#the curtains are closed to block light in case of a fire on the couch

[theskeletoninthegarden]

Opened the curtains for a bit to let them get some sun and this led to that.

[silver-scripts]

You say my name and everything just stops

pairing: Lockwood & Lucy

summary: When Lockwood gets home late from a job, he finds Lucy asleep in the library.Or the one where Lockwood walks in on Lucy having a sex dream about him

word count: 1.6k

crossposted: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50742568/chapters/129153598

Lockwood felt like death as he walked up the steps to 35 Portland Row. His entire body ached and was covered in dust. His palms were rubbed raw and scraped in places, and his legs felt utterly like lead beneath him.

More accurately, he felt like shit.

The solo job hadn’t gone well, that was for sure, but at least he’d finished it. London had one less ghost, and Lockwood & Co would have one more paycheck. So there was that.

With a sigh, he opened the front door and closed it silently behind him. It was nearing two-thirty already, and he was sure everyone else was fast asleep by now. Best not to wake them, he thought, as he deposited his rapier in the umbrella stand by the door and slipped off his jacket, hanging it neatly on its hook. He took a moment to systematically roll up his sleeves before heading for the stairs.

He paused when he noticed the light coming from the library.

Soft on his feet, he slipped into the room, moving silently in case George was deep in research. At such a late hour, there was no telling how much clothing George currently had on. Once, Lockwood had startled him in the midst of his midnight studies and received a full view of his friend’s ass, and he wasn’t keen on repeating the experience.

Inside the library, the embers of a fire that had burnt out hours ago were still glowing and clinging to life. The reading lamp on the side table was also lit, casting a warm haze across the room. Lucy was sprawled across the couch, and a novel lay haphazardly on the floor, as if she had fallen asleep reading it. A small smile grazed Lockwood’s lips at the sight.

He would never stop being glad that Lucy felt so comfortable here. He still didn’t know much about the house that she had grown up in, but he’d gathered enough to understand that it wasn’t a home. Not truly. And not in the way Portland Row had since become for her.

And, selfishly, Lockwood was glad for his own reasons. Portland Row hadn’t felt much like a home for him in years, yet Lucy had brought a life back into the house that hadn’t been there since Jessica had died. Him, George, Lucy… they’d become a family.

Smiling softly, Lockwood bent down and picked the book off of the floor, flattening the pages that had crumpled in the fall. On quick inspection, it was some kind of romance, and Lockwood rolled his eyes as he placed it on the coffee table.

He walked to the windows and pulled the curtains closed to block out the dawn light that would be coming soon. He knew Lucy hadn’t slept much lately — really, none of them had, with the amount of cases they’d been taking on. He was almost relieved to see her sleeping, and hoped she’d be able to sleep through the night without interruption.

Lockwood grabbed the blanket from his reading chair, and, holding his breath, draped it gently over Lucy’s sleeping form. He took a silent step backwards, and then another, and turned to retreat to his bedroom for the night.

Lucy shifted, and Lockwood paused.

She mumbled something in her sleep, and her forehead creased. A soft noise caught in the back of her throat, and Lockwood felt himself take an instinctual step back towards her, afraid suddenly that she might be having another nightmare.

It wasn’t uncommon for any of them — himself and George included. It came with the job description. And there was an unspoken rule that none of them would bring it up if they awoke to each other’s screams in the middle of the night. But god, how his heart burned whenever he heard Lucy’s cries. It took everything in him not to run up to her attic room and wake her up, but he knew she’d have his head for it.

In front of him now, Lucy muttered something else unintelligible as she rolled slightly to the side. Her breath fell out in a shallow gasp, and color flooded her face. Lockwood’s chest tightened in concern.

And then Lucy let out a small moan.

Time seemed to stop as Lockwood’s brain caught up with the present and he realized this was a very different type of dream. He stumbled backwards and his face burned with something between panic and embarrassment. Lucy let out another quiet moan, and Lockwood felt like he couldn’t get out of the library fast enough. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about anything else but his escape plan — that was what he was good at, right? It was what allowed them all to succeed on so many jobs, and truly, was this any different?

Anyways, it was easier to focus on fleeing. It stopped his mind from wandering to god knows where else, or from focusing too hard on how badly he wanted to hear her make those sounds in a different context.

“Lockwood.”

He froze at the edge of the hall.

She’d said his name thickly, like she’d just woken up, and he was horrified to have been caught. Horrified that she’d get the wrong idea and think he was watching or something. He could feel the heat in his cheeks spreading to the tips of his ears as he turned, ready to face the look of accusation in her eyes.

But Lucy was still asleep.

Lockwood stood there, still as a statue, mind racing, struggling to understand because he’d sworn she’d said his name, sworn—

Lucy moaned again, and her breathing came out shallow and fast.

Lockwood blanched. His face drained of color, and just as quickly flooded again until every pore on his cheeks was burning. His mouth hung open at an odd angle, and he couldn’t slow his thoughts, couldn’t slow the unfortunate arousal growing within him.

If Lucy was (presumably) having a sex dream, and had said his name in the middle of it?

Lockwood’s heart lurched. He felt lightheaded suddenly, and entirely off kilter. He was torn between feeling sick to his stomach and incredibly turned on, which was an odd mix to say the least. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the moment she’d walked in the door for the interview, but he’d always assumed it was one-sided, or at least had held his tongue regardless, because he liked what they had and he knew he would fuck it up.

And god, was he holding his tongue now, because all he wanted was to wake her up and ask what she was dreaming about so he could recreate it in real life. Do anything just to hear her moan his name for real, to hear her shallow breathing and know it was because of him and not just a dream version of him.

How many times had he quietly imagined what it’d be like to hear her like this? Had he silently cursed himself for allowing his mind to even stray that far?

He white-knuckled the door frame, afraid he’d lose whatever ounce of self control he had left. He knew he couldn’t - shouldn’t - wouldn’t do anything. Because everything else aside, what if it was just a mistake? God knows he’d had his fair share of sex dreams before about people he didn’t desire that way. What if this was the same for her?

The thought hurt worse than the idea of her never thinking of him that way at all.

He’d never gotten around to switching off the reading lamp, and in its glow he could see the crimson color of Lucy’s cheeks as she dreamed, the hazy movement of her eyes behind her eyelids. She looked almost angelic in the soft light. She was so perfect.

But he couldn’t keep staring at her like this. Besides being a complete invasion of her privacy, he didn’t trust himself not to do anything rash.

With an effort akin to escaping ghost lock, he tore his gaze away from her and forced himself to leave the room, forced himself to not stop until he’d entered the safety of his bedroom and had closed the door tightly behind him.

He didn’t realize he was holding in his breath until it all came loose at once, letting out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the back of his door frame. He cursed everything — himself for not doing anything, himself for having wanted to do anything at all, Lucy for having that bloody dream, the ghost at his job tonight for being a royal prick and keeping him out this late anyways.

He dragged himself over to his bed and dropped on it dramatically and without pausing to remove his suit. He stared blankly at the ceiling, eyes unmoving, as a million different unholy thoughts flashed through his mind. None of them helped the hard-on he had going on, and as much as he wanted to, it felt almost disrespectful to do anything about it.

Christ, he was down bad.

He pulled a pillow over his face and tried to get the way Lucy had moaned his name out of his mind.

But he couldn’t, because really, how could he?

In his head, he charged back into the living room and pulled her off of the couch so he could kiss her roughly, and she would grab fistfuls of his hair and make a sound like he’d heard her make in her sleep, and he—

Lockwood groaned.

It was going to be a long night.

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (epilogue II)

word count; 3193

summary; deep into your relationship, and still happy, there’s a bigger step on the horizon.

notes; please note that this is based two years after the events of the main series!

warnings; reference to arson, reference to injury.

“Tommy, where the hell are we? Why does it smell like burned wood?” You grinned, your vision blocked by the tie Thomas had used to cover your eyes, holding onto one of his hands tightly as he guided you up the pathway beneath your feet. “Seriously, I thought we were having a date night. You said we were going out!”

“We are out, technically.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, your skin tingling a little where his lips had pressed, before he was slowing you down, bringing you to a stop, and his hand left yours. The sunlight that had been pocking through the tie was blocked, shadowed as Thomas came to stand in front of you. “It’s just not what you think. But we are on a date, and we can order some food out here later.”

“Where exactly is ‘out here’? Because we were driving for, like, an hour.”

“Okay, well, it wouldn't normally be that long. I got a little lost because I couldn’t use the SatNav.” He huffed, fingers smoothing over the knot on the back of your head and trying not to pull on your hair as he undid it carefully. You were buzzing with excitement, wondering where exactly it was that he’d brought you, and you blinked a little at the light burned ta your eyes, finally able to see again. Thomas had blindfolded you upon leaving the station after your shift, not wanting you to have any idea about where you were going, and it took you a moment to readjust. “You ready?”

“Totally ready.” You beamed, and Thomas nodded, dipping down to press a quick peck to your lips, before he was stepping out of your way. Staring up at the building for a second, your blinked once, and then twice, before your lips were pursing, head tipping to the side. You stared for another moment, before turning to look at Thomas. “We’re at a burned-up house from a call last month?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah! Cool!” You faked his enthusiasm for a second, trying to understand where it was coming from. “Huh. Why?”

He rolled his eyes fondly, tucking the tie into his back pocket before taking your hand and tugging you up the steps. The doorframe was burned, the door pulled closed but unable to lock as it hung unevenly on its hinges, and Thomas pushed it open again carefully. “I thought you might want to look around? Can I show you around?”

You didn’t understand much, but you smiled, sensing his excitement in it, and nodding your head. “Yeah, Tommy, of course.”

You stepped in a little more, eyes flicking over it all. There was peeling wallpaper that was scarred with ash and black stains, burned away right down to the foundations in some places, and the ceilings were covered in soot. The floors creaked under your feet as you stepped in glass smashed and the shards stained, and it was unusual to see the remnants of a building like this without all the smoke and fire that usually came with it when you were on the job.

The first room looked like it was supposed to have wide doors, an entrance that would take double doors but they’d fallen down, ripped laces along the frame where they’d torn of, but the debris had been moved from inside of the house. The living room was beautiful, you couldn't deny it. There was a large fireplace against one wall, real log-burning with a chimney up to the roof and if you hadn't actually worked on the case, you’d have immediately put the large accessory down to the cause of the fire.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t. The reason this beautiful large house had burned down was stupid kids messing around with fireworks in the back garden of a house for sale, which was now completely destroyed. What would once have sold for over a million was barely worth a couple hundred thousand anymore, despite the beautiful neighbourhood it was in.

“This room is huge.” You mumbled, stepping a little further inside, and Thomas nodded. There was a file on one side, a place that was covered in old and destroyed bookshelves, a large windowsill beside it, and you could already picture it extended to make a little reading nook.

“Do you wanna’ see how it looked before? There were pictures on the real estate website, it was beautiful.”

You nodded, tuning to your boyfriend as he pulled out his phone, pulling up the pictures and swiping through them, Standing by his side, you looped an arm around his waist, leaning in slightly, and his arm went over your shoulders. Finally finding the right one, he positioned you both to be facing in the right direction, a set of large bay windows on one side that went out towards a decking that had been burned away.

In the photograph, the window had curtain rails and soft white curtains made of a thin kind of mesh, letting in the natural light as they hung over large glass doors. The walls were done up with a pale grey and white wallpaper, leaving it simply for the furnishings, but everything seemed to be in pale shades that made it all feel modern and elegant. Turning you both, he showed off the fireplace, decorated with old cobblestones and shale around the base that decorated it beautifully, before fading away into what had once been smooth oak wood flooring.

There were pictures on the wall at one end, and it reminded you of the wall Thomas had in his apartment, the one you had moved into almost a year ago, but his one was bigger, and looked like it could hold at least three times the quantity. There were couches laid out, surrounding a large television, and it was a huge area, a coffee table that looked like it was almost the size of a dining table.

Moving through to the kitchen together, you were even more taken aback by it. To one side was what was once a dining room, connected fully and open space, enough to seat a whole extended family, and you could only imagine the thanksgivings or the Christmas’, and you would be able to fit the whole squad into that room without trouble, without sitting in different rooms or connecting tables, all squeezing around the kitchen counters at Newt’s place or sitting in the tables, couches and floor like at Minho’s last Christmas.

There was space in the kitchen for an island in the centre, stools in front of it, and built-in ovens and fridges like at the station. There was also a set of large doors here, the glass broken, and you assumed this was where the fireworks had burst right though because there was a hole in the centre of the ceiling up into one of the rooms above.

“I saw this kitchen and I was immediately thinking about the size of it. Y’know, like, imagine the parties or the holidays, with a dining room like that and a kitchen like this I remember thinking it when we were putting out the flames, too.” He scratched at the back of his neck, looking around for a second, and you guided his face back to your own, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Weird thing to think about when putting out a fire, I know.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Big kitchen and dining room, you’d actually be able to fit a family our size into it without trouble. It’s kinda’ wild to think about.”

He chuckled, nodding his head, and his hands lifted to cup your cheeks pulling you back in closer to him. His nose bumped against your own, dragging together for a second in sweet Eskimo kisses, before his lips were meeting your own. Pressing in softly, he was still smiling into the connection for the first few seconds, before his head was twisting to the side, one hand dropping from your face to your waist, smoothing around your lower back and pulling you in even closer.

Pressing up into him, your arms circled his neck, pulling him down to your level as his tongue soothed over your lower lip, and you parted them for him. He sighed, a breathy and delicate sound, before his fingertips were digging into your flesh, holding you tightly as he pulled you impossibly closer. Scratching lightly at the hairs along the base of his neck, he rumbled happily, chest vibrating under your own with the noise and your fingers tangled a little more, and you pulled back. He whined, chasing after you for a few seconds, before letting you go, his forehead resting against yours instead.

“Your hairs getting kinda’ long.”

“You don’t like it?” He teased, and you shook your head, slightly kiss-swollen lips puckering for a second to press to his own again, a series of short pecks, before you pulled back.

“I like it, but you always complain about how sweaty your head gets in your helmets when your hair is too long.” He sighed, knowing you were right, and shrugging it off with a ‘hmph’.

“You know, talking of parties, there’s this amazing outdoor area. It's huge, there’s the decking from the living room and a patio outside here, there’s a big tree at the end of the garden and this amazing barbecuing area.” You nodded along, eyes narrowing on him again as he got excited over it, walking you a little closer to the broken doors so that you could see out.

He was right, there was a tall oak tree at the end of a huge garden, a fire pit made in the middle surrounded by beer cans and wrapped from where you assumed the teens who’d started the fire had been messing around, but with a little love and care, it would be all fixed up. The patio would seat big outdoor furniture, and you could picture a smaller firepit in the centre for later summer nights, as well as the proud barbecuing area Thomas had mentioned, built into the stonework with different levels and multiple grills.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think of this house?” You echoed, and he nodded slowly, almost hesitantly, before you took a deep breath, staring back out to the garden.

“I think it’s beautiful. Or, it was. Has a lot of potential to be incredible again.” You didn’t know much, you’d barely seen half of the lower floor and none of the upper ones. “I haven’t seen much of it, but what I have seen is nice.”

“Well, y’know, there’s big bedrooms. The master bedroom is amazing, it has an en-suite with a shower and a bathtub, a big closet and huge windows for natural light with a little miniature balcony outside of it. There’s a study down here which would make a really nice snug or cosy room, it didn’t get touched as much by the fire so you can get a better image of it when I show you. There are so many bedrooms, seriously, like, six bedrooms. There’s an attic, and a basement, and-

“Tommy, why are we here?” There was something hidden under his voice, his words trailing off after you’d interrupted him and his hand sank back to his sides from where he’d been making gestures with them, his shoulders slumping a little.

“It’s a cool house, I thought you might want to see inside of it! Especially since you and Newt didn’t get to do much when we were here, there wasn’t anybody injured, so you were just left waiting around, and I wanted to share it with you.”

“There’s more to it than that, I know I’m not great at picking up on signals, Tommy, but I’d like to think I got pretty good at reading you over this last year or so.” You studied him for a second, and he shrunk a little more under your gaze, before huffing out a laugh.

“Almost two years, now.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing to reassure him, before sliding up to sit on his neck, letting your thumb brush over his pulse point and calm him. His hand landed on your wrist, following as he trailed it up your arm to find your hand, pulling it away from his body and linking your fingers together instead. He kissed along your knuckles, remaining in silence, but you felt like you were drowning in the nervous tension he was letting off.

“Talk to me, Tommy.”

“Okay.” He let out a shaky breath, nodding his head before looking back up to you. “Well, you and Newt were talking after the case, right? He said Derek lived in a neighbourhood like this when he was younger, and that you had always wanted to live in an area like this. Well, when I was in here, I kept thinking about how beautiful this place was, and how big it was. The whole squad could fit in, and it would be so comfortable. This is the sort of place you spend the rest of your life in, right? I was looking through it all and doing a sweep and because I knew it was empty my mind was wandering. I just thought about how I would never normally be able to afford a place like this, and how the value would go down so much because of the fire, and..”

“Oh, wow, are you thinking of buying this house?” You couldn't hide the shock in your voice no matter how much you tried, and Thomas chuckled as he watched you look around, with a little more interest now as you took it all in with more attention to detail.

“Well, yeah. Kind of. It’s only a thirty-minute drive from the house so it’s pretty much the same commute as right now, and-” He huffed, nostrils flaring a little as he thought, and you raised your brows at the way he suddenly went quiet, the gears in his head visibly turning as his brows furrowed a little. “Look, I’m struggling here, I’m nervous, okay?”

“Thomas, you’re getting all panicky.” You whispered, pulling him in a little, and leaning up. He was eagerly awaiting the kiss you gave him, body relaxing a little as you balanced yourself with one hand, thumb playing with his own where the other was still held by one of his, and he didn’t let you go when he pulled back. Instead, his head dipped lower, pulling you in and wrapping an arm around your waist, needy kisses that left you breathless as he held onto you, tension melting away and becoming a little hazy instead as he clung to you.

“I’m just,” His teeth nibbled a little on your lower lip, panting slightly as he pulled back for breath, and you were stealing more kisses through gasping laughs as you tried to get enough air, smiling and teasing as you did. “I’m just trying to ask you,” He was cut off again, your mouth meeting his and he laughed against your lips, his hand leaving your own to hold onto you more, fingers tickling over your sides lightly as you laughed into the kiss. “Cut it out, I’m calm now, but I have to say this while I have the courage.”

His cheeks were flushed when you pulled back, hair a little messy and lips a darker shade than usual, and he licked over them as he stared down at you, undoubtedly staring at an equal messy composure. “You have my undivided attention. Go right ahead.”

“I remember that a while ago, we were lying in bed and talking about things we wanted that we never thought would happen, and you said you’d always wanted to rebuild a house. Renovate it, was the word you used. You wanted to make it your own, but you never thought you’d afford it. And, on a paramedic and a firefighters wage, we’d never be able to afford a place like this, normally.”

“We?” You echoed, a soft smile on his lips as your heart thudded in his chest. You knew what it meant, it was a heavy commitment to buy a house with someone, living together was one thing but buying a house was basically a step away from a proposal, it was an investment in a long term future together, and you felt like you could barely breathe. Your chest felt tight, shock and adrenaline racing through you and you stiffened slightly, fear lacing itself into Thomas’ features once again. “You, uh, you want us to buy a house together?”

“Maybe..” He sighed, a little timid again now. “It was just a thought, because it’s such a beautiful house, and as soon as I saw it I was thinking about things you’d said, and it just seemed perfect for us, but if you don’t like it then that’s fine, just don’t shut down on me, okay?” He rested a hand over your cheek, thumb brushing softly, and his lips pressed a soft kiss toy our forehead. “Just tell me you hate the idea, but don’t go silent, alright?”

You nodded, letting him kiss your temple too, before pulling back to look at you. “I, um..”

“Hate it?”

“Love it, actually.” You choked on the words slightly, feeling a little breathless as they were wheezed out, and Thomas paused. He looked sceptical, shaking his head slightly, and you tried your best to smile. “No, I do. I really do. I’m just terrified, okay? I’m not good at long-term commitment, I’m scared, but I want it. With you.”

“Really? Because I know it’s a big step, and I know what it means, I’m not blind. It’s buying a house together, so if you wanna’ freak out or you don’t want it, that's okay, just tell me, alright? Because I’m in this with you for the long haul and you’ve got to know that by now, it’s not a secret, so I can wait until you’re ready.” The words sped from him, a little too fast, and you shook your head, leaning up to press your forehead to his.

“I’m really, totally sure. I just hadn't thought about it, okay? I was caught off guard, I’m not much one to think about the future, it doesn’t come naturally to me. But when I do think about my future, you’re always there.”

“Always?” He teased, twisting his head to brush his lips with your own.

“Every single time.” You gave him a quick kiss, a happy hum to accompany it and he relaxed once he let you sink back. “So, why don’t we order some pizza to be delivered here, and you can show me around some more. You said there were lots of bedrooms, which is good, because you know Newt will want his own.”

“So, we’re buying a house?” He looked a little unsteady, eyes glossing over, and he sniffed lightly. You matched him, nodding your head and beaming as the emotions overwhelmed you.

“Yeah, baby, we are.”

[whumpasaurus101]

Through Sickness and Health

Me sick = Asher sick >:D

CW: reference to vomitting / cursing / not too whumpy :) / whumper caretaker / sick whumpee

Previous / Masterlist

Asher let out a groan as he woke up. His head felt like it was weighed down by every single thing in the world. His head was pounding as he stretched. He slowly opened his eyes, quickly shutting them as he noticed how bright the room was.

He heard Rodger starting to stir beside him. “Why is it so fucking bright in here?” Rodger chuckled, “Asher, the blackout curtains are closed, its only my bedside lamp that’s on. Its not bright.” Asher practically growled this time, “Well then fucking turn it off!”

“Asher,” Rodger spoke as if warning him, “Mind your language, don't give me cheek.” Asher scoffed, “Stop treating me like a five year old.” Rodger pushed down the anger and smiled, “Wow, its possible for you to actually say one sentence without adding a curse word! Congrats!”

Asher pushed his head face first further into the pillow, “Shut up!!” “Asher, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I feel like shit.”

Rodger thought for a moment and turned to face Asher, lying on his side, “Let me check your temperature.” Asher turned his face towards him, “My what?” Rodger rolled his eyes, “Just bring your head closer to me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You're going to hit me.” Rodger let out a chesty laugh, “Hah! Surprisingly not this time.” Asher slowly brought his head closer and flinched as Rodger raised his hand but slowly relaxed as Rodger’s hand was gently placed over his forehead. “Huh, you are quite hot.” Asher smirked, “Why thank you.” Rodger smacked Asher’s forehead, “Your temperature, dummy. I see the illness hasn’t affected your humour. Asher smiled a toothy grin, “Never.”

“Alright, stay here, I’ll get a thermometre.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh my god- just- just stay here for a second, Jesus Christ.”

Asher surprisingly stayed. His head felt on fire, his nose felt blocked, his throat was sore, his body ached and his stomach felt as if all of his insides were knotted tightly together. He did not want to move. Rodger soon returned with something ‘pipe-like’ in his hand.

“Oh great, another little kinky torture device of yours, what are you g-” He was quickly shut up as Rodger stuck the thermometer between his lips, “Keep that there for a few minutes.” Asher looked down at it quizzically, eyebrows furrowed. Rodger chuckled to himself as he saw Asher’s eyes cross as he studied the thermometer.

A few minutes later, Rodger took back the thermometer and studied it, “Shit, okay, basically, you're sick.” “Yeah, no fucking shit sherlock.”

Rodger glared at him, “Look, if you're expecting me to be nice today, drop you're fucking attitude.” And with that, Rodger left the room, slamming the door behind him. Asher groaned as the slam worsened his headache.

His throat was itchy. He was cold. Holy shit, was he dying?

Just as he was about to fall asleep, he suddenly woke up with a jolt as he heard the sound of pots and pans being banged against something. Once he opened his eyes he let out a yelp from the black-curtains pulled back, letting all the morning light in.

He quickly covered his eyes and ears as Rodger continued to bang a metal pot over and over with a wooden spoon from the doorway. “What the fuck are you doing?!?”

“I'm sorry, what? I can't hear you!”

“Yeah, well maybe put down the fucking pot!!”

Rodger chuckled and surprisingly did, “Oh, I'm going to have so much fun with this today.” Asher slowly brought his hands down from his face, “Can't you just leave me alone for one day?” Rodger fake smiled, “Sorry buddy, no can do!”

“Please, I’ll do anything!”

Rodger smirked, we’ll see. Now, go take a shower and come into the kitchen when you're done.” Asher nodded and Rodger left.

After several minutes of staring at the blak wall, Asher finally motivated himself to get up and go into the bathroom. He yawned -immediately regretting it as his throat started getting sore again- and turned on the shower. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and stretched. Once he got into the shower he was relieved to feel hot water against his skin. He let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes.

Once he stepped out of the shower he shivered and quickly slipped into a fresh pair of clothes. He yawned again as he entered the kitchen. “Ah, well good morning there sunshine,” Rodger beamed. Asher grumbled under his breath as his headache grew worse from just the sight of Rodger.

“Take a seat and drink this.”

“What is it?”

“It will help.” “What is it.”

Rodger sighed and held himself back from smashing Asher’s head against the table. “Its just codeine, it should help with your headache.” Asher looked skeptically at the fizzing glass of water in front of him. He slowly brought it to his lips and took a small sip.

“Fuck!” Rodger chuckled as Asher spat out the drink. “How the hell is that supposed to help my headache?! It's just making me feel even worse!” “If you down it you should be fine, now don't be a wuss.”

Asher scowled at the glass. It looked like normal water but with white floating bits and bubbles. “I'm not drinking that.”

“You don't have to, you'll just have to continue to live with that migraine of yours.”

Asher looked truly torn and Rodger loved it. He took a few breaths before picking up the glass and chugging three quarters of the contents. “Oh that tastes vile!!!” He finished the last bit and gagged slightly. Rodger looked up from the glass he was drying, “You doing okay there?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Asher ran from the kitchen into the bathroom and well… the rest wasn’t pretty. Rodger chuckled from the kitchen as he heard Asher, he was being a complete baby! It was hilarious! And he couldn't wait to see the look on Asher’s face with the next thing he had in mind.

Ten minutes later, Asher stumbled into the kitchen, clutching his stomach. “You're as white as snow,” Rodger chuckled. Asher chose to ignore him and slumped in the seat he was previously sitting in, plopping his head down on his folded arms and groaned. His head came up as something was placed in front of him. He gagged again at the sight of vegetable soup, it looked very similar to-

He ran out of the kitchen again.

Rodger chortled once more and turned to the toaster. He slipped two slices of bread into each slot and pushed the handle down. With no bother, he ate the vegetable soup and hummed happily.

When Asher returned once more, he looked half dead, “Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse. Rodger buttered the two slices of toast, cut them into triangles and set the plate in front of Asher, “Hey, it's alright now, I have had my fun for now. Try and eat some of that, I'm not having you complaining later about how I ‘didn't feed you’.”

Asher glumly took a bite of the toast and slowly chewed it. Once he had eaten two triangles he pushed the plate forward, looking up at Rodger who stepped forward and took the plate away, “I’ll wrap it up just in case you feel like nibbling at it again, okay?”

Asher nodded and closed his eyes, soon to be woken from his trance as his shoulder was softly shaken, “Hey Ashy,” Rodger whispered gently, “Lets move to the couch, hm?” Asher looked up at him with pleading eyes and nodded.

Rodger picked him up bridal style and laid him down on the couch. “Hmm, what movie should we watch? How about Beauty and the Beast?” Asher’s eyebrows furrowed, he had no clue what they were. Rodger chuckled, “Right, I forgot, we’ll start with this one.”

Rodger selected the movie and lifted Asher up slightly, sitting on the couch so Asher’s head rested on his lap. The movie played and Rodger started running his hands through Asher’s hair. Halfwaywhumper caretaker

through the movie, Rodger could hear Asher’s heavy breathing. He leaned forward to see Asher fast asleep. He chuckled and sat back again watching the movie while absentmindedly stroking Asher’s hair.

Asher would have to make up for this, but for now, now they just relaxed.

---

taglist:

@likeit-or-whumpit @milk-carton-whump @yesthisiswhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @appy-polly-loggies @happy-whumper @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

[lilbabychilton]

Two Weeks- Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid x Reader

Tags: Angst

Notes: The Reader, who lost her husband previously, comforts Spencer after he loses Maeve. (This’ll probably be part of a nearly canon universe, sooo we’ll see.)

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since you watched helplessly as Spencer Reid got his heart broken and his entire life shattered.

You’d been at the BAU for a little over a year now, keeping your distance and never really allowing anyone to get close. You transferred there from Brooklyn SVU after your husband died. The gaping hole in your heart had never really mended instead of healing, you built walls. 

Watching Spencer lose the one he loved most brought up all of your unresolved trauma. Despite your best efforts to stay away from others, you’d grown a soft spot for Spence. He never asked questions, never pushed; but whenever he could tell something was wrong, he’d show up at your desk with a coffee.

One night, after a particularly triggering case, everyone had gone home; but you remained. Staring absently at the wedding picture on your desk, ghosting your fingers over the metal frame, you began feeling the all too familiar pangs of grief tugging at your heart strings. It was as if wind was howling through the emptiness of your heart. 

“Still here?” Spencer asked, leaning against your desk, his hands shoved into his pockets. 

“Still here.” You replied solemnly, letting out a deep sigh and prying your eyes away from the frame. 

“You okay?” He asked timidly, always careful never to cross your clear boundaries. 

“No.” You replied bluntly, shoving down the need to cry so far down into your gut you could feel it. The heaviness settling there like a block of concrete in the ocean. 

“You want to go get pizza?” A small, sympathetic smile crept onto Spencers face. Trying to cheer you up while effectively knowing nothing about you was no easy feat. “I know a place that’s open, it’s pretty good.” 

You graciously accepted, and found yourself sitting across from each other in the nearly empty restaurant. Spencer rambled on and on for hours about anything under the sun, and you didn’t stop him. His voice helped fill the emptiness, and to tell you the truth, it brought you joy. Watching him wax poetic about his interests was like watching a little ray of sunshine dance in front of you and warm the cockles of your soul. 

But now that ray of light was gone; and your heart ached all the more, wondering when it would come back. 

You made your way up the stairs to Spencer’s, apartment bag in hand. The hall was dimly lit and looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 70’s. Somehow it wasn’t where you pictured him living, but you pressed on. 

“Hey Spence, it’s me” you called gently, knocking on the door and waiting for a response. There was no answer. 

“Can you just let me know you’re alive in there?” you asked, with a sigh not at all expecting an answer. But a minute later there was a hard slap against the door and you felt your heart sink. 

He clearly wasn’t going to let you in, probably in no mood for company. But you couldn’t in good conscience leave him there to be alone another day. You’d been there, you did exactly this when your husband died, and to be honest isolating just made you feel worse, numb almost. 

So instead of leaving you did something you hadn’t done since you were a teenager; you picked the lock. Laughing to yourself as you pulled out the lock picking kit you bought on amazon a month ago in a wine drunk haze. 

“Who knew it’d come in handy.” You thought darkly as you heard the lock click open. 

You opened the door and were hit with a wave of humidity. The air was thick, the curtains were drawn, and there were books thrown all over the floor. Your mind flashed back to your house, a year ago, it looked exactly like this. And you looked exactly like Spencer, laying on the floor, greasy unkempt hair, and pajamas that probably hadn’t been changed since he ambled home that night. 

“Hey Spence” you greeted gently, sitting on the floor near his head.

“How did you get in?” He asked, completely unfazed, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. 

You held the lock picking kit over his eyes and shook it a little. Spencer exhaled harshly, might have been a laugh, might have been frustration. 

“I’ve never told you about my husband.” You said, playing with the shoelaces on your beat up tennis shoes. Spencer turned his head, not willing to speak but interested in what you had to say. 

You never talked about your personal life. The only one that had known was Rossi, and you assumed he told the others not to ask, and you were grateful. 

“He died in a fire almost two years ago,” you started, “arson to be specific.” 

“I’m sorry” Spencer breathed, tears rimming his hazel eyes. 

“I know,” you replied, “me too.” 

“I was a Brooklyn SVU Detective and he was a firefighter. I was working a child trafficking case and I hadn’t slept in three days.” You anxiously picked at your nail, you’d never told this story to anyone but your therapist and even then it’d been a struggle. But you swallowed the lump in your throat and continued on. 

“The unsub was burning location’s to cover his tracks. The last location still had kids in it. Both my husband and I were called to respond. I couldn’t do anything with a burning building, so I waited outside, watching the crowd.” 

���Fuck” you muttered taking a breather and putting your head in your hands, by now Spencer had sat up and was listening to you intently with his legs crossed and his chin in his hands. 

“All the kids were out, they were doing a final sweep. I watched three firefighters go in,” you took a deep breath and felt the tears welling in your eyes threatening to fall and your voice shook. 

“And I watched two come out. I don’t think I’ve ever run harder in my life. By the time I got there two men were dragging my husband out of the building. He died holding my hand in the ambulance.” 

Tears were streaming down your cheeks when you finished your tragic tale. 

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” Spencer asked getting up off the floor and moving to the couch, he was crying too. 

“No,” you scoffed, wiping the tears off your face and following him. “What I’m saying is, I get it. And it fucking sucks.”

Spence paused for a long moment then looked at you, “it does fucking suck.” 

That was probably the most inarticulate thing you’d ever heard him say, and you grabbed his hand to comfort him, “but it sucks more to do it alone, trust me.”

“When’s the last time you ate?” you asked and Spencer just shrugged. 

“You have to eat.” You said catching his sad gaze. 

“Not hungry.” He mumbled and you shrugged.

You stood up and walked over to your bag, pulling out a carton of lactose free ice cream and some plastic spoons. 

“I survived on this after John died.” You said, walking over to Spencer and handing him the container. 

“How do you know I’m lactose intolerant?” he asked with a near microscopic smirk threatening his lips. 

“I mean, other than the fact that statistically it’s super likely,” you began, “I pay attention, I’m distant not dumb.” 

Then you pulled out your laptop, and a set of dvd’s and set them on the coffee table. Spencer leaned forward to inspect them.

“The first season of the Doctor Who reboot?” He asked, turning the case over in his hands and scanning the images. 

“I’ve got all the other seasons in this bag. Sometimes you’ve got to distract yourself.” You said, laughing inwardly at your next thought. 

“When John died I binged all of the show Dexter, it was awful.” you paused, taking in your surroundings “but it was better than sitting in the dark and crying til I made myself sick.” 

“How?” Spencer asked, his face scrunching up in thought, like for the first time in his life he was at a loss for words. “How do I stop myself from doing that.” 

You sighed and he began to cry, you pulled him into you and stroked his hair as the sobs wracked his tiny frame. 

“Force” you said simply, “you force yourself to do it. The person you love wouldn’t want you to wither away in the dark.” 

“It’s so hard” he cried and you cried too, no one knew better than you did exactly how hard it was. That’s why you were here. 

“Do you blame yourself?” You asked. Spencer said nothing, he only sobbed harder, clinging onto you so hard you were sure he’d leave marks. 

“I did too” you said, easing yourself back and taking Spencer with you. “Rossi consulted on a case for us before my husband died. Said I had talent and should come help out at the BAU.” 

You paused and thought about that moment bitterly, as you were sure you always would. It was one stupid, simple decision what would have changed your entire life for the better. 

“I said no” you continued, absently playing with Spencer's hair in an attempt to sooth him. Your partner used to do that for you after John died, she’d come over every day and just play with your hair until you fell asleep. 

“I liked my life in New York. John was willing to go but I was scared.” You scoffed, and Spencer turned to you. 

“Do you still blame yourself?” he asked his eyes swollen from crying and sunken from lack of sleep. 

“Sometimes.” You replied simply, “less often now.” 

“Listen Spence, this is going to suck, and it’s going to suck for a long time. But I promise that eventually it’s bearable.” 

“That’s hard to believe” he said, no tone, no emotion. You knew exactly what was happening. Sometimes in grief your body gets so tired of feeling you just stop. That’s almost worse than the sadness. 

“Oh I know.” you said, “But you find people who make it easier. I’ve got my old partner in New York, she checks in on me all the time, we spend a weekend together every month. And there’s you too.” 

“Me?” Reid questioned, his brows furrowed. 

“Remember that night we got pizza?” you asked, and he nodded. “That was John’s birthday, we got back from a case where a woman lost her husband and fuck, Spence, I was in a rough spot.” 

“I assumed as much.” Spencer said, his memory rolling back to the deeply pained look he saw on your face as he packed up his things. 

“You were there, you didn’t ask any questions, didn’t try to comfort me, you were just there. And that meant a lot.” You said cracking a half smile. 

“I’m sorry I broke in,” you said moving some stray strands of hair out of his eyes. “But I couldn’t stand knowing you were going through this alone. Especially not after you helped me through one of my toughest days since I started here.”

“I appreciate it,” Spencer said, sitting up.

“The ice cream is going to melt.” You said, your eyes flicking over to the poor container sweating in the heat of the apartment. 

“You should probably eat it.” You said picking it up and putting it into his hands. 

“Only if you eat it with me.” He replied grabbing a second plastic spoon out of the box. You smiled and accepted it. 

“Only if we can watch Doctor Who, and only if you point out everything that isn’t scientifically sound.” You said and you watched a smile grow on Spencer’s face. 

“Okay.” He replied and you got everything set up. 

Wading through grief is heavy, it falls over you all at once and it’ll suffocate you if you let it. Sometimes you need a reprieve from it all. Something to help you feel joy again, remind you that the world is still turning. A ray of sunshine in the oppressive darkness. Spencer was one that for you, and now it was your turn to be that for him.

[sp00kworm]

Butterfly

Pairing: Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull x Female Reader

Warnings: Slasher horror and gore

A/N: This fic is blocked from the tags but please enjoy! Reblogs are always appreciated. Gif is by me.

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---

His home was lonely. Jesse looked at the clock, his eyes burning with the need to sleep, but his mind racing. It was late. Approaching eleven o’clock. He’d had to work today. His company didn’t run itself, and there was a lot of accounting and management to do outside of his little hobby. Jesse looked away from the clock and stretched his jaw, the bone clicking from where he was cracked around the face with the bat. The bone had healed rather easily, but it hurt from time to time. His face, that was mauled. He wasn’t the stud he used to be. Handsome, a straight jaw and high cheekbones. Cynically, he snorted at the picture on the mantle he had of him and his late wife. Mrs Cromeans clutched at his arm at some high-class party, her red lips spread in a smile to match Jesse’s smirk. The second was him kissing at her cheek as she pushed him away. Sentimental. He was feeling sentimental. He didn’t hate his wife. She was convenient. A life outside of his hobby. Pretty. He didn’t even know she was pregnant. The police informant he had revealed the death report tentatively to him. The unborn child inside her wasn’t old enough to be saved. An accident he never expected to occur. He’d been gone nearly 4 months, and she was pregnant. He didn’t remember a message, but then he tended to let Spann handle such things. He probably ignored it. Jesse stood from his black leather couch and walked to the mantle.

He took the picture in his hand. His face was partially cut off, the camera focused on his wife and her smile. Jesse looked at it before he leaned over and threw it on the fire. The glass shattered with the force of hitting the logs and the frame quickly burst into flames, black paint peeling off the wood as it crackled and snapped. The photos disappeared into curling pieces of charcoal and he watched the frame burn with a certain amount of upset. Sentiment, he reminded himself, as he pushed himself away from the mantlepiece and touched the tattoo on his chest. The shaded skull stared back at him with hollow eyes. It was a reminder of the urges he had. With a sigh, he touched at his arms and traced the patterns of screaming, swirling ghouls all the way down to his wrist before daring to stand up a little bit straighter. He reached for the laptop of his coffee table and opened a chat window with Spann. It took a moment for the secure connection to open properly.

 Spann’s face appeared in the bottom corner, her tired eyes looking at him through the camera. She was still sat in the office, but she gave him a smile, “What can I do for you, Sir?” She asked as she shuffled the paperwork away.

Jesse made sure his face was out of frame, ‘Make sure there is a clean-up crew on standby.’

Spann peered at the text, “Of course, Sir. Where are you heading out to?” She asked curiously as her fingers whipped across the keyboard lightning fast, “You’ve been in Hollywood for a while now, have you finally taken a fancy to someone? You’ve not been as active as you once were.” She smiled, sickly sweet and twisted, just like she always did.

‘Just have the crew ready. I will text if I find something.’

“Of course. Have fun, Sir.” Spann nodded and he closed the chat window before disconnecting from all the rerouting services and opening the internet to have a look for a bar that suited his fancy. Something exclusive so he didn’t have to sit and be gawked at by people that could well lose their eyes. His good eye roved the names of bars before he spotted a club. He recognised the name. A mob boss run thing, he was sure, but it would mean he didn’t get stared at with a knife on his hip underneath his jacket. Perfect. Jesse snapped his laptop closed and headed upstairs for a shower and to get appropriately dressed up.

 The hot water eased his sore back, but it hurt on the sensitive skin of his face. He covered his face with a hand to his forehead as he washed the smell and aches from himself. The soap was sensitive, and he carefully washed his face, making sure to get around his eyes, to avoid any form of gunky infections. Those had been hell when he was laid in the hospital bed recovering. Still, a great deal of more work on his face this past year had made him far more recognisable, but it wasn’t the same. He was still scarred and twisted, his nose looking rather out of place. He ran a finger over the rougher skin, where the scaring was worst, tracing back over his forehead from his eyebrow. They had managed to graft new muscle and replace areas that were damaged. He felt more human now, but nothing would ever replace how he used to appear. Still, Jesse had paid good money for his better face, and he would be damned if he didn’t use it a little. He turned off the shower and dripped in the wet room for a moment before he wrapped a towel around his waist and pulled his razor out to sheer the hair from his head. It was therapeutic. Jesse leaned over the water to catch the hair on the back of his head before he held his jaw and angled the mirror to check his face. Nothing grew anymore, but that didn’t stop him checking.

 He turned the mirror to his face and stroked the newly constructed nose. It had been four months of healing this time around. Plastic surgery galore. He’d had mountains of work since his run in with Princess’ little friend. He almost resembled a person. Still, he was scarred, and his eyebrows no longer grew hair along with his jaw. He was still blind in one eye, the brown eye cloudy. Jesse plucked his eyepatch from the shelf and replaced it before brushing his perfect teeth. He had paid too much money for most of himself to neglect it. He towelled himself off and walked from the bathroom to his room, stark naked, stretching his back before he plucked out his designer black shirt, trousers, and jacket. Once he was dressed, he pulled on his oxfords and pulled his case from underneath the floorboards. Jesse undid the latches and peered inside. The chrome skull stared back at him, along with the polished knives he used to remove pieces of his victims. The box of gloves sat nestled in the top corner but he didn’t put any on for the time being, letting his tattooed hands breathe. He pushed his fists together and looked at the two words. The words ‘FEAR’ and ‘PAIN’ looked back at him. With a final adjustment of his cufflinks, he took his wallet from the nightstand and left his house, activating the alarm and locking the door before he opened his Chrysler 300 and slid into the roomy interior. The engine roared to life before he pulled away from the drive. Jesse rolled down the tinted window before he pushed his middle finger out of it, flagging the neighbours who glared at him from their windows.

 The bar was half of a club with the back for exclusive clients, which ranged from those involved in mob work, to celebrities. Jesse tugged at the breast of his jacket as he let the eager doorman take his car around the back. He stopped him with a finger in the air and he unlocked his phone and typed into the speech app.

‘Open the trunk or my glovebox and I’ll have your fingers, bellboy.’

“Yes, Sir.” He swallowed as he climbed into the Chrysler, pulling it away smoothly into the back of the club. Jesse looked around, his silver mask shining in the gaudy lighting. The mob knew him. He was the one who moved the weapons through his shelter companies. He took care of some of their business, butchering people like pigs for them when they took his fancy, and in, exchange, they let him have his pick of their girls for his games. He stepped through the door and a bouncer waved at him from the curtain separating the areas. The bar went around both sides, but no one could see through the curtains. Jesse walked through the bar, passing a group of women in lingerie as the bouncer let him through the other side.

“Good to see you again.” He grunted, looking up at the man as he drew out his phone.

‘Did you miss me?’ Jesse snarked through the automatic voice.

“You’re hardly any trouble.” He tipped his head towards a booth, “Make yourself at home.”

Jesse walked past him and headed for his table, pulling the curtains back before he placed his briefcase down and slid inside, sighing with the low lighting. He relaxed back against the cushions and reached for the mask over his face. With a hum, he pushed his thumbs into the mild adhesive and plucked the piece of chrome free with a twist underneath his chin in order to apply a new layer.

 It was quiet at this side of the bar, the curtains blocking out a lot of the noise and the people that he didn’t want to look at. Exclusive. Jesse ran his fingers over the leather of the couch and hummed at the quality before he tucked his case beside him. The knife strapped beneath his jacket wasn’t going to cause any problems here. Jesse pulled the case around and listened as the curtains rustled beside him. He was used to this. The silver skull turned to face the red fabric and Jesse lounged back on his seat as it parted to reveal the curious face of the bartender. He smiled behind his mask at the professional wear, a shirt and bowtie on. His eyes roved lower behind the black material over his eyes, looking at the short skirt attached. Perfect. He greedily took in the sight, laid back against the cushioning, and slid his phone from his pocket.

 You nervously parted the curtains of the exclusive booth and poked your head inside. Great, you thought as you slid the notebook from your pocket, holding your pen in your hand as you tried not to stare at the silver mask leering ominously back at you. His head dipped to look at your legs, admiring the view.

“What can I get you, Sir.” You asked, pen poised to write on the paper, “Any food or are you just drinking?”

The man in the mask didn’t respond, but his fingers whizzed across the keyboard of the phone, typing out something across the screen. He turned the screen to show you the words, ‘Drink. A bottle of bourbon. The one at six hundred.’

“Okay. Do you want a glass and ice?” You asked carefully, watching as he tilted his masked face.

His fingers clicked rapidly across the keyboard again, ‘Two ice cubes. Crystal tumbler.’

You had his sort before, “Of course, Sir.” You ducked back out and replaced the curtains before you headed back towards the bar to grab the expensive, six-hundred-dollar bottle of bourbon whiskey.

 Jesse watched you through a small parting in the curtain, eyes following your backside as you returned to your colleague at the bar. He made sure to drop the curtain back into place as you turned from the bar and headed back towards him.

 “Your drink, and your glass.” You placed the bottle and the tumbler down in front of the chrome-faced man and watched his tattooed fingers twitch against the leather as he leaned over to inspect what you had brought him.

Lazily, he took hold of the bottle neck, and peered at the label before he nodded and typed rapidly on the phone again, ‘Thanks. Run along, Piggy.’

You nodded and left his booth alone, catching a glimpse of tattooed hands pouring a drink as the red curtain closed behind you.

“Rude asshole.” You muttered under your breath as you headed back towards the bar, where you were needed on the other side, with the normal clientele of the bar. They were perhaps worse than the questionable celebrities and mobsters of the exclusive side, but you could cope with serving the sex workers and incredibly drunk men.

 Joe gave you a look of concern as you came back through the curtain. He was an old man and had worked at the bar since he was young. He knew the sorts that tended to frequent the establishment. He leaned over towards you as you threw some glasses in the box for cleaning.

“Don’t fuck with that one.” He whispered, “The Boss doesn’t like him here, but he puts up with it. Rumour is he’s a bit of a knife for hire. Tends to get those jobs that required someone gutting for a video.” Joe scowled and rubbed at his moustache, “Stay far away and keep him happy with drinks.”

“Thanks, Joe.” You uttered before you served a beer, “What’s with the mask?”

Joe shook his head, “Best not to ask.” He then left you alone as you pulled pints of beer for a group. It wasn’t long before you swapped again into the back, smiling as you peered at the booths. You frowned as the curtain to the stranger’s flickered and he waved his hand before he curled his finger towards himself and pushed the phone through.

“Come here.” The automated voice called ominously, and you took a deep breath before you opened the bar door and headed towards the booth again, your notepad in hand. You parted the curtain and smiled at the mysterious man.

 What you saw shocked you a little. He’d taken the mask off, revealing his scarred face to you. You tried not to stare, you really did. Awkwardly, you maintained the smile as he stared up at you, brown eyes dark as though he was daring you to say a word. One was covered with an eyepatch.

The phone clicked away before the screen was presented, ‘Entertain me.’ The voice was absent this time.

You read the words and frowned, “I can offer you a food menu or a different drink, Sir.” You replied quietly, dreading the next words that were going to come out of his mouth, “Unfortunately we don’t have any live music…and other options are not in my job description.”

Tattooed fingers curled against the leather before he grinned, exposing, bright, white teeth in a vicious smile. His chest jumped before he gave out a breathy, long chuckle. He curled his finger again for you to properly step into the booth.

He typed on the phone again before holding it up for you to see, ‘I don’t want you to suck my cock. Sit. Talk.’

Suddenly, you felt a little bit stupid, “Talk? What about?” You were still suspicious of the man.

‘Your boss. He owes me something. I want to know more.’ He turned the phone back to himself and typed again, ‘Ever mention ChromeSkull?’

 Suddenly, you realised who he was. The personalised plates out the back of the bar, and the chromed mask in his lap. This was a dangerous man. Still, he was very capable of ending you now, with no one there to see.

“He doesn’t talk about business in the bar.” You swallowed nervously, “He only said he hoped he never saw your face in here again.” Your gut dropped as you realised either way, you might die.

‘Thanks, sweet thing.’ He typed and showed you before continuing, ‘Call me Jesse.’ You watched his face smile again and suddenly you realised that once he was very handsome. It looked like acid or chemical burn scarring. The mob liked to disfigure people as pay back sometimes, but you had an inkling his weren’t inflicted by the mafia.

‘What’s your name?’ He pushed the screen before your eyes as his fingers danced over the leather.

You cleared your throat and told him, “So are you here for payback?”

‘Something like that.’ He replied on screen, ‘Better company this time.’

Flattering but you still wanted out of the conversation. There wasn’t an opportunity to, however, because as you stood up to straighten yourself out, your boss walked into the booth.

 Judgemental eyes roved you up and down, spotting you playing with your skirt. Jesse was quick to turn and replaced his mask, before your boss could see, the medical adhesive painted along the seams and the area of his nose. He turned back to look at Antony, the owner, with the haunting black eyes of the chrome skull mask peering through him.

“Making yourself at home with my staff?” Antony shot as he pulled a cigarette from between his lips, his face twisted with a glare, “Pretty sure you’re not welcome here anymore.” He dragged a hand through his slicked back, brown hair and snarled viciously before he returned the cigarette to his lips for another nervous drag.

Jesse’s mask tilted before he pointed a finger through the curtains and let the automated voice speak for him, “Justin had no issue letting me in, Antony.” He continued, “Plus, you owe me.”

“If this is about that fucking weapons crate again. I swear to God I didn’t know it was rigged to blow.” He dragged on his cigarette again.

“You lost me a factory, Antony.” The automatic voice droned hauntingly, “And I still haven’t had the compensation.”

“You’ll get your money, shit face.” Antony’s hand twitched for his jacket.

 You panicked as Antony took a seat across from Jesse, his fingers steepled under his chin. It was tense, and you began to panic as Jesse loomed over in the man’s personal space. He was a giant, solid wall of power, and you instinctively took a step back.

Antony clicked at you, “Drinks. Pour them. One for our guest here too.” You nodded and dashed for another glass for Antony before shakily taking the bottle in your hand and pouring both of them shots.

Jesse ignored the drink as he took his silver briefcase and slammed it on top of the table. The wood shuddered under the force of the blow and you jumped as he snapped open the clips.

“Put your fucking knives away, Cromeans.” Antony scoffed.

Jesse slid his first, sharp hunting knife free from his hip and you swallowed as he took a camera from the case. The device had a stand that clipped to his shoulder and he snapped the little tripod on before tapping the top. A red light blinked on. Recording.

“Oh, so you’ve come for something to play with?” Antony laughed, “There’s a toy stood right next to you. Be my fucking guest!” He exclaimed.

 You gave a squeak as Jesse’s large hands grappled you by the waist, dragging you into his lap, your legs pinned between his own as he breathed down your neck. He trapped you as he reached for the box of black nitriles in his case. Methodically, he peeled one free at a time and tugged them over the black tattoos covering his hands. The black nitrile traced the edge of one knife before he span it once, twice, and then placed the edge of the blade against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat at the cold press of metal against your soft skin. His other hand trailed over the skin, his hot breath tickling your ear before he swiped the knife up and dragged the sharp side through your hair. You listened to him inhale before, tauntingly, he made a kissing noise next to your ear. The blade was replaced against your throat as he typed on the phone once more.

“I catch my own fish.” The voice droned before Jesse shook the phone teasingly in front of you, showing you the text he had typed out, ‘Though I don’t think I want to play with you, piggy. You’re too much of a deer.’

Antony scowled, “What the fuck does that mean…” He howled in agony as Jesse flicked the blade around again and slammed it through his hand. The fingers twitched before he drew his other knife and sliced the appendages free, pinning you in place with his legs as he watched blood spurt over the wood.

 Shock. You felt your heart burn as you wiggled backwards, closer to the killer’s chest before he peeled you free from his lap and dropped you back into the booth. Gruffly, Jesse slammed his bloodied hand over Antony’s mouth.

‘This piggy should have stayed home.’ His phone droned, again and again as the giant stood up, touching the tip of the hunting knife as he admired the shine of blood over the cold steel. With another flourish, he turned the saw half downwards and wrestled Antony over the wood, pinning him with a slam of his head before he dragged the saw downwards and watched skin and muscle part. He paused when Antony passed out and left the knife embedded in the man’s wrist as he looked back at you.

‘Look away.’ He typed with his clean hand. You did as you were asked, fear making you want to cry. He sawed the hand free and looked at the hand left, pinned to the table before he pealed his gloves free and brushed the bottom of your chin.

 “Look alive, sunshine.” The voice chittered, “Get moving.” It continued.

You opened your eyes and Jesse was quick to turn you away from the mess over the table.

“Up. Walk. Back exit.” The phone said. With a shuddering sigh, you got up. Jesse’s mask tilted before he offered his arm. You hooked your arm through his and almost cried as he shut the curtains and blocked you from the view of the other bar staff with his towering figure. His video was still recording.

“Why did you…” You were cut off by a sharp grip.

Jesse didn’t speak until you were both outside, his keys in one hand, snatched from the storage and  his phone held up to you in the other, “I taught them a lesson. They don’t fuck with me and get away with it.” He offered before he dragged you over to his car. You looked at the custom plates and the expensive brand. He laid his briefcase on the bonnet and sighed as he peeled free the chrome covered mask. Beneath was the same as before, heavily operated on with taught skin. A few scars were deep and heavy. His eye that was previously covered with an eyepatch was open, revealing itself as almost blind, the brown iris milky and covered. Still, he wasn’t a monster, just disfigured and evidently, through all the surgery, unhappy about what had occurred.

 “Staring is rude.” The phone whirred, “Should be staring elsewhere, sugar tits.”

You felt yourself go red, “You just killed a man! You don’t have any right to flirt with me after you just made me an accessory to murder!” You flew off the handle, “And now you’re taking me out back to end me too!”

Jesse grinned, white teeth clenched together dangerously as his knife curled and span idly, looking you up and down. He held up the phone nonchalantly, “No I’m not. I’m taking you home.”

“You…You’re joking.” You took a step backwards only for him to grab you once again, breathing in the smell of your hair as his knife traced down your chest. With a flick of his wrist he popped a button off your shirt.

His phone appeared in front of you again, ‘Home address.’

You swallowed and repeated your address for him quietly. He hummed behind you, the knife disappearing before he turned you to face him. His face dipped down to meet yours as he laid a single kiss over your lips.

‘Let’s go for a ride, baby.’

[timextoxhajima]

HOSTIS, Chapter IV: Vetiti Fructus In, The Forbidden Fruit

Previous Chapter (III: Aemulatio)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz)

Genre (by chapter): angst, drama, comedy

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

“why am i always one step behind you?”

the black rim of the file glistens under the light hanging above the table on your left. translucent curtains were drawn behind and next the the oversized L-shaped couch you were laying on, legs stretched out and laptop sitting on a cushion on your lap. 

the white table was strewn about with freshly printed sheets of data and research you managed to collect in the last week. 

it was day seven of your ten days being mentored by doctor choi. the welcome-party was to be held at the end of the month, not the coming weekend. 

something about the team that was responsible for handling newcomers not being able to host it because everybody was busy... something along those lines.

you didn’t bother noting the reason for a delayed party when the more pressing issue was getting that research file out to doctor kim before lee hyunjae did, and with better content. 

throwing your head back against the pillows, your eyes naturally travel along the ceiling to the glass doors beyond the sofa, lining parallel to your position. the faint dots in the sky above takes you back to the first time you went stargazing with your father. 

you remember your mother didn’t go because she was too busy. 

the brain-juicing brightness off the laptop screen starts to yank on your attention, and you sigh at the sight of the word ‘oncology’. you already did the research online and whatever doctor kim had provided you, and it wasn’t too difficult a task to imagine that lucifer probably had the same type of content written down for that last section as well. 

the frustration empties itself from your chest in the form of a loud groan while your fingers travel to your forehead. 

the only thing left to do was this stupid oncology section, but how were you going to outdo lee hyunjae? sure, the rest of the research report would already be different; every pocket of free time you found in between your rounds with doctor choi, you were working on it. lee hyunjae was nowhere to be found either during those free periods, so what else would he be doing besides filling up the research report?

there was no more room for your own research and understanding of oncology to beat him. you were a neurologist after all, not an oncologist. 

why did doctor kim even include the oncology section when he knew it was going to be difficult for me to get the information?

“arghhhhhhh--” your vision flashes white for a split second at the sudden sitting up, and you place your laptop down off the cushion. the rug covering the living room floor brings comfort to your toes as you stood up and ran your fingers through your hair. 

the painful, but satisfying memory of what happened pre-med school starts to roll in your head like an old VHS tape. the look in lucifer’s eyes when you had him against the locker, the only thing stopping you from driving a test tube down his throat were the long arms of law. 

otherwise, it was sweet, almost diabetic, to watch him crumble and lose to you despite him being the fire starter. 

but then again, you lost the first boy you ever loved because of lee hyunjae. 

you couldn’t even convince yourself that you won.

the VHS tape in your head starts to burn and disintegrate into ashes while the nostalgic fire lights up in your chest, and the thought of losing to him four years ago made you want to get that oncology section done.

your inner ares picks up the file and flips to the last page where the word ‘oncology’ was printed in big, block letters at the top, followed by a bunch of details and information with hypothetical questions listed down. 

the left brow on your face twitches and the muscle movement felt so eerily detached from you, a surge of unstoppable desire erupting inside you like mount vesuvius in 79 AD. 

if you could possess a single power right now, it’ll be pyrokinesis. 

~

the light shining into your office was so bright and warm, it would’ve been a crime not to talk a walk outside. 

you would’ve, but not today. 

lucifer’s office door opens and closes and you notice him heading off in the direction of the washroom, and your peripheral vision captures the oncology page of the hospital website on the computer screen. 

after waiting it out for a safe period of time, you adjust the white coat to hide the color of your breast pocket (where the color differentiated which department you were in) and shoved the staff ID card down the back pocket of your jeans. you grab your file, phone in hand and the gears in your head start to churn out some smart excuse in case anybody were to question why you, a newcomer, looked like you were about to go for a meeting. 

you head for the lift, fingers dancing around while you searched for the floor that connected the east wing over to the north. 

you were already beginning to recite that excuse you built in your head in case doctor kim runs into you while you were walking through the north wing. 

but zeus must’ve decided that one half of his sons deserved some love today, for you run into zero staff who didn’t pay attention to the absence of your staff ID around your neck.

your eyes follow the signs to the west wing, and that was where you started to notice people you really haven’t seen before. 

the atmosphere changed once you got to the office level where all the oncology doctors would be, and most of the staff looked like they had been working without a wink of sleep. 

your vision and attention start to dart around the hallways and doors, trying to look for a name tag on a door that said ‘shin ga hyun’ or something along the lines of oncology research archi--

there we go.

the words ‘research facility’ printed in block letters on the door of the room looked like the word ‘victory’ in another language, and you could only thank zeus for being so kind to you today. 

the lab coat on you and the file case you were holding was enough to prove that you were a staff here, so even if shin ga hyun were to find out you were in her wing, there was nothing she could do about it besides get mad at you for “losing your way while searching for research content”.

the staff ID card slides out from your jeans so you could give yourself access to the dark room, and you notice the only view in was through the little window on the door itself. 

once the door was open, your first step was to get it closed, regardless of whether your eyes could adjust to the orientation of the room. 

relief floods through you, and you quickly wonder why you were so scared of something that wasn’t even illegal. 

a small snort runs through your nose at the thought that you were scared, because frankly, there wasn’t much that could scare you anymore. maybe sometimes, just sometimes, the only thing that could scare you was yourself.

the scent of old paper and files fill your nostrils with every drawer and cabinet you opened, and you start searching for documents with information to grant you access to the oncology database, but not one single sheet of paper satiates your thirst to win. 

your heart was already zipping back and forth in your chest, and the emptiness of the room only reminds you that anybody could come in anytime. your eyes look around the dimly lit room and you note the gap between the lockers behind the desk and the wall where you could run and hide in case someone came in--

“...yes, ga hyun, everything regarding the department’s database have been shifted to your office.”

the pupils on your eyeballs shrink in a second and something similar to a heart attack tears through your chest at the name. the footsteps halt right outside the door and you close the drawer with such calculated strength to prevent yourself from slamming it shut. your heels turn towards the corner and it takes you three incredibly large steps to get you there.

but everything happened so fast that you didn’t even register the fact that you got pulled into that little corner. 

you would’ve rammed your knee so high up this man’s groin if he wasn’t going to scream like a fucking baby if you did. 

“what the fuck are you doing here?!” he mouths angrily at you, ears red and cheeks flushed with fear when the door of the room clicks open. 

“are you sure everything related to the database has been cleared out this room?” shin ga hyun sounded like she’d slit your throat and show no signs of remorse.

“what do you think?!” this silent conversation was going to warrant you a reason to punch him in the face later.

“yes, doctor shin,” the second voice sounded so dead and unbothered, you imagine it had to be someone of a more senior position than shin ga hyun for her to talk to the department head like that. “there may be a few stray sheets here and there but if they weren’t filed properly in the first place, then it’s highly likely they weren’t too important.”

“don’t fucking touch me!” his arm brushes against your shoulder and if you could scream, it would’ve deafened him.

“if you hadn’t come in, we wouldn’t be stuck in this shitty little gap!” 

your eyes widen at his sudden stoppage of mouthing, and you could hear the little breaths coming out after every consonant. 

“will you shut the fuck up?!”

“so you mean to tell me that there is a slight possibility that an important sheet of paper regarding our database is sitting around somewhere inside this room?”

“how can i shut up when i’m stuck in this godforsaken space with you?! i don’t even want to fucking breathe the same air as you!”

oh my fucking god, will he fucking shut his trap-- we are going to get caught--

“oh, my god,” an exasperated sigh fills the room. “ga hyun, you really need to take a chill pill.”

“don’t tell me to ‘take a chill pill’--”

“if you didn’t walk in here like you owned the fucking place, i wouldn’t have touched you!”

your index finger flies up to your lips and you beg him to shut up with your eyes.

but this piece of dumbshit-doctor doesn’t fucking get it--

you had a victory to claim, and you were not going to let him take that away from you. 

the ares inside you wraps your fingers around his face and shoves your lips between his, but your eyes were still wide open, looking out at the glass on the cabinet on the other side of the room to see a taller female trying to drag a shorter female out of the office. 

“you need to take a chill pill. the entire hospital is scared of you, honey. don’t you want to amend that?”

the scanner beeps, and the door clicks open. 

“if nobody’s done anything wrong then there’s no reason for them to be scared of me.”

“fair, but you need to start wearing a smile on your face more often!” the door hisses shut, and the footsteps start to move away. “i’ll get someone to check the database stuff for you then...”

ares leaves your body and your soul gets sucked back into its rightful place, and you don’t think you’ve shoved anyone, or anything for that matter, faster than you shoved lucifer off your face.

wincing in disgust, the back of your hand wipes the corner of your lips as a frown hardens on your forehead, and lucifer was busy sticking out his tongue like he had just eaten something spicy.

“son of a bitch,” the hiss seethes through your teeth as you walk out from the gap, deliberately running your shoulder against his left arm. “don’t you ever assume that i would let the thinnest strand of hair on my body touch you.”

the wrath and rage drips off your tongue like saliva while you walked, turning your head and looking over your shoulder to glare at lee hyunjae. 

“and don’t you ever fucking kiss me again!”

your staff card was barely inches away from the scanner when the words start to eat at your ego. 

“for your fucking information, i did not want my lips to be on yours,” you take two big steps to him who was walking towards you in a fit. “someone just didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

his breath was hitting your cheek rapidly, and you jab your tongue against the inside of your cheek, trying to claw your way through his self-proclaimed glare that he probably thinks scares you off. 

your suck your lips between your teeth and scrunch up your nose with effort, your right hand instinctively deciding that it was a good idea to shove him backwards before you left the room. 

throwing yourself into your own leather seat in your office and the beads of sweat on your forehead coming off onto a tissue, your eyes plaster themselves to the ceiling. 

mission failed.

not only that,

i had to kiss this motherfucking son of a bitch to shut his fucking ass up.

the tissue gets crumpled in your grasp at the thought of underestimating him, and you hurl the lightweight ball barely a metre away from you. 

doctor choi brings you on his final round for the day, and happiness was as simple as finding out that lucifer had been called to handle some boring admin work by the hospital administration because he screwed up somewhere in the system. 

the round was longer than expected, with one of doctor choi’s alzheimer’s patients talking to you about his childhood. doctor choi tries to steer you clear of the patient, worried that you were uncomfortable. but the stories he was telling you brought you back to a time when your parents were still pretty prominent in your life. doctor choi just leaves you with him until the nurses bring around his medicine as a distraction, providing you with a chance to leave before the patient keeps you for the night.

the evening sun paints the floor a tangerine shade, through the glass doors of the offices. and in your hand was the black file with such reluctance and bitterness that you wish you didn’t agree to this whole research department thing in the first place.

most of the research department officers and doctors had evening duties to tend to before they left, so it was pretty quiet and desolate once you reached doctor kim’s desk with the idea of submitting the research report. 

yet the sight of the blue file strikes up a flame of confusion and suspicion. laying down your black file, your fingerpads brush over the cover of the blue one, and ares returns to whisper seductive motivations in your ear. 

you run through the pages, not surprised that most of the data was different from yours, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the five-thousand-word-long report behind the oncology cover sheet. 

motherfucker.

he must’ve found one of those ‘stray sheets’ for the database while he was snooping in the room. 

red bursts of revenge and hatred start to rush through your veins, and you pull apart the rings of the file to remove the ridiculously long report. 

the papers were messily stuffed into your work case and you return the file back to its original position, in time for doctor kim to return to his cubicle.

“ah, i was waiting to see if you were going to submit it today!” he gleams at you, and his warm, elderly aura comforts you, peeling you away from the horrible deed you just carried out. 

“well, yeah... but i have to confess, i didn’t do much for the oncology report at the back.”

“i was already expecting that after i warned you about doctor shin! but nevermind that, i look forward to reading your report.”

“oh but, uh...” you rub the back of your neck. “have you looked through doctor lee’s? it looks pretty thick.”

doctor kim’s palm finds the two files and he shakes his head. “oh, nope. he just gave me this wide smile and told me to read his file like i was reading a book. his confidence is really something else.”

oh, thank god.

“i see,” the sugary taste of satisfaction rubs itself into your taste buds. “i hope we didn’t let you down, doctor kim. we really worked hard on it.”

the smile doesn’t leave his face, and he only gives you a small pat on the shoulder. “i will look forward to reading both reports.” he nods, and you take your cue to bow and bid goodbye. 

~

your living room was barely lit up with the only source of light being the one from the kitchen, and the gentle chirps of crickets outside were muffled through the sliding doors of your living room.

the wine in your glass was practically frolicking about with your little dance of triumph of the day. though part of the reason why you were drinking wine was to force yourself to forget that you kissed lucifer -- ew --, you were also drinking to celebrate. 

“well,” you pout at the little cactus that sat in the middle of the table in your living room. “he should thank me for removing it. doctor kim could figure out that he only got the information from snooping into the oncology department and he could get trouble for it.”

talking to yourself wasn’t a daily routine, but you just couldn’t resist the temptation of convincing yourself that you did nothing wrong. 

which in fact, you did not. 

but the competitiveness seeps through your bones and makes your stomach churn with regret and displeasure again, when the realisation sinks into your head. 

why am i always one step behind you?

with a contorted look of discontentment staring back at you in the reflection of the wine glass, you lift the rim to your lips and down the rest of it like they were shots. 

“i should’ve known he was going to do it,” the wine bottle calls out to you like a siren, and your fingers wrap around the cool, glass surface. “if i did it sooner, i might’ve gotten the fucking database information--”

knock knock

you berate zeus for sending a visitor at such a shitty time, throwing your head backwards and squeezing your eyes shut. 

knock knock knock knock knock knock

“ugh, mom! i told you not to visit me on a weekday!” the release of the wine bottle only fills your stomach with disappointment as you trudged towards the door. 

with enough frustration to fuel your grip around the handle, you yank the heavy door open.

“mom, what are you-- oh.” 

shit.

flares of aching poison start to pierce their way into your eyes upon the eye contact, and your knuckles whiten with the tightening grip on the handle of your door. 

“you’re gonna wish it was your mom, alright.”

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

Chapter V: Monitum

[sabbath-of-sally]

This is really dumb but can you possibly write a scenario with the main 4 and travis sleeping over there crushes house and waking up to thare crush sleep-cuddling them. Thank you so much if you respond to this !

“This is really dumb but can you possibly write a scenario with the main 4 and travis sleeping over there crushes house and waking up to thare crush sleep-cuddling them. Thank you so much if you respond to this !”

Sal: 

      Sal arrived at his crush’s house on Saturday at almost 8pm on the dot. The exact time they agreed on. When they approached him Friday inviting him to watch Psycho on VHS, he couldn’t decline. He would g;adly go with them to watch paint dry. 

     When they opened the door, he felt his knees go weak. How could someone possibly look so attractive in a T-Shirt and sweatpants?  It wasn’t until they were seated together on the couch that he realized they hadn't hung out one on one. Sure, he’s been to their house dozens of times, but there's always been at least one other person with them. 

    Sal’s eyes fluttered open. His gaze settled on the static dancing across the screen in front of him. It took him a second to remember where he was. Oh, yeah. Where’s (Y/N)? Sal began sitting up when he was stopped by two arms wrapped firmly around his waist. His heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. He slowly turned his head to face them and sure enough, they had fallen asleep holding onto him. 

    Well- he doesn’t know that for sure. Maybe they just fell asleep and then cuddled up to him? Yeah, that has to be it. 

   Sal continued to gaze, completely dumbstruck.

   “You’re staring.” They stated, not even opening their eyes.

   “S-SORRY.” Sal, turned back over, relaxing back into their embrace. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. They did mean it.  

Larry: 

   Weed hangovers are real. The light coming through the curtain was almost too much to bear. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry. God, he didn’t think they smoked that much last night, did they? The sensation of arms gently contracting around him was enough to pull him from his thoughts. Holy shit. His whole body suddenly felt like it was on fire. Has he dreamed of something like this since the moment he laid eyes on them? Maybe. Did that mean he was prepared for if it actually happened? Absolutely fucking not. Larry adjusted himself, trying to get a better view of his sleeping crush’s face. As soon as he turned his head, their eyes met. Larry looked at them in horror. They looked back at him in embarrassment. 

   “LARRY.” His crush shot up, their face painted a deep shade of crimson. 

   He was dumbfounded, completely unsure of what to do next. Fuck, what could he say to make this less awkward?

   “Hey.” He blankly stated. 

   Oh my fucking God. 

   “I-I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that! I-I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries or anything, I’m so sorry if i made you uncomfortable…” 

    “N-no! It’s totally ok, dude. I don’t mind! You were like, warm. I mean- Fuck. That sounded creepy...Listen, just...it’s cool.” His hands quickly covered his face. God, why was he like this? 

   His crush blushed deeply. “You mean...You really don’t mind?” Damn, call him crazy, but he swore he saw a little bit of a smile there? 

   “N-no, not at all…”

   “Well in that case...would you like...To maybe go back to that?...” Larry was pretty sure he just felt his soul leave his body.

   “Um...Yeah, sure...Cool.”

Ash: 

      Ash wasn’t exactly sure how a slumber party with her crush turned into waking up intertwined in one sleeping bag but she wasn’t complaining. Their head was flush to her chest and one leg was thrown across her own. A little cramped, but she couldn’t really complain. This was clearly no accident, her crush had gotten out of their own sleeping bag and climbed into her’s, that was for sure. What wasn’t exactly clear to her was why they did it. Did they feel the same way? The idea of her crush liking her back made her heart flutter. She found herself wrapping her arms around their sleeping form. What would she do when they woke up? Would they say? What if her crush had woken up before her? She couldn’t help but wonder if they would have stayed in her embrace or slipped off without her ever noticing. What was to come didn’t matter. She’d much rather focus on the present. 

Todd: 

   Waking up is a difficult enough task on it’s own, waking up to discover you’re face to face with the person you’ve fancied forever? Ha. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t terrified. Todd may come across as pretty closed off, but goddammit, he has his moments of emotional vulnerability just like everyone else. He felt like he was frozen. He’d only been awake for a few seconds and it already felt like an eternity he’d been admiring his crush’s face. If he was being honest, he could very well stare at them forever. It took everything in him to unravel their arms from him and get started with his day. Hopefully, this wouldn’t be the last time they shared an embrace. 

Travis: 

    This can’t really be happening. Travis had been awake for hours. He just couldn’t understand how this could have happened. Why would anyone want to be...this close to him? Too many questions were going through his mind. What could this mean? He didn’t want to jump the gun and say they reciprocated his feelings his feelings, but...that would be nice. What would he even do if they did? Travis couldn’t imagine himself ever being in a relationship, let alone being deserving of one. Did that stop him from fantasizing about it? No...He couldn’t help but feel stupid thinking about all of this. They’re literally just sleeping, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. As much as he felt he couldn’t let this continue, he couldn’t bring himself to move. Just a little longer...

-

-

-

-

 I’m sorry this took forever, I was suffering from some gnarly writer’s block. I hope you enjoy!

[holyfuckthisfishcandrive]

Cat ears and Scrapes

First, Previous chapter (chap. 22), Ao3

Word count: 2004

Warnings: panic, destruction, mild injury

Janus woke up to a loud crash

They sat up in alarm and looked around their room.

Nothing unusual.

Outside something else crashed.

Janus frowned.

Mafia, gang or supervillain? None were good options.

They got up and quickly pulled on a shirt and jeans. Just in case someone came into the house. Just in case they'd have to leave suddenly.

"Mum," they called as they stepped into the hallway.

"Janus!" Mum came out of the living room. "Good, you're awake!"

She grabbed their shoulders and pulled them close. She was shaking slightly.

"Mum, what's going on? Is something wrong? What's happening out there?" Janus asked. Mum's fear was making their heart hammer harder in their chest.

"I don't know. There are these... things out there - I don't know what they are - they're destroying everything! You need to go, okay? Go to Patton's house. He'll keep you safe."

"What? What about you and Luan?"

"We'll come later. We can't leave everything behind. Go now. Please!" Mum was terrified. Whatever she had seen out there it had to be bad. Really bad.

So Janus just nodded, mumbling an "Okay".

They grabbed their boots and their coat and slipped out through their bedroom window onto the fire escape.

A sound they couldn't describe caught their attention.

Janus glanced towards the street and froze.

On the road was something that looked like a burn hole or maybe a glitch in the world. It looked vaguely like a person, flickering and unreal.

The street lamp it passed burned out suddenly and with a loud bang.

Another one followed it, dragging a street sign with it like a child might drag a stuffed animal.

There were dozens of them all over the streets.

Janus' phone vibrated in their pocket.

They pulled it out and nearly dropped it.

The screen was filled with text, overlapping, flickering and glitching violently.

Janus could barely make out a few words.

 ...monster...

 ...can't stop...

 ...will kill every...

They supressed a shiver and pocketed it quickly.

Uncle Pat. They just had to get to Uncle Pat's place.

Janus ran up the fire-escape onto the roof and took a running start to leap to the next one trying to ignore the glitch monsters down below.

They spotted a news reporter with a cameraman trying to get the camera to work to report what was going on to the rest of the city and the world.

So the glitch monsters were fucking up all electronics.

Janus ran on.

They nearly lost their footing on a steep rooftop the weightless feeling of falling making them feel sick before they managed to catch themselves, their knee scraping against the tiles and their jeans and the skin underneath tearing open.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

They managed to take a deep breath and focused on the next rooftop.

"Okay, I can do this," they whispered to themself.

The further they got the fewer glitch monsters were around. By the time they reached Armstrong Alley, there were none left.

Still, Janus stayed up on the rooftops until they finally reached the alleyway behind the flower shop.

The dozens of cats meowing up at them let some of the fear bleed out of their tense shoulders.

They were safe here.

They rang the two lower doorbells, one for Uncle Pat's apartment, one for the shop. Not because they expected him to be down there but rather out of habit.

The door opened just a few minutes later and Uncle Pat blinked at them in confusion clearly having just woken up. Janus felt a little bad for waking him like this.

"Janus, kiddo, come in!" Patton blocked off a few cats with his feet. "It's freezing out there!"

They only became aware of the cold now that they stepped into the warmer stairway. The adrenaline must've made them numb to it, they guessed.

"Why are you even outside at this time?" Uncle Pat asked leading them upstairs. "Did something happen?"

Janus let themself fall onto the couch.

Their hands were shaking.

"Something happened," they began trying to find the right words.

Uncle Pat sat down next to them and put an arm around their shoulder to help warm them up.

"I'm not sure how to... explain," Janus struggled.

"That's fine. Take your time, kiddo."

"I think it had something to do with a villain."

"Okay," Uncle Pat nodded encuragingly

"I- There were these... things all over the streets around our block. They were ripping everything apart and made the electronics freak out and I have no idea what they were-"

"Shhhh... Breath, kiddo. That's it. Nice and slow," Uncle Pat began rubbing their arm soothingly.

"Mum send me here," Janus continued once they had calmed down somewhat. "She said that she and Luan would come too. They're just getting the most important things to safety."

"Okay," Uncle Pat nodded with a concerned frown. "Then all we can do for now is wait."

Janus frowned at the thought.

"Wait here, I'll just get you a bandaid and some disinfectant real quick."

They watched their uncle go and looked back down at their knee. The wound was about a centimetre wide and was bleeding sloppily.

They frowned at the hole. Those had been their favourite jeans. They could respect someone with ripped jeans but it wasn't really their thing. They preferred to look nice.

Uncle Pat came back and carefully disinfected it. It stung a little but Janus didn't say anything. The bandaid had some pattern on it.

"Thanks," they finally said.

"Oh, of course, kiddo," Uncle Pat smiled at them tiredly. "Do you need anything else right now? If not I think I'll try to sleep some more. You should try to get some sleep too. If you want to I can make you some lavender tea?"

"No, thanks," Janus shook their head. They didn't want to go to sleep. They wanted to wait for Mum and Luan. But they also knew that Uncle Pat wouldn't let them. So, their best option was to pretend to go to sleep and 'wake up' from the sound of the door closing when they came. "I think I'll manage."

"Okay, if you need anything you can either call me or get it yourself, okay? Don't hesitate to wake me up if you need me."

"Okay," they slowly got up and went towards the guest room. "Good night, Uncle Pat."

"Good night, Janus. Sleep well."

They closed the door behind themself and let themself fall face-first onto the bed with a sigh.

They pulled out their phone. It was back to normal now.

Virgil had texted them.

 my uncle just enlisted me in his war against the target on mills str

 he says the others are on thin fucking ice

 says their crimes are numerous and unforgivable

Janus contemplated whether to respond or not. Usually, when Virgil mentioned his 'family' it was best not to encourage him. But right now they needed some kind of distraction and something to keep them from accidentally falling asleep.

 What are you doing against them?

For a while they didn't get any reply so they scrolled around Youtube and watched a video of a guy making a knife out of candy.

In the apartment a door fell shut and Janus perked up their heart rate picking up again.

Were Mum and Luan there already?

They got up slowly and snuck out of the room. They didn't want to risk waking Uncle Pat if he'd fallen asleep by now.

The living room was empty.

"Mum?" Janus whispered into the darkness.

No answer.

"Mummy?"

They felt like a child.

Scared and helpless, praying for their Mum to hear them and come save them from the monsters hiding in the shadows.

Pressure began to build behind their eyes the longer the silence stretched on and they blinked it back.

They felt a breeze around their ankles, coming from Uncle Pat's room.

Slowly they padded towards the door and put their ear against it.

The sounds of the city muted just slightly by the wood.

Uncle Pat didn't like to sleep with the window open.

Carefully they opened the door.

The curtains were blowing in the wind like thin ghosts and the streetlamps outside bathed the empty room in yellow light.

Janus slipped inside and looked around.

Out of the window was a fire escape and they could hear footsteps over them.

They climbed out and watched somebody climb onto the roof.

Either that was Uncle Pat or someone was living in the flat above his after all.

Janus swallowed and climbed up on the railing. It was quicker than climbing the stairs.

The stopped at the top of the stairs and peeked over the small wall at the roof.

The man standing just a few metres away was dressed in blue body armour and grey. He fiddled with something, clicked a button and on his chest a heart lit up, blinking like a steady heartbeat and slowly changing its colour.

Heartrate.

His hood was down, showing messy blond locks.

Janus pressed a hand over their mouth.

Uncle Pat put the mask over his eyes and pulled up the cat-ear hood.

Then he took a running start and leapt over to the next roof.

Heartrate.

Uncle Pat.

Heartrate and Uncle Pat. Were one person.

But-

Janus felt their knees give out and bang painfully against the iron grating of the stairs.

Uncle Pat was Heartrate.

For a moment that felt like an eternity, they remained frozen then they jumped up and ran down the stairs almost slipping and falling twice before they reached the bedroom window and slipped through.

It couldn't be.

Their eyes must've been playing tricks on them. It had been dark after all and they were tired too. They probably had been imagining things.

If Uncle Pat was Heartrate surely there'd be evidence in his room, right?

They just had to look around and they wouldn't find anything and then they'd be able to go back to bed and tell everyone that they'd seen Heartrate tomorrow. Or had dreamt that they had seen him.

They opened a few random drawers.

Underwear (okay, they weren't digging through that), pullovers, socks and pants with some papers and Uncle Pat's passport and social security card hidden at the bottom.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

They looked around some more.

A pen was lying on the floor, half kicked under the bed. It was one of those promotional pens from Grimm Enterprises, who had sponsored the new basketball hoops at school.

They knelt down and grabbed it, before hesitating.

There was a visible edge under the bed.

They reached out and felt along it and managed to wedge their fingers into a tiny gap, pulling out a loose floorboard.

They patted around in it and felt a box.

Janus managed to pull it out and sat up to open it, taking their weight off their knees.

It was mostly empty.

Only two domino masks, a pair of gloves and a few spare batteries.

They picked up one of the masks. It had the familiar sharp edges and the silver lining. So definitely Heartrate's. They put it over their eyes.

It hadn't been made for their face shape, not sitting right over their nose and temple. No, it had been made for a rounder and bigger face. Uncle Pat's face.

They dropped the mask, as if it had burned them, slammed the box shut and shoved it back into its place, putting the floorboard back. Quickly they stood up and ran back to the guest room.

Behind them the wind slammed the door shut just like it had earlier.

When Janus woke up the morning after, Mum and Luan were crammed on the couch fast asleep.

If they hid in the bathroom for a while so no one saw them cry then that was their business and no one else's.

At least Luan wrote them an excuse so they wouldn't have to go to school for the day.

Next

Taglist:

@patton-cake , @isabelle-stars

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Early Mornings (Thomas x MC)

Summary: Just an average morning in the Mendez-Day household.

This probably would’ve been up earlier, but I have a sick 3 year old niece at my house who is very clingy and needs constant attention and cuddles, lol. This idea was given to me by the lovely @akacalliope whom I am super grateful for because a girl was having major writer’s block. Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list (in general or for Thomas)

Fair warning, this story ended up being a bit smuttier than I anticipated, so by reading this you acknowledge you are 18+.

Tags: @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @cxld-play @thefangirl-2001 @blackcoffee85

~~~

“How many more minutes until the alarm goes off?”

Thomas turns his head and looks at the alarm clock on his bedside table. “11 minutes.”

Marissa ignores the warm light that’s trying to peak through the curtains. She burrows deeper into the bed and sighs. Seriously, how did she ever live without an amazing memory foam mattress and down comforters? “Great. Wake me up again in 11 minutes.”

“You can’t seriously go back to bed, can you?” Thomas asks incredulously. “That’s not enough time.”

“Um, I’m the queen of power naps.”

Thomas chuckles and wraps his arm tight around his fiancé’s waist, pulling her closer to him. He plants a kiss on the back of her shoulder, before moving up slowly, peppering kisses up the back of her neck. “I’d rather do this.”

She shivers pleasantly at the feel of his lips on her neck. “That’s a nice gesture.”

“But is it better than going back to sleep?”

“Mhmm, I don’t know,” Marissa teases playfully. “You might need to do it again. For research purposes, of course.”

“Of course. I’m more than happy to oblige, madam.” Thomas’ finger slips under the strap of the tank top Marissa’s wearing and slides it down, exposing more of her shoulder. He teeth gently graze the flesh, before he kisses it. “How about now?”

“Definitely getting warmer.” Marissa turns her head so she can look at Thomas. “Good morning.”

“Morning, beautiful.”

Marissa tilts her head up and snakes her arm around the back of his neck and head, pushing him towards her. She captures him in a greedy kiss.

Thomas responds eagerly, his tongue sweeping past her lips and melding with her own. His hand leaves her waist and he skims the smooth expanse of her stomach until he reaches her breast, cupping one of them.

A low moan escapes the back of Marissa’s throat and she arches against him, pressing into his morning arousal. 

“Marissa…” Thomas warns, growling into her ear.

“Yes, counselor?”

Thomas can’t hold back his own moan as the words leave her mouth. He squeezes her breast before taking one of hardened nipples between his fingers, rolling it. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I-If my memory s-s-serves me correctly, I’m not the one w-who started this.” The grip she has on the back of his head tightens, her nails gently grazing his scalp. “Let’s see how much you can accomplish in a 7 short minutes.”

“You’ll be surprised to see what I can do with a limited amount of time. And I’ll have you know something, Miss Day, I never shy away from a challenge.”

He grabs her face and kisses her again, harder this time, the urgency and desperation evident. He had never felt more grateful for the fact that he only wore boxers to bed. While the official reason was that he got incredibly warm in his sleep — Marissa constantly called him her own personal heater — Thomas couldn’t deny that it was extremely convenient for morning quickies. Taking a hand, he quickly shoves the boxers down and haphazardly kicks them away, not caring where they land.

He then hooks his thumb into the waistband on his fiancé’s underwear and tugs them. Marissa lifts her hips in order to assist. His fingertips slowly trail down her thigh, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake. “You’re so soft. It should be a crime.”

“Thomas,” Marissa exhales. “You’re being a tease.”

His breath is warm on her neck as he pants behind her. He chuckles deeply. “You have no patience, my love.”

“I have the patience of a saint,” Marissa argues. She flips them over so she’s on top of Thomas. “I’m just choosing not to exercise it.”

Whatever witty response Thomas has geared up on the tip of his tongue dies as soon as she lowers herself onto him. His eyes flutter shut at the feel of her completely enveloping him.

She rocks her hips forward, and Thomas lifts his up, meeting her halfway. After a few thrusts, they fall into a slow rhythm. Her nails rake across his chest, uncaring if she actually scratches him. Thomas doesn’t mind either. They enjoy marking each other up every once in a while‍‍. Besides, a well placed scratch or hickey makes for interesting gossip fodder for the PTA, and Marissa knows how much they love talking about her.

His hands roam every inch of skin his can touch — her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, her arms. Every touch of the skin only sets her on fire and spurs her movements on further. He drops his hand down between them, his thumb finding her clit, drawing slow, lazy circles. Thomas watches as Marissa’s eyes close and her head drops back with a shuddered moan.

Her thighs start to tremble and that all familiar ache settles in her lower stomach. “Fuck,” she hisses under her breath. “Thomas, I’m s-so...close.”

“Come on,” Thomas coaxes, his pace on her clit quickening. “Cum for me, Mari.”

A silent cries escapes her lips as her orgasm rolls through her. Thomas follows behind a few thrusts later, spilling into her.

Marissa falls forward, her head landing on his chest. The room was silent, save for their heavy pants, the couple trying to catch their breaths. Thomas places a hand on the small of her back, softly stroking her skin. 

“Why don’t we do that more often?” Marissa asks rhetorically. As soon as the words leave her mouth, the shrill sound of their alarm clock goes off, startling them out of their peaceful bubble.

“Because we’re never going to get up early enough to do it often,” Thomas answers with a sigh. “And even if we ignore our alarm clock, we have two tiny humans that will wake us up.”

Marissa rolls over and gets out of bed. “True. Join me in the shower before we have to get the girls up?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

~V~

Forty-five minutes later, the Mendez-Day household is in fully up and ready to begin the day.

Thomas is getting dressed for work, while Marissa is in the kitchen with Luz and Ivy, making breakfast.

Ever since getting engaged and moving in with Thomas and Luz four months ago, the four of them settled into a pretty seamless routine. Marissa helped the girls get dressed for the day, they ate breakfast together, and Thomas reviewed their homework before dropping them off.

“How about just cereal for breakfast?” Marissa suggests. “I won’t have to cook, and that way I’ll still have time to do your hair for picture day. What styles are we going with again?”

“Braids,” Luz says.

“Ballerina bun.”

“Braids and ballerina bun, got it.” Marissa grabs a box of Cap’n Crunch from the pantry and pours two bowls.

“Don’t forget I have soccer practice after school,” Luz says, accepting a bowl of cereal.

“Of course not. It’s over at 5:30. And Ivy has science club until 5, so she’ll get picked up first and then we’ll swing by and get you.”

“Can you bring snacks for the team?” Luz asks. 

Marissa checks back in the pantry, scanning to see if they had enough of one snack to feed a bunch of hungry kids. Nope. “I’ll head to the grocery store as soon you guys leave, and pick up Capri Suns and...trail mix. Is trail mix good?”

“It has to be cranberry kind.”

“You got it, dude.”

After breakfast and getting the girls prepared for picture day, Marissa grabs their backpacks, ready to usher everyone out of the door.

“Do you pack lunches or do the girls need lunch money?” Thomas asks.

Marissa adjusts Thomas’ tie and smooths out the lapels of his suit jacket. “I added lunch money onto their accounts last Friday, they should be good for two weeks.”

“Okay. And have you seen my briefcase?”

“In your car.”

“And there’s no permission slips we need to sign or conferences we’re forgetting?”

Marissa shakes her head. “No. Are you picking the girls up later or am I?”

“Will you be out of class by then?”

A few months ago, Marissa enrolled in the local college to finish her bachelor’s degree. Thankfully she was just a few credits shy, and only had to take two classes, one of them online.

“Class will be over at 1:30, I’m good.”

“Can you pick them up, just in case I end up staying a bit late at the office? I don’t plan on it, but sometimes they hold me hostage.”

“No problem.” Marissa turns to Ivy and Luz. “Let’s do takeout for dinner. Chinese food, pizza, or Thai?”

“Pizza!” The girls say in unison.

“Pizza it is.” She bends down to kiss both of their foreheads. “Have a good day at school, my little chickadees. Make good choices, be brilliant.”

“Bye mom.”

“Bye Marissa!”

Thomas wraps an arm around Marissa’s waist and spins her around. “I don’t get any love?”

“I think you’ve had your fair share for the day, Mister.”

Thomas smirks. “Nonsense. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.”

“Have a good day, my love. May you be the best lawyer at your firm, win all of your cases, and have easygoing clients.” Marissa obliges him and gives him a sweet kiss on the lips, ignoring the obnoxious sounds the kids were making at the display of affection. 

“Okay, I’ve heard enough from the peanut gallery.” Marissa says once she pulls away. “I love you guys.”

“Love you too.”

Once the three of them are gone, Marissa dramatically plops down on the couch. She closes her eyes, hoping to get a few moments of rest.

As soon as she closes her eyes, her phone buzzes loudly. Her eyes snap open at the noise. Pulling her cell out of her pocket, she sees it’s her group text message thread, from the PTA, asking her questions about new fundraiser ideas.

She sighs. “No rest for the weary.”

[thejollyroger-writer]

To Serve and Protect - Chapter 3

It’s Monday again -- the last Monday of the semester, actually. I questioned whether I would get you guys this chapter today, because I still have papers to write, but I was able to piece it together, because I love you all (and rely on your feedback to raise my self esteem), plus now I have to focus on Toni Morrison instead of Killian Jones. 

Anyway, here’s chapter three. 

SUMMARY: Detective Killian Jones has been investigating a stalker-turned-murderer for months by the time he goes home from the bar with Emma Swan. But when he thinks he sees the very man in question outside her apartment, can he separate his feelings for her and his need to keep her safe?

TRIGGERS: well, this is a fic about a serial killer. mentions of violence and death, with some physical violence/whump coming a bit later. as always, if you need me to discuss this further for you to be comfortable, message me. – rated teen for later chapters

Prologue // Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 on AO3

A wave of nervousness rolls through him, chilling him to the bone. Six months, six girls, and though he’s never felt closer to the bastard than he feels now, there’s a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he thinks of catching him, one that he’s almost too afraid to think too much about. 

Because he knows it’s connected to her. He wants to catch him — of course he does, that’s his damn job — but now, with her safety on the line, he’s more afraid than ever. He has never allowed his next victim to have a face in his mind, has never had it connected to a name — has never been connected to him (he grimaces as the thought passes through his mind, focusing on the change of his face in his reflection in the window for a moment instead of worrying about what may lie behind it for just a moment.) 

It’s the first rule of detective work, really: don’t get involved. They tell you that on the first day. Hell, they tell you that before you even have a first day. If he would have known… 

The thought disappears on his own, really, even as he hears the creaking of his bed under her as she shifts in the next room. He’s never realized just how loudly it does that, how much louder it must be under his own body weight, but, living alone, it’s never bothered him. What would he have done if he would have known? Would he have not bought her that drink? Not gone over and sat with her in her corner booth? Not followed her out of the bar? Because, sure, he knew when he went home with her, but he had no idea, no reason to suspect, before that. By the time he followed her up to her apartment, he knew that she might be connected somehow, and that didn’t stop him, but it wasn’t just because he wanted to sleep with her. Hell, he told her that she may be in danger, and still slept with her — was that the right thing to do? The move of a gentleman? 

Suddenly, he hears Liam’s voice in his head: Good form, little brother. Are you showing good form? 

God, how he wishes Liam were here to answer the question instead of just living as a ghost inside his head. He would like to believe that he’s living out his brother’s wishes, being the best man he can be, a man of honor — but it would be a hell of a lot easier with Liam still here to guide him. 

Shaking the ghost of his brother out of his head, he sets his eyes on the street below him once more, arms crossed over his chest. He barely knows what he’s looking for, in the shadows of the streetlights. How he even recognized him that first night is still a mystery to him, because he can make out nothing from his own apartment window. The flash of a lit cigarette across the street from him could mean anything; everywhere he has been has had people smoking on their fire escapes: London, Dublin, New York. Why should Storybrooke, Maine be any different? (It’s not, he knows for sure, remembering the brief conversation he had with his elderly upstairs neighbor as he sat out on his own one night, nursing a glass of rum and obsessing over copies of case files he’s not even supposed to have, pages that he sees before his eyes when he closes them.) 

Every movement, every flash of light, is a threat. He was trained to see them that way, and though the loss of his brother and the injuries he sustained from Milah kept him from action, his training never disappeared. 

They would be more potent threats if he could keep his attention on them, though. He would spend more time memorizing the faces of the men walking in front of his building if the image of Emma’s curves in that dress the night they met wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, the memory of the way it fell to the floor with a whisper before he lifted her onto the bed. He would better notice the worn-down old station wagon parked at the end of the next block, the very same one that he parked next to down the street from the bar, if he could get the image of just how small and helpless she looked all alone in the sea of blue blankets and pillows out of his mind, if he wasn’t so focused on the memory of her soft golden waves of hair laying across his pillows when she laid down in his bed, if he couldn’t feel the way that her unkempt hair ticked his nose as she slept on his chest. 

He wants to remember every moment he’s spent with her, from the soft feel of her tongue swiping against his to how she held herself above him, one hand tangled in his hair, the way her arms bucked and her eyes squeezed shut as she rode out her orgasm on top of him. 

(And if he wasn’t wrestling against his own slowly hardening erection within his sweatpants, trying to rub the pictures of her from his eyes, maybe he would have seen him, standing on the street below his apartment window, looking up at him in the very moments that Killian is no longer searching the street for clues, his colorless eyes lit up by the cigarette in his mouth.) 

He sucks in a breath, trying to shake the memory of her from his mind as he scrubs his hand over his face, realizing that he really should shave before work in the morning. He tries to see anything but her, tries to make out a single bloody detail of what’s going on outside his own window, but all he can see in the glass is the startling reflection of her bright green eyes where he knows his should be.  

“God damn it, Killian,” he says to himself, resting his forehead against the cool glass for just a moment before closing the curtains and heading to the bathroom to take a shower. 

And shave his damn face, he guesses. 

 “God, you look exhausted,” Ruby says to him in place of a greeting, sliding a cup of coffee across the table towards him. 

Next to him, Detective Mills lets out a small laugh, though he tries to cover it with the back of his hand when Killian glares at him. 

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to tell me that today,” he mutters, almost not wanting the words to be heard in the first place. But the diner is slow right now, somewhat normal for his early lunch time, so Ruby hears it anyway. 

She looks around the restaurant, though it’s just Leroy and Mr. Clarke sitting at the bar and Jacinda leaning against the refrigerator scrolling on something on her phone, so she slides into the empty seat across from the detectives. “It’s Emma, right?” she asks, her face full of excitement, and for a moment, he’s terrified. How does she know? What has Emma told her? Does she know about the— “She’s keeping you up all night with her crazy sex antics? Not letting you sleep because she’s so insatiable?” 

This is somehow… worse?, he realizes, needing to take a sip of his coffee to try and keep his emotions off his face, especially after young Mills chuckles beside him again. Because, gods above, he wishes that were the truth. It would be one thing if he were able to continue to sleep next to her, even just to be able to feel her beside him instead of only in his nightmares, but the truth is that he’s barely even touched her since that first night, only daring so much as to kiss her goodnight before taking his place on his couch. 

He has no idea how to even respond to her. The half-terrified laugh that gets stuck in his throat is certainly not the right answer, but it’s the only one he can conjure. 

But instead of requiring an answer from him, the bell over the door rings, and Ruby’s attention turns from him to that. 

To her. Because of course it’s Emma walking through the door, wearing the same exhaustion on her face that he has on his, though hers is covered with a fine layer of powder and a flick of mascara (he would know, he watched her apply it in the rearview mirror of his car that morning), making her look much nicer and put-together than he is even capable of hoping to be. 

“Swan,” he breathes, smiling across the diner at her, and he pushes down the urge to jump from his seat at her arrival — especially because of the young Mills sitting beside him, keeping from leaving the vinyl booth. 

“Hey, Em,” Ruby calls, her arm around the back of the booth. “I was just talking to your boyfriend here—” 

“He’s not my—” she starts, crossing the small diner, but something between the fear on Killian’s face and the smirk of Ruby’s stops the words. So she shrugs, dropping into the booth next to Ruby. 

“He was just telling us about how you’ve been keeping him up all night with your sexual antics,” Ruby jokes, nudging her with her shoulder. 

She does her best to paint a smile on her face, though when her eyes meet Killian’s he notices that her smile doesn’t make it that far. 

Thankfully, Granny saves them all, popping her head out from the kitchen. “Ruby,” she calls, looking first to her normal seat at the bar before scanning the restaurant.  “Come help me.” It’s not a question, and when Emma recognizes the look on her face, she silently steps out of the booth to let Ruby out. 

Startled by Granny, Jacinda sticks her cell phone into the pocket of her apron and crosses the restaurant, pulling out an order pad as she reaches the table. “Can I take your order?” 

Killian shakes his head, not looking up from his cup of coffee. “This is good, thanks,” he mumbles. Emma orders a grilled cheese and a water. But when all that comes from Henry’s spot is silence, all three sets of eyes turn slowly towards him. 

He still says nothing, his mouth practically hanging open as he looks up at their waitress. 

“Mills,” Killian says, gently elbowing the man next to him, but a plan begins to formulate in his head. 

“How opposed would you be to being set up for a date?” Killian asks when they’re back in the cruiser, though he ignores meeting Henry’s eyes as he pulls out of the parking lot for the law office Emma works for. 

“What?” 

“Come on, Mills,” he says, managing a smile. “I saw the way you looked at Miss Vidrio during lunch. She’s friends with Emma. You’re obviously interested in the girl. Plus, she lives in the apartment above the Nolan brothers’ bar, which aids in our need for rationalization.” 

Henry stays quiet until the end of the block. “Sheriff Humbert isn’t going to like this.” 

Shaking his head, Killian breathes out a laugh. “Believe it or not, Mills, I don’t need to run everything I do past Graham. This is my investigation.” 

When Killian glances towards the passenger seat, he watches as Henry runs his hand across his face. “But — I don’t — um, wouldn’t — wouldn’t we be using her? You know, not telling her the whole story?” 

“That doesn’t make going on a date with her any less real, lad.” 

Again, silence. 

“Listen, if it’s alright with you, I’ll run the plan by Emma and she can see if Jacinda is even interested.” 

This time when he glances over at Henry, he’s nodding. “Yeah, alright.” 

With a sigh, he runs his hand over his face and turns to where he has his phone propped on the coffee table. 12:42. It’s been over two hours since Emma tried to stifle a yawn and Killian insisted she go to bed. In those two hours, even though every inch of his body argued, his brain focused on every movement of the building, every shift in the foundation and movement out on the street, his hand glued to the pistol resting on his chest. Every time he closed his eyes, his exhaustion taking over, he heard another noise, adrenaline snapping his eyes open. 

His mind wanders back to Liam, as it tends to do in times of trouble. What would Liam do?, the constant mantra of the last twelve years, since the last time he was able to ask the question to his face. Sometimes — usually, if he’s being honest with himself, which is hard not to do at 12:42 in the morning — it proves useless, angry first with himself for not being able to think of anything, and then at his brother simply for being gone, and being angry at his brother for being gone then just makes him angrier with himself. 

Tonight, however, that’s not the case. Tonight, something calls him to stand, to cross the living room, and to pull down one of the books from the shelf, the one with the worn blue fabric cover, the words fading from the front both because of its age and because of the sheer amount of times someone has run their hand over the embossing, whether it be Killian, Liam, or their mother, who liked to feel the words under her fingers every night before she opened the book to read them another chapter. 

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. He feels the words under his fingers, knows how the cover looks even in the low lights of the apartment. Back on the couch, though now with the lamp behind him on its lowest setting, he props the book up on his pistol, resting on his chest, and quickly loses himself in the words. 

He does not know at what late hour his eyes finally give out on him, the words he knows practically by heart running together, but judging from how exhausted he feels pouring himself a cup of coffee, it couldn't have been before 2 a.m., and he feels every hour of sleep he's been deprived of with every movement of his muscles.

tags: @shireness-says​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @thisonesatellite​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​​ @wellhellotragic​​​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @teamhook​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​ @carpedzem​​​​ @pepperspotts​​​​@imlaxdris71​​​​ @gingerchangeling​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​ @kday426​​​​ @scientificapricot​​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​​​ @galadriel26​​​ @jennjenn615​​​ @therealstartraveller776​​​ @nightskylover​​​ @xarandomdreamx​​​ @kristi555 @nikkiemms​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​ @withheartfulloflove​​​ - if you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

California

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x OC

Warnings: PTSD

A/N:  We’re coming out of the angst mood and this will be the last wholly flashback chapter.  We return to present day in Part 8.  Doesn’t mean there won’t be flashbacks, but the action is now moving forward!

And I can’t believe the number of people who have followed this blog in the last week or so (has it only been that long?) and the people who are liking the posts.  Y’all know how to make a girl feel good. :)

Reminder: I haven’t seen Kingsman: The Golden Circle, so I’m just using the Wikia, IMDB.com, some gifs, and my own weird ass brain to make up this whole ass story.

Tag List:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @tarrevizslas , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5] [PART 6]

Part 7 

Road to Recovery

It was the sharp yelp and half sob that startled nurse Cider at her desk. Looking up she realized the sound came from her only occupied bay.  She got up and walked into the room to find Sirah laying awkwardly in the bed, tears trickling down her face.

“You tried to move again, didn’t you?” the nurse asked.  She didn’t need an answer, she already knew it.  She was just being polite.  Sirah gave a slight nod.  She’d been fully conscious for only forty-eight hours, but every moment of it was a cycle of pain and then calmness as the drugs kicked in.  She was in the pain portion of the cycle.

“It’s so hard to breathe, Cider.  I just can’t seem to breathe.”

“I know, honey. Let me get you more comfortable and see if that helps a bit.” Cider stepped out and waved over another nurse.  They came into the room and each grabbed Sirah under her arms to pull her gently up. But something about the way they held her made their patient go rigid with fear.

“NO!” She cried out.  “NO, don’t take me!”

For a moment, she wasn’t in the med bay, instead her mind was suddenly back in California and trapped in the fear she felt while captured.  She started shaking violently and both nurses dropped their hands.  Cider reached out and touched Sirah’s forehead gently, calling to her.

“Sirah, honey, it’s okay.  It’s okay. It’s just me and Tea.  We’re here to help you, it’s okay.”  Cider rubbed her palm on the woman’s forehead while grasping her hand with the other.  After a moment, Sirah’s eyes looked over at the nurse and seemed to refocus.

“Good, honey.  Good.” She kept her voice calm and even. “Tea and I are going to help you move, remember?  We’re going to put our hands back under your arms and under your legs.  And you’re going to be more comfortable.  Yeah?”

Sirah nodded and this time, while keeping her eyes focused on Cider, she let the nurses move her.  Soon she was shifted higher and suddenly she felt as if she could breathe again.  The nurses tucked her back in, took a few vitals, and patted her hand before they left.  While they worked, in the shadows outside the room stood Champ.  As the nurses passed him, he paused before entering the room.  Looking at the ceiling, he took a deep breath and willed the tears from his eyes before walking in.

Normally, the man was larger than life, standing taller than most of his agents physically and bigger than everyone else through his personality. But when Sirah laid eyes on him, she noted he looked smaller, older even.  He sat down next to her bed and took her hand, cradling it to his cheek.  She let the tears stream down her own as his warmth seeped into her hand and then into her heart.  She was home again.

---***---

She had been in a coma for several weeks as the med team worked to fix what they could, but once she woke up, the reality of what happened to her began to set in for the team.  The trauma of her experience wasn’t something she had been trained to handle and she spiraled deeply into this scary new world as the days passed.  Soon the personality that inspired Tequila’s Shirley Temple nickname was gone and in its place was a woman full of fear.

One day after Ginger had visited for some time, Sirah cried pitifully when her friend left.  She curled into herself the best she could, thinking her friend was never coming back.  The abandonment compounded everything.  

Champ and Dr. Licuados consulted daily with the in-house therapy center about the situation.  A therapist was assigned to her, code named Orange, but in the early days there wasn’t much either doctor could do to ease the pain and fear.  The three watch as Sirah nearly become a ghost of herself.

Her friends were sick to their stomachs at the change and tried to do whatever they could within their power to help her through it.  After the event with Ginger, the four of them agreed to take turns being with her.  Just being in the same room was often enough for Sirah most days, so they’d bring work or field reports or even just books to pass the time.  

Ginger took the mornings, Tequila took the afternoon shift, and Champ stayed by her side in the early evenings.  But Jack was the one to stay with her at night.  Seeing his sleeping form on the couch next to her brought her immense comfort and often, she would reach out and touch his hand with hers.  Every time, even dead asleep, he grasped hers in return and never let go.

---***---

A month after she woke from the coma, the doctors agreed to move her to a private therapy bay to continue her recovery.  Her cuts had scarred over, her burns were stable, and the breaks and fractures were just about healed.  She was able to begin the next phase of her healing and the days took on more structure. 

Physical therapy in the morning with Tequila there as her own personal cheerleader and sometimes Ginger when he was out on assignment. Regular therapy with Dr. Orange in the afternoons, and in the evenings, Jack came “home” to stay with her.  Champ made it a special order to have lunch with her daily and sometimes his wife would join them.

Her recovery probably wouldn’t had gone as well as it had were it not for her friends.  The love and support they provided guided her through the dark moments.  One night, after she had been cleared to take a shower, Sirah stood beneath the water, relishing the feeling of being clean. Without thinking, she turned her face upwards into the spray and immediately her brain was flooded with the memory of her water boarding.  

She pulled back, gasping and cried out before she fell against the shower wall in terror.  Immediately, Jack rushed into the bathroom, calling her name.  He pulled back the shower curtain and found her sitting on the floor, crying and shaking with the memory.  He turned off the water and dropped to his knees.  He wrapped her in his arms and held her against him. Nothing he could say could reach through to her, so instead he rocked her body as she cried.  It cut him to the core and broke his heart into a million pieces. Soon she quieted down, and her arms snaked around his waist.

“Moonshine, let’s get you cleaned up.”  She nodded and was patient while he soaped up a rag and gently cleaned her.  He rinsed and dried her off before helping her dress.  When he got her settled in bed, he texted Tequila to come take his place. When he arrived, Jack outlined what had happened and said he needed to step out.  Tequila clapped a hand on his shoulder before sitting down on the couch. If Jack needed a minute, then dammit, he was getting one.

Jack ran down to the training room and turned on the lights.  He rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles as he walked over to the punching bag.  He took a deep breath and threw out his right arm.  The contact stung but it didn’t stop him.  He took the rest of his anger and grief out on the bag.  He eventually collapsed against it, exhausted, but calmer.

---***---

“Orange. . . can I talk about that night?”  Sirah sounded hesitant, but the therapist gave her a reassuring smile. Half a year had passed since California and Sirah now found herself curled on the end of her couch, wrapped in a blanket. The therapist sat at the other end, leg drawn up and facing her.

“Needles.”  Sirah looked out the window.  “I could smell the needles of the redwoods as I laid there. . .”  Their talk continued and several times, Sirah broke down.  She cried for Malbec and Sherry, the agents who were her friends.  She cried for herself.  She just cried all the tears she couldn’t while captured.  And then she talked some more.  

After nearly three hours, she felt exhausted, but lighter.  Facing California was hard, but each day seemed to get easier.  Dr. Orange told her to sleep a bit and left the apartment.  But for the first time in weeks she didn’t dream of pain or of fire or even of a dead woman’s eyes.  Instead she dreamed of New York City.

“Jack, are we sure this is correct?” Sirah looked at the notes sent from HQ regarding the case.  They sat in his New York office reviewing files and she scribbled notes in the margins.

“I’m sure moonshine, I don’t think Tequila would send us incorrect notes.”  Jack flipped through the file in front of him before turning back to the computer.  He updated a few things and went back to the file. Sirah picked up the notes she made and gathered a few more items.

“I’ll be right back. . . .” her voice faltered as she looked out the window.  He turned to see what captured her attention.  Blocks away from where they were at, fireworks lit up the sky.  She walked over to the window in a sort of trance, mesmerized by the beauty of the scene – the brightly colored fireworks against the dark sky and the surrounding glow of the city.  Jack walked up behind her to watch, too.

Without thinking about it, he laid his hands on her shoulders and his chin on her head.  She sighed and leaned back into him, eyes still on the display.  He dragged his hands down her arms and wrapped her close against him.  She melted into him and they stood in comfortable repose until the display ended. The sky darkened again, and the sounds of the city were no longer muffled.

She turned in his arms and pressed her face against his chest.  Her arms came up around his waist and she clung to him.  He shifted and kissed the top of her head.  She smiled into his chest and sighed again, this one even more contented than before.  She eventually moved out of his arms, dragging her hand across his chest as she walked around him.  He caught the smile on her face, and one grew on his own.

“I’ll be in the library for a bit.  I want to check up on some things.  Can you wait a few hours until I have more information?”  She looked at him.

“Moonshine, I’ll always wait for you.”  She beamed at him and slightly nodded her head before taking her items and walking out the door.

He’d wait a lifetime for her if he needed to.

---***---

She woke up from the dream with a contented smile on her face, an event that hadn’t happened since before California.  As she became more alert, she realized she was alone.  Everyone worked to keep a similar schedule as before even after she moved back into her home and when she looked at the clock, she noticed it was close to dinner time.  She asked Champ to come to dinner and as if her mind conjured him, he walked through the door, knocking as he entered.

She smiled as he sat down and laid out the dinner his wife made.  He also handed her a lumpy package that had her name scrawled across it.  She opened it and while he went to get plates, she pulled out a beautifully thick navy sweater.  It was oversized and the sleeves were longer than normal.  

Once she was cleared to wear regular clothing, Sirah had taken to completely covering herself.  She was self-conscious about the scars all over her body and while the logical part of her brain said no one would care, she still did it anyway.  Champ’s wife was a quiet woman, but she was observant and smart as hell.  Champ wouldn’t have married her if she wasn’t.  The sweater was something that would give Sirah the cover she wanted with much comfort.

“Champ, can we talk for a moment?”  She sounded serious as he returned and sat down next to her.

“Of course, honey.  What do you need?”  The voice was kind and she found herself feeling ever grateful she had such love around her.  It’s why she knew she’d get passed this.

“Don’t call me Sirah anymore.”

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Winter Romance (Mukuro Rokudo)

Genre: Fluff, Romance ☁

Word Count: 2,371 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Mukuro ☁

World: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! ☁

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“Did you hear?”

“That’s twice! Isn’t Vindicare supposed to be a heavily guarded prison?”

“Apparently not.”

“What should we do?”

“What if he comes for us?”

Every mafia family in Italy was in a state of panic, knowing full well the power of the young illusionist. Whispers and rumors ripped through Italy like a raging fire, stirring up feelings of worry and fear in those that knew about the damage, the destruction, he had caused. Of course, being in Italy at the time, Dino caught wind of the rumors fairly easily. Being worried himself, he hopped onto a plane with Romario and headed to Japan to warn his little brother.

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Dino sat at the kitchen table across from a bleary-eyed, half-asleep Tsunayoshi Sawada, who was barely able to catch what the blonde was saying. It was about ten minutes after one in the morning and Tsuna had been sound asleep in his bed. That was until a loud and urgent banging on the front door woke him up. Ignoring the pain in his face from connecting with the floor, Tsuna had jumped up and rushed – nearly tripping – down the stairs, trying to stop the noise before it woke up the whole house.

“Tsuna? Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” Tsuna blinked, rubbing the sleep from his half-lidded orbs.

“Dame-Tsuna, wake up!” Reborn kicked the back of Tsuna’s head, causing his face to slam into the kitchen table. He moved to sit on the back of his head, a serious expression on his face, “Is it true, Dino?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but with the way the other families are acting… I’d say the chance is pretty high. Mukuro Rokudo already escaped Vindicare once, but was caught. Maybe he used that time to work out the details that would set him free for good. Either way, he’s perfectly capable.” Dino paused, chewing on his bottom lip, “Do you think he’ll come after Tsuna again?”

“…” Reborn was silent. No one knew what went through Mukuro’s mind, not even the all-knowing Reborn. “We’ll stay on guard, just in case.”

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You walked down the street towards your apartment. In one hand was a steaming sticky bun that helped shield you from the cold. In your other hand was a white plastic bag holding drinks, snacks, and a pack of cigarettes. Your eyes were closed as you hummed happily without a care in the world. The night was quiet and peaceful, maybe a little too quiet.

The sound of a trash can being knocked over and hitting the pavement made your happy expression drop, causing you to whip around in surprise. All you saw, however, was a stray cat running away from the fallen can.

‘A mafioso being scared by a stray cat. I think I’m losing my touch!’ you let out a puff of air, shaking your head before continuing down the deserted street toward your apartment.

“Kufufu~”

The strange sound was faint, like it was far off, but echoed throughout the empty neighborhood. You froze mid-step, eyes wide and alert, searching the area for the source of the sound. After a few minutes passed without locating the source, you shook your head again and continued on. Was it just your imagination?

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have let Gokudera talk me into watching Krampus last night,’

Little did you know, a certain pineapple-haired male was watching you intently from the shadows, an amused smirk upon his lips and his red orb glowing under the pale moonlight. Mukuro was the snowy owl in the middle of the night, stalking his prey while waiting for the perfect chance to strike. You were the silvery mouse, scurrying along down the street with no knowledge of the predator that loomed over you.

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You made it to your apartment without any further distractions. Flicking the light on and throwing the bag onto the couch, you let out an involuntary shiver at the temperature of the room; it felt like you had just entered Antarctica! The air in the room was not only freezing but heavy too, making it hard for you to breathe. Your limbs were heavy, weighed down, your head filled with fog.

Shaking your head, you managed to reach the thermostat, jacking it up as high as it would go. It clicked and knocked a few times from not being used for a while before finally kicking on, filling the room with warm air.

You rubbed your covered arms, glancing around the room with uneasy eyes. A strange feeling of being watched washed over you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. That feeling was horrible when you were out in the open, but it was ten times worse being in an enclosed area.

‘You’re letting your mind run wild,’ you told yourself, shaking your head before heading into the bathroom. Turning on the water so it could get hot, you began to strip the clothes off your body, letting them fall into a neat pile near the sink. Just as you stepped into the shower, the room grew cold again and the feeling of being watched returned, much stronger than before. You felt very uneasy, goosebumps erupting across your flesh.

Even with the thick shower curtain closed from end to end, the uneasiness lingered, but you tried to push that away and continue the shower. After rinsing the shampoo from your hair, you stepped out with a towel over your dripping locks. You stood in front of the sink, wiping the fog from the mirror before reaching for the toothbrush. When you looked back up, you saw Mukuro Rokudo in the mirror, his eyes shining while he licked his lips as if he were starving.

You gulped, whipping around with wide eyes, only to find no one there. Putting a shaky hand over your racing heart, you closed your eyes and took a few shaky breaths to try and calm your nerves. What was wrong with you tonight? You didn’t understand it.

“It must be bakadera,” you muttered to yourself, glaring at the toothbrush in your hand, “He’s driven me crazy!”

After finishing up in the bathroom without any more crazy feelings or interruptions, you returned to the bedroom, slipping into a pair of silk pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt before sliding under the covers. A good night’s sleep should put your mind at ease and, hopefully, bury the strange events that had occurred that night.

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Your mind was hazy, clouded. You didn’t know where you were. Everything was black. There was no light, no sound, no anything. You turned in circles, trying to find a way out of the darkness, but it was as if you were walking in place. You attempted to call out, but your voice failed you. You couldn’t even hear your own thoughts.

Everything had been muted as if your life had been turned into a silent film.

Something caught your eye and you glanced over to the left, noticing a small speck of white light. Slowly, it grew and grew until it finally covered the darkness. It was so bright you had to shield your eyes. When the light faded and you cracked open your eyes, you found yourself in an unfamiliar place, vastly different from the darkness you had just left.

You stood at the base of a tall mountain. Trees towered toward the sky, their dark leaves covered in freshly fallen snow which glowed under the full moon. The ground beneath your feet was covered in snow up to the knee, making it hard to move. To your left, a few feet away, was a small wooden cabin. Red velvet curtains covered the windows, but you could see the flame of a candle flickering across them.

The wind blew, rustling the weighed down tree leaves. As your body registered the cold, it started to shiver. You hugged yourself in a futile attempt to keep warm, but you were only in a pair of thin pajamas, and it had to be at least minus thirty degrees. How had you fallen asleep in a nice warm bed, only to wake up standing at the base of a snowy mountain? Had you sleepwalked there? You had no history of doing so and the thought just seemed so crazy!

You slowly moved through the snow towards the cabin, feet feeling like blocks of ice through the thin, low cut socks. Just as you reached for the door handle, you froze.

Hoot, hoot.

Glancing to your right, you noticed a large owl perched on a nearby tree, white in color, staring down at you. What stood out against the pure white coat was its oddly colored orbs; one a dark blue, while the other was a blood red. When the creature’s eyes met yours, it fluffed out its wings and hooted again.

The creature seemed familiar, but with your mind in such a haze, you couldn’t quite place it. A chill crept down your back.

Feeling a sense of urgency, you pushed the door open and bolted inside, shutting it quickly behind you. Warmth settled over your body almost instantly and a small sigh of content passed your lips.

‘My emotions feel like a rollercoaster right now, flip-flopping all over the place,’ you frowned, letting your eyes scan the room.

The cabin had a welcoming, almost calming feel to it. On the right side of the cabin, against the wall, was a large fireplace that had been lit and was cackling happily. Velvety blood-red curtains covered each window and below them sat small tables. A red cloth had been set on each of them, and there were about three white roman candles flickering on each one. The same setup was on the table beside the bed that sat in the corner of the room, on the left side. The bedsheets were also blood-red in color.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around and, with your bones still frozen, you decided it wouldn’t hurt to take residence in the warm sheets. You approached the bed, the wooden floorboards creaking under your weight. You reached for the sheets when the door swung open. You heard the footsteps enter the cabin before the door was shut again, but your body was frozen in place, eyes wide in surprise.

The footsteps grew closer until you could feel a person behind you, could feel their breath on the back of your neck. It created goosebumps on your arms and you swallowed hard to try and stave off the fear. A familiar chuckle reached your ears but before you could react, the person’s arms were tight around your stomach, a chin resting on your shoulder.

“Welcome to my world, my little snowflake~” Mukuro spoke into your ear, his voice husky and low.

“M-Mukuro!” you tried to break free but the male’s grasp was far too strong, “Let go of me, you damned pineapple!”

“Kufufu~ That’s not a very nice thing to say.” He chuckled, his tone mocking. His grip tightened and he moved to place a butterfly kiss on the back of your neck. He trailed a line of kisses up the side of your neck and jaw, but that wasn’t enough to satisfy the male’s hunger. Not even close.

One arm tightened its grip while his other reached up to grip your chin. Forcing you to look at Mukuro, he leaned in and claimed your lips as his own. You froze, eyes wide and face exploding with color. As Mukuro pulled away, you caught him off guard by smacking the back of your hand against his crotch, taking this as a chance to free yourself, but Mukuro wasn’t going to let his prey get away from him. He had been waiting far too long and had gone through hell and back to get to you. There was no way you were going to get away.

You tried to bolt toward the door but Mukuro was faster, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back to throw you onto the bed. Your face was bright red, glowing brighter when Mukuro crawled on top of you, straddling your waist. His hips pressed down roughly against yours, earning an involuntary groan, which you tried your best to bite back. The illusionist chuckled, leaning down and nipping at your neck. He bit softly at first before biting a bit rougher, not enough to draw blood, but more than enough to earn pleasureful groans from his new lover.

“Oh? Do you like that, my little snowflake?” Mukuro questioned, biting your ear as his hand slowly slid down your stomach, stopping at the hem of your pajama bottoms.

“O-Of course not! G-Get off of me, damn it!” You attempted to growl as you pushed at the male’s chest, but it came out as more of a whimper than anything.

“Hmm? Are you sure about that?” Mukuro purred, sliding his hand up and down your stomach, drawing patterns across your skin.

Your lips parted to say that you were sure, but the words didn’t come. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t find the man attractive, that you hadn’t fantasized about him the last time he was around.

“Y/N,” hearing him say your name sent shivers down your spine. You loved the way he said your name. “You now belong to me, kufufu~”

“Wait, what – ” your words slurred as everything around you began to fade and the last thing you heard was Mukuro’s strange laughter.

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Your eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom. You remembered everything clearly, from the scents to the feeling of his hands on your body. Had it really only just been a dream?

Your heart skipped a beat as you remembered how warm his hands had been, the butterflies that had erupted inside your stomach. You rolled over to face the wall your bed sat against, pulling the covers up to your nose.

After you finally fell back asleep, Mukuro stepped out from the shadows, standing over your sleeping form. He watched you for a few moments before smirking, his lips brushing your ear.

“Sweet dreams, my little snowflake. Kufufu~”

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[imagine-loki]

Ragnarok

TITLE: Ragnarok CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 4: All Hela Breaks Loose AUTHOR: traveling-classicist ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you take care Odin when he was homeless on Midgard (based on the deleted scene from Ragnarok). You take him in and listen his crazy stories about Asgard and Thor thinking he’s just some crazy hobo who needs help. Then one day, Thor and Loki break into your apartment looking for their father. Hela returns in your living room and insanity ensues. RATING: T  (PLEASE READ THE NOTES)

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS: This chapter has some rather graphic depictions of violence and wounds. I know this can make some people squeamish so I thought I’d whack a warning in here, just in case.

“Get out of my house, or I will shoot you this time,” Theo shouted at Doctor Strange. “Hi Wong, how are you?” she added kindly, smiling at Strange’s friend. He smiled and bowed politely to her.

            “Oooh, I would love to see you shoot him,” Loki said, stepping out of the way to stand behind her. “You know, I’m really starting to like you. Here, don’t let me get in the way. Go ahead, fire away.”

            “Don’t get comfortable,” she spat at Loki. “You’re next.”

            “Who gave you gun? Why do you have a gun?” Doctor Strange asked.

            “For lunatics who break down my doors,” she shouted, waving the gun at Loki, who gracefully ducked out of the way. “Or assholes who teleport into my house without my permission! Oh my God, what am I saying?” She pointed the gun back at Strange.

            Thor and Odin approached them. “Loki, we need to go,” Thor said. “Oh, hello Doctor Strange. We were just going.”

            Theo glanced at Odin. He looked worried. She could see tear trails on his cheek. She lowered the gun and went to him. “Odin? Are you alright? What did he say? Do I need to punch him?” she asked, pointing at Thor. He took her hand.

            “We must go now,” he said, looking up at her sadly. “Back to Asgard. We need to address this situation with Hela.”

            “Who?” Loki and Strange asked in unison.

            “Aren’t you paying attention, brother,” Thor sneered at Loki.

“Hela, your daughter?” Theo asked Odin, ignoring the others.

“Your what?” Loki shouted.

“We cannot discuss this now, Loki. We need to go back to Asgard. Quickly, before she breaks free and Ragnarok begins. I can feel it, she is close now.”

“Oh, yes, I do think it’s time for all of you to go if someone is coming to destroy you or us,” Doctor Strange said, herding them away like geese towards the door. “Not you,” he said, pushing Theo aside. She frowned at him and brandished the gun still in her hand, giving him a warning. “Thank you for stopping by. Please, do not come again,” he said, opening the door for them and gesturing for them to leave.

A sudden piercing noise rang out from somewhere near the ceiling. Theo grabbed her ears and held them, trying to block out the spine-tingling noise like a thousand nails on a chalkboard. She heard Odin cry out in pain and she straightened up, looking for him. Loki was holding him up, Thor standing close by. Near the ceiling in the living room, where the noise was coming from, a black, vortex-like portal was opening.

“What the hell is happening in my living room!” Theo shouted. “Strange! You better knock this off right now!”

“It’s not me,” he shouted back. Wong stepped past her to Strange’s side. They lifted their hands and in front of them. Orange, circular shields formed. Theo shook her head in disbelief. After everything that had happened to her in the last five years, how on earth could she actually be surprised by anything. Especially, after the two men had literally teleported into her living room.

She turned her attention back to Odin and his sons. She grabbed Loki’s arm and pulled him back. The three of them took several steps back, behind the magicians. Loki put Odin behind him and Thor. There was a flash of light and Thor and Loki adorned armor. Theo stood between the brothers and the wizards, holding her gun and wondering what on earth she was going to have to do to have a normal life again.

A woman materialized from the vortex in ragged black clothes. Her hair was black and pin straight. Her eyes dark, with even darker eye shadow and liner. To Theo, she looked like she’d just arrived back from a My Chemical Romance concert.

“Ahh, Midgard?” the woman breathed.

“Hela,” Odin said from behind Loki.

“What a stinking rathole for you to be hiding in, you old bastard,” she said.

“Hey, I just cleaned yesterday, but your siblings wrecked my living room!” Theo said, pointing her gun at her.

“Oh, and who is this? Your slave? Or your pet?” she scoffed.

“Roommate,” Theo said, finger steady on the trigger.

“Oh, you’ve fallen low, Odin. It’s almost pitiful. But if this is the place you’ve chosen to die, I won’t argue with you. Come out from behind that greasy son of yours.”

“Greasy?” Loki spat. Thor tried to stifle a chuckle. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re excused, little brother, now get out of my way!” She charged forward. Swords shot from her hands. She moved faster than lightning. Theo reacted instinctively, jumping and pulling the trigger, firing off three rounds into the woman’s face.

Each bullet hit its mark, tearing away chunks of flesh and bone. Hela broke away from her charge, tumbling over the couch, holding her face and letting out a howl of pain. Theo was hyperventilating. She stared at the gun in her hand as it trembled with fear and shock at what she had just done. The gun had always been there for protection, but she had never planned on actually shooting anyone.

The men in the room looked at Theo in shock.

            “Well,” Loki said, shrugging. “That was much easier than I expected. Ragnarok diverted.”

Hela rose from the ground, kicking over the coffee table, sending books, apple tarts, and coffee flying in all directions.

“Brother, I think you spoke too soon,” Thor growled.

She removed her hand from her wounded face. Her right eye was white, blinded; the skin around it, scarred as if burned from the bullet wounds. The muscle and sinew of her jaw was exposed, showing her teeth and jawbone. The tissue began to necrotize and turn black before their eyes. Theo took a step back out of fear, her stomach turning at the sight of what she had done.

The movement sent Hela into the attack and she flew at Theo. Two swipes of Hela’s arms sent the men careening into the walls. She was on top of Theo in an instant, screaming and howling at her.

She wrapped her fingers around Theo’s neck and squeezed. The air was trapped in Theo’s lungs and she choked. Hela had her pinned to the floor, half smashed against the wall and the wood flooring. Theo’s gun skittered across the floor and landed a few feet away. Her hand flopped, frantically for it, as black spots began to appear in her vision. Hela squeezed harder, Theo heard tiny, crackling noises in her neck and a horrendous gurgling came from her mouth.

She abandoned her gun and tried desperately to peel Hela’s fingers away from her throat; scratching, hitting, punching, kicking, her; anything she could do to get her off her, but it was to no avail. Hela stood over her like a statue and her grip was like steel.

The men were still struggling on the floor. Thor was the first to his feet as Loki helped Odin. Thor threw his hammer as hard as he could at Hela’s back. She whipped around and with her free hand, caught the hammer. The hollow thud echoed through the apartment.

The hammer vibrated in Hela’s hand. Sparks rippled out from it, licking up her fingers and wrist. Cracks formed outwards from her fingers and a noise like metal being sheered pierced Theo’s eardrums.

“That’s not possible,” Thor squeaked.

The hammer vibrated faster, the cracks split wider, and the noise intensified. Hela did not remove her eyes from Thor. Theo, who was still under the iron-like grip of her other hand, was beginning to lose consciousness. She was beginning to panic. Her limbs felt heavy, her eyes felt like they were bulging out of her head.

In an instant, the hammer exploded, sending lightning and chunks of metal flying across the room. The windows in the kitchen shattered in a shock wave that felt like it shook the whole city block. The cabinet doors flew off their hinges. The furniture shattered and curtains shredded.

Theo could hear yelling in the hallway as one of her neighbors was trying to figure out what was going on. In the back of her mind, she hoped they just minded their own business on this one.

Her mind was beginning to shut down. She could no longer think straight. The others were regaining themselves from Thor’s hammer breaking into a thousand pieces, but Theo didn’t have time for them.

The pain in her neck was too much for her to bear any longer. With all her remaining strength, she kicked Hela as hard as she could. While it did not send her flying across the room as Theo had intended, it did get her hand off her throat long enough for her to turn over and stretch for her gun.

            She made a lunge for it, but her hand flubbed over it, her mind unable to coordinate her fingers to grab it. Abandoning the instinct to fight, Theo tried to run. She put the rest of her energy into her legs and tried to scramble away from Hela. She stood over her, watching the pathetic mortal who had deformed her so flop about on the floor.

Hela kicked her over, bearing down on her with her sword. Theo’s eyes widened in terror at Hela. She closed her eyes. This was it. This was how it felt last time too. Time seemed to slow, and silence fell and once again, Theo wasn’t ready to go.

Loki cast a spell that knocked Hela back against the wall. Hela’s sword slashed across Theo’s chest, creating a long gash, diagonally across her torso. She cried out in agony at the pain that erupted through her body.

Hela turned and advanced on Loki, swords blazing in a green fire. Loki stepped backwards.

“Thor! Help me!” he shouted. “Lightning her! Do something!”

“I can’t!” Thor shouted back. “My hammer!”

Hela lunged at him. Loki conjured daggers and caught her sword in a cross above his head. She was strong. He could feel the heat of the flame on her swords. Something dripped from them, thick and black, like oil. It dripped onto his skin and burned through, revealing the muscles and tendons of his hand, down to the bone.

He cried out at the burn and let his dagger fall, stepping to the side to avoid the strike of Hela’s blade, holding his hand. He hissed at it as his skin boiled, leaving lesions and blisters in its wake around the epicenter of the ghastly wound.

 “It’s poison,” he muttered. He looked up and she was striking at him again. She spun quickly round to continue her attack. He sidestepped once more and made a quick jab at her side. His dagger hit its mark: a rip in the fabric of her armor. She made no cry of pain, no flinch, nor effort to conceal the wound. It bled but she paid no heed. She swung wildly with her blade, but Loki ducked out of the way.

He waved his hand, creating a bright flash of light and loud bang to distract her. In her daze, he made several copies of himself around her and attacked all at once. She spun in a circle, releasing swords in all directions, striking several of the Lokis and making them disappear. Loki could feel twinges of pain at their deaths. Strange and Wong blocked some of the swords from hitting Thor, Odin, and Theo with small force fields.

Loki rolled out of the way of the sword meant for the real him. He had to think of something else. Hela was too clever, and this was too small a space with too many morons in it for them to fight properly.

            “Strange!” Loki shouted. “Open one of your portals to the empty dimension! Make her fall through!”

            Doctor Strange moved his hands in a circular motion and a portal opened beneath Hela’s feet. She screamed as she began to fall. She made a last ditch lunge at Loki with her sword as she fell through the floor and the portal closed up behind her.

Theo was gasping on the floor. She felt an eerie, coldness permeating through her body. Her back arched as waves of a burning pain washed over her like fire lapping at her skin. Spasms of electric-like shock wracked her muscles, causing her to convulse on the floor. The pain radiated from her chest. She looked down. She could see the blood and the wound, but she could not feel it. The wound felt numb, but the rest of her body was filled with its pain. She screamed but the effort made her head spin.

            Loki ran to her side and knelt, examining the wound on her chest and comparing it to the wound on his hand. Strange was right behind him.

            “Move,” he said, pushing Loki away from Theo. He turned Theo over. “I’m going to pull up your shirt, Theo. Please, don’t punch me this time,” he said.

            “No,” Theo begged as she rolled side to side in pain. “Please,” she moaned.

            Strange lifted her torn sweater, revealing the long gash. Her abdomen was littered with other older scars; one rather large, star-shaped scar covering the lower right side of her torso. She struggled to pull her shirt back down but Strange held her. Loki’s eyes widened at Theo’s battle scars. He straightened up and turned to Thor.

            “Thor, you stupid oaf! What was that?” he shouted, picking up what was left of Mjolnir’s handle and throwing it at Thor. It hit his chest and bounced off him. Loki shapeshifted into an image of Thor and mocked him. “’Oh no! My special hammer’s broken! I can’t do anything anymore! I’m just a weak little boy! I’m just gonna sit here and watch my crazy sister kill my dear brother! Maybe I’ll have a spot of coffee and an apple tart while he bleeds out!’”

He turned back into himself and grimaced at Thor who was fuming, ready to tear Loki to shreds. Odin stopped the two of them, putting his hands on their chests before they could go at each other. His eye was on Theo who was moaning and crying on the floor, clearly in agony from the wound she had received from Hela.

            Strange and Wong were trying to hold her still to examine the wound. The gash was not fatally deep, but it was bleeding badly and parts of it had already become infected as if it were days old. Strange was confused.

Before his eyes, the tissue began to necrotize and die around the edges of the wound, turning gangrenous and then black. Theo moaned with pain. Her hand searched for something to hold. Odin knelt beside her and took her hand and held it.

“I don’t wanna go… no,” she whimpered. “It hurts. Too much.”

            “It’s a poison,” Loki said, holding up his own hand to show Strange. The poison on Hela’s blade had burned away Loki’s skin to reveal the tendon and bone of his right hand. The tissue around it was blackened as if dead. “You won’t be able to deal with it here on Midgard. She’ll have to come back to Asgard with us, if she’s to live.”

            “Loki,” Odin breathed, seeing his injured son. Loki paid him no heed.

            “She is not leaving this planet,” Strange said, not looking up at Loki.

            “She’ll die, then,” Loki retorted.

            “She is a citizen of earth, and she will not be leaving with a hostile force like you.”

            “Thor’s here,” Loki said, gesturing to his brother who was kneeling over the broken pieces of Mjolnir. “He’s not hostile. Just tell whoever that she went with Thor. I don’t care. If she stays here. She’s dead.”

            “I don’t want to be dead,” Theo whimpered, deliriously. “Please.”

            Loki stared at Strange, searching for his answer. Theo did not have much time. There was a pounding on the door.

            “Police, open this door!” someone shouted.

            “Nope, we don’t have time for your indecision. I thought you were a doctor,” Loki said. “Bring us back, now! Leave the silly magicians.”

            “EXCUSE ME!” Strange roared as the room was filled with rainbow colors.

            Bifrost opened. Loki picked Theo up. He hoped she would survive. Strange made a move for them but was blown away by Bifrost. They were picked up and thrown into the rainbow bridge, careening through space. The gate opened on the other side and they materialized in Asgard. Theo was barely alive in Loki’s arms.

            “I need a skiff, now!” Loki ordered. A flying boat-like vehicle arrived almost immediately, and Loki put Theo inside.

“Loki, where is Heimdall?” Thor asked.

            “Not now, you idiot,” Loki replied.

Odin was helped in by two Einherjar and Thor stepped in as well, doing his best not to strangle his brother in front of everyone. They flew to the palace and Theo was quickly taken inside to the Healing Room.

            “Healers!” Loki addressed several women in the room as he entered, carrying Theo. “This woman is Midgardian. She has been struck with a poisoned Asgardian blade. I don’t know what the poison is, but it’s killed the tissue around the wound.”

            “Oh dear,” one woman said. “Put her in the soul forge, sire. We’ll try to stop it’s movement through her body.”

            Loki placed her on the table and the healers started the forge. Theo was awake but confused and delirious. What she saw around her did not make any sense. The table she was laying on suddenly came alive and golden clouds formed above her in shapes that looked eerily like her own body.

She had been drifting in and out of consciousness until now. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. Her chest felt as if it had been cleaved open by a chainsaw in a horror movie. Her head spun with the pain.

             The shapes above her billowed and undulated as if moved by an unfelt breeze or wave. Her eyes could not focus well on them, but she thought she could make out a darker colored cloud floating somewhere around where her chest was.

            Loki watched the soul forge and the healers do their work. The forge had picked up on the poison and was able to halt its movement in Theo’s body but could not identify nor neutralize it. At least with the poison stopped, the healers could have a better look at the wound. They removed her shirt, much to her distress. She fought back with what little strength she had left.

            “Try to relax, Theo,” Loki said. “They’re trying to help.”

            “Don’t tell me to relax, you bastard,” she hissed.

            “Clearly, she’s not as far gone as I feared,” Loki said flatly.

            He looked at the healers and nodded gently. They turned a switch on the forge and Theo’s limbs fell limp.

            “I can’t move!” she said. “What did you do to me!”

            “It’s by design,” Loki said, calmly. “So, you don’t hurt yourself or anyone else. Like I said, just try to relax and let them do their work.”

            They continued to remove her clothing and clean the wound. Loki’s attention fell to the star-shaped scar on her lower abdomen. He knew the mark: a blast from a Chitauri weapon. His mind was filled with flashes of memory too fast for him to catch. He could hear the Chitauri battle cries and weapons blasting, he could hear people dying and buildings falling, he could hear the Avengers rallying. He shook his head, violently.

            Thor stepped up beside his brother and addressed the healers, pulling Loki’s attention away from Theo. “Did you call him ‘sire’?” he asked the healers. “You do know who he is, right? What he’s done?”

            “Oh, of course, we do, dear. We’ve known for a while now.”

            “You’ve what now?” Loki asked, surprised by the matron healer’s answer.

            “We all know the Allfather was reaching his limits with the Dark Elves, what with the Queen’s death and yours – twice - and all that mess with Midgard. And then, for you to abdicate, we all thought it had been too much for you too to bear.

“Then, after all that, for Odin to suddenly take an interest in philanthropy over war and military, was, well, rather unlike him,” the healer explained to the brothers, while she worked on Theo’s wound.

 “And then, there was the giant golden statue of you, sire, and the plays and the speeches and the epics and the books and the new libraries and theaters and amphitheaters. We started to put a few things together. The Council called a bit of a private meeting with palace staff about it, and we agreed that we were more prosperous this way, so we just let it be.”

            Loki turned to his brother smugly and smiled. “Well, how about that?” Thor’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “Wait a minute. You knew and you let me walk around in that old man’s body for years? My back still hurts from being as old as him!” Loki said to her.

            “Well, sire, that’s what you get for lying to us. We also agreed that was fair.”

            “Right, well, next time we have another one of these ‘little meetings’, make sure I’m invited,” he said, winking at her. She giggled and shook her head.

            Odin wandered up to the forge and gently laid his hand on Theo’s arm. It seemed to calm her a bit. She was weakening again from the pain and effort. Odin looked up at Loki and smiled.

            “I like what you’ve done with the palace,” he said. “I was just admiring the drapes. Your mother would have like the color. Yellow was her favorite.”

            “I thought they were gold,” Loki muttered. He turned back to the healer. “What are you finding?”

            “This is a strange poison. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It is so fast acting,” she replied.

            “Is it possible to get a sample from it?” Loki said. He turned to a guard. “You, go to the library. In the botany section there is an old tome under ‘Skarsgard’. It’s several millennia old so be careful with it. It’s called Ancient Poisons and Their Workings. Bring it to me, quickly,” he ordered. The guard scampered off.

            “Sire, we may not have time to look up an antidote for her. Her mortal body will not be able to withstand this for much longer even with the forge’s help,” the matron said.

            Loki turned back to the soul forge. Theo’s life signs were fading quickly. Loki picked at the palm of his hand. A nervous tick he’d picked up from his mother. His weight shifted from one foot to another.

            “Try a regeneration ointment on her,” he said. The healers moved together, preparing Theo’s wound. The matron poured an ointment out of a bottle and rubbed it on the wound with a gloved hand. The wound began to heal but immediately died again. Loki shook his head, afraid that would happen.

            “Try healing hands,” he said. “I don’t know the effects of these spells on mortals.”

            “Myself, either, sire, but it’s worth a shot,” the matron said, casting the spell over Theo. As long as she kept the spell up, Theo’s wound healed and her life signs improved but as soon as she let it drop, the wound began to necrotize, and Theo diminished. Loki growled to himself.

            “A healing stone,” he said. The matron powdered the stone in a mortar and pestle and sprinkled the dust over the wound. To Loki’s surprise the potency of the stone kept the poison at bay for far longer than the other remedies had, but soon he could see the wound beginning to infect again, turning red and white but at a far slower rate.

            “That seemed to have worked better,” the matron said.

            “We cannot waste too many stones, we have to find something more sustainable,” Loki said.

            “What about Idunn’s apples?” Odin said, looking at Loki.

            Loki considered Odin’s proposal. No mortal had ever been given one so it would either kill her immediately, give her immortality, heal her wound, or none of the above. It was worth a shot, Loki thought. He nodded at the matron.

            The healer’s kept a basket of the apples on hand as they were useful healing items for Asgardians with minor wounds and injuries and other minor maladies. She sliced off a piece of one and fed it to Theo. Her life signs improved dramatically and the infection in the wound slowed.

            “Alright,” Loki said. “Give her a little more until it heals the wound. Let’s see what happens.”

            The matron continued to feed Theo pieces of the apple, but the healing process appeared to taper and plateau. The wound would not heal beyond a large scab on her chest before reverting back to an open, infected wound a few seconds after Theo had swallowed a bite of apple.

            “Whatever that poison is, it won’t let her body heal,” Loki said. He looked at his own hand. He felt a little twinge in his own stomach at seeing his own bones. The pain was intense at the area of injury, but Loki was used to pain like this. He was more interested in the necrotized tissue.

            “Are you hurt, sire? Were you cut by the same blade?”

            “Yes,” he said, simply, hiding his hand from the healer. “Keep her fed with the apples whatever way you can and try to keep her comfortable. Give her something for the pain. Mandragora, poppydew, datura, something that’s not too strong. I’m afraid it might put her to sleep permanently,” he said. “Mortal composition is weird so do not give her very much of anything.”

Theo muttered something from the bed. Loki looked down at her and leaned closer. “No opioids,” she muttered. “Please, I can’t.”

“On second thought, no poppydew,” he said, straightening up again. “Try a teeny, tiny bit of datura. And don’t let her leave the Healing Room if she starts hallucinating.”

            “Yes, sire, we’ll take care of her. But, please, let me see your hand,” the matron said, grabbing his hand before he could turn away.

            “No—, matron, I’m fine, please,” he said, trying to pull away.

            “Shush, let me look,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. You must be in excruciating pain.”

            “Really, I’m fine,” Loki said, he pulled away, but she pulled him and walked him to a counter with healing supplies.

            She applied a healing stone powder to it which eased the pain and healed it somewhat. His skin did not immediately die again as Theo’s had so his healing factor was an advantage, but it still did not heal completely. The healer gently wrapped his hand in silken bandages, taking care with his hand and fingers. He winced a little when she tightened the bandage but quickly regained himself.

“I know why you’re acting this way,” she said, leaning in close to him and gesturing with her eyes back towards Odin. “You’re no use to us injured or sick so let us help you too.”

Loki smiled and nodded at her. “Thank you, matron,” he said, sincerely. “We’ll work on finding out what this poison is, just keep the mortal girl here, please.”

Loki turned back to Thor and Odin. One of the healers had given Odin a cane for him to lean on. He did appear weaker than before. He looked about as if it were his first time in the palace. Occasionally, he would look down at Theo and squeeze her hand, gently, then go back to aimlessly looking around.

Loki led Odin and Thor to the council chambers. Odin plopped down in the King’s seat out of habit. Loki walked up behind him and cleared his throat. Odin looked up at him, smiled, and moved over to Loki’s old seat. Loki took his seat at the head of the table.

            “Now, Odin, tell me about Hela, I missed that part while we were on Midgard,” he said.

            “Because you were flirting,” Thor muttered.

            “I was not flirting!” Loki snapped. “I was cleaning up your mess as usual, brother!”

            “Do you two always fight?” Odin asked them.

            “Where have you actually been for the last fifteen centuries?” Loki asked him, sarcastically. “Now, would you care to explain this random other offspring you’ve locked away for several dozen centuries?”

            Odin looked down, seemingly ashamed. He cleared his throat. His sons watched him as he shifted his weight in the chair.

            “I have not always been honest with you, my sons,” he began. “Don’t interrupt me, Loki!” he snapped, as Loki took in a breath to make a snarky remark. He closed his mouth and let his father go on. “Asgard is not eternal. There was a time when it did not exist here. When it was not this,” he gestured to the fine palace around them.

            “The Realms were not united. They were once chaotic and ungoverned. My ancestors sought for eons to bring about peace. We have succeeded but it was never a sturdy peace.

            “When I was young, when your mother and I had first been married, when our peoples, the Vanir and Aesir, had been united, it was during one such unsettled and chaotic times that we had a daughter together: Hela.

            “Perhaps, it was the chaos she was born into or my want for war to settle the peace, but I realized almost immediately the child’s aptitude for battle. Like she was made for it. I trained her for the battlefield. When she was old enough, she commanded my armies; fought by my side. And, together, we brought peace to the Realms.”

            “By ‘brought peace’ do you mean, you bullied the Realms into a bloody submission to you?” Loki asked.

            Odin raised his head to look at his son. “Say what you will,” he responded. “All successors judge their predecessors. I surely did my own father. And he his. But Hela’s appetite for war could not be sated with peace. She sought out battle wherever she looked. She wanted more than peace. More than I could ever give her. She wanted the universe in her hand.

            “When I could not give her that, she attacked Asgard, her own people. I sent in the Valkyrie to stop her, but she slaughtered them all. I conjured all the dark magicks that I could, and I locked her away in Niflheim where I thought she would be safe, where Asgard would be safe from her.”

            “In Hel,” Thor said.

            “An echo of her own name, not it’s original,” Odin remarked. “It destroyed Frigga. She begged me to remove her memory of Hela so she would not suffer with the knowledge that she had helped create a monster. I thought I would lose her. It was never her fault. Hela was what I made her to be. Frigga wanted to do it herself, but it was far too dangerous.

“So, I removed her memories of Hela. It would be several centuries before we had another child,” Odin looked up at Thor, there was a tear in his eye for his beloved wife. It slipped down his cheek. He dropped his head, ashamed to be crying in front of his sons.

He went on, “It was foretold to me by Mimir that Hela would lead the charge at Ragnarok and kill me. And then destroy Asgard.”

            “Mimir was insane,” Loki scoffed.

            “He knew more than us all,” Odin said.

            “Is that why you betrayed him? Because he was wiser than you?” Loki asked, darkly. Odin did not respond.

“Father, you’re the Allfather. There must be a way to stop her,” Thor said

            “There is none.”

            “Pfft, how Allfatherly of you,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “So, how could she have escaped?”

            “I do not know. Her cage in Yggdrasil was supposed to be impenetrable.”

            “Perhaps, she had help, then,” Loki posited.

            “Impossible. No one knew of her existence.”

            Thor made an uneasy noise and Loki sneered at him. He enjoyed seeing his brother squirm at learning the truth after centuries of Odin’s lies.

“Well, clearly someone did,” Loki went on. “Someone who shares her interests, perhaps. There’s plenty of beings who would love to see Asgard go up in flames—” he trailed off, thinking of what Odin had said. “’She wanted the universe in her hand…’” he breathed, opening and closing his good hand on the table.

            Loki stood so fast his chair tumbled over backwards. His face paled as white as snow, his eyes widening as if he’d seen a ghost. He ran out of the room with Thor hot on his heels.

            “Brother, where are you going?” Thor asked. “Loki!”

            He followed Loki through the halls of the palace. They descended several staircases. They were headed to the dungeons. Three guards walked up the stairs towards them, likely just getting off their guard duty.

            “You three, with me,” he ordered. The stepped to and followed him.

            They arrived at an unassuming door in the dungeons. Thor had never seen the door before. At least, he couldn’t really remember if he had.

            “Loki, explain. What’s going on?”

            Loki was ignoring him. He threw open the door. It led down a dark tunnel that Thor could not see the end of. Odin had just caught up with them. He watched Loki.

            Loki gathered his seidr and moved his hands in intricate patterns in front of him. Green ribbons began to form woven Asgardian knotwork that he blew onto the door, magically sealing it. He flung the door shut and posted the two guards at it.

            “Guard this door and ensure no one enters or comes from it, understand,” he said. The guards nodded.

            Thor peered down the tunnel. He could feel magic in it that was for sure, but he could not place where it came from. He tried to concentrate on it. Magic was Loki’s thing; Thor had never really been good at it. It felt like it radiated a familiar energy, similar to the feeling Bifrost gave him when they traveled on it. The realization hit him. This door was one of the secret pathways through Bifrost that Loki knew.

“This door is to be added to the guard patrols, immediately,” Loki said to the third guard. “I want you to go to the guard barracks and summon High Commander Ingvild here at once.”

            The guard nodded, genuflecting and rushing off back up the stairs.

            “Ingvild? A woman?” Thor exclaimed. “Where’s Sven? I thought he was High Commander.”

            “I cut off his head,” Loki said, flippantly, pacing back and forth.

            “You what?! Are you mad! He was one of our best warriors! He trained us both!”

            “He was plotting to kill you; do you know that?” Loki snapped. “Ensure you could never come back for the throne, overthrow our line, and take over. How would you like a giant hog as our new sigil, then? Huh? Why don’t you leave the ruling to me, brother?”

            Odin chuckled. “A giant pig on our banner,” he laughed. “I always thought that man was off. He looked like a pig. You know his name meant pig?”

            “This isn’t real,” Thor said, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ve gone mad. This place has gone mad.”

“Welcome home, brother,” Loki smiled, giving him the craziest face he could muster. “What’s the matter, brother? Is it mad to have a woman as High Commander?”

“Uh… no,” Thor blushed. “I just meant, uh… I was just surprised that… you know that I fully support female warriors and women… don’t look at me like that.”

Loki shook his head disappointedly at his brother as the guards gave him looks of discontent.

“Ingvild is an accomplished warrior,” Loki explained. “Crime has seen a massive fall since she took over and she rooted out all those pesky little corrupted council weasels for me. My first choice would have been Sif, of course, if she weren’t so eager to toss aside all her oaths for you, her one true love,” he bat his eyelashes at Thor. He was blushing nearly the color of his cape now.

And Ingvild is a good choice, I guess. I’m glad you haven’t cut off Sif’s head too.”

            “Oh, believe me, brother, I wanted to more than once, but I refrained. You’ll thank me later. You can put all that mortal girlfriend business behind you. After you uphold your oath too. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Father, please, do something about this!” Thor said, gesturing to Loki.

            “What am I going to do? I’ve been deposed,” he said, walking away from them. “He’s your king, now. You have to listen to him.”

            Loki’s jaw dropped for a moment at Odin agreeing with him, but he took the opportunity to sneer at his brother. Thor’s fists clenched and he lunged at his brother. Loki put his hands up and the guards lifted their spears at Thor. He stopped short of strangling his brother, sparks arcing over his fingers.

            “Ah, I wouldn’t do that,” Loki said. “They don’t like it when you get that close to me and neither do I, sparky.” He lowered his brother’s hands. “Ah, Ingvild, you have impeccable timing,” Loki said, addressing the woman descending the stairs. Thor growled at him but tried to control himself, dispersing the rest of his electricity into the air and making the guards hair stand on end.

[lynnsfics]

Coffee Stained Confusion Ch 6

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Smoke filled the room, blocking everything from sight. Bucky coughed, mind racing as he tried to call out to you. How could this be possible? The heat was almost unbearable. “Y/N?” 

No response. “Please, this wasn’t your fault! We can figure this out, just try to put out the fire!” 

Finally, there was a meek response. “I can’t do this. I can’t hurt someone else again. I have to go.” 

The heat filled the room, followed by a blast of cold and the sound of a door slamming. The smoke cleared out of the room, and Bucky was able to see the damage the fire had caused. Sam stood near the kitchen, trying to process what just happened. There were burn marks throughout the room, and the couch was basically incinerated. 

“What the Hell did I just witness?” Sam said, the shock in his voice clear as his volume grew. “Because I’ve seen some things, dealing with the Avengers. Telekinetics, super soldiers,” he motioned to Bucky, “and a literal god. But never, and I mean never, have I seen someone light themselves on fire like that. What the hell, man?”  

“Well, I have,” Bucky responded, “it looked like a form of pyrokinesis that HYDRA created.”

~~~

You ran down the street, thankful you knew this area well. As you made your way to one of the empty apartments you slowed down, trying to take in what just happened to you. 

The fire. It really was your fault all along. What kind of monster starts the fire that kills their own parents? What kind of monster has powers that started the fire that killed their parents?

The door to the apartment made an obnoxiously loud creaking sound. You held your breath, praying no one was nearby. Closing the door as quietly as you could, you looked around the apartment, awash with morning light. 

Taking a look around the room you could see a full-body mirror propped up in a corner. A couch sat abandoned, covered by a white sheet. A hall led down to the bedroom. You ran across the bamboo floor, quickly closing the blinds. The room went dark, with only a few rays of light filtering from between the slats in the screen. Perfect. You’d create your own light with what you were about to do. 

If you could figure out how your powers worked, maybe you could figure out how to get rid of them. An image of the thick smoke and flames in the apartment came to mind. You couldn’t hurt anyone else you cared about again.

“Alright,” you thought, “this shouldn’t be too bad, all I have to do is try to light myself on fire. Can’t be too hard, considering I just did it without even thinking about it.” You concentrated on the idea of heat but nothing happened. Then smoke. Still, no flames erupted. Finally you allowed yourself to slip into the bad memories, the fire, the flames enveloping your childhood home. A flicker appeared on your finger, almost as if you were holding a match. 

Your body temperature started rising, and as you let the memories flood in your hand started to produce a flame, then your arm, until eventually you were a living sparkler. Not thinking, you took a deep breath and smoke filled your lungs. Only  it didn’t burn, instead, you felt a comforting tingle. It reminded you of something familiar, yet at the same time distant. Thoughts of a facility clouded your mind. A doctor with a German accent, an injection. But they left just as quickly as they came.

As you shook your head to clear your thoughts, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and gasped. Your hair was a curtain of fire, billowing with smoke at every move you made. You were a firework, ready to explode. But then you thought of the damage that you had done. Not all fireworks were meant to shine, some just fizzled out, and you had to accept that. Squeezing your eyes shut, you thought one word. “Out.”

The temperature dropped and you opened your eyes. The fire was gone, and the only sign it was ever there was the faint smell of smoke that was already beginning to fade. There was just one thing left to test. Carefully you walked over to the couch, took the sheet off of it and put it into an empty trash bin. Concentrating all your energy on one single word, you thought “burn”. The sheet caught fire, and slowly burned to nothing but ash. Alright then. Now, just to figure how to stop yourself from doing that ever again.

Without warning, the door to the apartment burst open. A tall man in all black kevlar stood in the doorway, holding a pistol. “Now listen here, we don’t want to hurt you. We can help you. But, if you refuse to cooperate, we’ll have no choice but to use force.” Wait, what did he mean ‘we’? 

Before you could even fully understand what the man said, two more men appeared behind him.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who you are and who sent you. Are you with S.H.I.E.L.D.?” The men laughed in response, sending chills down your spine.

“I like this one. Sense of humor. Last one was so serious.” said one of the other men, his voice thick with a Russian accent. 

“I do not believe she’s joking,” the first man said, “but no, we are not sent by S.H.I.E.L.D. Quite the opposite, actually.”

You glanced around the room, trying to find a way to escape them. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be kidnapped by HYDRA agents. The trash bin sat nearby, ashes still smouldering. A connection formed, and the fire started up again. 

“Foolish girl,” the third man laughed, “you think we didn’t know what you could do? That we wouldn’t come prepared? We’ve always known. There is no escaping your destiny.” He lunged forward and grabbed you by the wrist. Flames flickered to life and soon your arm was engulfed in fire. The man winced but didn’t budge. He clamped a steel chain onto each of your wrists. “The little witch has tricks, but HYDRA has tricks too.” Before he finished his sentence the flames were gone. 

Crying out in frustration, you tried to light the spark again, but it was gone. “Do not worry, little sparkler, your powers are not gone for good. We have too much use for them to destroy them.” He tied a cloth around your mouth. “Just in case you get any idea of calling out to that super soldier for help.” 

A van was parked in the back, and they started to lead you through the kitchen to the backdoor. As you passed the trash bin you kicked your leg out and knocked over the can of ashes. Hopefully if Sam and Bucky came looking for you they’d see that and realize there had been a struggle. You thought back to that morning and remembered the hurt look on Bucky’s face when you left. Who were you kidding, why would he look for you? You were either going to die at the hands of HYDRA agents, or be tested on, but there’s no way you’d get free now. 

The door to the van slid open. “No more fighting. You’ll learn obedience soon enough.” The man shoved you into the van and you felt a sharp pain go through your shoulder when you landed. 

“Be careful with her,” the first man scolded, “She may yet be the new soldat.” What was he talking about? You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to count to ten. You’d find a way out of this. Luckily you still could see, and tried to memorize the path the van took. 

Soon enough a nondescript building came into view, with a chain link fence around it. Looking at it you just knew it was electric. The van stopped in front of the gate, pausing only for the men to flash their identification badges. As the gates slammed closed you could hear the sound of your fate being sealed.

~~~

Taglist:

@sydneyisnotawriter

I guess it’s safe to say this fic is a slow burn? But seriously, thank you all so much for your support, it means a lot to me! Like always, likes and reblogs are appreciated! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Love you all <3

[fictional-affliction]

Strip Me Down

(Alternate tite “I’m In Lust With a Stripper”)

Words: 2,710

Rating: M/E 

I know I’ve been a bit m.i.a as far as posting and stuff goes, so I hope whatever the heck this is that my brain puked up, makes up for it. Also, yes, it’s an au where Duncan is a stripper, I know I’m trash. 

She should had never agreed to come to this bachelorette party. Bridgette was her best friend from childhood and had been there for her through thick and thin but this isn’t what Courtney had in mind when it came to returning the favor.

She was shocked that Bridgette would ever want to come to a strip club to begin with. Her and Geoff had been together practically since they were teenagers. Sure they had a few breakups over the years that lasted less than a week, but they proved time and time again that they were happiest when joined at the hip, or mouth. So when Geoff finally proposed and Courtney began to fulfill her maid of honor duties and plan Bridgette’s bachelorette party, Courtney asked what Brigette wanted for the occasion. She never expected this.

Courtney  raised her glass and knocked back the second round of tequila shots they’d ordered so far that night. Bridgette was absolutely beaming in her bachelorette sash and tiara, already giggling from the alcohol.

“Are you sure Geoff’s okay with this?” Courtney asked after sucking on a lime and winced a bit as the alcohol burned down her throat.

“As long as there’s no touching he’s cool with it. I had to assure him repeatedly that it’s just for the experience of it and that his body is better than any stripper’s.” Geoff did take great pride in his physique.

Courtney sighed, she wanted Bridgette to have fun, truly, but part of her hoped that she would have changed her mind at the last minute. The other ladies in the bridal party didn’t seem to have any qualms about throwing handfuls of singles at half naked men. Then again, Courtney was considered the prude of the group and stuck out dressed in a blouse almost buttoned up to her neck.

As music flooded the room and different scantily dressed men took the stage, Courtney sat back in her chair let the other girls be the ones to scream and shell out cash. She still watched the show though. She couldn’t pass up ogling attractive men showing off their assets.

It was a lot of the same after a while and when her work phone vibrated, Courtney diverted her attention to her email. Because of this she didn’t really register the rock music that came on next, or how some ladies in the crowd got inexplicably louder, it wasn’t until Bridgette’s cousin, Brooke was nudging Courtney that she looked at what the fuss was about.

Oh...

“I fucking love guys with tattoos, can I have your cash?” Courtney wordlessly handed it over to Brooke without taking her eyes away from the man on stage.

Her eyes raked over his toned but not overly muscular body. His strong arms lead to broad shoulders that were only highlighted by the colored lights bouncing off of the stage. She found herself staring at how his stomach muscles were framed by that perfect v shape. She avoided fanning herself and regretted dressing so warmly.

The ink all over his body was something that she’d vocally frowned upon. She was taught tattoos and piercings weren’t a lifestyle choice for those with lucrative professions, but secretly Courtney thought on the right person they were sexy. They teased a rebellion that she never could indulge in.

He exemplified everything she could never be allowed to want but fantasized about. Shamelessly she watched him strut his stuff on the stage with a smirk that said he knew how hot he was. What could it hurt to give into carnal urges and lustfully gaze at him, it’s what he was being paid for. His vivid teal eyes and killer smile was enough to make her bite lip till it hurt.

The other girls in the bridal party whistled and waved their money in the air when he took off his pants reveling the tight briefs underneath. Her face heated up when he danced his way over to their section. The girls cheered him on except Courtney who sat back with Bridgette.

She felt so dirty staring at a man she didn’t know like he was a piece of meat and she was a starving lioness.

Then he locked eyes with her right as she licked her upper lip.

Quickly, Courtney diverted her attention to her phone, extremely embarrassed. She held her breath while her heartbeat pounded in her ears louder than the booming music. If she just looked down for the rest of his act then maybe she could walk away with some shred of dignity tonight.

“Court...” Bridgette said from her side.

“Mhmm.” Courtney pretended to be drafting an email.

“He’s looking at you.”

“He’s looking at everyone.” She played it off. Bridgette’s hand lifted her chin and gave her no choice.

“No, he’s looking at you...” Dollar bills were flying in his direction and he still gave the audience what they came there for but his gaze was directed right at Courtney. She raised her eyebrows in question, her face now on fire.

In turn he winked at her.

“I’m going to get another drink.” Courtney made up an reason to excuse herself. Bridgette didn’t bother reminding her that her current drink was only half empty.

The bar provided a safer distance for Courtney to watch from. Far enough away that she didn’t feel like she was the one on display. If he was bothered by her exit it didn’t show, he continued to thrust and roll his hips in fashion that gave way to what he could do with them in the bedroom. Courtney crossed her legs and ignored how turned on she was getting. Matters only became worse when he ended his routine by pulling down his underwear and giving the audience a peak at his ass.

Damn he had a great ass.

Courtney chugged the last bit of her red wine before ordering another.

———

Later, bachelorette party sat in a booth, most of them fairly intoxicated, while going on about the different strippers they’d seen. A large chunk of the conversation being about how explicitly they’d have their way with each of them.

Courtney checked her watch, noting that it was past midnight which meant it was getting closer to calling it a night.

“C’mon Court, at least try to have some fun.” Bridgette begged and bumped her with her shoulder.

“I am having fun.” Courtney tried convincing her but Bridgette knew her better than that.

“That one guy was definitely checking you out, you should go home with him.”  

“Bridgette!” Courtney almost choked on her drink at the suggestion.

“What? It’s been like a year since you’ve been laid.” Courtney kicked Brigette hard under the table, when she saw someone approaching their table. It was as if her talking about him summoned him to their booth.

“How’d you ladies enjoy the show tonight?” He asked in his deep tenor that made the hairs on the back of Courtney’s neck stand on end. The other occupants at their table exclaimed their praises, the liquor making them bold.

“Anything more private I can do for anyone?” He cocked his head toward the back of the club where there were secluded rooms designated for one on one time. Courtney felt his eyes burning through her but Bridgette’s cousin Brooke eagerly spoke up.

“You should just come back to our hotel.” She suggested with a forward hand on his bicep. Courtney watched his face and felt a sense of victory at the small hint of disappointment that crossed his features before smiling.

“Sorry babe, I don’t do house calls...anymore.” Courtney couldn’t imagine what that must entail.

“Actually, my friend over here would love a lap dance.” Bridgette interrupted and wrapped an arm around Courtney’s shoulders. Courtney balked and pushed Bridgette away.

“Oh no, I’m good.”

“I’m the bride and you have to do what I say!” The girls cheered at Bridgette’s demand showing their approval. Courtney came up with an excuse.

“I gave all my cash my Brooke.” Bridgette then reached into her purse and pulled out a large wad of cash.

“I’ve got you covered.” Courtney had never seen Bridgette smile so evilly in her life. “You know you want to.”

“Yeah you know you want to...”The stripper looked her up and down. She did want to, she was single and he was hot. She had no reason to object other than her own self consciousness. The party of girls began chanting her name to egg her on, adding pressure and fueling her frustration toward them. Finally, with her heart in her throat, she scowled and stood. With a death glare at Bridgette, Courtney grabbed the stripper’s hand and dragged him toward the back of the club.

——— They entered a room secluded by a curtain that blocked them from prying eyes. It was small but cozy and decorated with a few leather couches. The red lights glowed above hem and the sensual music that played set the mood for what usually happened in there. Courtney was relieved that it wasn’t a sex den equipped with whips and chains. She turned around to tell him nothing would be happening in there but he was right behind her. Courtney’s eyes widened. Their chest were almost touching and he was close enough for her to see the light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

Of their own accord Courtney’s eyes wandered from his face to his chest where his nipple ring caught the light, down to his abs, even to his groin and back up again. When she looked back to his face there was a gleam in his eyes and a corner of his mouth was turned up. Courtney immediately felt humiliation take over and that familiar feeling of her face on fire.

“Sorry...” Courtney took a step back.

“I like the way you stare. I liked it on stage too.”

“I bet you say that to every girl.”

“I do, but with you I actually mean it.” He didn’t break eye contact and Courtney found it hard to catch her breath. He gestured over to one of the sofas against a wall.

“Have a seat...”

She could do this, she was a strong independent woman who had taken on high profile court cases. She thrived in a male dominated career. She lived alone in a big city and took care of herself. There shouldn’t be any reason why she couldn’t get a lap dance from an attractive man without looking like a complete spazz. And yet she couldn’t get her body to move.

“Here I’ll help you out.” No sooner he had picked her up bridal style like she weighed nothing. “I’ve got you, Princess.”

All Courtney could get out was a high pitched squeak of surprise and then she was being gently placed on the leather furniture. She had instinctually wrapped her arms around his neck when he picked her up but was too caught off guard to remember to let go.

“I was hoping I would get some time alone with you.” He murmured in her ear. Courtney let her hands go and when he pulled away they unintentionally slid down his chest.

“Name’s Duncan by the way.” Duncan turned up the volume on the stereo, drowning out the noise from the rest of the club. “Any special requests, gorgeous?”

Courtney sat there with her eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Duncan sensed her trepidation.

“I don’t think I can do this...” Courtney admitted, mortified that she was chickening out and bolted for the curtain they came in through.

“Hey wait,” Duncan caught her carefully by the shoulders, “it’s okay. We don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, I’d be happy just to talk to you.”  He wasn’t going to let her slip away now that he had his chance.

Duncan could tell she wasn’t like the type of woman that would normally come here for a bachelorette party and was out of her comfort zone. Earlier, when he spotted her during his routine he knew she was definitely into him too. He just had to get her to let loose a bit.

“Dance with me.” He held out his hand to which Courtney looked at cautiously. “Just follow my lead, Princess.”

This time when she took his hand it was him directing her. He put her hand on his shoulder, her other hand following suit, and put his hands on her waist.

“This okay?” Courtney nodded and followed as he swayed them to the music. Her eyes were down but he could see the small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.  That pretty little smile alone was getting him excited down below.

There was a shift as Courtney’s reservations began to waver. The tension in her arms began to dissipate and the full weight do them fell to Duncan’s shoulders. She got a little closer, then so did he, until their swaying turned into a slow grind. Their torsos where completely pressed together and one of his legs were wedged between hers.

His erection was hard against her leg but instead of jumping away, Courtney stared at the outline against his jeans in smug satisfaction. Growing bolder, Courtney let her right hand slip from his shoulder and let a finger time drag down his chest, purposefully letting her finger nail catch on his nipple piercing. He hissed and bucked against her leg.

Their eyes met with the same hazy gaze of desire as Courtney continued her journey down his chest, to his abdomen and to the waist of his jeans without breaking eye contact. She hovered there, unsure.

“Like I said...” Duncan rubbed circles with his fingers on her waist “we can do whatever you want...”

Courtney hooked her finger into the waistband of his pants. “Take these off.”

His pants hit the floor a second later leaving him in only his black boxer briefs, his cock even more noticeable. Courtney continued to stare with labored breath but did only just that. She look at him like she was going to devour him yet did nothing. It was infuriating, and incredibly sexy.

Duncan threaded his fingers in the hair at the nape her neck. He was close enough to kiss her full lips but resisted despite how tempted he was.

“What do you want to do to me?” Duncan asked low and eager. His groin brushed against her when she leaned into his words and he gave up on personal space and molded their bodies together again. “I know what I want to do to you...”

Her nose brushed against the stubble on his chin as she inclined her head.

“Then do it.”

Duncan lifted her leg and wrapped it around his waist, then attached his lips to Courtney’s neck. She gasped at the sudden change in position and stabilized herself by holding onto his shoulders. Her gasp turned into a surprised moan when he kissed her skin. He continued the assault up her neck, pausing to suck and nibble against her pulse.

Courtney dug her fingers into his shoulder to keep quiet although all she wanted was to express how good this felt. She was going lightheaded with want and didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

“Duncan...” He lost a bit of control when she whispered his name so wantonly and pulled her against him. The angle allowing his cock to grind between her legs.

This time Courtney couldn’t hide the broken moan that came from the back of her throat. Duncan looked at her with his eyes glazed over, waiting for her next move.

This was it, now or never.

Then fabric rustled as a curtain was yanked back.

“My turn! You’ve had more than enough time with him-“ Brooke took in the situation and raised an eyebrow “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Courtney jumped away from Duncan, her whole body lit with shame. She didn’t get to see either of their reactions because she kept her eyes down as she pushed passed Brooke.

“Sorry, I tried to stop her...” Bridgette tried to apologize as Courtney claimed her purse, but Courtney bolted for the club’s  exit, desperate to be anywhere but there.