#this was on behind the bar where i work tonight. first time the casino crowd had an audible reaction to a tennis move

[dozydawn]

hype. the audience is losing it before he even loses the racket

[apalestar]

Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, a few threatening to fall into his brow as Gale searched the room for any form of escape. He hadn't intended to anger some group leader; he simply wished to say that the notion of this "Absolute" person was a load of nonsense and they were completely wrong in every aspect of their passionate deliverance. Ah, now he understood why they took offence. But to threaten his life and suddenly wield weapons as if they were willing to take it was a step too far, even by Gale's standards.

Under ordinary circumstances, Gale would simply cast a spell to escape with naught but a wide grin and an utterance of "ta-da." Yet, thanks to his condition, his ability to cast spells was rather limited, and the day's earlier search for relics had rendered him quite tired.

But regardless, he needed to escape. He scanned the room for an exit that wasn't blocked by these, for lack of a better word, cultists. When his options seemed all but closed, his eyes fell on a man he had seen briefly earlier, asking if someone would like to join him in a private room. A private room, excellent. Typically Gale would have run at the very notion of such things, hence why it was an excellent hiding spot. These thugs would never think to look for Gale in such a place, right?

He tried to approach the elf as calmly as possible, hoping to avoid drawing attention to himself. Pulling out a rather heavy wallet, he spoke, "Hi, are you still available? Sorry, that's probably rude of me to request. I only, well, would it be possible to hire a room with you? For several hours? I can pay double if you want."

@galefcrce

Through the crowd of patrons Astarion sauntered. The tempting gait to lure a willing client for the night. Clad in fitting appeal with the first few buttons of his button down tantalizing popped open. Sleeves pushed up to reveal glimpses of his muscled forearm. Trousers showed off his assets rather well. The very image of temptation and a night to remember. Scantily clad only worked for a certain clientele. Well dressed enticed more to his unique services. Tonight the stage performance wasn’t required of him.

Another lonely bastard seated at the casino’s bar. Before Astarion acted on the potential mark, he found himself confronted with another man. A human, of course. So many of them had a ‘thing’ for beautiful elves. His fingers closed delicately around the wrist holding up the leather billfold. A charming smile came over him. A pointed roam of his eyes over his client for the eve.

“Careful. A less scrupulous individual might pocket what you’re wavering around.” He leaned forward keeping contact with Gale’s eyes. “I do enjoy the forward ones. You can have me all night if that’s what you want.” He’d never be able to keep the extra fee on offer. The proprietor always saw to that, but perhaps this time Astarion’d located a better spot to ferret the coin away.

“Come with me, darling.” He plucked Gale’s wallet from his hands taking the bills from. The wallet put back into the wizard’s pocket. In the back behind the pulsing music and colored lights was a far more quiet place. A hallway of doors where the courtesan’s private quarters resided.

[kurokoros]

spider lily | part one

Rated: M (violence, language, etc)

Words: 7K

Pairing: kuroo x fem!reader/oc?

Summary: No one can outrun the past. Kuroo already knew that before he started bounty hunting. [cowboy bebop!au]

AN: Written for the @the-smut-pile​’s western!au collab. This is barely a western, but the word “cowboy” is used so it counts. This fic is going to be multiple parts. The romance doesn’t come in for a while, just a heads up. I’m sure there’s more I meant to say here, but my brain is mush. I wrote most of this in the last three days and need a nap lmao

The dealer is watching him.

Eyes burn into his back as the bartender sets another glass of whiskey in front of Kuroo. In the mirror above the bar, Kuroo watches as one of the players, a middle-aged man with a cigar, requests another card. The dealer flips the card, revealing a Jack, and the man curses. A bust.

The dealer ignores the seething player, a look of boredom on his face. He’s thin, his hair parted to the right. Early twenties at best, but his eyes are tired and apathetic as they start to wander around the room.

It’s subtle. The dealer’s gaze doesn’t linger on Kuroo for long—it almost doesn’t linger at all, a stutter in that smooth glance around the room. If he wasn’t waiting for it, he might have missed it. But Kuroo has been painfully obvious tonight, making a show out of staring in that mirror every time a new card is drawn before making his move. It was bound to catch someone’s attention eventually. He just thought it would be sooner.

Kuroo spins the blackjack chip in front of him. White and turquoise blur together as the piece of ceramic whirls around on its edge. Gold glints under the dim lights above him.

A waitress passes the blackjack table behind him. The dealer glances at her. His mouth moves. His chin dips towards the bar where Kuroo is sitting.

“Kuroo.” Static crackles in his ear. His fingers twitch, seizing around the still spinning poker chip. It comes to an abrupt halt. Topples onto its side. With a sigh, he rests his elbow on the counter, props his chin up on his palm, and brings his drink to his mouth. “Anything?”

The whiskey burns in the back of his throat. “Not yet,” he says under his breath, glancing at the bartender to make sure he’s distracted. His fingers brush against the studs in his ear, following the steel bar attached to one of them until he reaches the attached earbud.

A disgruntled sound buzzes through the miniature speaker in his ear. “Then what are we wasting our time here for?” Tsukishima demands. The words aren’t minced, irritation mixed with his typical haughty tone.

“Getting bored out there, Kei?” Kuroo asks the younger man, keeping his tone light and amused. He specifically uses his first name, goading him. “I told you to come inside earlier. You still can. Unless you’d prefer to sit in the ship and sulk.” He takes another drink. “Besides, haven’t I told you to be patient?”

Tsukishima is silent on the other end.

The lapse in conversation stretches out. Kuroo’s gaze trails away from the card table behind him as he seeks out the rest of his crew in the reflection of the mirror over the bar. They’re still waiting where he left them, on opposite sides of the gambling floor. Akaashi is tucked close to the back wall, nursing his own drink and casually watching a game of poker, making no move to play himself like Kuroo has in the hour they’ve been here already. On the other end of the room, Bokuto is eyeing one of the card tables, starting to wander away from the slot machines and naturally gravitate towards the center of the room where a larger game of poker is being played. The prize pool has been steadily growing, attracting more attention as the night wears on.

They just have to wait a little longer for their target to show.

Eventually, Tsukishima huffs. “How do you even know Ikeda will be here tonight? He’s running. There’s no point in going to a high-traffic casino.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrow at the snappish tone, but he decides to let it slide for now. “Source said he’s headed this way,” he reminds Tsukishima. “You don’t come this close to Titan without stopping by Blue Castle. Not with a pool like that on the line.” He glances at the table Bokuto has been eyeing. “It’s up to a couple hundred grand already. He’s desperate for cash. Places like this don’t ask questions. Don’t give a shit so long as the house keeps winning.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

He shrugs, gaze wandering away from Bokuto. “Guess we’re fucked for a while.”

Tsukishima snorts. “How reassuring.”

Movement catches Kuroo’s eye in the corner of the mirror before he can ready a retort. There’s a man with dark hair shoving his way through the crowd of people gathered on the gambling floor. No, not shoving. The crowd is parting for him, scurrying out of his way as he storms across the room. Expression set in a scowl. A scowl that’s locked on Kuroo’s back.

Right on time.

He drops his hand from his face, sitting up straighter on the stool as the man comes closer. “Seems like security is finally coming to get me,” he tells Tsukishima off-handedly, abruptly ending the conversation. “Oh, and tell Kou to stop eyeing that table. His poker face is shit.”

Tsukishima pauses, like he wants to ask Kuroo what he’s talking about, but decides it’s simply not worth the effort. A grumbled response eventually comes over the radio, but Kuroo has already stopped listening. Low static buzzes in his ear as Tsukishima switches channels on his headset.

For once, he’s glad for Tsukishima’s lack of interest, though it isn’t bound to last long.

Kuroo grins into his drink as the man drops onto the stool beside him not a moment later. “About time someone got you, Iwa.” He tilts his head to the side, lazy gaze meeting a familiar stern expression. Green eyes glare back at him, and his smile widens. “I was about to bring the house down.”

A snort. “Like hell I’d let you walk away with that much,” Iwaizumi tells him. The tension in his clenched jaw loosens, but the scowl stays, and it doesn’t make him look any less disheveled. His clothes are rumpled. Shirt buttoned haphazardly; the sleeves rolled up. Iwaizumi jerks his chin towards the chip Kuroo has gone back to idly toying with in his free hand. “What are you up to anyway? Hundred thousand?”

He leans forward to look past Kuroo and braces his elbows on the counter, gesturing to catch the bartender’s attention.

“Two,” Kuroo corrects, glancing at his acquaintance. “What can I say? I’ve always had good luck.”

That gets him a chuckle. Though, it’s more disbelieving than amused. “Bullshit.” Iwaizumi shakes his head. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Counting cards doesn’t make you lucky.”

Kuroo shrugs, a wicked glint in his gold eyes. “Not getting caught does.”

The corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth twitches. “Yeah? How’d that work out tonight?”

“I’m still winning.”

The bartender places a drink down in front of Iwaizumi without a word, though he hesitates on the other side of the bar. A curious gaze strays towards Kuroo. The young man flinches when gold eyes snap up to meet his.

“On the rocks?” Kuroo comments as the bartender is called away by another patron. He watches the man leave, aware of the gazes lingering on him now that Iwaizumi is here. Bokuto must have mentioned the other man’s presence to Tsukishima because that familiar buzzing sound vibrates in his ear. “Didn’t think you’d be one to drink on the job. What would he say about that?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as he downs half the drink. The single ball of ice clinks against the edge of the glass. Kuroo watches it bob in the amber liquid. “I put up with his dumb ass twelve hours a day. He owes me this much.”

“That why you look like shit?” Kuroo asks, giving him another once-over. He smirks when he sees something he hadn’t noticed before. “That shade of red looks good on you, by the way.” He gestures to the lipstick stains half-hidden behind Iwaizumi’s collar, low on the side of his throat. “Sorry to interrupt whatever you were doing.”

“Piss off.” Iwaizumi glares at him, flustered. A flush starts to creep up his neck, but it doesn’t get under his skin the way Kuroo wants it to. They’ve known each other too long for that. “What are you doing here, Kuroo?”

He takes some satisfaction in how quickly Iwaizumi changes the subject. Pleasantries gone.

Flicking the rim of his glass, Kuroo wonders how much he should say right now, mindful of the audience listening. “Passing through,” he finally settles on, watching the ice in his own drink bob. He sends Iwaizumi a pointed look. “Hopefully, we won’t be here long.”

“We?” Iwaizumi repeats, eyes narrowing as he furrows his brow. It dawns on him a second later. “You’re here on a job. Fuck.”

The glare aimed at Kuroo doesn’t soften as he waves off Iwaizumi’s concern. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Tell him that,” Iwaizumi spits back at him. He leans back on his stool, rubbing his temple. “You’re lucky Kunimi sent the waitress to me and not Kyoutani.”

Tsukishima is silent over the headset, but Kuroo knows the younger man has been listening intently since he got back, just in case Kuroo slips up and says something he shouldn’t. But Kuroo has practice. There’s always someone listening.

Kuroo taps the blackjack chip on the bar counter, tracing the Blue Castle written across the coin in an elegant scrawl. “Blond guy in the back?” With a twist of his fingers, he sends the chip spinning again. “He’s been watching me since I walked in. Looks like he wants to kick my ass.”

“You’d deserve it.” Iwaizumi looks at Kuroo. “You gonna make this easy for me?”

The chip stops spinning and falls on its side with a quiet clatter. A turquoise crown is printed in the center.

“Why not?” Glancing in the mirror one last time, Kuroo makes eye contact with Akaashi. Static buzzes in his ear, the radio crackling again. Before Tsukishima can speak, Kuroo casually flicks the switch on his headset, silencing the static. He downs the rest of his drink and slides off the stool with a lazy stretch. “It’s been a while since I saw the Great King.”

Iwaizumi leads him to the elevator.

Neither speak as they wait for it to reach the bottom floor. Kuroo takes a subtle glance around the room. The blond that Iwaizumi mentioned—Kyoutani—is still watching him. So are Akaashi and Bokuto, who have strayed from their positions closer to the door. While Bokuto seems more confused than concerned, there’s an uneasy look on Akaashi’s face. His mouth moves as he speaks to Tsukishima over his earpiece. Kuroo doesn’t bother trying to read his lips.

The ding of the elevator draws Kuroo’s attention back to Iwaizumi, who waits for him to enter the box first.

It’s been a while since Kuroo has been in Blue Castle, but as his gaze roams the panels of heavy glass surrounding the box, he figures not much has changed. The elevator juts from the main building. Three walls made of Saturn glass that reflect the neon lights from streets below. The doors slide shut as Iwaizumi follows him inside, and Kuroo leans against the wall, head tilted back. The ceiling is made of glass too.

From here, he can just barely see the stars.

Iwaizumi fishes a set of keys from his pocket. Thumbing through them, he stops when he finds the one he’s looking for: small and silver, a crown etched onto the side. The key slots into a lock at the bottom of the button panel, and the button for the fourth floor glows blue when Iwaizumi turns it.

Kuroo glances at the other man as the elevator starts to move, hands casually slipping into the pockets of his suit jacket. “Is there going to be a gun pointed at my head when I get to the top floor?”

“No promises,” Iwaizumi says, leaning back against the wall as well. The muscles in his jaw clench as he rubs the back of his neck. The lipstick stains on his neck are smeared, not nearly as noticeable as they were before. “You know how he is.”

Leaning in closer, Kuroo squints his eyes, a sly grin on his face. “You missed a spot,” he tells Iwaizumi, who glares at him.

“Fuck off.”

Kuroo’s chuckle is cut off by the doors to the fourth floor opening in front of them. There are no guns pointed at him. No guards. No dogs. Just an empty hallway leading to a set of double doors.

He hopes his shoes scuff the ridiculous marble floors as he follows Iwaizumi out of the elevator. They’re startling white, inlaid with streaks of gold.

Iwaizumi doesn’t bother knocking on the doors. He shoves them open wide, grumbling something under his breath that Kuroo doesn’t pay much attention to, immediately focused on the wall of windows across the room and the man perched behind the large, white desk centered in front of them.

He’s sprawled lazily in his chair, slumped against his desk, and unsurprised by their sudden arrival. “You truly have no tact, Hajime,” he complains, sighing as his head of security enters the room. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as the other man runs a hand through his brunet bangs. “Though, I suppose that can’t be helped.” His lips curl into a practiced smile when his dark eyes land on Kuroo, his expression brightening as he lifts his head from where it was cradled in his hand.

“Oikawa.”

“Kuroo.” The returned greeting is clipped. Oikawa sits up straighter behind his desk. “What a surprise.” He raises an eyebrow, silently observing his old acquaintance, his stare critical as he looks over Kuroo’s rumpled suit: jacket left unbuttoned and tie loose around his neck. “You look like shit,” he says, as Iwaizumi closes the set of doors and leans against the wall beside them.

Kuroo huffs. “Good to see you too,” he responds, sarcasm thick on his tongue as he walks further into the office, eyes wandering around the space.

It’s open. Clean. Decorated in blues and whites and golds. Expensive, but not tacky. Even Oikawa is wearing a nice blue button-up, looking more presentable than either Kuroo or Iwaizumi. The man in question slides his work aside, gesturing for Kuroo to sit in one of the sleek armchairs in front of him.

“How long has it been since we saw each other?” Oikawa asks him, clasping his hands together on his desk, head tilted to one side in thought.

“Almost two years.” Kuroo eyes the chair before sitting on it and stretching out like an overgrown housecat. “Back on Ganymede. When everything was going to shit.”

Oikawa hums low under his breath. His gaze seems to darken with the memory. The room feels colder suddenly. Heavier. Oikawa watches as Kuroo absently spins one of the rings decorating his fingers. He changes the subject. “You’re working with a team now. I suppose you always were a natural leader.”

Kuroo shrugs—grits his teeth. “I keep picking up strays. Bad habit.” He nods towards the paperwork shoved to one side of the desk, piles in various states of disarray. A small crack in the façade Oikawa likes to put on. “How’s the casino these days?”

It doesn’t catch him off guard like Kuroo hoped. Oikawa’s brows furrow, his smile slipping. “You don’t care about my business ventures.”

“You don’t care who I’m working with so long as they aren’t after you,” Kuroo counters.

The stare Oikawa levels him with is matched by Kuroo’s own, gold and brown clashing. It’s Oikawa who backs down first, though Kuroo knows better than to call it a win. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “Now, are you really going to make me ask why you’re here?”

“Bounty’s for some guy named Ikeda,” Kuroo tells him. “From what I’ve heard, he was a dealer for some kingpin on Callisto who took over within the last year, after the Widow Maker Conflict.” Kuroo’s eyes narrow. “He made off with four-hundred-thousand worth of some shit called Paradise. Nasty hallucinogenic. Some places are calling it Reaper. I don’t know much about it yet.”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi exchange a look over Kuroo’s shoulder. “So, the kingpin wants this Ikeda taken out?”

“No.” Kuroo shakes his head. “ISSP put out the bounty because they think he’ll talk. They want to get rid of this shit before one of the Mars’ Syndicates gets ahold of it. Bounty is set at over half a million right now.”

Iwaizumi scoffs by the door, arms folded across his chest. “They think the Syndicates don’t already? Dumb fucks.”

The sneered comment is followed by stark silence.

Behind his desk, Oikawa sighs. “I see,” he mutters. What little of his smile was left falls away, his lips pressing into a thin line. “The bounty does make it harder for the dealers to put out a hit instead. Too many people will be looking for one man. Once this Paradise ends up with one of the Syndicates, it’ll practically be untouchable. It makes sense they’d put out such a high bounty for it. Why do you think he’s coming here?”

“That pool downstairs is at almost five hundred thousand, right?”

This time, Iwaizumi outright laughs. “Ikeda thinks they’ll let him pay it back? They’ll make him bite the curb. Poor bastard’s good as dead already. If the kingpin doesn’t take him out now, one of the Syndicates will after he’s already in custody.”

“We got here early thanks to a tip from a friend of mine,” Kuroo explains, looking out the window. “As of about five minutes ago, every bounty hunter in the area is headed this way. By the time they get here, my crew downstairs will have caught Ikeda and left for the Juno station. Titan is going to be crawling with bounty hunters before long,” he tacks on. “And you don’t come to Titan without—”

“Without stopping at Blue Castle,” Oikawa finishes for him, tone dry. He rolls his eyes. “I’m aware.”

Kuroo leans back further in his seat, a grin already tugging at the corner of his mouth. There are no ships in sight yet, but he knows better than to think they aren’t coming. “With no bounty left, they’ll have nothing better to do but drink and play blackjack.”

Oikawa doesn’t look convinced. “They’ll be broke,” he says simply. “All of you bounty hunters are. What good does that do me?”

“It’s not my problem if they don’t know when to quit.” His golden eyes cut away from the window, catlike gaze settling on Oikawa. “Besides, when has that ever stopped you from letting someone rack up a gambling debt before?” Kuroo asks.

“I paid off yours, didn’t I?” Oikawa throws out casually, gaining a scowl from Kuroo in response. He ignores it, glancing down at his paperwork instead, then at Iwaizumi, before returning his attention to the bounty hunter on the other side of his desk. “And why wouldn’t I go after the bounty myself if he’s worth that much?”

Kuroo’s response is immediate. “You don’t like to get your hands dirty unless you need to. This one isn’t worth your time.” He shifts his weight on the chair, grinning. “And you still owe me a favor from back then.”

This time, Oikawa frowns. His eyes narrow in irritation. “I thought we settled that back on Ganymede?”

“You owed me two.”

Iwaizumi snorts, grinning as Oikawa sends him a withering look.

Instead of arguing like Kuroo expects, Oikawa pauses as he considers what Kuroo has told him so far. It does make sense. The bounty isn’t worth it to him, not when he’s unprepared. Even so.

“Why didn’t you join the poker game downstairs?” he asks. “The pool right now is more than your cut of the bounty. You could have taken it and run. Left someone else to deal with the bounty. It would have been easy for you.”

Kuroo smirks. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Oikawa clasps his hands together, fingers linking together. “What exactly are you planning, Kuroo?” he asks, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hands.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Kuroo promises.

“Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t have to.” He shrugs. “All I’m asking is for your boys to stay out of my way.”

A pause. Oikawa is still frowning at him. “And if they don’t?”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi cuts in again. He still hasn’t moved from the spot he took up near the doors, staying out of it but remaining close. Just in case. Kuroo and Oikawa are too similar sometimes. Slick-tongued. Both of them piss Iwaizumi off like that. “It saves us a mess to clean up ourselves. Besides, business is business.”

Oikawa purses his lips, acknowledging Iwaizumi, but keeping his gaze firmly on Kuroo.

Instead of answering, Kuroo reaches under his jacket. Iwaizumi tenses where he’s leaning up against the wall, but before he can reach for his gun, Kuroo places a stack of blackjack chips on Oikawa’s desk and slides them across. Over a dozen ten-thousand-dollar chips clatter against the wood. “The house always wins, right?”

Oikawa lets him leave, dark brown eyes trailing after Kuroo as he heads for the door.

He stops beside Iwaizumi. “There is one more thing.”

“Oh?” Oikawa muses. “And what’s that?”

The ground floor is still bustling with activity when Kuroo and Iwaizumi step out of the elevator. A quick glance around the room tells Kuroo he hasn’t missed much. The all-in poker game hasn’t started yet, but there are more people milling around now, lingering closer to the middle of the room. He doesn’t see Ikeda, not yet anyway. It won’t be long until he crawls out of whatever hole he’s hidden away in.

He just hopes that’s before more bounty hunters start showing up. Despite what he told Oikawa, Kuroo isn’t so foolish as to think he’s the only bounty hunter with friends in the ISSP. If he wasn’t already headed towards Titan, they might have been too late getting here.

Catching sight of Bokuto’s hair in the crowd below, Kuroo claps Iwaizumi on the shoulder. “Until next time,” he says, offering the other man a parting grin. “Also, I should probably warn you that Bokuto tends to break things. I’m sure Oikawa won’t mind paying for the damages himself, of course. As part of that favor.”

“Fuck off.”

Iwaizumi shakes Kuroo off, much to his delight, and he chuckles as he heads back towards the bar he’s supposed to be posted at. He doesn’t make it far before he pauses, hesitating before he reaches the floor. Iwaizumi quirks a brow at Kuroo’s behavior but watches silently as the other man stands there for a moment, only a few feet away from Iwaizumi. “Hey, Hajime?” Kuroo calls over his shoulder without turning around. “Thanks.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Whatever, space cowboy.” Leaving Kuroo there, he turns towards the back of the room where Kyoutani is posted. “Don’t go gettin’ yourself killed now.”

An amused huff slips past Kuroo’s mouth. “No promises,” he says under his breath.

It’s not until he makes it back onto the gambling floor that Kuroo switches his earphone back on. Predictably, white noise fills his left ear. That static sound ends when a furious voice breaks through.

“What the hell was that?” Tsukishima sneers at him, louder than usual. Kuroo wasn’t gone long. Fifteen minutes at most. But it was just long enough to piss the younger man off. “Why did you cut me—”

“Tell Kou and Keiji to get back into position and wait for my signal,” he says, calmly cutting Tsukishima off. “And then connect all of the lines. If you’re going to stay outside, make sure you have eyes on the front at all times. The final pool starts in about twenty minutes. Everyone is all-in. Ikeda will be here for it.”

Tsukishima is quiet for a long time. Kuroo knows he’s pissed the younger man off, but right now, he doesn’t care.

The radio in his ear crackles one more time. “Fine.”

It’s easy to drown out the chatter in his ear as he sits at the bar. Bokuto’s voice fades into background noise, Akaashi’s occasionally filtering through as he responds to his partner. Tsukishima hasn’t spoken since he linked the coms, still pissed at Kuroo.

He’ll have to deal with that later.

Sighing, Kuroo runs his fingers through his hair and leans back.

A whiskey glass clinks against the counter in front of him. Kuroo’s gaze jumps towards the sound. Ice bobs in the glass. Slowly, his hand falls away from his head. A frown tugs at his mouth.

The same bartender from before stands across from him. Under Kuroo’s gaze, he shifts his weight back and forth on his feet. “It’s on the house,” he says as Kuroo raises an eyebrow at the drink he didn’t order. “Enjoy.”

Kuroo stares at the glass for a moment, but he doesn’t dwell on it. If Oikawa wants to waste good liquor on him, who is he to complain about it?

Raising the glass to his mouth, he takes a drink. The taste that bursts across his tongue almost makes him choke. Kuroo struggles not to laugh, biting his lip to keep from coughing.

Apple juice.

“Bastard,” he mumbles, a small smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head.

It must be just loud enough for the microphone to catch, because Bokuto’s idle chatter cuts off abruptly. White-noise buzzes in his ear before Bokuto calls out, “Kuro?” A glance in the mirror shows that Bokuto is already looking at him from across the room, head cocked to one side curiously.

“It’s nothing,” Kuroo says, brushing him off. “Try not to break too much tonight, Kou. It’s coming out of your cut this time.”

The sudden shift in topic makes Bokuto gasp, his pride on the line. But before Bokuto can whine about being called out for occasionally being destructive, Tsukishima speaks up, his familiar bored tone smooth over the speaker in his ear.

“Kuroo,” he says nonchalantly. “Ikeda is here.”

Using the mirror, Kuroo scans the room. At the very edge of the glass, Kuroo catches a glimpse of a thin man with mousy brown hair standing near the entrance, eyes darting around the room. He’s making himself more obvious than Kuroo was. Jittery. The kind that brings problems with him where he goes. Even if he hadn’t warned Iwaizumi and Oikawa, they would have noticed him themselves immediately.

“I see him. Three o’clock.” The others call affirmatives once they have eyes on their target, and Kuroo mulls over what they should do. They need to get out of here quickly. Once more bounty hunters arrive at Blue Castle, they’ll be in trouble. “Bokuto. Akaashi.”

“Want us to cut him off?”

Kuroo shakes his head. “No. Let him get close. We don’t want him running.” He doesn’t dare face Ikeda directly; he looks jumpy enough to take off if he notices. Instead, he follows him in the mirror. Just like he told Oikawa, the bounty heads straight for the counter, exchanging what little cash he has for Blue Castle chips. He’s closest to Bokuto, still lingering near the poker tables. “Kei, is there anyone following him?”

“It looked like there might have been three men tailing him on the street. They just walked in as well.”

Akaashi speaks up from where he’s carefully hidden himself in the shadow of the back wall. “They’re looking for someone,” he says, watching the trio of men’s eyes roam around the room, gazes more shrewd than if they were simply entranced by the sights. “Bounty hunters?”

Kuroo catches sight of them a moment later and grimaces. It only takes one look for him to know they have a problem. “Hitmen,” he corrects. So much for it being harder to put out a hit. Ikeda must have information that’s too valuable for him to be left alive if they’re sending this many after him. “Shit. Cut them off. Don’t lose them in the crowd.”

“You got it!”

“And you?”

Kuroo slides off his barstool. “Just leave Ikeda to me.” He pauses before grabbing his glass from the counter, taking it with him.

Bokuto and Akaashi linger further away, keeping their eyes on the hitmen trailing Ikeda, while Kuroo heads straight for the poker table. Ikeda skirts around the edge of the same table, moving to the side furthest from the doors, expecting to be followed. It would be smart. Except Kuroo is coming from behind him.

It should be easy. They’ve dealt with more difficult targets before. Craftier. Stronger. More desperate. As soon as Kuroo gets close enough, he’ll subdue Ikeda. Bokuto and Akaashi should be able to handle the hitmen by themselves if they’re working for some low-level kingpin on Callisto.

Halfway across the room, Kuroo bumps into someone on his right.

“Fuck,” he hisses. His drink sloshes in the glass, spilling over his fingers. The man who ran into him swears as well. Amber liquid stains the side of his white shirt. As his arms jerk away from the sudden cold, the sides of his jacket shift.

There’s a gun holstered at his side.

Kuroo’s eyes snap up. The other man is already looking at him. Jaw clenched. Eyes narrowed. His fingers twitch at his side. He hadn’t been on the first floor all night. They didn’t see him come in.

“Son of a bitch,” Kuroo says.

“Kuroo?” someone asks over the radio.

He sighs. “There are four of them.”

He throws what’s left of his drink in the other man’s face and lurches to the side as the fourth hitman draws his gun and shoots. The loud bang startles everyone in the room. Kuroo doesn’t see where the bullet goes as he ducks out of the way.

The gun is still trained on him when Kuroo rolls back onto his feet. There’s more distance between them now. A long blackjack table caught between the two of them. The hitman sneers at him. The gun levels with Kuroo’s chest. His finger pulls back on the trigger.

Kuroo lashes out with his leg. His foot collides with the underside of the blackjack table. It’s thrown onto its side. Two of the four legs lurch off the ground. Balanced precariously like that, the table blocks the bullets aimed at him. Wood splinters upon impact at point blank. Blue and white poker chips fly through the air.

All hell breaks loose.

There are screams in Blue Castle as the other hitmen draw their guns as well. People stumble from their seats on the gambling floor, shoving to get out of the way of gunfire that doesn’t come. Bokuto and Akaashi are faster.

Two of the men are caught off-guard and taken down.

Kuroo doesn’t watch his partners grapple for their guns. His eyes sweep around the room in search of Ikeda. He’s already taken off, racing towards the side door leading out to the alleys surrounding Blue Castle. He spits out a curse. It’ll be hard to catch him if he gets outside.

The hitman across from Kuroo seems to realize the same thing. Still blocked by the table, he trains his gun on Ikeda instead, ready to take the shot.

As the other man fires his gun, Kuroo throws the whiskey glass still clenched in his hand. The bullet smashes into the specially made Saturn Glass which explodes with the impact, delayed by only a second. Shards of glass rain down. The bullet’s trajectory shifts off course; it ends up embedded in the wall inches from Ikeda as he throws himself out the side door.

Before he can take another shot, Kuroo throws his weight against the upright table. It topples onto the hitman, knocking him onto the ground. One of the wooden legs snaps off.

Oikawa is going to be pissed.

Kuroo doesn’t have long to dwell on that. One of the other three hitmen pushes through the crowd. Before Kuroo can grab his own gun, the other man is already halfway out the door.

He makes sure to step on the table as he races after them, knocking the wind out of the man beneath it.

Kuroo throws the door open, letting it bang against the side of the building. The alley is empty. Both men are gone.

“Shit,” he sneers. “Kei, any movement on the west side of the entrance?”

“None.”

He runs to the right.

From what he remembers, this alley leads to a dead end behind the casino. An area sectioned off by the man who owned Blue Castle before Oikawa. They should be trapped there. If not, the wall should at least slow them down long enough for him to catch up.

Kuroo rounds the corner. A bang. He throws himself against the alley wall. A bullet buries itself in the bricks behind where he was standing. Kuroo yanks out his own gun, leveling it with the hitman’s head.

Before he can take the shot, the hitman pulls Ikeda between them, turning his gun on their bounty instead.

“Drop it. Now,” he demands, shoving the pistol against Ikeda’s temple. “Or he’s dead.”

Ikeda inhales sharply, tensing. Wide, terrified eyes try to meet Kuroo’s, but he doesn’t spare the bounty a look, keeping his eyes locked with the hitman’s as his finger hovers over the trigger.

Kuroo’s grip on his own gun is loose. He raises an eyebrow at the threat. “What do I care about that?” he asks. The hitman’s eyes widen. His shoulders slacken momentarily in surprise. Ikeda tenses as Kuroo continues. “He’s dead either way, right? That pool inside is worth more than this bastard is.”

The hitman hesitates, his brow furrowing in confusion. “But you’re a cowboy, aren’t you?”

Kuroo shrugs with one shoulder, gun still pointed at the hitman. “I’m not here to save anyone,” he says truthfully. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as the pistol moves just an inch away from Ikeda’s head. “Besides. You really think you’re faster than me?”

He pulls the trigger.

Blood splatters across the side of Ikeda’s face. The hitman cries out as a bullet buries itself in his shoulder. He drops the gun. Kuroo shoots him again as he stumbles forward, this time in the leg. He hits the ground with a thud and doesn’t move.

Kuroo doesn’t lower his weapon until Ikeda stumbles back against the wall and slides down onto his ass, his legs giving out.

“Thank you,” Ikeda croaks after a minute of silence. His hands tremble as he curls further into the brick wall behind him, and he watches as Kuroo nudges the hitman with the tip of his shoe.

He kicks the man’s injured shoulder when he doesn’t react the first time, satisfied when the man groans, long and low under his breath. Good. He doesn’t feel like dealing with a body today. Too much of a hassle with the paperwork.

Kuroo leans back against the opposite wall of the alley and takes out a cigarette.

Ikeda sucks in a shuddering breath. “Thank you,” he says again before Kuroo can light it.

Kuroo stills. “Don’t.” His voice is calm. Firm. “I meant it. You’re probably dead either way if you’ve pissed off the syndicates.” Ikeda flinches as Kuroo’s eyes finally snap over to meet his. “There’s not much the ISSP can do to protect you from them. You should have known that when you stole almost half a million worth of product.” He laughs at the face Ikeda makes, but there’s nothing humorous about it. “Hell, it might have been kinder to let him shoot you here, compared to what they’ll do after you’re taken in.”

He turns his back on Ikeda, lighting his cigarette. “You guys done inside?” he asks over the radio.

Akaashi answers. “We’re taking these three back to the Cat. Do you need help?”

“Nah, I should be—”

He stops abruptly.

Glancing over his shoulder, Kuroo finds a gun pointed at him again. This time it’s Ikeda holding it.

“Kuroo?”

He wets his lips. “Give me a minute,” he mumbles back.

Ikeda aims the gun at Kuroo’s head, trembling finger hesitating to squeeze down on the trigger. “I don’t wanna die,” he tells Kuroo, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Slowly, Kuroo raises one of his empty hands to his ear, silencing the radio. Ikeda’s hand won’t stop shaking. “You think running away forever is any better?”

By the time Kuroo gets back with Ikeda and the hitman he took out, the others are already lounging around in the common area of the ship. The other three hitmen are tied up on the floor, their wrists cuffed behind their backs. Tsukishima is lying on one of the couches, wearing his headphones as he plays some handheld game, Akaashi leaning against the wall beside him. Bokuto is sitting cross-legged in front of the hitmen. A grin spreads across his face when Kuroo walks into the room.

“About time you got back, man! We were ready to leave without you!”

Akaashi sighs. Ignoring Bokuto, he looks at Kuroo as he shoves the last hitman with the rest. Ikeda, he lets sit on one of the chairs in the room, though his hands are bound in front of him.

“What do you want us to do with them?” he asks, nodding towards the four.

Kuroo crouches in front of them, brows furrowed in thought. “Might as well keep them,” he decides. “I might be able to swindle my guy into giving us a bonus for these bastards. Doubt they’re worth much though.” Shrugging, he stands and stretches. “Ah, well. Guess that’s not our problem.”

Akaashi nods, and Bokuto scrambles to his feet beside him. “Want us to take them downstairs?”

“Keep them separate,” Kuroo tells them. The last thing they need is for one of them to get their hands on Ikeda before they can turn him in.

Bokuto gives him a two-finger salute before he helps Akaashi pull the men to their feet. They don’t put up much of a struggle as they’re herded out of the main area. Ikeda, too, follows them without making a fuss. His face is still streaked with blood, his eyes puffy and red.

Kuroo doesn’t look at him for long.

“You seem to know a lot of people,” Tsukishima comments after Akaashi and Bokuto are gone with the others. He’s still playing his game, but his headphones are down around his neck.

“Must be my sparkling personality.” Tsukishima scoffs under his breath, and Kuroo levels him with a look, catching Tsukishima’s gaze before he can turn away. When the younger man stays quiet, Kuroo narrows his eyes. “You got something to say, say it.”

Tsukishima doesn’t hesitate this time. “Why did you turn off your headset?”

“Now, that’s a secret,” Kuroo tells him, starting to smile. When Tsukishima sends him a blank look in return, Kuroo doesn’t bother to keep it up. “I had business with an old friend. I didn’t need some kid listening in.” It’s the wrong thing to say.

“Right.”

The snappish tone has Kuroo gritting his teeth. “Is that a problem, Kei?”

The younger man rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, getting off the couch. “The ship is on autopilot to Juno. I’ll be in my room.”

Suddenly exhausted, Kuroo drops onto the couch opposite where Tsukishima was sitting. A soft trilling sound comes from the open hallway leading toward the bedrooms. Kuroo’s head lolls to the side. A small smile tugs at his mouth as a fluffy, black cat pads into the room. Sumi chirps as soon as he sees Kuroo. The cat trots up to him, rubbing against Kuroo’s legs and winding around his ankles. He purrs loudly.

Clicking his tongue, Kuroo pats the seat beside him.

Sumi makes a sound as he hops onto the couch, immediately crawling onto Kuroo’s lap. “What the hell are we gonna do with him, huh, Susu?” Kuroo asks, rubbing the cat’s cheek. Sumi purrs louder, leaning more of his weight into Kuroo’s palm.

Predictably, Sumi offers no answers. Kuroo sighs as he runs his fingers along the cat’s spine, fingers brushing through his long hair.

Closing his eyes again, he leans his head back, thinking about what Oikawa said before. There was a reason he couldn’t have Tsukishima listening in.

He stopped beside Iwaizumi. “There is one more thing.”

“Oh?” Oikawa mused. “And what’s that?”

Kuroo glanced over his shoulder, baring his teeth in a grin that was too wide. Too sharp. “I was never here.”

At his desk, Oikawa arched a brow, chin resting on his laced fingers. An amused smile tugged at his lips. “Of course not,” he agreed easily, brushing off the unspoken threat and pacifying Iwaizumi, whose hand had twitched towards the gun at his hip. “How could you be?” Oikawa continued. “After all, you’ve been dead for three years.”

[duskholland]

As You Are | Mob!Tom Holland

summary ↠ who could’ve known showing up to work late one night would put you in touch with a mysterious stranger, capable of turning your life upside down? 

word count ↠ 6.8k

warnings ↠ mature themes, drinking, cursing, gambling + mentions of violence 

a/n ↠ I don’t know how this ended up being so long honestly. I had a blast writing it and I really hope that people read it lol. anyway! this is part of my mob!Tom series -- a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. you don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense. 

mob!Tom masterlist | general masterlist

You’re late. Fuck, you’re running so late.

Your tight, shiny stilettos rub the corners of your toes uncomfortably as you hurry off the bus, ignoring the stares of the passengers. You push your handbag further up your arm and start to run precariously down the cobbled London streets, your heart pounding harshly in your chest. As you pass the entrances to some of the most exclusive clubs in Soho, you find yourself blending into the crowd. All around you are London’s elite, dressed in expensive coats, rich cologne, and enough glinting diamonds to burn your eyes, and they don’t spare you a second look as you reach the end of the street, taking your tall heels and short skirt as standard.

Relief replaces your anxiety as you pull off at the corner and slip around the back of the largest club of them all: The Lotus Club. You whip out your ID and flash it at the looming security guard on the door, and a moment later you’re in.

Immediately you’re met with backstage: an eclectic mix of cheap hairspray, curling irons, and half-naked girls. You move past a group of feathered dancers and find your locker quickly, ditching your bag and clocking in as you curse yourself for falling asleep earlier in the night. You’ve been working here for three years and you never used to be late, but these days, it’s as if you’ve been pushing it closer and closer to the wire each time you stumble in for your shift.

“You’re late,” comes a loud, stern voice. You freeze, your fingers half-way through pulling off the lid of a deep velvety red lipstick, and you glance at the mirror on your locker door to see your boss standing behind you, arms crossed. Loretta’s a ripped, forty-year-old woman with so many tattoos you think she must be immune to pain. Her eyes are stormy and grey as you hesitantly turn to face her, wincing a smile. “I’ve checked the data for the last month. You’ve been late 12 times, Y/N.” Her face pulls into a disappointed frown. “I’ve always liked you and you’ve never let me down before, but I need staff that I can rely on.”

Instantly you feel cold dread pool in your stomach. “Loretta, look, I’m really sorry, but it’s been a hectic month. I- I’ll try harder, okay? I’m sorry.” And you don’t want to grovel, but this job is all you have. Waiting the tables in this exclusive Soho Club is the only way you can afford to keep your flat, and without that, you have nothing. “Please don’t fire me.”

She holds your gaze for a long, hard minute. Your body feels tight with angst, your fingers shaking around the lipstick. “I’ll give you one more chance,” she says finally. “You’ll need to wait the private booths tonight, though.” When you open your mouth to complain, she laughs lowly. “Oi, none of that. I know you hate it, but if you’re late in, you don’t get a say in where I assign you. Got it?”

With a bite of your lower lip, you nod your head dejectedly. “Alright. Thanks Loretta. I won’t let you down.”

“You better not.” And then she turns and walks away, no doubt on her way to harass some of the other workers, and you turn around to finish your makeup.

The Lotus Club is a boujee blend of bar, nightclub and casino, equipped with a whole secluded wing through the back for private dances. Like the rest of the street, it attracts the highest of the high - rich, snobby businesspeople and socialites who enjoy getting off by flaunting their power and riches. You’re yet to meet anyone who isn’t a complete and utter snob.

The private booths perfectly encapsulate the worst parts of the club: they’re secluded and shady, which means they’re a hub for illegal and underhand exchanges, and they cost a leg and a half to rent out. If you think the customers you’d find in the main foyer of the club were spoilt, the inhabitants in the booths can only be described as the richest assholes London can muster. 

You stare at yourself in your locker’s mirror, red lips sagging into an irritated pout. Your frown remains as you fluff up your hair for a final time and shut your locker abruptly. Your black skirt clings to your legs as you walk out into the front of house, the air clearing the moment you’re in the public sphere of the club.

It’s a very exclusive and elitist place, and the decor of the club indicates that exactly: large, glistening chandeliers dangle in every room, a rich red carpet curves across the halls, and there’s the controlled sound of restrained music drifting through large speakers. Each section of the club has a different vibe to it, and as you walk through the casino and into the section with the private booths, the tone shifts. The booths themselves are tucked behind a large curtain, and as you walk through, the lights grow dimmer and the sweet, husky scent of marijuana fills the air.

You find the supervising manager first - a small, unassuming man called Rob. He discreetly points at a circular table in the corner of the section. “That table over there,” he says. You squint your eyes and stare, making out the outline of a few young men. Curiosity replaces your irritation as you realise they look about as old as you. “You take them, yeah?”

You give him a nod. “Who are they?”

Rob shrugs. “No idea. Think it’s their first time.” He raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Make a good impression.”

You roll your eyes as you move away from him, flexing out your fingers as you walk towards the table. This is the VIP section, which means each booth gets a dedicated waitress - aka, you. You just hope the guys you’ll be serving are decent, because if they aren’t, it’ll be a long, long night.

You draw their attention easily, one of the side effects of being one of the few women in the room. Their gazes fall on you before you’re even at the table, and you suck in a quick, steadying breath as you manage a smile. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Y/N and I’ll be your server tonight. You ever been here before?”

Your eyes drift around the circular table as you wait on a response, taking in the men now you’re near enough to make them out. There are four of them: all looking young, but the number of tailored suits and watches attached to them screams wealth in a way you can’t ignore. To the left, two guys, both brunette and very similar - twins? To the right, a blond with dizzying blue eyes. And in the centre, a man, clearly the leader, with his arms thrown over the back of the booth. He’s in a crisp white shirt, a suit jacket lying crumpled on the seat beside him, and his golden brown eyes seem to linger on you for a moment too long as you wait on a response. The way he looks at you brings a warmth to your cheeks, the smile fixed on your face threatening to falter as you decide that he’s utterly delicious.

“Never been before, love.” Finally someone speaks, and it’s the blond. His lips twist into a slow smile. “Nice place you’ve got.”

You hum, returning his stare confidently. “It’s nice back here,” you agree. Then you reach down and pull a small, flat device from your pocket. You lean down and slide it into the centre of the table, making brief eye contact with the man in the centre as you pull yourself back up, a thrill of excitement cracking down your spine as you catch him staring at you. “That’s my pager. If you need me, just press the button and I’ll be here. Can I get you any drinks?”

They rattle off a list of drinks and you nod along, quickly memorising the drinks and faces, matching them with personalities. The guy in the centre goes for a Corona, speaking in a voice that’s just a little too perfect, and as you walk away towards the bar, you find yourself wondering why they’re all here. The private booths are the ideal location for illegal activities to occur, yet you couldn’t see any drugs on them, and none of them seem to have turned up with any documents or briefcases. They aren’t the usual age, either, and they all seem far too friendly to fit the normal typecast of the customers you’d find in the club. They’d smiled at you as you’d taken their orders, none of them looking at you through heady, lusting eyes - not even the man in the centre with the firm, brown gaze had let his stare slip away from your face. They feel like a breath of fresh air hidden away in an extremely stuffy room, and you can’t help but regard them fondly.

When you return to the table with a tray laden with drinks, you’re quick to distribute the bottles and glasses. The men are having a very loud and animated conversation, apparently at the expense of one of the twins, whose freckly face is burning a deep, embarrassed red. You’re in and out in a second, but in the moment you’re leaning across the table to put down a glass, the brunette in the centre meets your gaze again, his thin lips pulling up into a semblance of a smirk. “Thanks, love,” he whispers, tilting the glass towards you as you tuck the tray beneath your arm and step back.

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else,” you say, nodding at the pager on the table. He glances to the device quickly, before looking back at you, eyes lingering on the curve of your painted lower lip.

“Will do.”

You breeze away from them, your heart rattling against your ribcage as you walk to the back corner and slip into easy conversation with some of the other girls.

Your table get a few more rounds of drinks over the course of the night. Each time you’re there within seconds of the buzzer going off, always with an eager smile on your face. One bonus to the private booths is that the people who rent them out tend to have such a surplus of wealth that the tips are huge, and you’d really like to have the extra cash. So maybe you smile a little wider than usual, and do your best to crack jokes and play along as you talk with the group, but it’s all part of the job, and all part of what’s expected from you. You’re sure the fact that the man in the centre gets your heart racing a little faster than normal has nothing to do with it.

It’s a little after 1am when you’re paged back to the circular table in the corner, the buzzing in your pocket causing you to stifle a yawn. With a start, you walk back to them, your tired feet clacking across the smooth marbled floor. As you draw closer, you realise that there’s only one man there, and with a start, you realise it’s the leader.

“Hi,” you say, smiling nervously. “Friends abandoned you?”

The man shakes his head, the tips of his wavy brown hair shifting delicately. “Gone to the casino,” he explains. He pats the open booth beside him questioningly. “Do you want to sit?” You ponder it for half a second. His voice is open and warm, and it lacks the air of expectation that you’d usually find when patrons ask you a similar question. With a small smile on your face, you sit down beside him. “It’s Y/N, yeah?”

You nod slowly, your bare legs feeling warm against the leather booth. The man is still settled in the centre of the semi-circle, but he slides a little closer to you as you begin to talk, one of his arms hanging over the side of the booth, inviting you closer.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you reply softly. “Are you going to tell me your name, or is that a mystery too?”

The man quirks an eyebrow, and for the first time you notice how endearing his face is. It’s hard, with deep lines crossing his forehead and his cheeks, but when he smiles, the angst fades away, leaving him with a gentle softness about him. His nose is slightly crooked and his lips are thin and lopsided, but he’s undeniably handsome.

“I’m a mystery?” He asks, amused.

“No one’s seen any of you around before,” you say, picking your words carefully. “Normally we get regulars in the VIP section.” You shrug lightly. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s our first time coming here,” he tells you. Then he picks up his hand and offers it to you. “I’m Tom, darling.”

You take his outstretched hand and your smile widens as he takes your fingers into a strong grip. “Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

[-----]

You talk with Tom easily, gradually unearthing a few details about the man. He doesn’t give much away, but you gather that he and his brothers own a few businesses around London and they’d come to your club tonight to scout out the competition. 

“Can I get you a drink, love?” He asks, about ten minutes into conversation. 

You’ve got a relaxed smile on your face as you nod in agreement.  “That would be nice,” you tell him. “I can go and get it, though.” You begin to stand, only to feel him reach out and take your hand, his digits loosely brushing up against yours as you meet his sparkly golden eyes.

“No, stay here,” he says, his voice soft. His eyes shift towards the bar and you watch as he catches the gaze of one of the other servers. She walks over to you and takes your order with a jealous grimace on her face, and you find yourself shifting a little closer to Tom as you sit back down.

“So...” You let your lips quirk into a coy smile. “What kinds of things does a man like you enjoy doing?”

Tom hums softly, his hand going to rest on your knee. The tips of his calloused fingertips draw small shapes and circles over your skin, his touch setting off warm fireworks. “I like golf,” he says, laughing quietly as you grimace. “It’s more interesting to play than it is to watch.”

“I’d sure hope so,” you joke. “I don’t think it’s really my thing.”

“Well, what is your thing?” You watch intently as Tom flicks his pink tongue out across his lower lip. Your breath hitches as you realise he’s flirting with you, and you’ve overcome with a strong urge to reciprocate.

“I like painting,” you admit. “Someday I’m going to quit my job here and open up an art gallery.” You reach up slowly, resting the flat hand on his shoulder as the tips of your fingers play around with his soft hair. “Would you be my model, one day?”

Tom brings his other hand to your waist, testing the waters. When you only drift closer to him, he holds your side more firmly, his long, nimble fingers slowly wrapping around you. His touch is intoxicating. 

“I’d be flattered to be your model, darling,” he tells you, eyes sparkling with something between lust and admiration.

As the night draws on, you find yourself inching closer and closer to him, his body heat attracting you like a moth to a flame. His eyes sparkle brightly, shades of golden browns appealing to you easily, and you can’t stop yourself from shamelessly flirting with him, your heart pounding each time he returns it just as thickly.

But you’re not completely blinded by lust. Over the course of your conversation, you pick up on a few unsaid details. First and foremost: Tom has a holster strapped to his belt, and whilst it’s empty, its presence is enough to have your guard up. You know there’s probably a hundred armed men out in the casino, but the sight of it makes you uneasy. Tom’s nice, and maybe a part of you had considered clocking out and leaving with him, but that - and the fact that you can see a pair of brass knuckledusters hanging out of his suit pocket - is enough to sour that idea.

It really is a shame. He’s nothing but charming, in a very sweet, romantic way, and if the circumstances were different, you’d want him in a heartbeat.

By the time Tom’s friends return from the Casino, stacks of cash in hand, you’re practically on top of him. Somewhere between the second and the third beer, he’d pulled you nearer, and now you have your head pressed against his outstretched arm as you sit lazily in his lap, your voice dying halfway through your anecdote as the presence of Tom’s associates disturb your conversation.

“How much?” Tom calls out, his eyes moving away from your face for the first time in an hour. You watch as his pupils dilate, swallowing the golden flecks of his irises as he stares at the rolls of cash greedily.

“50k.” The blond...Harrison, you think, says. “We should come back more often.” His blue eyes twinkle knowingly as he takes in the way you’re spread over Tom. “You ready to go, mate?”

You feel Tom shift beneath you, a hand going to sit on your waist as he hums. “Go settle the tab, yeah? I’ll be over in a minute.”

Harrison nods, and you watch as the group approach the bar and begin to sift through the rolls of cash. Clearing your throat, you stretch out your arm and move out of Tom’s lap, distancing yourself from him as you give him a coy smile.

“Well… I guess it’s goodnight, Tom,” you say, watching him carefully. His eyebrows furrow together slightly as an expression of intrigue passes over his face.

“Don’t suppose you’d want to come home with me, love?” He asks, voice honest and open. He reaches down and takes one of your hands in his, his calloused thumb passing over the back of your knuckles. The touch makes you bite your lower lip, and for a brief moment, you find yourself wishing you could.

“Sorry,” you say instead, ignoring the way a part of you wants to explore the man further. You’ve seen the holster and the knuckledusters. “I don’t know you.”

Surprise replaces his intrigue, but Tom remains looking at you fondly. He nods his head, holding your gaze as he brings your hand to his mouth, pressing his intoxicating lips to the back of your hand and kissing your skin softly. “I’ll see you around then, darling,” he mumbles, finally releasing your hand as he presses it back to your lap. He stands up and shimmies out of the booth, tossing his suit jacket over his shoulder as he goes. “It was lovely spending the evening with you, Y/N.”

Your smile is soft, genuine. “You too, Tom. Have a nice night.”

He raises his hand in a brief wave, and then turns, meeting with his friends by the door. They leave together, and you take a moment to sit against the back of the booth, breathing heavily through your mouth as your thoughts run rampant through your mind.

Everything about Tom feels to be a juxtaposition. His suit was expensive and he left the casino £50,000 richer, yet his shoes were scruffy and his watch looked old and worn. He’s clearly used to control, but he was perfectly content with you setting the lines and the limits. He has an obvious affinity for the darker arts, but his touch was always kind and gentle. Tom is a perfect paradox, and you can’t help but keep him in your thoughts as you begin to clear away the dirty glasses, your smile remaining on your lips for the rest of the night.

[-----]

When you come in for your shift a few days later, you’re called into Loretta’s office immediately. Dread and anticipation hang heavy in your stomach as you nervously push open her door, hoping with every part of you that she hasn’t called you in to fire you. You’re left utterly perplexed as the tall woman greets you with a long, tight hug.

“Y/N, my darling!” She exclaims, releasing you and gesturing down at a chair. You slip into it apprehensively as she walks around to sit behind her desk, her eyes bright and excited. “You’ve got a tip.”

Your eyes widen. “A tip?” You echo, voice uncertain. Normally the tips would be added to your pay-check at the end of the month, no further comment needed. The way she’s staring at you like you’re a celebrity makes you nervous.

“Someone left an anonymous tip for you,” she says, voice high. “I’ve already deducted the club’s percentage.” Loretta passes you a bulging envelope. “It leaves you with just under £5,000.”

Your jaw drops.

“What… The fuck,” you manage, eyes bulging as you tear open the envelope and run your thumb through the thick stack of cash. “Who?”

Your boss shrugs. “Anonymous,” she repeats. “Just thought you’d appreciate the heads up. I’ll keep it out of the books, as long as you don’t mention this to anyone.” Her voice is low, and you nod quickly, knowing that she’s doing you both a favour: the club takes a cut of all tips received, and you know that you’ll both come out better if the tax office doesn’t learn of your bonus.

“Thank you,” you say, flabbergasted. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” she advises. “Just take it.” As you rise to your feet and slip the envelope into your bag, she adds, “You can go back to serving the bar, as usual. I’ll get Monica to cover the private booths.”

“Thanks,” you say again, your voice soft and shaken. She bids you goodbye as you walk back to the lockers, your eyes wide and your mind scrambled.

You want to assume it’s Tom who’s left the tip. You don’t think you’ve made a big enough impression on anyone else recently to be rewarded this generously. It baffles you, because you hadn’t ever expected this, but then you find yourself warming to the idea. You’d gotten on well with Tom, and maybe a small part of you has been regretting denying him, and this… Well, this act of generosity would suggest that he’s still thinking about you, and that’s a very nice thought.

You begin your shift with a wide smile on your face, knowing your rent is taken care of for the next few months. It puts a lightness in your step, and you find yourself winning over all the patrons you come into contact with, your wallet growing heavier and heavier as the night draws by. A few times, you find yourself gazing around the bar, looking for Tom, expecting to see him, but not feeling surprised when you don’t. He’d told you himself that he was only in the club to scout out a rival business - why would he return after gathering his reconnaissance?

He doesn’t turn up that night. Or the next. Or even the next. You have to wait another week before you see another sign of him, and even then, it’s not actually him.

You’re clearing away a table when you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around to see Harrison standing there, a black suit pulled around him so perfectly that he looks like a model and it takes your breath away for a second.

“Y/N?” He asks, voice clear and bright. You give him a nod, your eyebrows pulling up into confusion as he procures a red rose and passes it to you. “I’m Harrison, Tom’s mate. We met the other night.”

You twirl the stem between your fingers, glancing between the delicate petals and Harrison’s watchful face. “Yeah, I remember.”

He nods his head at the rose. “Tom wanted you to have that. He also wanted to know if you’d gotten his gift?”

The thorns on the rose nick your finger and you curse softly, bringing your thumb to your mouth and sucking away the small drop of blood. Harrison watches you intently, his eyes twinkling as he holds back a laugh.

“You mean the tip?” You ask after a moment, pulling your hand away from your face. You cross your arms over your chest as you stare the man down. “You do know that was an obscene amount of money, right?”

Harrison chuckles, running a hand through his blond curls. “I know,” he agrees. “Tom wouldn’t hear anything else. Apparently you made quite the impression.” His eyes sweep across you briefly. “He wanted to know if you’d join him for a date tomorrow night.”

You hum, your eyebrow raising slightly. “And why are you here asking me out, instead of him?” 

Harrison’s eyes widen at your controlled tone, his cheeks tinting with a rosy blush. “He’s busy.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “Well, you can tell Tom that I appreciate the gesture, but if he wants to take me on a date, he needs to come down here and ask me himself.” Acting on impulse, you pass Harrison back the rose, your eyes dancing mischievously. 

Harrison looks a little taken aback, but he nods slowly and looks at you with a shade of respect in his gaze. “I will pass on the message.”

“Thanks, Harrison.” You turn back to the table you’re clearing and you watch from the corner of your eye as he turns and walks away, leaving the club with the rose in his hands.

Your heart hammers in your chest, as part of you can’t believe you’ve just turned him down so boldly. But you know it’s for the best, because men like Tom can be dangerous, and if he thinks he can get away with anything, then that’s not the kind of person you want to see. You decide that if he can swallow his pride and show up to see you himself, then you’ll be happy to lean into him, but you won’t fall at his feet just because he’s flashed some cash. If he doesn’t respond to your demands, at least you’ll come out richer for it. But a part of you thinks you’ve got him nailed down, and you have the feeling he thrives on games like these, and so you return to the club the next night expecting to see him, and you’re not surprised when you do.

Tom’s leaning up against the bar, talking with one of the strippers amicably. The feathers coming out of her plumed headband fall onto his forehead as they laugh closely together, and an irrational stab of jealousy twists up through your insides as you watch them. It’s ridiculous, and you quickly swallow it back, but as Tom meets your eyes from across the room, you know he’s seen the envy in your eyes. His thin lips pull into a smirk and he beckons you over, your legs moving of their own accord.

As you get to Tom, he leans down and whispers something in the woman’s ear. You watch as her expression falls, and then she pulls away from Tom to circle the room in search of another visitor. He greets you by opening his arms, and you pause for a moment before sinking into them, his fingers finding your waist as your head goes to the crook of his neck, finding home briefly in his warmth and the rich scent of his powerful cologne. As you pull back, one of his hands goes back to his side, but the other finds your face for a moment, holding you softly as his lips brush over your cheek. You have to bite back a smile as he mumbles a quiet, “Evening, love,” not wanting him to see how utterly giddy it makes you feel to have him so close again.

“Hi, Tom,” you reply, your head clearing up as he finally drops contact with your skin. Your eyes drift over his familiar face, taking in the details of his handsome features. “Looking for a stripper, eh?”

“Not unless she’s called Y/N,” he replies, voice controlled but suggestive. You chuckle quietly, your face heating a little as you grow slightly bashful.

“Smooth,” you comment. “You gonna buy me a drink?”

“Whatever you want,” he promises. His eyes sweep over the room. “You’re not working?”

You shrug as you slip up at the bar, Tom settling on the stool beside you. One of his hands goes to rest on your knee, the contact firm and grounding, and it makes your body fill with a subtle, thrumming heat. “I am, technically,” you say. “But it’s my job to entertain the guests,” you shift your gaze to his suggestively, “and I’d say you’re in need of a little fun.”

“You’re definitely right there, darling.”

You drink a few rounds with Tom, treating yourself to some of the bar’s most expensive wine because he’s already given them his card and you free rein over the drinks menu. Any reluctance you feel to exploit his kindness disappears as you remember how easily he’d left the casino up £50k the other night, and as you slowly grow lighter and your bloodstream more diluted, you find yourself loosening up. Tom does too, and as you talk about any and everything, his hair becomes messier as his cheeks flush. Your knees touch and sometimes your shoulders brush, and it’s like the rest of the world burns away until it’s just you, and him, laughing, talking, feeling, and it’s so natural that you almost forget that you come from two different worlds.

But then Tom shifts on the stool, and your eyes catch his empty holster, and you’re slammed back to earth, your mood shifting. He picks up on it immediately, his eyebrows furrowing as he reaches out and picks up your hand, playing with your fingers softly. “You alright there, love?”

You hum. “What do you want from me, Tom?” You ask after a moment, voice unassuming.

“What do you mean?”

You give him a coy smile. “You know what I mean,” you tease. “Chatting with me, leaving me thousands of pounds, getting your friend to ask me out… Even being here tonight. What do you want?” And your voice is open and honest, and Tom ponders it for a few moments before squeezing your hand.

“You intrigue me, Y/N,” he admits. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the night we met… I don’t know why, or what I want from you, but I guess, I’d quite like to know, what do you want from me?”

“Oh, no, you don’t get to turn this on me.”

“Why not? I’m definitely allowed to do that.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re sneaky, Tom,” you mumble. “If I’m being honest, part of me thought you’d show up tonight and expect me to leave with you. Because, y’know, the money.” He opens his mouth to argue, but you raise an eyebrow and he pauses. “I don’t think you’re that kind of guy, though. Are you?”

He shakes his head quickly. “I’m not a dick.”

“Arrogant, sometimes?”

“Yeah.”

“A bit egotistical?”

“Well, uh, I guess you could say that.”

“Dominating?”

Tom’s eyes shift a shade darker as he nods. “You like to talk,” he comments, bringing a smile to your face.

“I can leave you to your thoughts, if you’d prefer that,” you tease. He tightens his grip on your hand, and for the first time you look down at his fingers and notice that his knuckles are bruised and bloodied. “Shit, what happened here?” You bring his hands nearer your face, gently grazing your touch over the curves of his cut knuckles. He winces but he lets you inspect the injuries.

“Nothing,” he mutters. When you tighten your gaze, he shrugs haplessly. “Got in a fight. No big deal.”

“Yeah, right.” You rise from the stool, dragging him with you. You’re about to turn and pull him across the room when you hesitate. “Are you packing?” He looks surprised by the question, so you add, “I won’t take you backstage if you’re dangerous.”

“I’ve not got a gun on me,” he says, dodging half the question but it’s good enough for you. You lead him out, through the bar, past the casino, and you pull him through a large door that says Staff Only and take him back to one of the locker rooms. It’s peak time so the room is quiet, and you sit him down on a bench as you grab a clean cloth from beside the sink and run it under some warm water.

“If you don’t take care of your injuries, they’ll scar,” you tell him as you dab at his knuckles. Tom’s gaze burns into your cheek as you wash away the dried blood, exposing the deep colours of fresh bruises just below. You glance up at him, your breath hitching in your throat as you meet his stare, his eyes dancing with a thousand different words. “Who’d look after you if I wasn’t here, huh?” You walk across the room before returning with a cotton pad soaked in disinfectant. “This might hurt,” you warn, but Tom doesn’t even flinch as you drag the pad over his cracked skin. You throw the pad into the bin and then settle in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare at him questioningly.

“Come sit,” he says finally, his voice more laboured than before. He spreads his legs a little and pats at his lap, and without hesitation you step forward and straddle him. You have to shift around until you’re comfortable, but you manage to stretch your legs out behind him on the bench and his hands go to anchor your hips in place. Your faces are really close now, and he easily brings a hand up to settle on your cheek, the tips of his fingers resting on your cheekbones. “You’re unbelievable, you know that, love?”

You smile slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just…” He breaks off, sighing comically. “So fucking perfect.” The compliment draws your smile into a large grin as you chuckle softly.

“Perfect, eh?” You tease, running a hand over his shoulder. You rest it at the nape of his neck, your fingers playing with the tips of his hair. “I don’t think perfect exists.”

“It does,” he says immediately.

“Maybe.” Acting boldly, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his jaw, admiring the sharp line with your mouth as he sighs beneath you. “You’re a dangerous man, aren’t you?” You say, finishing your trail of kisses at his ear. You let your breath fan out across his skin for a moment before pressing a final kiss to his earlobe, feeling his body tense beneath you.

“Yeah,” he admits.

You pull yourself back to face him, your eyebrow arched. “Will you keep me safe?” You ask. It hangs heavy in the air, a multitude of layers hidden away behind the few words.

Tom nods, a hand drawing up to find home in your hair. His fingers bury in the strands and he uses his leverage to draw you nearer until your noses are touching, his cold skin pressing to yours in the most delicate way.

“I will always protect you,” he promises, voice serious.

Your lips quirk into a slight smile. “Kiss me,” you ask.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, lips chapped but warm as they slide over yours. It’s soft, for a moment, but then you grip his hair and pull him nearer and it grows stronger. Passion flows between you as you cling to him, his mouth hot and luxurious and it draws a heat between your legs as you feel his teeth catch at your lower lip. When you part your lips and grant him access, his tongue dances with yours and you moan into his mouth, every inch of you aching for him, burning with desire to keep him here. His hand in your hair holds you close as the other wanders over your side, caressing your figure softly but warmly, and you turn to butter in his hold, kissing, and kissing, and kissing, until your lips are numb and your lungs burn. When you pull away, he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes pulling open just enough to make brief contact with yours. He looks softer now, less anxious, more in control.

“I wish I could do that forever,” he admits. Both hands find your waist, holding you comfortably as he smirks at you. “You’re something else.”

You shrug slightly, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you, Tom,” you tease, eyeing him carefully. “You gonna come back again tomorrow?”

He raises a scruffy eyebrow. “You want me to come back tomorrow?”

Your lips split into a wide smile. “Yeah,” you admit. “Maybe the day after that, too. If you want.”

“I’ll be here,” he promises. “I’ll be here for as long as you want me to be.”

You kiss him again, softer. His lips are warm and they already feel a little bit like home. You realise that he’s got you, both physically, because his fingers grip your waist so strongly, but also emotionally, because you look into the depths of his warm, mysterious eyes, and you realise you don’t want to forget what they look like.

“I might want you around for a long time. Is that a problem?”

Tom shakes his head, body relaxing. He kisses you. “Not a problem at all,” he confirms. “I feel like… I feel like you might change my life, love.”

You laugh quietly, rolling your eyes. “Who knew you’d be such a sap,” you tease. Tom frowns, his grip on your waist tightening, and you swallow deeply as he steadies you. “I’m kidding. Relax.” You kiss him again, quickly.

“You think you can just distract me with kisses?” He says, voice confident. You nod your head arrogantly.

“Oh, yeah,” you confirm. “I think you’re the kind of person who will be very easy to distract.” To prove your point, you take a long moment to grind your hips down, feeling the hard presence of his erection pressing up against your covered core. You giggle and your head falls to the crook of his neck, and Tom’s hands rub over your back as he holds you close.

“You’re a minx,” he says. “Such a tease.”

“I’m a lot of things,” you whisper against his neck. You feel his lips brush over the top of your head and let him hold you, close, gripping you tightly, and it feels like you’ve known him for infinity already.

“I’m excited to figure you out, Y/N.”

You tilt your head and run a line of brief kisses up his neck until eventually finding his lips, seizing them in a short peck. “Me too, Tom,” you admit. “I feel like you’re gonna be really special to me,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“Oh, so who’s the sap now, huh?” He teases, drawing your smile wider.

“Shut up,” you say.

“Make me.”

And then, quite simply, you’re back to kissing, and you know he’s dangerous, and you know he’s powerful, but his touch on your waist is gentle and he’s kissing you so slowly and softly that none of that really matters. It doesn’t matter that you don’t entirely know who he is, because there’s a connection tethering your soul to his, and you can feel it - even if it’s only been a few days. It’s a type of connection that you’ve never felt before, and it thrills you, but it also terrifies you. Because you know that the man beneath you holds the keys to the world, but it comes at a cost, and you’re not sure you can afford the price if it all falls apart.

But fuck it. He’s kissing you, and it’s perfect, and you crave to stay like this forever, curled up in his lap like this. So what if the world burns? You’re perfectly happy exactly where you are, Tom’s hands on your hips, your mouths moving in sync. And as he holds you close, you know there’s nowhere else your heart would be safer than tucked up here with him.

[rainandhotchocolate]

Unexpected

A/N Merry christmas to Australians and NZ-enders! For the rest of ya, hope your holidays are going well :)) If not, here’s a fic to read on the toilet whislt ignoring your family xx this is my first grishaverse fic so pls be kind I don’t think I’ve quite gotten the characterisation yet but also I need to write like 4 in the next two days so WELP 

Kaz brekker x reader

Y/N twirled around, her skirt swishing out in a circle around her. Nina cheered loudly, Jesper grinning beside her as they leaned against the small table sitting in the small house. She was wearing a deep blue dress that hugged tightly to her curvy frame, hanging earrings that had matching blue gems sitting in a large curling silver tree. Nina had coloured her cheeks and given a soft glow to her skin and had made her hair shine a little brighter than normal. It wasn’t much, but it was the first time in a long time that Y/N had felt somewhat pretty again, and was definitely better than the peasant pants and army boots that made her feel like a small boy.

“Well Kaz is going to be confused for sure,” Nina winked at her but Y/N just rolled her eyes. It was no secret that Y/N liked to annoy Kaz by flirting incessantly, but a little more hidden was the fact that Y/N had developed a small and irritating crush on him ever since he’d inducted her into the small group after the heist, given Nina’s… inability to leave the house.

“Honestly, I’m a little confused myself,” Jesper smiled slyly, moving over to the hallway to call Kaz up. He’d been told to disappear for thirty minutes whilst they got Y/N ready. Kaz had been frustrated at first, and was very close to telling them to fuck off but Mattias had stepped in to tell him to let Nina do at least one thing to distract herself.

The familiar clicking of Kaz’s cane could be heard coming up the corridor, his growling face moving into the kitchen area.

“Are we ready?” Kaz’s eyes scrolled up and down Y/N’s outfit and Y/N winked at him.

“Like what you see?”

“It’ll do. Do we need to go over this again?” Kaz raised an eyebrow at her and Y/N huffed.

“I do remember the very small task you asked from me.”

“Just bat your pretty eyes and get me my information, let’s go.” Kaz turned around on the spot and limped towards the front door.

“I guess I’m off,” Y/N turned to Nina and Jesper, “No mourners.”

“No funerals,” they called back, Nina giggling softly as Y/N adjusted her breasts slightly so that they sat higher in her dress and eyes glittering.  

Nina had found her in Ketterdam, begging for money on the side of the street wearing a destroyed Ravka army uniform about a year ago, and had helped her find work with some of the lower downs in Kaz’s crew. She hadn’t heard from Nina in months, but had gotten a letter telling her to meet a the edge of town and wear a costume. Kaz had known who she was, though Y/N had been surprised that he’d ever noticed her given that she was normally in the casino wearing a tight-fitting golden dress and bringing drinks over to handsy businessmen. It was because of this that she would be good for the job, she knew how to get in and out of a casino unnoticed and definitely knew how to get a guy to follow her around a room.

Kaz and Y/N sailed towards the main canal in Ketterdam, wearing Mister Crimson and The Lost Bride outfits over their clothes. It was loud amongst the canals, tourists blustering around the cobblestone streets wearing almost nothing against the cool evening air. They moved surreptitiously towards the casinos, Kaz ducking his head every few metres when he spotted someone he knew wandering along the streets. The plan was simple enough, Y/N was an unknown in relation to Kaz and was one of the crows who could safely move around the streets without someone alerting the Stadwatch.

They glided underneath a bridge where Kaz looped a large a rope attached to the boat to the small entry point to the sewer system underneath the casino’s where Kaz would wait. He said nothing as they stepped out, Y/N stripping off The Lost Bride costume and holding her hands out to show him the outfit once more.

“Look good enough to seduce a guard?”

“He always goes for the girls with larger chests, so – “ Kaz cut himself off as he gestured towards Y/N’s chest. Y/N grinned and pulled her dress down a little more, revealing a bit more of herself.

“Better?”

“I better not regret involving you.” Kaz hissed, somewhat to himself, staring at the giggling girl in front of him.

“Let’s not underestimate the pretty ones, Brekker,” Y/N pouted and hoped back into the small boat. “I’ll see you soon!”

She waved a little over exaggeratedly and watched as Kaz shook his head before turning back to the canal and where she needed to dock to join the flock of tourists. She smiled brightly at one of the guards who was tying boats and helping guests out of the boats, deliberately pointing towards the Emerald Palace to try and filter tourists towards Pekka’s casino.

“Thanks so much!” Y/N cooed, smiling up at the guard who held out a hand for her, “Would you mind keeping an eye on that boat? I’d love to make sure I have one to get me safely home.”

“Of course, Miss,” The guard nodded his head, clearly glancing at her overfull bosom.

“Oh, thank you!” Y/N gripped onto his arm softly and walked away from him, turning back to give him a small wave over her shoulder. He was still watching her, blinking a little dazedly.

She moved quickly through the crowd, a little unsteady on her heels, heading towards the Silver Sun casino where Kaz had said Van Eck’s head guard spent his Saturday nights getting drunk and stalking the easiest girls in the club. Tonight, that would be Y/N.

She wasn’t questioned as she made her way inside, heading straight to the bar to get a drink, sans alcohol, not that it would look like that. She sat at the bar casually, watching over the crowd, scanning for the man Jesper and Kaz had described to her over and over again. Spotted. The large man, grey beard and pot belly with a small gold earring on his right ear and a booming laugh was sitting at a table to her right, holding a set of cards in his hands. Y/N prepared herself, shaking up her hair slightly and sipping some of her drink before stumbling towards the table, a drunken smile playing on her lips.

“Whose winning over here?” She slurred a little loudly, leaning over the edge of the table so that her breasts were in the corner of the Guards eyeline.

“That would be me,” He gave her a sly smile, “But I could use a bit more luck?”

“That’s what I’m here for, lovely,” Y/N bit her lip, giving him a very obvious once over and sitting down in his lap.

They spoke intermittently for a few minutes as the guard continued to play, looping his arm around her waist at one point, his greasy hands sliding against the soft dress.

“I want another drink,” Y/N pouted, “Can we get some more?”

“Of course,” the guard grinned at the men around the table, “We’ll be back soon.”

“Sure thing,” The man to his right winked back, taking his cards back as Y/N and the guard stood up and headed towards the bar.

“What would you like, beautiful?”

“Champagne!” Y/N giggled, pushing her chest upwards and hands behind her back.

“Done,” the guard ordered and handing her a glass of champagne that was very full. Y/N sipped it softly and smiled up at him.

“So, what does someone as fit as you do? Surely something brave and heroic.” Y/N slurred a little, feeling up his arm and gripping softly on his bicep.

“I’m a guard, for a very powerful man in the city,” He bragged, looming over her with a creeping smile.

“Who!’ Y/N widened her eyes and pretended to look impressed, “Come on, you have to tell me.”

“Ahh I don’t know.”

Y/N pouted, pressing herself up against the guards chest and looking up at him.

“Please…” She batted her eyelids and he grinned at her. He leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear. Y/N supressed a shudder.

“Mr Van Eck,” he whispered softly, clearly trying to be seductive.

“Wow,” Y/N bit her lip as he pulled away. “You must have done some amazing things! You know, if you buy us a room, I’d love to hear some stories.”

Y/N kept herself pressed against him and could feel his breathing increasing steadily.

“Well I am currently his most trusted guard.”

Y/N gasped, creeping an arm around his waist.

“I do love important men, they always know how to treat a lady.”

It was as if he couldn’t help himself, stuttering over words as Y/N moved her hands slowly across his back.

“I’m currently entrusted with ensuring the safety of his wife,” He whispered again, smiling as she bit her lip once more.

“You care for his wife! Mmm a soft side huh?” Y/N licked her lower lip softly, keeping her eyes on the man in front of her.

“You know I’ve got a place just around the corner…” The guard started to guide her towards the front door before Y/N had even replied, keeping up her pretence of stumbling as they made their way back out into the street. Y/N gripping tightly onto his arm and giggling every time she bumped into him.

“Oh wait, wait, I think I’m going to be sick.” Y/N stumbled sideways and away from the guard once they had stepped outside the tourist crowds and towards a small alleyway to her right.

“We shouldn’t wait here, it’s not safe for a girl like you,” the guard tried to pull her back to him but she moved sideways and stumbled forwards, pretending to lean over the wall of the alley way. The guard huffed, clearly annoyed at the detour but followed her off the main road. Bad move, Y/N thought, rolling her eyes as Kaz began limping out of the shadows and towards the man who still had his eyes on Y/N.

His cane whipped out and slammed into the guards knees, his body hitting the ground hard. Kaz moved over, looming over him, his preferred position over his enemies. He was still wearing the Mister crimson outfit but Y/N had winced when she saw the cane, closing her eyes. They had told him again and again that it was too obvious, but he’d refused to give it up, holding it tight to his body now like a hardened security blanket.

Y/N could see a flash of recognition in the guard’s eyes when he realised he wasn’t just being mugged, but he was being mugged by Kaz Brekker, his expression turning from fear to excitement.

“Look who we have here! The cripple king himself.” The guard struggled to move backwards and out of Kaz’s reach, sitting back against the alleyway wall. Y/N kept her pretence of fear, cowering back into the shadows as Kaz stalked his prey.

“Are you missing your pretty little spider?” Y/N could sense Kaz’ anger flaring when he mentioned Inej, still prisoner to Van Eck, and Kaz’ one failure. In Kaz’s momentary lapse of concentration the guard had pulled out a knife and swiped into the air, cutting across the front of Kaz’s body.

Kaz stumbled backwards and towards Y/N, which confused her more than anything. The knife was small and would have barely touched him, let alone give enough force to push him backwards. The guard stood up as Y/N stumbled sideways, shrieking loudly as she moved out of Kaz’s way, hiding behind the guard. She poked her head out from behind him, looking over at where Kaz was cradling his… glove? Fuck.

His glove had been slashed completely open, his right hand now completely bare against the cool Ketterdam evening.

“Pathetic,” The guard spat, “What kind of mastermind are you?”

“The kind with an accomplice.” Y/N slammed her knee in between the guards legs, pulling her hand around the front of his face when he was doubled over and pulling him backwards and away from Kaz before slamming his head against the stone wall. The guard slid softly down the wall, unconscious.

Y/N leaned down and rummaged through the guards coat, pulling out two sets of keys and hanging them in front of Kaz.

“These what you needed?”

“I didn’t need your help,” He hissed, jamming his right hand into his pocket. “This is ten times more conspicuous than the original plan.”

“That plan wasn’t going to work since you refused to leave your cane,” Y/N hissed back, pocketing the keys, “And a simple thank you would suffice.”

She rubbed her hands against her dress and checked on the guard. He was out cold, hopefully, a concussion.

“How did you know how to do that?” Kaz said after a moment, his face contorted as if it hurt to ask.

“Not that you ever asked, but I was in the second army. I know how to fight.” Y/N shrugged, handing Kaz his cane back which he’d dropped when his glove had been slashed. Y/N never asked about why he was always covered, but it wasn’t hard to guess that it had something to do with his bare skin against, well, anything. Great person to have a thing for.

“Right.” Kaz was still staring at her. It was a new stare, his head crooked to one side, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Kaz murmured, lowering his gaze, “Let’s get back.”

When they arrived back at the house, everyone was still awake and sitting around the table. Nina was biting her nails as Mattias rubbed circles on her back. Jesper was practising cards by himself whilst Wylan watched him, calling out his mistakes every few minutes. They all looked up when Kaz and Y/N entered.

“So?”

“What happened to your glove?”

“You destroyed your dress!”

“Did we get the keys?”

“Can I not come home to peace for once,” Kaz growled, moving straight inside and towards the bedroom.

“No!” Nina called to him as he passed, “Y/N, what happened?”

“Well basically, I saved his life and now he is indebted to me forever.”

“Oh man, I need to hear about Kaz needing saving please.” Jesper begged, holding out his hands to her, “I will do anything, ANYTHING!”

“You all need to calm down,” Kaz had returned, a new glove on his right hand and his composure returned. “If anything she ruined half the plan.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous that I got the keys and you didn’t.”

“You got the keys instead of him?” Mattias looked impressed, though Y/N was sure it was just because he was desperate to take Kaz down a peg. Kaz scowled at him and Jesper snorted with laughter.

“I wish I could have seen Kaz’s face! Please tell me you absolutely destroyed the guard,” Jesper was sitting upon his seat, grinning mischievously.

“Knocked unconscious by yours truly.” Y/N bowed low.

“You’ve got to teach me some time,” Nina shook her head, “I never got into training with the second army back home.”

“You knew?” Kaz narrowed his eyes at Nina, “You didn’t think to mention she could fight?”

“I prefer to subvert your expectations,” Nina winked at him. “Come on tell us what happened.”

Y/N launched into the story, over exaggerating every so often to Kaz’s annoyance. The crows looked impressed by the end of the story, Kaz staring at her in the same confusing expression as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Well I know who I’m picking for partner next time around,” Nina leaned into Mattias, who was now playing softly with her hair.

Y/N blew her a kiss, turning back to Kaz.

“Here are the keys, I’m going to wash myself and go to bed because I am covered in drool.” Y/N bid them farewell and started to get ready for bed. It wasn’t until she had been laying in bed, wide awake, for over an hour that she heard a soft knocking on the door.

“Come in.” She called, sitting up in bed, leaning on the back wall where the cot was pushed up against. Kaz was standing in the doorway when it opened, his cane tapping against the side of the door frame. Y/N raised an eyebrow when he walked in slowly, closing the door behind him.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t spent time alone before, but he’d never come into her bedroom just as she would never dare enter his (though part of her wondered if he had trophies of all his enemies hanging up in there).

He didn’t say anything for a second, sitting in the small chair by her bed and pursing his lips.

“I just… wanted to say thank you.” He spoke softly, kinder than Y/N was used to. “For helping me.”

Y/N was momentarily shocked. Kaz wasn’t looking at her, rolling the cane around in his hands.

“Of course.” Y/N wanted to say more, ask if he was ok, what had happened to him. But she knew he wasn’t ready for that, if anything it would just push him back into the closet. “Anytime.”

Kaz lifted his head momentarily and gave her what looked like a smile.

“Sleep well.” He left the room slowly, turning back to look at her once before he left and the room was once again plunged into darkness.

Taglist: @maraudersandco  @hermionie-is-my-queen @gollyderek

[hazbinextgeneration]

Into The Casino Ch13

Disease wa quick to catch up with the pretty pony down the hall and she seemed just a little rattled from the intense asking. Lou seemed to be VERY against the idea, but..she did it. SHE DID IT!! The feeling brought a small proud feeling to her as she silently marveled at her small victory. She can't believe she actually did that! And it worked!...But she would slow down. She only got this far by sheer luck, best not to push it too far. Especially when Disease casually strode up to her with a raised brow.

"Ssso. You wanna go sssee the bird brain?," he questioned raising a brow to her. She paused. It took her a moment for her to gather her senses enough for her to reach into her dress pocket and pull out the small pink business card from it, Disease flicked his tongue at it and slowly took it from her once his senses registered it as harmless. His smile never leaving. "I-...Can you take me there?" Her finger reached out and pointed to the small address under the fancy club name written on it, and Disease chuckled. "Nah. You don't to worry that pretty little head off. Wouldn't be the first time I went down to sssteal a few secrets from there.~" He gestured for her to follow and she blinked before slowly trailing after him. Walking there instead of using the armored limo was a new feeling. It reminded her of the week she spent finally free of that horrible cage, only to wonder the streets for almost a whole week, homeless, hungry, and hoping she wouldn't get mugged when she took short naps in doorways. Everyone always looking at each other like they would suddenly snap and be at each other's throats, and she was always afraid that someone was going to be her. Again those feelings came back as she glanced around the red sky and run down looking buildings. Compared to Lou's casino, these looked much less taken cared of and she couldn't help but shiver at what was inside of them. Strangers? Drugs? Or maybe something much, much worse. Disease didn't at all fazed by what was going on around them though. Humming and flicking his tongue out every so often, like this was just another day on the job for him and for all she knew it probably was. After all he did say it wouldn't be his first time going down there to find out secrets, but she didn't know what secrets he could possibly want. Rita and him despite being on such ...tense terms seemed to get along alright. Or maybe not, what did she know. But her attention went back to the snake when he inched himself with a growl...and she leaned back instantly. Did he have....fleas?! A moment later he seemed back to normal and resumed whistling. ...She had no idea what this man could do. She had a couple ideas for Lou and Cyber with what power they had demonstrated. Lou's plants were a key part of him and he seemed very calculating by his eyes. So did Cyber but they seemed to be calculating in different way. Lou was like a gambling man, watching his every move carefully. Mentally rolling the dice as it was, looking at all the choices and trying each one before going for the one that seemed to work. Cyber's way of calculating was...well like this computer thing Lou told her about. Calculating the most likely outcomes and going straight for it. There was no denying she was as much of a powerhouse as she was smart. But she literally knew nothing about this serpent other that he was apparently married to Midnight and a father. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking because he chuckled and gave her a quick side glance raising a brow. Similar to what Lou would do but coming from Disease it was much less threatening, maybe it was because she was taller than him? "Ssso, any specific reason you're going to a place like Bird Brains?" She blinked before looking down. "W-Well..I-It's not really to see Rita." Disease fully turned to her now, smiling widening a bit and senses all high for what she had to say now. Oh this was interesting. "I-....I w-was hoping to talk to one of her workers." His brow rose further and he hummed. "Which one? Dolly'ssss really nice. Just don't touch her or ol' Jaspy boy'sss bound bash ya sane...Not that Im speaking from experience." She chose to ignore that last bit, and what was the risk of telling? Would he tell Lou?...Most likely, Lou did NOT seem the slightest bit happy about her going at all. So with a breath she answered, "Someone who could possibly answer my questions. I can't not know the answers for m-my sake." Disease rose a brow and his sly mind revolved around that idea for a moment before shaking his head. Remembering Lou's orders to keep her away from people. Eh, the guy was always a spoil sport. "I wouldn't go too far if I were you. Clubs are hotspots for big bad people to come around and cause trouble. Better stick close in places like strip clubs if you don't wanna get caught.~" Her ears went back and she sighed. "Alright." Disease nodded. This job should be easy. "....Hey Disease. W-What's a strip club?" The snake stopped. Completely, utterly stopped. Just like someone paused a movie. His leg was still stuck out like he was about to take a step, tongue stuck out, and eyes wide with his frozen smile....And he slowly looked up to her. She stared down at him confused at his actions but he finally spoke. "...Heh. Well then. I guesss you'll be in for a shocking surprise, eh horn head?" To say she was shocked was an understantement. He was completely. Utterly. MORTIFED at what was presented before her. When they finally got to the Heaven in Hell Strip Club, Disease still hadn't said a word about anything and so when they slunk through a side way he 'just happened to know' instead of using the main entrance where a long line was, her ears were almost immediately blasted with loud obnoxious sounds, and when asked Disease simply told her it was the clubs music.....THAT WAS MUSIC???? The next thing was multicolored bright light that made her go blind for a second. But she wished she was still blinded as the sight that finally hit her was almost like a literally punch to the face. And her jaw dropped in horror at the scene before her. What she could only describe as ....VERY, very exotic dancers were entertaining many guests sipping multicolored drinks and at another part of the entire thing was a whole bunch of demons close together partying and....Was that dancing?! That could not have been dancing! Where was the jazz band and the fancy dresses and the tap dancing??...She wished she was still blinded and not staring at the horror in front of her. Disease didn't seem to mind one bit as his tongue flicked more as he oogled some of the women in the area. He could feel Midnight slapping him and the cute self concious and jealous pout on her face and he snickered. She was so cute like that. He turned back to the frozen look of horror on the women and grabbed her arm to start tugging her away, but she yanked her arm away from him in instinct. The contact finally bringing her back to her senses as she took one last look at the horror show in front of her and looked at him in question. He snickered and gestured around them. "What did ya expect?! Welcome to hell, Horn Head!!" ..Well, he had a point. She really shouldn't have expected anything less by now. But when he started moving from the upper level he was at, she followed closely behind. They were passed by other demons who wore clothes she wouldn't be caught dead in. Maybe a couple making out, the smell of alcohol and smoke attacking her senses to where she coughed and reached a hand to cover her mouth and nose from everything. Everything burnt and hurt her watering eyes and the spinning sights were starting to make her head hurt. How could anyone like this kind of place?! Disease however ever oblivious continued to lead her down the steps and his tongue flicked towards the bar and slitted eyes glancing over all the drinks being served by the bartender. Her eyes rolled, men. Typical- Her shoulder bumped against someone and for a moment she made eye contact with another demon. Red cherry skin and snow white hair staring back at her. "OMG! S-Sorry! I-I'm so sorry!!" She tucked her head down and quickly stepped down the stairs after the still walking away snake. Catching up to him just as he reached the bottom of the stairs and started making his way towards the bar counter. " I-Isn't it too early to be drinking anything?" He blew her off and still headed to the counter. "You kidding me? Cyber interrupted my drinking sssession so Im taking the time to finish it here. Relax your fuzzy face...And speakin' of fuzzy." His smile became sly as he leaned against the counter and rose a brow. " 'Ey, Dolly. How'sss it been, Sweetcheeks?" She blinked her purple eyes as one women standing by the bar turned around and immediately smiled seeing the snake man. "OMG!! Hello, Disease! I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight!" The gal looked...pretty cute. Her eyes big and giggles at seeing the snake like he was an old friend. Guess he really did sneak in here more than once. "You want the usually tonight?" He nodded. "Yeah. And maybe a burger or somethin'. Im starvin'." The lady giggled and nodded her head before bouncing off with a hum. Leaving her standing there with the snake who crawled into one of the barstools and ran his long tongue over his fangs as a bottle was placed in front of him. "HEL-LO beautiful.~" Amalfia rose a brow as Disease began chugging the bottle down like it was his last decent drink, before directing her eyes back to the giant mess of a laughing and rowdy crowd. "Uh...S-Shouldn't we be finding someone here? I-I still want to know something." He again blew her off and went back to looking into the inside of the bottle. "Even if you did ask nobody would care enough to listen anyways. Now stick close will ya? Placesss like this would eat your weak little heart out, Sugar." She scowled at his response. He didn't even look at her, and she wasn't about to even drink that toxic stuff. With a sigh, she coughed a few more times from smells and smokes, turning her eyes to the side. Her eyes almost didn't catch the flash of white within the tall crowd and she paused. She could barely see it, but there was a small flash of white making it's way across the very crowd and those purple eyes followed it until it vanished....Quickly he unleaned against the wall and gave a nervous look to Disease, who was still downing the bottle and not even looking anywhere in her direction. She hesitated. Should she go for it? What if she was wrong and she just got in a heap in trouble for nothing. ....But if she was right- It was decided then, with a hiss intake of air, she sucked it u[ and began pushing her way into the crowd. ...GOD!! It was worse than she thought!! Everyone kept shoving and pushing her, screams and laughs were thrown into her ears so much they retreated against her head and she groaned. Her mind partially blurred as her eyes looked everywhere for a flash of white. But it was hopeless, she couldn't see anything past the flashy lights and moving demons- Until she finally broke through the other side, almost colliding with the wall. Her body gasped as if she had burst from water instead of a small crowd and groaned. Coughing her lungs out once her eyes reopened...And wouldn't you know it, she saw white. Literally. From across from her was a giant white head with a purple strap and purple hat on it. And when the head turned around- She almost smiled from the relief and excitement she felt from seeing the grumpy face of the white skeleton. Charles was standing right across the room from her! Said skeleton was tapping his foot and looking at a clipboard in his hand with a scrutening look, it reminded her of the faces Midnight gave the few times she walked in on the woman looking through her spell books. But her excitement was short lived when he turned and began walking away, which made her body shift into gear and hurry after him. She almost lost him again too, hurrying through another small crowd and trying to keep her eyes on that flash on white. Luckily she glimpsed a small purple hat ducking through a small door in the back. Well of course she followed him right up to the door, and there wasn't anything stopping her from going in...Except for the Staff Only sign right above the door. That's what made her pause and stare dead at the white door in front of herself. Well this was just great! Now she had to wait around for him to come back out! Which could be bad. Someone could wonder why she was standing in front of the door for so long, or Disease could notice she was missing. He would probably make her leave and she wasn't leaving without having those darn answers!...Her sanity as she knew it was on the line, and the mere thought of being a prisoner again was starting become overwhelming and her stomach did a flip flop. That was NOT happening!! With one determined shove, the swinging door was pushed open and in she went without a second thought. The inside was...different from what she expected. It looked quite a lot like the staff's lounge back at the casino only much smaller and less fancy. A few couches, a mini fridge, other kitchen things, a television, and a few other relaxing things meant for the ones who worked the place. But her purple eyes laser focused onto the figure in the middle who was currently pouring himself a cup of coffee while grumbling that sounded like 'stupid creature', being sighing and bringing the piping hot liquid to his lips. She again hesitated. Here he was. Right in front of her, no one around to stop them. But considering she's basically trespassing and the fact he was clearly annoyed....This might not be the best time..She almost wussed out, until that thought of being trapped again crossed her mind..she was not going to back down and become someone's pet or plaything again! With a sharp intake- "C-Charles?" The skeleton jumped, and snapped his head to her. One eye widened in surprise. Clearly he wasn't expecting her to be there, some of the coffee spilling out of his cup and dripping down the sides of the mug he was holding. Both stared at each other for a few tense seconds before his surprised face turned into a scowl, "What are you doing back here?! Can't you read!!" "Y-Yes! But you don't understand. Im here because I need your h-help-" "Then you can wait outside just like everyone else!" The coffee mug was placed back onto the counter and he bagan marching towards her, making shooing motions with his hands. "Go on. Out, out, out!! You can make a complaint with me after my break!" "No, it's not about that!" "Then it can still wait u-" "IT'S ABOUT LOU!!" Her eyes slammed shut. Silence. She was expecting him to still kick her out. For hands to start shoving her back to the door...but nothing but silence greeted her ears. Ever so slowly, she reopened her eyes and blinked down to him. Charles was in a similar pose Disease was in when he froze. Only this time he wasn't all the way frozen and just blinking up at her. His arms still in that shooing position, but soon a scowl formed on his face and his arms were quick to go back to his sides. She could now tell this guy was suspicious by the way he was looking her over. "...And why would you want to ask me about him?," he asked crossing his arms. Well, that wasn't a no. But she had to word her next few words very carefully. "I-I..it's me." His brow rose. "W-W-We met a-at the dress shop? You were with...R-Rubix?" It was like a switch was flipped in his head turning on a lightbulb and his scowl became even more annoyed. He looked her over and finally seemed to recognize her from those months ago. ".....Yeah? Rita told me about how you're his...'lover' now" He made quotation movements with his hand and spat it out like it disgusted him. "What?! N-No! Nothing like that! W-We're not-...H-He's just courting me!" It didn't seem that made him even less impressed as he still scowled. "Well? Whatddya want? If you haven't notice I have a job to do and I don't wanna spend my break playing nursemaid to someone like you! Did he put you up to this?" "W-Wha- N-No! I came here be-because-..." She sighed and looked down, reaching up to rub her arm. SHould she really tell him her reasoning? Would he even tell her if she did tell him? He looked already suspicious and not willing to speak yet..well, she definately had nothing to lose. "I-...Need to know more about him. And you are the only one who knows about him enough to tell me what I want to know?...Please." A small silence followed...and she heard footsteps walking away from her. Those purple eyes blinked up and watched as Charles made his way back to the counter. Grabbing his coffee mug, before taking a giant swig of it. An almost calm look on his face as he sighed and looked up from it. The two stood there staring for a few moments. "You want to hear why I hate Lou to no end?" She nodded and he hummed, almost not beleiving her. "Im happy to tell but what do you get out of it?" ".....Im hoping to not get hurt. That's the most honest way I can word it." There was another pause before he huffed what sounded like a chuckle before looking at her. "You really serious about this?" She nodded and he hummed. "Alright. Since you're so willing to listen I will allow it." A huge wave of releif came over her and she let out a breath, watching as he walked over to a couch and sat down in it. Placing the mug back down and looking up to her with a serious face. "How much DO you know?" ....Shr shrugged. "Not much. Just vague details about his death, but Rita t-told me you two knew each other for a long time." He huffed again and she flinched. Placing the mug onto the coffee table rather roughly and staring at her. "Yes. Unfortunately we did. But beleive me if I had it my way, I would go back and time and strangle him until he wilted sooner." She blinked and remained silent so he continued. "You want to know who he was? To put it simply he was and always will be a slimey, rotten, manipulative b*st*rd who uses others for his own gain and never thinks twice about anyone but himself!..Maybe that metalheaded body guard being a slight acception, but that's besides the point." He pointed at her and her ears went back. "Even if he's telling the truth, I wouldn't trust ANYTHING that comes out of his cabbage patch mouth. He's the whole reason for what happened to me!!" "W-What happened? I don-" The coffee table shook when the smaller man slammed his hands down onto it. His one eye glowing with hatred and when he opened his mouth fangs appeared. "HE FUCKING KILLED ME!! YOU WANT TO REALLY KNOW WHY I HATE HIM SO MUCH!? IT'S BECAUSE THAT OVER GROWN F*CKING LEAF WAS THE DEATH OF ME AND NOW I GET TO SPEND THE REST OF ETERNITY KNOWING HE'S JUST UP THE ROAD AND I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF RUNNING INTO HIM TOO UNLESS ONE OF US ARE KILLED OFF AGAIN!! AND THIS TIME!! IT WON'T BE ME GOING UNDER FIRST!!" His chest heaved and it took a couple blinks for him to look back to her. The unicorn's body was like that of a scared hellhound. Leaning back with scared wide doe-eyes and looking like she'd bolt any second. His heaving slowly went down and he sighed, slowly letting his body drift back down into the comfy cushions of the couch and relaxing back. The embers of hate slowly burning out and his teeth going back to their normal state. He slowly lifted a hand to grab the cup and again brought it back to his mouth. "....That is what he was and that is what he WILL always be! Life, death, and in between." He took a sip and gave her a glance she couldn't quite understand. ".....Not to mention a womanizer. Men and women have been heartbroken by him but it comes at no surprise to me. That's how he is." She didn't answer right away. Just staring at him in absolutely horror at what she had said and her mind rushing trying to process this new information. She new he must've done something bad to end up here, but...he actually killed Charles. The skeleton demon looked too passionate about that to have been lying and so Lou.....But he hadn't even lifted a hand to anyone as far as she's been there. To her he was WAY more interested in collecting money(or whatever was counted as money down there) and playing his games. ..Or occupying his plants, she had no idea what his garden looked like. But the way she was staring at Charles...Well it certainly wasn't like the scowl he was giving her back, until he sighed again. "There you have it. All laid out. Whether you beleive me or not, I don't care, but don't blame me when something happens." ".....Im s-s-sorry." It came out just above a whisper, but it was still enough to get him to stop and snap his eye back up to her, blinking rapidly. "...What did you say?" She stood there staring at him with a blank but wide eyed face. "I-I...*inhale* I s-said. Im sorry. I don't think you deserved what happened to you...I r-really don't." He just stared at her. She was...apologizing? To him?! For something Lou did that she didn't even do?! ...He stared at her for a moment, but a little voice whispered: But Lou doesn't pick just any sideliner to just make googoo eyes over. Something must be horrific about her to earn her a spot on leafboy's arm. So he looked away with a scoff. "....You came and you got what you wanted. But I suggest if you don't want to end up like this-" He pointed a hand to the eye patch he wore."- I would advise you to get as far from him as possible...while you still can that is." She stood there but looked down again. "O-Oh. I see." An awkward silence filled the air and she took a shaky breath. She guessed it was time for her to go now. So she took a step to the door. "T-Thank you for your time. I-Im sorry to have bothered you, Charles." He still didn't look at her when she opened the door. "Just...don't say I didn't warn you. Good luck. Hell knows you'll need it." She didn't say anything else when she stumbled out the door, regaining her balance and taking a deep breath- Coughing from the smoke and alcohol smell. Well....She couldn't be too upset. That's what she told herself when she began making her way back to where she hoped Disease would still be, not pushing very hard or fast anymore since she wasn't in a hurry, but the sounds and lights didn't bug her much this time. She still coughed though. Her mind was almost a blank and everything was a blur around her as her mind still revolved around what just happened and mixed feelings were still revolving around her head...No wonder the two hated each other, but...She didn't know. Her head still couldn't make heads or tails of one thing. Lou...hadn't hurt anyone as far as she knew? Yes there WAS something definately behind those red eyes she should be worried about...But there WAS something else. She didn't know what but when he spoke she always felt like, he was telling the truth. Maybe not the whole truth all the time, but if there was one thing he always was it was honest. Since when was anyone honest with her? It was more than she could say for everyone else. And it's not like he could've wanted anything from her. What could she have had that made her even worth his time?...Which was a good question she still needed to answer. But for now, she had gotten most of what she needed to decide- Something grabbed and on instinct she whirled around and brought a hand up-....Only to stop when a hair of slitted snakes eyes and a frown stared up at her. "Didn't I tell you to ssstay with me?! Do you know how much trouble we both could've been in?" Her fear quickly went away and she sighed. "I-...Im sorry. I just...wanted to look around f-for..." "For Rita or someone." He narrowed his eyes flicking his tongue. "And DID you find someone?" "Yes." He blinked. Mildly surprised she wasn't trying to deny it like most people, but she frowned. "But I didn't find out anything I wanted to know." She wasn't lying. She wanted to hear good news. Maybe he got sent to hell for merely gambling or maybe something like that. She wanted to find that out. Not what she was told. Disease stared at her for a few more seconds. Tongue flicking out then back in...before he smiled in satisfaction. She wasn't lying. "That's the ssstuff I wanna here. Now you're coming back with me. And try not to wonder off like a lost sheep this time."

All characters except Amalfia belongs to @palettepainter

[cruelangelstheses]

the whirlwind girl

fandom: six of crows rating: T characters: inej, nina words: 2.1k additional tags: modern au with magic, first meetings, sexual harassment, could be read as platonic or romantic description: when a drunk man hits on inej at a bar, a stranger comes to her rescue. a/n: HIIII i wrote this for the @sixofcrowszine which has now been shipped so i can post!!! i don’t have much to say except that this book absolutely enraptured me and i love nina and inej and their interactions with each other so !! girls <3 inspired by that prompt that’s like “you were being hit on at a bar so i pretended to be your partner to get them to go away”

read it on ao3

—

Inej isn’t sure why she’s even here.

She’s never been a fan of clubs or bars or similar establishments, especially not at night—too loud, bursting full with people whose inhibitions are hindered by alcohol. Besides, she’s just finished performing, and while the roar of a crowd cheering for her is much different from a bunch of random drunks, it still counts as being around people, and it drains her just the same. She prefers to spend her evenings curled up with a book or hanging out with a couple of close friends, not out late partying.

The whole reason she even came into the Crow Club in the first place is because she knows someone who works here, a funny and good-natured—if reckless—young man named Jesper, who spends about the same amount of time gambling during his off-hours as he does bartending during his shifts. Unfortunately for Inej, it turns out that Jesper, for once in his life, actually isn’t here tonight, even though he’s always here on Saturday nights. According to the current bartender, a slightly older man that Inej doesn’t recognize, he’s on a date, of all things, with a boy named Wylan. Perhaps she’ll text him about it later and ask how it went.

She’s happy for him, of course, but this also means that she has no business being at the Crow Club, so now she’s sitting awkwardly at the bar with a virgin pina colada in hand. She rarely drinks alcohol; she always needs to feel sharp, like the edge of a fresh blade. She knows she could just pay and leave, but it feels weird; she just got here. Maybe she’ll sit and people-watch for another ten or fifteen minutes, then slip out.

As this thought crosses her mind, Inej watches as a stocky, sweaty-looking man, already clearly inebriated, enters the casino...and immediately plops down onto the empty barstool beside her.

Inej takes a sip of her drink and stares down into the glass, pretending to be incredibly interested in its contents, but it does nothing to stop the man from leaning over and saying, “Saw your performance.” His breath smells of cheap whiskey, and Inej has to stop herself from wrinkling her nose.

“Did you, now?” she says without looking at him. Inej works the same job she’s always worked: she performs with her parents as a small troupe of traveling acrobats. Despite their occupation being somewhat unconventional in this day and age—circuses and such just don’t get as much traction as they used to—they manage fairly well. Besides, Inej lives for the thrill of the high wire.

“I did,” the man replies. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him grinning like a wild dog. “Impressive, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you.” Inej drums her fingernails nervously against the glass and takes another sip. She can feel her butterfly knife up against her hip, but using it might get her kicked out of the Crow Club—which wouldn’t be a huge loss, really, except that she’d hardly ever get to see Jesper. She already doesn’t see him very often since she travels so much. Or maybe pulling a knife on a guy wouldn’t make a difference here; it’s far from the nicest place in Ketterdam, and Ketterdam is far from the nicest city in Kerch.

Unexpectedly, the man slings an arm around Inej’s shoulders. “What do you say to showing me a few more tricks, hmm?”

This is why Inej doesn’t like bars.

“Um.” She clears her throat, squirming slightly. “No, thank you. Uh, my parents wouldn’t be pleased.”

The man licks his lips. His eyes gleam with bad intentions. “Who says your parents have to know, huh?”

Before Inej can say or do anything else, a brown-haired whirlwind of a girl she’s never seen before marches up to them and says in Kerch, “Hey! Hands off my girlfriend!”

Inej can feel her face heating up. Either this girl has the wrong person, or she knows exactly what she’s doing.

The man narrows his eyes in confusion and reluctantly pulls his arm away from Inej. The girl, pale and curvaceous with bright green eyes, puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head in disbelief. “Honestly. I leave for five minutes to go to the bathroom and come back to find that someone thinks he can just put his hands all over her. I mean, have some damn respect!” At that, she points an accusatory finger at the man.

Alright. It’s definitely the latter.

“I, uh, didn’t realize she was taken,” he says as he looks the girl up and down. “But hey,” he adds with a sly grin, “the more the merrier, right?”

The girl groans. “Classic,” she mutters under her breath. Putting a hand on the man’s upper arm, she leans in and says, quiet but firm, “We’re not interested.”

The man’s eyelids start to droop. Then, a second later, he passes out face-first onto the counter. A few people turn to look in their direction, and the girl feigns concern, gesturing helplessly to the man. “I think he had too much to drink,” she says, which is probably true, to be fair. One of the bouncers sighs and wanders over to grab him.

Inej watches them in silence. It’s not until the bouncer and the unconscious man are completely out of earshot that she turns to the girl that rescued her and says, not unkindly, “You’re a Heartrender.”

The girl hops up onto the barstool previously inhabited by the drunk man. “That I am,” she says quietly, so as not to be heard by the wrong set of ears. Suddenly she’s speaking in perfect Suli instead of Kerch, perhaps to make Inej more comfortable. “But more importantly, I’m the girl who just saved your ass.” She shrugs. “I thought maybe I could get him to leave you alone without having to use my power, but then he got creepier, so I just kind of said ‘fuck it’ and lowered his heart rate enough to make him pass out.”

Inej laughs a little at that. “I bet that’s useful,” she replies.

“Oh, yeah,” the girl agrees, “but I’m also persecuted for it, so...you win some, you lose some, I guess.” She says it casually, but Inej can hear the bitterness behind it.

Inej isn’t a Grisha, but she is Suli, and she knows well the feeling of persecution. “I understand,” she says softly. “And...thank you.” She could’ve handled it—at least, that’s what she tells herself—but she appreciates the gesture, more than she can properly express.

“It’s nothing,” the girl replies, but the faint pink in her cheeks tells a different story. “I have a lot of experience dealing with men like that. I figured I might as well help you out.” She holds her hands up defensively. “Not that I don’t think you could’ve handled it yourself, but…”

Inej shakes her head in understanding. “No, I get it,” she says. “I’m good with a knife, but I didn’t want to use it unless I felt like I had to.”

The girl’s eyes gleam with interest at that. “Nice. Oh!” she says, looking as though she just remembered something important. “I just realized I never even introduced myself. I’m Nina. You’re Inej, right? Inej Ghafa? I know you from your performances. I’ve seen some videos of you and your family online.”

“Really?” Inej says. For some reason, it still surprises her whenever people tell her that they know her from the internet. She didn’t think her family was that popular.

“Of course,” Nina replies. “You guys are really phenomenal.”

Before Inej can come up with an appropriate response to the compliment, she feels her phone buzzing in her pocket. Pulling it out, she chuckles at the name displayed: Mama. “Speaking of my family,” she says to Nina. “Let’s see if I can even hear her over all this Saints-forsaken noise.”

Nina crosses her fingers in support as Inej answers the phone and puts it up to her ear. “Hello?”

On the other end, she can just faintly hear her mother asking her where she is.

“I’m at the Crow Club, Mama,” she says. “I was looking for Jesper, but he’s not here, so I’m coming back to the room now.”

Seemingly satisfied with that response, her mother wishes her safety on the walk back to the hotel and hangs up.

“Sorry,” she says to Nina, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “I should probably be going. I was planning on leaving soon anyway when that guy came over.”

“That’s okay,” Nina says, hopping off the barstool. “I was thinking of heading out soon, too.”

Inej sets some kruge down on the counter for the bartender, then follows Nina out the door and into the cool night air.

“Hey,” Nina says as they stand outside the club, watching cars go by. “Would you want to—I don’t know—keep in touch?” She blushes as she says it, which doesn’t seem standard for her. “I know we didn’t talk for long, but I’m not from Kerch, so I don’t have many friends here, and you seem like a really cool person. I know you travel a lot, but…” She trails off and shrugs.

There’s still that part of Inej that warns her to exercise caution, that just because Nina helped her once doesn’t mean she’s “safe” yet. Deep down, though, Inej can feel the goodness in her. She saw a stranger in trouble and immediately leapt to her defense, even though it could’ve ended badly, even though she could’ve exposed herself as a Grisha in a potentially hostile environment. The least Inej can do is allow herself to trust her, just a little, just enough.

“That would be nice,” Inej says, pulling her phone back out. “I can give you my phone number, and you can give me yours.”

Nina’s face lights up, and Inej knows that this is the right decision. “Great!”

They exchange phones and plug their names and numbers into each other’s contact lists. When Inej gets her phone back, she sees that Nina’s surname is Zenik. It flows nicely, like a stream unobstructed by rocks or logs: Nina Zenik. Nina Zenik.

“Hmm.” Nina taps her chin thoughtfully. “I was going to offer to walk you back to wherever you’re staying, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m mothering you or think you can’t handle yourself. But it’s also a late night in Ketterdam, and that’s dangerous for anyone, let alone a young woman walking by herself. Me as well as you.”

Inej would be lying if she said she didn’t feel at least a twinge of anxiety walking the streets of Ketterdam alone at night. Staring down at the new number in her contacts, an idea presents itself to her.

“We could talk on the phone as we walk back to our places,” she says. “That way you can make sure that I’m safe, and I can make sure that you’re safe. Then, if something were to happen to one of us, the other one would know.”

A flash of what looks like relief crosses Nina’s face before she quickly covers it up. “Good idea.”

Nina’s apartment is, of course, in the opposite direction of Inej’s hotel, so they go their separate ways until they’re out of each others’ earshot, and then Inej calls Nina.

“Wow, I haven’t heard from you in forever,” Nina says.

Inej laughs. “I know. Such an agonizingly long thirty seconds.”

It takes Inej about fifteen minutes to walk to the hotel, during which she learns that the reason Nina is in Ketterdam is because she’s studying abroad for a semester, and that she’s currently attending Os Alta University to be a translator. She tells Inej funny college stories, and Inej tells her crazy stories about her travels in return. Strangely enough, Nina’s voice actually grounds her rather than distracts her. It keeps her mind in the moment so that she never has a chance to get lost in her own head. She doesn’t usually let her mind drift when she’s out and about in a large city, but with Nina, the odds are even lower. It’s comforting. Her voice is a guiding light.

Nina arrives at her apartment first, but she stays on the line with Inej, who reaches the hotel about five minutes later. Standing outside the front doors, Inej promises to keep in touch with the whirlwind girl who bounced into her life so suddenly less than an hour ago. When they finally hang up, her chest feels light.

[darling-i-read-it]

City Corner Part 2

Mob/Mafia!AU Series

Link to Part 1

Leonardo DiCaprio x reader, Jake Gyllenhaal x reader, Hugh Grant x reader

Margot Robbie, Jodie Comer, Tim Roth, Colin Firth, Timothee Chalamet, Dacre Montgomrey, Natalia Dyer, Saoirse Ronan, Lana Del Rey are also included

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Gambling, mentions of addiction, alcohol, insinuations to smut

Author’s Note: Again, I’ve casted these people as characters and used their names! I got a lot of feedback on the last one so I’m hoping y’all like this enough for me to continue it!

Summary: The reader goes to the casino to see if there is a marriage happening. Saoirse and Lana chat.

Genre: mafia, which is now a genre

(not my gif)

Your headache wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be when you woke up the next morning. You could see your light was still on and your phone was beeping. Not an alarm, probably a text message. You moved your hair out of your face, took a drink of the water bottle by your bed and sat up straight. You shrugged off your jacket from last night and grabbed your phone. It shined light in your face and in front of the picture of Leonardo was a few texts from Natalia.

You had met Natalia through Leo, as you had met everyone on the city corner. You knew, because he was a middle ground, you could see either family without repercussions but you had a soft spot for the twin Firths. They were your and Leo’s age.

‘Hey can you do me a favor?’

You slid open the text and looked through the few things that were there. She had sent you a few instructions to head over to the casino and scope out if Leo was really marrying Jodie Firth. It wasn’t the first you had heard of the arranged marriage. Leo had told you when you had broken up.

You would be lying if you said that you wouldn’t mind going to the casino and meeting the famous Roths. Natalia just wanted you to scope out, see if either of the sisters were there and maybe make some friends. You texted her back, voicing your worry because you had been dating Leo and they may have heard of you.

She recommended you bring someone that has nothing to do with the business so through them off the scent. You got up and threw your phone on the bed, getting into a comfier outfit. You would head there tonight when you had a better chance at being lost in the crowd. After changing you let Natalia know that you would go.

You called Saorise after that but she didn’t pick up. You let out a long sigh. She either had left without letting you know or she was sleeping in. You figured it was the first part. But you did call Jake to see if she had stayed over.

“Heyo,” he said, voice awake. He stayed up all night and still sounded the most attentive than anyone you had ever met. You figured he would need to be aware of everything that went on in his bar.

“Hey Jake, have you seen Saorise?” you asked, looking through your closet to find an outfit for the night. Something simple and not stand outish. You ignored the fact that Leo had bought you most of these outfits.

“Not since she left last night. I got her a cab, she said she had an early morning. Gone again?” You took a breath.

“As it seems. Thanks Jake I appreciate it. I’ll see you,” you said absentmindedly. You held up two dresses and held them up to your body, trying to decide which one was better.

“Coming to the bar tonight?” he asked.

“I got plans. Don’t let anybody drink out of my glass though, it may be a long night,” you said with a smile.

“Your glass will be waiting.” You hung up and looked at the door.

“Someone who isn’t in the business..” you muttered to yourself. That was hard enough considering everyone here was in either an addict or part of the drug ring. You put down the two dresses and walked to the door. You knocked on your neighbors door.

He opened within a few seconds, hair messy and looking just as he had when you woke him up last night. You felt kind of bad for that.

“Hugh are you busy tonight?” you asked, leaning against the door. He admired the fact you had swapped the fish nets for slacks. He was probably the only person other than Leo who had seen you in anything other than work attire in the corner. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t think so. Why?” You smiled.

“Would you like to go to the casino with me? We can grab some drinks there, they’re supposed to be better than Jakes but I still think that's bull.” His smile was charming. You had only had Leo in mind for so long it was nice to be enchanted by someone else for once.

But thinking about Leonardo still made your heart ache.

“What do I wear?” he asked. You shrugged.

“Whatever you think would be appropriate. I’ll pick you up at 8?” He nodded and you went back to your apartment.

---()()()()()()()---

Saorise sat across from Lana, watching her cigarette smoke float above her. She ignored your phone call, eyes trained on the girl across from her.

“You aren’t really letting Leo marry a Roth were you?” Her legs were crossed, the suit she was wearing pristine and the gun on her hip was ready to be used if it was needed. Lana shrugged, taking the smoke out of her mouth. She was wearing the same large featherly white coat that she wore last night but her hair was a little more everywhere due to things that she had done in the dark hours.

“I have no say in what my little brother does,” she said smoothly. Saorise rolled her eyes.

The DiCaprios lived in the hidden part of the apartments, the very top. There weren't many people who knew they were there but because Saorise and Lana were the few people in the middle of the warring families Saorise was aware of where they were at most times.

“But you know he still loves Y/N. Not Jodie.” Lana took a deep breath.

“I’m aware and again, I can’t control him.” She could and she did. Both girls were aware of this. There was no point in arguing. Saorise stood and grabbed her coat off the chair.

“I think she’s going to see Jodie. Eventually, she’ll need it.” Lana nodded.

“Don’t let them see each other. It wont turn out well Saorise.”

“I can’t control her.”

---()()()()()()()---

Margot was sitting at the bar at 9 that night when the casino had just started to pick up. She was drinking the drink named after her, a spiky red one that was a customer favorite for its flavor and its look. He surveyed the room, eyes catching the window where her dad probably was.

He was likely doing the same thing she was. Looking for someone to trick or someone that had plans to trick them. There was always the wonder of when the Firths were going to strike so being attentive was her job, not her sisters. Although Jodie was on the floor that night, unusually.

She was sitting beside her sister, drinking the drink named after her. The Jodie was fruity and tropical. Their dad had made both drinks for a happy medium when they were slinking around. Jodie didn’t drink hers often but tonight she was trying to make amends.

“Nothing ever happens down here,” the youngest said. She took a sip of the drink, pink lips curling around the twisty straw. Margot sighed.

“You have to wait sister.” They had made up tentatively but that was siblinghood. They may hate each other but it was also them against the world. Jodie had a knife in the stocking of her dress and Margot had a gun on the strap under her big coat.

At the same time they sat there, you approached the bar with Hugh by your side. You were laughing, feigning laughter, as you watched Jodie and Margot survey the room. You sat beside the older sister, looking over the menu.

The casino was bigger than it looked it had taken you ten minutes to find the bar.

“I think I’ll get...the Margot please,” you said with a flashing smile at him. Margot raised an eyebrow at the sound of her drink being ordered behind her. She turned on the spinny chair, meaning to make an entrance.

“It's the best on the menu,” she told you. In the back of her mind she was aware that she had seen you and that green sparkly dress somewhere before but she figured it was that you had been in the casino before. Something like that.

You gave her a smile, a genuine one. Easy enough.

“I’ve heard. You’re Margot right? The drink was made for you?” you asked as though you didn’t know. Hugh was sitting beside you, watching the interaction with closed eyes. You didn’t tell him what you were here for. He hadn’t known everything that was going on in the corner and you didn’t want to drag him into this.

“Yeah. My sister, Jodie. And you are?”

“Y/N and this is Hugh.” The name sent signals in Jodies head. Y/N. She almost dragged Margot away to tell her who you were but she waited to see if she was going to lash out or not. She waited with an oblivious look she had gotten good at feigning.

“Nice to meet you. Great taste in alcohol.”

“Well they do let you pick your poison.”

It was at that moment that Leonardo had entered the equation. He was to busy worrying about Jodie when he approached the couple of you at the bar. He hadn’t had a proper date with her yet and he figured it was time. He hadn’t even seen you until he was a few feet away and you were to be trained on the sisters to notice him.

“Leo! Darling I’m glad you could make it,” Jodie said with a smile. She was curious to see how you were going to react. You grabbed Hughs hand the moment you saw your ex. He was caught up in that green dress he had bought you.

“Oh hello. Margot, Jodie.” He paused, taking you and Hugh in. “Y/N. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure…”

“Hugh,” Hugh said shaking Leo’s hand. You gave him a strained smile.

“You know Hugh I think we should grab some pizza. I don’t want to get to drunk. It was nice meeting you both and seeing you.” Your cover had been blown with Leo here. You had to get out.

“We just got he-”

“You shouldn’t have to gain a gambling addiction on my behalf. Plus I hear the pizza place is good have you been?” You were already up and dragging him away. Margot raised an eyebrow, taking your drink that you hadn’t touched.

“I can’t believe she was here,” Jodie muttered to Margot who nodded.

“You love birds have fun. I have to talk to dad.” She took your drink with her.

---()()()()()()---

“Please stop putting pepperoni on the pizza. There is no need for that much pepperoni on anything,” Dacre argued to his little sister. She was still wearing her ballet outfit from practice and because it was getting late she was hungry for the dinner she had skipped.

“You don’t have to fight my on what I put on my pizza. There is no need to fight me,” she said with a playful smile. The double doors swang open and Dacre turned from sitting on the counter to see you and Hugh walking in.

“Dacre, Natalia, this is Hugh, Hugh, Dacre Natalia. They’re together,” you said, leaning against the counter.

“Dacre and Natlia are together?” Hugh asked and you raised a hand, shushing him. Dacre took a deep breath.

“I’ll have to tell my dad. This isn’t good.”

“Maybe Timmy can marry Saorise.” You chuckled.

“If you think she will ever be married you are sorely-” you started but stopped, looking at Hugh who looked confused. “I have to go home. Can we get a piece of pizza?” You asked, out of breath and tired looking. Natalia gave you each a piece and Dacre was on the phone with Colin when you stepped out again.

“Why are there so many pieces of pepperoni?” Hugh asked. You chuckled, trying not to think about Leo and Jodie. Hugh made it easier.

“All the things that have happened and you just want to know about the pepperoni?” you asked, bewildered. He shrugged, taking a bite. It was a short walk back to the apartments.

“I figured you didn’t want to talk about the rest. Or you couldn’t. I don’t know.” You took a bite of your piece.

“Thank you Hugh. I know tonight isn’t what you expected and everything. I’m sorry, I just needed someone to be there with me.” He nodded, shoving his free hand in his pocket and finishing the last few pieces. You walked up the stairs to your rooms.

You stood in front of your respective doors, staring at each other.

“I can’t come in,” he muttered. You nodded, looking at your hands.

“Next time maybe?” you asked. He nodded and opened his door, walking in, leaving you in the hallway. You dug out your key from your pocket and stared at them, at the door.

And then walked back down the stairs.

---()()()()()()()---

Jake poured your drink the second you walked in.

“Hey princess. Rough night?” The bar wasn’t empty. There was a lot of people at the counter, talking and arguing but he had kept an eye out for you. You walked to the side of the counter and moved the little door open, walking behind the counter.

“You could say that.”

You pulled Jake to you and connected your lips together harshly.

‘My mascara is dry now Saorise, you always have the best advice.’

Part 3

[erintoknow]

the glass labyrinth

fallen hero fanfiction time; i think this clocks in at the second longest singular fanfic i’ve written oof. ~7.1k words [ao3]

this might be easier to read on AO3 where it’s broken into chapters. :v

–––

Take a breath, hold it, let it out. You are not Ariadne Becker. Not here. Not now. You are Adrestia, your suit the color of empty void reflecting no light, cape drawn tight around your shoulders further obscuring your form. Only the mirrored treatment of your helmet betrays you as still human. Still needing to see, still needing to be seen.

Your first goal is to secure the regenerator of course. The miracle device that could be your best ticket out of the mess you’ve dug yourself into. There it is, behind glass, under watchful eye. So close. Two parts to contend with. A central core housing the experimental technology and on a  pedestal beside in a too-plain looking briefcase. The schematics to assemble the rest of the unit.

What will the finished product look like? Baptismal font or casket?

“Adrestia. Imagine, meeting you here.”

You turn and there’s a moment of disorientation. Since when are you as tall as Dr. Mortum? – You aren’t Jane. Mortum’s expression is cold but polite. You have to assume she knows that you know about her attempts to get Jane to quit. Her plans to do the same. What’s her play here?

You give a slight bow, and mimic the cold curtesy in her voice. “Dr. Mortum.”

“It occurs to me that this is the first we have met in person.”

You spread your arms wide, twirling your fingers. “And now we have. Am I everyth–thing you hoped for, doctor?”

There’s a brief flash of annoyance and then Mortum regains control of her poker face. “You’ve been taking good care of the armor, I see.”

“You did good w–work.”

“I… you’re welcome?” She hadn’t expected that.

Maybe you can still salvage this. Get her back on your side. You let your arms drop to your sides. “Look, I’m… sorry.”

“Sorry?” The confusion is plain in her voice. “For what?”

“I…” You laugh, then cut yourself off with a wince. The voice filter warps everything. “I th–think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Dr. Mortum’s expression hardens, her eyes narrowing. “If you’ve hurt her–”

“Her? Oh.” Shit. This might have backfired. “Doctor, I would never hurt her.”

Does she believe you? You wouldn’t, coming from someone that looks and sounds like you do. This was a mistake. Reaching out is always a mistake. When will you learn?

“So you say,” Dr Mortum confirms your fear. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” She turns away from you, slips past the gawkers come to check out the auction items ahead of time. You move to follow after her but the crowd doesn’t exactly leap out of your way.

You haven’t exactly been making friends either within Los Diablos’s self-proclaimed ‘villain’ community. Just because you’re all on the wrong side of law now… it doesn’t make you allies. And how many remember Sidestep? You’d swear you recognize a few faces, a few suits. Is that Sharkinator at the bar? You’d recognize the sharkhands anywhere. There’s a blast from the past. When did he get out of Prison?

Are you imagining the eyes burning a hole in the back of your head or are you really being watched? The Boulevard Casino is coated in the hum of telepathic dampeners, a hissing static beyond hearing. If it wasn’t for the physical proximity of the Rat-King, slipping it’s telepathic presence between you and the hum like a shield you’d already be clutching your head in a migraine by now.

Would sneaking in have been better? There’s no point wondering now. You don’t need to worry about evading cameras and security this way. Dampeners, radio jammers, cameras, good old fashioned armed men in fancy suits. Hollow Ground’s security is not messing around.

That’s fine, neither are you.

There’s a pressure on your attention, an urging from the Rat-King. You let it turn you, guide your sight. A woman moving through the crowd, tall, taller still by the antlers spiraling up from a helmet in the shape of an antelope skull. She’s armored, head to foot. Brown faux-leather, almost certainly masking proper armor underneath by the bulk of the thing. Gloved hands hide her skin. Her boots are made up to look like cloven hooves that add to her stature. 

Not exactly a practical outfit.

Why is the Rat-King pushing you towards her? The dampeners prevent that. Wait, is that.. Oryx? Small time hitman. Or… hitwoman, you suppose. Was supposed to have fled town awhile ago after a job turned bad. Not that you would have had anything to do with that, of course. You don’t have the time in the day to personally meddle in everyone’s illegal business.

Something… isn’t right with her though. Her movement is… too smooth? Or not smooth enough. Like she doesn’t belong here. Is she going to be trouble? You need this to go off perfectly, you can’t afford any potential complications.

It’s not hard to pick out her path. She’s sticking to the walls, you could intercept her, pull her into an empty side-room before she reaches the auction hall.

No one even bats an eye as you step out from behind the curtain and grab Oryx by the shoulders, pull her backwards into the room. She grunts, elbows you in the stomach to get free and drops into a combat stance as you step backwards.

You raise your arms, try to control your heart rate. That snarl, the way she balances herself, positions her arms. Jesus christ, it’s Argent behind that mask isn’t it? Just your fucking luck. If she has any sanity she won’t risk a fight here. Not under Hollow Ground’s nose. “I d–don’t want a fight.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

“It’s– it’s easier to to talk in private, w–wouldn’t you say…” You incline your head, exaggerating to make the gesture visible through your helmet, “Argent?” Fuck, you need to get it under the control. Adrestia can’t stutter.

There’s silence, and then Argent crosses her arms with a small laugh. “You’re always the worst.”

You put your arms down, “I’d say the same about you.”

“Well? What do you want?”

“I hope you’re not here for my sake.” What on earth is Argent doing here? Are the Rangers involved? They’re hardly at full strength, would they seriously try to bust something this big? It would be a disaster.

“What is this? Fishing for compliments?” She leans in, “You aren’t nearly that important.”

You put a hand to your chest and laugh, “You wound me.”

“Easy to do.”

You elect to ignore that, “You’re hardly the type for fancy parties. Though…” You tap the chin of your helmet, “I suppose you are better d–dressed this time?”

“Excuse me?”

“It suits you.”

Argent’s voice goes low and cold. “What does that mean.”

Shit, what do you mean? You wave a hand, “Never mind, it’s not important.” You can feel her eyes on you under the mask. “W–w–why are you here?”

Argent doesn’t move, unnaturally still. “Personal business.”

“That business is…?”

“Not yours.”

You huff. It’s an active effort to maintain eye contact even shield as you are. But you don’t dare look away. “So, then who else of your little friends are lurking around here? Who can I expect to find Ortega dressing up as?”

“I don’t need them.” Evasive, obviously, but what kind of evasive?

“Or…” You cross your arms, drum your fingers against your arm. “You don’t want them to know…?”

She shrugs, breaks eye contact. Damn, got it in one. “If you say so. What, you think you can blackmail me about it?”

“Oh, please,” You laugh, “They’d never believe me.” Argent’s already a known loose cannon. And there’s too many ‘heroic’ reasons you could trot out to excuse it. It wouldn’t even be hard.

“That’s true,” Argent shifts position, “Ortega has a lot of faith in her friends.”

You find yourself agreeing. “Too much.” Why can’t she see you for what you are? How can she want that? Care about –that–?

“Hrmm…” Argent steps closer, “must be lonely, not having a team.”

You stay put, ready for any sudden movement. “I’m better off alone.”

“Is that so?” She tilts her head down towards you.

“Other people always let you d–down,” you don’t bother trying to filtering the bitterness out of your voice. Let the distortion do that. “Even if they don’t– don’t want to.” The only person you can trust in the end is yourself. If even that.

“I’m not talking about forever,” she snorts, “just tonight. To stay out of each other’s business.”

“A t–truce?” you ask, incredulous. She seriously doesn’t want a fight then. Just what is Lady Argent doing sneaking into a black market auction hosted by the city’s criminal kingpin? What could any Ranger want here?

And how can you use this to your advantage?

“You’re seriously suggesting a truce?” You repeat.

“For now.”

Like hell are you going to let her escape your sight. “Oh r–really now?” You offer her a arm, “then let me be your escort f–for the evening.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“It’s… n–not a joke.” Your let your arm awkwardly drop.

“You’re serious.”

“Easier to–” might as well try honesty, “–to keep an eye on each other that way.”

“…fine.” 

“S–so you accept?” You offer your arm again.

“Don’t make me regret this.” Argent sighs, and takes your arm. “Where are we going?”

You laugh, sharp and nervous. No idea what that sounds like on other end of the distorters. Hopefully something more confident than what you’re feeling right now. “W–w–where else would we go? The auction.”

Will you ever escape the path that was laid out for you? When you were Sidestep you fought against boosts and mods that stepped outside the law. Fought to uphold the very system that had enabled your creation and mistreatment.

Now you’re on the other side of the coin and you’re still pulling on what they taught you. Spying, lying… You let your gaze dance across the room take-in and evaluate. Who might cause trouble? Who can you push? Who to avoid? Thirteen years on and what has really changed for you?

You can never get out. Not really. 

Argent stands at your side, dressed as a two-bit murder. It doesn’t seem right. You were wrong, it doesn’t suit her at all. What does she want here so badly she’d lower herself like this? The worry is wriggling like a leech at the back of your mind. At this point there’s not a lot more you can do. Either it becomes clear and you deal with it, or it doesn’t and it never matters.

What does matter is making sure no other surprises catch you unawares. Surprises like–

“Shit.” You whisper.

Argent jerks her head in your direction, shoulders tense. “What?”

No point playing this close to your chest. You had done some research via Jane and Dr. Mortum after your first encounter. Mortum had promised to look into it further once the auction was over but… This isn’t something Argent deserves to run into un-forewarned. “Over there, against the wall.” You quickly gesture with an arm, trying not to look like you’re pointing. “The woman in white and red?”

Argent shifts around to hide looking. “Yeah?”

“Shroud.”

“Who?”

“Ember’s enforcer from San Francisco.”

“Ember…” She growls. Not the reaction you had expected. You have to grab her arm to keep her still. “Stay clear of her. She touches someone, they die. Apparently.”

“Oh.” She steps back into place, looks back at you. “Thank… you…?”

What does Lord Ember want so bad he’d send risk sending one of his scariest agents away to collect it? You really hope it’s not what you’re thinking. 

Who are you kidding, you’re not that lucky.

“Why warn me?” Argent stands a little too close for comfort.

“Uh…” Why did you? “Just– just because we’re enemies, it d–doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

“Hrm.” You’re not sure what to make of that, and Argent doesn’t elaborate.

“This is… awkward, r–really.” You confess.

“What?”

“Trading quips in a fight w–was easier than this.” You don’t look at her, watch the crowd, the stage. The auction is well under way at this point. Nothing particular amazing just yet. You keep an eye on the countdown timer ticking away at the corner of your Heads-Up Display. Not much longer until showtime.

She keeps shifting her weight back and forth. That’s why you don’t wear high heels to a standing event, honey. You learned that the hard way as Jane. “It’s easier to judge someone in a fight.”

You glance over at her and she freezes up. Huh. That’s a switch. “And so what’s your judgement on me, then?”

“Jury’s out.” She raises a hand as if to fling back her hair and then stops, tries to turn it into a dismissive hand gesture but there’s no saving that one. “But… I haven’t killed you yet.”

“Not for lack of trying.” You’ve had some close calls those last few fights before you buckled down on this project. God knows you’ve done enough to her, if anyone deserves first shot at taking you out, it’s Lady Argent.

“Oh please. I have been playing.”

“Why?”

Argent sighs, turns her head to focus on the stage instead of you. “I have fun, I guess.” She shrugs. “Fighting you, I mean.”

“I… huh.” If things weren’t awkward before, they are now. Hasn’t she figured it out yet? Who really possessed her? Well, you’re not about to come clean now. Not here, not when you’re so close.

Dr. Mortum’s ‘disintegration’ ray comes up on the stage next, packed into a very fancy clear case. Jane had put in some overtime helping Mortum raise money, liquidate assets, finding buyers… but did the doctor have enough? Even if she does… even at the starting bid, that’s going to hurt her.

You could – you could bid against her, drive the price up even higher. You know more or less what her limit is and you’ve got way more than that to play with. You only needed the money to get inside, she needs it to stay in business. And to potentially turn against you.

Or… or you could try to buy it for her, as a gift? The gun clearly has some sentimental value to her beyond the scientific, she’s said as much. Would gifting it help change her mind? Or would she view it as a bribe? See it for what it was: you trying to buy her respect?

The bidding slowly climbs, and Mortum stays in the game as it goes. Maybe… you should stay out of this one. There’s too many variables. Too many risks. 

You’ll only step in if Mortum gets outbid. There. That’s as good a compromise as any.

The bidding ends up in a war between Mortum and woman in a business suite far in the back. You tense up, but no, the woman ultimately folds. Dr. Mortum wins her gun back at a very pretty penny. Good for her. Hopefully this won’t come back to bite you in the ass.

The countdown on your HUD chimes. Getting into the final moments now. You glance to your side to check on Argent and – she’s gone. Fuck! When did that happen? While you were focused on Mortum’s lot? Damn it. There’s no time to track her down now.

As soon as time hits zero, the bomb you rigged on the power substation for the block will go off. Power to the whole block of the city will go down. The casino is bound to have back-up generators but enough to power the whole security system? Dampeners are not energy efficient. 

Looks like they’re putting the Regenerator up on stage next. Well, that’s handy. You won’t have to dig around backstage to find it then.

The Regenerator… One-of-a-kind prototype. The company responsible immediately shut-down and all their equipment confiscated. And what can it do? Perfect regeneration. The only way to remove your tattoos is to cut deep enough into the skin, practically flay yourself alive. Even if you lived, you’d be crippled, horrifically scared at best.

But with the regenerator in your hands and fully functioning…

Well, it’d be a whole lot easier than trying to overturn the United States Government.

Final count down now. Then showtime. Breath in, hold, exhale.

5…

You’re not scared. You’re Adrestia.

4…

It’s like leaning out of a window, watching the street below.

3–

A bright flash and a piercing boom rock the auction hall and the crowd cries out in a panic. Your helmet visor dims but not quick enough and the eyes hurt like hell, after images swimming across your vision. Shit! Fuck! You stumble into someone in front of you and they shove you back.

Someone else is robbing the Auction Hall?

The lights flicker overhead before staying dark, and the weight of the dampeners pressing in on you vanishes. There we go, there’s your cue. You hum a few notes under your breath as let you mind unfold, track every panicked presence huddling together. Too much light, now not enough. People are scared. Hollow Ground’s supposed to ensure a neutral territory, and yet here’s trouble.

With the Rat-King backing you up, you reach out and wrap your song around the crowd. A jangle of discordant thoughts. The Rat-King buffers you from the worst of it as you smooth out the edges, point them towards the exit. You don’t need to nudge everyone. Just the key parts and the rest will follow or be swept along.

Everyone here is a criminal, be they boost, mod, or norm. It won’t be the end of the world if it breaks down into a mass panic. But trying to keep them calm is good practice for the next time you’re faced with civilians. There’s no need to fill up any more hospitals.

Back in the physical world you slowly push your way against the flow of the crowd. Up to the stage. The emergency lighting comes on, casting the room in grim shadows. You brace yourself for any hint of the dampeners but it doesn’t come. Good, you guessed right then. Even with back-up generators, cut off from the main grid the Boulevard Casino doesn’t have enough power to handle everything.

There’s still too many people. Hardened villains thinking about how to turn the chaos to their own advantage. Is it an attack? Earthquake? Is Hollow Ground losing their touch? How can this benefit me?

You can’t risk any interference. Reach out again, second chorus, worst than the first. Reach in deeper, into the darker spaces. It’s an incoherent barrage from a dozen different traumas and the Rat–King has to pull tight around your mind to keep you from collapsing, from reeling back in shock and snapping the connection.

You can do this. Raise the conductor’s baton, pull it all forward.

Pull them out.

Get out.

Go!

Someone screams and the rest of the crowd starts to move. No calm to it now. Well, you tried. Someone shoves you aside, and oh yeah, physical bodies are still a thing. Switch to low-light vision and the visor tints everything green as you make the rest of the way to the stage. Get back in the game Chickadee.

As you’re about to climb onto the stage, the Rat King pings your attention.

“Dr. Mortum?” You move over to her, and she takes a step back, hand falls on something on her hip. Shouldn’t be surprised the doctor would have hi-tech glasses. Try to get a read on her thoughts and it’s like grasping at a nest of eels. Multiple tracks going a mile a minute. Maybe in another setting you could pry them apart, but you can’t spare the focus now.

“Adrestia.” Her voice is cold, but shaky. Putting on a mask. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

“Goodness. Y–you think highly of me, don’t you?” You hold out your arms to the side, no hidden tricks up your sleeves. “What are you still d–doing here?”

She doesn’t relax. “Your little light show went off right when I was collecting my gun. I need to find it.”

“You’re serious.” 

“I’m not leaving without it.” She sounds serious. Must be to have resisted your mental push both times.

You shrug, try to play off your concern. “I’ve got my own business, but if I find it… I’ll keep it safe. But it won’t be any good if its owner gets herself killed tonight.”

“What are you planning?”

“Nothing.” You turn away from her. “I can’t speak for anyone else though.” You can already sense them, multiple people are on the stage. Prelude to a fight. What are the odds you can grab the regenerator and slip out while they’re busy killing each other?

Ignore the eyes staring daggers into your back as you clamber onto the stage. “Ah, fuck.” There’s a stare-down going alright. Lady Argent, still in Oryx costume is standing between Shroud and… fuck, that’s one of Hollow Ground’s men. Jake Manalo? Jane’s only encountered him briefly. He’s some kind of boost but hell if anyone can give a straight answer as to what. His thoughts are fuzzy, out of focus. Shroud’s are walled, a barrier with the sensation of metal to touch. Only Argent is readable to any extent. Damn.

Try to skirt around the edge, circle back to the regenerator. Wait. Is that Mortum’s gun on the ground? Can you you grab it without being noticed… No luck. Jake spots you, hunches his shoulders. “Adrestia, come join the party. And step away from the merchandise.”

Argent glances back towards you and everything goes to hell.

Shroud makes her move, going after Argent. Argent dodges the outstretched hand, claws slicing through her gloves as she twists to strike back. 

Fuck.

Dash across the stage, to grab Mortum’s gun, tossing the case aside like a candy wrapper. Mortum’s gun doesn’t actually kill people does it? It just… stores them for… later. That’s too handy an ace to ignore right now

Jake has left the two women to duel it out in order to chase after you. But whatever Jake’s got, he doesn’t have a powered suit with booster jets. You dash past him, dropping into a slide under his outstretched arm. You come to a stop by the Regenerator, spin on your heel and drop a knee. If you can take out Jake now, maybe you can abscond with the prize while the other two are duking it out.

How does this damn thing work? Hell, when was the last time you used any gun? There’s a light blinking on the side. Battery? As long as there’s enough charge for one shot. You’ll work out the rest later.

Someone off stage yells as you line up your shot. Hold your breath, sight, finger on the trigger… there’s a loud bang and every nerve in your body lights up in terror.

The gun drops out of your hands, clattering on the stage. How? Why? What is that thing doing here? Taller then any one else here, stretching its multiple arms, both organic and metallic up in the air. In the green haze of your low-light vision it could have stepped directly out of one of your nightmares, but no. Very much real. Very much alive. But… something isn’t right. The Catastrofiend’s movements are sluggish and while her skin was in never in great condition to begin with, it looks… wrong? Melted? Skin or clothing? There’s no seam.

Is… this where the Catastrofiend been all this time? Trapped in Dr. Mortum’s teleportation gun? Did she know that when she asked Jane for help in getting it back?

In the back of your mind the Rat-King screams at you to move.

Dive to the left and a blade stabs the ground where you were kneeling. Mortum’s gun rattles on the floor and you manage the presence of mind to grab hold of it again, clipping it back of your belt. In front of you, the Catastrofiend groans, a sickly bubbling sound as she clutches her vestigal human arms to her chest, her other 4 arms unfold and stretch out. Exposed muscle twining into metal, each limb ending in a long razor sharp blade. Like the rest of her, the blades are warped, discolored, wrong.

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

“What the fuck is this!?” Shroud yells. The Catastrofiend gurgles and turns to swipe at her. She leaps backwards, almost toppling over. 

You need to get out of here.

“It’s the goddamn Catastrofiend.” Jake snarls. At the sound of his voice, the monster turns and swipes at him too. Something… happens, Jake goes blurry and the blade passes through him like air. No time to think about what that could mean.

Argent snarls, razor claws at the ready. “How the hell did it get in here?” When the Catastrofiend turns to swipe at her, she’s ready, stepping in under the arm, slashing at the skin. Something oozes out, but it doesn’t look like blood. 

Is it responding to sound? Can she still see? How the hell long was it in there for? Mortum mentioned something about… quantum degradations right…? Your stomach twists. And you were seriously thinking of using it on someone?

With the Catastrofiend taking precedence, a truce seems to settle out. Jake, Argent, and Shroud triangulating. around her. You’ve seen the monster nearly come out on top against the entire Rangers team at their height before. It’s only a matter of time before they break ranks and run. You’ve seen the Catastrofiend survive being shot in the head, even as… wrong as it is, there’s no way the three of them are beating this.

This is your chance.

Two parts to the device, don’t forget. The briefcase gets attached to your suit’s utility belt next to Mortum’s gun. The prototype itself… it’s bulky, you’ll have to carry it with two hands. You wrap your song tight around yourself, willing the chaos to let you pass by unnoticed. In the back of your mind, you can feel the Rat-King echo you back, magnify the sentiment.

You get your hands under the rough metal edges and heave it into the air. Don’t look. Nothing to see here. Don’t look this way. The battle with the Catatstrofiend is way more pressing, isn’t it? Absolutely.

You don’t breath again until you’re well behind stage. A scattering of items that still haven’t been sold off remain, abandoned in the chaos. They’ll notice you’re gone eventually. But will they have the luxury to chase after you? Banking on your luck doesn’t seem like a smart move.

This part of the Casino is well beyond anything you got to scout in-person as Jane. You’ve spent plenty of time studying the schematics however. You can imagine the red line guiding you alone. Into the backstage hallway, hang a right, there’s a room here. Storage closet. Crouch down just outside and put the prototype aside.

Time to put the Nanovores to work, outstretching your hand against the floor, eating through metal supports and vinyl tiles until the indigestible remains of floor begin to fracture and give way. Slap the floor hard with your hand and it drops into something deeper below.

This part of town is shot through with old smuggling tunnels from the Prohibition era. Illegally dug little boltholes, cramped but big enough to fit crates of alcohol. Earthquake country means they’re near suicide to use. Which is why you spent over a week a making sure this tunnel would be usable.

Never let the enemy set the field if you can help it.

At the end of this tunnel is Rosie and the get-away truck. You’re almost there. you can do this.

Once the hole is sufficiently wide, you pick up the prototype. There’s noise coming from down the hallway. Pursuers or just echoing from the fight? You can’t tell. Doesn’t matter, it’s time to jump. A hole this time, not a window, but your heart leaps into your throat all the same.

Your booster jets dampen the fall, but the shock rattles up every joint along your legs regardless. The cart you had prepared ahead of time is right where you left it, save for a scattering of debris. You put the prototype down on the cart and sweep it clean in one motion.

Take a breath. Home stretch. Next step is to get to the first support joist and start the process of collapsing the tunnel behind you.

The tunnel is damp, and crowded, and dark dark dark. You tap on the clip-on flashlight on your utility belt, a tiny narrow cone cutting into the void. It’s not much but it gives your low-light vision something more to work with. 

The floor is lumpy, uneven. It makes pushing the cart painfully slow and uncomfortably noisy. With more time you could have smoothed out the floor, but the time constraint on planning this operation had been absurdly tight as it was. Once your far enough away you can start collapsing the tunnel behind you and it won’t–

Scratches against stone echo behind you and the Rat-king screams for you to move. Only to flinch and clutch your head under the weight of the dampeners pressing back down on you. Something runs across your back and you stagger forwards against the handle of the cart as you cry out. Turn and catch the silhouette of Oryx’s horned mask.

“Are you k–k–kidding me–” You suck in your breath as she swipes at you again, press yourself against the wall as silver claws rend the air where you had just been. Did she cut through your suit? Everything still reads green.

There’s a snarl and you throw your heads up, “Wait, wait, hold on–” If Argent could track you down here, the rest of them can’t be too far behind. “L–let’s talk?”

Argent stares you down, your flashlight bouncing off her silver frame. Shoulders hunched, hands ready to swipe.

“We had a truce.”

She doesn’t relax, but doesn’t attack either. “Only as long as it was convenient.”

“You know w–what’s inconvenient? Getting caught.” The return of the dampeners is a significant problem as well, but Argent doesn’t need to know that one. How did they get them back on so quickly? 

The tension drags out entirely too long before Argent drops her hands to her sides. “Then what are you saying?”

“If we fight here we risk them finding us, or worse, damaging this thing.” You gesture behind you. “Let’s… get out of here, then w–we can decide if we’re going to k–kill each other or whatever.”

Argent narrows her eyes, flexing her fingers. Quickest of glances behind her, an opening you don’t take. “Fine.” She sighs, “No tricks, I’ve got your number.”

Oh thank god she can be reasoned with. “Come on, help me push, it’ll go f–faster with both of us.” You move to one side, making space for Argent. She scrunches her nose up, giving you a once over and then steps up beside you, grabbing the handle. Together you trundle through the dark.

“How far?”

“A distance but–” you watch her from the side, “we’re close to a checkpoint I set up to–to–to collapse the tunnel behind me.”

She snorts. “Dangerous.”

“Y–yeah well…” try to keep the emotion out of your voice, “it’d be a bother if someone chased after.”

“Too bad for you.”

“Too bad for me.”

The two of you continue along in silence. Pushing the cart is much easier now with Argent’s help. Silence is dangerous however. Too many unanswered questions, such as: “What uh– what happened with the Catastrofiend?”

“Ran. Chased it, found you instead.”

“W–well… fuck.”

“How did that thing get in there?”

“N–n–no idea.” You lie, more than a little anxious that you can’t pick up whether she bought it or not. You still have Mortum’s gun. Should you– no, no, who knows what else might come flying out. And suppose it did work, what would you even…? No. It’s not an option.

The dampeners begin to lighten as you continue further down, gone by the time you reach a split in the passage, joists in holding up the ceiling. Small miracles. “Hold on.” You brush your head over the frame, nanovores reducing it to dust under your hand. The ceiling begins to shift and you grab the cart with Argent again. “Come on, let’s move.”

“Cute trick.”

Would it be gauche to thank her for? Does she know? This isn’t the time to risk it. You can’t bring Argent straight to Rosie. Too dangerous. No, instead, take the other path as the ceiling collapses behind you. This path ends in a brick wall, easily kicked down. 

The room on the other side is pitch black as the two of you clamber through. A basement. Old, abandoned. No sense of any other minds nearby. Once you’re above ground you can just radio Rosie. But first you have someone to deal with.

Argent lets go of the cart, turning to face you. “So we both wanted the same thing. Lucky us.” You can feel it now, without the dampeners to mask everything. She’s desperate for this.

“So…” You stall for time as you try to get a read on her thoughts. “You know what this is, w–what it can do.”

Argent hunches her shoulders, reading to move. “So do you.”

“It needs to–to be assembled.” You reach back to pat the briefcase hanging from your belt. “What, are you planning to set it up at the Rangers?”

“Don’t be absurd. This is black tech.” Argent huffs. “Even my leash has limits.”

“Leash?” You shake your head. No time to unpack that one. “W–well, I’ve got a place to assemble it safely.”

“And you know how to do that?”

“Do you?”

“Whatever, that isn’t even the biggest problem here.” Evading the question? Interesting. Argent pulls off her helmet, shaking out her silver hair with a grimace on her face. “This is.”

You take a step back, cross your arms. “W–what is?”

“Us.” Argent gestures between the two of you, “this is going to take time to bring online. Weeks… maybe?” She shakes her head. “I’m not letting it leave my sight.”

“Same.” Too much is riding on this.

Argent barks out a laugh. “Why? You already have secrets you can lord over me… you know what I did: the masquerade, breaking and entering–”

“Oh please, d–d–don’t be stupid.” You wave it away, “I know the Rangers. You could explain it all away in a heartbeat. Infiltrating a villain hangout? Retrieving black tech? They’ll give you a f–fucking medal.” Is she really that scared of being found out? Why?

“And you? What, am I supposed to just trust someone hiding behind a mask?” Her voice is razor sharp, “You’re a telepath.” You wince under your helmet. “you manipulate everyone and everything around and… I don’t even know what you would want it?”

Her thoughts are barbed, hard to read but… she wants to trust you. Doesn’t want to blow this chance. But why would she? Why would anyone trust you? Ever?

You can’t tell her who you are. Not here, not now. If you were lucky she’d just kill you. She’s earned it, certainly. More likely you’ll have to go into hiding, abandon any pretense of the civilian life you’ve slowly been reclaiming. And that’s… Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do? What keeps holding you back?

Argent is getting antsy. You need to say something before she just goes for it and attacks. Maybe you’d win, but damaging the prototype is a risk you’d rather avoid. You can’t exactly come clean about why you need it either. If she treats you with any modicum of respect now, then it’s because she’s operating under the mistaken assumption that you’re human.

The very thought of risking that, of letting it go. Of never seeing Julia again, or worse– You can feel your heartbeat quicken. Fuck. God damnnit. You’re trapped.

No matter what you do, you’re going to have to trust her with something.

Your hands are shaking as you reach up, find the clasps of your helmet. Across from you, Argent tenses up but doesn’t attack. Why the hell are you doing this? Except – she deserves to know. And what do you have left of your civilian life left at this point anyway? You knew this couldn’t last forever.

The display goes dark as you pop the helmet from the seal, disconnected from the rest of the suit. Your gut twists, a sharp pain as you struggle to keep your breathing under control. You feel sick. Unreal, like you’ve stepped outside yourself. This is such a stupid idea.

You can feel the Rat-King curl around you, trying to protect you from the danger. Joke’s on it, the biggest danger to you here is yourself.

Can barely see as you pull the helmet up, over, hold it in your hands in front of you. In this dim gloom you can’t read Argent’s face, only her mind. Quiet, struggling to process what she’s seeing. She steps toward you and you step back.

“Ariadne Becker.” If there was any doubt about her being able to see in the dark, it’s gone now. All that effort into avoiding her, and you’ve blown it in one go.

“G–got it in– in one.”

Can see her cross her arms through the gloom, shift her weight. “It wasn’t Locus, was it Ariadne?” She snarls. You can feel the fury building up in her head, leaking out through her composure. Didn’t she promise to eviscerate the person responsible?

Die now or die later, might as well jump.

“Y–yes.” You can’t look at her as you say it. “I’m sorry–”

She moves on, grabbing you by the front of your armor claws digging. Panic takes over and you drop your helmet trying to get free, only for white to explode across your vision as your head is rocked hard to the left, pain searing across the right side of your face. Her hand is the only thing holding you upright.

“Don’t you dare try apologizing to me.”

“It– it was w–wrong, I–”

The second slap hits you on the left side of your face, there’s a ringing in your ears, and you can taste copper from biting your tongue. To call her ‘mad’ undersells the storm of emotion radiating off her. Is she going to kill you? Maybe. Of all the beatings you’ve taken in your life, there’s no question you deserve this one.

“I–I–I’m sorry.” You swallow hard, fighting back nausea. “I shouldn’t have– I mean I– I know what it’s– what it’s like and I…” You’re babbling now. Too many words desperate to get out at once.

Her hand comes down again, hard. You can really taste the blood now. “Don’t you fucking dare compare yourself to me.” She growls in your face, as she raises her hand, pulling it back into a fist, and you try not to flinch. Brace yourself. When the blow doesn’t come you open your eyes.

Her hand hovers an inch away from your skin. “You used me.”

“I–I–I did.”

From the corner of your eye you can see her uncurl her fist, fingers slowly elongating into claws, piercing through the glove. “I should kill you.”

“It– It would be… pretty easy right now.” Your heart is pounding, mouth tasting copper, and throat feeling sticky. The Rat–King in the back of your head is screaming at you to do something but this… You don’t fight back, don’t struggle. This is too familiar. Memories of other times, other, brighter rooms. For everything you’ve tried to change, you’re still were you started.

If she did you in now, does the thing you can’t bring yourself to go through with… then isn’t that a victory for everyone really?

“I could do it…” Her hand is shaking, doubts unraveling in her mind. “I should…”

“Then do it already!” You cough, as she lets you go and you stagger backwards, hit the brick wall and try to hold yourself up. “I thought you– why hesitate?”

“Shut up!” She hisses through clenched teeth and comes at you again. This time her hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to send alarm bells. “You really want to die that badly, Becker?” You can feel it running through her head, all the little fantasies she had constructed about this moment.

Your vision blurs as you laugh. “Y–yeah, actually.”

Can feel something sharp poke against your neck, and then just as suddenly it’s gone. Argent hisses air through clenched teeth. “Don’t be a coward.” She touches her other hand to your face, one nail scratching just under your eye.

“W–what?”

“You don’t deserve to get off that easy.”

A line of white fire runs down your face, blinding you in your left eye. Blink, and your vision is back but bloody. You can feel the cut run from forehead to check. Hurts like hell, can already feel the blood running down your face. This is going to need stitches.

She lets go of you, pushing you back against the wall as she steps away. Licking the blood off her finger, she glares at you. “That was for using me. Don’t ever go into my head again.”

You slide to the floor. This… this really just happened. “I–I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.” There’s no way you’ll every be able to explain it, is there? But then, it’s not really about you, is it? 

“Shut up.” Argent snaps. “You said you can put it together?”

You nod your head. You hope you aren’t over-estimating your ability.

“Then put it together. Don’t even think about double-crossing me on this.” Her smile in the dim glow of your suit’s flashlight is cold and all teeth. “Don’t worry, Becker.” She puts a finger to her lips. “This’ll be our secret.”

She turns away from you and stalks up the stairs to find her way out of whatever building this is a basement of. As she turns she moves her hand from her mouth out to the side, transitioning into giving you the middle finger as she departs.

You sit there against the wall until her footsteps fade and you lose track of her mind. Gingerly you touch a hand to your face, hiss at the fresh sting of pain. Still bleeding. Will absolutely need stitches. Probably end up a scar.

Well, it’s not like you don’t have plenty of experience covering those up.

Except… maybe you’ll let this one be.

[jj-lynn21]

VEE Chapter 5

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3 ch 4  ch 6

warnings: smut, angst, violence, blood drinking, 

bill photo

Jen came home from brunch and some afternoon shopping, more like browsing, local stores. As she steps out of her car, she sees a large white box wrapped in a big black ribbon with a bow sitting in front of the door. She walks closer and sees a note attached.

Note:

 I think you will like this. See you at Vee 7p.m., Bill.

Jen laughs and grabs up the box taking it inside. Putting it down on the table she slides the ribbon off and lifts the lid. After getting through what seems like an endless amount of white tissue paper, she sees a half sleeves high low black lace evening dress . Holding the dress in front of her She thinks, Wow, this is not something anyone else would pick out for me, but I love it. This is certainly crazy, but I’m not going to talk myself out of going. I’m just going get ready and go out tonight.  Let the butterflies in the stomach go nuts. Let chills run up my spine. I’m not going to let that keep me imprisoned in self-doubt and fear.

Jen gets ready for an evening of unknown consequences. As she slips on a pair of black wedge heels that wrapped around her legs tying right above her ankles. The doorbell rang. She looked out her front curtain to see a black Lexus LX with tinted windows in her driveway. A husky man dressed in a black suit and white shirt with a black tie waited at the door.

She asked, “who is it?”

The man answered, “I’m Brian. Bill sent me to take you to VEE. He informed me you would be ready to leave about this time.”

Jen was just about to go out the door. She thought of an Alice in wonderland line as she grabbed her small black over the shoulder purse, curiouser and curiouser. She opened the door and he bowed to her. 

He walked to the Lexus and opened the back door. “My lady.”

Jen giggled, “Thank you Brian. I would love the radio on if you don’t mind.”

She felt the seats and glance around at the roominess and comfort. They were on there way to club VEE.

Brian nodded, “As you wish.” 

When he got in the drivers seat and started the car, he turned on the radio which was playing THRILLA by Krwella.  As The next song Mouth by Bush started to play, Jen rested against the window looking out and dosed off. It seemed like no time at all when she heard the door open. She had slid down to lay on the seat.

Brian opened the door slowly, “We are here. “

She sat up slowly grabbing her purse before swinging her legs out one by one and taking Brian’s offered hand to help her out of the vehicle. He walked her to the club door and opened it. She walked in hearing the music thumping some dance beats. She looked around the room. She felt a hand on her cheek down her neck giving her chills.

Bill was behind her, “I’m glad you decided to come here tonight. I’d like you to be part of my family.”

The music stopped and the people there made two lines on either side of the couple. Bill took Jen’s hand and kissed it. Then lead her through the tunnel of people who were bowing until they got to the glass door. The door was opened by a security guard who also bowed to the couple. The doors were shut. Then people went back to their dancing. 

Bill let go of Jen’s hand and went behind the bar to make some drinks. ” Sorry about that making you uneasy. I don’t always like the over the top moments of introducing someone to my family. They want to make a huge production out of everything.”

Jen laughed, “I guess they do. Its like you are royalty or something.”

He chuckled, “Sure, it is something like that.” He hands her a beautiful drink that looks two toned with orange on the bottom red on the top. “My brother and I run the Castle Edlund casino near Vegas.”

She holds the drink looking at it curiously, “I never heard of that casino. Sounds like fun. This is a beautiful looking drink. I think you missed your calling as a bar tender.”

Bill corks his brow, “maybe I was, I did.” He pauses a moment, looking into her eyes he takes her hands before she can sip the drink. His green eyes intensify on her blue ones. “Have you ever thought about being a Princess? I know you’re thinking it’s a ridiculous thought. If what you really want is to leave and giggle about this with your friends, go. I don’t want you to go, but at this point you can if you really want. If you choose to know more. To be more instead of getting ridiculed at work and saving your friends from their darker selves drink this Bloody Sundown. “

She swallows hard, “Is there actual blood in it? What am I actually agree to?”

His eyes stay focused on hers,” Yes, I know your hesitant. You always think things through. I want to know you, to love you and you to love me completely, but you would have to be part of my world completely. I know you can handle this you just need to take a chance.”

Bill lets go of her hands stepping back, but his eyes are still watching for her next move carefully. 

He seemed to know everything that was going through her mind. She looked him up and down and then in his eyes so full of hope. She thought she could almost read his mind. She was scared but thought she was ready for anything tonight. “Fuck it all. I want something knew. I want you. “

She started to drink. It just tasted like purred passion fruit on top and orange juice on the bottom. Bill came around the bar to her with a big grin on his face. As she finished the drink, her heart seemed to be beating out of her chest. She felt a rush of energy come over her. And she was hungry for more of him. She pushed him across the room to the wall. He growled as she came to him and ripped his shirt off. This time popping all the buttons without remorse. 

A knife from behind the bar flew into his hand and he cut himself diagonally across his chest. “have more. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Jen licked the blood dripping down his chest. Then sucked on the open wound. It was like tasting her favorite food for the first time. Her body felt like it was on fire, but she didn’t want to stop. She wasn’t thinking about what she was doing or where she was. She was just satisfying a need. 

Bill pulled her up to look at him. He then licked his hand rubbing it down his chest to heal himself. “Enough for now princess. You must control yourself. “

Jen’s chest heaved with excitement. “I don’t want to control myself any more than you do. No rules.”

“There are rules but not now.” He picks her up. 

She wraps her legs around him. He takes her to the back office sitting her on the desk. She undoes his belt. Then his pants. They drop to the ground. He pulls off her black silk panties. 

She pulls him over her.  “I remember it all from the other night. You need more of me just take it.”

She screams as he bit into her neck drinking as he buried his cock inside her. over whelming pleasure and pain. She moans out as she starts to enjoy every part of the sucking sensation of him drinking and him moving her to completion.  

Bill pulls himself together. He picks her up and sets her on the office couch sitting beside her. 

Feeling warn out she leans on him.  “tell me more. I don’t feel right, but I don’t feel wrong.”

Bill brushes some hair from her face kissing her forehead sweetly. “I will tell you everything. You are just transitioning into the one you are meant to be.”

There is a knock at the office door. Slightly annoyed Bill gets up to answer it. Jen gets up and grabs her panties off the floor. She goes back to the couch fixing her dress and slides them on before Bill could open the door. She sits back trying to just relax even though scared of the way she is feeling. 

Bill opens the door still just in his dress pants since his ripped shirt with his jacket are still on the bar floor.

Derick apologies, “I am sorry to disturb you. I have Jen’s purse for her. I’m just cleaning up before letting anyone into the bar. You will be happy to know the club is full with a line outside.”

Bill nods, “Thank you Derick. You have always been there to clean up my messes. I will make sure to tell my brother.”

Derick asked “Will you two be joining the party tonight or is there anything else I could do for you?”

Bill thinks a moment, “We will make an appears in a bit. We don’t need anything more than privacy right now.”

Bill shuts the door. He walks to the desk. Sitting in the desk chair, he hands Jen her purse. He begins to tell her a story.  “My family, ‘Aklat Alnaas, have been blessed and cursed from our beginning. Many have tried to wipe us out completely not understanding we do not harm anyone. If we do the punishment is death. Do you understand that?”

Hearing the music, smelling the crowd as the dancing makes them sweat, then the rush of their blood pumping through their body Jen tries to focus on what Bill is saying. She is still hungry. She thinks, great I’m a starving new vampire. He needs to give me a history lesson. I understand everything.

Bill grabs her arms looking more menacing. “You don’t understand. I need you to understand so you don’t make mistakes others have made. We are not vampires. We are ‘Aklat Alnaas. From what I read in, seen in the current culture vampires will and do kill for their supper. We are similar but maybe its how the stories were started. We are not going to burst into flame in the daytime, but we are more sensitive to it. We don’t kill people. After the rush of the start of your transition I want you to learn control tonight. We can make people believe whatever we want them to believe. Memorize them into giving us a drink. Then we always heal them completely. Never take to much.”

Jen ponders his words. “It makes sense so we can hide in plain sight. We use businesses like this to blend into society. Why do we care about blending in anywhere? We are stronger. I feel it already. They would fear us. Why take that time…”

Bill yells, “NO, that is not how you need to be thinking. Thinking we are all powerful will get us all killed. There are those out there that could spread fear of us and kill us off. There have been times through history when we were almost wiped out for such foolish thinking. They will kill their own to hurt us. The fire last night could have killed many of us and many of them if we didn’t know before hand they were planning something. “

Jen’s eyes go wide, “You knew that was going to happen and didn’t stop it. Your club was almost burnt to the ground.”

Bill corrects her, “It was burnt to the ground. We can rebuild quickly. My brother sent me here to deal with the group that set the place on fire. I was getting ready to meet one of them the night we first saw each other. I was to hungry and pissed off that night to introduce myself. I snacked on the leader and suggested they burn it all down. We got everyone out but him and his friends. The story that went out was they went crazy trying to kill everyone in the club but only managed to burn themselves alive.”

Jen was surprised. “So you killed them. Isn’t that breaking the no killing rule?”

Bill corrected her again. “We certainly did not kill them. They killed themselves. We got everyone out safely except for them. They chose to bring flame throwers into the building. It’s a good thing we move fast because even with the sprinkler system this place went up in flames quickly. We talked to everyone the group had ever talked to about what they thought of us. No one was believing them, so it was an easy clean up. We starve without people being unafraid of our establishments. We starve if there is a war of cultures. We thrive if we blend in with everyone else. Are you ready for your first test?”

Jen tilts her head curiously, “what is the test?”

[fanfics-for-the-hockey-fan]

Night on the Town - Alex Tuch

Request: Can you write some Alex Tuch fluff plz

Notes: I had a blast writing this one, I honestly couldn’t stop smiling while I was working on this one.

We had a huge win tonight and no games for the next three nights so some of us decided to hit the Las Vegas strip and blow off some steam. That is how I found myself in a loud casino with a beer in my hand as we wandered around, just joking and having fun. Reilly shoved me causing me to bump into someone and spill my beer on them. “Oh shit.” I turned around to see a beautiful brunette woman who came up to my chest, surrounded by other women who were probably her friends. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t sure if I liked this dress anyway.” 

“Em, our uber is here.” Her one friend said as my teammates started to talk to her friends.

“You guys go ahead, I’ll change and meet you guys at the club. Andrea can’t cancel another ride on uber or she is going to get kicked off the service.” That got a laugh out of her friends before Rielly asked what club they were going to, before asking if we could tag along.

“You sure? Are you okay to get there on your own?”

“I can wait behind with you and we can head over together, if that’s cool with you?” I was so mesmerized with the small brunette that didn’t seem upset that I had almost knocked her over and spilt beer all over her. Her blue eyes pulled me in the instant I looked into them.

“Sounds like we have a plan. You guys go, I’ll shoot off a text when we are leaving here.” Her friends nodded and headed off with my teammates. “I’m Emiline, by the way. ”

“Alex.”

“Good goal tonight during the second.” Emiline stated as we stepped into the elevator and she pressed the button for her floor.

“You know who I am?”

“Yeah, I tried to convince my friends to go to the game tonight but I was outvoted. But I did have the game on while we were getting ready, so I got to watch it at least.” Following her down the hall, I stopped as she opened the door to her room. It looked like they had gotten a suite with a small living room when you first stepped into the room. “I should just be a few minutes.” 

“Take your time.” I sat down on the couch and pulled out my phone answering some texts while I waited. I honestly expected to be here for at least an hour but 20 minutes later I heard the door behind me open, turning around I was stunned to see her hair damp and she was in a new dress. A dress that looked even more amazing on her, the last dress had been black one that hugged the curves of her body. This one was a dark maroon color hugged her waist before flaring out, stopping mid thigh. I was trying not to check her out but it was a challenge. “Wow, you look amazing.”

“Thank you. Sorry I took so long. I realized I also smelled like beer along with my dress.”

“I can’t believe you were so quick. My sister Leah takes forever to get ready, we have to tell her that we are leaving an hour before we actually need to be ready so she is almost on time. And some of my teammates have the same problem with their wives and girlfriends.”

“I’m pretty good at getting ready quickly, I’m a nurse in the emergency department and my shift starts at 6 in the morning so I got good at getting ready quickly so that I could still sleep a decent amount.” We headed out of the hotel room, as we headed downstairs I pulled out my phone to order an uber for us.

“Our ride should be here by the time we get downstairs.”  Emiline opened her mouth like she wanted to argue but then shut it and nodded. 

“Thank you.” I spotted the car right away, opening the back door for her to slide in before I got in too. Our driver started chatting about all of the fun things to do on the strip, not even allowing us to say anything for the entire drive down the strip to the hotel that held the club that Emiline and her friends were planning on going to. I watched as she nodded to the driver as she braided her hair, the guy just kept talking. We both thanked the man before we left laughing as we entered the hotel and figured out where we were going. “I honestly thought he would never shut up!”

“I know, right! I’ve had some odd uber drivers, but he is one of the strangest.” Emiline slowed as we got to the club, seeing the end of a long line. “Why are you stopping?”

“There is a line.” 

“Come on, I can get us in.” I take her hand in mine, ignoring my heart beating faster at holding her hand.  She seemed reluctant to follow me but finally she relented, allowing me to steer her towards the entrance of the club her friends were in with my teammates. The bouncer nodded when we walked up to him asking to see ID on both of us, before nodding and telling me he caught part of the game tonight. I nodded as we headed in, glad that my somewhat celebrity status that I held in this city could help me impress Emiline. 

As soon as we entered the club the music was loud and booming, Emiline staying closer to my side as people bumped into us. “Do you see them?” She had to stand on her tiptoes to get her mouth close enough to my ear that I could hear her over the music. Searching around I spotted them in the VIP area.

“Yeah, follow me.” I took her hand again, feeling her other hand holding onto my arm as we moved across the crowded club. The bouncer for the VIP section just nodded as we approached, letting us in without a word. All of our friends cheered as soon as they saw us, raising drinks in our direction.  

“You guys made it!” Emiline was pulled away by her girlfriends and my teammates took me to the bar for a drink. “You like her, don’t you?”

“I think I do, but I’ve only known her for an hour.”

“Don’t get too attached she is a tourist and only here for a limited time.” Ryan said patting my back as the bartender handed me my beer.

“I know, but I think she might be special. I would be willing to do long distance if she is.”

“More power to you.” I turned around to see Emiline looking over at me as one of her friends was talking to her, she was nodding her head at whatever her friend said before smiling and ducking her head. Our two groups seemed to blend together nicely, sitting around a table, chatting when people weren't on the dance floor. After a few hours we were all getting hungry so we left the club, heading to a restaurant in the hotel that was basically a diner and was open 24 hours. We all piled into a large table in the back chatting more and having a blast. As some of the group was in the bathroom, I turned to where Emiline was sitting next to me. “Do you want to get out of here? Just the two of us?”

“Yeah.” When everyone was back at the table we both stood up, holding hands as our friends looked at us. “We are gonna go hang out by the pool at our hotel. I know you guys wanted to hit up somewhere else but I can't do another crowd like that club."

"Just promise if you two decided to get married on the strip you call us first so we can come." Her one friend responded, causing Emiline to give her the middle finger and making everyone laugh. I threw down some money for our food before I took her hand as we ran off, my teammates yelling about protection. I flipped them off as we hurried off, laughing as we left the restaurant. 

We got a cab back to her hotel, walking through the hotel hand in hand as we followed signs for the pool. “I have no clue what the pool looks like, we have been here for four days and I haven’t been anywhere near the pool. I honestly don’t even know if I packed a bathing suit.”

“I always forget something when I am packing, my teammates have actually taken bets on what I would forget. Usually it is my tooth brush or socks, you would think with how much I travel that you would think I have a system but I don’t.” We got to the pool and it was absolutely empty so we had our choice of lounge chairs but we sat down on a wider one, I sat up near the head of the chair and she sat near the feet. “What is it like being a nurse?”

“It’s intense but so rewarding. Some days all I want to do at the end of my shift is sleep for a month straight and other days I feel like I could run a marathon. It can be a lot to deal with some days, I’ve watched people die and I’ve saved lives. One day a little boy was in because his older sister broke her arm playing soccer and he ended up choking on the snack he was having, I had to perform the heimlich on him. It was scary because it was one of my first days that I wasn’t supervised at work.”

“Wow, that’s incredible.”

“My entire life I’ve known that I wanted to help people and being a nurse was just the obvious path.” As she spoke, I watched her eyes light up because she was so passionate about her profession. “Am I boring you? You can tell me shut up, my friends always tell me I talk too much.”

“No, I honestly think I could listen to you talk forever.” Emiline blushed, smiling at me. “Can I kiss you?” She nodded, biting her lip as I moved closer. I cupped her cheek once I was close enough, leaning in and pressing my lips to hers. Kissing her made my heart thump in my chest, just confirming my suspicion that I couldn’t let this just be a one night thing. So I pulled back from the kiss, wanting to continue kissing her and take it further, but knowing that if I wanted something more serious that I needed to take this slow. I pulled Emiline up the lounge chair with me, pulling her into my side. We both stayed quiet just enjoying the noise of the waterfall in the pool 

Eventually I needed to know how long I had to convince her that we could make a relationship work. “When do you and your friends check out of the hotel?” She picked up my arm, looking at my watch before answering.

“In about 10 hours.” That wasn’t a lot of time, but I would do what I could.

“Okay, what time is your flight?”

“Flight?”

“Yeah, how long do I have before I need to say goodbye to you? I was hoping I would have more time to get to know you before you went home. I don’t know about you but I feel like we had an amazing connection and I wanted to see where it could go. How far away do you live?”

“Like 10 minutes.”

“What?”

“I live in an apartment complex 10 minutes off the strip. I work at the UNLV medical center hospital. I graduated from UNLV last year, and I grew up in Henderson which is like 20 minutes away from here. I’m a desert girl through in through, hate to break it to you.”

“But, you’re staying at a hotel and doing tourist things.”

“Yeah, my friends and I once a year do all of the tourist stuff Las Vegas has to offer. One of the girls works for MGM and gets a discount on unbooked hotel rooms, so we wait for a great deal and have a girls’ weekend. Most of us still live and work here, only a few of them have to fly out tomorrow since they now live in different cities.”

“So you live here?”

“Yes.”

“Can I take you out tomorrow for a date?”

“Yes.” Smiling, I kissed Emiline again. I was so glad that this worked out better than I thought.

Request are open!!!!

[heartofsnark]

Black Market Wonderland (Chapter Two): Betting Man

Notes: I’m so thankful to all of the positive feedback the first chapter got. Everyone has been so kind. I’ve read every comment, tag, etc on here and AO3, I promise if you’ve left any feedback no matter how small I’ve read it and it’s absolutely made my day and put the biggest dumbest smile on my face. I don’t respond to everything cause there’s not enough time in the day and I’m just a disaster person when it comes to that, but I want you all to know how appreciative I am. I hope you all stick around and continue to enjoy this mess. 

Word Count:  8755

Warnings:  Some Animal Death (Within a nightmare, no actual animals, the ferret is safe)

Missed the First Chapter? Link Here!

Gilded bars surround her, cold metal chills her skin. The cage swings and shifts, suspended from the ceiling. A chain comes through the top of the cage, connected to a manacle wrapped around her throat. It has just enough slack to let her breathe, but tight enough to restrict her movement and to feel it with every panicky exhale.

Several other cages surround hers, the metals dingier than hers, various shades of tainted gold. Her stomach churns, each is filled with dead little blue bird in various states of decay. The smell of rot and death is overwhelming. Some are nothing but tiny bones with clusters of feathers, other maggots crawling through fetid flesh, and some she can almost convince herself are just sleeping.

Red velvet curtains hang behind her, a stage beneath her. Bright lights flicker on, warming her and the carcasses that surround her. The heat makes the stench worsen, bile rises in the back of her throat.

A crowd looms before the stage, figures filling the seats. Deep vacant eye sockets dripping gold ichor. She can feel their stares, eager malice filled gazes locked entirely on her, sickeningly gleeful grins stretch across their faces.

Her heart pounds and she can’t get a deep enough breath, they’re going to hurt her. She knows this deep inside, she’s prey to them, something to tear apart. Her fingernails break and bloody as she scratches at the manacle around her neck, it won’t come off. It won’t even budge. Her sight blurs, tears sting her eyes and run hot streaks down her face. She grips at the bars and screams at the audience, but nothing. Not a single sound escapes her, the rawness of her throat the only sign she yelled at all.

Something shakes, the bottom of cage shifting slightly. The slack of the chain tightens, if the bottom falls out, she’ll hang.

She grabs at the top of the bars, blood slick fingers sliding off the gold. The bottom continues to shift down, growing more and more unstable. She can’t get a grip, her hands and fingers slipping uselessly from the metal. The slack of chain lessens with each creak down, breathing becomes more and more difficult.

The crowd watches her, enraptured by her struggle, leaning forward, eagerly taking in every sign of her pain. Tears, blood, and gasping all feeding their sadistic pleasure.

It shifts down for the last time, the bottom of the cage going out from under her. She can’t even whimper or gasp as her air is cut off.

She’s hung before the crowd. It’s not fast enough to break her neck, she struggles and claws at the manacle, her lungs burn. Dots swarm before her vision, gold ichor eyes the last thing she sees before everything goes dark.

Tsuneko wakes with a start, coughing and gagging. She takes a few deep breaths, calming herself down. Nightmares aren’t a new experience for her, they’re painfully common. She sits up, the sun is starting to rise.

She’s still on the couch in Oh’s suite, a small stupid part of her was hoping it was a part of the dream too. Her hand is aching and there’s a thick warm blanket pooling around her waist. She didn’t go to sleep with this on her, it’s soft and a part of her wants to just curl back up with it. It’s hard to imagine Oh being kind enough to toss a blanket on her. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and yawns.

Something on the side table catches her eye and she’s scrambling off the couch. It’s her phone, her cute Rilakuma cookie phone case and all. There’s a little bit of a crack on the screen and the case has a small dried blood spot, but it’s still functional. It’s a little silly getting so excited over a phone, but she’ll take any little bit of happiness she can get right now. She checks the time; she’ll be early, but she can head to work. She’d take being five hours early for work over being stuck in this suite for another moment, if it came down to it.

She slips on her shoes, should she leave a note? He gave her the okay to go to work, but if he assumes she ran away, the thought makes her shudder. Tsuneko gets a sticky note out of her pocket, she always keeps them tucked away in her uniform, and jots a not about going to work. She considers signing it, but she can’t imagine too many people are leaving panda sticky notes in his suite, he should know it’s her.

The penthouse halls are vacant and she’s able to duck into the elevator with no problem. She’s able to go down without a key, but she won’t able to come back up. With any luck, she’ll never have to be here again.

She thought about using the locker room shower last night, but Kiyohito has been cooped up since the evening. Not to mention, she’s infinitely more comfortable using her own shower and products. Oh told her that she had to stay on hotel grounds, technically, the dorms are hotel property. So, she’s not disobeying. And she left a note, surely he won’t go on a killing spree because she snuggled her ferret before work.

The elevator reaches the ground floor and opens. Tsuneko all but sprints out of the hotel to her dorm, not even bothering to change out of her uniform first and taking the stairs two at a time.

There’s an immediate sense of calm as she steps into her dorm, the familiarity of it relaxing her. She rushes to Kiyohito’s cage, he’s flopping around without a care. Her hand needs doctoring, but he shouldn’t have to be stuck in his cage any longer for it. She takes him out, careful not to touch him with her injured hand. She’s not sure of the medical benefits of ferret fur in open wounds, but she’s going to venture to guess it’s not good. He excitedly bounces and jumps onto a plushy, claiming a big Pikachu as his friend of the day. She steps into her bathroom, if nothing else he’ll get some play time.

Tsuneko grimaces at her reflection, her hand may be the worst of her injuries, but her face doesn’t look great at the moment. There are bruises across her cheek and temple, where her face slammed into the ground. They’re still fresh marks, red and pink, a faint hint of purple starting to show. Her hair looks like a hurricane has made its way through it, pieces sticking out in every direction. She turns on her shower, stripping down while she waits for the water to heat up.

The steaming hot water eases her tense muscles, a deep sigh escapes her. She starts washing the dried blood off her her injured hand, careful of the tender skin. That’s fairly easy part, the instinct to use that hand to wash the rest her is hard to suppress. Right under ferret fur, she’ll write shampoo on the list of things not to get in open wounds. Her raw flesh stings, but it also smells like roses and honeysuckle now.

She finishes showering and steps out; there’s something about scrubbing off all the grime that makes everything better. Time to treat her hand, she gets her first aid kit from the medicine cabinet. She opens it and bites down on her lip.. A soft whimper escapes her as she pours disinfectant over her hand, a deep sting settling into her bones. The small pink cuts across her fingers should heal easily enough, but the deeper redder one across her palm is sure to leave a mark. She bandages it carefully and he winds up with a mummy hand; but it gets the job done.

Tsuneko goes through the rest of her routine, the normalcy is refreshing. She puts on makeup a little heavier than usual, just enough to cover the bruises. It comes at the cost of covering her freckles, but it’s a needed evil. She tosses the dirty uniform into her laundry basket then changes into some comfy clothes. There’s a clean uniform in her locker for the day, but she’ll need to do laundry tomorrow or tonight

She plugs her phone in to charge and sets an alarm for when she needs to head into work, she doesn’t want to test Oh’s threats by being late. There’s a lot to deal with and a lot to think about, she still hasn’t figured out a solid plan to get out of this. She busies herself with cleaning Kiyo’s cage and refilling his bowl. He gets a nice breakfast of scrambled eggs and steak, his favorite. It’s more than usual, he didn’t get as much attention last night, he deserves extra.

The bed creaks as she plops on it, letting out a heavy sigh. Kiyo, the best fluffy noodle to ever fluffy noodle, climbs up onto her stomach. His dark fur is soft under her hand, he tries to nip her bandages, earning him a soft boop on the nose. What would have happened to him if she had been killed? Pets aren’t technically allowed in the employee dorms. No one else even knows about him. If she had died or not been able to come back, he’d be left all alone. No one would know to come take him in. She hugs him tighter, she can’t let that happen.

She knows what the mature thing to do is; give him to someone who can actually own him. Someone that doesn’t have to worry about that kind of thing. If she was a better person she never would have got him in the first place. But, she’s too selfish to part with him. She doesn’t want to be completely alone, he’s the best thing in her life.

That leaves her with one choice, telling someone about him, making sure they’ll care for him if something happens to her. Her best choices are obvious; Chisato and Sakiko. Chisato is kind and caring, she’d be sure to take good care of Kiyo, but she’s not a huge rule breaker. Sakiko, who works in the casino, is flightier, but she’d be more okay with a little bit of chaos. They balance each other well and are the friendliest with her at the hotel. She’ll have to invite them over, the first time she’s had people in her dorm. The idea already makes her uncomfortable, but Kiyo’s worth it.

“Okay, Kiyo,” she sits up and puts him in front of her, “we need an action plan.”

A part of her knows how silly it is to make plans with her ferret, but she likes thinking out loud and she’d rather direct her thoughts at something with a pulse than the walls, To his credit, Kiyo always seems to go along with it, never wandering off during one of her spiels.

“First things first, I need to invite Kurihara and Koizumi over. Now, when they get here, you need to be as cute as ferretly possible, understood?” his tongue bleps out, “I see you’re already on it, good boy.”

She grabs her phone and starts typing in a to-do list, putting ‘Invite’ as the top thing. It’s best not to get into too many details, considering her situation, she doesn’t want someone to see her phone and figure it out.

“Next, I’ll need to do some research, going in blind is never a good idea,” another item for the list, “I think sticking to my original escape plan should stay plan A. He might have just been in a bad mood last night, he might listen to reason more today.”

Kiyo makes a soft dooking noise and jumps, she’ll take that as agreement.

“Hmmm, if I’m lucky, they won’t even bother me. But, I’m not that luc-” She hops off the bed, the good luck talisman, she forgot all about it. Kiyo is bouncing after her, his noises getting louder, he thinks it’s play time.

She fishes the talisman out of her dirty uniform. She’ll have to drop it off in lost and found today. She doesn’t really believe in good luck charms, it obviously didn’t work for her yesterday, but she can tell how precious it must be to the owner. Her alarm goes off as she’s tucks it into her pocket.

She’s giving Kiyo smooches as she takes him to his cage, putting him in the level with all of his toys. He seems content, already chewing on them, but she makes a note to play an extra long game of tag with him tonight.

Tsuneko triple checks she has everything before leaving, her chest is tight as she heads to the Tres Spades. Yesterday, it was her busy little safe haven, but now it’s like walking into a war zone. She hopes they’ll leave her alone, that somehow this entire mess will fade away like a bad memory. But, that’s far too idealistic and she knows it.

The employee locker room is a flurry of activity, everyone getting ready for the work day. Sakiko and Chisato catch her attention, her locker is between theirs. She takes a deep breath and makes her way over.

“Tsuneko!” Sakiko’s eyes widen, her movements bouncy. Chisato gives a soft smile.

“Hey, Koizumi, Kurihara,” Tsuneko greets as she gets out her uniform.

“Ugh, god, I’m barely older than you, can you please just call me Sakiko?!”

“The more you whine, the less I wanna do it,” Tsuneko tease and Sakiko pouts at her.

“You can just call me Chisato too, by the way,” she says through a laugh.

“Okay, Chisato.” The names feels a bit odd on her lips, she likes keeping a certain amount of distance, but she has known the two for almost a year and she’s going to trust them enough to care for Kiyo.

“Hey! That’s not fair!”

“That’s life,” Tsuneko finishes changing into her uniform and make sure it’s in place. It’s still tight around her chest and stomach, she needs to request a size up, but she keeps forgetting.

“By the way, what happened yesterday?” Chisato asks, her eyes focus on Tsuneko’s bandaged hand, “Kenzaki said you had to go home early.”

“Oh, one of the shelves in the storage room came down on top of me, I’m fine though.” The lie comes out easy, but her stomach churns at the confirmation that Kenzaki knows about the auctions and is covering for them. He’s always been an odd guy, but she has a lot of respect for him.

“Are you going to be able to work like that?”

“Yeah, I have painkillers, I’ll manage. Yesterday was just a bad day.”

“It wasn’t all bad though.” Sakiko’s smiling like the cat that ate the canary

“How you figure?” Tsuneko raises an eyebrow as she puts her hair up.

“Duh, you got up close and personal with The King!”

“Ichinomiya?”

“You finally figured out who he was?” Chisato smiles at Tsuneko’s past stupidity.

“Not as quick, as I would have liked to, but yes.”

“Your heart must have been racing! He’s handsome and worth billions, women chase after him everywhere he goes. What did he smell like? I bet he wears super expensive cologne.” Sakiko’s words come out in a rush, she bounces on the balls of her feet, and her eyes are downright sparkling.

“He smelled like an entitled dickhead, because that’s all he is.” Someone like Ichinomiya doesn’t deserve someone like Sakiko swooning over him.

“Ugh, don’t burst my bubble like that.”

“If I don’t reality will.”

“Chisato agrees with me, right?”

“Uhhhhh, he looks like a man.” Chisato shrugs.

“Pfffft, that he does.” Tsuneko grins and tries not to laugh, Sakiko thumps her head against her locker.

“Why do I bother?”

“Hey!” Erika yells out and marches towards Tsuneko with the twins in tow, “What do you think you’re doing getting hurt at work?”

“I assure you, it wasn’t intentional.”

“If you’re too hurt to work, you might as well go home, otherwise you’re just going to get in the way!”

“Get in the way!” Rina and Kana parrot, maybe they just like feeling included?

“I’ll do my best to keep up, sorry for any trouble,”

“And,” Erika’s face flushes a dark pink, “would you order a new uniform already, what if a guest saw you like that!”

Tsuneko looks down, one of the buttons came undone on her uniform, her pink bra and cleavage peeking through. Her face heats up and she clamors to fix it.

“I’ll put in an order shortly.”

“You better, now hurry up, we have a morning meeting!”

“Hurry up!” One final comment, if you can call it that, and the trio marches out of the locker room.

“Why does she hate you so much?” Sakiko asks, long ponytail waving with the shake of her head.

“Fuck if I know, fuck if I care.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Chisato explains, Tsuneko stares at her with wide eyes, what the hell does she mean by that?

“She just yelled at me for getting hurt.” Tsuneko rolls her eyes.

“That’s her way of telling you to be careful and to go home if you’re not feeling well,” Chisato says softly, her big sister energy hitting max level.

“You speak Erika now?” Sakiko raises an eyebrow, just as confused as Tsuneko.

“No, I speak gay.”

“Are you seriously implying she likes me?”

“Not implying, just letting you know.”

“You’re delusional.” Tsuneko shakes her head and lets out a sigh, this is ridiculous. She gets her binders out and shuts her locker.

“You’ll see, lets get to the meeting,” Chisato reminds them of work and they all leave the locker room.

The meeting room is slowly filling, coworkers drifting in, they all plop down in chairs to wait. Tsuneko will invite out during her lunch break, it might be a little weird to jump into inviting them to her dorm. She’ll ask them to go get something to eat, then hang out at her place. Her fridge is still out of booze, maybe she’ll invite them drinking first. If they’re a little tipsy, they might be more okay with the whole illegal ferret thing.

“Tomori!” A cheerful voice catches her eye, it’s one of the maids, Yayoi.

“You need something?”

“I wanted to thank you for taking over my shift yesterday, I got really sick and I heard you got hurt, I’m so sorry for the trouble.” She bows her head, mess of orange hair falling in her face. Technically, this isn’t her fault, but Tsuneko can’t help grimacing. If she hadn’t been called in, she wouldn’t be in this mess. God damn it, Yayoi.

“It’s fine, don’t sweat it.” Her tone comes out colder than she wants, but Yayoi doesn’t seem bothered, taking a seat as the meeting starts.

Tsuneko’s mind wanders off and on through the meeting, more than she’d care to admit. It’s hard to focus on day to day work stuff when she’s dealing with being bought. They wouldn’t be so stupid to do anything to draw attention to themselves or the situation, so she should be allowed a normal work day.If she’s lucky, they’ll just keep an eye on her and her life won’t change much. She fiddles with the charm in her pocket.

Relying on that would be naive though, at the very least, she should have enough time to think of back up plans in case the rational approach doesn’t work. She’s scheduled to work alone today, so she should be able to sneak some phone research during lulls in activity as well as on her break.

She wants this whole thing to end. It’s ridiculous that someone could even want to own her, but Ichinomiya seems like a genuinely garbage human being. As much as she’d like to believe he was just in a bad mood, everything about the man makes her skin crawl. From refusing to let her speak to insisting he’s the determiner of her worth, he’s a repulsive person. She’ll need to start coming up with other plans and quick.

“We also have a very important announcement. We’re adding a new job position here at the Tres Spades regarding the penthouse suites.”

The mention of the penthouse makes her snap back to attention, her glare on Kenzaki. They can’t be that stupid.

“I’ve been the one tending to the penthouse for a while, but we’ve deemed it necessary to promote a maid to take care of the penthouse and it’s guests from now on.”

This has to be a coincidence. They have to know this will raise red flags, she hasn’t even been here a year. Her stomach draw tight and she sinks into her seat. Erika catches her eye, excitement radiating off the head maid. She’s been here since the beginning, if anyone deserves a promotion it’s her.

“The penthouse maid will be responsible for cleaning the suites and lounge, as well as attending to the needs of the guests staying there. They will be expected to prioritize the penthouse and it’s guests, but still be responsible for their regular duties. It’s a big responsibility and a lot of time was spent thinking over who would get the position.”

If any gods are listening, please save her, please let it be a coincidence and Erika is getting promoted. Just let her have that, she grips tighter to the good luck talisman, just a little luck. That’s all she wants.  

“It’s with a lot of pride, I announce that Tomori Tsuneko will our new penthouse maid.”

“Seriously!”

“What!?”

Tsuneko and Erika’s both yell out, the headmaid slams her hands down and jolts from her seat. Her sharp brown eyes glare at Tsuneko, who sinks further in her seat.

“With all due respect,” Erika continues, “Tomori hasn’t even been here a year. She’s barely shown herself capable of taking care of normal guests, let alone the penthouse guests. I cannot accept this!”

“Cannot accept this!” Rina and Kana jump up too, three glares now focus on Tsuneko. She fidgets with the charm in her pocket. Good luck charm, her ass.

“I agree!” She yells back, standing up to meet their gazes, “If anyone should take it, I think it should be Matsuda, she’s been here since the beginning, and deserves it more than anyone.”

Erika and Tsuneko have had their differences, they’ve butted heads over a lot of things, but that doesn’t change the facts. Granted, Tsuneko also really doesn’t want to deal with the penthouse guests, but Erika takes her work seriously and is a model employee. Being passed over for a promotion she damn well deserves because of some bullshit situation isn’t right. Erika has every right to feel cheated.

“I appreciate both of your concerns and I know you both just want the best for the Tres Spades,” Kenzaki takes his usual diplomatic approach, “However, seniority doesn’t decide promotions and Tomori was chosen specifically by Mr. Ichinomiya. I’m confident that she’s more than capable of excelling in this position. That will be all, everyone is dismissed, except Tomori. I have some things to go over with you, regarding your new position. Everyone go and work hard today.”

Everyone starts to file out, Erika and the twins linger a while longer to glare, before they finally leave. Tsuneko rakes a hand down her face, she’s alone with Kenzaki now. If it was a legitimate promotion she’d probably be excited, even if she thinks Erika deserves it more. Even if she isn’t crazy about working as a maid, she wants to be damn good one and a promotion would show her hard work is paying off. But, that’s not what this is. It’sa way for them to keep her under their thumb.

“So, what do you need to talk to me about?”

“You’ll be needing these,” Kenzaki hands her an elevator key and a two way pager, “he penthouse guests will be able to page you whenever they need you. I’ve already said this, but I’ll reiterate that you’re to prioritize the penthouse while still taking care of normal guests.”

“So, I’m now a maid and their bitch.”

“I know you’ll do well,” Kenzaki says, smiling as he leave the room. She’s starting to rethink the amount of respect she has for that man. She adds the pager and key to her growing amount of pocket junk, before she steps into the lobby.

Eventually, she’ll have to go to the penthouse, but she’s not in a rush. Unless she’s paged, she can save it for the end of her shift and she fully intends to. She gets a cleaning cart and takes a deep breath before she starts work.

The added duties of coming up with escape plans and researching the penthouse guests, makes her day seem busier. In a way, she almost enjoys it. Lulls in work usually bore her, but she’d rather anything else be causing her busier day.

She’s finishes cleaning a bathroom, then gets her phone out and takes a moment to search Ichinomiya. He’s the most important one, the biggest priority. Everything she finds seems so surface level, his taking over the Ichinomiya group Zaibatsu and opening the Tres Spades. His net worth makes her choke, money is definitely not the issue. His pocket change is probably more than she’s ever seen in her life. He can’t be concerned about the twenty-million, his back count probably generate more than that a minute. There are a few gossipy rumor spreading tabloid articles, but nothing with any evidence. A few fluff articles that do nothing but  gush about his looks, her eyes roll at those. No major legal problems or scandals. He’s good at hiding thing from the public eye, like any business man. She’s gives up on finding much else after the fifth google page and goes to clean the rest of the room.

It’s on an elevator ride to the next floor, alone, that she does some searching on Oh Soryu. Nothing relevant pops up for his name, as expected of someone in a crime syndicate, he’s kept a low profile. The Ice Dragons mafia brings up more relevant information. They’re a known Chinese criminal syndicate, part of the Triads, but there’s not a lot of information. Other than a few small incidents, the Ice Dragons have stayed off the radar. he’s able to find general information on triads, the structure of them. She finds a list of the thirty-six oaths member supposedly take during initiation. She’s not sure how legitimate they are. A skim through shows the oaths emphasize not hurting women or children. If Oh abides by these, he might not be her biggest threat, she saves the huge list to read more thoroughly later.

An hour or two later, she’s made a bed, the rest of the room doesn’t need a lot of attention. Kisaki is her next research subject. He’s called the Angelic Artist, his conniving shit face smirk come to mind and makes her groan. Definitely more gremliny than angelic. Art is not her thing, but she can tell he’s good. His works suck the viewer in, a clear passion behind it. He’s renowned in the art world and even a novice like her can tell why. There are plenty of people gushing about how attractive he is and how sweet he supposedly is. All pictures are of that fake smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. No scandals or mentions of criminal activity, he’s apparently involved in the fashion world as well. A few passing things mention his “come back”, like he took a hiatus, she’d guess. The paparazzi seem fixated on him, she didn’t know artists got that kind of attention.

Her lunch break comes around and she makes a beeline for a seat. She didn’t bring in anything to eat and she doesn’t bother to get anything from the serving area. There’s too much to do and not enough time to do it. She sets her binders out in front of her and gets out her phone.  

Next is Baba, he said he’s a thief and understandably his name doesn’t turn up anything of interest. But, she remembers seeing a few news articles about a thief in passing. He’s called Lupin something, she searches around for that, he’s apparently been seen in brightly colored suits and his heists all have some level of dramatic flair. It’s hard to find much, though he doesn’t seem it, Baba does apparently have the ability to be subtle. A few articles mention of trend of his targets later being revealed to have committed crimes themselves, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence. Maybe he fancies himself a Robin Hood type?

“Are you not eating?” Chisato asks, her and Sakiko are sitting down at the table.

“I’m not hungry, my stomach’s been in knots,” Tsuneko tucks her phone away and gets to doing work for guests. Mostly requests for pamphlets and brochures, wanting ideas on what to do with their time here. A few asking for special accommodations or items. She organizes what she needs, putting things together with cute paperclips and sticky notes of who needs what.

“Are you nervous about the promotion?”

“You could say that.” She’s thought of a plan B, but she doesn’t like it, her leg bounces.

“Look,” Chisato starts, eyes soft, “I don’t care what you or Erika say, you’re going to do great.”

“Appreciate it, but she’s not wrong. I can’t really get why they promoted me.”

“I know why.” Sakiko says, a sing songy lilt to her voice.

“Oh, enlighten me, beacon of wisdom.” Tsuneko rolls her eyes, this is going to be stupid.

“Love at first sight,” Sakiko lets out a dreamy sigh.

“What?”

“Think about it, you bump into The King yesterday and now he’s promoting you to keep you close,” she explains the asinine thoughts going through her head.

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, which is saying a lot,” Tsuneko shakes her head and grabs a cookie off Sakiko’s tray, earning a pout from her.

“He was pretty rude, yesterday,” Chisato says, shaking her head at Sakiko’s bullshit.

“He was a dickhead and a half is what he was.” Tsuneko grumbles through a bite of cookie.

““So, some guys are bad with feelings. Maybe he was so overwhelmed that he said the wrong thing. It’s love- and I thought you weren’t hungry!” Her focus shift as Tsuneko grabs a strawberry off her plate.

“It’s a stupidity fee, you say something stupid, I take your food.” Tsuneko tosses the fruit in her mouth.

“What if he confesses to you?”

“That’s gonna cost you another strawberry.” She bites down on another.

“Hey!”

“If you want to eat today, I suggest you be quiet,” Chisato teases.

“I’m being serious, what would you do?”

“If he confessed to me,” Tsuneko pretends to think for a moment, “I’d puke.”

“You’re the only person I know who’d turn down a man like that,” Sakiko laments, pulling the rest of her lunch away protectively.

“That’s just depressing,” she swallows down the stolen fruit, “by the way, um, do you guys wanna hang out tonight?”

Her face is warm and the words came out more awkward than she would’ve liked. Sakiko and Chisato’s eyes widen. Tsuneko shrinks down in her seat and stares at the floor. She considers them work friends, just work friends. The last time she spent time with any of them outside of work was her first day here, a small party held by all her coworkers to welcome her. All she remembers of the night is getting blackout drunk. It’s been a long time since she’s had friends, without any caveats or precursors.

“Oh my god, you’re so cute!” Sakiko gives a huge smile and Chisato has a softer one.

“Shut up! Do you wanna hang out or not?!” The words come out as a squeak and her face is on fire, she’s not cute, damn it.

“Yes!”

“Sounds fun, any idea where you want to go?”

“The casual little bar up the road?” Tsuneko offers, if it’s not during their shift they’re allowed to drink at the hotel bar and get a small discount, but she wants to get away from the hotel.

“Oh, yeah, I know where you’re talking about, we can meet up there after work.”

They all agree to the plans, Sakiko and Chisato are weirdly excited. Tsuneko feels warm and fuzzy, do they really want to spend time with her that bad? She starts tidying up her binders and sticky notes. She’s researched all of the penthouse residents, she has a risky plan B, and has everything in order for the guests.

“Oh, uh, Tomori?” A male voice catches her attention, it’s a male concierge Takahiro.

“Hey, Kuroba.” She can’t imagine what he needs from her.

“This is yours right?” He’s holding pastel pink Pokemon tupperware, a Sylveon design on the top and her panda sticky note still stuck on it.

“Yes!” She sits up and takes it from him, “with everything yesterday, I forgot all about it, thank you, so much.”

She’s hugging it to her chest, it’s a limited edition and if she lost it she’d have a hell of a time finding a replacement.

“Glad, I got it back to you then.” His face looks a little red, but that might be her imagination. Or he’s been running around all day.

“Um, how’d you know it was mine?” She remembers herself and blushes, she didn’t want people to know she did it. It may seem stupid, but something about it is embarrassing.

“You’re the only person I know who uses sticky notes like that.” He points at the sticky notes on her binder. Panda sticky notes on a kitty binder, she’s a twenty-two year old woman.

“Uh, yeah….I like cute stuff.” She blushes down to her chest, but shrugs. It’s stupid to be embarrassed by the things she likes. She’s an adult and if she wants to surround herself with all things adorable, she has the right to. But, she’s also well aware that it changes people’s impression of her. Apparently, it’s hard to take someone seriously when they’re using a bunny pen.

“Wait, you made those cookies, Tsuneko!?” Sakiko blurts out and Tsuneko sinks further into her seat. God, she wants to die.

“Yeah….I guess.”

“They were so good, everyone loved them! I didn’t know you could bake!” Sakiko’s words jumble together and Tsuneko thought she got too excited over food.

“Uh, yeah, I like sweets,” Tsuneko murmurs, staring at the table.

“Feel free to bring more in any time, everyone really appreciated them,” Takahiro puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and smiles, “by the way has your hand been giving you any trouble, Tomori?”

“Not really, it hurts, but I’m getting my work done.” She relaxes a bit, it was nice of him to change the subject.

“Well, if you need any help just let me know, it can’t be easy getting hurt and having more work on top of it.”

“I appreciate it, but don’t worry, besides cleaning rooms isn’t really your job. If I need a hand, I’m sure one of the other maids will help.” It doesn’t exactly make sense to ask a concierge to help with maid work, even if it’s a kind offer.

“Uh, yeah,” his face is red again, “that’s true, but my offer stands, don’t push yourself. Um, I have to get back to work, see you later.”

Tsuneko waves him off as he scampers away, he’s a nice guy, but that was…awkward. She gathers up her things, the lunch break is about over.

“Are you both ready to go?” Chisato sighs and Sakiko pinches the bridge of her nose, “what’s wrong?”  

“I swear to god Tsuneko.” Sakiko looks ready to fall over.

“What?!”

“Romance isn’t your strong suit, huh?” Chisato shakes her head.

“What?”

“Kuroba. Likes. You,” Sakiko drags every word out.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh my god, I’m going to scream.” Sakiko grabs at her head, she’s being ridiculous.

“Let it go, Sakiko, she’s hopeless.” Chisato stands up with her tray and leaves the table.

“Hey, what's that supposed to mean!?” Tsuneko yells out as Sakiko follows behind Chisato. She’s left alone, yelling at a cafeteria table. A few coworkers shoot her funny looks and she runs off with her face flushing.

She puts her tupperware in her locker before going back to work. Putting the break time weirdness from her mind, she focuses on her job. She still hasn’t been paged and without a plan she feels confident in, she’s dragging it out as much as she can. Her plan B is risky at best, stupid at worse.

She’s reaching the end of her regular work schedule when the pager goes off. Her heart catches in her throat and her blood runs cold. She snatches it from her pocket, almost dropping it as she tries to figure out how it works. Who the fuck uses pagers anymore?

“Be in the penthouse in five minutes,” Ichinomiya’s voices comes out from the pager, she apparently found the answer button. The penthouse is further than five minutes away, but she’s trying to catch the asshole in a good mood, being late or making excuses won’t do her any favors.

“Right away, sir,” she tries to respond, but she has no idea if it goes through, because pagers confuse her.

She uses her cleaning cart as a scooter through the more vacant halls, trying to shave off even a few seconds off her time. It still takes her longer than she’d like to make it to the penthouse elevator. Having to walk in front of guests, because professionalism, dooms her.

The elevator carriage lurches into movement and she takes a deep breath. She’s going to try the rational approach again, she decided that long ago. But, her backup plan, oh god she doesn’t want to rely on her backup plan. It’s all she could think of.

Starting the first legal casino, mention of just how hard he fought to pass the laws needed to create it, everything about the hotel is themed around this. The name of the hotel is the Tres Spades for god’s sake. It’d be clear to anyone, Ichinomiya is a betting man.

The elevator comes to a stop and she scoots on her cleaning cart to the lounge doors. She steps back off, double checks her uniform is in order, before trudging inside.

“Excuse me, I was paged.” All of the men from last night are there.

“You’re two minutes late,” Ichinomiya says coldly, “go make me coffee.”

“My apologies sir,” she forces her customer service voice, “how do you take your coffee?”

“Three sugars and milk.” He doesn’t bother to look up from whatever forms he’s reading over.

“Understood, would anyone else like something to drink?”

“Aww, how thoughtful,” Baba comments with a sickly sweet smile.

“She’s trying to be a good girl,” Kisaki teases, is he ever not smirking?

She bites her lip and clenches her fist, a fresh ache of pain shoots through her injured hand. The rest of the men tell her what they want to drink and she makes her way to the kitchen area of the lounge. Her mind wanders as she puts together the drinks, she wants nothing more than to just confront the elephant in the room. Blunt and straightforward suits her best, it’s how she likes dealing with stuff.

“Shit,” she curses under her breath, she’s poured more milk in than she meant to, Ichinomiya’s coffee has barely a tint of brown to it. Not a good start, but he’ll get upset if she takes too long, she decides to bite the bullet and take the drinks in as is.

“Need any help, pretty lady?” Baba asks when she steps out, a pointed look at her bandaged hand.

“No, thank you.” Even if he’s being genuine, she doesn’t trust him or anyone here as far as she can throw them. She sets the tray down and places everyone’s drinks in front of them.

“Thank you, princess, you know if you wanted I could have taken care of you hand.”

“No one wants to play doctor with you, old man,” Kisaki tells him.

“I just wanted to give her some tender loving care.” Baba winks at her and she rolls her eyes, even if she’s trying to be nice, she can only take so much.

“Can’t believe the kid stabbed one of ‘em.” Kishi has a grin on his face, like it’s funny. It’s the most personality she’s seen out of him, in all honesty she forgot he existed.

“Should we hide the vases or something?” Kisaki looks at the glass vases on some of the tables.

“She should be thankful she’s even alive,” Oh cuts in, voice as harsh as ever.

“Enough,” Ichinomiya gives Tsuneko an intense stare and points at a chair near him, “sit.”

She bites her lip and glares at him. It takes every measure of her self control to sit down and not scream.

“Aww, she’s already learned how to sit, good girl, Koro,” Kisaki pretends to coo over her.

“Sign this.” Ichinomiya plops a stack of documents into her lap, a quick glance shows it’s a confidentiality agreement. He’s going with her original idea, she didn’t even have to plead her case, maybe he was just messing with her last night? Getting some laughs before he drew up the papers.

“You can practically see her tail wagging.”

“Great!” she ignores Kisaki, “I’ll just sign this and we’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ichinomiya brings his coffee to his lips and takes a drink, a hint of a smile on his lips, “we still own you, this is just some extra assurance you won’t try to tell anyone about the auctions.”

“What!?”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

“Look, with all-”

“This isn’t open for discussion.”

“Yes it is, I’m discussing right now in fact!” She jolts from her seat, letting the papers fall, and glares at Ichinomiya. All hints of composure or calm have left her. What is this guy’s problem? Kisaki hides away the vase nearest to him.

“I see you’ve dropped the goody-two shoes act.” He’s still smirking and if it wouldn’t destroy her hand right now, she’d punch him.

“I’m sorry, you all wasted your money on me, but it was just that, a waste! There’s nothing I can do for any of you and no reason to keep me!” She shakes her clenched fists and her face feels like it’s on fire, this is the stupidest fucking thing. Ichinomiya stands up, he towers over her.

“I don’t need a reason.” His voice is calm, the fact he can be so calm while she’s fuming pisses her off even more.

“Yes, you fucking do!”

“I bought you, I own you. When I tell you something, you say ‘yes’ or ‘okay’, there is no third option. Understood?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well, I think that’s enough negotiations for one day.” Baba claps his hands together, trying to end the argument. Ichinomiya scowls at her and she doesn’t look away.

“I can still get rid of her, if you want,” Soryu offers, his hand moving underneath his jacket.

“Don’t worry,” a devious glint lights Ichinomiya’s eyes, “I’ll find a use for her.”

He turns on the heels of his feet, he’s ending the discussion, but she’s not. It’s time for plan B.

“You want to bet?” She yells out and crosses her arms over her chest, Ichinomiya stops in his tracks, just before the winding staircase. She hates risky moves, but he loves them. Her heart hammers in her chest, but she forces a cold expression as he turns to face her.

“A bet?”

“Two weeks to find a ‘use for me and determine my worth’,” she mimics his voice at the end, “It has to be something specific to me, no cop out bullshit, nothing just anyone could do. If by the end of the month, I haven’t done anything to benefit you, it means there’s no point in owning me and we forget the whole thing. If you do find a use for me, it means I’m worth owning and I’ll stop fighting you on it.”

For the first time since this entire mess started, it looks like Ichinomiya’s listened to her. He breaks eye contact and seems to consider her words for a moment, his amused grin never leaves his face.

“During the two weeks, you’re not to take a vacation, quit, avoid me, or any other forms of running. You will still act as an employee and can’t shirk any responsibilities for the sake of the bet.”

“Fair enough, we have a deal?” Tsuneko offers her non-injured hand, her gaze and Ichinomiya’s meet, each challenging the other to back down.

“I don’t lose,” he warns as he shakes her hand, his skin warm against hers and his grip firm.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

He rolls his eyes then turns back around, descending up the stairs, her hand still warm from his grasp. She lets out a heavy breath, this is the last thing she wanted. There’s a pit in her stomach and she regrets stealing that food at lunch, she feels like she’s about to puke. Her hand finds the good luck charm still in her pocket, the feel of the worn fabric has become an odd comfort, maybe she’ll hold onto it for a while longer. If good luck exists, she needs as much of it as she can get.

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo square: Stony Accidental Marriage

Fandom: Marvel Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton Tags: Accidental Marriage, Las Vegas, Love at First Sight, Drunk People, Humor, Fluff Words: 2.144 Sequel: Till Death Do Us Part (Complete)

Summary: Steve is drunk and falls in love head over heels with Tony. Marriage is the logical next step. Now, if only the wedding night would never end so they won't have to wake up.

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Steve is drunk. The feeling is all the more exhilarating for how seldom it happens. He does not drink, usually, not enough to make his steps unsteady and his vision wonky. He is sensible. Most often, he volunteers to be the designated driver and everybody is happy to leave him to his sorry sober state to go and have fun themselves. They are in Las Vegas, though, and do not have a car with them. They left that at home right along with all their common sense.

“We need to celebrate,” Bucky had said, one arm around Steve’s shoulders and a wicked grin on his face, already planning their downfall.

“And you’re going to buy all our drinks,” Clint had added, not one to let these opportunities pass by unused, “since you’re going to be all famous and rich soon.”

“There’s not going to be so many drinks,” Steve had answered, but was too busy hiding his blush to properly chide them.

He is not going to be famous. Just because one gallery decided to put some of his pictures up for their next exhibition does not mean that their frugal life is over. Somewhere around the fourth drink, though, Steve begins to believe his friends that it might. Slowly, he stops worrying about the bills he needs to pay and the paintings he has to finish and the two jobs he has to struggle.

Being drunk pushes all of that away, wrapping him in a comfortable bubble where he is not afraid of anything. Not of failure, not of success, not of his art being out there for anyone to see.

The music seems to seep right into his bones, making his limbs move out of their own volition. He dances and laughs and drinks anything his friends put into his hands. They are here to look after him. He is safe.

The club is a dump. The lights are low. There are too many people crowding the dancing floor. Steve is sure no one here has ever even heard about fire safety regulations. Nobody cares either. And the more he loses himself in the feeling of being alive, the less Steve cares about that too.

Midnight must have long come and gone, but time does not matter here. Steve’s friends are somewhere. They loosely orbit each other in the club, meeting up every now and then only to disappear into the crowds again. Still, Steve is not afraid of losing them. Not here. Not with how pleasantly removed he feels from all his fears.

The sight of the man in the middle of the dance floor hits him like bludgeoning hammer right to the chest. All the lights and music and energy of the club seems to pale compared to this one man’s grace. He is short but appears larger than life. His skin is glowing under the artificial light. His hands, weaving through the air, are calling for Steve to come closer. And Steve, uninhibited by his usual reservations about strangers, feels himself drawn in.

His steps are not quite steady anymore, but he walks towards the man as if he holds his salvation, dodging bodies, eyes fixed on his target. From up close, the man is even more beautiful. Dark eyes, bright smile framed by an elaborate goatee. Steve’s fingers itch to draw him, to catch the swirl of pure energy around him.

The man does not stop his movements when he notices Steve’s stare, but his smile widens, gets a bit cocky. It is a challenge. Tonight, Steve feels like he could meet any challenge thrown at him.

“I like the way you dance. The colours all swirl around you,” Steve tells the man and reaches out with his hand, hoping to catch some of that brilliance for himself. “Wanna teach me?”

“Only if you catch me if I fall,” the man answers. There is something like humour in his voice but Steve nods, entirely honest. He is not the best at saving people but that does not mean he will stop trying.

He never notices the man move, but then their hands are intertwined and Steve is pulled close enough to the man to steal his breath.

They dance. Hours seem to fly by in which the lights never dim and the music never stops pushing their heartbeat to go faster. All of it seems to seep right into Steve’s skin and then push out in waves, pulling him this way and that. They share some drinks but Steve is not drunk on alcohol anymore but on the exhilarating feeling of sharing space with this man – Tony, as he had whispered into Steve’s ear.

If Steve were sober, he would never manage to move this way, but here and now it is the most natural thing in the world. Tony and he circle each other in perfect synchronicity.

They gather an audience at some point, pulling the entire club into their orbit. Steve is not sure whether his friends are still there, but they told him to live a little, to have fun. He is sure he has never been more alive than here, in Tony’s arms.

“You are perfect,” Tony tells him when they take a break at the bar, clutching a drink in one hand and Steve’s arm in the other.

“We should marry,” Steve exclaims, nodding with more enthusiasm than he has been able to muster for anything in a long time. “You and I. So nothing will ever separate us again.”

They are so close, Steve does not think anything could come between them. Still, it is the best idea he has ever had. Better than going out in the first place. Better than letting Tony pull him on the dance floor. Eternity should frighten Steve, but Tony is so bright next to him that he thinks he will never be afraid of anything again.

“That’s a great idea,” Tony hums, leaning even closer. “Then you can show me what else you can do with those hands.”

Their hands are intertwined again, and Steve thinks about paint, about having to touch every inch of Tony’s skin to be able to copy it on paper. Then he thinks about tracing Tony’s lips, about kissing.

“But where?” Steve asks with sudden desperation. He does not want anything to come between him and Tony.

“This is Vegas, hon,” Tony says, his voice alone is enough to soothe Steve. “Everything is either a chapel or a casino. Some are both.” He lets go of Steve to get a wallet out of his jacket and puts some bills on the bar. Before Steve knows it, Tony is touching him again. “Come on, practice your vows. I’m getting us a cab.”

They end up in a cab with two strangers. “Witnesses,” Tony tells him and Steve is glad that he has Tony to remember these things. He briefly wonders whether he should not tell his friends that he is all right, ask them to come to the most important night of his life. He has not seen them in a while, though, his eyes too fixed on Tony. They can have a proper celebration afterwards.

The cab driver lets them out at the first chapel he finds. It is a small thing, drab and dark, not at all a place Steve ever imagined himself marrying in. As soon as Tony steps into it, it begins to glow, however, made holy by his presence alone.

Someone gets them a priest, who appears tired but not surprised. He looks at them strangely but smiles back at Steve. Happiness is infectious, after all.

The ceremony itself is over very quickly. Steve can barely remember what they said or did, too mesmerized by Tony. By his smile and his hands and the way he holds himself. Tony’s hands are beautiful, more so even than his eyes. Calloused and scarred and yet so very careful, so very sure about every movement they make. Steve could watch them for hours and never get bored.  

“You can now kiss,” Steve hears the priest say through his daze.

He looks at Tony and knows that Tony is only looking at him too. Without a word, they are leaning closer, melting into each other’s warmth, their heartbeats mingling.

When their lips touch, the world feels right for the first time in years. All of Steve’s worries and problems fall away as he lives only in this moment. He wishes it would never end. Tony tastes of excitement, the fulfilment of dreams.

When they break apart, Steve feels like Tony is taking a part of him with him.

“We should have our wedding night now,” Tony says. They are still so close that it feels like they are one.  “Like, right now.”

When Steve looks up, the priest is gone and their two witnesses are making out on one of the benches. It is almost like only Tony and he are left in the world, and Steve would not mind it at all if that were the truth.

“We’re in a chapel,” Steve points out miserably, even though a voice in the back of his mind says that this is not exactly a refusal.

“It’s more like the backstage room of a seedy bar,” Tony protests, his gaze full of intensity. “We’re surely not the first.”

Steve snorts, fighting the need to get his hands all over Tony right now. “But we deserve better,” he argues, sounding not so sure about that himself. “We need to dance and we can only do that in a bed.”

For a moment, Steve is afraid his words will not make sense for Tony, but Tony only nods like that is exactly what he thought too.

“I have a bed,” Tony says, full of eagerness. “Let’s see whether that cab is still waiting.”

The cab is not, in fact, still waiting, but they simply hold onto each other’s hands and start walking. The whole world feels so small now that they are together to fill it. The walk is exhilaratingly liberating. They talk and they dance right there on the sidewalk, and when the light behind Tony’s movements fades a bit, they get a new bottle of something that burns as it slides down Steve’s throat.

He has not felt this weightless in years. Also, he has a husband now to make life easier. In sickness and in health.

By the time they reach the hotel, they cannot keep their hands off each other. Tony’s lips are so insistent that they barely make it to the elevator. From there, Steve cannot say at all how they make it to Tony’s room.

He is glad they did, though, because Tony’s bed is huge and soft and when Steve lets himself fall onto the mattress, he whoops when he is thrown up into the air again.

“This is amazing,” Steve says, full of bliss. “Come try it.”

Tony stands at the end of the bed, looking down at him with a smile that Steve knows only too well. It is the kind that questions how he got so lucky to end up here. It is the kind that speaks of the sheer happiness to be alive in this moment. He cannot believe someone is looking at him like that.

“If you think that is amazing, tonight will blow your mind.”

Steve nods, slightly impatient. Everything Tony does will be amazing. He rocks on the bed. “Let me blow yours first.”

When his own words register, Steve dissolves into giggles and then outright laughter when he sees Tony’s baffled face.

“Come on,” he beckons, “I don’t make empty promises.”

Without any hesitation, Tony lets himself fall right into Steve’s arms. Together they bounce a bit, laughing louder.

“You’re perfect,” Tony hums, snuggling deeper into Steve’s embrace. “Let’s marry.”

“We already did that, husband,” Steve says. “Now, stop talking before our wedding night is over.”

In response, Tony places a trail of kisses up Steve’s neck and over his jaw to his lips. Each one makes the fire inside Steve grow, makes his more sure that he has made the best decision of his life tonight.

“Let’s never wake up,” Tony whisper against Steve’s lips. “Real life is so exhausting.”

Tony sounds tired and Steve cannot have that. They are supposed to be happy forever. “I have a better plan,” he says with all the determination he can muster, “let’s just not sleep. Then we don’t have to worry about waking up.”

Propping himself up on his elbows, Tony hovers over Steve and looks down at him. The smile is back on his face and that is, once again, the only thing that counts in the world, leaving no place for worry.

“Deal,” Tony says.

They kiss, and Steve has never been more excited for forever to come.

---

This has a sequel (because they do have to wake up at some point): Till Death Do Us Part

[holidaywishes]

It Had To Be You XXV

Chapter Twenty Five: Speechless

  Summary: Tyler takes you to the Stars annual Casino Night

  Author’s Note: I was going to make this a one-shot. Like write a chapter that included the Casino night but that wasn’t all about it and then do an imagine that had nothing to do with this series. But I thought that would be too confusing. So… I did a short, fluffy kind of chapter instead.. The end just kinda… happened… Enjoy!

  Warning: none. Just adorableness. Maybe some steam?

  Song Credit: Speechless -- Dan & Shay

  masterlist

  You had tossed and turned all night, earning many grumblings from Tyler who repeatedly told you how much of an annoying sleeper you were, but you weren’t entirely sure why. Until Sunday morning

  “I can’t go to this thing…” you said, turning the corner

  “What? What do you mean?” Tyler asked, scrunching his face when he saw the worried look on yours

  “I don’t have anything to wear.. I didn’t bring anything fancy… Definitely not like Gala worthy…” you whined and he laughed

  “I thought you might say that”

  “What? Why?”

  “I know you,” he chuckled, “that’s why. And that’s why I got you a dress. It’s in the bedroom, in my closet, go look.” You rummaged through Tyler’s closet trying to find the dress he’d hidden from you -- apparently he thought you’d look in his closet and find it before he had a chance to show it to you.

  “I don’t see i--” you called out before you saw the green fabric peeking out behind a black garment bag. You moved the fabric between your fingers before taking it off the rack to look at it straight on. It was velvet, hunter green, with a semi-plunging neckline and it looked like it was going to be way too long on you because it was floor length which made you nervous; he probably had shoes lined up for you as well.

  “Did you find it?” He asked, coming in to find you standing back and staring at the dress, “do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful,” you answered, faltering slightly at the end of your sentence, “it might be too long though. And there’s no time to fix it if it is…”

  “The shoes!” he blurted out and you chuckled, “they’re under the dress. There was a box on the floor…”

  “You really thought of everything didn’t you?”

  “I guess so,” he winked before grinning widely, “try everything on. We have to go soon anyway.” You took a deep breath and went to try on the dress, Tyler excused himself to take a shower so he could be surprised at the final reveal. There were things you hadn’t noticed when you looked at the dress on the hanger, well one thing. The long slit on the right side of the dress went all the way up to your thigh, displaying the small tattoo you had there with ease and you tried to disguise it but it was no use. You were right though, without heels on, you would trip over the fabric that dragged beneath your feet. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn't believe it was actually you. And that you actually felt beautiful. For the first time in a long time, you looked at yourself in the mirror and saw someone beautiful looking back at you, instead of someone who was too big or too sick or not good enough in some way. You realized you only had a few hours until you and Tyler had to leave to get to the venue, so you took off the four-inch black Stiletto heels that Tyler picked out for you that were already killing your feet and carefully tore off the dress so you could jump in the shower when Tyler came into the room.

  “Oooh is this my ‘thank you’ present?” he said, scrunching his hair in a towel while he looked you up and down where you stood in the bra and underwear you had on under the dress

  “Nope”

  “(Y/N).. baby.. come on, please..” he whined and you laughed, gathering up your cleanser and a razor to take into the shower with you

  “I have to get ready too. You had your shower, now I have to have mine,” Tyler was suddenly in front of you and you leaned up to press a kiss to his jawline, whispering in his ear “if you behave, maybe we’ll sneak away from the crowd.” With that he was absolutely still, giving you the chance to kiss his cheek and run off to take your shower; only stopping for a second when you heard him say

  “I’m gonna hold you to that…”

  Let it be known that this dress was not an easy one to wear.

  You changed your lingerie three times to make everything seamless underneath, any slips made it look bulky so they were out, you wanted to wear tights but the dress literally wouldn’t allow it and the slit made it nearly impossible to move quickly so you had to be very intentional with your movements the rest of the night.

  The shoes on the other hand were the Devil’s work.

  The second you started walking in them you wanted to die. They made your legs look fantastic but they also made your entire body wish you didn’t have feet. A lot of conflicting emotions and Tyler had yet to see you. You sprayed some perfume on your wrists, neck and behind your ears like Lucy showed you when you were 8 -- a habit you never quite grew out of -- and looked at yourself in the mirror once more. Tyler called out to you just as you were walking to the stairs to meet him.

  “Babe, if we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late…”

  “I’m coming! I’m trying to get used to this damn shoes. You’re trying to kill me!”

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine besides you’ll look hot in them. That’s why I got them.”

  “How did you even know my sizes?” you said from the top of the stairs, carefully walking down seeing him fixing his tie in the mirror

  “Your sister, now hurry u--” his jaw dropped when he saw you, no words left on his tongue and you smiled as your cheeks tinted pink

  “Ty?” you asked, continuing down the last few steps and he was finally able to compose himself enough to smile but still didn’t speak, “are you okay?” You pushed him aside so you could make sure your hair and makeup were okay, noticing that Tyler’s eyes never left you; although they danced across your body before landing on your face in the mirror. After about 10 minutes, he finally told you how beautiful you looked, making your face go beet red, and his hands came up to your hips; running them up and down the velvet fabric while he kissed your neck.

  “Hmm,” you hummed as you felt his lips glide across your skin, “we have to go…” Just as quickly as it was said, Tyler was opening the door to guide you out to the car. Half an hour later, you walked into the Park Plaza Lexus arm and arm with Tyler, slightly overwhelmed by the grandness of it all. You mingled with people throughout the night, watched Tyler play a hand of Texas Hold ‘Em, took a couple shots with Jamie and tried your hand at Craps with Tyler at your side.

  “Want me to blow on the dice?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows excitedly

  “Go for it, baby!” you laughed, knowing that he was being completely serious when he asked. You brought your hands up to his lips and watched as he let a light breeze drift across the dice in your palms; you bit your lip when you felt a tingle go through your body, which Tyler immediately noticed forcing him to hide a grin. The rest of the night was full of pictures with fans and supporters for the Foundation, with quick chats between the media and the team while you tried to keep your distance from the Ice Girls. You found yourself watching Tyler from across the room a few times, enamored by his charisma, before you noticed Devin slumped over the bar. When you tapped on his shoulder, he jumped slightly

  “Shit, (Y/N), you scared me”

  “Sorry, Dev. You okay?” you asked, “not having a good night?”

  “I might not be here tomorrow…” he whispered under his breath

  “What do you mean?” you leaned in, asking him gently

  “They’re talking about a trade…” You were surprised that, if he was right, it would be talked about tonight. It seems like something that should be left for a regular day, not on the night of an event fundraiser; you stood there contemplating for a minute, biting the inside of your cheek before you spoke

  “Let’s just enjoy the night. Come with me?” you asked, noticing the hesitation on his face but he obliged, grabbing your hand after shooting the rest of his drink.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get your mind back on gambling…” you laughed, guiding Devin to the Roulette table and gestured for him to play. A couple rounds later, he was back to being the happy guy you had grown so fond of over the past year or so. You saw him wander over to the photo booth with some people with a big smile on his face and you smiled in return, knowing that he would be okay for the rest of the night but when you saw Tyler and Jamie standing with Monty, you paused, unsure of whether to let them be or to interrupt; your decision was made when you saw Tyler’s jaw tense and his head drop.

  “There you are!” you cooed, attaching yourself to Tyler’s hip to give him a kiss on the cheek, “Jamie, Jim.. how are you?” You felt Tyler’s chest fall like he was releasing all of his stress he didn’t even know he was holding

  “We’re good, how are you (Y/N)?” Jim asked, “enjoying the night?” You nodded but got distracted when you felt Tyler’s hand roam slowly to the small of your back.

  “It’s been a really good night I think, but..” you grabbed Tyler’s hand, “we’re just going to run to the photo booth before it gets too late…” Just as you two started walking away, Jamie rushed over to you, surprising you and making Tyler growl

  “I didn’t know you had a tattoo (Y/N)...” he smiled and nodded toward the slit in your dress, bringing a blush to your cheeks while Tyler tugged at your wrist to get you to come with him. When you got to the photo booth, you were very aware how open it was since Tyler was doing his best to brush his hand under your dress

  “Staahhpp” you whined, “babe, people can see us”

  “I’ve been good” he whispered in your ear, still trying to guide his hand under your dress

  “Huh?” was all you could return and he snapped back to look at you

  “You said if I behaved, we’d sneak away, we snuck away…” You remembered what you had said before your shower and a small smile crept on your lips

  “I saw how angry you were getting with Monty. I don’t know what was being said but I came to rescue you…”

  “But I was on my best behaviour…” he went back to kiss your neck while the camera flashed

  “Not here baby…” you managed to pull him away and convince him to take a nice picture before he guided you into a dark hallway where no one could see you. You leaned against the wall underneath him, while his left arm stretched past you, his palm resting on the wall just above your head as he slowly leaned down to kiss you; stopping just before he got to your lips

  “Is here okay?” he grinned and you slid your hands around his neck, watching his lips carefully, and tangled your hands in his hair

  “You’ve been very good tonight Mr. Seguin…” you bit your bottom lip when you felt his right hand grab your waist tightly at your words, still watching his lips. He dropped his palm from the wall to run his thumb over your cheek before finally pressing a soft kiss to your lips that built into an intense flurry of passion; his body crashing yours into the wall while his hands grabbed your waist and your hands tugged at the fabric of his suit jacket, your lips never parting until he inched back to grab some air. As you stood in front of him, chest heaving up and down, hands still clutching his jacket, you noticed his eyes go dark and you swallowed in anticipation of what he was thinking

  “Do you want to show me how bad you can be?” he whispered and you pressed your body against his, not knowing what sounds would come out of your mouth if you tried to speak, which he took as your agreeing to his leaving the event without saying goodbye to anyone.

 What could being bad mean to Tyler? Guess it was time to find out...

[nerdy-novelist017]

Awakening (Joker/Arthur Fleck fanfic)

This is my first Joker fanfic. I absolutely loved the 2019 movie. Joaquin Phoenix deserves an Oscar for his performance. The film was cinematically beautiful The writing was haunting and stuck with me for a long time after. The soundtrack deserves its own Oscar, it was a perfect representation of Arthur Fleck. I just HAD to write something after seeing this movie.

Enjoy!

Ps. Feedback is appreciated greatly!

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She had never wanted this for her life. When she was a young girl, her dream was to be a princes and fall in love with her brave prince charming, just like all those Disney movies had sold to her. The idea that she could live in a perfect world, waking up to birds chirping and animals talking, singing all day and, eventually, falling in love with this perfect, pure person. But it was all a story, a lie told to eager young girls. There was no talking animals. And singing in public caused people to to look at you strangely. And there definitely was no prince charming of any kind. Just a broken world full of broken people just like her. Elizabeth was no princess. She was a prostitute.

Elizabeth walks down the sidewalk of the empty sidewalk. Her shift had started ten minutes ago, for that she is sure that The King would have her head. Her black, strappy heels leaves soft clicking noises as she quickens her pace. Thoughts of how she could slip past her boss races through her head as she rounds the corner to go to the back entrance. She yanks open the door and slips mutely inside. Almost immediately her nose is filled with the obnoxious smell of cigerettes and beer, smells that she has gotten use to in her career. The noises of the club surrounds her with yelling, laughing and, of course, cursing. She feels like it might have warmed up at least five degrees inside from the the crowd of people. Liz is use to this atmosphere. She is use to rude drunks, the sore losing gamblers, and her customers.

She ducks into the back hallway where it leads her to the back room filled with her other coworkers who are lounging on the uncomfortable, velvet couches. The room is dark, and falling apart at the walls. Ugly, cracking gold paint covered the walls with a faux rich atmosphere. The front of the casino was rich and fancy, the back was not.

"Look what the cat drug in," a voice speaks loudly in a thick New Jersey accent. Elizabeth knows who it is without even looking. She can recognize that wretched, annoying voice in her sleep. The voice belongs to a woman named Imani. She is a prostitute in her late twenties, just slightly older than Liz. She's a beautiful, tall, African American girl who had been in prostitution since she was eithteen. Ever since Liz had found Saltwater Casino all those years ago, Imani has made it her personal goal to make her life a living hell. As if it isn't already.

"Dragged," Liz corrects her grammar as she digs around in her purse. Her fingers find the tube of lipstick at the very bottom, under piles of napkins, loose change and packets of gum. She quickly rushes to one of their many full-length mirrors to apply a fresh layer of her favorite red lipstick.

"Oh, screw you, Lizzie," Imani spits as she rose from her lounge. In three long strides, she is across the room, glaring daggers at Liz. Years ago, when Elizabeth had first started working at Saltwater Casino, she would have flinched away from Imani's towering form and beautiful glaring looks. She would have immediately apologized and slunk away like the weak person she was. But that was the past when Liz was just a young girl. Now, she turns directly towards Imani.

With faces just inches away , Liz speaks calmly, "Get out of my face, Imani,"

The room full of girls has turned their attention to the fight brewing. The atmosphere grows tense.

"Girls, knock it off," a strict voice averts all of their attention to the doorway where a larger man stands, arms folded over his large chest. He barely fits in the doorway with his towering height, but where he is tall, he certainly lacks any attractive physic. He's skinny, with arms and legs that look like they have not seen a day's worth of hard work in their entire life. Liz figures he is built this way from the cocaine she knows he uses often. His veins are in a perpetual state of protruding down his arms. However weak he may appear, he is certainly no weak man. She knows this from experience. All of the girls do.

Without missing a beat, Imani takes a step back, throwing her arms open wide, "Mistah King, look who was ten minutes late, yet again. She came in here with an attitude lookin' to start a fight with me as usual."

Elizabeth rolls her eyes, knowing there was no use arguing her side. A few of the others girls laugh, they all knew she was lying, but none bother to back Liz up. It is survival instincts that keep them quiet. Each of them know that if they say anything to her, Imani will make their lives unnecessarily complicated. So, they say nothing.

"Lizzie, walk with me," Mr. King demands as he turns, leaving Elizabeth to slide around Imani and follow her boss out of the room.

"She's lying, I wasn't --" Liz starts once they were out of earshot and down the hallway. The hallway that was decorated with dreadful red and gold wallpaper that warped and peeled in more than one area. It was dim, the wall scorns not bright enough to lighten the hallway. Nothing could brighten the back of the building.

"So you were on time?" Mr. King cuts her off. Liz looks away. Great, he was already in a bad mood tonight.

"Yes," Elizabeth lies, focusing her gaze on a particular bubble of wallpaper that shapes a mangled dolphin. Anything would be better than looking into her boss' cold, dark eyes. She swallows the frog in her throat. She hates the effect he still has on her. The knots in her stomach, the shivers on her skin. She hates the way he makes her feel vulnerable, small.

"What have I told you about being late, baby girl?" Mr. King leans in closer to her as he speaks in a low whisper. Elizabeth almost flinches at his pet name he had given her throughout the years.

"Don't let it happen," She answers, emotionless. Her nose burns from the stench of alcohol on his breath.

He reaches his skinny hand out to stroke her cheek and down to her neck. Elizabeth refuses to cower under his touch. She doesn't want to satisfy him in any way. Instead, she looks him straight in his beady black eyes, "You got a shift for me?"

He is quiet for a long time, only staring at her. Finally, he backs away and says, "Yeah, you're on from nine to five,"

She bites her lip in anger. He has purposefully given her a crappy shift because she had talked back to him. She shakes her head and makes her way to the front of the casino. It is a busy night as usual. It is a Tuesday night, so there is classical music playing in the background as customers gambled, drank or talked. She sits on a high stool where the girls sometimes wait for men who were looking for an hour's escape from reality. She immediately spies her coworker and closest thing to a friend she has.

"Hey, Nat," greets Liz as she moves to sit closer to the young girl at the opposite end of the bar.

The woman looks up from her ciggerette, causing her kinky, blonde curls to bounce slightly at the sudden movement. Her face breaks out into a wide smile, "Hey, sugar!"

"Is that a new shade of lip gloss?" Lizzie asks when she takes a seat.

"Oh this old thing?" Nat's messy manicured nails gestures to her lips, "Nah, I've had this for quite a while. Got it from my second cousin. Anyway, I didn't know you would be working tonight." her southern drawl slurs her words together. She constantly speaks of her childhood home back in New Orleans, where she has inherited her accent. Whenever she would ask Elizabeth about her childhood home, Liz would dismiss it as unimportant or not worth the time.

"Got nine to five," Lizzie confirms as she signals one of the many bartenders to bring her a drink. He's a kind man, often servers her for free.

"Oh, honey," Nat shakes her head in shame, "that is such a shitty shift. He's such an ass."

"It was because I was late, slept through my alarm," she leaves out the part where Mr. King got too close for comfort. It isn't like she is the only girl he has done it to. She's seen multiple new girls go into his office for longer than they should have. She pities them, but doesn't dare speak up against him. She needs this job. It is the only thing she is good at in life.

"Well," Natasha props her elbows on the glossy oak top, "at least you got a good night, there's been a dozen of cutie butterflies that came in earlier. They are all over there, by the slots."

Elizabeth's dark eyes follows Nat's gaze directed over to the east wing, where a group of clean-cut men pool around, cheering on their friend who was about to roll his dice. The two girls have code words for different type of customers. Butterfly is the code for an attractive young man. Because they are few and far between, they have been given the word butterflies. Moths are the name given to just about every other customer. They are usually old, fat and unattractive married men. Moths are ugly and always a pest to deal with, thus the nickname was born.

"I don't know, they seem pretty invested in their game," Elizabeth shakes her head and leans her chin on her palm, resting her elbow on the table top.

"A girl can dream, right?" she flashes one of her brilliant smiles.

As the night progressed on, Elizabeth chats with Natasha as much as she could before one of them would most likely be whisked away by a needy customer. They both have a drink of vodka before their Mr. King could see. Throughout her years of prostitution, she has learned to yearn for a drink to calm her nerves. A couple moths sway through, looking for a date for the night, both girls quickly show them to the other prostitutes on shift.

"Lizzie, you're on room nine, guy's already in there waiting for you," Mr. King appears behind her, eyeing them as if they are threatening him at gun point, "You planning on paying for that, or am I gonna have to take it out of your paycheck?"

"Course, Mister King," Natasha winks at him over the brim of her glass as she downs the rest of the amber colored liquid.

"I didn't even see anyone go in the den," Elizabeth raises her eyebrow in confusion. The den is what the girls called their workspace. Usually it consists of a queen bed and a couple of rickety night stands. It's a sad room where the girls spend most of their nights with various men.

"Let's hope he's a butterfly," Nat smiles in encouragement as she raises her empty glass of vodka, "look good, babe,"

Elizabeth nods, forcing a tight smile. She follows Mr. King out of the main room and moves down the cramped hallway, all the way until he pauses in front of a door. The wood has been painted black with a giant red heart and in the center is the number 9. Before her hand can grab the door handle, a large first curls around her bicep.

"This man is paying very well, baby girl, so don't screw anything up with your woman emotions, got it?" Mr. King spits through clenched teeth.

Elizabeth nods her head, "Got it,"

He releases her arm and takes a few steps back, "Good, he paid for an hour, so that's what your going to give him," and with that, he turns and disappears down the dim-lighted hallway.

Elizabeth knows if this man complained in any way, Mr. King would punish her severely. She runs a hand through her dark chestnut hair to make herself look more seductive. A shaky hand reaches out to grab the door handle again. She curls her hands into a fist to stop the shaking. She is strong. She can do this. Her usual prepping rings out in her head. Opening the door, she is greeted with a dark room, the only light illuminating was the light spilling in from the hallway behind her. For a moment, she actually thinks she has the wrong room. She reaches to flick on the light switch. The lights pop on and she can see his towering form over by the window, broad back facing her.

She gently closes the door and moves towards the bed in the center of the room, "So, you like standing in dark rooms?"

"No," his voice was low and calm. He speaks clearly, without any stutter or shyness. He is sure of himself, "I like the look of the city. When the lights are on, it leaves a glare on the window."

He still hasn't turned to face her yet, giving Elizabeth a chance to see his body. He is very tall, long legs and broad shoulders. Soft layers of black hair spills out around his neck and just touching his shoulder. He is lean but muscular enough to be intimidating. He wears a beige jacket that stretches across his long back. Simple boot cut jeans covers his lengthy legs and finishes at his boots.

Elizabeth thinks he is strange, but she shrugs it off and lays on her side of the bed, leaning one leg over the other, "Are you gonna come over here, or are you gonna stare out the window the entire time?"

His towering form turns slowly, stepping away from the window. Elizabeth can see that he has a sharp jawline, littered with a light dusting of stubble. His lips are splashed with just enough pink hue to make them look full and playfully tasteful. His hooded brows and lack of light in the room conceal his eye color from her.

His feet stop when he approaches the end of the bed. He rings his hands out as if he is nervous. She studies his face for a moment and frowns. She has seen him before. But where?

Elizabeth clears her throat before she speaks, "You don't have to worry about wearing anything. That's already taken care of by me."

She looks down at her cheap clothing, expecting him to want her to start stripping her sheer, black tank-top to reveal her lacy, red bra. She unconsciously plays with a loose thread on the purple bedspread. The nerves always eats through her stomach right before she meets a customer. None of the men that came in for the night are good people. All of them are either drunks avoiding their nagging wives, young men getting a taste of freedom, or even aged men without anyone in their lives. She can't quite tell what this man's tell was.

When he does not acknowledge her, she sits up a little, propping her upper half of her body on her hands, "What's your name?"

He tilts his head to the side, "I'm Arthur," he seems to pause a moment before continuing, "what's yours?"

This causes Elizabeth to pause and stare at him with a small, agape mouth. Hardly any of the men that come through on their nightly livelihood ever ask her name. They don't care. She is just a tool to them, just disposable. "Call me Lizzie,"

"Lizzie," he looks down at his feet as he tests the name on his tongue. An uncomfortable silence fills the room, creating a tense atmosphere for Elizabeth. Usually she is not this uncomfortable and stiff, but this man, Arthur, is forming a very afflictive attitude within her. His presence is unsettling, making her want to get away.

"Um, do you want to sit on the bed?" Elizabeth suggests, motioning to the fluffed pillows.

Arthur cautiously lowers himself to sit on the edge of the bed, furthest away from her as he could possibly be without falling off the side. Elizabeth scoots over to the middle of the bed, laying down on her back and closing her eyes. When he still does not move or speak, She peers an eye open.

"You alright? You only paid for an hour, so..." Elizabeth trails off.

"I paid for an hour in this room, right?" he asks.

"Yes, an hour with me in this room." she confirms.

He looks away from her face, suddenly finding the wood paneling more interesting than ever, "Is it alright if we just...talked instead?"

Elizabeth tilts her head to the side in utter confusion. She is expecting him to request a lot of different things, but she definitely does not expect that to be one of them. When his eyes float back to hers, she immediately looks down in embarrassment. She can feel heat rise in her cheeks. Who was this guy? "We can start with that, to calm your nerves,"

"I don't want to use your body for prostitution, Lizzie," he speaks softly and quickly, "I don't want that from you."

Her head is pounding with confusion as she stares at the mysterious stranger. Most men don't even care for her name, and now here this man is telling her that he doesn't want to have sex with her? Her immediate thoughts were that he is shy to be naked in front of her, hence the lights. "We don't have to leave the lights on, if that's what you mean,"

His face remains straight, "It's not. I did not hire you for sex."

She hears bells of alarm and panic in the back of her mind. This man was so odd, so unpredictable. "Are you a cop?"

He laughs loudly and shakes his head. he looks to be in pain as he covers his mouth with his hand and turns away from her.

Then she suddenly remembers that laugh. That eerie laugh. The same laugh he gave when he was on the Murray Franklin Show. The same laugh he gave before he killed the popular tv host.

She stands so quickly she stumbles in her heels. The door is the only thing on her mind. She needs to get out of this room and away from this murderer. However, she needs to accomplish this sneakily. Who knows what he would do to her?

He notices her change and stands beside her, his laughter has died down. She panics at his towering form and rushes for the door, barely pulling it open before he's by her side, slamming it shut.

"Don't," he growls and she yelps, hand still on the door handle.

"You're him," she whispers, "you're the Joker,"

"You aren't going to run out there and scream for security. I don't get out of jail just so that I can go right back in," he says lowly, his warm breath fans across her face. He smells strongly of cigarettes and a musky cologne. He is so close to her, she turns her head to the door, she doesn't want to look into the eyes of a murderer. Of her murderer.

"Are you going to kill me? My boss is just right down the hall. He and others would here if I screamed." she surprises herself with her newfound courage.

"They don't appreciate you as you should be," he says, "they wouldn't care if they found you dead in this room. You are just a tool to them. Just something to be used to gain them even more money. The rich come in here and abuse you then pay you way below what you're worth."

Tears prick her eyes as she gripes the door handle tighter. Though she knows all this to be true, it still hurts to hear.

She startles when she feels his cold hand slowly turn her cheek to face him. His fingers move to her mouth, his thumb gently tracing over her bottom lip before pulling her mouth into a large smile. He mimics her forced smile with one of his own, "Smile, I'm not going to kill you."

She feels herself being drawn to him, her hands falls of the door knob as he pulls her closer. His eyes, a brilliant green, hold so much emotion. So much pain. So much honestly.

His hands drop from her mouth, and he backs away. It feels as if she can breathe again. She watches him retreat to the bed, sitting alone. She swallows, her throat feels dry as she glances back at the door.

"You can leave," he speaks without looking at her as he pulls a cigarette from its pack, "but we both know you don't want to."

She wants to leave, more than anything. Her mind tells her to run and call the cops. But when she turns back to him, he's sitting on the bed, pulling out a cigarette from its pack. He lights it and takes a long puff from it before putting his head in his hands. He looks so broken, so defeated. So lonely.

       "There's nobody to talk to anymore," his voice drops off to a lower octave, "Even before they cut all the funding to those therapists, they never really listened. They never really talk. They didn't care."

       She is quiet for a few minutes before speaking with a scratchy voice, "I'm not a trained therapist. I don't know what to say like they do."

       "They never knew what to say either. That's why I like you, Lizzie. You aren't like them. You are like me." he smiles at her, and she wraps her arms around her torso uncomfortably.

       "I'm nothing like you."

       "You can't see it now. You haven't found your awakening yet," he takes another puff of his cigarette and looks away again.

      She hesitates a moment before slowing moving into a sitting position on the bed as far away from him as possible,"You paid an awful lot of money just to sit in this dingy room and talk with me,"

      He nods, "I know you must be confused, but I paid for an hour."

      She is quiet for a few painfully awkward seconds. She self-consciously tugs down on her skirt, no longer confident in her own skin. He sat completely still, as if he were waiting for her to leave through the door. But she doesn't. She needs this job. She needs the money. When she got home last night, her landlord had stopped her as she stumbled into the apartment building at two in the morning. Dan Flemmings was a short, balding Latino . Liz likes to blame the fact that his wife ran away to Belize with his best friend on why he was so mean, but the truth was, he was born to be bitter in this world. He never shows any mercy on her, or any other building attendant, in fact. If your rent was a day short, you needed to find a new building to live. He caught her as she was unlocking her door, ready to shower and sleep for a few hours before needing to wake up and repeat the process all over again. He had been waiting for her.

“You got your rent, Griffin?" his grating voice startled her, "It was due yesterday,"

She kept her emotions at bay, no matter how irritating Dan was when he used her surname, "That was yesterday? Must have slipped my mind."

“You know damn well that its always the first of the month," he stepped closer to her, the fluorescent light hanging above them highlighted his scared top lip, a final parting gift from his ex wife, "I won't make exceptions for you or your sister."

“Got it," she mumbled. She didn't have the money, in fact. She was almost two hundred short. With her food bills and her sister’s medical bills, she did not have enough money to pay for both her meals and her rent.

She needs the money. That's why she stays with the Joker.

“What do you want to talk about?"

[essford]

Together in Fear

On March 30th at approximately 4:21 PM, my father and I were officially checked in to room 149 at Motel 6 in Fife, Washington. Fife is a city of almost 10,000 people on the eastern end of Tacoma, existing as the gateway between King and Pierce Counties. It is the home of Emerald Queen Casino, where my father, Chris Ford, recently purchased tickets to see Blue Oyster Cult, the hard rock band that has gone on to create a profitable, if not ultimately predictable, touring career in the casino circuit over the past two decades. I always wondered what it would be like to wind up in that environment, as in, paying money to see a band with two surviving members play a small collection of hits compacted into an hour and a half set in the back of a crowded casino, where the combined odors of urine, sweat, and booze indebted belches are barely detectable inside the multipurpose showroom, just beyond the rows and rows of slot machines, black jack tables, stuffed shoulder to shoulder with salt of the earth workers, local natives, tourists, the sloshed and slobbering, the dismal and desperate, draining savings, collecting earnings. Everybody burning money together in the name of luck.

This show would mark Chris’s sixth time seeing Blue Oyster Cult, and for him, this was business as usual. BOC was coming to EQC, and it was my mission to join him on this quest. There was no one else I could imagine myself sitting next to as “Don’t Fear The Reaper” was performed with precision to an adoring audience before someone, like surviving members Buck Dharma (age 71, with vocal cords intact) and Eric Bloom, who perhaps feared reapers of their own, so to speak. I couldn’t help but think of young Chris, sitting around at age 16, puffing a joint listening to Agents of Fortune for the first time at my Nana’s house in West Seattle. We had to hit the casino. This was a good time to lose some money very quickly.

Room 149 was furnished with two twin beds that faced a modestly sized LG TV screen, set against the center of the wall. Underneath the screen was a bare desk. Before Chris placed down his bags, as well as his cooler, filled with 1 bottle Crown Royal (with bag intact) and somewhere around 9 (?) Budweiser 12 oz. cans, he picked up the television remote which was placed on a small nightstand between our beds. Less than one minute had passed before he turned on the TV, turning up the volume. I chose the bed closer to the bathroom. Out of some instinct, I pulled back the bedsheets, and noticed three thin, stranded hairs. I am fairly certain that one of them was pubic. For no discernible reason, I then turned on the bathroom light and wondered how many people, upon entering a new motel room, inspect the bathroom out of a similar instinct. It was then I realized I forgot to bring a toothbrush.

“Oh, I love this show,” My father said, sitting on his bed, Budweiser newly cracked and a healthy slug sat in his cup like a monument. He was wearing olive cargo shorts, nondescript sneakers with Nike socks, a Washington State Cougars shirt, and a hat with a camouflage bill (not intact), emblazoned with a Cougar logo. As his eyes began to glaze, I turned my attention to what he was watching. It was a show called Live P.D. The premise of the show was similar to that of Cops, in which camera crews across America follow police officers in the line of duty, dealing with the day in, day out mayhem that one has expected to come across as a citizen of the United States. It was a livestreamed television show, hosted by a cast of three commentators, all with backgrounds in law enforcement. One of the hosts looked a lot like Paul Ryan. After each corresponding clip of real time crime, the camera would cut back to the three men, nonchalantly giving analysis on what had unfolded. Car thieves in Ohio, domestic disputes in Florida, drunk and disorderly folks flinging themselves through the streets of Baton Rouge are caught, not only by the claws and sharpened talons of the law, but on camera, and after having their rights read by stern and foul mouthed officers, they are detained, and just as if they never existed before that moment in time, the scene CUTS to a slow fade, panning to the next adrenaline fueled saga of American Crime..

In 15 minutes, we made 200 dollars disappear. Each slot machine screamed and beeped, strobing bulbs of hot light reaching out from all angles to flood my visual and aural senses. Beckoning me closer, I indulged. The miniature luxury of smoking a cigarette indoors. A soft drink simply known as “Alert” was an available option at the complimentary soda fountain. Swiveling necks in every direction could observe the multiple chins of the aging average American male. Camo garb draped flabby bodies, scores of tricep meat and missing teeth. 50 hour work weeks. Weak knees and pension checks. God blessed every vet.

My father called me frantically from a Wheel of Fortune machine. “It’s almost time for the show!” He burped into his phone, one eye on the slot, one on his shot. I happened to notice one of his chins from where I was currently losing my money.

To my right was a Hispanic man, winning big at game called WILD WOLF. “Amigo, can I use your lighter?” He asked, staring straight ahead.

His body was almost motionless, eyes unblinking behind wire framed glasses in a frosted stasis. A light Marlboro cigarette barely stuck to the dry surface of his bottom lip. He had just won a “Mega Bonus”, and for a moment his hypnotic trance was broken, but quickly returned by the next spin. I could tell he was very pleased with his current earnings, even through his glazed veneer. Fishing for my lighter in between my own failed attempts at WILD WOLF, I couldn’t help but notice this man’s special ritual. The only bodily movements he was seemingly capable of making was when he pressed down on the SPIN button, which activated his next bet, but more hypnotizing was the moments after, as he pointed and drifted across the machine’s screen with his digits, like a painter casting brush to canvas, drifting in small circles with smooth and fluid strokes, until resting with a period like pressure from his index finger on one of the 20 digitized squares that made up the game. I lit his cigarette for him as the scrolling shapes of 7’s and words like SUNOB and EMAG EERF scrolled over his glasses, slot machines themselves, consuming his vision.

I made my way closer to the Cult, and further from the life of the WILD WOLF. I couldn’t help but think about the Reaper and what he meant to the ticketholders I was standing behind and in front of. Who was he, and who really feared him? Did my father ever truly fear the Reaper, after losing his father and friends? Death and loss are made familiar through experience, yet its aura lingers beyond the confines of each individual life, leading to big questions, grander than casino floors, blander than plug in and play rock bands. In this place, everyone is free to live in fear, together. Fear waits beyond the corner, after last call, and after the last drag. After the last hit. Fear is the in between moments. Between pulls from a heartless machine, between paychecks, between distraction and destiny. The fear that we will never accomplish goals held in our hearts. The fear of not following through on every dream left unrealized. We imagine ourselves in our final moments, cursing time wasted, action untaken. Admittedly, I spend too much time pondering on death. I miss my friends who have passed too soon. I miss people I’ve never met. Watching my dad sigh heavily with impatience in the bar line, which was tended by a hardened middle aged woman, sleep deprived and numb from the crying machines steps away, reminded me of what brought us together tonight. This was life.

(REDACTED: Please include any pertinent details readers may find desirable regarding the review portion of the concert)

The next day arriving home, in true 21st century fashion, before setting down my bag or acknowledging my surroundings, I found my laptop and logged onto one of three social media platforms that have succeeded in controlling the minds, moods, and attitudes of our generation. It was around then I learned a former classmate had died the previous night.

Moments such as this, to friends and family alike, anyone with two eyes, aren’t so much moments we experience consistently, but moments absorbed in random blasts, often with explosive impact. A moment of fear in the internet age, bringing individual worlds closer in some small way, every second of the day. A moment of silence, a helping hand, a loving comment, all facing us, but all too far away to try and explain. We are here to remember life itself, which dangles by an ankle, from a cliff called humanity. We can feel it. Somedays, we are engulfed in flames, dragged ashore, blue lips kissing, with two eyes smiling. Shreds of memory flicker, spraying tangerine sparks to the cold concrete of shop class, only shrapnels of memory to bind our souls together. Moments like this, we get used to this.

Together in fear.

We are here

To remember so much, just before the eclipse

Losing oxygen, wasting breath in equal measure

To fear the reaper,

Is to never have had the pleasure,

To face it himself