#vex: i could seduce him and throw his back out again

[blatherkatt]

Title: The Mockingbird of Whitestone [Critical Role]

Chapter 2: Old Wounds

Summary: Twenty years later, Vox Machina–or as much of it as can get to Whitestone at the time–reunite. It’s not their first time doing so, and they don’t plan on it being the last. It should just be another reunion.

But something completely unexpected throws everything into chaos, and leaves Vex’ahlia struggling with emotions she’d thought buried, and Percy trying to piece together the fragments of a very confusing puzzle.

Canon pairings, focusing on Perc’ahlia; warnings for minor blood in a later chapter and a whole lot of ruminating on a canonical major character death.

Rating: T

FIRST | NEXT

For years now, Percy and Vex had only used the earrings for simple, everyday things. Finding each other in a crowd, letting the other know that dinner was ready without having to search the entire castle. The most urgent use of it had been when a then-seven-year-old Crispin had wandered off during a trip to Emon, and that was nearly a decade past.

It was for this reason that Percy’s initial reaction to Vex’s cry was one of confusion. The look was mirrored in his friend’s faces, as was the sinking dread as they all processed what she’d said. He saw Scanlan’s eyes take on the fierce coldness they always did whenever they’d come across goblins, saw Pike look at the children with a growing look of the same fear Percy felt, saw Keyleth take in all the visitors and civilians just passing through the town square or setting up their stands.

Of all the worst possible settings for an attack—

“Where?” Percy said, grasping his own earring. As if his voice had been a sign, the others sprang into action, Grog and Pike rushing to fetch their weapons from respective bags. Percy pulled Tiffany off of Trinket’s back as the bear stood, and handed her off to Crispin, who’d been staring with trepidation at the adults in their sudden stillness. “Take your siblings and get into an inn, tell them to brace for a fight,” he said.

Whitestone had learned from the Briarwoods and the Chroma Conclave. They’d made plans for future attacks, the people needed only to be alerted and they would react as needed.

(Except they hadn’t actually needed such strategies in decades, and those strategies had assumed that the threat would come from outside, not from the very heart of the city, and they didn’t account for all these visitors, they needed more time to prepare, how in the Nine Hells did goblins get into the heart of Whitestone—)

“There’s one in the storeroom, I’ve got it trapped!” Vex’s voice drew Percy out of his thoughts. Fuck it, they’d have to trust that those who remembered those dark times would guide those who didn’t or couldn’t.

“I’ll stay with the kids and help direct people to safety,” Pike said, wrenching her mace free. Then, at the top of her lungs: “Everyone get inside, hurry! Keep your kids close! Goblin attack!” Crispin, who had looked ready to ask his father for a further explanation, turned white at Pike’s call and nodded mutely at Percy, grabbing Arthur by the hand and hoarsely telling the other two to stay close.

Keyleth grabbed Percy’s arm. “I’m gonna get in the air and see if I can’t keep an eye on things, maybe signal to the guards where the rest of the attack is,” she said.

“Right,” Percy said, “Stay safe.” She pulled away, her form effortlessly shifting into the familiar golden feathers of a giant eagle, and launched herself into the air. Percy looked to Grog and Scanlan and gestured for them to follow him; he didn’t have any weapons on him, but they didn’t know where the storeroom was, and as sure as he was that a single goblin posed no threat for Vex, even unarmed, it was never just one goblin for long. Trinket seemed to agree, the bear already rumbling past.

The storehouse wasn’t far, but the journey was made difficult by people rushing past in a panic, despite the best efforts of one or two guards and the normal townsfolk to usher them to safely. Word was spreading quickly, it seemed. Trinket, focused purely on coming to Vex’s rescue, cleared enough of a path just by charging past that they still arrived quickly enough.

Upon rounding the final corner, Percy spotted two guards rushing to help his wife, who was holding the door closed. Another bit of movement caught his eye, however; something small and dark was pushing itself through the small, high window on the opposite side of the storehouse from the door.

“There!” he shouted, pointing. The creature turned two huge yellow eyes toward the sound and yelped, struggling even more to squeeze through. “It’s climbing out the window!”

Scanlan launched a blast of lightning the goblin’s way just as it managed to slip out of the window, the bolt crashing by it harmlessly and striking the stone wall of the storehouse. The goblin scrambled to its feet and dashed in a headlong sprint down the alley, Grog and Scanlan both rushing in pursuit. The two guards who’d run to Vex stopped by her for a moment, but her angry gesture sent them joining in the chase.

Percy grabbed Vex by the arm, trying to keep terror from turning his grip into a vice and failing entirely. “Are you hurt at all?” he asked, frantic. “Did it attack you, are you—“

(He’d seen the aftermath of goblin attacks. Parents devastated by watching their children dragged away screaming, houses ransacked, bodies mangled and in some cases eaten, he’d seen what goblins could do to people who were caught unawares, and for everything he’d seen with his own eyes he’d heard dozens of stories about even worse deeds. In his mind he could see all of it, all the horrors and violence, superimposed over Whitestone, over the visitors, over his own children—)

“I’ll be fucking fantastic when we’ve killed a few bloody goblins,” Vex snapped, pushing some hair out of her face. Trinket pressed his head under her free hand and moaned. “Yes, darling, I’m fine, I’m okay, it never got the chance to so much as touch me. Gods dammit, how’d the little bastards get this far in past our defenses?!”

“I don’t know,” Percy said, “We’ll have to investigate after we’ve repelled the initial attack. Hopefully we don’t have too many casualties, but with this many strangers in town—the kids are safe, at least, they’ve got Pike with them, but—“

“Right, the kids,” Vex said. “I—good, that’s good. Gods, of all things to go wrong today…”

“We should fetch Scanlan and Grog, for now, and regroup. They’ve probably dealt with the one you spotted, and we need to help the town brace for the full attack.”

“Right,” Vex nodded. Her eyes focused and hardened. “Gods damn them for attacking when I’ve left Fenthras at home, but we can deal with that, I can make do with any bow in a pinch.” Trinket grunted his agreement.

Instead of the expected bloodbath, however, what Vex and Percy found in the intersection of two alleys was the guards scratching their heads, Grog looking disappointed, and Scanlan looking livid.

“What’s going on?” Vex asked, looking around.

“I dunno,” said Grog. “It got away. Not sure where it went.”

Percy stopped and stared at the goliath. “I’m—you were outrun by a goblin?”

“Hey.”

Trinket sniffed the air, growling softly before lumbering toward a stack of half-broken crates someone had discarded.

“I don’t mean to imply anything bad, Grog, I just—that’s really surprising,” Percy said, holding his hands up reassuringly. “I’m sure you’re just as fast as ever, maybe you just got unlucky.”

“To be fair, it was a pretty damn quick little runt,” Scanlan grumbled. “Probably got spooked and ran off to rejoin the rest of them.”

“Trinket, darling, don’t eat that,” Vex said absently, as the bear pawed at one of the crates.

Percy nodded, then turned to the two guards, who stood to attention. “Organize a search,” he said. “Can you send the word out, too, as you go? Tell any stragglers to get inside? Quickly, please, there’s no telling how much time left we’ve got.”

The guards nodded, and sped off. “I’m sure Keyleth’ll make lots of noise if she spots the main force,” Vex said. “And I don’t care how fast this goblin is, none of them are going to outrun her when she’s in the sky—Trinket, I told you, there’s nothing to eat in there, stop that, you’re going to get a nose full of splinters.”

The bear grunted, but ignored Vex, continuing to push aside some of the partly rotted wood. There was a crack in the wall behind the pile of crates, now that Percy looked. “Of course he’s looking for food while we’re under attack,” Scanlan grumbled, tail lashing. “Fuck, we don’t even know which way the little devil went! I can’t believe we lost it, the blasted—”

All at once, Trinket went entirely stiff, his occasional grunting replaced by a low, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate through the very ground.

…In fact, if he looked closely, the crack might just be big enough for someone very small to squeeze into, should they need to disappear from sight.

“…Good bear, Trinket,” said Vex, slowly. All four of them changed their stances; Grog stood, a grin splitting his face at the prospect of a return the hunt. Magic swirled around Scanlan’s fingertips, shimmering violet smoke beginning to form into fingers beneath him. Vex and Percy, unarmed, braced themselves.

Trinket shoved his face into the crack as hard as he could, his jaws audibly snapping, only to then pull back with a roar, a thin line of blood dripping off his muzzle as he reared up. The goblin was a blur of shadows as it took the brief opportunity to zip past, narrowly avoiding the bear’s claws as he thudded back down onto the ground. Percy and Vex both lurched in an attempt to grab the goblin as it sped past, but it dodged away out of reach, narrowly darting under Grog’s axe by fractions of an inch and speeding past. Scanlan sprang up on Bigby’s hand, but the goblin had somehow gotten all the way past them, and was scrambling over a fence between two buildings.

“If you think you’ll get away that easily, you’re in for a shock!” Scanlan shouted, magic crackling around his hand. Lightning slammed into where the goblin should have been, blasting a hole in the fence and setting it ablaze, but somehow, the goblin had shifted, narrowly avoiding what seemed like all of the damage from the strike. With a panicked yelp, it disappeared over the fence, the sound of its retreating footsteps almost inaudible over the crackling flames.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Scanlan shouted, soaring on Bigby’s hand over the fence. With a bellow, Grog followed suit, knocking a hole in the fence with his axe rather than bothering with climbing over it.

Vex moved to chase as well, but Percy grabbed her arm. “Vex,” he said, “Vex, we need to deal with things elsewhere—we don’t even have our weapons, there’s not much we can do, leave them to it.”

With a frustrated noise, Vex tugged her arm away and gestured at Trinket, who was attempting to lick at the thin scratch across the bridge of his muzzle. “Look at your poor face, gods dammit—let’s just…go help where we can, I suppose,” she said.

Another blast of magic burst audibly some distance away. “Sounds like they’ve got that one squared away without us, anyhow,” Percy muttered.

‘Nervous’ was not often a word applicable to the members of the Grey Hunt, but right now, anxiety lingered on all of their faces as they silently watched Vex’ahlia pace in front of them.  Percy had joined some guards to investigate the storehouse, Scanlan and Grog were still off helping in the search for the main force of the goblins, Keyleth and Pike remained as they were, and Vex was doing some investigating of her own.

Well, more of an interrogation than an investigation. Percy had his way of seeking answers, and she had hers.

“So,” she said, pausing, arms crossed. “Would any of you would like to explain to me how this happened, exactly?”

The hunters looked at each other, and one spoke up. “My lady?” he said, and Vex felt cold fury rise within her at the tentative, yet genuine confusion in his voice.

“The bloody goblins!” she snapped. “You all have one job, one fucking job—to keep watch over the damned Patchwood. There should have been no way that we find out about goblins only when one breaks into a storeroom in the heart of the fucking city!” Several of the hunters cringed at the outburst. Was the guilt she saw sincere or imagined? Who cared, who cared, they should feel guilty—“Why didn’t I hear any reports about goblin clan movements in the area? We should have heard about this before they reached the fucking farmlands, nevermind the center of town!” It never should have gotten the chance to fool me into—

“Lady Vex’ahlia,” said one of the hunters, holding out her hand. She was the only one who’d been around longer than Vex at this point, actually; she’d been a hunter even before the Briarwoods had come, and had helped her greatly with settling into the position of Grand Mistress. “My Lady, I understand that you’re worried—we all are, and with fair reason. However, I assure you, no one here would dare slack off under your watch. You’ve trained this lot well. If there were no reports of goblins in the area, it’s because none were observed, and we have observed the Patchwood as carefully as ever.”

“There was a weird burst of magic a couple weeks ago, but all we found when we checked was a bunch of angry bluecoats,” one of the youngest hunters mumbled.

“Aye, and that a fair distance from the city,” said the eldest of the hunters. Vex huffed, but took a deep breath. This was true—she’d remembered that report; she’d not been part of the team that investigated, but she knew that it had been handled carefully and turned out to be nothing. “I don’t know how these goblins got in, but we will find out how they slipped past us,” she continued.

“See to it that you do,” Vex said, dismissing them with a frustrated wave of her hand. “If you can’t even find a bunch of bloody goblins, then we’ve got a real problem on our hands.”

As the Hunt dispersed, Vex pinched the bridge of her nose. Bloody goblins, of all things to have to deal with—

Trinket nudged her arm and moaned softly. Absently, she patted the top of his head. “It’s alright, buddy,” she said, “it’s only goblins. Nothing we can’t handle. Just have to find the bloody things…”

Shaking herself, she moved towards the tavern Pike had taken the kids to; they’d agreed over the earrings to meet up here again to compare notes in about ten minutes. Not that she’d have much to offer, just the word of a toddler and the news that the Hunt had apparently missed an entire tribe of goblins. Gods.

What a nightmare.

The others trickled toward the rendezvous point slowly, Pike coming first after Cassandra stopped by to pick up the kids and usher them all towards the castle. Percy joined them next, looking very thoughtful; Keyleth swooped down and landed next, her own face worried.

“Did you catch sight of them?” Percy asked her.

Keyleth shook her head. “That’s the weird thing,” she started, “I only—”

A loud, gruff stream of swearing cut her off, as Grog stomped up, Scanlan looking irritable at his side.

“Little fuck got away again!” Grog griped, swinging his axe up to rest on one shoulder. “I nearly ‘ad it one second, and the next, it was just gone!”

“It ran between your legs while you were busy overswinging,” Scanlan scowled. “And then it disappeared.”

“You didn’t even get the first goblin?” Pike asked, genuinely confused. Percy paused in whatever thoughts had him distracted long enough to fill Pike in on what she’d missed whilst guarding the kids.

“It was really fast, Pike!” Grog whined.

“And very strange,” said Percy. “The storehouse was full of all kinds of food, albeit not as much as there was before winter, but there was plenty of dried meats, and none of it very well hidden. Yet as far as I can tell, this goblin was evidently only interested in a bunch of herbs, for some reason. The bags they’d been stored in had been ripped open, and there were scraps of them everywhere.”

Scanlan gestured questioningly at Percy. “So it made a mess,” he said. “It’s a goblin. They do that.”

“Yes, but what use do goblins have for cooking herbs?”

“Maybe they’re getting tired of only putting salt and pepper on their grandma stew.” “Scanlan!” Pike hissed.

Vex was barely processing most of the conversation, staring off into the distance and letting the words fly around her. The first goblin’s escape grated on her nerves. The thought of the little impost—intruder getting away untouched burned her. Sweet Sarenrae, it was one bloody goblin, surely they could at least track it to wherever the rest were hiding? They’d all brought down a would-be god, but goblins were giving them this much trouble?

“Well, Kiki, you can still point us toward the rest, right?” Grog’s hopeful voice brought her marginally back to the present. No doubt he was looking forward to the chance to fight something. For once, Vex found herself in similar shoes.

“That’s what I was saying when you guys got here,” Keyleth said. “I scanned the whole city as best I could several times, but I only ever saw the one goblin. I don’t know if there are any others here.”

Scanlan rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “It’s never just one goblin, there’s got to be others!”

“Well, I didn’t see any,” said Keyleth, leaning forward with a worried stare.

“And you didn’t get distracted by anything?” Vex said. “Nothing caught in your eye?”

Keyleth looked hurt. “I was—I tried to be really thorough, and I’m telling you, there was only one goblin!”

Vex sighed. She’d really meant to keep the scorn out of her voice, there. Keyleth didn’t deserve it, she was just—angry. “No, I’m sure you were, I’m sorry, darling. I’m just…stressed out.”

“Did you at least see which way the first one went?” Scanlan asked.

Keyleth shifted and shook her head. “I was searching a different part of the city when you two lost track of it, I think,” she said. “I’m really sorry, guys.”

“Fuck’s sakes,” Grog growled, letting the head of his axe thump down.

Scanlan scoffed. “Didn’t see where the first one went, didn’t see the others, maybe you were distracted! Were you paying attention at all?”

“Scanlan,” Percy said, a warning in his voice.

“Guys, hey, don’t do this now,” Pike cautioned.

“Yes!” Keyleth snapped. “I didn’t fly up to just fuck around, guys, I was really searching hard! There was only one goblin, I’m sure of it!” said Keyleth.

“It must have been a scout, then,” Vex said, rolling her eyes. “Right? It was very quick, and, Scanlan, you said before that it was a small one?”

Scanlan shrugged. “Hard to tell under the cloak, but it seemed like it was on the small side for a goblin, yeah.”

“And we found it where we keep the food. There you are, then, it must’ve been a scout,” Vex continued. “It was sent in ahead of the main force to find out where we keep everything, since it’s quick and good at disappearing, evidently. Explains everything.”

“Almost everything,” said Percy. “Except for the herbs, which I still don’t get…”

“Does it really matter why it was digging around through something weird?” Scanlan groaned. “It’s a goblin, Percy, who knows what it was thinking.”

“…I suppose it probably doesn’t,” he said, still looking thoughtful. He shook his head. “Well, if this was a scout, then the main attack is yet to happen. We’ll have to ask everyone to do a head count on their families, check that their kids are safe, and brace to be hit at a later date…Probably tomorrow, now that I think about it. During a festival would be the time to attack. Although…whether or not the goblins actually know that we’re having a festival is another question entirely, but…regardless, we’d all best make sure we’re rested up tonight.”

“The guards will probably have tracked the goblins down by next morning,” Vex said, waving her hand irritably.

“Right, but if they don’t,” said Percy, “We’ll all want to make sure we’re at the top of our game. Anyone who can fight will need to be ready to defend those who can’t.”

“We’re not…we’re not going through with the festival with goblins nearby, are we?” said Keyleth.

Percy sighed. “I’ve been talking with the captain of the guard, and the guards have all been checking in with the townsfolk. A lot of the visitors are scared, but most of the residents are all of the opinion that they’re not about to take this without a fight. They’re determined to celebrate, whether we in charge like it or not, and plenty of people have already volunteered to act as a militia to help bolster defenses.” He shot Keyleth a tired grin. “Some of those old enough to remember the Briarwoods have been especially vocal about not hiding away from a threat, and I can’t find it in me to tell them they’re wrong.” His smile faded. “We’ll…just have to do the best we can, and hope they do track down and destroy the main force before it strikes.”

Keyleth bit her lip. “I don’t like this,” she murmured.

“Has anyone been reported missing?” Pike said. “That’s my first worry, that maybe these ones are sneaky enough to take people quietly, since they’ve avoided detection so far.”

Percy shook his head. “Not everyone’s done a head count, mind you, but so far everyone seems to be accounted for.”

“They better fuckin’ attack tomorrow,” Grog grumbled. “Got all worked up for a fight and then the fuckin’ goblin got away.”

Pike patted his knee. “Aw, buddy,” she said, “We’ll find you somebody to spar with, I promise.”

“It’s not the same,” Grog complained. “I was hopin’ for a proper fight and some killing and everything, and the stupid slippery little goblin got away!”

“Well, maybe we can’t do any killing, but you and me can go visit Vasselheim soon, maybe, go defend our titles?”

“…I guess,” Grog said, scuffing the ground.

“Who knows, maybe the guards’ll miss a few and we’ll get to clean up the mess,” Scanlan muttered, darkly.

“Yeah, maybe!” said Grog, beaming.

Pike sighed.

“Whatever, let’s just—it’s getting late, let’s get inside and leave it to the guards,” said Vex, heading up the path. More to herself, she added, “Pelor willing, the Hunt will follow through on their fucking jobs and find the rest of the little devils while we’re all asleep.”

Aside from a brief pause for Percy to fill the leader of the guard in on what they’d discussed, and to confirm that they were going to spend the night seeking out the invaders, the trip back to the castle was blessedly uneventful. After checking in on the kids (who were various levels of shaken, but all unharmed), filling Cassandra in, and getting themselves dinner, they all said their goodnights and headed to bed.

It was while laying in bed, staring at nothing, that the storm Vex had been fighting for hours finally threatened to break.

With the day’s stress behind her, grief threatened to overwhelm. It had been waiting in the wings all day, and she hated that it had come so easily, after so long, over something so stupid…She didn’t want to think about that now, she didn’t want to feel this, she was supposed to be over it after twenty blasted years!

Groaning softly, she rolled over on her side, as if the action would somehow physically force the old feelings away. It didn’t, but it did give her a view of her husband, framed in the soft glow of moonlight, the top buttons on his shirt undone, staring thoughtfully out the window over the city. He had that look about him, the one that spoke of wheels turning furiously behind his eyes, thoughts flying a mile a minute. No doubt, whatever was on his mind was eons more worthwhile than anything plaguing hers. Just about anything had to be more productive than getting worked up over old wounds.

“A copper for your thoughts, darling?” she said, shoving her grief and a stray pillow out of the way.

He shook his head. “I just…” he said, “I still can’t—I feel like we’re missing something. Something about the goblin’s behavior felt…off, in ways we can’t explain even by saying it’s probably a scout, I…”

Ugh. The fucking goblins were the last thing she wanted to think about right now.

“Percy,” she said, slipping out of bed, “It’s just goblins. It’s strange that it slipped past our defenses, sure, but we know it’s here now, and I’m sure the guards will have dealt with it by morning.”

He sighed. “I…you’re probably right, I know, but something just…I can’t explain it, but something just isn’t…”

Padding on nearly silent feet, she crossed to him, pressing herself to his back and loosely wrapping his arms around him. “Everything’s a puzzle with you, lately,” she murmured, quietly reveling in the way she could feel tension leeching out of him at her touch. “Whatever strangeness there may be here doesn’t really change things, does it? Unusual goblins are still goblins, there’s no point in staying up all night thinking about it…”

Percy hummed, thoughtfully, leaning back slightly against him.

A playful grin spread across her face. Slowly, with so little pressure as to feel almost like a ghost, she traced a finger down his arm, all the way down to where his own hand still clutched the windowsill, watching a trail of goosebumps break out behind her touch. “There’s so much more…interesting ways we could spend our time, in any case,” she whispered, right next to his ear. Her grin widened as she felt him shiver. “Much more worthwhile uses for that scheming mind and those clever hands.” She let her fingers tangle with his.

He swallowed, hard enough for her to hear, and she had to bury her mouth against the back of his neck to hold back a laugh. Twenty years, and it was still so easy to bring that clear flush to his cheeks, gods she loved him so much.

“I…suppose you’re right,” Percy said, curling his hand in hers.

“Come to bed, darling,” she whispered, gently tugging him away from the window. Unresisting, he followed.

There’d be time to worry about goblins and old wounds later. For now, they were alone, spring was upon them, and there were far, far better uses for their time.

[ficsnroses]

—𝑨𝒏 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝑬𝒙𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆. 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓—

summary : you sell your virginity to John Wick.

warnings : smut, consensual sex. oral sex. x f! reader. 5.5k.

notes : hope ya like it! I’m hoping to actually maybe make a part two. I think it would be nice to explore how this turns out for them. please leave feedback! I’m a little nervous about this one, feedback would be so so appreciated. enjoy! xx

John Wick is a man of focus; little diversions that fray from his work were often absent of his mind. It’s been years since his semblance of hope, the light at the end of the tunnel had gave out on him, and he’d been dragged back into the world of gruesome sin for good.

Bound, serving under the table. A life liberate of vice was something John had stopped dreaming of long ago.

Work had been all that engrossed John, absorbed each inch of energy his battered bones could muster up for far too long. To be working, meant to be seldom alone. Being alone, translated to being unaccompanied, with himself. Listening to the weary, dark loomed thoughts that crawled in the crevices of his mind.  

A crisp pour of amber bourbon sloshes into the clear crystal glass; a lone cube of sparkler ice accompanies the liquor John would soon shoot. Something that burns, something that might ease the part of him that thinks, ponders, wonders if this was alright.

      Is what he’s doing, really, alright?

He stands, leaning on the high raised counter of the bar equipped in his hotel room. The crème walls of the Continental held many secrets, secured home to the worst of folk he’d had the ill-fate of dwelling among.

The men in here were awful. Cold, indifferent, chilled blood coursing wicked veins; John knew well of the evil that rummages within the corridors of this so called, safe haven.

Anyone else would destroy her.

Could ruin her.

John wouldn’t do that. Something separates John from the bulk of the crowds, something that differs him from the norm. John would on no occasion hurt an innocent being. John wouldn’t rip her to shreds. John would treat her as human; something people often forgot that John too, is.

Temporary relief, relaxation, substance; he’d vexed them all. Often, after a job well complete, he’d find himself in dire need of long repose; a minute to rest his somnolent composure. A moment to recharge, before he’d be forced to do it all over. Human contact, connection, was something he’d scarcely recalled.

A Bourbon would often have to do, the familiar scald down the cascade of his throat the only comfort he’d been accustomed to as of late. Yet recent, he’d been craving more. He’d been yearning for something more; something physical to satiate relief.

A heavy inhale floods his lungs, a lone hand held to his drink as his other toys with the collar of his brittle white dress shirt. Her eyes stayed on him, drinking in each of his features, desperate to understand how he’d be. John Wick is a man of few words, a stoic nature barely illuminating enough light to read.

He turns, the crystal glass set down on the hotel room table as he turns to her, on his bed, her legs crossed closed, silent. Like a lover, the silk of her short black dress seduces each curve of her devourable body, thin straps kissed to her satin shoulders, her silken skin gleaming under the hotel room lights. His voice is deep, ravishingly rich, throaty with gruff as it protrudes her ears. “You’ve never done this before?” He confirms, walking closer to her delicate frame, watching her equally unreadable expression.

When he’d first laid eyes on her, he’d found himself unable to look away. Captivatingly beautiful, enough to make any man week in his knees. John wasn’t one to fantasize, to want a woman, let alone offer a second look.

Yet seeing her, he’d downed in the enchant of her beautiful features; and the best part of all,

She was selling. She’d been looking to give herself to the highest bidder.

John Wick had found himself at the right place, at the right time. An impulsive buy, one might say. But he couldn’t leave her. Not only did his body yearn for someone, something to channel his deep need into, he also knew. She was far too precious, pure; whatever circumstances had brought her to do such a thing, he wouldn’t ask.

He’d buy her. And he’d use her service.

He needed it. Sex hungry, his body longs for someone real to take care of him.

Her eyes are soft, lips stained a rosy shade of mauve as she makes direct eye contact. Blushy cheeks, soft, shining hair flutters gentle in free air as she shakes her head ‘no’.

She’d never been with anyone before. She was pure. Untouched.

With a down of the final few drops of drink in his glass, John’s shirt unbuttons, peeled off his torso in a swift motion, revealing beautifully toned, bulked muscles; rosy skin, a broad back, tattooed with bold ink on display. John must have been 20 years her senior, yet his shape proved peak. Firm biceps, defined torso, beautifully groomed, lengthy chocolate locks only adding to his splendour.

She’d expected to be bought by some middle aged, unattractive man looking to be with anyone other than his wife. John was far from that. She didn’t know if he’d seen seeing anyone else, if he was married, taken.

Not that it was any of her business.

She watches his hands move to fondle a heavy worn belt, working the buckle as it comes off his dark slacks.

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do.”

John’s rich voice surges through her ears, his question falling his thin taut lips as more of a statement, an establishment of boundaries.

She didn’t think she’d get that choice. She’d expected to be used however her buyer pleased.

With a gentle clear of throat, she nods her head no, gazing out the window of the high story hotel suite. Busy New York city life buzzes below, the nightlife pulsing through the city heart. Endless opportunity. Endless chance.

John’s belt thuds to the marble floor with a heavy clink, his body inching closer, hand dangerously close to her feeble frame as he asks, the question sending shivers down her spine. “Can I undress you?”

The question came with surprise. Part of her thanked the universe for delivering her to John, of all men. He’d been hard to read, reserved, but he hadn’t done what she’d prepared herself for immense. Although she knew, her body was merely a vessel for him to use, to get what he wanted, he hadn’t treated her as such. Hadn’t treated her as she’d gave up her right to respect when she’d bartered her purity.

When Y/N nodded, John moves in closer, placing his dense frame beside hers as he begins, unravelling her as if a present. Yearning, wondering of what held underneath the rippling drapes of the sleek fabric, his eyes gloss over her skin, thick fingers removing the straps of her dress, before reaching behind her to unzip the seams of her wear. Diminishing to her mid, her modesty falls perfectly plump on her chest, embellished in expensive lace. The swell of her chest leaves him feel the weight in his pants to harden, the sight of her cleavage, pursing together with hardened nipples. Unclasping the dainty hooks that shield her breasts from his prying gaze, John allows the thin textile to fall off, exposing her beautiful femininity; her breathtaking curves, soft, supple skin tender to the touch. His hands can’t seem to resist, callous palms moving in to roam the exquisiteness, thumbs swirling her tender nipples as he sighs, drinking her in.

“Stand up.” John’s voice demands, his own form staying placed at the foot of the bed as he instructs. Doing as told, she feels his warm hands tug at the seams of her dress, allowing the fabric to pool at her feet, leaving behind nothing but her lacy underwear covering what no one had indulged in before. Paired with pencil black heels, John takes a moment to devour the look of her stood in front of him; bare, voluptuous, almost entirely nude, causing a tent to rise in his pants. Without time to waste, his fingers intrude the skimpy cloth, gentle peeling her panties down, revealing all of her, solely, exclusively for his taking.

Had this not been an exchange where John owned her, he might have just fell prisoner to her mercy. Y/N was a beauty he’d never seen, mirroring a sex siren in her own right. The dips and curves of her frame mesmerise him, a gulp swallowed down his tight throat, a hefty palm unknowingly moving to palm his swollen cock through the fabric of his slacks. She bites her lip, vulnerable, never have being shown to anyone this way before.

John was the first to see her in all her glory, she finds herself moving shy hands to cover her form, nervous to the way he scans each inch of her body, as if memorizing it, keeping the sight locked away, stored within his gaze forever. “Gorgeous…” John’s voice whispers a gruff, two of his sturdy fingers moving to slick through her folds, palming her pussy as shivers tingle down her spine. She’d been trying her best to stay calm, to allow John to do as he pleased.

Right now, in this moment, her body rightfully belonged to him. He was permitted to do whatever he sought.

“I want you on your knees.” John explains firmly, connecting his bold gaze to hers and she nods, falling in front of his form sat on the silky sheets. Without a moment to waste, his hands trail down his zipper, throwing the expensively stitched slacks off his thighs to the floor, left in nothing but a pair of thin boxers. In a swift moment, his stocky fingers dip into the opening, allowing a hardened shaft to fall out in his grip, full, bursting balls to accompany.

She’d seen a man’s cock before; but John, John’s member was a sight to be seen. She swallows, intrigued by the grandeur, the rosy tip swollen, the thick veins that run up his length, a slight curve to its form. He offers himself a few measly tugs, dark eyes connecting to hers once again. “Do you want a safe word?”

A safe word. Perhaps if a word; a small, paltry word could save her from nonetheless being in this situation, she would have used it.

“No.” Her voice falls quiet, eyes diverted to the crème marble below. “If its too much, I’ll tell.” In the dim light of the room, a channel glow casts to her exposed skin; velvet and soft, making the plump of her mauve stained lips rouse John’s needy cock in desperate anticipation.

Without hesitation, John’s lust falls deeper, his throat tight, breath heavy.

Being with a woman, was something John felt had last happened centuries ago. Seeing her, stripped, uncovered, on her knees, keenly awaiting to be wrapped around his length; a fire burns in his belly. A hunger that rumbles across the surface, desperately ready to chase sweet, sweet relief, from her.

“Here,” John encourages, taking hold of his base with a loose grip. With his spare palm, his fingers thread into the locks of her hair, gently pulling her mouth closer. Slowly, firmly, his palm glides over the bottom of his shaft, beads of glossy pre cum quivering out the pink tip as he speaks. “Put those pretty lips on me.” Obliging, she nods, positioned between John’s thighs, nervous to the core.

She’d seen videos, heard people talk. But she’d never taken a man into her mouth before.

John would be the first, to feel her in every sinning way he pleased.

“Fuck,” John sighs through gritted teeth, feeling the warm haven of her lips circle around the thickness of his tip. Tightening on her tresses, his hand falls from his base, cupping hers in a gentle hold, before guiding it to replace his own. “Use your hands on what you can’t fit.” He instructs, walnut eyes darker, yet held with a certain sympathy.

A tenderness; mortality. “Move, baby.” John manages, eyes fluttering shut as his senses indulge, the feel of her tongue gently, kindly swirling his shaft take over. Gradually, his hand, laced within the locks of her hair guides her further down the bulk of his cock, forcing her to take a little more with each eager bob.

“Hallow your cheeks, darling.” John watches her intent, in awe with the way she learns so quick. “Eyes on me,” Practically sputtering into a pool of bliss, John’s deep baritoned words sear through her veins.

“Tighter.

Deeper.”

Drawn into his, her eyes pierce into his own earthy orbs, unknown to the throb of arousal growing in her core; John bought her for the evening. Was it sick of her to be…fascinated by him?

His room is simple. A suit jacket rests to the arm chair on the right, a barely touched bar of liquor to accompany. Little of him can be told from the depths of this room, perhaps he wasn’t here too often.

The folk of the Continental were scarce when not at work, leaving little trace of who they really were behind. She’d heard whispers of a man they called John Wick, she hadn’t been entirely unfamiliar to the dread he’d upheld within the sanctioned walls. Wick was a name that held fear to the tips of even the worst of sinner’s tongues; yet she finds herself far from. She wasn’t fearful of John Wick. She wasn’t scared of what he’d do.

As John urges her further, a choked gap emits her throat, eyes filling with a char of hot tears with his cock still shoved inside her mouth. Collecting herself, she keeps him inside, albeit, allowing some of him to fall out. “You’re alright.” John soothes, wiping escaped tears with his callous thumb. “You’re doing well.” With a nod, her movements commence, eager to find her pace again, free hands massaging his thick balls and veiny shaft that couldn’t accommodate in her mouth.

The sound of hallow gags and a mouth full of cock echo the room, throaty slickness and gasp for breath, John harshly praising her with a guide of pace. “Perfect. Fucking perfect.” A firm hand follows suit to her bare breast, palming, kneading the fleshy skin as her mouth words wonders on his sensitive skin. Without much notice, John’s eager hips buck impatiently into her mouth, so nonchalantly, a test of waters if you may.  

If he had it his way, he would fuck her tiny mouth senselessly right then and there. Have her throat bruising, aching for days in his aftermath.

But John Wick isn’t a monster. John isn’t selfish.

Each time she comes down, slowly, cautiously, his swollen tip hits the back of her throat, threatening to venture further with each throb John’s bulge radiates inside. With his hips thrusting into her mouth lightly, John’s jaw tightens, goosebumps peppering his ink adorned skin. With his pace fastening, his primal desires barely cease; barely offer mercy when he pulls her head closer, wrapping his palms firmly to her head as he moves her head on his cock hastier, stiff, needier, causing srteams of sweltering tears to flow her soft cheeks as she tries her best to hold in her gags. Dangerously close to release, her head yankers back in John’s grip; strings of saliva webbing off her lips, connected to his tender shaft, allowing the bulk of his member to fall out, still erect to an intimidatingly large size.

He could have done with just her sinfully tight mouth; yet he wouldn’t. Tonight, he’d cum inside her. Tonight, he’d have something other than the lonesome grip of his sloppy hand for company; to extinguish that rummaging burn.

With a rise off the bed, John offers her a larger hand, eyes interlocked as she accepts, rising off the ground. His gravelly voice is low, Y/N’s unchecked tears and swollen lips leaving her a beautiful mess as John’s inquisitive gaze washes over her. What comes next, causes her breath to hitch; her insides searing, arousal growing wetter by the second.

With his rock hard cock digging into the skin of her stomach, she finds her self locked lips with John, who’s taken her in a sweet kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. The kiss personifies appetite, thirst, all things John craved in the moment. With his hand taking hers, deliberate movements guide her to the tall side of the bed, silky sheets and cotton pillows awaiting her arrival. His skin smells of cologne, something expensive, something sauvage. The taste of his heavy liquored tongue meddles with hers before letting go, lustful eyes encouraging her to lay down in the ripple of sheets. With his cock firm in his hand, he continues to offer himself a couple of strokes, a spare hand intruding into the hard oak nightstand to the side.

“Are you taking anything?” His voice flows through the room, heavy, shallow, adding clarification when her brows furrow. “For protection.”

Fiddling with her growing nervous fingers, she tenses, suddenly urged with the realization of what would come next. This was happening.

This was

  really

     happening.

John was going to fuck her. John, soon, would take that piece of her. This beautiful stranger, mysterious, yet intriguing, would make a part of her belong to him

     forever.

“No sir.” She answers, eyes downcast, unsure of where to look as he preps himself. Fishing out a condom from the side drawer, the silver lining falls discarded somewhere on the marble floor along with the shambles of their clothes, mindlessly placed. “Lay down.” John tells, dimming the lights further, the curtains closed shut as night falls over the shadowy New York city horizon. She does as told, awaiting his body to accompany.

Her eyes find his back once again, watching delicate, cryptic ink that coats his broad skin in curiosity. A seemingly cross centers in the middle, an arrangement of words unknown to her cognizance bedecked along. As he finds himself crawling a top her sprawled figure, his hands guide her legs open further, hand palming her mound as she bites her lip. Slow, steady, he guides in the stock of two fingers, sensually slow, preparing her pretty cunt for his taking.

Coated with her silky arousal, his fingers gleam, a creamy mixture of her gloss glazed over his hand. Punctuated by her tender, soft, barely audible whimpers, a light chuckle emits John’s throat. “You don’t have to stay quiet.” He clears, fingers pumping slightly faster now, expertly judging her expressions. “Ever done this before?”

Y/N was a virgin; but no saint by any means. She’d touched herself before, even brought herself to orgasm on occasion. With a shy nod, she answers, punctuated by her own barely held together, soft moans to the feel of John’s much thicker fingers pulsing in and out of her. With the pad of his thumb, he works her clit, his hand arranging a beautiful symphony begging to fall off her lips.

The feel of John’s touch was nothing like her own, paired with the weight of his body on hers. As if habitually, her back arches, her toes curl, a whimper secreted when he draws his fingers out. With his heavy cock in hand, John lines himself up with her entrance, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside; to feel what she had to offer. With his enlarged tip rubbing over her clit, his voice registers barely in her ears, lost in the feel of him on her.

“Tell me to stop.” His gravelly voice reminds, assertion heavy on his tongue.

John was proving awfully hard to read. She appreciates the respect; the boundaries he was willing to set for her. She’d sworn, she could see a light of humility in him, contrasted, laced with dark need. If he wanted, she knew he could ruin her.

Without much warning, she feels his tip impend into her walls, sinking slow, stretched by his weight, her eyes widening noticeably when John’s girth pushes into her, cock widening her immensely.

She knew John’s member would be far larger than the feel of anything she’d felt before; yet perhaps she’d underestimated just how much larger it would feel. Plunging in further, a tight moan escapes John’s lips, drowning in further, slower, steadier, until he’s reached her end. Hissing at her tightness, he feels her clench around him, a breathy gasp of her own fleeing, nails sinking into the sheets in a fitted clasp.

Had the circumstances been different, he’d have asked her to hold onto him instead; maybe even let her burry her face in his neck as he works her body whole.

But that wasn’t what this was. This was merely an exchange. An agreement for him to get exactly what he needed;

       mind blowing sex.

All John needed right now, was a rough, and good fuck to hold him over.

He stays still for a moment, feeling her cunt pulse around him, and her eyes shut tight, breathing measured as she relishes in the feel of him full, nestled inside her wet haven, before placing both sturdy hands on her hips in a strong hold. Rapt with desire, John’s primal instincts kick in, the feel of her welcoming pussy so perfectly mould to his cock; he’d sworn or a moment that she was perfectly, exclusively crafted just for him to fuck. With his hips picking up pace, John sucks in a sharp breath, a groan of pleasure to the way her heavenly walls tighten around him, tight, blissfully gratifying.

She can’t help but gasp, searing tears returning once again to the ungodly stretch. John burns inside, allowing her minimal time to adjust. His hips buck into hers, gradually picking up pace as he thrust deeper, harder, conjuring up an almost selfish pace.

She’d never felt anything like this before. The pain, the pleasure. The sinful pleasure of him practically splitting her inch by inch. His cock glides in and out her constricted entrance, and she practically whimpers; unsure of whether the moans signified pain, or immense pleasure.

It hurt, but in the best ways possible. His aggressive roll of hips only quickens, faster and faster until Y/N’s moans caged no more. Her lips longed to moan his name, scarcely able to keep her eyes open to see the way he pants above her figure.

With her breasts bouncing vigorously to his pace, John’s want only cultivates further. Watching his cock glide in and out of her sends him in a frenzy, the way she violently jerks with each movement, the sound of his balls smacking against her sweltering core give life to a filthy symphony of her stifled yelps and moans, blended religiously with his growls and throaty gruffs.

His eyes roll shut and he bites his lip, the sounds of her wetness bobbing him fill the room to his violent labour of hips, each time he sinks in and out. His cock glistens with her honeyed dew, her hand reverting over her mouth to confine a loud moan threatening to surface. Whimpering, she bites her arm in complete ecstasy, the feel of John throbbing, completely filling her whole becoming much.

John had been practically pounding her, minutes in. The feeling of having someone to spend the night with, left him far more aroused than he’d initially planned. Her legs tremble, gazing down to observe the way his load exits her cunt fully before slamming back in repeatedly, over, and over, and over, erratic imperative. With every nerve in her body threatening to snap, she relishes a moment to feel John inside.

John’s thickness is something she doesn’t think she’ll be able to forget. Each nerve, each throbbing vein, that curve of his shaft she witnessed earlier; his thrusts become urgent, cock twitching within, grinding vigorously to her g spot as his breathe lays hot, close to her skin. Ridged and rough, his fingers threaten to leave purple bruises peppering into her hips, his hold of her body immensely stiff, as if fearful of her disappearing. The bed below creeks, headboard assaulting the walls with profound hits to his demanding haste; she’s already sore from his massive size, and he hasn’t even finished yet.

“Fuck...you feel,” John’s deep voice, sultry and stiff surges her ears, rich as butter. “You feel fucking amazing, tighten up for me, darling.” He instructs, wanting to feel her milk his cock. She follows as told, squeezing her walls around him, squirming, wailing underneath his form. He pushes as much of himself in as possible and she screams, feeling a cocktail of their fusing released drip down her thighs. John looks delectable this way; beads of exertion peppered to his forehead, muscled skin sticking to hers, the smell of sex prominent around them as he continues pumping her relentlessly, senselessly. To a particularly rough thrust, her toes curl, arms coming around his shoulders to hold on dearly, tightly as he continues his rummage into her body. She holds tight, fingernails digging into his skin as grunts and ear-splitting moans intrude the atmosphere.

John is fucking her so well, so intense, that tears fall still, the raunchy sounds of skin slapping skin, enticing whispers of praise off his lips for her body only pushing her further. John feels his release close, lost in the tender haven she’d given him to spoil in, and he shudders; shivering, buried deep, deep inside her, the sounds of her wetness slicking his member echoing the walls. Within a few particularly lewd, unaltered thrusts, she screams his name, gasping, holding onto his biceps lifelessly as he quickens his pace, his own release not far behind.

He slams, harder, and harder, channeling an animalistic pace to her core, a rhythm of lust drunk pleasure imploring each inch of his body as he still deep, deep inside her pussy, spurting thick streams of sticky, glossing white cum into the dainty condom he’d worn. He stills for a moment, neither of them speaking; heaving sighs and rapid breaths as they come down from their highs, her limbs still securely wrapped around his frame. A joint euphoria; a paradise they’d created together. A creamy mixture of their releases drips to the satin sheets below, although John ceases to care.

Right now, in this moment, he finds himself truly, wholly

relieved.

He’d gone so long, so distant without sex. Without human touch, connection. With his cock still sheathed inside her warm harbour, he sighs, relishing even in the feel of her holding him.

And a moment passes, then another; and another. With his weight rested on shaky palms to the bed sheets on either side of her, John sighs, panting, watching the way she swallows a lump in her throat; beads of vapour dotted to her glistening skin.

Gorgeous, he thinks.

She’s got those pretty eyes, satin skin. She felt surreal. He’d seen the stars buried inside her.

Slow and steady, John moves, allowing his flaccid member to slip out her warm hold. The sun has fully set, and the moonlight barely filters in through the slits of opaque curtains. With a towel retrieved, one he’d set aside prior to their session beside the bedframe, he finds place back, next to her worn out frame.

John had fucked her so good, so hard, she’d worn her legs may just give out in any attempt of rising on her feet. Relishing, sunken into the mattress as she watches him move calm, collected, the feel of John cleaning what he’s left behind off her womanhood causes the softest of blush to intrude, peppering her skin. With the condom discard, John’s hoarse voice rasps, breaking the still of long endured silence. “You’re alright?” He probes, watching the way she sits up on the bed, the threads of the duvet he’d spent countless nights burrowed in alone fixed in her grip, pulling it over her bare breasts, covering herself from his chocolate gaze.

She’s shyer now than before, after sex bliss stippled over her skin, her pussy sore from the action. The emptiness John had left ached. She’d be reminded of the mysterious man with painted skin for days;

prompted by what story his back really told.

What intrigued her so much, about the man who’d taken her in the filthiest of ways.

“Did I hurt you?” He inquires, and she’d sworn the way he looks at her…the way his eyes glaze over her features, as if watching so intently her every move, a symphony flows inside her, coursing that acquainted boil in her stomach. Nodding her head, no, she watches him pull on a pair of long forgotten boxers, opting himself a seat to the edge of the bed as she stays put. Despite having just had had sex with him, she finds herself nervous to be exposed to his eyes again; a dire side effect of the toll his handsomeness had truly taken on her.

She finds herself, tense. Intimidated by his grandeur.

A story writes itself, a tale that brews in the depth of their minds. Racing a mile a minute, he’d known. And perhaps she had too; that the sex had been far too good.

Dangerously good.

The words brew on the tip of his tongue, yet he finds himself cautious of their release. Would he be awful for thinking these thoughts? Was he soiling her, tainting her for his selfish needs, thinking of the dirtiest fate he could try her; propose to her before she’d be gone.

A fuck this good doesn’t come easy, and John wasn’t looking for romance. Love was something he’d forgotten a long time ago, wasn’t sure he’d been worthy of such a thing.

      ;yet he’d found her. Someone who could take care of his physical needs; someone he could use for that intimacy he too, direly needed. Had lacked for years, finally tasting it, within her.

The way she felt was something John would find himself struggling to forget. The warm, wet, deliciously slick feel of her welcoming cunt; John hadn’t had someone as good as her. She’d ruined it for him. Nothing had compared. No one had taken care of his cock the way she’d done in a meagre 30 minutes.

He’d request. He’d propose. He’d bargain her an even exchange.

With a gruff crisp in his throat, his guttural voice catches her by surprise. Under the duvet, her naked skin flushes to a warm, temperate ease. Fulfilled, relaxed, riding high on sex satisfied clouds, tingles still felt within each snapping nerve of her skin. His tone is calm, collected; upheld with dominance.

She delighted in his dominance. “I want to offer you.” He begins, a hand placed on his bare thigh. “A contract. For your services.”

Services. Bold of him to assume, this was something she’d planned on doing for more men. “An offer…?” Her tongue seeps, the words a quiet, barrel mumble to his proposition. In the barely lit room, her inquisitive eyes glow; a familiar glow to the way they’d shone, glossy. When his cock had been rammed deep down her tight throat.

“A contract.” He repeats, professionally. “I want you. Again.” His tone finds a quiver building within her core, her thighs longing to be wrapped around his waist, the way they dripped control, power. “I’ll pay you, generously.” He nods, eyebrows raised, a gaze to her smaller body buried in his sheets. “But when I need you, you come. No questions, no excuses.” He adds, studying her form, the way her brows furrow, lost in the aftermath of his words.

“You’ll be mine to use. For the duration of the contract.”

His. She could be

his.

Racing a mile, a minute, her thoughts haze, the rush of adrenaline, the weight of his proposition thick in a fog on her brain. Her senses tense, her thoughts freeze. The sight of him catches her lost.

His. To belong to the man, with the muscled back and bold tinted ink. The man who’d fucked her pornographically. Her cluster of deliberations interrupts with his thick voice, velvety, rich. “I’ll let you sit on it.” He offers, standing, the crisp white dress shirt he’d peeled off his frame earlier back in his sturdy grip as he drapes it on. “I need to take care of some business with the manager. I’ll be back within the hour.” Buttoning the top, coffee hued locks curtain his face, his perfectly groomed beard in perfect contrast with the lighter fabric; the bulge of his toned arms protruding at the textile. “And when I’m back,

      I’ll be expecting another round.

Have yourself ready, please.”

And with those piercing words, he dresses himself, leaving her bare, exposed, in his bed.

A promise to come back for more left behind.

A demand, for more when he’d be back.

John wasn’t looking for love. John made it clear. This was physical. Something to quench his every longing need.

The ring of the door shut, the buzzing New York traffic below. She sits, decision tense on her mind.

        John Wick, was her first.

        And he, wanted her to be his last.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

part 2 

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[damnusillygoose]

Jerza fanfiction

disclaimer: these characters belong to hiro sensei

title: Somebody is jealous

summary: will erza be able to maintain her calm when her beau starts getting a lot of female attention?

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13786166/1/somebody-is-jealous

Erza was a jealous woman.

She wasn't insecure in her relationship with Jellal by any means, not that she had to vie for his attention. He gave it to her willingly. He made her feel loved, so much that she was practically brimming with it. He showed her his affection not only through words but also through his actions.

But that didn't mean she couldn't get jealous.

Jellal's popularity proliferated after he settled in magnolia and started indulging himself with voluntary service. Crime sorciere might be officially disbanded but the former members having spent ample amount of time with each other wanted to continue working together and take missions. They also diverted their funds to start an orphanage for abandoned children.

Their pious efforts were recognized and soon they started receiving all sorts of grants from public and from private companies in the form of corporate social responsibility. As the grand master of crime sorciere, Jellal was often called upon by organizations for collaborations and for interviews to further elaborate upon the work done by his guild.

Erza couldn't be happier for him but the limelight he received also turned out to be slightly infernal for her. Jellal became instantly well-known and even topped the charts of 'The Most Handsome Man Alive', dethroning Hibiki Lates who took pride upon himself for holding this position for 3 years plus.

She lost the counts of love letters that Jellal started receiving from his female following. Whenever they would go out to spend time with each other, there would always be eyes hawking him or pestering him for autographs. Erza really wanted to maintain her demeanor as a good girlfriend who doesn't get jealous when her partner gets excessive attention from the opposite gender but there had to be a limit right?

However, Erza was grateful for a fact that there was never a reciprocation from his end. Jellal never returned their efforts. He never bothered.

He was staunch in his belief and was firmly loyal to her.

The realization made her feel extremely loved.

'Stop brooding Erza, you look hideous.' Mirajane snapped Erza out of her murderous intent as she reached across the table enamored with mahogany wood to collect empty glasses.

'Mira! that reporter bitch is all over him again! Can I murder her?! '

'Calm down Erza. She is here for her job after all.'

'Her job is to interview and ask him substantial questions! Not throw herself all over him! He is clearly uncomfortable with her vexing advances. Is she blind or what?!' she roared as her fist slammed against the table top nearly knocking off the glasses in the tray.

Her abrupt yet fierce declaration was enough to scare Natsu and Gray who were once again at each other's throats. She was seething with anger and gritted her teeth with helplessness. She wanted to jump in and slap the day lights out of that abhorrent creature but she wouldn't dare disturb Jellal's interview. Fairy tail has a reputation to maintain anyways. Not that they had a respectable reputation to begin with but she wouldn't embarrass her guild any further.

Erza witnessed as that female reporter proceeded to smirk smugly at her paramour and leaned forward on the pretext of not being able to hear his answer owing to uproarious energy of the guild.

Jellal leaned back as his company continued to disrespect his personal space relentlessly.

'Mr. Fernandez, I think it's equally disturbing to interview you here. How about we move to my private chamber? No one would interrupt us there and we can take all the time we want', the female reporter purred and twisted her lips in a vicious smirk, touching the top of his hand.

'No, thank you. I can't afford that. My girlfriend is waiting for me. Let's wrap this up quickly', Jellal repudiated, pulling his hand aside, rejecting her advances in a disapproving grunt.

That's it! Erza stood up from her seat as she saw that wretched bitch lean towards him, churning with incorrigible wrath. Her emotional turmoil had successfully won over her and she was ready to slice that bitch into pieces. But before she could do anything, she saw her beau lightly bow his head towards his female companion displaying the dismissal of their conversation.

She inhaled a breath of relief as he walked towards her and took a seat beside her. His eyes looked genuinely tired and he rubbed his temples in exasperation.

Her anger melted into concern.

'Are you okay, Jellal? Was she pestering you a lot?' she asked empathetically.

'Yes, I am fine. I am glad it's over', he took her hand in his and entwined them firmly.

He gave her a worn-out smile as he requested Mira to bring him a drink.

'that bitch.' Erza cursed as she weaved her free arm to loop around his bicep. She rested her head against his shoulder and let out a sigh.

'I am fine, Erza. Seriously, Let's eat something and then we can head back home'

'I know you are saying this to put me at ease but we aren't heading back home Jellal. That bitch's presence will not ruin the party for us. We will enjoy till the very end'

Just when they thought the trouble was over, that female reporter strode unapologetically into their love nest.

'I am sorry to barge into your conversation but is it okay if I sit here? I am not familiar with anyone here and I only know Mr. Fernandez so...?'

Jellal clicked his tongue in annoyance and looked at Erza to check her reaction only to find her extremely calm and collected. However, He knew that her exterior appearance was a façade. She was probably singeing internally hotter than any inferno.

'sure', Erza replied in her imperturbable composure, her wrath at the brim of her limit, ready to walk over the barbwire at any moment.

Lucy and Cana marveled at the guts of this prying female as they witnessed this scene from the next table.

'So, how long you two been together?'

'I didn't know there was another interview?', Erza eyed her as she retorted sharply.

'nah, I am just curious about you two. You are a well-known couple in magnolia after all. Everyone looks up to you guys for couple goals.'

'About six months', Erza replied unsure whether this person was genuinely intrigued or mocking them half-heartedly.

'Ah. From what I have heard this is the first ever relationship for both of you, right? Six months isn't even a long time to know your partner intimately. People break up over minute scuffles all the time. Anyways, Mr. Fernandes, a handsome man like yourself must find himself flocked with female attention all the time, no? I don't think you should settle yourself in a relationship this early- '

This fucking bitch is going to breath her last breathe today! there is no way I am letting her out alive! Erza bellowed internally. How dare she insult her relationship like this?! This jerk continued to spew bullshit even when she was kind enough to overlook her advances towards Jellal earlier! How dare she-

'Ms. Erina, we don't recall asking for your unsolicited advice on our relationship. This is our private matter and we do not appreciate third party interferences. Your job was to interview me on professional basis and I can very well report back to your organization regarding your unethical behaviour. This can cost you your career and you know that', Jellal shot her down with his sharp retort. He took hold of Erza's hand in his, underneath the table, in a reassuring manner.

'but I was just kidding around- '

'We don't appreciate this degraded sense of humor. It was disrespectful and you were clearly trying to jeopardize my relationship', Jellal, when triggered, had no mercy for people who undermined his relationship with Erza.

'You've crossed the limits of my personal space and I ask you to leave'

His refute left Erina stunned. She had successfully seduced countless men in their so-called committed relationships but Jellal Fernandez was one such man she was unable to surmount no matter how many cheap tricks she pulled. Admitting her inevitable defeat, she stood up in shame, trembling with anger for he insulted her blatantly, dragged her feet across the guild hall, colliding with Kinana on her way, almost knocking off the drinks in her tray ,had Erik not intervened preventing her fall. He let out a muffled snare at the vile woman who passed by him. .

Jellal finally let out an audible sigh and looked at Erza.

'sorry, my love. You had to witness this', Jellal whispered anxiously. He moved his hand to fondle her inner thigh intimately in way he knew would calm her trembling down.

Erza had a wide smile that adorned her lips. She wasn't angry now. In fact, she was extremely satisfied the way Jellal shot her down. The respect and adoration he held for her was oozing out of every word he spoke. She loved him so much. Her ears felt warm as she snuggled into his shoulder.

'thank you Jellal. I am fine. I am not bothered by her ignorant remarks. She has no clue about what we both went through to stand where we are today and frankly I don't care', Erza stated, referring to their past history.

'if it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me as well', Jellal smiled as he leaned down to capture her lips in a passionate kiss and then traced his soft lips against her jawline, giving her a peck on her cheeks.

Laxus looked at his buddy from the second floor, impressed, for he handled the situation very maturely.

'sheesh, that's a slick move Fernandes'

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review if you liked it. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

What Happens at Conference, Stays at Conference (Avarice) - lemon

Pt I: I need one of those hugs that turns into sex  Pt II: Are you trying to seduce me?!

 Laughter bubbles from her mouth into his, the spread of her lips into a grin so sweet it makes his teeth ache. He wants more of it. Wants so much of it that it makes him shaky and weak kneed, and he chases the shape of her pleasure, pressing her further down into the mattress with lips and tongue.

“So,” she pulls back, panting, her arms curling around his neck. “Am I doing a good job?”

Her nails slide up his neck, disappearing into the bristle of his hair. “I think-” He shivers, burying his face against the delicate skin of her neck. “I think I need some further persuasion.”

It’s like every time she’s come across a problem in the data; her body goes still under him, thoughtful, but instead of print outs it’s his hair that her fingers flex in, twisting and tangling in them hopelessly. “What do you mea-- Ah!”          

Ah, he was wrong. This is the sweet he craves- the way her body arches up into his, breathless, the soft of her giving in the way that his is not.

“Do you like that?” he rasps, dragging his teeth against her pulse, soothing it with his tongue when she keens. “Shirayuki?”

“Ye- ah, ah- Ah! Obi!” She rears up, bracing her palms against his shoulders to lever him away.

In a free fall, he’s off her, pressing up onto his palms and knees as she drinks down air as if it might be her last. But it’s her hands clenching on his forearms that keeps him on the bed, her thighs bracketing his that keeps him between them.

“Babe?” he tries.

Under the full force of the late afternoon sunlight, her gaze snaps to his, and she’s flushed all the way to the collar of her blouse, rumpled in a way that she only is in his very best one-handed fantasies. And there, just there at the dip of her throat, her skin is wet and pink where his mouth and teeth just been tasting her.

Hnn.

“Obi?”

Her voice has never sounded like that before. Especially not when she says his name, and he groans, cock already rock hard and begging for her.

“I, ah-” He screws his eyes shut, he counts backwards from ten, trying to find- some chill, maybe. Some cool. Or at the very least some fucking self-control.

It was one thing to think something was a good idea and another to actually live it. It would be just like her to look before leaping and- This is too much, too fast. For her. He’s only seen her kiss after the chastest of dates, only gained suspicion that she lost her virginity under the most romantic of circumstances. Surely- a quick fuck at a conference- surely this is not what she wants.

Her ankles hook around his calves, and it is good that her skirt is so tight or he would be under it regardless, rubbing his cock against her heat and-

“Yea, I- uh-” His eyes flutter open and hers are huge, too close, her lips swollen and parted and all he wants to do is lick them, but-

“Are you sure about this?”

Her mouth parts, hair spilling out of its bun and across the pillow when she tilts her head to the side like she does when she comes across a particularly vexing problem. And then the heat recedes from her gaze, clarity filling them once again, and ah, he was right - he was right - she doesn’t really want this.

“Obi.”

A strand of hair has caught across her neck. He brushes it away with the back of his hand, waiting for her to tell him to get up and find his own lodging for the night. “Yea?”

“Stop talking and fuck me already.”

“Wha-” She doesn’t let him get the whole word out; doesn’t even let him fully grasp the way her mouth looks when she says the word fuck. A hand, pale and small, wraps itself in his tie, yanking him down-

Oh. She’s kissing him. That’s really- that’s great. Really great.

Humming, Shirayuki shifts her weight under him and he tumbles in an ungainly sprawl at her side, her thighs still wrapped around his hips. This time, his palms find her thighs and stay there, marveling at the way they flex beneath his touch when his tongue teases her lower lip. 

“I really like you in this suit.”

He groans into her mouth, and he’s never been harder in his life, he’s pretty sure. He might need to call a doctor soon. Thankfully, there is one right here.

“I can keep it on if you like,” he all but whines into her mouth, picturing his pants open and his briefs tugged down just enough, tie clenched in her hand as she bounces up and down on his cock, fucking him into the mattress-

She moans, thighs clenching his hips, skirt riding so indecently high it almost meets his fantasy. Her fingers are still wrapped in the red silk Mitsuhide bought him last Christmas, the only thing the big guy bought him that wasn’t protein powder, and he really… should send a thank you card. Or something. “Maybe next time,” she manages, her tongue skirting his teeth.

“Next-” Air punches out of him and he’s left light headed. Pulling back, he stares at her, at her flushed cheeks and glazed eyes and hair already a complete mess.

She blinks, dazed. “Obi?”

It’s only that she says it that he realizes his staring.

“Next time,” he breaths, what he is pretty sure is the stupidest grin in existence spreading across his face. “Right.”

Lips tremble, struggling against a shy smile, and her lashes fluttering demurely-

“But for the moment…” Obi rolls her back beneath him, his hands sliding up her thighs, each inch taken another inch that her skirt rolls up beneath his palms. Her eyes widen, wet lips parting as her breath stutters, but she does not stop him, does not say No-

Instead her face sets, hands alight upon his and she guides them upward. Professional black gives way to pale and freckled skin, and there are so many of them of so many shades... How is he ever going to kiss them all properly?

“My, my,” he breathes, cock twitching as the edges of white cotton panties coming into view. Shirayuki squirms beneath him, glancing quick at the large window overlooking the city before back to him.

Following her gaze, he frowns at the lack of window treatments. There’s no way to block them - they found that out the first night - the front desk politely assuring Dr. and Mr. Lyon that no one could see inside. But the sun is bright, spilling into their room, and there are all sorts of high powered cameras hooked up to drones these days...

Two warm hands cup his cheeks, turning him back towards her, guiding him down-

“Hmm,” Obi hums, taking her mouth as he shifts over her completely, fingers working the buttons of her blouse free. Her breath is high, strained, tension hiccupping out of her with each soft little sigh as his mouth works its way down her chest, tongue tracing the cup of her bra. When he slips two of his fingers beneath one padded cup, she arches into him, sharp, an ever sharper cry slipping past her as he gives the top of her other breast one hard suck.

Her hands are in his hair again, holding him to her and he pinches, he bites, he drags his stubble across the softness of her skin until she’s mewling, presses open mouth kisses to every freckle he can find until she’s begging-

“Obi!” she pants, hips stuttering against him. “Obi, I- I need you.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he murmurs against her skin, tongue slipping beneath the cup to tease a nipple.

“No,” she whines, hips bucking. “Now.”

No sweeter words have ever been spoken.

Lifting himself onto one elbow, he slides his other hands between them, sucking at her neck as he teases aside her panties, testing, and her hips lift with a gasp caught inside a moan. The first touch of her sex against his fingers is stupidly soft, the heat there almost burning, and she’s wet- so wet-

It would be nothing to flick the buttons of his pants open, nothing at all to slide himself home-

He plunges two of his fingers inside her.

Hands grasp at his shoulders hard. Pulling back, he watches her carefully, takes in the way she looks when she pushes herself against his hand, urging him deeper, harder with every thrust. Her eyes are closed tight, biting her lower lip until her mouth falls open with a cry when he curls his fingers. Turning her face to the side, she throws an arm over her eyes and offers him that neck that he doesn’t take. Not now. Not when he can see her like this.

Each thrust of his fingers making her wetter, hotter, louder. Her voice cracks apart, so, so close—

He stops, fingers inside her all the way to the last knuckle, and the sound of frustration she makes almost has him come right then and there in his fancy conference suit.

“Obi,” she whines, lifting her hips, knees falling open and there’s nothing more beautiful than this. Nothing more beautiful than seeing her so rumpled and wrecked, her cunt swallowing up his hand, all pink and wet-

He flicks her clit with his thumb, rubbing the edges of it, and just like that she falls apart, screaming, nearly coming off the bed as she comes. And she’s so hot around his fingers, so tight. There’s no way he’s going to last longer than a minute inside her. Not if she’s going to feel like this.

Working her down slowly – she’s shaking, breath panting and wetness flooding down his fingers, and oh- oh, if he wasn’t inspired before, he certainly would be now – Obi kisses his way up her neck, her chest heaving against his, and he parts her blouse the rest of the way, popping the front closure of her bra and she springs free.

“Oh!” she breathes, eyes fluttering open.

He grins, sliding his fingers out of her and her whole body follows him with a groan of loss.

Her breasts are so cute, so perfect. He kisses his way down them, purring into the soft give against his cheeks. She gasps a little, gently petting his hair, and he raises an eyebrow, glancing up. This time it’s her watching him, it seems, and he drags his cheek across her skin in retaliation, scraping his teeth where the blush of pink raises up.

Both hands grip at his tie now, frantic, pulling it loose and throwing somewhere beyond the bed. He laughs as she pushes at his jacket, hips lifting so she can lever him back to his side. His hands are at her waist, working her panties down until she kicks them off her ankles. Hands braced against his shoulders, pushes him again, following his momentum to roll on top of him and she looks pleased, looks victorious to have him on his back until-

“Oh. Um.”

“Hnn.” Palms hovering over her bared hips, his mouth quirks to the side, sliding his gaze down from her wide eyed stare, to the flush of her throat and lingering on those beautiful, beautiful breasts framed by her open blouse and limply dangling bra, before dropping to the dip of her belly button and skirt rucked up all pretty so he can see every bit of the wiry hairs of her sex. Pressed right up on the center of his chest.

He kneads her thighs. “You did say that dinner was a couple of hours from now, right?”

“Right?” She’s breathing so hard, barely caught up. “It’s supposed to be at five.”

“That’s such a long ways away,” he all but whines, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. “I’ll starve.”

“Do you want to order room service?” His eyes snap to hers, disbelieving, but her forehead is already creased cutely, staring at the phone on the bedside table. “I don’t know if our per diem will cover it, but- Ah!”

He is pleased seeing that blush come back to the fore as he presses his palms against her ass. “Why order room service? I have more than enough right here,” he purrs, urging her forward until her sex lands right on his tongue.

The sounds she makes are delightful. She moans, she squeals, she squeezes out sighs that are just this side of pain, the soft of her thighs pressing against his cheeks as her hips shyly thrust against his mouth. Humming, Obi flicks her clit. Hard enough that she lurches forward, catching herself on the headboard.

Staring up at her, the hair of her sex tickling his nose, he laps at the core of her, stabbing deep, glorying in the way her hair falls forward, barely able to keep herself up. But he wants-

He wants to see her eyes. Wants to see the exact shade of them when she comes. Wants to feel her thighs shivering against his face as he tastes her again and again and again.

When he wraps his lips around her, sucking sharply, her eyes snap open, focusing on him where he watches her from between her legs-

And he’s never seen a woman come so hard before in his life.

She floods into his mouth with a cry, shaking, crying, until she slumps over him and he kisses her again, right where she aches, just so he can hear the hiss. 

Huffing a laugh, he works her back down his body, helping limbs that seem to no longer be able to navigate themselves until her hands find his face. Before she can even settle, her hands frame his cheeks just so she can slip her tongue into his mouth and taste her on him.

“You’re not letting me seduce you.” She’s still trembling on top of him, but she still has the nerve to complain.

“Maybe you’re not trying enough,” he grins, sucking on her tongue.

She yanks back, eyes narrowed, and a thrill goes down his spine. Oh, he’s in for it now…

His belt flies open underneath suddenly deft hands, button and flies free before she works them down. Standing at the side of the bed, she shucks off her own skewed top and skirt, every act an exercise in efficiency until she is naked. Bared to him. Just as bared and he is to her.

He sees the second that knowledge hits. The exact moment that her eyes flick to where he’s laid out. Naked. On their temporary bed. Dick nearly purple it is so ready.

And freezes.

“Hey-” He reaches out with both hands, palms out in surrender, and her eyes snap from his cock to his face. “We don’t have to go all the way. We can just-”

“I don’t have a condom.” She looks bereft. “Do you?”

He blinks at her. “I... yes? In my wallet?”

She’s off like a shot, flipping open his wallet on the table under the TV and fishing it out. She squints at it. “How long has it been in there?”

He squirms. It’s not like he planned this, but- “Not long. Yuzuri—”

He lets the sentence trail off. No doubt she got the same talk. What happens at conference stays at conference, and-

Well, here’s the result.

“Good.” She’s already crawling up the bed, tearing the package open with her teeth, eyes fixed on his dick, and before he knows it, she’s rolling it down him with both hands, and- Oh god, her hands are on him.

“Hnn.” His hips lift, chasing that touch, but she’s already throwing her leg over his hips, lowering herself down and-

He can barely hear her “Yessssss” over his own equally enthusiastic chant of “shit, shit, shittttt.”

A whine slips from between her lips, her body swallowing him up

“Ah,” she whimpers, lifting her hips slightly. “Oh, oh god. Obi—”

Her head falls back on her shoulders, back arched, nipples peaked and begging for his mouth as she tries again, moaning like she’s so close already. 

“Yea, babe.” His hands grip her hips, urging. “Yea, c’mon.”

She moves, sliding up and down on his dick at a torturous pace, his dick disappearing deep inside her only to emerge, slick and wet—

Groaning, his head hits the pillow, eyes locked on the fire detector green flickering light as she moves on him.

“Ah,” she hisses, hands sliding up her neck, tangling in her hair, and he can’t- he can’t look away. Can’t blot out the way that the sun has caught on the cityline, casting the room an orange glow as she fucks him. As she moved on him all careful like. Like he matters. Like she cares.

He can’t take it anymore.

Planting his feet against the mattress, he braces himself up on his elbow, other palm to her spine and he urges her forward, tipping her balance forward until he can lead her breast into his mouth, trapping her on his cock as he rolls his hips, nice and slow, up into her.

“Oh. Oh.”

Hnn. She likes that.

He keeps his pace, steady, even when she whines like it’s killing her, even when she squirms on his dick like she wants to ride him hard into the sunset, until his arm trembles. Skin sheened in sweat, she lets him set the pace, fisting her fingers in the duvet as he fu- as he- he makes love to her.

God, he wants to make love to her.

Hand sliding down her side, he drags it over her stomach, arching up his neck to catch her mouth so he can taste her scream when his thumb brushes her clit-

And feeling her come from inside is so much better.

She squeezes around him like a vice, her cunt milking him, pulling him deeper, and it’s really- It’s really not his fault when his vision goes white, hips snapping up as his spine melts and he follows her home.

~ ~ ~

When his eyes open again, the room is dark, there’s a weight curled up right under his arm, and Shirayuki’s phone is… vibrating?

A groan emerges from beneath the blankets, then one arm snapping the phone off the bedside table. He dodges on instinct. You only get knocked upside the head once by a half-asleep Shirayuki before you learn that you don’t want to repeat the experience.

“Oh?” Blankets get shoved down enough so her head emerges, hair staticky and wild all about her. Squinting, she stares at the screen. “Dinner. We should… get ready. Probably.”

He stares at her, not sure what to say. Now doesn’t seem to be a good time to remind her (again) that the invitation wasn’t extended to him, but-

His stomach grumbles, effectively ending the argument before it can start.

“Come on,” she says, nose still pressed to her phone screen as she pulls up the location. The blankets fall from her and it’s the best view he’s ever had. “We need to get ready.”

Grabbing ahold of her wrist, he pulls her down, catching her surprised chirp with a lingering kiss.

She’s staring at him, eyes all soft and warm when he pulls away.

“Go.” He presses another kiss to her lips, chaste, and nods his head towards the bathroom. “You shower first.”

Her frown would be adorable if he didn’t know it spelled trouble. “You don’t…?”

“Shirayuki,” he laughs, her eyes huge on him. “You definitely won’t be making it to dinner if we shower together.”

Her lashes drop, sliding off the bed. “Neither of us will,” she corrects.

Then squeals, jolting towards the bathroom when he taps her ass with the back of his hand.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Good omens au

N/A: Never read the book, saw many fanarts here and there to get the gist, now, the actual story in this drabble is 100% from my head with inspiration from Good Omens.

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @discordsworld

#1 Seir is not one to idle walk around in places like this shopping, for example, but with his glamour on and nothing else in his agenda, why not indulge his curiosity a little bit?

Entering in a department store where he´s chatting with a pretty woman, another of his one-night standers for sure, judging by her flirtation and insinuations, the talks dies as Kurt looks at the west side.

A woman with chestnut hair, brown eyes and wearing something completely out fashion is in the store looking at everything with awe. His eyes are solely on her form as Kurt knows who this woman.

The one-night-stander means nothing to him now. Daring to be as closer as he can, Sier listens to the exchange between this creature and the saleswoman.

"Why I can´t just leave with this hat?" the creature replied and Sier saw how the saleswoman is reacting, like all the humans who met someone like she does.

"You must pay..." the creature tilted her head as the woman continues "I can pay for you if you want"

"No need, this green paper is a mystery to me, take care Agatha Smith" the creature replied smiling and Sier looks away.

An angel just walks in a department store. He saw an angel. And the only response Sier could muster is a watch as the angel walks away.

Suddenly he gets offended, does this angel really didn´t see him or just pretended to not see him?

_______________ #2 This particular type of bar is quiet and without crowds of people and free to mutants(Sier laughs as thinking on their reaction if they knew of a real demon is walking among them) and the beer is great.

It was supposed to be a night where his mind is not rearing about his past, his useless father(pot meet kettle, being a decent father to Talia does not erase what he has done so far.) and of course, the angel.

God really show his "love" for Kurt in the form of an angel entering in his bar and looking at the humans amused. And Kurt is paralyzed in his spot.

An angel in a bar with a demon?! Hilarious

She goes to where the stools of the bar are, way too closer of Sier, and the Demon is not ashamed to gulp and to look at her. Her chestnut hair, brown eyes and skin ...how is her true form?

(Sier remembers tales of angels. How their looks can be only left to interpretation. His sister, often said angels are ugly and demons are made pretty to seduce as God sure does not want his precious angel loses their grace)

Sier does not believe in that anymore for several reasons. And most important, this angel is anything but ugly.

"Do you have nectar?" the angel replied and the human shakes his head ready to grovel if need and maybe Sier is a bit drunk or suicidal but he´d make himself know.

"Oh, shut up, man, the woman just want something to drink, gives a beer and is fine" Sier ordered and the poor bartender accepts. The angels look dead set into his golden eyes. Sier now knows she must realize who he´s. A fight between them is imminent.

"Who are you?"

Sier looks offended.

"My name is Sier and I´m the shadow that covers humanity," Sier thought this would impress the angel.

"Ah, Azazel´s son, the satan wannabe. Ok, hello" the angel waves at him and Sier looks even more offended. "My name is xxx" she speaks her name and lights and sound, far from human(angels love to show off) invade the bar "but I guess is easier to call me just Kitty"

And resume drinking her beer.

Sier is curious and furious at the same time. How dare she not be impressed by his mere presence?

_____________________ #3 Kitty, the angel lives with the X-men. Sier knows his daughter lives with them, but never in the past, make any interest to join the group(helping his daughter? Always, the others? not so much), so, when Sier shows up no one knew what to expect.

Sier spots Warren speaking freely with Kitty(too freely, why this big bird can do that?) and did what would be seen as stupid, in character and expected. Sier shows his blades and jumps to attack.

Warren was not a match. Kitty shows up in the "fight" and put her finger on the blade, in no time, the blade shatters. And flicking his forehead Sier was throw yards away.

"Little demon, what are you doing here?" Kitty asked now inches of his face when an angel teleport you don´t see it coming unless is too late.

"I´m a demon" is the only reply given and Kitty rolls her eyes as she replies careless "Oh, stop being a cliche, you just attack Warren cause you know he´s weak"

Seir could have a smile at this confession but self-preservation still kicks in.

"You rush just in time to save your lover" Sier replied nasty and now her eyes are on his form again(is eerie, fantastic and everything someone would dream and fear) and Sier wonders how someone powerful as she is doing with a weakling like him.

"Sier....he´s my decedent, unlike your family, I´d found incest gross" Kitty spots Talia rushing to see her father and Kitty leaves Sier be.

Many comments on the event that just happens. Bobby pipes in saying how Kitty didn´t refute how Warren is weak(Bobby gets his head smack)

-_____________

#4

Sier is looking bored at the X-men as they are dealing with a mission, Seir did help Talia to take out the survivors of a natural disaster and now is watching as Scott and Logan are deciding the next step.

Kitty is next to him(angel teleportation is another level) and looks at the survivors to the X-men and asks.

"What are they doing?" Kitty asked crossing her arms.

"Well, little angel, they are asserting dominance" Sier replied smirking at her.

"Humans, do that a lot?" Kitty´s eyes are on his and Sier would like to point out that no one in the X-men has the strength to deal with her gaze for more than one minute.

"All the time"

"How peculiar"

_______________

#5

Sometimes, Kitty likes to use the pool for herself, when the X-men are sleeping soundly. Sier knows Kitty has no understanding of humanity´s social cues. Sier is gazing at the widow as Kitty emerges from the pool.

Naked and wet and Sier wonders if those humans truly understand her beauty.

She roses from the waters like an ethereal being and walks on water speaking her ancient language, and in the end, vanish into thin air.

Someone pokes his shoulder. It´s Logan.

"Listen to bub, the kids don´t feel comfortable to go to the pool with a demon looking at them so intensely" Logan explained gruffly as always.

Only now Sier realizes is not night anymore. Is daylight.

"Where is she?"

"No one knows"

_________________

#6

The hellfire is a name that makes Sier laugh. Today, the man is not laughing as White Queen send a psychic blow(as Bobby summarize quickly to Sier) on Kitty.

Sier only saw red as his blades take the White Queen without mercy. The fact someone like this pathetic human manages to hurt Kitty is enough to make Sier vexing.

Once, White Queen is no more. Sier is searching for Kitty and any signal of damage the woman may sustain.

"I´m fine, little demon" Kitty speaks as Sier´s hands are palming her face until is clear no signal of hurt is in her person. "She didn´t hurt me at all, but, she did startle me. I didn´t think it would be possible to exist another person with psychic powers at the level of Jean Grey"

"Who cares about that? That bitch attacked you"

"And you defend me, little demon, but this is an issue, it means the intelligence is not working" Kitty thanks him for the help and then teleports away from there.

Leaving Sier to deal with the fallout.

Why does he care so much if the White queen hurts Kitty?

_______________________ #7

Sometimes, Kitty shows up and watches movies with the X-men. Sier decides to show how the humans portrayed angels in their media. A smirk plays off as Kitty looks at the first angel in the movie with deep confusion.

As the plot goes on, Kitty is hugging herself and looking at the scene with sadness, Sier can count the moment the human character will be killed, but as tears fall from her eyes.

Seir pauses the movie and speaks loudly.

"What a junk! IN the end, it was all a dream of one of the characters, such a let down" Sier speaks and Kitty looks at him now.

"I know in the end, that human dies in such a sad way that becomes the catharsis for the end of the world" and now she adds "thank you, little demon, that´s was kind of you to try to spare my feelings"

Sier remains silent as the movie continues and the said human character does die.

________________________ #8

"Father," asked Talia one day "why are you so fixated on Kitty?"

"She is an angel!" Sier replied

"Yeah, but when you see Warren you hiss at him and loves to scare him, with Kitty is different..."

"She´s different..."

"Father, do you want to talk about your feelings?"

"Why everyone asked me that? No, what I feel for Kitty is not a big deal"

And then Sier spends the entire day with Kitty.

___________________ #9

"Little demon, are you trying to pick up on Betsy? She seems to be into my decedent and hates you" Kitty asked one day when saw the flowers behind his back.

"What? Nah, not my type, and if she likes bird boy that´s her prerogative" Sier speaks arrogantly and then gives the flowers to Kitty.

"Is for you" roses have a special meaning to angels. Red and blue roses.

"Thank you, little demon, do you want to talk?"

"...No" and bamfs away.

_______________

#10

"You can walk by my side, little demon, lurking in the shadows means nothing to me" Kitty speaks as Sier leaves the shadow to sit next to her. She is in a high tower, in the ceiling. Looking at the world below her.

"You´re a strange angel"

"I´m just not a cliche and I see no point to fight with you." She smiles noticing his reaction "and you´re a strange demon too"

"...I suppose"

"Sier, if you want to sit with me, just sit with me,"

"Ok"

[nellygwyn]

I wanted to share some of the novel I am working on. This particular extract isn't perfect, neither is the rest of it that I've written, since it is a first draft and I'm still getting through it. But I'm very pleased with the general gist of it and I know some of my followers will appreciate it, for its content, historical flare and plot.

For context, so you understand this snippet better: My story is set in the mid 1780s (I really feel confident trying to relay the political background in this era over any other 18th century decade, which would be helpful for my story's context) and my protag is a fairly elite (more bourgeois than high class) prostitute called Kezia Spooner. She's been living in a fancy brothel in Soho, under the employ of a madam known as Abbess Weston, and since the brothel is frequented by the aristocracy, foreign diplomats and other men of influence and wealth, Kezia and the other girls have been somewhat educated in typical female accomplishments and imbued with feminine intellect. Kezia wasn't always in the fortunate position she was, however: she and her elder sister, Sarah, after being abandoned near St . Giles-in-the-Fields as children, lived and worked on the streets, in filthy squats and slums etc. for a few years before they came to Abbess Weston's attention. Sarah left the brothel two years prior to my story beginning, having never been as content with the harlot's life as Kezia was and defiantly declaring that she was going to carve a real legacy out for herself, and hasn't been seen or heard from since. 

Kezia has recently found herself under a new keeper, Peregrine Cox, Lord Cox, who isn't particularly handsome but has a certain magnetic quality to him, as well as a fortune. He moves her into a glorious London townhouse in St. James' but he is secretive and edgy from the off, making it clear to Kezia that there are certain parts of the house she is strictly forbidden from going anywhere near. Immediately prior to the following scene, Kezia and Lord Cox have had sex and now, Lord Cox insists on reading from a book of Alexander Pope's poetry to her. Kezia is tired, though, and finds herself, as she begins to drift off, unnerved by the day's events, unexplained sounds & movement in the house, and the general atmosphere of her surroundings.

Lord Cox began to read Pope, aloud, as Kezia, curled up amongst the disshevelled sheets beside him, began to slip into that strange realm between waking and dreaming. The whole room, which had seemed so grand before, began to fade under her tired eyes, eyes that longed for sleep. The false gold that gilded every surface blurred into streams of the stuff and the flickering shadow of the candle on the ceiling moved like the spectre of a dancing bear. The sound of Cox's plummy, theatrical reading voice muffled in the dreamy haze, joining the distant racket of the street. A cat yowled. Drunkards jeered. A link-boy bellowed in an adolescent squeak about his prices and his routes.

Cox was a grand and good keeper, of that she was sure. Kezia had made a wise, a sensible choice, in accepting him. His tastes in bed were not perverse or unusual. He had wit, charm, and the good sense to utilise them. He certainly wasn't affable but she had never really had occasion to call him cruel or impolite. He seemed to be very much like other swells that had bedded her; he simply had the fortune and resources to act more thoroughly on his impulses. He was on the up, too, with his burgeoning political career and expanding circle of influential friends. And he did profess to like Kezia, adore her even, in his own fashion. The arrangement she was in was not one any whore in her right mind would turn her nose up at. Kezia had no right to complain. There was no sense in it. Truthfully, observant readers, would you complain if you were her?

And yet, even as Kezia lay poised to fall deep into a dream, there was a startlingly lucid sense that something was not quite right. Perhaps it was the ghostly shadows brought to form by the candlelight that had unhinged her but...no, there was a sense of absolute reality in this worry. Something had seemed off from the moment she had seen Lord Cox whispering to his manservant. No, before that even: she'd had the feeling of uneasiness when, in the carriage here, he had so purposefully told her that there were several rooms of the house that she was forbidden to enter. In any other situation, Kezia would've respected a Lord's right to command as he wished in his own home but there was something in his voice, and in the absent-minded but furious picking of his nails, that told her this was more than just a man guarding his space. This was more important, much deeper, than that. There was a lie in all this somewhere. She was reminded of a folktale, probably relayed to her and Sarah by one of the many beggar women they had bedded down with in the old days, about a young girl, seduced and duped by a monstrous fiend, who kept her captive in his sinister castle. The fiend called himself a King but he was far from it, for he ate the hearts of girls for sport and fed their bones to his hounds.

"Aren't you listening?" Lord Cox brought her firmly back from fancy and superstition and it jolted her wide awake.

"Not particularly" (Here, for the reader's particular reference, she affected a voice of elegant disinterest, that voice which teased all men with the prospect that a woman had other things on her mind). "Methink Pope rather dull, my Lord"

Cox pulled a contorted face of disbelief, like a schoolboy caught frigging by his fellows, and huffed like a brat too.

"I wouldn't expect a woman such as you are to have much true liking for literature, to be sure." He slammed the little volume shut. The sound echoed, but Kezia could still later swear she heard a girlish sneeze in the rooms above them, which at any other time, would've turned her skin to gooseflesh, since she knew she was the only woman in the house and the male servants were floors below, but for now, Kezia was piqued. Tom-cat behaviour in Cox wasn't rare but censuring her person....now, this was new. And, more importantly, it was unwelcome.

"Lud, my Lord, a woman such as I? Whatever does that mean? In your own words, I am a girl of extraordinary intelligence. A schooled mistress for a schooled master, were not those your words? And yet, suddenly, now I exhibit a dislike for something you enjoy, I am a dim-witted gutter strumpet! You say you despise the Ton and their ways and yet you take on their irritating insincerity to the life!"

During her retort, Kezia had watched Cox flare and bulge a little, like a bull to a red rag, but she decided to, so as to avoid a spar, end her rant with a small smile and a sweet giggle, as if to say 'I'm only playing at bad behaviour,' and he softened.

"I apologise, dearest lovey. Profusely so. I suppose I am quite tired. You know, Sheridan's speech in the Commons was far, far too long. I'll see him hanged if he puts me through such a bore again." He glanced at the glittering clock on the fireplace, seemingly checking to make sure it was late enough to justify going to bed, though Kezia was sure her own droopy-lidded exhaustion was proof enough of that.

"Oh, don't talk politics after we've fucked. It distresses me so. You know it does!" Kezia teased.

It was funny Cox had mentioned Richard Sheridan, for now Kezia was playing out her own play, throwing aside her uneasiness about Cox's earlier whisperings and commands, and her vexation at his belittlement of her, in order to do what she did best: give pleasure. She leaned into his boney, bare shoulders, blanketing them with her curls. She drew up so close to him that she could smell the snuff in his atmosphere. It was the gesture of a lover, and she must've played it out well, for Cox, in turn, balanced his sharp chin on her head and began to softly caress her. No doubt this is where our readers tutors or salonierre will pause to reflect on how life often imitates art.

"That's my pretty miss. Do you love me very well?" Lord Cox breathed out, between his gentle twisting of Kezia's strands of hair.

"I love you beyond all expression" she lied.

"Do you worship me?"

"As you worship me, sir"

Kezia felt him smile. They lay for a little while in silence, he toying with her and she willing sleep to take her and stop her stomach lurching with unidentified dread. How uncomfortable she was.

"Tomorrow, circumstances dictate you spend the afternoon out of the house" Cox said suddenly. His voice, jarringly unfeeling, almost rehearsed, was the same as it had been in the carriage. Kezia dared not argue, even though she desperately wanted to ask why.

"Yes, sir" she echoed.

"I'll have Mccarthy bring the carriage around for you at 12 and you are at liberty to go wherever you please. Put anything you like on my credit, I shan't mind. Only the best for my Kez."

"And what time am I expected back, sir?"

"6 o'clock will do, though not a moment before, you understand?"

"I understand." But she did not. Not one bit.

After a short while, Cox snuffed out the candle and he fell asleep in quick time: Kezia felt his breathing steady. She, however, lay in the pitch black, tired beyond belief but unable to rest. Even the realm between waking and dreaming would be preferable. Her ears pricked at every outside noise. The walls, which she could no longer see properly, bore down on her. Most disturbing of all, there was creaking on the ceiling above, the sure signs of someone, or something, inhabiting upstairs. It was unnerving and inexplicable. In her uncontrollable state of fear, she leaned her face into Lord Cox's body, finding safety in the warmth. This vexed her greatly as she was unable to fathom why she, who had once lived unprotected on the streets of the Great Metropolis and encountered real scoundrels on a daily and nightly basis, was suddenly so fearful of the dark and of nonsense noises. Despairing at herself for her cowardice and her reliance on a man who sent ice up her spine, Kezia somehow managed to lull herself into an uninterrupted sleep.

[queerofcups]

Title: love me for the day Rating: M Word Count: 2857 Summary:  Dan and Phil have a housewarming party and Drunk and Very Flirty Dan is in attendance.

Also, there’s an instance of Dan kissing someone other than Phil w/ Phil’s implicit consent, so if that’s not a thing you’re into, totes fine! just don’t say i didn’t warn you. 

[link to Ao3]

“I’m sure you could find somewhere to sit. Someone’s face, maybe?” slips out of Dan’s mouth, unbidden. He’s aware that he’s leering at Louise, who, while very fit, he loves like a very motherly older sister. “Oh god,” Dan says, looking down at the glass of champagne in his hand accusatorily and back up at Louise, who looks amused and was definitely vlogging. “I can’t believe I just said that. Please don’t include that in your vlog. I’m going to go somewhere and die now. Thank you for coming to our new home.” Dan makes his way through the crowd filling their new apartment. It’s not nearly the squeeze it would have been in the old apartment and everyone’s been oohing and aaahing over their new decor since the housewarming party started a few hours ago.

He’s almost to the other side of the living area, scanning the space for Phil when he bumps into Caspar. When he and Phil first envisioned the homecoming party, it had been a small thing with their closest friends. Then Phil had started making noise about all the parties they’d been invited to over the years by their coworkers and how they’d never reciprocated because of the size of their flat. Dan had acquiesced and watched the guest list grow before his eyes into this weirdly well attended friends and friendly co-workers shindig. Which was why he was gently patting Caspar’s pec, a little dazed and definitely drunk.

“Dan!” Caspar says, pulling him into one of those manly, clappy straight boy hugs.

“Casp!”Dan says, smiling at Caspar. He stays within hugging distance. He’s drunk enough to be swaying on his feet a little, so he rests a hand on Capsar’s chest to steady himself. “Hi. How’s the party going for you?”

Caspar grins at him, glancing down at his hand, “Excellent, mate! I’m really glad you invited us, this is a really cool place.”

“Mm,” Dan says, nodding. “Definitely, hey, where’s Joe?”

“Ah,” Caspar says, looking around, “Not entirely sure?”

Dan looks at him. Capsar looks back, then glances down at Dan’s hand, where he’s now sort of, lightly stroking Capar’s pec.

“Dan?” Caspar asks. Dan glances at his hand, and grins at Caspar.

“You know, I know you and Joe are straight and all, but if you just need some coaching tips on how to take that to the next level, I’ve been told I’m a very good kisser—“

“Dan! Hello!” Phil says, coming out of nowhere, cutting him off. Rude. He’d turn to tell Phil he’s being rude, except Caspar’s making really hilarious confused noises and Phil is gently nudging him away with a hand on his hip.

Dan sighs and allows Phil to push him away from Caspar, squeezing Caspar’s pec a little as he goes. He’s fairly sure he hears Caspar squeak, but it gets lost in the music.

“Phil!” Dan says, turning to Phil. “I was matchmaking! There was a love connection about to happen.”

Phil’s leads him toward the weirdly angular yet comfy ottoman thing that’s become his favorite piece of furniture in the apartment after he and Dan had fought over buying it for hours. PJ is sitting on the couch across from it. Phil lets go of his hip to sit on the ottoman and Dan gingerly steps over PJ’s outstretched legs to sit on the floor next to Phil. It’s a little uncomfortable, but Dan can lean his head against Phil’s knee. The room spins around him gently. Phil drops a hand to his hair, scritching a little and Dan moans. Phil and PJ start talking again, clearly continuing a conversation about a collab idea they’ve been batting around for months. Phi tugs Dan’s hair a little, probably to get him to lift his head up, but Dan just moans again. “You doin’ alright there, Howell?” PJ asks him. Dan looks up at him, and licks his lips. “Not as alright as you could make me feel. You know you’re on me and Phil’s list, right?” “Dan,” Phil laughs and drops his hand out of Dan’s hair. “I had to save Caspar from him. Dan was trying to hook him and Joe up by seducing him?”

“Is it that point in the night already?” PJ asks lightly, reaching over to ruffle Dan’s hair. Dan tilts his head agreeably, making more pleased noises. “I’m very drunk and you’re very pretty,” Dan confirms, nodding. The room spins a little faster. He pulls away from PJ and drains the rest of his champagne and says, “’m also totally down to be part of some kind of…crazy blue eyed visionary filmmaker sandwich. We could call Chris for old time’s sake?”

“I should probably be stopping this?” Phil says above him. Dan can tell from his voice that he’s definitely laughing. “How many glasses of champagne have you had?”

He appreciates being around Phil and PJ, some of the people who’ve seen him at his drunk and sluttiest. They’re the safest people to be around right now, with his loose lips and roving eyes. Honestly, they probably should have factored Drunk and Very Flirty Dan into things when they were planning the housewarming party.  He’s suddenly very glad that they cut the guest list before they’d started talking about BBC Radio 1 people. He could just see himself hitting on Grimmy and Phil having to deal with whatever Nick’s response was.

Dan hums and tilts his head back against Phil’s knee again, looking around the room at their friends and coworkers. “Enough to hit on Louise. D’you reckon Alfie and Zooey would let me have a go? Also, are we just not talking about the thing going on between Louise and Marcus? At least, the thing that should be going on.”

“We aren’t, because chemistry doesn’t equal sexual attraction.” Phil says like he always says when Dan tries to gossip about Louise and Marcus. He plucks Dan’s glass from his hand and standing. “Do you want more or do you want a break?”

“Shots!” Dan says. Beside him, PJ cheers a little.

Phil, who tells him no all the time but is easily charmed, doesn’t mention that this isn’t really a shots type of affair. Instead, he smiles at them, and wanders away. Dan watches him go, across the living area and over to the alcohol-covered counter, near where the first versions of their plushies watch the party from atop their fridge. When he gets tired of watching Phil (tracing from his shoulders down to his ridiculous waist), he scootches around to lean against PJ’s knees.

He tilts his head to look up at PJ upside down and says, very seriously, “We should make out.”

PJ, who’s drinking the bright blue cocktail Phil insisted on them making as the official housewarming drink, finishes the sip he’s taken and makes a contemplative noise. “Fairly sure Soph ruled that out after the last time, with the fun dip?”

Dan nods and sighs. “That’s fair. It’s probably pretty hard to get all that green shit out of the carpet. Do you think Phil would let me do body shots?”

PJ throws his head back and laughs. “No, Dan, I don’t think he would.”

Dan whines a little but settles against PJ.

They sit in silence for a moment before PJ says, “Hey. This is a nice place. You guys are doing good.”

Drunk and Very Flirty Dan doesn’t do well with feelings, so he nods and bites at his nails, spits out the little flecks of glitter that get in his mouth.

“It’s probably the happiest we’ve ever been,” Dan says. Drunk and Very Flirty Dan also tends to be Blithely Honest Dan. He doesn’t really wish he could muster up this sort of obnoxious flirtatiousness in his sobriety, but he wouldn’t mind being able to chat about his feelings so casually sometimes.  

“We can tell,” PJ says, sliding down to sit next to him on the floor. “We can all tell.”

Dan bursts into his dumb, wheezy giggle. “Is that your way of telling me our fans suspect something?”

PJ smirks over at him. “You invited a bunch of youtubers to your very adult home for a housewarming party. You might as well tweet them a wedding invite. Dan?”

Dan, who’d been winking lasciviously at a bewildered Joe Sugg, turns to look at him. “Haven’t you heard? Japan was our honeymoon. We’ve been married for years now, according to them.”

“And you still haven’t gotten me a ring.” Phil says, returning. He sits on the ottoman and very carefully hands them shot glasses of something dark, and sparkly. Dan has learned better than to question it when Phil produces sparkly foods out of nowhere. Instead, he tilts his head back, bracing against the burn of alcohol. It’s sweet, and mostly smooth and warms him all the way down.

“You’re my favorite,” Dan grins at Phil, who’s finished his own shot. “You’re totally getting blown after everyone leaves.”

Phil has endured Drunk and Very Flirty Dan more than anyone else on earth, and still somehow finds a reason to blush. He ducks his head and hehehes quietly. Dan considers if they could get away with disappearing from their own party for a few minutes. He doesn’t think he has the coordination to properly blow Phil, and that last shot hasn’t even hit him yet, but he’s could go for drunk makeouts with someone. Drunk and Very Flirty Dan appreciates the press of a warm body and a warm mouth and isn’t all that vexed about the owner. Sober Dan is generally chuffed to have a partner that takes this sort of behavior in stride and gamely directs him away from anyone that might take things more seriously than a bit of kissing.

“Who else is on this list?” PJ asks beside him, throwing an arm around Dan’s shoulders and leaning against him heavily. Dan appreciates the indication that he’s not the only one a little wasted in their little trio. Then he appreciates how nice PJ’s arm feels against his.

“There’s no list.” Phil says.

“Have you been working out?” Dan asks at the same time, pressing back against PJ’s arm and doing a little shimmy.

PJ looks between the two of them, not certain who to respond to first. Dan smolders at him, pursing his lips a little. PJ laughs a little and turns to Phil.

“There’s no list?” he asks.

“No,” Phil says, sliding off the ottoman to sit on the floor with them. Dan throws his outstretched legs into Phil’s lap and tilts his head onto PJ’s shoulder. “We just sort of…talk it out.”

From this angle he can listen to both of them and watch the makeshift dancefloor that had been made out of a cleared out area of their living room. The string lights (Dan’s aesthetic insistence) turned everything dim and warm and slightly golden and most of his favorite people in the world were in this room. If he could get someone to make out with him (and maybe a slice of pizza) this would be the actual best moment of his life.

“D’you think Marcus would be up for it?” Dan asks, graciously letting Phil and PJ in on his thought process.  “He did send me that one text.”

“On a dare from Louise,” Phil points out, sipping from his own champagne. He’s mostly sober, which is annoying. If Phil was as drunk as Dan, he’d probably agree to go make in a coat closet or something. Or their bedroom, since they’re adults or whatever. Or hell, even the guest bedroom. Drunk Phil is always up for it, even if he’s no match for Dan’s whirlwind of sex.

“We have so many rooms to bang in,” Dan says, grinning at Phil. “And I’m a whirlwind of sex.”

“You’ve gotta christen them all,” PJ, a true friend, agrees. Dan pats his thigh amicably. Then he squeezes a little for good measure. With his other hand he sets his shotglass down and pets the carpet. It’s a nice, good texture. He sort of wouldn’t mind laying down on it.

“We’re not starting now,” Phil says, because he knows Dan too well.

Dan rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Of course not. We’re adults, who take care of their guests and don’t go bang in the coat closet, no matter how fun it would be. We’ll wait til they leave.”

“That’s probably not very long now,” PJ says, looking at his watch. “

Dan hums another little noise, then keeps humming, along with the music. He’s drunk, and a little tired, and maybe just having pizza and a few people over would have been a better housewarming. He rolls his head on PJ’s shoulder so he can look at Phil, who’s bopping along to the music, lost in his own world.

“We’re those losers in the corner at our own party,” Dan says, smiling at Phil. “Plus PJ.”

“We are,” Phil says, smiling back at him. “Plus PJ.”

“Not quite sure how I feel about this addendum,” PJ adds. “Oh, people are going for the coat closet. Do you want me to play good host with Phil while you sit here and be drunk.”

Dan, who’s eye closed at some point during PJ’s sentence, moans tiredly, and nods. “You’re at the top of me and Phil’s list now, tiger.”

“There is no list,” Phil says. PJ laughs and rearranges Dan to lean against the couch. Dan slits his eyes to watch them both climb to their feet and head to the door to tell people goodbye.

Dan must fall asleep for a few minutes, because when he blinks again, the apartment is empty of most people. Someone has turned on the overhead light in the kitchen, brightening the place up a bit, and Phil and PJ are at the door, seeing the last stragglers out.

“Hey,” Phil says, coming over to sit next to him on the floor, crowding in close. His wraps cool fingers around Dan’s.  “Bed?”

“Bed,” Dan says, and doesn’t move. “Is PJ coming with us? I haven’t seduced anybody yet. Drunk and Very Flirty Dan will be so disappointed.”

“Pretty sure you’re still drunk, mate.” PJ crouches down on his other side. “Still flirty?”

“I’ve definitely had this dream before,” Dan tells him. Phil laughs.

PJ grins and leans forward, pressing his mouth to Dan’s. PJ’s mouth is warm, and a little sticky from his drinks and he smells familiar, and comforting. Beside him Phil squeezes Dan’s hand. Dan sighs into the kiss, feels PJ’s mouth turn upward. Dan really, really loves kissing. They separate quietly and Dan darts forward to peck PJ’s mouth once more, mischievous. PJ’s grinning at him when he pulls back.

“Night, lads,” PJ says standing up. “Got a ladyfriend to get back to.”

Dan grins at him and waves, closes his eyes again. “Drunk and Very Flirty Dan hopes you know that this can only every be a physical thing. His heart belongs to someone else.”

“Tired and Happily Dating Someone Else PJ appreciates that,” PJ says, sounding far away.

Dan listens to the soft murmur of PJ and Phil say goodbye to each other, is pretty certain he hears the soft sound of mouths meeting, and lets himself drift on drunken exhaustion until Phil’s tugging on his hands, encouraging him to stand up.

Dan yawns again and follow Phil down the hallway to their bedroom, eyes still mostly closed. They shuffle through nighttime routines and Dan groans when he finally lays down in their bed, relieved.

“Phil,” he says in the direction of their bathroom. Phil pokes his head out of the door, continues brushing his teeth.

Dan pushes himself up. “Phil, I’m too tired to make it good. I’ll just lie here and you do what you have to do.”

Phil rolls his eyes and ducks back into the bathroom. Dan listens to him spit and rinse, fighting off sleep. His head feels heavy and a little cotton-y and he can feel the oncoming cringe if he thinks too hard about some of the things he’s said tonight.

The bed dips as Phil bounces on to it and scoots closer.

“Good night?” Phil asks.

“Only groped one person mildly inappropriately, house is sufficiently warmed and I got to kiss someone!” Dan says, and cheers weakly.

“You did,” Phil says, fondness warming his voice.

“Are we going to do it now?” Dan asks, turning to look at Phil. “Because I’m only gonna be this drunk for a few more minutes. Then, first stop, Hangover Town.”

“We’ll try in the morning,” Phil says, tugging him closer.

Dan throws an arm across Phil and presses his fingers into Phil’s skin a little, just to feel the solidness of him. Tomorrow morning, he’ll read through the mocking texts definitely waiting on him from PJ and Louise at least and maybe send a few winking emojis and pineapples to Caspar. Tonight, he’s happy to ride the soft waves of drunkenness, absorbing Phil’s warmth and tangling their limbs together.

“It was a good night,” Dan confirms, and closes his eyes.

[vicious-rhythm]

Come What May

bits and pieces of a perc’ahlia Moulin Rouge au for @dainesanddaffodils​ it was still her birthday when i started formatting this, so i’m using technicalities, but happy birthday! <3

Percy is still only an amateur in the world of poetry, but his new friends seem to think he has a knack for it, and after all that was the plan for convincing Vex’ahlia – who is…so much more than Percy expected – to take him on as a writer. So he does the only thing that seems to work when it comes to poetics. He opens his mouth without thinking overmuch about what is going to come out. He’s fairly certain he couldn’t even recall his exact wording later, but whatever thing Percy says, it flows like water from his lips and he watches Vex’ahlia’s face move from bafflement to wonder to something soft that catches under his ribcage and makes his voice stronger, surer, without any effort.

“I can’t believe it,” Vex’ahlia says, hushed in the sudden lack of space between them. Percy had hardly noticed, but his arms are practically around her, they’re so close. “I’m in love,” she laughs a bit breathlessly. “I’m in love with a young, handsome, talented duke.”

“Duke?” Percy isn’t sure where she got that idea, unless she somehow knows who he really is, which is – no, impossible. “I’m not a duke or a lord or - ”

“What?” Vex’ahlia’s expression melts back to confusion and then distress.

“I’m just…a writer,” he explains. “Well, a chemist, actually, but the writing seems to be going - ”

“Oh no!” Vex’ahlia cuts him off once more, backing away as her hands fly to her face. Percy feels abruptly and absurdly bereft at the distance between them, an instinct that he firmly stomps down as being ridiculous. “Don’t tell me you’re another one of Scanlan’s brilliantly talented, tragically impoverished protégés.”

Percy doesn’t get a chance to respond to that with more than an indistinct, indignant noise before she goes one, pacing now in true distress. He follows a bit helplessly, crossing the room with her to stand just before the ornate double doors.

“I’m going to kill him,” she mutters, and Percy believes it from the vehemence in her voice. “I was meant to be – oh gods, you have to get out.”

While Percy is trying to reason with her, completely ignored of course, Vex’ahlia swings the door open and standing there in the hallway is Glorious Gilmore himself, apparently in the middle of an apology to an unmistakably aristocratic man. Tall and sharp-featured with dark hair, he brings to mind the less pleasant men Percy’s father had once dealt with, and looks as though he’s been deeply insulted. That’s all Percy can catch before Vex’ahlia slams the door closed again. From her panicked face, that is the duke she was expecting.

“Hide,” she breathes, pushing Percy toward the window.

He only just manages to duck behind the rich drape of a table laden with thus far ignored delicacies before the door opens once more. The conversation is a series of accusations and excuses, Gilmore hastily showing himself out to leave Vex’ahlia to seduce this duke. Percy stares hard at the wall and wills his curiosity to be silent for once in his damned life, but he can’t help looking around the table.

It’s a good thing he does, too, because Vex’ahlia only barely stops the duke from discovering Percy, redirecting him away from the table and to the window, practically screaming with her eyes over his shoulder at Percy to get out. The task is…less than simple. Percy is infinitely grateful that there is no one to witness the veritable acrobatics the pair of them have to pull off to keep the duke distracted from Percy’s presence, but it’s all for naught. The duke’s bodyguard blocks the exit entirely.

Percy thanks whatever god may be listening for the dexterity to make it back behind the table in time to keep from being spotted, and then promptly thanks them again for Vex’ahlia’s cleverness in shuffling the duke out of the room with the stipulation that it would best to wait for opening night to sleep together. Percy selfishly hopes that is an eventuality that will never come to pass.

“Do you have any idea what would have happened if you’d been found,” Vex’ahlia demands the instant the door closes behind the duke. She’s so pale and furious Percy is afraid for a moment he’s going to be slapped. Then she gasps and does something completely unexpected – she faints.

—

“It’s about love,” Percy blurts when Scanlan stutters over an explanation for their play.

“Love?” the duke scoffs.

“Yes, and forgiveness,” he goes on, meeting Vex’ahlia’s eyes across the room. “In spite of all obstacles.”

“And it’s set in Switzerland,” Scanlan throws in, grinning widely and completely missing the look of distaste on Saundor’s face.

“India!” Percy cuts in over him hastily, the furthest place he can think of from Switzerland’s cold mountains. “India, it’s set in India.”

They let him piece together a story almost entirely from nowhere, and Percy keeps thinking someone will call him out on the fact that he’s simply built off of his meeting Vex’ahlia. But they don’t, not even the woman herself, though her brother looks sufficiently suspicious of Percy throughout the whole ordeal. It’s more spectacle than anything that convinces the duke their production is worth funding, but it’s also a pure relief to not have Saundor looking as though he’d like Percy’s head on a platter. The way he looks at Vex’ahlia doesn’t change, nor does it stop making Percy’s skin crawl, but that is…not Percy’s place to comment on.

It stays on his mind though; Vex’ahlia and her opinions on the evening’s proceedings staying with him even as Percy declines an invitation to stay and celebrate with Scanlan, Grog, and Pike. Scanlan is already a few sheets to the wind, shouting something lyrical about freedom, beauty, and love over the balcony, while Grog seduces a rather fetching nymph of a woman by the stairs. If “You are a beautiful woman and I love sex” can be called a seduction. Percy huffs a slight laugh and bypasses them, waving goodnight to a cheerfully tipsy Pike on his way into his room.

Percy is of no mind at all to celebrate, not when his thoughts are still up in that opulent room with Vex’ahlia.

—

“I can’t love anyone,” Vex’ahlia tells him with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“But a life without love, that’s…” Percy falters, searching for words that only come easily when he isn’t thinking them through. “That’s horrible.”

“Living on the street, that’s horrible,” Vex shoots back, and Percy bites his tongue. Being alone, having lost so many people he loved, who loved him – has never paled the least in comparison to financial troubles, but it isn’t his place to say so. He has no idea what Vex’ahlia’s life has been to make her so sharp and determined on the point, but gods, he’d like to learn her well enough to know.

And this night, it’s a start. They spend hours perched on top of the ridiculous elephant, arguing philosophically about love and life, the things one gives up in the pursuit of either. Percy lets some of the high of today’s success find it’s way into him, teasing back and forth with Vex (“Call me Vex, she insisted at least an hour ago. “It sounds far too stuffy when you say the whole thing.”) about how things would go if they could – well.

Somehow it all circles round until Percy finds himself asking, foolishly, if Vex is willing to at least try. She’s silent for a moment and Percy doesn’t even bother apologizing. He knows it’s stupid and useless, and of course someone like her would never love someone like him.

“Love makes us act like we are fools,” he mutters into his knees, heels propped at the furthest curve of the roof and the city lights of Paris spread beneath his feet. There are worse reasons for foolish behavior, but Percy at least has the sense to recognize it when it happens, regardless of the reason.

“You’re going to be bad for business,” Vex says, and he can see her face tipped toward him out of the corner of his eye, her wry grin clearer when Percy lifts his head to look back at her. “I can tell.”

It isn’t an agreement, not in so many words, but it’s enough that Percy shifts and makes his intention clear. Vex does nothing to stop him, so he closes those vital few inches between them and kisses her, finding it welcomed by a smile on her lips and her hand rising to hold him in place. She’s better at it than he is, that much Percy can tell, but he carefully doesn’t think about why for fear of his heart breaking.

—

“I’m finally getting out of here,” Vex shouts, throwing things into a trunk haphazardly – it doesn’t matter, so long as the most important things are there, they can work out the details later. “We’re getting out of here and you have to stop being afraid of trusting someone new!”

“Vex,” Vax tries again. “We can’t, it won’t - ”

“He’s a good person, brother!” She rounds on him and knows she looks desperate, but when haven’t they been? When haven’t the pair of them had to scrape and scramble for everything in their lives? And for once, when something goes right, Vax can’t just accept that life has finally done them a favor. “He loves me,” Vex says, nearly pleading with her brother to understand. “This could be our chance.”

Vax is silent, a staring match between them that is both familiar and completely alien. There’s something terribly sad on Vax’s face that makes Vex pause, clothes in hand bound for her trunk. She can read her twin almost as easily as herself, but there is something too big, too much for her to decipher in his eyes now.

“You’re dying, Vex.”

A heartbeat of disbelief, ringing silence where denial lives a tragically short life, and then the clothes fall out of her hands onto the floor.

—

They’re so much further than they were, and Percy made a promise, but it still makes him ill to think about Vex and Saundor. (“It’s for us,” Vex insisted, and Percy believed her – believes her still, but it does nothing to lessen the ache in his chest at the thought of another man, that man, touching her.) Of course Vex is right that it’s a necessary evil and it isn’t the same as what she and Percy have. Saundor doesn’t know Vex’s heart or the way she coddles the birds in her room or how her eyes go hard and dark when she speaks of her father. He knows nothing of who Vex is, only wants her because she is beautiful and valuable, but Saundor could ruin everything for all of them and Vex is good and strong enough to want to save them.

Percy forces himself to leave his room when the thundering of his own circling thoughts is too much. Perhaps if he’s with other people, he won’t think himself sick or find his hands shaping something explosive. It’s how he feels at the moment – explosive, quite prepared to destroy property and lives except that Vex asked him not to, made him promise not to be jealous. He pretends it’s the cold making his hands shake as he shoves them in the pockets of his coat, but Percy was born to much colder climes than Paris, and the lie is bad even in his own mind.

“Drink?” Pike offers when Percy finds nearly the whole population of the Moulin Rouge as well as half his building in the largest dance hall of the building. He accepts her offer with a wordless nod of thanks. “They’re going to perform something,” she says, filling the heavy silence Percy is more than obviously carrying with him.

When he looks properly, there are indeed a few dancer in the middle of stretching, and Scanlan is in an uncharacteristically quiet discussion with Vax on the low stage.

“More practice?” Percy asks, a bit of venom leaking into his voice. “Now that we don’t know what the ending will be.”

“No,” Pike says shortly. “No one has the heart for more practice tonight. This is something else. Gilmore’s performing, too.”

“Gilmore?”

Pike just nods, and Percy follows her gaze to where Gilmore and Vax are stepping down to meet Keyleth on the floor. Scanlan stays on stage, and Percy is brought to wonder why he doesn’t have a singing part in their production. The song is a folk tale set to a tango, Vax the centerpiece. It feels like a painfully pointed metaphor, Vax dancing the woman’s part in opposite to Gilmore, his long hair tied back in a ponytail that is just reminiscent enough of his sister that it quickly becomes a reminder Percy does not need.

“Jealousy! Anger! Betrayal!” Scanlan fairly shouts, somehow still carrying a musical tone with each word matching up to a beat in the building song as well as a hit in the choreography. Vax slips out of Gilmore’s hold, crossing the space to Keyleth and sliding effortlessly into the man’s position, dancing a few measures with her until Gilmore pulls him back. It is a wonderfully choreographed dance, and Percy can see why they’ve never performed it for the public. It’s too raw, too honest, and the set to Vax’s jaw puts Percy on edge by proxy as he flits between Gilmore and Keyleth, finally split between them in a trade of steps so rapid that it looks as though all three dancers are somehow performing both a fight and a seamless harmony of bodies.

Percy doesn’t stay for the end of the dance, restlessness building up in him again, kindled by the heat of the tango and sharpened by the alcohol in his system. His mind, so attuned to writing lyrics and music for months, follows the song even as the strains of it fade behind him. A harmony comes into his mind and the words are all for Vex, soaked in the sort of cruel despair that Percy refuses to call jealousy because he promised.

Promise or no, Percy can do nothing to stop himself from fixating on the imagined encounter – his eyes on her face, his hands on her hands, his lips on her skin – until it’s more than Percy can stand. His feet lead him to the base of the tower where he knows they are, and Percy is so very used to self-flagellation that he looks up automatically.

Vex is there, alone and lovely and looking right back down at him, and for a brief moment, Percy’s heart flutters with misplaced hope. Then Saundor appears over her shoulder, a proprietary hand creeping over her elbow. He doesn’t see Percy there on the ground, because of course he doesn’t, preoccupied as he is with kissing the side of Vex’s neck.

The nausea rises up from the dropped pit of Percy’s stomach, acid and violent, but he can’t look away. Not until he knows one way or another if this is real, if Vex will walk away as though she didn’t see him. Her hand rises, slow and steady, to rest over the left side of her chest, a casual enough gesture to hide, and Percy can just make out enough to read her lips.

It’s yours.

He has to look down at that, turn on his heel before he does something drastic and inadvisable, but Percy hopes Vex knows he saw. He trusts her, truly he does, but he can’t stay to witness this.

Vax is waiting for him outside the dance hall when Percy retraces his steps. His hair is wound around itself to be even further out of his face in a functional bun and there is a bit of sweat staining his shirt collar from dancing, but Percy’s attention catches on his expression. It’s as singularly dark as Vex’s when she’s livid.

“I’m worried about my sister,” Vax says, and Percy doesn’t feel the need to be so redundant as to agree with him. “She’s going to do something stupid and I intend to be there to do something about it.”

Percy almost offers his assistance, nearly choking on the eagerness to help in some way, but he’s silenced by Grog’s appearance just as Vax goes on.

“We have this handled,” he tells Percy firmly. “You had better not be anywhere near that tower tonight.”

Percy swallows, hates it – hates it – and nods, forcing himself to the cold walk back to his even colder bed and the emptiness he will find there.

—

Percy can’t be sure Grog punched Saundor before, but if he had, it did nothing to diminish Grog’s enthusiasm when he does so now. Saundor is still yelling, a repeated chant of ‘my way!’ right up until Grog’s fist connects solidly with his face and the tall man drops like a stone.

“Nobody cares,” Grog shouts at his prone body, only just loud enough for Percy to make out past the rise crescendo of music and the audience’s cheers. The finale goes off without a hitch despite Percy standing in for Grog’s part – he did write the song, after all, so he ought to know it well enough to perform. As the curtain falls, he meets Vex in the center of the stage, sweeping her into his arms without hesitation and pressing hurried, relieved kisses all across her face.

Vex gives as good as she gets, hands clutching at his jacket and then his hair, right up until she pulls away with the sort of hacking cough that makes Percy’s chest ache in sympathy. After a moment, she doesn’t catch her breath, and Percy starts to truly worry.

“Vex? Darling, what’s wrong?”

She only shakes her head, gasping for breath and dragging Percy down with her when she falls to her knees. The sound of muffled applause and cheers filters through the heavy curtain as they are joined in center stage by Vax, pulling his sister to him with frantic hands.

“What’s happening?” Percy demands of him, because Vax looks panicked but not surprised.

“She’s – Vex, breathe,” Vax cuts himself off, distracted by the whistle and wheeze of Vex trying and failing to get air.

“Vax,” Percy snaps, raising his voice. “What is going on?”

“Nothing you can do anything about, Percy,” Vax throws back at him. “Unless you’ve got a cure for consumption hidden away somewhere.”

Percy goes still, his thoughts racing much faster. In front of his eyes, Vax makes room for Kash to kneel beside the twins just as Vex loses consciousness. For a heart-stopping moment, Percy curses the impenetrable expression Kash always wears, and only breathes again when Kash pronounces her unconscious but breathing, if shallowly.

“I might be able to do something,” Percy says a bit numbly when Vax’s shoulders slump in heavy relief, a trembling hand passing over his sister’s hair. “It’ll be a bit of travel, and I can’t promise it will work, and it would be best if Kash went as well if he’s been attending, but it might work.”

Vax stares at him for a handful of seconds, aghast.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say something before?” he hisses finally.

“It’s experimental, a long-shot…” Percy trails off, eyes on Vex’s slack face. “She never told me, or I would’ve – She never said a thing.”

“We’ll discuss your relationship issues at a later date,” Vax says sourly, impatient. “If Vex is still alive to discuss them.”

The flat anger and unflinching statement lights a fire under Percy, he, Vax, and Kash working to get Vex away from the stage and somewhere stable until she wakes. She will, Percy tells himself determinedly. She’s breathing badly and on borrowed time, but there’s a chance.

He and Vax make plans to get themselves on a train as soon as possible, and Percy has to bribe the hell out of Kash with only the promise of (technically his sister’s) money, but the medic eventually agrees to come along. Vex is sedated through the proceedings and Vax refuses to leave her side through the night, but they – along with Keyleth, Scanlan, Pike, and Grog – find their way onto a train leaving at dawn.

Just before Percy goes to have a very important discussion with Vex, he does something he hasn’t for a very long time, the cadence of it rusted and unfamiliar. He prays.

[neakco]

Vixen & Crow Ch. 13

Ao3 First Prev Next V&C Masterlist

Where things take a dark turn for our heroes and it causes a fight, will their friendship survive?

Possible triggers in this chapter: Mild Blood. Accusing someone of rape, neglect, and murder. Hints of suicide.

If this effects you then please skip this chapter for your own health.

Tuesday rolled around and people were still trying to seduce invitations to the Waterfield Party out of Sebastian.

Amelia jumped in surprise when Sebastian finally snapped at them.

“I didn’t even get a say for the hostess! If you really want an invite than go flirt with my father’s assistant. Her number is on the website!” He joined Amelia at her table and began to focus on his lunch, regretting that they hadn’t made it to their table.

“Should I call Vanessa and warn her about the wannabe vultures.” Amelia asked.

“No, it was her idea for me to act angry in the first place.”

“Your father is extremely lucky to have her.” Amelia smiled, “Should I call after the wannabe vultures and warn them about Vanessa?”

Sebastian choked on his sandwich slightly. “Please do not deprive me of this small entertainment. Vanessa promised to record the conversations for me.”

She grinned, “Fine, but you are sharing the best recordings with me.”

 

Wednesday’s patrol had them exploring the slums When Vixen picked up a scent.

“It is fairly weak. I think it goes down this ally.” She pointed from their position on the roofs.

“Past the mugging?”

“Yes, past the....” Vixen cut herself off as Crow jumped down. “You could at least give a fox a warning.”

Crow kicked the knife away out of the mugger’s hands and landed, “That looks a little too much for you. Maybe try the rubber variety.”

The mugger went in for a punch, “Son of a...”

Vixen blocked the attack easily. “Seeing as how he is a crow; I find that highly unlikely.”

“Bitch!” We went in for another attack but crumpled as Crow kicked him in the side.

“She is a very vexing vixen, so I sadly cannot argue that one.”

“Really?” Vixen grabbed a discarded towel from the trash bins and began to cut it into strips with her claws in order to bind the mugger.

“Vixens are still female dogs of a sort.” Crow was helping the victim slowly stand back up. “Are you okay sir?”

“I, I think so.” The man was still quite shaken.

Vixen smiled kindly, “Come on sir, we will escort you to the main road and the police can meet us there.” She looked at her partner, “Crow?”

“Got it.” Crow picked the mugger onto his shoulders while Vixen grabbed the knife and helped the victim walk.

Coming up on the towards the main road Vixen smiled kindly again, “Police will meet you here Sir.” She then handed him the knife which she had wrapped in a discarded grocery bag, “They will want the knife for evidence.”

Crow dropped the bound mugger on the ground when they heard approaching sirens, “Stay safe sir.”

Crow and Vixen returned to the rooftops and continued to follow the scent.

“How did you call the police? You jumped in right after me.”

“Nathanial knows how to use a phone.” She smiled and gestured to the right, “Smell gets stronger this way.”

The scent led them to a rundown shack. Vixen circled around it a couple of times, “This is it.”

“What’s the plan?” Crow yawned.

Vixen yawned in reply, “There only seems to be one entrance.”

“Or you could both stop being silly and go home.” Gem clipped them with her wings as she flew past them quickly.”

“But?” Both Vixen and Crow protested.

“No!” Nathanial materialized next to Vixen. “It is 2 am and you need to function as civilians. The spirit is still weak. It will be here tomorrow.”

Vixen and Crow smiled tiredly and chanted, “Yes mother.” before heading in the direction of their beds.

 

Sebastian was reading the paper while waiting on Amelia before class when an article made him smile. It was talking about the dangers of vigilante justice and how dressing as a white or black animal themed hero does not protect you from bullets or the law.

Seeing Amelia he shoved the paper at her pointing towards the article. “What do you think?” I think it is pretty awesome if someone is actually willing to make a difference.”

Sebastian noticed an almost fond smile on her face as she read. “If someone wants to get themselves killed for something society will never remember them for than that is their choice.”

The words were harsh but her tone was almost fond. Sebastian couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking about. “I wonder if these vigilantes are going to read this and what they will think.”

“How to know without asking them. The paper doesn’t even describe them properly.” Amelia shrugged.

Sebastian would ask Vixen when he saw her tonight.

 

“Good Evening Beanna Bàn.” Vixen smiled up at Crow.

“Evening Vexing Vixen. Did you see the paper this morning?”

She Starts to laugh, “The article about us? Yes. But what were we supposed to do, stand by and watch a man get killed for his wallet?” We would be no better than villains then.”

“I was hoping you felt that way.” Crow offered down an arm to pull her onto is light post. “Shall we go rescue a struggling soul?”

Vixen used his arm to start off her run, “Keep up Beanna Bàn.”

He caught up with her about a block away from the shack, “You sure the spirit is here? This place doesn’t look very lived in.”

“Yes, the scent lights the place up like a beacon.” She shuddered a bit. “It gives it an eerie glow through my eyes.”

“Front door?” Vixen nodded affirmative and he went to open it. “Guess I will go first than.”

Vixen quickly shoved Crow to the side and teleported herself away as a knife slashed the air where they had been.

The man was thrown off balance but continued his silent assault.

“It is quite dark in here; you could really do with some life.” Crow tried to focus on a weak point as he dodged and taunted.

Vixen stayed just behind him to drag him out of harm's way if he needed it.

“You would think you were preparing for a funeral. Open up your windows, get some plants. It will be a whole new shack.” He went to dodge again and the knife barely missed him instead slicing into his cape.

Pain shot through his whole system and Vixen had to throw him away from the fight as he froze.

“This body is mine now! I’m not giving it back!” The spirit within the man yelled.

“Sorry.” Crow muttered as Vixen started to circle the man like prey.

Her smile was crueler than Crow had ever seen before. “My turn now.” She quickly poked him and teleported out of knife range. “Did your wife leave you, lose your job? Did your kid die? Was your sister raped? Was your pet eaten? Brother mugged?”

Crow was shocked at the harsh words and tone coming from Vixen but had to admit she had gotten a reaction. “He didn’t like the comment on death.”

She move in closer while still dodging. “Ah, you killed someone. Was it greed, lust, neglect?”

“Neglect!” Crow spotted the weakness growing in the man’s heart.

“So your own needs were too important! You just couldn’t be bothered to care that someone relying on you was suffering!” Vixen’s voice was filled with venom.

The knife clattered to the ground as the man fell to his knees weeping. “I was studying to be a lawyer. Our parents are dead. All we had was each other. I wanted to get us out of here. It was my final year. I didn’t know she was suffering. I didn’t know.”

Vixen crouched down next to the man, her tone was softer and gentle now, “It isn’t your fault. You were working hard for her and she knew this. She kept her problems hidden so as not to bother you. You may never know why things happened like they did, but know it isn’t your fault.” She nodded to Crow as she stood back up. “You need to continue living. If not for yourself, than do it for her.”

Crow knocked the spirit from the man with a well aimed strike at his heart and sent it into Vixen’s waiting jar.

The man looked up, “I, I am sorry. I will try to live. Thank you.”

Crow and Vixen left quietly with the trapped spirit.

Vixen’s face crestfallen, “Can we get out of the slums first. Please.” Her ears and tailed drooped.

“I think I spotted a park to the west of here. He can summon the portal there.”

Even after sending it back they remained silent on the return trip to their home park.

Crow’s thoughts burst once landing though, “Why? Why did you have to be so cruel?”

“He hurt you and you weren’t getting through with light hearted taunts!” Vixen’s tail began to whip back and forth.

“You accused him of murder, of rape!” Crow winced slightly at his own tone. He blamed the pain he was feeling from his cape...wings? Capes should not hurt when torn.

Vixen slowly approached Crow and jabbed her claw in his direction without touching him. Tears glistened in her eyes; her smile seemed forced, an anger flowed off her in waves. “Because that is life in the slums! Some places are worse. You are lucky to be so ignorant!” Then, so quietly that Crow barely heard her she added, “I was lucky to have escaped.” Her eyes widened the moment the words left her mouth and she quickly took off running.

“Dammit Vixen.” Crow took off after her, the pain from his cape slowing him down slightly, “I am sorry. You are right, I am ignorant, I didn’t know.”

The chase went on for several minutes of him trying to apologize before she suddenly stopped, “Why do I smell blood?”

Crow didn’t dare glance at his ripped wing, if he did, he would wonder how the cape was bleeding. “I am sorry Vixen. I was lucky, but I was also incredibly lonely. So much that I didn’t even know it until around when I met you. I would like to think that after a month of night time escapades we are friends.”

Vixen was examining the red stained cape and trying to gently hold the pieces together. “Please sit. We are friends. I’m sorry too, I spoke harshly. I have some unpleasant memories that being in the shack reminded me of.”

Crow patted her back in a half hug since she was at the wrong angle for a full one. The he spotted Gem watching them, “Why didn’t you tell me the cape was part of me? I would have been even more careful.”

Gem looked as guilty as a crow could, “I didn’t know.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to say more, Nathanial continued, “We have never had anyone embrace the transformation with their whole selves as you two do. In the past the cape has always been just a cape.”

Vixen took her tail in hand and stabbed it with one of her claws, “Ouch.” She then did the same to what she considered felt ears only to come back with a bit of blood on her claw. “You mentioned to me before that injuries we receive in costume should heal faster?”

Nathanial nodded but it was Gem that answered, “A wing puncture on a normal crow would take close to 7 days to heal, with the magic I would say three to four days for you fledgling.”

Vixen smiled and helped Crow stand before kneeling with her back to him, “Is there a park I can take you to that is closer to your home?”

“If we head North from here towards the richer part of town there is one.” He hated needing help, “I can probably make it.

Vixen looked at him over her shoulder, “No. You wouldn’t be in such bad shape if you weren’t chasing after me. Let me take some responsibility and help you.”

He climbed reluctantly onto her back, “You are a great friend Vixen. Thank you.”

She grinned, “Hold on.” She began to run on all fours. “Don’t you dare patrol tomorrow. We can meet up Sunday instead.” Vixen teleported them across a gap that was too far to jump. “No more flying for a bit.”

“But I need to fly a little to get back into my house.” he knew he was whining but didn’t care too much. “It is bad enough my tiny fox of a partner is giving me a fox back ride, let me have a little dignity.”

“Beanna Bàn, you are a crow riding on a fox’s back. I think it is my dignity that is lost.” She willed the smile into her voice, “If you are still injured Sunday let me know and we can postpone patrol until Monday or Tuesday.”

“The park is just on your right. I will be careful; I promise to get the cut disinfected and bandaged once I am home."

Vixen slowly let Crow off her back before taking off with a wave. “I will hold you to that promise Beanna Bàn.”

Crow climbed up a tree and winced as he prepared to take off. “Gem, Vixen doesn’t have much energy left, does she?”

Gem landed next to him, “What gave her away?”

“She enjoys teleporting too much to just run away on all fours.”

“Honestly, she is probably still feeling the effects of last week. Red also tells me that she is trying to conserve her energy a little bit more, just in case.” She flapped almost lazily towards his house, “Come on fledgling, let’s patch you up.”

So much research into avian injuries went into this. For the psychology research I only had to borrow a friend's text book. For this I needed access to a university library in order to access the medical research papers. So that was fun.