a kiss to your lips. You’re warm. Receptive. Copia draws back a centimetre or two, but he lingers, unsure whether to push further. This is what the script is for. You don’t pull away. Fuck, he wants to taste you.

Copia leans forwards again and kisses you. Your lips part and he pushes his tongue into your mouth; it’s a slow, exploratory kiss. He’s savouring you. It’s a kiss he’s imagined time and again- not in this setting, perhaps, but life is abundant with surprises, hm? He’s full of you, your tongue moving against his, the soft hum that escapes you setting a fire in the pit of his stomach. How long was the event? An hour? Copia could happily do this for the next fifty-nine minutes. He wants to pull you over the booth and on top of him, show you all the ways he’s fantasised about working you undone. Alas. He has commitments.

Reluctantly, he pulls back. Without thinking, he raises a hand to caress your cheek.

“I have been waiting…” he murmurs. Yes, this feels like a good time to be scorchingly honest. With loads of people around and not a modicum of privacy. But he can’t help it, it’s spilling out of him like overpoured wine.

You’re looking at him with a tenderness that makes his head spin. “So have I.”

Oh. Glancing behind you, you seem to remember where you are. “Ah. And you’re about to be very busy.”

Right. To business. Copia leans sideways to peer past you and assess the situation. You’re right, he has some kissing to do. All things considered, he’s garnered a very respectable number of Siblings lining up to have a go at him; that’s a stroke to the ego he’ll have to enjoy later.

“I’ll see you later,” you say, excusing yourself. Copia watches you go with some disappointment, then takes a moment to compose himself. He motions the next Sibling over. This time, he recites the script.

Once he’s in the swing of things, the next forty or so minutes pass with ease. Copia is a man of his word, and he’s putting in the shift of his life. Each Sibling gets his full, undivided attention, and whether they want a quick, chaste peck or his tongue in their mouth he’s devoting himself entirely to their satisfaction. Now that’s professionalism. Dare he say it, he’s actually enjoying himself. In retrospect it was probably unnecessary for him to stay up until the early hours worrying that some horrendous tongue-biting incident would occur. Well, there was still time.

Taking a brief water break, Copia looks over to his right. There’s not been much opportunity to survey his surroundings, so he takes the chance while he can.

Terzo, seat abandoned, perched on the edge of his booth for ease and efficiency, is busy exploring the back of some eager Brother’s throat with his tongue. If there’s something that can’t be faulted about Terzo, it’s his enthusiasm.

Beyond that, and past an extremely industrious Secondo, Copia can see that Primo is doing especially well for himself, boasting a line so long it doubles back on itself. It’s not a surprise, all things considered. Primo’s inner circle is small, regular lovers few and favoured. This was quite the opportunity for a Sibling to catch his eye without having to do the usual performance of hanging around in the gardens and pretending to run into him by sheer chance.

By Copia’s reckoning, considering the sheer number of people in attendance, a Sibling could probably get around to two Papas in the time allocated. If they were efficient about it. What a decision for a Tuesday afternoon.

Two, hm?

Around five minutes later, he bids farewell to a Sibling who had veered very close to fulfilling his horrific tongue-biting premonition- Copia’s life had briefly flashed before his eyes- and in an instant his gaze is locked with…yours. You’ve chosen him again. Him, twice. There was no time for anyone else. It’s almost embarrassing, the way his heart speeds at the sight of you, and as the heat rises in his cheeks he’s unspeakably grateful for the paint on his face. You’re approaching him before he’s even finished beckoning you, a small smile on your lips.

Copia raises an eyebrow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

That was good; very composed. Threatening to cross the border over to suave. It’s as if his mind isn’t racing with thoughts of his hands all over you.

“Well,” you say. “I’m really invested in this roof being fixed.”

Copia laughs. Even as you’re putting your money in the jar he’s moving towards you, catching you in a kiss. There’s no hesitation this time, and as he feels his tongue slide against yours Copia realises he’s ruined. He wants all of you, now. He’s leaning towards you with such a need that the edge of the booth is digging painfully into the top of his thighs; barely clinging onto his self-restraint as the ache within him threatens to overspill. Curse the booth between you, he needs you pressed up against him. Preferably horizontally.

When you break apart, Copia lets out a small sigh.

“I am sure you’ve had your fill of me now,” he says. It’s transparent, shameless; he can’t muster the will to be embarrassed when his heart is beating out of his chest. The intent is obvious. Please say no.

“No,” you say, eyes fixed on him firmly.

“Then I am not satisfied either.” Copia’s bold, here, centre-stage and kiss-drunk. He’s done the damned show, put on a performance he’d challenge the Devil himself to best. And here’s the finale:

“Come and find me later.”

There’s a moment of silence between you, and he wonders if he’s gone too far. If this, whatever it is, only exists suspended in this hour of no consequence. Then, slowly but decisively, you lean towards him and steal a kiss. As he sinks into you, Copia decides you can have this one for free.

And all the ones that come after.

[silverofthunder]

☆ found family – thoughts ☆

Terzo & teenager Copia, Aria (OC), Secondo (mentioned)

summary: ”Good to have you back, young miss.”.

content: 0.8k words, fluff, slice of life, SFW

this is a continuation piece for found family – the brother

It's been a while since I've written any proper family stuff but now I'm back to that business. 😊 I missed this little series. This is quite short but sweet anyway. Enjoy!

Terzo was sitting behind his desk, eyes focused on the boy who was sitting opposite of him and trying to do his Latin studies. It was clear his mind was elsewhere as he seemed to just stare at the page of the book in front of him for way too long and then take a look at the door. A small smile rose to his lips as he knew very well the reason Copia’s mind was not fully in the present.

His dear friend, Aria, had been away for a month, getting some studies done in the abbey in France, and she was supposed to return today. Copia was bouncing his leg under and rolling the pen between his fingers, and maybe he was even more nervous than Terzo had thought at first.

”Try to focus,” Terzo said and earned only some muttering as an answer from Copia. He let out a sigh, straightening his posture on the chair.

”Copia.” This time the boy looked at him, clearly a bit annoyed. ”I promised Secondo that I would look after you while he is away. I know you feel like this is pointless but you need to study as you never know what future might hold.”

Copia huffed, though there was a slight smile tucking at the corners of his lips.

”Says the one who avoids his own work.”

Terzo hummed, rolling his eyes. ”Secondo will kill me if he finds out that you’ve not done your work.”

”Does he need to know?”

Terzo was just about to say something when a knock on the door got both of their attention.

”Come in,” he said and the door opened soon, revealing one of the Sisters.

”Apologies,” the Sister said, and Terzo just smiled at her, giving a slight wave of hand before she turned to Copia. ”Someone wants to see you.”

The Sister moved aside and a familiar figure of Aria came into view and Copia was instantly on his feet and running to her, throwing his arms around her. She laughed as she hugged him back.

”Did you miss me?”

Terzo couldn’t help but laugh a little.

”Of course I missed you. It was so weird not having you around, my principessa.”

”I missed you, too,” Aria said, finally pulling back and taking a good look at Copia before moving her gaze to Terzo.

”Hi,” she waved at him and Terzo smiled at her.

”Good to have you back, young miss.”

Then her attention went back to Copia and now as Terzo could properly see the way Copia was looking at Aria, he couldn’t fight against the knowing smirk that rose to his lips. Copia looked at her like she was the light, and Aria was just smiling at him brightly. She looked happy to be back.

As Copia finally tore his gaze away, Terzo knew what was coming, and he also knew that he couldn’t say ’no’ to him. Even though Copia was now a teenager, he still knew how to make himself look like that 6 year old he once was.

”Can I go now, for a moment? I promise I will finish the homework later. Aria can confirm that.”

Aria giggled and nodded with such an enthusiasm that Terzo wasn’t sure was even convincing. But he let it pass this time. Copia usually kept his word and if he didn’t – well, as soon as Secondo would come back, he would surely get a little lecture.

”Fratello,” Copia dragged the word a little, and something in Terzo’s chest moved. Despire hearing that word for countless times before from Copia’s mouth, it never failed to make him feel warm. There was no blood relation and it didn’t really matter – family wasn’t always about the blood. Sometimes people just found each other and became a family. And Copia was the little brother he thought he could never have.

”Uh, are you okay?”

Aria’s question tore Terzo out of his thoughts and he shook his head, clearing his throat.

”Oh, yes, I’m okay, just thinking.”

Both Aria and Copia raised their brows but they didn’t say anything, just stood there, waiting. A long sigh passed Terzo’s lips and he leaned more back on his chair, offering a soft smile for both.

”Sí, you can go.”

Copia was now basically beaming, and when Aria took a hold of his hand, Terzo didn’t miss the way a faint red color rose to the boy’s cheeks.

”You’re the best!” Copia stated as Aria was already dragging him towards the door. Terzo chuckled heartily.

”Don’t let Secondo hear that.”

And with that the two disappeared out the door and Terzo was left sitting in silence, the only company being his thoughts. And now those thoughts were even more strongly leading him to direction where there might be more than friendship between his brother and Aria.