#wall of white/gold as per fucking usual at the end

[akireu-13]

me when things only get better smh

[annacory-blog]

Dance or die

I fell in love with another fic by @ulysses000 and then Spotify provided me with a perfect song. I had to draw them to exorcise that image from my head.

As per tradition - below is my attempt in translation. I want to make complete translation so badly (this is probably one third)! I believe this story deserves more attention. But can some kind English speaker confirm it is readable???

Love this fic specially from WoD perspective, it cultivates such delicious feeling of emptiness. And while technically, it has a happy end, you can not get rid of bitter taste of loss. Their requiem is not life, and there no way back. All is gone!

—————————————————-

Music stops abruptly. The dancefloor is silent, mob looks around in bewilderment. All eyes are focused on a flimsy, dirty stage. There, litten by sophites, stands brunette, cladded in a black robe. Calmly she re-adjusts many necklaces and bracelets, adorning her bosom and wrists. She checks microphone, softly tapping it with elegant finger, nonplussed by screeching sound it makes or the yells thrown her way from down the stage. For a while she silently stares in the drunk faces below, until eventually rowdy voices are reduced to quiet, unhappy mumble in the back rows.

-"What would you like to say, before the end of the world?"

-"Go fuck yourself!" - someone yells back from the crowd. Brunette’s smiles softly. Her blue eyes sparkle. This sight will be their last before headless body collapses to the floor.

View from the stage is absolutely terrific. It reminds of a late spring evening in the mansion by the sea. Bodies sway in panic, almost as grass would in a lush fields. Writings on the wall glitter with red as if they were remnants of the sunset caught in clouds. Screams - voices of seagulls. Sweet aroma that spreads across the room reminds of freshly brewed Irish coffee. Eyes locked on the bright fountains. Droplets shimmer in the air with a multitude of colour. Content. Do not argue with Mother. It is a simple rule every kid should know. Because, no matter how kind, gentle and understanding Mother is, she is not all sweets and praises. She also has an iron glove to treat the unruly child. Anyone who dares to confront her will surely drown in their own blood.

-"Now, dance or die."

Music never heard in this walls engulfs space. Stirring voice of the violin is echoed by screams, cello is perfectly complimented by heart-rending howls. Robin is not at all surprised by this harmony of cries and choir chanting. Clocks have just reached zero and this means, time for celebration has finally come. Perfect night to forge a timeless bond between the beloved child and the dear friend. Trafalgar stands on the stage, as if he always was there. Pity no one minds what is happening in the spotlight. He looks tidier than usual, ceremonial. Shirt, tie, three piece suit, shoes - all in various shades of black, all fitted perfectly. His gaze briefly stops on the couple of cadavers lying by the stage, then moves to the brunette.

-"Playing with food, aren’t we?"

-"Tarao, symbolism never was one of your strengths." - She smiles softly and shakes her head, - "Don’t try to grasp, what is beyond you. Just think of it as a cog in the well oiled machine."

Flowers on wreath along the walls move, as if troubled by the gust of wind, candle lights flicker, and blond man appears by Robin’s side. Sanji fiddles with the hem of his suit anxiously, fixes invisible wrinkles on the bouquet wrap. Trafalgar thought he put more than enough efforts to look decent tonight, however he wouldn’t stand a chance if this was a competition. Sanji's clan has been know for this aura of perfection, but even among his kin - he is special. Where the rest emmit light of the full moon, Sanji’s light would blind you as hot summer sun in zenith. He holds ten white roses - stark contract against his black suit. Pale of petals resonates with pale of the skin, highlights the gold of his hair. Trafalgar cannot possibly look away and no disciplines are to blame for this magic. Little smile slips from under his control “this is beautiful” he thinks.

-"Sorry for being late" - blond tuck one long golden lock behind the ear. Eyes drift towards the dance floor, but do not linger there. Woman chuckles softly - so innocent.

-"I was worried you made your escape."

-"Please, don’t ruin the moment" - gaze of his blue eyes seems to be glued to the wooden planks of the stage, then he looks up, eyes meet with Robin’s.

They nod, almost simultaneously, and only after Sanji musters enough of courage to look to the other man. His gaze shamelessly devours all the minute details he can grasp, it is hard to tell, if he desperately tries to avert attention from the bloodbath on the dance floor, or genuinely admires the sight. Trafalgar thinks he would be happy with both reasonings. Laws lips move soundlessly forming few words. Sanji chuckles and replies in the same manner: “you too, idiot”.

-"Ladies and Gentlemen." - maybe a dozen of eyes flicker back in response to sweet, calm voice of the woman. Short break taken from tormenting the flesh, generously soaked with blood and tears. Bodies contort with the fear for their life. - "Tonight, before the Dark Mother’s eyes, souls of two cursed sons of hers will be united. Every kindred present here shall witness the making of endless, mutual death." - her eyes run across the dance floor, reading the mood of the guests. - "the Vinculum should not be broken. Anyone who dares an attempt to weaken the bond will be hunted by The Circle of the Crone," - she looks for a moment into particularly dark corner - "as well as by our brothers and sisters from Ordo Dracul."

Her gaze shifts to the dark haired man, waiting for him to return the attention.

-"Now you can speak your vows."

Trafalgar makes a step forward, reaches to touch cold pale fingers, swallows heavily before he starts to speak.

-"I, Trafalgar D Water Law, hereby take Vinsmoke Sanji into my Requiem forever." - envelops his hand gently and carefully - "I swear before all that is holy and all that is unholy that we, tonight, seal our fates by bonds of dedication and honor. When my partner is hungry, I will bring food." - Sanji chuckles quite and bright - "When my partner sleeps, I will watch and bear witness upon waking." - He squints, eyes slit, as if targeted by bright lamp. - "When my partner is afraid, I will give comfort, and when my partner is wronged, I will have vengeance." - Cool fingers caress back side of the hand. - "This I swear on the blood, and the flame and the spirit."

In his blue eyes flashing light reflects, candles burning twice as bright with the last spoken words. Law squises cold hand, trying to reassure, give comfort, prevent flashes from setting kindred's mind aflame.

-"I, Vinsmoke Sanji, hereby take Trafalgar D Water Law into my Requiem forever." - his voice sweetest thing that ever touched ears, in both life and un-life, - "I swear before all that is holy and all that is unholy that we, tonight, seal our fates by bonds of dedication and honor." - His fleeting touch playfully skims through tan fingers, icy sensation brings sober clarity and bliss of inebriation at the same time. - "When my partner is hungry, I will bring food." - Law’s smile is barely there. - "When my partner sleeps, I will watch and bear witness upon waking. When my partner is afraid, I will give comfort," - he is the most gentle and kindhearted, so much is obvious in every syllable of every word. - "And when my partner is wronged, I will have vengeance. This I swear on the blood, and the flame and the spirit."

Sanji’s hold on the hand gets firmer as he expects another rise of firy glow to radiate the room. Little girl steps forward from behind the stage, she is silent and obedient. So small, seven years at most, her deep chocolate eyes glazed with indifference, strawberry blond hair braided in two pig tales, white gown hugs fragile figure. She stares ahead absently, woman’s hands leading her by shoulders.

-"Time to make the sacrifice." - hand outstretched to pass the ritual knife. Fingers gently support ragged blade.

Trafalgar feels how kindred’s claws pierce his skin. He might have broken few bones, if older wouldn’t strengthen his grip in response. It is heard for Sanji. This is easily seen, his eyes shift frantically, his lips stripped of smile and crooked. Even his touch feels colder than before. He never have taken the life of a sentient being. Even in death Sanji remained pure, his hands and soul unmarred by murder of mortals. Law knows other is hurting, in his eyes this child is seen as a spit image of the older sister. Trafalgar himself lost in the shattered memories for a moment. Girl reminds his late sister, who died too young too long ago. Despite that he knows he will have enough resolve to put this innocent child to rest, as she obediently waits for her own demise.

This is essential part for the completion of the ritual. Sanji knows it. This is not news, but he can’t keep his long dead heart from burning and spasming disgusted by creeping acceptance. He was the one who proposed marriage. He organized most of the celebration. He thought about it many times, about this particular moment he has to take someone’s life, scenario played in his head on repeat. But it is not something you can be prepared for. This is wedding. They are about to enter mutual un-life, their souls are to be bound for the eternal death, forfeiting innocence, killing personification of their past. Together.

His hand is shaking, but Sanji hides it, only grip on the hilt gets stronger. Her face is gentle and soft, with neat childish features, but her eyes are dead already, trapped under Mother’s hypnotic influence. Embroidery on the gown matches hair colour. She looks like a little princess. Sanji forgets to imitate the leaving, his thorax freezes mid inhale, mechanical movement abandoned. He thought he would be able to do it, to confront the past, to kill for the sake of something new, for the sake of future. But this first step is terrifying. All his being is trapped, Staring in the eyes of the Beast, unable to move. Sanji doesn’t want to lose his humanity, he is afraid to slip, to get comfortable with the idea of supremacy over humans, his own strength, his right to take life. Few months in his death, as soon as fog of newly obtained supernatural powers thinned, allowing him to think clearly again, he made a decision to give his all to keep whatever “human” have left in this damned shell of the body. Once he got accustomed with business run by The Circle of the Crone, he found plenty of friends in each and every city morgues and knew without failure when fresh carcasses were delivered to local butcheries. When ritual required freshly drawn blood he used his own vite with no second thought. And now all workarounds are closed, blocked by unmovable boulders. Only one way ahead.

-"We are both dead. It’s not going to get any worse." His whisper is scolding hot against the skin, it reminds to expand lungs, air forced in with fake inhale. Warm palm touches softly, fingers carefully wrap around the hand that holds the hilt, the touch reassures, hand redirected slightly - outward and up.

-"Beheading is better."

For once Sanji is genuinely grateful that Trafalgar never listens and reads his thoughts at any given moment. -"One." He angles cutting edge . -"Two." Skin is burning hot -"Three." Thud. Mortal dread frozen in the eyes of the dead girl.

_________________________

And song that was a catalyst for all the efforts

[siremasterlawrence]

Payback Is A Bitch (Literally)

Revenge is best served cold where that ne family, friends or foes then there is the Hart Von Al family my worst enemies through out my history.

Who knew exactly eighteen years and three months exactly since they ruined my life back in collage him and his stupid horde of children.

Of course I had I known they would book my illustrious hotel on the sandy Florida resort of my creation which I did by the way the plan is perfect.

The moment I saw them walking onto the the fiery hot sandy beach radiating down on me when I came across them meeting my eye lines.

All I can do is take a deep breath before in order to calm myself down at the sights of the two of them being bitches as per usual to the core.

They enter back into the hotel to utter lack of function everything is in disarray It is in particular when the father Jack steps up to press the elevator panel.

The button lights up racing down the cart hit the first floor opening up with a lard whoosh sound something is off as his feet tilt falling forward.

His body hits the cart with the door closing on him enclosing him in a safe line spot that surrounds him in darkness the lights begin to flicker.

His two kids start to pound on the steel door screaming for him to escape but he could not hear them as a piece of classical music airy and mysterious burst through the speaker.

“The hotel is completely in dysfunction”

“The elevator shaft is in ruins “

“Five star hotel my ass”

“SET ME FREE”

“NOW”

“PLEASE “

“Fuck!”

“I am going mad in here “

“Shit! I am stuck in this shit hole of a hotel”

In the pent house suite miles above in the gigantic floor a young man watches his first major nemesis literally going insane trapped in plan he concocted.

If he had half a brain he while he slid by way of the wall onto the floor he might attempt to remember when he did that to me with Ill intent.

“Revenge is sweet is it not?”

“Who the fuck are you “

“Oh! The bitter taste of your demise “

“I will find you and”

“You will find me and then what?”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“Don’t worry you won’t go insane in fact you will be like brand new”

“A factor reset after all you are a bastard “

“FUCK YOU!”

Andrew Lyle is his eldest shifty son a twisted two time face brat with model physique built like a hanger, pretty smirk and clothes that match.

The helicopter lands on the roof top tower in a tier of gold, white and silver spanning the area and the door slides as he walks off and on to the helicopter pad.

There is state idiot smile plastered on to his face he removes his sunshades he closes one end of glasses brim and leaves it on his lapel.

One of my many hotel employees arrives to greet him taking his bags as they descend the staircase and exit the roof top area he thinks he is going to his room.

It is really quite impressive how he manages

to trick the world into believing he is some sort of God among men and I am about to put him in place.

The hallway empties leaving him in a naked white wall hallway the lights fade to black he starts to panic calling for help when he can hear foot steps approaching.

“Hello? Anybody here? HELP ME!”

“Answer me”

“Speak”

“Say something “

“This is creepy”

“Turn on the lights”

“I said quit it”

“What is going on?”

“How can this be happening?”

“I tell you mwahahaha “

“You are scaring me”

“Oh Well!”

“This is some strange shit”

“Asshole “

The man laughs happily snapping his finger the hallway spins in circular fashion sending Andrew into a tale spin of lust, fare and his inner desire.

The bitch thinks he has his way jumps from the top of the staircase he leaps on to the stairs below making his way attempting to escape.

“Where are you going?”

“I am about to break this place apart “

“How so? You don’t want to vacate this hall”

“I don’t “

“It’s is lush, comfortable and safe “

“So pretty”

“Why would you leave?”

“I don’t want to”

“It’s impossible to even ignore me”

Tom Harry Parker races up to the hotel room

in a passionate moment he slams the door placing his back on it in a panic pounding his fist on the door. His heart beat hitting

his chest he cries loudly sliding to the floor he resumes his dramatic fit then proceeds to shut the window and pulling done the shade.

“He can’t find me “

“I am safe here “

“Right? Right?”

“I am going crazy “

“Not as much as you think “

“In panic mode right?”

“I hate you all “

“So you think”

“You might want to kneel”

“Give up and obey “

“You will fall pretty to me eventually “

“You wish “

“Don’t worry soon you will”

“I will what?”

“Eating from my ass”

“Disgusting”

“So you say come to me”

“What do you want?

“Your total submission “

“Fat chance in hell that will happen “

“Why don’t you shut up and see?”

“Why I oughta “

“Kiss me then you alright destroyed me”

“Succumb to me”

“Inside you already have “

“Like a moth to a flame “

The end

[itsallyscorner]

okay so I love littlemix!reader x Tom holland??? the best pairing ever??? Anyways could you do something based of Holiday, like it’s obviously based off their lovers and maybe his reaction to the song & mv? Pls I’m in love with Baby Mix btw 😌❤️

Glad you’re enjoying the Little Mix member!reader x Tom Holland fics, I’m enjoying them too🥰 Thank you for the support on Baby Mix, btw, I appreciate it! Sorry for taking so long! Much love and happy reading💖

💌.

Holiday

I completely forgot when the girls dropped the video so I’m making up a time. Enjoy:)

Counting down the minutes to midnight, Tom continuously refreshed the YouTube app on your smart tv. The two of your were in his shared home with Harry, Harrison, and Tuwaine. You’ve been staying with the lot since the beginning of quarantine; London’s travel ban prevented you from catching a flight back home to your family, resulting in your boyfriend, Tom, begging you to stay with him and his mates. You didn’t have a problem with it in all honesty, the boys were great and respectful roommates. Though you were the only woman in the house, they provided you with entertainment and respected your alone time. They were a nice group of lads, letting you in on inside jokes and making you feel like you were part of the gang. By now, you probably were part of the gang. Harrison even considered on replacing Tom with you.

“Bubs, the video’s not gonna be up yet.” You glance at the screen that showed the previous videos the band’s channel posted. Tom huffed, nudging your arms apart so he can squeeze through them to lay on your chest. The two of you were currently in his room waiting for the release of Holiday’s music video. Tom had been anticipating the video all day, asking for hints about the music video’s concept and wondering how it looked.

With his body snuggled up against yours, he rested his head on your chest and wrapped his arm around your torso. His other hand reached towards the tv with the remote as he clicked the video for Break Up Song.

“I know it’s not gonna be up yet, but what if they accidentally uploaded it early? I wanna see the video already.” He whined. His fingers began to drum to the beat of Break Up Song on your stomach.

You laughed, fingers carding through his brown curls that have grown for the past months. He hums along to the song while you text the girls. He lets out a chuckle once he sees you on the screen doing the dance that he’s been helping you learn for the video. You had been struggling to get the choreography down and doing the moves on time. Noticing your desperate attempts at the moves, Tom offered to help you. Obviously in the end you perfected the choreography, seeing as it made the video, thanks to Tom.

“You are so cute.” He mused watching you dance around in the video. “Look at you dance, I don’t know what you were so worried about. You look so adorable when you dance and look at your face! Just wanna squish those cheeks together.” He began to tease you. You whine his name out as he reached up to squish your cheeks together with his hand. Your phone began to rang causing him to stop. He glances at the sceeen, “It’s my best friend, lemme answer it.”

“Go ahead.” You giggled handing him your phone. His head remains on your chest as he answers the FaceTime call. Jesy pops up on the screen with a giant smile but it drops once she sees Tom, changing into a playful scowl.

“Hi best friend!” Tom greets her loudly, a playful grin on his face. Jesy rolls her eyes at the boy.

“Hi Tom.” She greeted him sarcastically. “Give the phone to (y/n).”

“She’s right here, see,” Tom moved the phone further away so you were both in the frame. You waved at her, “Jess I miss you!” You cried.

“I miss you too darling—Tom give her the bloody phone!” Jesy scolded him through the phone. He let out a dramatic sigh before handing you your phone and snuggling into your stomach, mumbling something about “not being able to catch a break from the constant bullying of Jesy Nelson.”

“Right just a few minutes left, I’m trying to get the other girls on here.” Jesy explained as she tapped around her phone. Sooner or later. The two of you were joined by Perrie, Jade, and Leigh-Anne.

Perrie let out a squeal as she saw everyone on the screen, “You guys I miss you so much!”

“Didn’t we all see each other just a few weeks ago?” Jade asked sipping on a glass of wine as per usual.

“Yeah, on the set, but it’s a few weeks too long.” You pouted. You noticed that everyone was drinking except for you, “Wait, has everyone got a drink except for me?”

Leigh-Anne’s eyes scanned everyone on the screen, “You are, are you in bed already? It’s so early babe.”

“Leigh-Anne’s it’s literally about to be midnight, it’s late.” Jesy chimes. Jade makes a sound of disagreement, “I mean does time even matter anymore?”

“What day is it anyway? I’ve lost track.” Perrie thought out loud. You moved to get up from the bed but Tom stopped you. “Where are you going?” He whispered.

“I’m getting a drink, I’ll be back.” You patted his cheek before sitting up. He stops you once again and stands from the bed, “I’ll get you one.” He kisses your temple and leaves the room.

“Aww, was that Tom?” Jade asked leaning closer to her camera. You hummed, “Yup, being the amazing boyfriend he is and getting me a drink.”

Perrie smirked at you, “Gosh, there’s that smile again. She’s whipped for ‘im ladies!” The girls began “ooo-ing” like a bunch of elementary school girls. “Guys, stop.” You whine.

“Have you told him the part you wrote was inspired by him?” Leigh-Anne asked, chin in her palm.

“No, I’ll tell him while he’s watching. He’s been so excited the whole day, probably more than me.” You chuckle. As if on cue, Tom comes back in with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“Tom’s going to be so nerdy about it, like a cute nerdy, you know what I mean? All mushy gushy. Like how he gets whenever (y/n) kisses his cheeks.” Jesy said as the girls cooed. Tom peeks from beside you.

“Did I hear that correctly? Did Jesy just compliment me?” He asked everyone, looking back at you for confirmation. You shrugged as you looked at Jesy. Jade stifled a laugh at Jesy’s annoyed expression.

“Oh fuck off you div. It’s an observation. You could barely compose yourself whenever you’re around (y/n).” Jesy playfully jabs at him. You adored their friendship, it was like a brother/sister bond. Jesy being the older sibling and Tom being the annoying little brother.

“Jes, leave the poor boy alone, he makes our baby happy.” Perrie defended Tom. Tom smiles thankfully at her, “Thank you Perrie, at least I know some of you like me.”

Tom pops open the champagne and takes one of the glasses to pour the beverage in, “But I’ll take it as a compliment Jes. Cheers to that.” He raises his glass and clinks it with your phone screen. You and the girls continue to talk until midnight. When the video was finally released you all celebrated and took some screenshots of each other to post later.

When your FaceTime call with the girls ended, you turned to Tom, who already had the video up on the screen. He made grabby hands at you and pulled you to sit in between his legs. With his back against the headboard he made sure the two of you were comfy before asking you, “Can I click play now?”

You chuckled at him as his leg bounced, “Yup.” He pressed play, placing the remote down and wrapping his arm around your front to pull you closer to him. The intro to the video starts, the title of the song appearing on the screen in a water type font. Jesy pops up on the screen singing her part, Tom cheers yelling “It’s my best friend!”

Tom hypes each of the girls up while they appear on the screen, cheering their names. When the chorus comes, his brows furrow as he looks down at you. “Wait where are you? Why—why didn’t they show you yet?” He questioned you, visibly upset. You were about to answer but instead pointed to the screen when you realized your part was coming up.

Boy, have I told ya?

You give it to me like no other guy

We got that heat, yeah, like the summer (summer)

And that's why I'm so glad I made you mine

You appeared on the screen, body cladded in a white bikini that had gold straps for both the bra and thong. You bursted out laughing when you saw Tom’s reaction. His eyes look like they were about to bulge out his head while his jaw was slacked.

“Holy...shit.” He mumbled eyes glued to the screen as you sang. The scene was you in that blue hallway type set. You looked at the camera, bedroom eyes fully activated as your back slid down the wall. You felt his grip around you tighten, his breathing getting deeper.

The scene changed to the one with the planets, sculptures, and lounging chairs. You were seen walking towards a Chaise lounge, giving the camera a perfect view of your bum. While you sat sideways on the couch in the video, Tom couldn’t help but think about how gorgeous you looked in the video. You looked like a goddess, confident as you strutted around in that little number of yours in the video.

You turned to look at him once your part was done and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “You know my whole part was about you right?” His head snaps to look at you, “You wrote something about me in a song?”

“Tommy, I always do. Who else would I be singing about?” You asked him amused. He took a second to think before shaking his head, “I thought it was in general, like it was based on how you would feel if you were with someone that made you feel that way.”

You nod at his explanation, “Well yeah, the fans could see it that way. But when I sing it, it’s about you.”

A goofy grin made its way to his face before he giggled, “It’s about me.” He pulled you into a hug from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. He turned back to the tv to see you all dressed as mermaids while you sang your part in the chorus.

“Wait what—you’re mermaids?” The look of confusion appeared on his face again as he tried to figure out the video. He looked at you then back to the screen, repeating the action a few times.

“I never thought I’d say this, but if you were a mermaid, I’d still fuck you.” He confessed with a shrug. You bursted out laughing at his confession, “How do you even fuck a mermaid, Tom?”

His hands gripped your sides, voice going down an octave, “You tell me, (y/n). Get the mermaid tail back and we’ll find out.” You looked at him shocked, “Thomas!”

He laughed dropping the act and went back to watching the music video. “Wait, I’m still cofused. I thought you guys were in space cause of the planets and stuff. Why are you guys also underwater? And mermaids?” You tilted your head trying to come up with an answer for him.

“Um—it’s a spa, on a another planet, which also has an ocean I’m guessing, and that’s why we’re also mermaids?” You explained, also questioning yourself.

“I like the concept, probably the most random video you guys have had, but it’s sick.” He approved of the video with an impressed look on his face. When the video ended, he immediately pressed replay. Though when your part came up this time he let out a “GOD DAMN” before his eyes scanned you up and down. When he finally felt like he’s processed the music video, he let it play in the background and paid attention to you.

He leaned down to kiss your lips sweetly, “Love, that was amazing. I’m proud of you.” He was quick to add on, “And thank you for writing a part of the song about me, I never thought someone would write a song about me, not even a part. But thank you, I love you so much.”

You giggled shoving your face into his neck as you both moved to cuddling. Suddenly you remembered something you and the boys promised to do.

“Tom! We were supposed to watch the video with the other boys! Remember we promised to not watch it without them?” You leaned back to look at Tom who was already shaking his head.

“Oh they’re not allowed to watch the video.” He muttered. Your brows furrow at him. Tom motions to the tv, the part where your bum was facing the camera on the screen.

“Because of that, I don’t need them seeing that, that’s mine.” One of his hands trail down the length of your back to grip your ass. He rolled over so he was on top of you, dipping his head into your neck, his lips ghosted fluttery kisses along your skin. You let out a content sigh, running your hands through his soft hair. When his lips reached your ear, he whispered, “But seriously though, you should think about investing in a mermaid tail.”

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.2

Finally, she felt well enough to leave the infirmary room for good. Her internal organs were at peace for the most part and she could keep some food down without the risk of seeing it for a second time. Her sinuses still seemed to refuse to recover though. Occasional nosebleeds would have her head spinning and the scent of blood so often present within the castle was somehow too offensive to her senses. Nicole couldn't help but wonder how exactly she got it this screwed up, but then again the first few days of the infection were a painful blur that she'd rather not remember.

For now she was content to sit in front of the fireplace with the rest of her family. They decided to have a movie night to break her out of the mopey state she had been in and, for the most part, it was quite the success. She wasn't paying much attention to the projector screen, some sappy scene from a movie chosen by Daniela playing at the moment. Instead, she was simply enjoying the close proximity to Cassandra that she so dearly missed in the last few weeks. Nicole was in the brunette's lap, with hands loosely around her waist and leaning against her shoulder. She was vaguely aware of Laura complaining about the poor life choices of one of the characters only to be unceremoniously shushed by the youngest sister. It made her chuckle.

Bela was passing the popcorn to her mothers when a knock on the main entrance reached their ears faintly. Lady Dimitrescu narrowed her eyes in the general direction of the sound, and listened. Soon enough the rapid steps of Alexandria, their Steward, reached them.

"My Ladies, Mother Miranda's assistant is here."

The whole family got up hesitantly and tried to look as presentable as possible, given their "lazy day outfits". For some like Bela that was a baggy shirt and shorts, while for the Lady it was one of her trademark white dresses. They made their way to the main entrance of the castle, where the assistant, a woman in her late thirties and the air of an annoyed teacher, was waiting. It was Alcina the one to ask why she was there.

"Mother Miranda wants to see um… Nicole was it? Yes, to take a look at the regenerative abilities."

"Why not do it here like last time?"

"Mother Miranda's laboratory is far better equipped for whatever she may want to test. Unless you have something to say against her wishes." She finished that with a raised eyebrow that would've gained her a talon through the skull were she not there as per Miranda's wishes.

Who's talons exactly was debatable.

"I'll come too," Cassandra spoke up from just behind Nicole.

That only got her a dismissive wave. "No, I was told specifically to only bring her. Come now, we don't want to make Mother Miranda wait."

With that, the woman turned around and started walking towards a carriage that would take them away. Nicole looked briefly at her family. They all had either confusion or mild concern in their eyes. All but Alcina who looked as if she'd like to protest and snap at the woman but was holding her tongue.

She reassured Cassandra that she'd be fine and started jogging after the assistant.

---

Needless to say, that was Nicole's first time stepping foot inside the underground network of tunnels. Not that she complained. Few people went there willingly and probably fewer left the same way they came in.

The ancient looking hallways were in such stark contrast with the occasional medical equipment and the pristine looking labs with doors left slightly ajar that Nicole had to wonder if the woman had no taste for a consistent aesthetic. At least Lady Dimitrescu kept all wiring and modern devices carefully hidden or blended in with the castle's decor. Here, the harsh neon lights illuminated worn out stone so dark it was almost black. Not to mention the smell of… old that seemed to ooze off the very walls she was walking by.

She was led inside a spacious lab, the bluish lights above being too bothersome for someone who got used to the warm or natural light in the castle. The room was rather long, numerous hospital beds lined up against a wall, some separated by white curtains and some left visible. An almost imperceptible whiff of an all too familiar foul odor reached her nose, but it was mild enough to be easily ignored. Nicole had a suspicion that the unmoving person laying in one of the cots further away could be the source, but she sighed and hoped not to join them by the end of the day.

Mother Miranda was sat at a desk, microscope in front of her together with a small stack of documents and a laptop. She was typing in what could probably be notes on whatever she was looking at, when icy grey eyes finally shifted to Nicole.

"Get changed and lay down," she ordered, not even moving from her spot.

The assistant that had brought her here, pushed a hospital gown that had been pulled out from a cupboard in her arms. At least she was allowed the decency of changing into a bathroom as opposed to stripping then and there in the middle of the room. The gown was surprisingly comfortable, fabric folding around her body and being held closed by a loose ribbon that she tried at the side.

Once she was back in the lab, she was ushered to one of the beds where she laid down, nervously waiting for whatever Miranda had in mind.

It was quite odd to see her without her usual attire, especially without the gold talons that Nicole was now far more familiar with than she'd ever hoped. The white lab coat looked far too normal on her and, were it not for the unmistakable cold eyes and regal posture, the woman would’ve been unrecognizable.

She finally got up, a few documents in hand, and approached her. The papers were handed over to the assistant, along with a few other objects and finally, Nicole had her full attention.

Mother Miranda bent down, scalpel in hand, and grabbed one of Nicole's wrists. Just like she did back during the first examination, the blade was dragged across the length of her forearm. Despite fully expecting it, Nicole couldn't help flinching at the pain, but she kept her eyes fixated on her arm, at the blood slowly starting to flow from the wound.

Soon the same tingling as before took over the pain and before their eyes, the skin started to stitch itself back together.

"Time," Miranda asked while wiping the blood to allow for a closer inspection of the now good as new skin.

"Five seconds."

"Alcina's?"

"Three seconds."

Miranda hummed, seemingly pleased with the results. Or at least as pleased as the woman was physically capable of being.

"Hook her up to the cardiac monitor," she further instructed while moving to retrieve something from another cabinet.

The assistant, Emma, if the tag pinned to her lab coat was to be believed, stuck a series of electrodes to her chest and abdomen. Nicole bit her lip to stifle a yelp when one came uncomfortably close to the still sensitive skin of the scar.

In no time, the machine came to life, familiar beeping sounding through the otherwise silent room.

"I hope you're not afraid of needles," Miranda said while grabbing the same arm she had before, lips pulled into a faint smirk.

Nicole only shook her head as she saw the needle of a syringe attached to a transparent slim tube slide into her arm. How ironic would that be. The sting was close to imperceptible, taken over by the now familiar faint tingle. Unlike with the cut, it didn't fade away, most likely due to not being able to fully heal the small wound with the needle embedded in the skin and vein.

She looked away, in the direction of the other occupied bed in the room. It was far away enough that she couldn't make out any detail, only messy brown hair sprawled on a pillow. The face was turned towards the wall and body covered up to the neck. She grimaced and decided instead to focus on the beeping machine, mildly annoyed by Miranda's lack of properly separating her dead lab rats from the living ones. At least she hoped she'd stay living.

The numbers on the machine started out normal. With the slight uncomfortable feeling of blood being drained however, her heart rate started to slowly increase.

Alright. Normal enough. Especially when someone is clearly in a fucking blood draining mood.

Nicole decided not to look at exactly how much blood Miranda was drawing, keeping her eyes glued to the various color coded numbers. The heart rate kept increasing until Nicole could swear she could feel her heartbeat ringing in her ears. She gulped. Still relatively within the norm.

Two things were at odds however. First, the blood pressure remained constant, almost as if her body simply refused to acknowledge the fact that it was currently being drained. Secondly, the temperature rose from the normal 36 degrees to a staggering 41 in less time than it should have.

"What the fuck…" She couldn't keep her tongue at the weirdness of her situation, her brain thankfully choosing confusion and curiosity over the dread that it probably should've felt instead.

Mother Miranda didn't seem to care though as she turned to type something on the laptop that she brought over from the desk. She tapped her finger on the device for a few seconds and finally spoke up.

"The accelerated healing means the blood is being regenerated constantly, thus not decreasing in volume. Which explains the constant pressure." She narrowed her eyes at the monitor once again. "It doesn't, however, explain the heart rate and temperature. Any bright guesses?"

It took Nicole a second to realize the question was actually addressed to her. Miranda seemed in an oddly good mood. Not any less hell bent on causing her pain, mind you, but she also seemed genuinely curious. Being a biology nerd will do that to you, she couldn't help but think.

Nicole hummed and thought for a second. She tried to recall any information about the topic at hand that she had studied prior to running away.

"Heart rate could just be the normal body response that stayed even with the mutation. Like… like a reflex. It remains even though it's not needed." Then she tapped a finger on her chin trying to find a less random explanation. "Or maybe it's the body's way of making sure that even while healing all body parts remain at least decently functional. No idea about the temperature though," she shrugged.

Miranda once again typed something up and then, without warning, pulled the needle out of Nicole's arm. She flinched, barely holding in an angry protest as she turned towards the woman. Which was a mistake. She couldn't help the gag that raised in the back of her throat at the sight of the metal container full of blood.

No, no, blood did not bother her. That would've cut her career as a medical examiner short before she even stepped foot in med school. It was the knowledge that that was her blood that made her stomach churn. The container could easily fit three liters of liquid in it, and it was full to the brim. Not to mention the smell that assaulted her still messed up sinuses mixing oh so perfectly with mr. corpse over in the corner.

Miranda just chuckled at her sour expression. "Do you think your darling wife would like to have this?"

With a sneer, masked by Nicole turning once again towards the monitor, she couldn't help slipping an edge of snark in her reply. "No need, she likes it fresh."

The numbers were back to normal, all but for the temperature that was taking slightly longer to go down.

---

By this point her vocal cords were raw from screaming and each shuddering sob felt like clumps of spines in her throat. Nicole was curled in on herself, small frame trembling pathetically on top of the uncomfortable bed. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, the tingling sensation feeling like needles constantly pricking at her skin around and under the wired leather cuffs wrapped around her wrists. The frantic beeping of the machine was grating to her ears.

An electric shock test.

Of course.

Mother Miranda decided to test out how the increased heart rate worked. Results? Her body vehemently refused to allow her to pass out. Even when the shocks traveled through every part of her body, causing the nervous system to short circuit. Even when damage to internal organs and muscles ripped painful sobs from her throat, that turned into gags as soon as the tingling turned to nausea. Even when she could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage so fast that she was sure the small organ would burst any second. But it didn’t.

Every muscle in her body flared up in a sensation of painful pins and needles when Miranda pushed the button to release another shock. The cardiac monitor started screaming again and Nicole brought shaky hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the sound. Her whole body was on fire while all the damaged tissue repaired itself, making her stomach turn painfully. She felt like throwing up. Not that she had eaten anything today, but bile and thick blood still coated her esophagus. It was all swallowed back with a disgusting gulp.

The nausea was oh so kindly accompanied by searing pain from her still damaged sinuses, who’s condition only worsened exponentially with the electricity. The blood that seemed to coat all the way up to the inside of her mouth felt horrible mixed with the putrid smell of death.

She swallowed again, but that proved itself a bad decision as now that same smell permeated the very inside of her nose and mouth and throat and the feeling of blood sloshing on her tongue behind clenched teeth made her head spin.

She lurched forward, a small river of dark blood flowing from her mouth and nose, into her palms that she instinctively brought to her mouth. Wet coughs made it splatter into crimson splotches on the white sheets, herself and anything else within proximity. It took surprisingly long to realize that, after the initial wave that rose up her esophagus, the rest of the blood was from her sinuses. It was cruelly invading her nose and sliding back into her throat only to come out of her mouth. Fuck fuck fuck-

“What’s wrong?” Miranda’s tone lacked any trace of sympathy.

Nicole simply coughed out the remaining fluid from her mouth and unceremoniously grabbed a piece of cloth from Emma’s hands. She pressed it to her nose, only to feel it soaked against her skin far too soon.

“Damaged sinuses, as you said,” she croaked, her voice sounding so unlike her own.

That made Miranda frown. She kept that same expression while noting down the previous results. “It should be healed by now.”

“Well they aren't,” Nicole spat. The blood and the horrid smell were clouding her mind and, as many knew, pain and holding her tongue did not mix well in her. “And did we really have to do this in the same room as a dead fucking body?!”

Nicole’s angry outburst gave the woman pause. Annoyance mixed with a hint of confusion on her face. She looked at her assistant, an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“No. Just- just anestesia.” Emma answered promptly.

“What the fuck do you mean anesthesia? Anesthesia doesn’t make you smell like a goddamn decomposing corpse, do you have cotton stuck up your noses?!” Thankfully the bleeding was starting to subside, which meant there was nothing to stifle her steadily raising angry tone.

Miranda, now sporting a scowl, got up and grabbed Nicole’s chin between two fingers. It made her flinch back, but there was no escaping the iron grip.

“I can assure you that the man is not dead, simply under anesthesia and recovering from a bad infection.” She moved Nicole’s head from left to right, eyes scrutinizing as ever.

Afterwards, she turned back and wrote something down on a piece of paper and simply instructed Emma to wrap up and lead Nicole out. The sudden shift not only in demeanor, but also in her position from the bed to standing upright was mildly dizzying. She swapped the gown for her normal clothes as quickly as she physically could, not wanting to spend another unnecessary second in this underground grave.

While she was ushered out the door, Mother Miranda’s sickly sweet voice rang after her.

“I’ll see you in a couple days.”

Her stomach turned.

---

The trek home was short and silent, Nicole simply wanting to get home as soon as possible and get a damn hot shower and sleep.

She bid the young man that was accompanying her goodbye the moment the Castle’s entrance was within jogging distance, and hurried steps took her to the imposing doors. It was Alexandria to answer her knock, Nicole having left her own keys in her bedroom.

“Welcome back my la-” the polite smile was all but wiped off the woman’s face, replaced by wide eyes. “Are you injured?”

Nicole looked at her confused, then down at herself. A muttered curse escaped past her lips when she remembered the bloody mess on her skin. “I’m okay. Just-... just don’t tell anyone I’m here yet. I'll change first.”

Her plan went out the window when a set of hasty steps came booming toward them.

“Nico-”

Cassandra’s voice died in her throat when her golden eyes landed on Nicole’s small frame, dried dark blood on her face and arms and her clothes stained. An angry growl slipped from between bared teeth.

“What the fuck did she do to you?”

Nicole was quick to answer, too tired to deal with anything other than a few hours of sleep. “I’m okay. I’m just-...” she shook her head, then turned to the Steward. “Alexandria kindly ask a maid to draw me a bath.”

“At once.” And with that the woman turned and scurried away, most likely also not wanting to be in the vicinity of an angry Cassandra.

---

The hot water felt like pure bliss on her skin. It seemed to make every muscle relax and get rid of the awful tension. She leaned back, eyes closed and hands idly moving through the water.

It was just mildly difficult to fully relax with Cassandra muttering and pacing back and forth in the same room though.

"I'm-... I'm not letting you do this again."

Nicole simply sighed and started to scrub away at dried blood. The miniature red waterfall from earlier had gotten blood all over her arms and chest, some splatters even getting on her legs. Her face was also a mess, trails of blood going from her nose and mouth to the chin with smudges and splatters.

"What did she even do to you?"

Before she had a chance to reply, a knock came from the door and a maid entered with a few clean towels and a change of clothes from Nicole's own bedroom. The girl didn't linger, simply giving them both a courteous bow and exiting the room.

Looking for something to change the subject, Nicole focused on the pleasant honey smell. Honey with a slight citrus-y undertone, maybe lemon or orange.

"Did you get a new soap?"

Cassandra stopped pacing, brows furrowed. "No? It's the same one."

Confused, Nicole brought a hand that had just been scrubbed with that very soap right under her nose and took a deep inhale. It was indeed the same one. Chamomile and mint. She sighed in annoyance and leaned back against the cool porcelain while Cassandra came and bent down on one knee to be somewhat on eye level.

"Nose still not working properly or…?" She said while gingerly tilting Nicole's chin up with two fingers. She grimaced at one yet to be washed trail of dried blood that made its way to her wife's thin upper lip.

Nicole simply shook her head and grabbed Cassandra's hand. "Can you… go get ready. I'm beyond tired and just want to lay down with you."

Cassandra pursed her lips but nodded none the less. With a kiss on top of red hair, she turned and left the spacious bathroom, door shutting with a heavy thud.

Left alone, she scrubbed every inch of skin again and took a few extra minutes to enjoy the warmth of the water. It felt so incredibly odd to not feel any actual pain after the day's events. Any trace of what her body went through had been erased by her newfound ability, not leaving behind even the faintest mark of a scar, nor blackened skin caused by electric shocks.

She pushed herself out of the tub, grimacing at the slight pink tone the water had taken. Body and hair quickly dried with the towels, she put on the clothes, a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top, and finally stepped out of the bathroom too.

Cassandra was waiting for her in bed, velvety dark robes hanging loosely on her shoulders and eyes fixated on the window while her fingers were tapping furiously on the cover of a book forgotten in her lap. Book that was quickly placed on the nightstand when Nicole climbed in beside her and pushed her way into the brunette's arms. She was tired and absolutely not above demanding cuddles.

Her wife wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her and pulling the soft blanket up to cover them both. Nicole interlocked their fingers, absentmentally turning the ring on Cassandra's finger. The same ring she had, albeit in a smaller size. A golden band with intricate floral patterns engraved on it. It had no protruding gem, something they both opted for so that the rings wouldn't need to be taken off while working and wearing gloves. Instead, eight small ocre gems were lined among the minuscule curled leaves.

It took Cassandra about two minutes to take a deep inhale and open her mouth. New record.

"Are you… are you hurt?"

Nicole didn't look up at her, the concern dripping from her words alone were enough to squeeze her heart painfully.

"No. I'm all healed up, just tired." She could almost feel Cassandra's question of clarification, but not wanting to go over what had happened down in the laboratory so soon, she opted for something the brunette would hopefully be just as interested in. "We did get some odd results though."

At the lack of any interruption she went on. "Accelerated heart rate whenever I get hurt. Can't pass out." Which was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the point of view and situation. "Also for some reason my temperature gets really high."

"You get one hell of a fever?"

"Yeah."

Cassandra tapped a finger on Nicole's hand, mentally going over possibilities. "Aren't fevers used against infections? Maybe that has something to do with it."

A small hum passed her lips. Could that have something to do with it? It was possible that her healing abilities caused a fever in order to fight off any possible infection before it even became one. Maybe it was her body's way of lessening damage as much as possible since, as the day's events showed, the old replaced tissue had a tendency to get purged. She grimaced at the memory of slowly choking on blood and went for something at least slightly more pleasant.

"Oh and… I can't bleed out. Blood volume stays constant."

She looked up at Cassandra with what could only be described as a shit eating grin. Her wife blinked, realization seeming to dawn on her together with the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. She coughed.

"Yeah well. I'll keep that in mind. For when you don't need to sleep."

"And deny me some fun now?" Nicole's pout was purely for dramatic effect and it gained her an eye roll.

Two slender fingers gripped her chin to keep it in place while narrowed golden eyes bored into her green ones. The pout slowly morphed into a smirk. Cassandra was not the kind of person who did not indulge in her own pleasures and that, although to a more careful extent, included drinking her lover's blood. A fact that Nicole was not only not complaining about, but also learned to use in order to push all the right buttons.

When Nicole turned her head in the uncharacteristically gentle grip to plant a small kiss on the soft palm, Cassandra finally gave in. Concern was momentarily put on hold in the name of the normalcy they both have been denied in the last few weeks. She bent down, their lips meeting into a kiss that soon turned needy with tongue slipping past sharp teeth and a hand scratching lightly at her nape. Soon Cassandra broke their kiss, but only to slowly trail her way across her jawline with kisses and small nips. She bit at the soft skin right under the jaw bone, eliciting a quiet groan right by her sensitive ear. Black painted lips took her down the neck and across collarbones, planting a kiss right in between them, at the base of Nicole's throat.

When she slowly made her way to an exposed shoulder, Nicole's hand at the back of her head guided her further up, right above where her pulse was. After an inquisitive hum against her skin, she spoke quietly.

"Since blood loss isn't exactly a problem… no need to avoid the neck really."

Cassandra hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided to trust her wife. She placed a gentle kiss on the spot right above where blood was flowing in rhythm with her heartbeat. The same gentle kiss that was placed on the skin countless times before and that only Nicole had the privilege of experiencing.

Sharp fangs sunk into tender flesh, the warm blood invading Cassandra's mouth making her moan low in her throat. Being used to the feeling of the bite by now, Nicole simply closed her eyes with a sigh and let her body melt into Cassandra's arms. The familiar blissful ache was welcomed, even though, she noticed, it did not bring with it the lightheadedness she had grown accustomed to.

Although she wasn't aware of it, Cassandra was, in a way, a creature of habit. Every time she would drink her blood, her hand would come up to cup Nicole's cheek, thumb slowly tracing the jawline, right before she would pull her mouth away. Every time, without fail.

This time however, when that happened, Nicole kept her in place with the hand tangled in brunette hair, her voice coming out breathy when she spoke. "Go on."

Cassandra would never admit it, but her self control would always waver while feeding. Therefore, she didn't need much convincing, continuing to take mouthfuls of blood in between a satisfied groan. When she finally had her fill, she pulled back with a bashful look in her eyes. Concern quickly flashed on her face at the sight of the crimson mess on her wife's neck.

Nicole however, not wanting their moment to get ruined, took one of Cassandra's hands in her own and slowly placed a soft kiss on each knuckle. After that was done, and the downright ticklish sensation of skin patching itself subsided, she guided the fingers over the bloody skin.

"See? Healed," she whispered.

Cassandra gingerly traced her fingers over the spot, looking for no longer existing puncture marks. She smiled upon not finding them and turned to pull out a handkerchief from a small drawer of her nightstand. A ritual of sorts, one practiced more times than they cared to count over the years. Cassandra passed the white cloth over the skin, wiping away the crimson stains while her wife relaxed into the touch.

"Feeling good?" It was a remark meant to poke fun at how much Nicole seemed to enjoy herself, but the double meaning did not go unnoticed.

A smile tugged at Nicole's lips and she nodded.

In turn, Cassandra hummed. "You taste different." And, at her lover's furrowed brows and the slightest hint of alarm flashing in her eyes, she clarified. "Not bad. Just different. Slightly sweeter actually."

"Is that so," Nicole purred, the smile returning to her lips.

Cassandra discarded the cloth on the floor to be retrieved later and shifted both of them back down on the myriad of pillows.

"Yes. Now how about you get some sleep."

Nicole wasted no time in snaking an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her side. It would never cease to amaze her how Cassandra's presence could make her feel so at ease, as if nothing beyond the castle's walls existed. At that moment, she couldn't help but be grateful for her newfound ability, useful in far more ways than one.

She stretched slightly upwards, auburn hair like a small waterfall behind her.

"I love you," she whispered against cool ashy lips.

"I love you too," Cassandra replied, closing the almost nonexistent space between their mouths in a soft kiss.

It left behind a slight coppery taste on Nicole's lips, but she couldn't bring herself to care, instead readjusting her legs to tangle comfortably around her wife's thigh.

[sisterspooky1013]

Damsels, Chapter Four: First Day

By SisterSpooky1013 / Read Previous chapters here

Rated E / Tagging @today-in-fic

Angel leads Scully out of Ricky’s office and back down the hall, pointing to various doors.

“Here are the customer bathrooms, we don’t use these. That’s the exit to the lobby, but we have our own door in the back. Through here is the floor.”

Angel makes no mention of the other, unmarked doors in the hall. She pushes the “Enter Here to be Dominated” door open and they walk into a large room with the floors and ceiling painted black. To the left, there's a long bar that covers nearly the entire wall with at least twenty stools butting up to it. Directly across from the bar on the right wall, there’s a small round stage with a gold pole erected in the center. A shallow counter, just wide enough to set a cup, runs along the entire perimeter of the stage with chairs neatly pushed in against it. A mental image of herself on the stage while men look on flashes in her mind and she shakes her head gently, forcing it away. Along the back wall are several small partitions; little rooms constructed out of dark red curtains that are currently pinned open to reveal a loveseat and table in each one. The rest of the room is filled with small black tables and chairs, and can probably seat upwards of 100 people. Angel leads Scully to the left, approaching the bar.

“Back here is the bar, obviously, and this is Queenie, our lead bartender. Queenie, this is Diane, Ricky just hired her,” Angel continues.

A tall Asian woman stands from behind the counter holding a case of Jack Daniels. She has wide, round eyes and a diamond-cut chin, her full lips painted dark red and her black hair tied into a high bun.

“Hey,” she replies, “is Diane your stage name? You’re getting soft, Angel,” she teases, casting Angel a flirtatious smile.

“Oh, no, we actually haven’t gotten that far yet,” Angel replies before turning to Scully, resting one elbow on the bar top. “So while you’re waitressing, you’ll talk to Queenie a lot. She can make any drink under the sun. Tip her out twenty percent of whatever you make.”

Scully nods and wishes she had something to write all this down. Between the new terminology and rules, she's already getting confused and is bound to make a mistake. Angel leads her to the other side of the room and climbs gingerly up onto the stage.

“This is the stage, duh, and this is the pole. We call him Paul, the pin to make it spin or stationary is down here,” she leans and points to a small pin at the base of the pole.

“Oh!” Scully exclaims, “I guess never realized the pole spins.”

“Common misconception,” Angel goes on, wrapping her knee and elbow around the pole and spinning a couple slow rotations as she speaks. “But that’s why you don’t want to put oil or anything slippery on your legs or arms. You need to be able to get a good grip, especially while the pole is spinning. We’ll talk more about that later, come up here.”

Scully baulks and looks around, but climbs onto a chair, then the drink rail before finally getting to the stage itself. The room looks even bigger from up here.

“So, just from a Bird's Eye view up here,” Angel continues, “those seats against the wall back there at the end of the bar we call the rock section. Dudes just grab a seat and order a soda and then nurse it all night. Never pay for dances, never come to the tip rail, nothin’. Just sit there like a damn rock. It can be a fun challenge when you’re waitressing to try to get them to buy more drinks, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Tip rail?” Scully asks, sensing that this will be something she has to do a lot.

“Right, these seats right here,” Angel points to the seats that are lined up along the perimeter of the stage, “are the tip rail. You have to sit here or be close to it in order to tip stage dances, hence the name. Something else you’ll hear is doing a mini-lap, which is just when you let a guy at the tip rail motorboat you or put his face in your ass or whatever. Usually you’d do that when they give you a really fat tip.”

“I thought Ricky said the men aren’t allowed to touch you?” Scully clarifies, subconsciously rounding her shoulders and crossing her arms protectively.

“Ah, important distinction. WE can touch THEM, but they can’t touch us. So like, I can rub my tits on a guy's face, but if he grabs them, he’s toast. There are some limits to that I’ll tell you about later, but you can’t give a good lap dance without touching so we definitely touch, it’s just always us who does it, not them.”

Scully is impressed by the degree to which Ricky seems to embrace the “women in control” model, but she’s curious to see whether it’s all talk.

“So that middle part with lots of small tables,” Angel is now pointing to the middle of the room, in front of the rock section, “that’s usually where the whales sit, like Mr. Keane. They’re too classy to sit at the rail but you can still see pretty good from there. And lastly, over there,” she now points to her right to the small curtained rooms, “those are the VIP rooms. We’ll talk more about those later too when we talk about the rules, but they’re basically where customers can take a girl for a private dance.”

Scully feels a pit in her stomach. No matter what rules they have in place, there is no way she can be safe behind a curtain with a man who is paying to access her body. Her distress is interrupted by music suddenly pouring from the speakers at an obscene volume, making them both jump. It cuts off as quickly as it started, and Angel turns to look at a small raised booth behind and to the right of the stage.

“What the fuck, Ben?!” she shouts, raising her arms in an angry gesture.

“Sorry, Angel, my bad!” A thin Asian man with a narrow face and a goatee waves down to them apologetically.

“That’s Ben, the DJ. He’s not usually so obnoxious,” Angel says to Scully, then turns and shouts up to Ben. “This is the new girl, Diane!”

“What the fuck kind of stage name is Diane?” He calls back down. “Also, hi, I’m Ben,” he adds, waving again. Scully smiles warmly and waves back.

“We haven’t picked her name yet!” Angel shouts back. “We really need to pick your name, girl, this is getting old fast,” she says to Scully.

“Um, this may be a strange question,” Scully starts, “but, is everyone who works here Asian?”

Angel looks off into space for a moment, lost in thought. “No, but everyone here right now is, huh?! That’s a weird coincidence. Anyway, Asian is a big group. Denny out front is Samoan, which is actually Pacific Islander. Queenie is Vietnamese, and Ben is Japanese. And Ricky is white as fuck,” she bursts into a fit of giggles at her own joke.

“And what about you?” Scully asks her.

Angel turns and starts to walk away from her, casting a coy glance over her shoulder. “I’m whoever you want me to be, Baby,” she says with a flirty lilt in her voice, before adding “come on, I’ll show you the back.”

“The back,” accessible by a door just behind the stage, is a long hallway with restrooms, a staff locker room, a break room with a kitchen, and a dressing room for the dancers.

“So, I’m gonna show you the dancer’s room now, just so you have an idea what you’re working towards, but just FYI that they really don’t let the waitresses come back here. After this I’d keep your ass out if you don’t want to get torn a new one,” Angel advises her.

The dancer’s room is modest in size with mirrored stations set up along two walls and a small bank of four more in the middle of the room. Each station is slightly different, but most have a makeup kit, hair products, and a box that locks with a code to store cash tips. Three of the stations sit empty. Along the back wall are four doors, and along the left wall is a double-height clothes rack full of straps, sequins, lace, and mesh of all colors. While the floor had smelled like cleaner on top of stale beer and sweat, the dancer’s room is sweet and perfumed with hints of vanilla and cinnamon.

“What’s through those doors?” Scully asks casually.

“The second one on the left will take you outside, that’s the one we can use to come and go without having to go by the customers,” Angel answers. “There’s another one of those at the end of the hall out there you can use while you’re waitressing. The door on the far right is a single stall bathroom. The other ones are storage or something, I don’t know. They’re locked.”

Scully gives no reaction to this information but makes a mental note of it for later. After they look at the general staff locker room and the kitchen, Angel plops down at a table near the fridge and Scully follows suit, taking the seat across from her.

“So, before we go grab lunch, let’s figure out your stage name so we can introduce you to people properly,” Angel begins. “There’s kind of a tradition here that your stage name starts with the same first letter as your real name. I don’t know why, and people will say it’s not a ‘rule’ per se, but if you don’t do it it will probably seem weird.”

“What’s your real name, if that’s okay to ask?” Scully inquires nervously. Not having real names will make this whole investigation a lot harder.

“Oh no, it’s fine. They aren’t a secret or anything, we just don’t like the customers to know our real names. My name is Ann. So Ann/Angel, both A’s. Queenie’s real name is Quyen. You can ask any of the girls and they’ll tell you their real name if you want. Except maybe Lexie, she’s a stuck up bitch. So I’ll just tell you now, her real name is Leanne.”

Scully laughs good-naturedly, though she has the passing thought that a lot of people may describe her as a stuck up bitch too.

“So, something that starts with a D, what suits your fancy?” Angel asks. Seeing the worried look on Scully’s face, she makes some suggestions. “You could go with a classic, like Diamond. Something a little more stereotypical like Destiny. Oh, what about Desiree, that’s really pretty, and it suits you.”

Scully considers it for a moment. Who she’d really like to be is Dana, on her way home from this insanity. Given that isn’t an available option, Desiree isn’t so bad.

“Yeah, I think I like that,” she says with a shy smile.

“Great, can I call you Desi?” Angel asks excitedly.

“Sure,” Scully responds, and then follows a very spirited Angel out into the afternoon sunlight in search of something to eat.

They end up at a little Mexican restaurant a short walk from the club. It’s the kind of hole in the wall place that only locals know exists, with tacky pink paint on the booths and dusty Cinco De Mayo flags criss-crossing the ceiling.

“So, Angel, how’d you end up working at Damsels?” Scully asks as she drags a tortilla chip through the watery salsa. She’s highly motivated to solve this case and get the hell out of here, so there’s no sense in wasting time.

“Oh, I just met Ricky through mutual friends and he told me about his club. I was a dancer at a total shithole before, so coming here was such a huge relief.” She stabs at the ice in her drink with a straw, breaking it up into smaller pieces.

“Are you working towards something else, or is there something else you’re hoping to do?” Scully asks next.

“I might ask you the same, Desi,” Angel returns with a slight cock of her head, and Scully realizes that was a rude question.

“Sorry, I guess I still have a lot to learn about the social nuances of this job.”

Angel shakes her head dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a question you get asked a lot as a dancer, as you’ll find out. Everyone thinks you’re just stopping here on the way to something better, something more legit. God forbid your life plan is to show your ass for cash, right? I mean, that is true for some of the girls; Tibet is getting her masters and Magenta has a day job as a therapist, but I honestly just like it.”

Scully is more careful with the wording on her next question. “What do you like about it?”

“Well,” Angel takes a bite of a chip and chews thoughtfully, “I grew up with really judgmental, uptight parents who basically made me feel like I was dirty and disgusting for existing, and for being female. I was always really ashamed of my body and when men looked at me, I thought I was doing something wrong to bring it on myself. After I moved out, my friend took me to a strip club and I was totally blown away by the confidence the women had with their bodies. Men were looking at them, but not like they were gross and sinful, just like they were…beautiful. And they looked so powerful up there commanding all that attention. And I just wanted to be up there like that, celebrating my body and deciding what happened with and to it. And here I am.”

Scully sits quietly, absorbing an answer that she wasn’t expecting to hear. She thinks about her own upbringing and the “good girls don’t” mentality that tainted her early sexual exploration. Even as a fully grown adult in consensual, committed relationships, she couldn’t shake the underlying guilt that she was worldly and sinful for desiring and having sex outside of marriage. It bleeds over into her relationship with Mulder, she knows. She can accept any physical attention he bestows upon her, and in fact wants it desperately, but for her to initiate it would mean…something. Something she isn’t ready to admit, even to herself.

Angel speaks again, interrupting her thought. “What about you, Desi, what brings you here? I showed you mine, you show me yours…or whatever.”

“Oh,” Scully says, scrambling to bring her cover story forward. “Um, I, uh, I got divorced recently, or I’m legally separated, anyway. I just got my own place after living with my husband for seven years and I haven’t really worked that whole time, I just supported his work. So, I don’t really have any marketable skills.”

Angel smiles. “Shoot, that ass is a marketable skill, girl! Those titties are hella marketable.”

Scully blushes, unused to anyone talking about her that way, and is surprised by how flattered she feels by such a crass compliment. Their server arrives and sets their plates down, and Angel’s demeanor shifts a bit as they dig into their meal.

“Okay, so down to the nitty gritty. Like I said, there are rules for us as dancers, and for waitresses too. Ricky mentioned his feelings about heroin and meth, right?”

“Yep, that will not be an issue,” Scully says confidently, spearing a bell pepper with her fork.

“Good, so also don’t get, like, super drunk or super high while on shift. A little to take the edge off is okay, but a drunk stripper is just pathetic. Like I said, the men can’t touch us, but it’s okay for us to touch them, EXCEPT we do NOT do extras at Damsels. No hand jobs, no blow jobs, and definitely no fucking, not even in VIP. Not in their car outside, not behind the dumpster, it’s a very hard and fast rule, no pun intended. Ricky will fire even his best girl in a heartbeat if he finds out she’s doing extras. Oh, and no kissing.”

Continue Reading on AO3

[theoldgaylion]

For the doriax prompts 👀 "seeking each others hands while sleeping" or "dancing together".

Whichever sounds more fun :))

Read it on ao3

"That was kind of Mr. Gilmore to invite us, don't you think?" Fearne asked in her usual hushed tone as she finished braiding Opal's long silky hair, who was sitting on a velvety dormeuse adorned with golden details and attentively following her movements.

"Especially after the troubles we caused him." Orym gloomily mused as he leant against the wall next to where the faun and the girl stood, one hand reflexively resting on his hip as if ready to act on whatever upcoming threat, despite not carrying any kind of weapons on his person.

Sitting, too, but in a little, uncomfortable armchair, though as luxurious as the dormeuse, in the farthest corner of the room, was Dorian. As he was trying to not have a panic attack and thus ruin everybody's feisty mood, he barely registered his friends chatting in the background. He was overwhelmed, the rooms and the main hall outside brimmed with people, from enriched nobles to foreign merchants to powerful wizards, and that feeling of inadequacy struck him as fiercely as ever. Although the possibilities were close to none, he was also afraid to come across his relatives, whether distant or not. He didn't want to meet them, he didn't want his friends to meet them, not when he left that life behind his back.

His mind was spiraling as he stared at a blank spot outside the wide window on the opposite wall, nervously twisting his fingers.

"Free food and alcohol are always appreciated." Dariax commented somewhere near his right, he could see him in his peripheral vision as he stubbornly tried to keep his unruly tuft behind his ear with poor results, standing in front of a wall length mirror, his tongue sticking out between his lips and his brow furrowed in concentration.

"We really owe him a gift, though." the halfling sighed and Fearne giggled amusedly as she wrapped a beautiful, bright pink ribbon around the end of Opal's braid.

"Maybe next time we're on an adventure, we can bring something back for him." she suggested, her face lighting up as a soft smile curled up her lips.

"That's a good idea. But!" and the girl stood up from the dormeuse before declaring, hands on her hips and chest puffing out, "But now we must party and enjoy free alcohol and food, as our winged boy here suggested.".

"Yes!" the dwarf exclaimed and winked at her through the mirror, before returning to his previous task.

"Hey, do you need a hand with that?" Opal asked him as she walked over to his side. "I have some wax that'd do the work." she wiggled her eyebrows as she fished out a vial out of her high-heeled opalescent boots.

Dariax gasped as he eyed the vial, then nodded. "You're a lifesaver." he thanked her before Opal uncorked the vial and let him get some wax to do his hair properly.

The genasi jumped a little in his seat when Fearne craned her neck to look him in the eyes, then heaved out a relieved breath. He didn't even hear her approach, so lost in his thoughts as he was.

"Sorry, I didn't want to scare you, Dorian, but I was wondering…" she tapped her lower lip with a finger as she studied him. "Would you like a ponytail, perhaps? You'd look great in it." she smiled down at him as she unwrapped another ribbon from her own hair.

Dorian blinked in confusion, caught by surprise, before his gaze bounced back and forth between Fearne and the ribbon she was now holding.

"W-why not?" the genasi accepted in a weak tone as he shrugged his shoulders.

Fearne just chuckled at that, then waited for him to scoot forward with the armchair before positioning herself behind him. First, she began brushing and carding his hair with her fingers, letting some loose strands down to frame his sharp features. Afterwards, she carefully gathered lock by lock in her hands before lifting them up at the top of Dorian's head.

"You and Opal have the most beautiful hair, so soft." she admitted, her voice cheerful as she proceeded to secure the ponytail with the ribbon, and Dorian skeptically glanced at her, or tried to at that weird angle. Not that he didn't trust her friend's opinion, but it really never occurred to him before.

Fearne's milky white organza gown rustled softly as she clopped right in front of Dorian. "One last detail." she explained when Dorian frowned at her, not understanding why the faun was vigorously rubbing her palms, a sly grin playing on her lips as sparks of fire flickered at the friction.

Dorian was getting anxious, but that feeling was short lived, leaving room for wonder as soon as realization clicked in. Fearne's hands moved to the sides of his face, then curled the loose strands with her heated fingers and Dorian noticed that it wasn't hot at all. Magic was truly something.

Once she was finished, the faun clapped her hands, satisfied with her work. "You look amazing, my friend." she assured him, her smile softening.

"Wow." a raspy whisper caught Dorian's attention before he could reply to that and he darted his eyes in the direction of it, to his right. Dariax was watching him mouth agape and cheeks flushed, and Dorian wasn't even sure the dwarf was aware he was doing that in all honesty.

Dorian turned incredibly frustrated under that scrutiny and fidgeted in his seat as a suffocating heat spread across chest and down his belly.

"Go look for yourself." Fearne prompted him to stand up with a gentle pat on his shoulder.

Dorian slowly rose up on shaky legs and moved to stand before the wall length mirror. Okay, maybe he should've trusted his friends more, because he looked fine as fuck. He never considered himself a vain person, but, as he stared at his own reflection now, he must've admitted that that outfit highlighted his best body traits, starting with the dark blue high-waisted lace pants he was wearing, not much see-through per se but open to the sides in two slits and with incorporated shorts that ran down to his mid thighs. On his upper body, the loose peach gold chiffon top that wrapped at his middle in a silver waistband with some rhinestones and left his chest exposed, the massive flowy sleeves clung at his sides and made him look so dreamy. At his feet, his beloved winged boots.

Opal helped him with his makeup earlier but he had the chance to evaluate her work just then. She used a silver eyeliner on his eyelids, the ends as sharp as her knives, while she dusted some moonshine highlighter on his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his pecs and under his eyebrows, following their natural curve.

After a long time spent admiring himself, he felt very observed and turned his head towards Fearne, who was still looking at him, her hands clasped together against her cheek as she smiled merrily like a mother proud of her son.

"Thank you, Fearne. It looks amazing." he told her in an earnest tone.

The faun chuckled delightedly in response, before stifling a snort as her eyes glanced away from him and Dorian quirked one eyebrow at that. Then, he heard frantic fumbling and a loud snap. He spun around and found the dwarf still there, yet turned a little to his side as if he was trying to hide something, his mouth was pressed in a thin line now while tips of his ears were as red as his face as he busied himself with the laces of his vest. Dorian didn't know what to do with that notion.

Once they were all ready, the group finally exited the room, walked down the hallway and crossed the threshold of the dance hall, just to immediately get lost among the swirling of robes and skirts and cloaks, the colorful reflections of the flames that shimmered down from big crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the chattering of voices that mixed with the soft music playing in the air, the tables full of delicacies.

That combination of visuals, sounds and smells rendered the five speechless.

"Okay, this may be a little too for us." Dariax murmured to the group after a pregnant pause, his lips pursed to the side hidden behind his hand. And the genasi couldn't agree more.

"We've been lucky that Mr. Gilmore warned us and let us go on a shopping trip before coming here." Orym pointed out as his keen eyes studied the surroundings, feeling even smaller than he was already.

"Yeah, but, I feel underdressed all the same." Opal whined in a pout, crossing her arms on her chest. "And I'm wearing a fuckin dress." she added as she ran her hands down on her big puffy tulle skirt.

“Where's the wine?" the faun asked out of the blue as she looked around, her ears eagerly perking up, and the group laughed.

"Hey, look, there's Fy'ra!" Opal exclaimed as she pointed with her index finger at her, who was already in the company of Shaun Gilmore himself and a man who presumably was his husband by the way he was circling his waist with one arm.

Orym scolded her about her manners, or lack of, but his words hardly affected her since she was trotting to Fy'ra, Fearne following suit.

He sighed hopelessly, before joining them together with Dorian and Dariax.

They all greeted and complimented each other for their attires, everyone but Orym immediately falling for Gilmore's charme once again and his husband laughed whole-heartedly at their behavior, saying that he fully understood them.

As much as he really wanted to blend in and forget about his previous worries, Dorian felt anxious and uncomfortable, also regretting his choice of outfit for the night since it would've certainly drawn attention to himself, but now it was too late, he would've dealt with it.

His current mood must've been as clear as the empty glass Gilmore was holding in his hand because he noticed Dariax sliding closer to him at some point while the rest of his friends were chatting amicably, and tilting his head up to look at him.

"You okay there, bud?" he asked him in a lower tone, his warm hues regarding him with concern.

Dorian wanted to lie, although it would've been useless. The dwarf could be... slow on the uptake sometimes, that was true, but he always understood when his friends were troubled and that was one of the things he liked the most about him, he was kind and thoughtful and cared dearly for the people he held close to his heart.

So, the genasi shook his head and bit the inner part of his cheek.

Dariax’s mouth twisted in a sad grimace upon his non-committal reply. "Alrighty, let's go grab some food, yeah?" he proposed, nudging him playfully on the thigh while showing a toothy smile.

Dorian quickly warned Orym before walking away with the dwarf to find something to eat among the many, almost too many set tables.

Dorian's uneasiness gradually dissipated thanks to the dwarf's presence. Since that moment he stayed with him the whole time, trying to draw a smile out of him and the genasi really appreciated his efforts.

The two were now standing at a table with any type of meat Dorian could imagine, Dariax was trying his hard to catch a chicken leg with a fork but it kept rolling and rolling and squishing away as oily and dripping with sauce as it was, so he gave up in the end and grabbed it by the bone. Dorian wanted to be grossed out by that, but honestly after what they've been through in the last months that was the least disgusting thing the dwarf had done involving food, or anything else really.

The genasi had to admit that Dariax really stood out in those clothes. As if he was just seeing him for the first time that night, he ranked him up and down with his gaze, taking advantage of his current distraction. The dwarf had chose a white blouse with puffed sleeves and flounce collar, his broad shoulders emphasized by.. now that he took a better look at it, Dorian noticed that it wasn't a vest, more like a corset garment that made him waist look slimmer, the velvety burgundy texture complementing his auburn hair while the golden embroideries on the hems made him look princely, somehow. On his lower half, he wore black tight trousers with a detachable wrap pleated skirt on its left side, at his feet a simple pair of dark brown leather boots.

Dariax was so… dashing.

"Want some?" the dwarf's voice brought him back to the present and Dorian felt himself blush guiltily upon being caught staring so openly. Or maybe Dariax didn't notice him at all, too focused on eating his well-earned chicken leg. The genasi really hoped it was the latter.

"Uhm, no. Actually, I'm not that hungry." he admitted in a sigh and saw Dariax's joyful mood shift a bit. Even though the dwarf was helping him a lot, anxiety was still swirling in his stomach, clutching at it, making him feel nauseous.

"But if you don't eat, you can't drink." Dariax reasoned, his half smirk slotting back on his face, and those words earned him an amused snort from Dorian. As if that ever stopped the dwarf, or anyone in their group, from getting smashed, yet Dorian knew what he was trying to do and was grateful for his patience and consistency.

"I know, but I don't think I can drink either, sorry." the genasi admitted, another sigh falling from his lips, and Dariax gazed up at him, slowly lowering the chicken leg.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then his free hand reached out for Dorian's and that gesture made his heart skip a bit, or a few.

"I don't know what you're going through, but I think we should enjoy ourselves tonight, we deserve some funny time, don't we?" the dwarf squeezed his hand oh-so-gently as his eyes bored into his as he spoke. "You should enjoy yourself, relax, unwind, relieve some stress." another squeeze of hand and Dorian's heart quivered in his chest. "Nothing's gonna happen, and in any case, I'm here for you. You got a healer in heels next to you." he winked at him as he tapped one boot's heel against the other.

Dorian's whole face was flushed deep purple by the end of his speech and, albeit his frantic heartbeat echoing in his head, he nodded and smiled down at him. The dwarf's hand was so warm around his and his mind quickly drifted back to all those time they slept together on his bed roll, so close yet so far, as Dorian wanted to touch him and hold him and-

Dorian shook his head vehemently and swallowed around a lump in his throat.

At that distance, Dorian noticed that there was eyeshadow on Dariax's eyelids, smudged, of the color of charcoal, in strict contrast to the amber of his hues, making them shine even brighter under the lights of the chandeliers. In the inner part of the eye, a glint of gold that recalled his corset, while a bronze highlighter gleamed on his cheeks. Opal must've done his makeup, too.

The genasi found himself staring at Dariax a lot that night, clearly unable to stop himself as if magnetically drawn to him.

"And honestly, you're really missing out because this stuff is delicious. I don't know when another banquet like this will happen to us in the near future." Dariax added a few moments later, emphasizing his words by swinging the chicken leg he was still holding.

Dorian heaved out a breathy chuckle, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, more for the sake of tearing his gaze away from him than being actually annoyed by what he just told him. "Alright, you got me. No more convincing." he gave up in the end as he picked a clean plate and a fork, before wandering around the table with his look.

"That's my man!" Dariax grinned victoriously, then joined him in the food hunt.

As simple as it was, that praise made Dorian’s chest fill with warmth and affection.

"Thank you, buddy. You're amazing." the genasi said after a while, his voice soft now, and shot a glance at his side to catch Dariax's cheeks turning as red as his corset as he murmured something under his breath that Dorian couldn't quite catch. In that moment, he realized it was the second time that he inadvertently made the dwarf blush and he stopped in his movements as that thought crossed his mind. What did that mean?

Anyway, the two kept circling around the table while chatting and, since Dorian's stomach finally loosened up, he was able to eat something, too. When the genasi lifted his head in a heartfelt fit of laughter after that Dariax told one of his dumb jokes about the turkey wearing socks, his attention was caught by Opal who stood some feet away at another table, watching them with a cocky grin and an arched eyebrow.

His laughter quickly ended up in an awkward coughing as he blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears and the fact that Dariax hurriedly came to his help didn't help his situation. At all.

Two glasses of wine later that embarrassing accident, glasses that Dorian gulped down like a drowning man in the desert, eventually they split up because Dariax decided it was the right time to go and grab some stronger alcohol that wasn't just wine; in the meantime, Dorian found interest in the instruments the band was playing. Despite his eagerness, the dwarf didn't leave him until Dorian assured him he was feeling better so he could go without worrying about him.

When Dorian noticed that it was taking the dwarf a little too long to get their drinks, he searched for him with his eyes, just to find him standing between two individuals, who possibly were courting him if he didn't mistaken the way they both leaned close to him, offering him drinks as they smiled flirty down at him.

He felt a strange pang of.. jealousy awfully twisting his guts as his jaw tensed at that sight.

"Are you going to ask him or not?" Opal's face suddenly appeared in front of his eyes.

Blanking out for a solid second, Dorian almost choked on his own tongue. "W-what?!" he cried in a shrill voice and immediately slapped a hand on his mouth.

The girl sighed deeply as she slowly shook her head in disappointment.

"To dance." Fearne replied from his other side on Opal's behalf and Dorian felt suddenly very cornered. "I bet he's dying to. Waiting for you to make a move. Can't you tell?" she tipped her head in a quizzical way as she eyed him.

The genasi's gaze frantically darted back and forth between the two. "I-I don't think that-" he then started babbling out, anxiety coming back at full force, but Opal cut him short with a huffy tsch.

"Please, you two have been circling around this for months, honestly. Now it's your chance to go get it." the girl pointed out as she nudged him with her hip and Dorian's heart started hammering erratically against his ribcage. What were they talking about just now?!

"Get what?!" he croaked out in a squeal and the faun's laugh only made him more miserable than he already felt.

Opal loudly gasped at that question as if she couldn't believe what she just heard. "Dorian, how oblivious can you be?!" she looked like she was that close to rip her own hair off her head for desperation or to choke him with her bare hands in an act of mercy and the genasi thought that he really didn't want to find out.

Thankfully, Fearne intervened once again. As she grabbed Opal's hand to soothe her outburst of anger, she smiled her benevolent smile at Dorian. "Dariax's been over the heels for you for like.. well, pretty much since we met I think?" she confessed in a pensive frown, then had to stifle an amused giggle when Dorian's mouth slacked open.

His head was spinning dizzily as his heart jumped up in his throat, his hands were shaking as he brought one of them to scratch at his neck in a foolish attempt to calm his nerves. He was pretty much freaking out at that point, he'd never actually noticed anything that-

Wait.

Oh gods.

"I'm a fucking idiot!" he yelled as he smacked both his hands on his forehead, and the two girls tried to not make fun of him, just to fail miserably.

"Now that you're caught up, do yourself a favor and <i>go</i>." and with Opal's words ringing in his ears, he was being pushed by Fearne and the girl herself toward the dwarf, still at the same table.

And suddenly, he was in the middle of the dance hall, his knees wobbling as his heart was trying so desperately to break free from his chest. He wanted to hide. He felt.. irremediably stupid. How could he be so blind?!

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. In retrospect, above all the things that had happened between them in the past months, Dorian realized that the dwarf had been looking at him the whole night with such a look in his eyes, something deeper concealed behind his usual fondness that he reserved for his friends.

He was getting itchy. If he wanted to act, he needed to do it now.

Mustering every ounce of courage he had in his body, the genasi walked the last steps that separated him from Dariax at last.

He cleared his throat way too loudly to be spontaneous, interrupting whatever was happening between the dwarf and those two strangers. He didn't even spare them a single glance as he stared at Dariax, who was visibly surprised by his antics.

Dorian straightened up, before bowing a little with his upper body, his left arm folded behind, as he outstretched his other, unsteady hand towards him.

"Dariax, m-may I have this dance?" the genasi asked in a solemn voice that cracked a little at the end, feeling heat rising up on his cheeks the longer he hoped for an answer. He gulped as a bead of sweat glided down his temple, his heart beating so fast right now that Dorian felt like it could stop at any moment.

And Dariax was looking at him like he held the entire world in his hands and the genasi felt himself burn from the inside out under that intensity, his hazel hues gone wide and round in complete shock, his thick eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

There was a moment of terrible, utter silence. Then, the dwarf let go of his drink, which fell and spilled on the floor, and that noise made a few heads turn in their direction while the two individuals jumped back from him. But Dorian couldn't care less as Dariax's trembling hand clutched tight around his as a happy, dazzling smile bloomed on his lips.

"Of course." he replied in a whisper, hesitant yet fast, like he'd been waiting for that question all night but couldn't believe he just got asked.

Fingers intertwined, they sauntered over the center of the dance hall to stand in front of each other like the rest of the people didn't exist.

Dorian's yearning turned out to be pretty much useless since Dariax shared his feelings and he could plainly see it now, written all over the dwarf's face as he hadn't stopped beaming up at him since he accepted his invite.

The genasi had never danced with someone that much shorter than him, or had much experience with balls in general, but they would've managed nonetheless.

They were holding hands, both their arms stretched outward in the liminal space between them as they looked into each other's eyes, full of emotions. Dorian thought he was going to faint here and there from how tense he felt, he was anxious for a totally different reason now.

Then, their feet started moving on their own and the music grew louder and louder, their bodies following the rhythm as they met halfway, their hands locking in the right positions as much as their heights would allow.

"I didn't know you could dance." Dorian said, genuinely delighted by that discovery, as they turned and spinned, completely lost in the music, in each other.

Dariax chuckled, his cheeks flushing again upon that compliment and the genasi had to stop himself from acting on the thoughts that image elicited in his mind. "Me neither." the dwarf admitted as he shrugged his shoulders.

Dorian snorted amusedly, before tightening his grasp on Dariax.

They kept waltzing, staring at each other, smiling brightly, moving freely. They kept waltzing, fingertips brushing on clothes, hands grasping, wanting for more. They kept waltzing, their looks promising.

And Dorian never felt so happy in his life.

[defenderrosetyler]

Short Straw

Prompt from @flamencodiva​ : “Right, who’s drawn the short straw this time?”

Beta: @wonder-cole​

A/N: I love Gen, and I love the couple that she and Jared make, but this is a pure act of fiction and they are not together for the purpose of this fic!!

A/N 2: The song in this fic is Burn it to the Ground from Nickleback.

“Come on Y/N, just go over and talk to him! He’s cute, and attractive, he may even buy you a drink,” one of her friends pestered her. Y/N rolled her eyes as she tugged at her ponytail and tightened it. She’d been keeping her hair pulled back a lot during the Texas heat. She and her friends had been called out to Texas to be extras in the new reboot of Walker the TV show with the one and only Jared Padalecki. Jared was attractive in his previous role of Sam Winchester in Supernatural. For his new role as Cordell Walker, the widowed Texas Ranger? Damn he looked smokin “Drawing of sticks?” Y/N asked.  

Out of the three friends gathered extra straws they had asked for and each took their own, before revealing who had the shorter of the two…. “Right, who’s drawn the short straw this time?” One of the friends said before Y/N’s face lit up bright red. The other two girls giggled, moving to push Y/N towards where Jared had been hiding and not recognized much by the fans in the area. The western cowboy hat was helping conceal who he was. Most Texans had a cowboy hat in this area anyway, so hardly anyone noticed.

Gathering her courage, Y/N grabbed her own brown western hat, swallowed the lump in her throat, walking over toward Jared’s tall shadow. She politely tapped him on the shoulder and he turned and y/c/e met Jareds and Y/n felt whatever words she was going to say to him fall right at the tip of her tongue. His eyes were beautiful, they reminded Y/N of  a mosaic, each sliver of his iris a different color - blue, green, gold, brown. 

“Let me guess, you were the loser of rock paper scissors.” Jared says seeing Y/N in stunned shock and amazement and knew this was common when fangirls approached him. Blinking as she registered what he’d said to her, Y/N nodded embarrassed as her cheeks flushed a bright red color. 

“Is it that obvious?” Jared nodded with a chuckle. 

Of course Jared knew this game. He and former co-star Jensen Ackles, did this all the time; well, in character anyway. Jared and Jensen, aka Sam and Dean Winchester, always won their arguments over a game of rock paper scissors. To which Sam was usually the winner, only on a few rare occasions did the younger brother let the elder win. 

Y/N let out a breath, hearing him laugh, so she wasn’t making a total fool of herself anyway. That was good at least. Rubbing the back of her neck, Y/N tried to feel less awkward. “Can I buy you a drink?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Jared says, his tone could almost be taken as a flirt. “How about this, I buy you a drink, and you owe me a dance out on the floor?” 

It was a compromise. One all y/n could do in response is nod. She did have a drink at her table, but she wasn’t about to turn Jared down. After looking at Y/N for what seemed like forever, he smiled, placing her order to the bartender. Placed in Y/N’s hand was a jack and coke. Something simple, yet not too strong for her; Thank goodness there were such services like Uber and a taxi that could take her home if she needed it. She sure as hell wasn’t driving after all the alcohol in her system. “So, what brings you to Texas?’ Jared asks, trying to start a normal conversation with Y/N. 

After the first round of drinks were completed, Jared held out his hand for her, leaving the woman to blink as she heard the guitar of a song kicked on followed by its bass. Y/N paled. “Jare, no.” 

Jared laughed as he kept pulling Y/N to the dance floor where there was a group gathering to dance with the tune. She’d had enough drinks in her to definitely not be coordinated enough for this. Having looked up the song when she was on her way down, and the dance, Y/N knew she was in a world of trouble.

Well, it's midnight, damn right

We're wound up too tight

Wasn’t that the truth, it wasn’t midnight, but it was damn near close…. Y/N watched the steps for the first round and tried to talk it aloud to herself. Jared was already in the line and kicking up his leg and clearly having fun.

We're going off tonight

To kick out every light

Take anything we want

Drink everything in sight

We're going till the world stops turning

While we burn it to the ground tonight

Y/N took a deep breath and moved in step with the crowd. The steps weren’t difficult per say, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Thank God her boots weren’t terribly high heeled. Her eyes widened when it came to the kicking portion of the dance, and Jared’s leg went as high as his collar bone. When Y/N tried, all she could do was kick as high as her hips. 

The more turns performed, the more Y/N started to let loose around Jared. On one of the turns, Y/N lost her footing and ended up tripping into the taller man's arms, his muscles holding her to his chest. As he helped her stand, Jared’s lips inched toward hers, pressing against hers gently.

The house door slammed as Y/N was pinned against it. She and Jared had shared a few soft kisses in the cab seat of the Uber they’d ordered, using Jared’s card, as much as Y/N had insisted she pay, since he’d bought most of their drinks. Y/N’s panties were soaked, and she hoped Jared knew it. The man had run his hands up to her legs and had stopped at her knees. Damn her for not wearing a skirt. Then again, with that leg kicking, flashing underwear would not have been the smartest choice.

“Jared,” Y/N gasped and moaned. Jared’s kisses were down her neck and nipping at the flesh of her collar bone, his cock hard against his jeans and clearly he needed attention too. “Shh,” he whispered, kissing her, pulling Y/N with him towards the bedroom. While walking, Y/N tried to tug at his shirt, how the hell did he manage to keep that hat on? Oh that's right, he wore button down shirts. The button down shirt was torn open, buttons flying across the wood floor, causing Y/N to giggle.

Jared sits Y/N down on the bed and makes quick removal of her jeans and her black lacy thong, all in one movement. “Hold on tight baby girl.” Jared says as his Cordell Walker accent kicked in and it took all Y/N had in her to not cum on the spot with his words

Before Y/N could let out her next breath, Jared had her legs over his shoulders, his mouth mere inches away from her pussy, blowing warm air just across her sensitive clit. Goosebumps prickled Y/N’s flesh, causing her to shiver, causing Jared to smirk at her. Moans filled the bedroom as Jared continued to work her clit. “You like that don’t you, you little whore” he says. Fingers curled inside Y/N, looking for that ultimate sweet spot inside her, the spot that would leave her cumming all over his fingers and possibly making a mess of his bedding. Oh well, it needed to be washed anyway.

“Jared, please, don’t be a tease.” Y/N begged, toes curling, back arched up as she let out a breath and came over his fingers. She hadn’t gotten a chance to warn him that she was about to be sent into her orgasm, which Jared seemed to be pleased with judging by the hot ass smirk on his face. 

“I never said I wasn’t going to be a tease baby girl,” Jared smirked as he took his mouth and began to kiss her wet pussy lips. Y/N moaned, gripping and tugging at his flesh. He’d chosen to keep the cowboy hat he'd worn at the bar after removing his shirt and damn, could he look more like a country god? Jared’s kisses were slow and gentle, Y/N didn’t mind slow and gentle. What she really wanted was that hot kind of sex you see in the movies.

“Jared, Oh fuck.” Y/N gasped as he brushed her sensitive clit, his tongue swirled inside her trembling walls as she shook as she came against Jared. Moans left her mouth as a half chant and her panting breath. The taller man didn’t give Y/N a chance to fully ride out her orgasm before shifting his position, his cock hovering at her entrance. There was a moment of him rubbing his rock hard cock against her juices. He let out a moan as he eased inside her, pushing all the way inside her till his hips were pressed against her. 

“You like that don’t you, you little cock slut. You knew where the shorter straw was, you knew you wanted me to take you here and fuck you in my bed and make you scream my name didn’t you?” Jared pants in her ear, tugging at her ear lobe, “You just wanted to be my little whore didn’t you?” Y/N was in a state of bliss, wanting to reply to him. Was he a ‘Sir’ kind of man? Or was he a ‘Daddy?’ There were so many kinks running through her head she didn’t know what to think. He was hitting places inside her she’d never had a man hit before. Then again, Jared Padalecki was a lot thicker and larger than any man she’d slept with. Jared’s movements were as smooth as a choreographed dance. Y/N wrapped her legs around his hips. Attempting if it was possible to send him even deeper inside her. “That's right baby, take all of my cock,” He grunted with each thrust, panting as he pushed himself to the edge. Truth be told, Jared had been rock hard seeing her walk into the bar hours earlier. Y/N’s jeans hugged the curves of her hips, ass, her whole body perfectly. The top she’d worn was low cut, it was clear she hadn’t been wearing a bra, could have worn one but with the size of her breasts? She had every right to show them off. 

The bedroom was filled with moans and groans from both parties occupying the bed. Cries of Jared’s name as Y/N worked through each orgasm. Positions changed every so often, Jared even asked her to ride his cock cowgirl style, to which Y/N had no problem taking his hat and smirked as if she’d been riding a mechanical bull at the bar. Jared’s cock twitched inside her as he was nearing his own orgasm, wanting to paint her walls with his white hot cum he’d been holding back for what seemed almost too long. 

Jared had nearly came in her mouth as she’d sucked him off. On her knees in between his legs, her pussy soaked from the orgasm he’d given her before they shifted to Jared receiving a blowjob. Jared was intent on pushing Y/N as far as she was able to, but she looked like she could swallow his entire length. He’d pushed gently to allow her time to adjust to his size, but holy fuck when she had the ability to push past her gag reflex? Damn it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“You gonna cum for me Cowboy?” Y/N smirked as she noticed Jared’s change in rhythm. He was slamming a lot harder now and yet it was slower for a few minutes before resuming the pounding of her pussy. “Where do you want me, you little slut? Want me to cum in this little pussy and let my cum run down your leg so people know you were just fucked?” Jared pants. All Y/N could do was nod, rubbing her over sensitive clit as she’d cried out his name and pulled his mouth to hers as he cried out her name, warm ropes of hot cum exploded from the tip of his cock. As promised, as Jared slowly pulled back, white cum slowly eased out of her pussy, Y/N tried desperately to keep all of it inside her. His cum was so warm, it made her feel giddy inside. 

Jared moved to collapse on the bed, his breath heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Both of their bodies were covered in sweat. Once able to move, Y/N moved to spoon herself into Jared’s arms. 

“Best sex we’ve had in a while,” Jared says with a smirk.

“Agreed, stranger foreplay made it more fun. I actually was glad I didn’t wear a dress, if I flashed my pussy to anyone else, you’d have gotten jealous and started a brawl then where would we be?” Jared chuckled and kissed her head, brushing away her sweat soaked hair. 

“Once we’re able to move, I’m making you a large ass breakfast.”

Jared leaned up to look down at Y/N, “Is that before or after I ask you to marry me?”

 Tags:

 @simsadventures​​ @mummybear​ @impala-dreamer​ @holylulusworld​ @snffbeebee​ @saxxxology @akshi8278​​ ​ @deansmyapplepie   @luci-in-trenchcoats @samskia-writes @winchester-fantasies​​ @talesmaniac89​​ @stusbunker​​ @idreamofplaid​ @cherrypiebbyblog​​ @cleighwrites​​ @jxackles​​ @flamencodiva​​ @wonder-cole​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​​ @downanddirtydean​​ @janicho88​​ @lacednleathered​​

[peachyteabuck]

clear the clouds (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: after weeks of bucky feels down, natasha knows exactly who to call to make him feel better

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: 2,030

trigger warnings: sickening fluff, also - please don’t take kitten rearing advice from fanfiction

notes: this is a birthday present for the effervescent @m00nlightdelights​, who asked for bucky barnes interacting with kittens. happy birthday babe! 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Natasha was the one who called you – asking something many dream for but very few get to experience. It’s hard to transport that many tiny, wriggling animals across town and very few are willing to pay the exorbitant, arbitrary amount of money you had made some intern put on the website after the twentieth call asking about the particular service.

People, apparently, really want to rent a bunch of kittens for several different types of events – finals weeks at universities and rich high schools, bat and bar mitzvahs, once even a wedding. Why those event coordinators can’t rent service animals is beyond you, and why they always expect you to do these things for free is also a mystery.

No matter why those people wanted your kittens, you closed the service except for incredibly rare cases.

One of those incredibly rare cases, per the usual path of your life, involved Natasha Romanoff.

You owed her a favor from a few years back, when she made sure an ex-boyfriend of yours…well, for legal purposes you can’t talk about it, but Natasha made sure he never bothered you or your friends ever again.

Natasha’s got enough tact not to bring the year-long ordeal up – just said she wanted to “cash in” on your side of the bargain. You sighed into the office landline when she told you she was calling for her favor, the exhale so deep it was still audible despite the barking and scratching and the menagerie of other noises.

It takes you a second to collect yourself, to shove the memories back into that little box your therapist had you build and then tuck into the back of your brain.

Despite not being able to see her face, you can tell she’s frowning and has furrowed her brow. “You good?”

You nodded, then remembered how phones work. “Yeah,” you let out a small sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine. You want the kittens at Avengers Towers this weekend for a few hours to help that friend of yours-“

“Bucky,” Natasha interrupts you. “His name is Bucky. And you should go out with him.”

Despite still knowing how phone works, you roll your eyes. “Didn’t you just say he spent the last week bedridden because of depression. It doesn’t exactly sound like he’s in the right state of mind for a relationship.”

Your friend scoffs into the phone, shutting what you think is a thick book for dramatic audial effect. “And you spend fifteen hours a day at your shelter because it gives you an excuse not to see people. I don’t need you to marry him, I’m saying maybe a coffee date would be good for you.”

There’s a pause where you search for a sarcastic response, but Natasha beats you to it.

“Actually, no,” she says, voice dripping with a lovable dryness you can’t help but admire. “It will be good for both of you.”

Another pause while you recalculate your sarcastic response cortex. After a deeply silent thirty seconds, you give up.

“Fine,” you acquiesce. “But you and Wanda are helping me and you’re buying me lunch for that day and you’re helping me during adoption day at the museum next month.”

Somehow, you can hear Natasha’s wide and triumphant smile. “You got it, kid.”

And with that, you hang up before falling back in your office chair. You swear, that woman could convince you to do anything.

Fucking spies, you think before putting the event in the shelter’s e-calendar.

The day arrives both too quickly and not quickly enough – your brain caught between something akin to “existential dread” and “oh my God my friend is trying to set me up with her friend and what if it doesn’t work but what if it does” the entire week before the planned event. During the night before you down quadruple your normal dose of melatonin to fall asleep after spending three entire hours trying on all your clothes to plan the right outfit (in the end, you chose an unusually nice pair of leggings and a plan sweater along with boots cute enough to fool a man into thinking they’re fancy while still protecting your feet from the end-stage winter air outside.

(Also, the leggings and sweater are the easiest things to lint roll kitten fur off of you for, say, a date at an upscale coffee shop you normally wouldn’t even think of going to, but that’s nobody’s business and you totally one hundred percent did not think about that when trying the outfit on.)

You meet Natasha and Wanda at the shelter the next morning, you getting there before them to gather the necessary supplies from the back. Despite them promising to help you load your car with kittens and kitten-adjacent items, you still didn’t want either of them messing with the precious organization system you’d spent years perfecting (and years training interns and vet techs how to abide by it).

Luckily, with your precautions and time management – and despite Wanda’s need to kiss every kitten (yes, every kitten) as they were loaded into crates – you arrive at the infamous Stark Tower right on time.

Set up of the whole thing doesn’t take long, Natasha successfully leading the way through the maze of which is the expansive building. You pass a few people you recognize from Natasha’s stories and the news, and a few others who you don’t but still smile as they pass (whether they were just being nice or smiling at the kittens in the crates you were holding, you refused to decide).

It takes a few elevator rides, but eventually you get to the desires floor and room – Wanda knocking on the door after setting her Ikea bag of playpen supplies on the carpeted floor.

A response is nearly immediate. “Go away!” a gruff voice calls, muffled by the thick walls.

Natasha and Wanda both roll their eyes. “Shut up and open the door!” the former replies.

There’s no verbal response, but you do hear shuffling before the door opens to reveal a figure more brick house than man. His hair is messy, sweatshirt a size too large and solid black but with jeans that fit perfectly. His boots – much thicker and blacker than yours – are dirty.

“What do you want?” he grumbles.

Natasha remains unphased by the man’s demeanor. “We have kittens. Now move out of my way so we can set all this shit up and you can pet some cute animals.”

Bucky gives her a look and rolls his eyes, but steps asides and holds the door open for the three of you nonetheless.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky found in the middle of the four-foot wide pen, bewildered. He’s done a lot of things in his life, many of which would be impossible for (nearly) anyone else to accomplish. He speaks thirty languages (plus Morse code and ten variations of sign language), he’s hunted bears with his bare hands, he’s survived Russian winters and summers in the Amazon rainforest.

Yet, somehow, the thing that stunts him beyond reproach is a small play pen filled with about forty tiny, six-week old kittens that are all their own form of chaotic. Bucky doesn’t know where to look, let alone how to grab the ones that catch his eye. He’s terrified of crushing them like bug caught under a hardcover book, of breaking their tiny ribs or tiny legs or tiny necks.

He watched you intensely when you and Natasha and Wanda pulled them out of their crates, watching how you held them and which one allowed you to give them kisses and which one chased after the strands in Natasha’s ponytail. He noticed which ones curled up in small spheres in the corners of the pen, which ones immediately bopped about, which ones immediately sought out the bottle of formula you’d prepared and which ones nibbled at the liquidy wet food that had been scooped into a neon blue bowl.

Each tiny animal was different, and it amazed him.

There was this one cat, a fluffy little white one with one ear and splotches of buttery yellow seems the boldest, eyeing Bucky as if the man was this small cat’s Everest. The floral collar (one of those break-away ones, you had told him, meant to keep the kittens from getting hurt but allowing the rescuers to identify them by name and rescue identification number) has a small nameplate – a gold one – with “Squirt” etched into the metal.

“Squirt,” Bucky repeats under his breath. “Nice to meet you, little guy.”

The cat gives him a small, pterodactyl-like scream in response, as if the small animal is too young to speak in any other tone but “loud.”

“HELLO LARGE CAT,” he imagines the cat saying. “HELLO, I AM A SMALLER CAT. DO YOU WISH TO BE CLIMBED?”

Bucky smiles at the imagined conversation, allowing the brave creature to dig its tiny claws into the leg of his jeans just above his socked feet (he took off his boots when he arrived in the room, as per your request), the start to his magnificent journey.

“I do not mind being climbed,” the man answers out loud. For once, he doesn’t take in the entire room’s emotions and reactions before he says something – he just talks, even if that freedom from paranoia is only allowing him to speak to someone (or thing) that can’t talk back.

Squirt gets to Bucky’s knee before screeching once more, just as tenacious as when he was on the floor. “THIS IS MUCH HARDER THAN I EXPECTED,” is all Squirt says.

Bucky laughs, ignoring the several other kittens who are trying to claw up Bucky’s metal arm – each unsuccessful but determined to continue to try. “I’m a lot bigger than you realized, huh?”

Squirt takes a few more wobbly steps, tail high in the air, before looking to Bucky for guidance as the tiny creature stands on his thigh. “I WOULD LIKE SOME HELP, PLEASE,” Bucky interprets from the screeches.

He laughs, not moving. Another kitten, this time an equally tiny short-haired black cat named “Foosball” attempts to follow in Squirt’s literal and metaphorical footsteps, but gives up when she gets to Bucky’s knees. This, too, makes him let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, kid. You’re doing just fine.”

You watch Bucky’s interactions with the kittens intensely – telling yourself you just need to make sure he doesn’t hurt them accidentally. In truth, he was handling them the best you’d seen anyone outside your shelter in a long time – gentle, firm, attentive. His pseudo-conversations warm your heart, and the only thing that breaks your concentration is one of the larger kittens walking up to the barrier of the pen to scream at you from inside her prison that she was hungry. Natasha and Wanda had long left, citing some bureaucratic problem that was probably bullshit but, regardless of accuracy, left you and Bucky alone.

“What does she want?” the man asks, body still frozen as Squirt climbs his chest.

“Butterfly wants to eat,” you reply while you grab one of the syringes with formula.

“Why can’t she eat from the bowl of food?” he asks. It’s not accusatory, just curious. It’s sweet, extremely so, and makes you realize that Natasha was right – this is good for him.

“At six weeks, most kittens are weened from their mothers or,” you pick Butterfly up and hold her against you as she suckles at the plastic nozzle. “In this case, syringes. But sometimes it just takes a little longer.”

Bucky hmms, turning his attention back to the kittens before he speaks again. “Do you want to get coffee?”

You swallow, looking at him look at Squirt. “Like…with you?”

Bucky nods as he sits up, the brave kitten now on his shoulder and several others vying for his attention. “I, uh,” he swallows. “Yeah. Coffee. With me. Like a, uh, a date. With me. Where we get coffee.”

You giggle a little, both at his flustered speech and at Butterfly’s post-feeding tiredness. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Cool,” is all Bucky replies, the both of you now focused back on the kittens.

Dammit, you think. Natasha was right again.

[normal-thoughts-official]

I.t.a (Identity thief anon)

I thought I had replied (if I did and you just hadn't post it it's 1000% fine ahshs)

I love Elliott so much!! And his crush is so cute (but also looking at the bigger picture is hilarious that I killed his would be father in law lmao) also awfullest thing pixelberry did was making me choose if I wanted to be his legal guardian or if I wanted him to be emancipated only to not have to do any of them since, you know, our grandpa was still alive...

Also I thought about it way too much for a choice (with no actual impact) in a game ahshshshhs, emotionally wise I'd have wanted to be his legal guardian but I think it'd make more sense (legally) emancipation because he would still get government help but there wouldn't be a risk of someone taking him away of in case I wasn't a successful guardian, and he could apply for scholarships more easily while I worked or something lmao I was just excited in that part.

I know there are some books in which you can be poly but the only I remember was moty (mother of the year) which was a better than expected book (to be fair I didn't goof have expectations) and in that one I started to date the three love interests <3

How far along are you in endless summer, who are you romancing, what do you think of the classmates + lila and what do you think about the story in general 👀

u hadnt replied!!!! hi i missed you!!

i didnt know u could be polyam in moty! i might try it out then, i never gave it a shot cuz i hate the idea of having kids 😬 but anything for rep i guess

and YEAH I KNOW DIDNDIDNDO i love elliot so much and him and robbie are SO cute together but damn his in law straight up tried to kill us huh. like robbie deserves better than bobert or whatever his name is and im glad to have killed him but

also okay im in the middle of the second book idnfidndidndo around the part where the arachnids show up for jake. my opinions so far are kind of messy but uhhh

grace and raj are my faves, hands down. craig is a close second

i like almost everyone except for jake because hes just military propaganda in a trenchcoat with that annoying wahh im too conflicted to care about anyone white boy complex, and aleister because he was a dick to grace. idc how much he simps for her now she deserves better than him. and Quinn is kind of whatever. like her whole personality is uwu and its kind of annoying but i dont hate her or anything

the story is such a fucking mess?? udndidn i have NO CLUE whats going on 😩 if they manage to make everything make sense by the end ill be REALLY impressed cuz damn wtf is going on

im romancing sean!!!!!! what can i say, i have a type and that type is self sacrificial idiot. he has a heart of gold and he deserves better and aaaa 😭😭 u idiot man stop putting ur life in danger as the instinctual reaction BLEASE. i just want to wrap him in a blanket and make him take care of himself for once

i also like estela a lot but im not really that interested in romancing her ig? i enjoy our moments together but my feelings for her are more casual ig

i rlly want to like lila but i cannot stand her simping for discount tony stark my god. please lord just make it end

i rlly like everyone's dynamics???? its so nice to see how the group has been growing together more and more. i love them ❤️

i LOVE the vaanti. every last one of them. my beloveds. if they tried to kill us it's cuz theyre valid

varyyn and diego are the greatest couple this game has ever given me i am SO grateful for them. i just got to their first kiss and aaaaaa it was so sweet. upset at choices for not giving me art of their kiss when i had to watch aleister and grace's but 😩 its fine im fine. holding onto hope that ill get art of them eventually but i dont want to look it up and risk spoiling myself

i actually like craig and zahra as a couple a lot too which i didnt expect. i still dont fully understand what happened between them but i really hope they work it out :(

on that note i love zahra. anticapitalist queen. cant believe she fucking hacked wall street. id die for this woman even tho she wasted tiramisu

tbh i dont wanna get off the island. like what for? to go to college? when i could stay with the cool vaanti culture and be happy and not have to worry about capitalism and have sick ass tattoos? lets just kill tony stark and stay there besties

really like how they made the MC's past a mystery? like yeah we have absolutely zero past and backstory as per usual but this time it actually is an integral part of the story that we dont know that we were born in la huerta or basically anything about ourselves truly (even tong stinky didn't so like?). and it was nice to see that being a part of the story rather than just this weird feeling of detachment from the MC

the MC is so stupid and i love him

sean and craig are gay for each other. michelle and quinn are gay for each other. i diagnose everyone with gay

i literally dont have a single theory as to what the hell is going on like not one. and i have gotten almost every clue/idol/file but like i literally have no idea how to tie all of this together. this is such a mess didndkdndkdndidn im kind of excited to see what happens because ES seems to be so popular in the fandom i can only imagine the plot is gonna blow my mind, but im kind of afraid of being disappointed

and thats all ive got so far i think? udndidjd god

[kaibacorpintern]

yuugi and kaiba... platonic... maybe a lil angst like kaiba doesnt know how to have friends and yuugi just accepts him as he is and kaiba can be a kid for once.. for the minific prompt pls? :) thank u.. luv ur blog btw

just thought you should know that when i read this prompt i instantly turned into this and wrote almost 5,000 words. it’s a little angsty and about friendship, but it’s also about loneliness and food and depression, with a few jokes peppered in here and there. DSOD didn’t happen but atem is alive, because i say so. i want kaiba and yuugi to be friends so freakin’ bad.

long story short: i went nuts. thanks for the prompt!!

***

Every day, little by little, Kaiba looked greyer. The lines of his shoulders slouched. The hollows under his eyes deepened, like holes being dug in the dirt, on hands and knees; a slow, miserable burying. To hear him speak was worse. Yuugi heard his voice from thousands of miles away, like he was on a different continent, a different planet, and the light of every thought was crossing the staggering empty silence of space. It terrified Yuugi, to think of Kaiba as fading, that someone who raged with all the thrill and fury of a storm could slow down like this. But he was fading. 

“Hey. Are you alright? You seem down lately,” Yuugi tried, on one of the rare mornings where he caught him alone in the elevator, on his way up to the game design department. With no one else around, he usually felt emboldened to drop the act: not an employee with his boss, maintaining proper deference, but someone who’d known Kaiba for a very long time, and knew him like few others did.

The glass-walled elevator whirred as it rose. Kaiba stood there with his arms crossed, impassive, his back to Domino. The city streets unfurled below them.

“The elevator’s going up, Yuugi,” he said, after a full seven seconds of silence. A weak dismissal, by his standards, made even weaker by a toneless delivery.

“Sure. But - ”

With a polite ding, the elevator opened onto the game design floor. 

“You’re running late,” Kaiba said, nodding him pointedly out the door.

“Bro, I’m fifteen minutes early,” Yuugi said.

“Don’t fucking ‘bro’ me, ” Kaiba snarled, with all the sudden, twitching ferocity of a nervous dog. Yuugi smiled and slowly backed out of the elevator, his palms turned out, long enough to make his point: he'd come in peace. Kaiba frowned at him, bristling, until the elevator doors started to close. The last Yuugi saw of him, before they touched together, were a pair of blue eyes, their fiery energy winking out like a popped spark, falling shut with a sigh.

At his desk, Yuugi toyed with his phone for a good ten minutes, ignoring emails and his coworkers’ good mornings, his thumb hovering over Mokuba’s contact info as he rehearsed in his head. Hey, how’s Stanford? You enjoying your classes so far? Making friends? Of course you are. Great. Well, so, I’m calling because I’m worried about your brother - 

A call like that would put Mokuba on a plane within an hour, honestly. But maybe Mokuba would want to know. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe if he left his first quarter of college and returned to Japan, just because his brother had a few bad nights or something, Kaiba would punt Yuugi off the top of the building. 

Maybe Atem? The only person Kaiba ever “talked” to about anything, if  pummeling each other with card game holograms could be called a conversation. Which they did.

YUUGI What’s eating Kaiba? Is he alright?

He stared at his phone a while longer until remembering it was the middle of the night in Egypt. He put his phone away, put Kaiba out of mind, and got to work.

***

Atem texted back mid-afternoon.

ATEM I don’t know. Go find out

YUUGI Okay but i’m not you lol he won’t tell me. even with a duel

ATEM GO

ATEM FIND

ATEM OUT

YUUGI OKAY I'LL DO MY BEST

ATEM And tell that stuck-up bastard to answer his fucking phone one of these days

Odd. Kaiba never ignored Atem.

YUUGI I’m on it

He finished work late, packed up his things, and headed downstairs to the lobby, moving quickly to catch his train. He had most of a mind to save the Kaiba question for later, go home, and flop face-down on his bed until he roused himself enough to pick at leftovers. The elevated metro station was awash in a crisp dusk light, the navy purple night descending on the day’s final line of gold. His train was coming in three minutes; the next on the same line in thirty-four. He'd just made it.

If he stood at the far end of the platform, craning his neck, he could see the long strip of windows at the top of the KaibaCorp tower. Dark. Kaiba had gone home early. Yuugi frowned, biting his lip, as his train arrived. 

He let it go, jostled and swaying in the flood of people flowing in and out of the carriages. The next train took him far from home, flying with sleek electric ease through the glittering glassy black monoliths of the city, and into the leafy, overgrown estates beyond the far edge of town.

***

Kaiba's estate was a brisk walk from the last station on the line, along the side of a road without sidewalks, and through a tunnel of trees that laced their branches together over the road. By the time Yuugi got to the gates, his feet aching in his sneakers, night had fallen. The trees were thick with shadow and wind, whispering to each other in fairy tale voices. It was the kind of night that urged people into their homes, with the doors locked, away from the ancient things that lurked in the undergrowth, wild and forgotten and stronger for it. He was relieved to reach the gates, on the edge of the illumination around Kaiba's mansion, held in the center of the light like a toy castle in a snow globe.

The gatehouse was empty. A security camera peered down at him from the top of a wall, nestled in a thick swell of vines. Ignoring its glossy little eye, Yuugi studied the door in the wall beside the gates, pushing more vines aside to find the keypad. If he called ahead, the chances of Kaiba buzzing him in were next to nothing. They were next to nothing on a good day.

YUUGI do you know the key code for the door?

ATEM 445241474F4E#

ATEM that took me literally years to get

ATEM go around the back. he won’t open the front door

YUUGI you're the best <3

He tapped in the code, carefully. What if he got it wrong? Would a trapdoor open up below his feet? With his back to the quiet road, and the dense, rustling woods on the other side, he swallowed his laugh. 

The door opened with a faint click. Yuugi slipped through and began the long walk up the drive to the mansion, sneakers crunching the gravel underfoot. On either side of the drive,  the lawns were pristine, every petal of every flower and every leaf on every hedge perfectly in place, holding the poses nature’s hand had fixed them in with effortless ease. Somewhere across the grass, shrouded in the night, came the distant murmur of a fountain. 

The mansion itself was an ugly, graceless brick of a building, so rigid and square in its design that its position in the center of this wooded estate seemed an oppressive intrusion. Per Atem’s instructions, Yuugi skirted the front, with its twin dragon statues and Roman columns and imposing front door, and went around to the back, padding silently through the grass. Like the top of the tower, the windows were dark. Every glance through the glass, checking for life, made him feel like he was looking into the bottom of a well, deep and cold and watery, a tomb for hopeless wishing. 

At the back of the house was a large patio, with a view of the sprawling grounds, which rolled downwards in a gentle slope, all the way to a line of trees. There, the grounds gave themselves back to the wild. Even on a shivering night like this, it was easy to imagine what the patio was like in the full splendor of high summer, drenched in sunlight and everything shimmering in golden-white heat.

A thin light cast a hazy cloud onto the patio through a pair of sliding glass doors. Yuugi stopped, halfway across the patio, questioning himself for the nth time that night. And if he was overreacting? So what if Kaiba was in a mood? Kaiba was always in a fucking mood. Yuugi had no doubt Kaiba would thunder at him for a while over the arrogance, the audacity of his presumptions or something, and then throw him out by the scruff of the neck. Oh, god. The embarrassment burned in his face already. 

Yuugi firmly shoved his own feelings aside. He was a gamer - a gambler - by nature, and he’d learned enough over the years to bet on his  own instincts. He gamed it out, in his head, shuddering into the warmth of his jacket as the breeze rolled through him:

He checks on Kaiba, and everything is fine: he goes home feeling awkward and Kaiba avoids him at work for the next three weeks. Acceptable outcome.

He does not check on Kaiba, and everything is fine: he goes home, and the whole night gets written off as a weird, secret little adventure. Acceptable outcome.

He checks on Kaiba, and everything is not fine: unacceptable, but now someone knows. Acceptable outcome. 

He does not check on Kaiba, and everything is not fine: Unacceptable outcome.

He stole towards the sliding glass doors. They led into a glossy modern kitchen, as pristine as the grounds, and full of clean, gleaming surfaces. It was completely free of clutter like mail, or keys, or coffee mugs, or any of the other odds and ends that usually piled up over the course of normal days. A bowl of flowers sat on a kitchen table in a breakfast nook, starting to wilt. At the end of the kitchen island was a bowl of fruit. A still-life painting split in two. 

Sitting at the island, perched on a bar stool, was Kaiba, his head resting in his folded arms atop the counter. His face was mostly hidden in the crook of his elbow; through the limp tangle of his bangs, Yuugi saw his eyes were closed. His black leather satchel leaned against the leg of the bar stool. The rise of his back as he breathed was slow and subtle, the only thing that convinced Yuugi Kaiba had not turned to stone in his seat. Asleep?

No. 

A small blue light rose up from Kaiba's phone, lying on the counter. One hand slowly unfolded, silenced the call, and refolded itself. A gesture that made less than a ripple across the still water of this tableau.

Awake.

Lifelessly, doing nothing. Not even staring into space, but retreating into the space behind his eyelids, a space Yuugi knew intimately well: shallow and lukewarm and wordless, a space for letting hours and days drift by, uncounted. It had been a long time since he’d visited - not since he’d solved the Puzzle - but it was a space he never wanted to revisit. It was a space that stayed with you for the rest of your life, once you’d been there, and yet a space more distant than the farthest star in the universe, beyond the boundaries of both light and love. A place of perfect solitude. 

Quietly, carefully, Yuugi tried the handle of the sliding glass door and found it unlocked. He slid it open. 

Kaiba startled, pulling himself upright as though yanked by a puppet string on his neck. He turned to Yuugi, still and alert, not quite comprehending. As he understood who stood there, the pieces clicking into place, his eyes hardened in his pallid face, speechless, furious. 

“Before you say anything,” Yuugi said, as Kaiba opened his mouth, “I have a story. Let me tell you, and then you can kick me out.”

“This is my fucking house. I can kick you out whenever I damn well please,” Kaiba snapped.

“It’s more of a puzzle, actually. I don’t think you’ve ever solved this one,” Yuugi said. 

Kaiba looked at him sideways, now more confused and suspicious than alarmed.

“And if I solve it?” he said, because ah, yes, of course, stakes. Nothing ever for the joy of it.

“Bragging rights.”

“If I don’t?”

“Nothing happens,” Yuugi said. 

They stared at each other. Yuugi ventured a smile. Did he dare walk in? He was still standing on the threshold. 

“Fine,” Kaiba said, a word more like a sigh. “Come in and tell me your stupid puzzle.”

***

Every house has its own particular smell, its character, its self-contained story about those who call it home. Yuugi took off his shoes, setting them beside the glass door, and frowned. Kaiba's smelled like clean linens, a touch of dust, cool air. A muted smell with no character. He didn't know what he expected. Something else, something thick and wet and heady, like oncoming thunder, or concrete after rain.

On this side of the glass doors, the kitchen was even more exquisite, temptingly so. He knew, from his lusty late-night Internet searches, that the knives in the wooden block alone cost more than several thousand dollars. Untouched! He refused to let them go to waste. Such things were more beautiful when they were held and used and loved, doing what they were made for. And despite the marbled silence, the thin white lighting, this was a house, not a museum. Yuugi dropped his backpack on the floor next to an empty bar stool and turned to Kaiba, who was sitting upright, hands atop his thighs, watching him.

“Uh - do you have anything to eat? I haven’t eaten since lunch,” he said, slinging his jacket over his backpack.

“No. Every night I just plug in and recharge,” Kaiba said dryly. “I believe that’s called a fridge. Those have human food.”

Yuugi bit his tongue, hiding his smile as he went around to the other side of the island. At least Kaiba was still capable of snark. He opened the massive fridge - sparse offerings, sparsely touched - and rooted around, not quite sure what he was looking for between the limp carrots and slabs of smoked salmon. Only the cheese drawer yielded interesting spoils, unspoiled and exotically European.

“The pantry?” he said, nodding at the door next to the fridge. 

“Presumably.”

Yuugi found a loaf of sourdough bread on a shelf in the walk-in pantry - a fucking walk-in pantry! - and returned to the counter with his haul: the bread, the butter, a wedge of Gruyere, and a brick of Emmental. “I’m making a grilled cheese. You want one?”

“If it makes you happy,” Kaiba muttered.

“It does, yeah,” Yuugi said, unsheathing one of those glorious, mirror-polished knives from the wooden block. He rolled up his sleeves and attacked the cheeses with relish. “So - the puzzle goes like this. You’re fifteen years old. You’re small for your age, underweight, painfully shy. You get shoved around a lot at school. Before school, after school. Whenever, honestly. No one really sticks up for you, although you try to stick up for them, when you can, and no one really talks to you, because you live in your own little world. Your head’s always in the clouds, and you get really excited over a lot of things no one else really cares about.”

As he spoke, he unearthed a frying pan and set it on the gas stove, slicing off several pats of butter. As they melted, soft and yellow-white, he carved several slices off the loaf, shuddering with secretive pleasure at the fresh crunch of the crust. 

“Next time, just bring me your high school diary,” Kaiba said. 

Yuugi snorted, buttering the slices and laying them carefully into the pan, where they began to sizzle. He draped the slices of cheese on top. “So you can read everything I wrote about you? No thanks. Anyway. You have one friend, but she’s not always around - her family travels a lot for work. So here you are, a bullied, lonely little oddball, and one day someone gives you a gift. A puzzle.”

“A puzzle in a puzzle.” 

“Right,” Yuugi said, pressing down on the slices of bread with a spatula. The butter crackled and spat; a thick, warm smell wafted through the kitchen. “And if you make a wish on the puzzle, it grants your wish when you solve it. So you make your wish, and you solve your puzzle. You know the rest.”

He turned back to Kaiba. “Now I’m here in your kitchen, making you a grilled cheese. So. What did I wish for?”

To his credit, Kaiba was taking it seriously, offering no snide comments about magic or wishing, leaning forward with his arms folded again on the counter. Yuugi let him study him, eyes narrowed and thoughtful, knowing he was running back through all eight years of their shared history, doing the math. 

“Well, no one shoves you around any more,” Kaiba said. “Not even me, judging by the fact that I can’t even get you to leave my house. I should’ve known better than to try.”

“Ooh, a compliment. Thanks, I’ll treasure it forever,” Yuugi said, grinning, flipping the sandwiches. Melted cheese oozed from the sides. The bottom slices had toasted to a golden brown. His mouth watered. “Plates?”

“Up and to your left.”  

Yuugi opened the cabinets and, standing on tiptoe, eased out two matte black stoneware plates. Fancy.

“You wished for strength,” Kaiba said. 

Yuugi slid the grilled cheeses onto the plates and severed them in half with the spatula. 

“Nope,” he said, leaning across the island counter to set the steaming grilled cheese in front of Kaiba. The semantic point that his friends and his strength were one and the same seemed irrelevant. He was speaking to Kaiba. He needed to speak in Kaiba’s language. “Strength wouldn’t have solved anything for me.”

“You just said you were getting shoved around  - ”

“I wished for friends, Kaiba,” Yuugi said. “Yeah, I was tired of getting shoved around. But I was even more tired of being alone.”

“I - “ Kaiba cut himself off, pressing a sigh through his nose with a tight, pinched expression. Within seconds his face soured. “You make a wish on your magical little trinket, and you get just what you always wanted. How fucking fantastic for you - ”

“Don’t do the aggressive-aggressive thing, it’s not cute,” Yuugi said. “And don’t test me, either. You and I are way past that. Just look me in the face and tell me, honestly, you want me to leave.”

Kaiba turned that ferocious blue gaze on him, silent.

Yuugi waited, holding his gaze. 

Thin, languid tendrils of steam rose from their melting grilled cheeses and folded away.

“Don’t tell me you think of me as one of your magic wish friends?” Kaiba said.

“There’s nothing magical about our friendship, no,” Yuugi said, and to his delight Kaiba snorted with amusement. “Now eat, before it gets cold.”

***

They ate, the evening quiet of the kitchen magnifying every fried, crunchy bite. Yuugi had hoisted himself onto the bar stool next to Kaiba, congratulating himself on a well-made grilled cheese. He would’ve made it work even without the expensive knives.

"Don't tell Mokuba," Kaiba said, dabbing at crumbs on his plate with a greasy scrap of bread, "or Atem."

"Don't tell them what?" Yuugi said.

"How you found me. On hour six of staring at a wall.”

"I won't," Yuugi said.

"They don't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself," Kaiba insisted. 

"You can, but are you?" Yuugi said. 

"Mmh," Kaiba murmured, resting his elbows on the counter and his chin atop his laced hands. “Don’t tell them that, either.”

His eyes rolled sideways, his gaze drifting around the kitchen, through the arched doorway, through the rest of the house, where all the lights were off. Yuugi slid off his stool and selected two pears from the fruit bowl, heavy with ripeness, rinsing them in the sink.

“Did... something happen? Did you get in a fight?” he ventured. “Atem says you’re not answering his calls.”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

The kitchen swelled with silence.

"They left," Kaiba said finally, as Yuugi considered how to cut the pears. A basic wedge cut was too childish. "And I told them to go, enjoy it, make the most of it. They have their own lives to live. Mokuba must've asked me a thousand times if I'd be fine without him if he went to California, and I said yes, go, because I don't need him around. I'm fine. And there's no point in getting angry with someone for leaving if you don't need them in the first place."

The effort must've been massive, Yuugi realized, slicing into the pears, to keep the anger at bay. To dig into the wound and wrench the thing out whole, raw and throbbing, without duels or rubbled islands, and without the help of the people who loved him the most. No wonder he looked so exhausted, so limp; no wonder he was again sinking towards the counter, arms folding, his head dropping like there was a hand on the back of his neck, guiding him down with animal docility. 

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Yuugi said.

“What the hell do you know about it?” Kaiba said, semi-muffled by his elbow. 

“It feels like there’s this dark little pit in yourself that you can’t stop digging,” Yuugi said, “and when it’s deep enough, you’re gonna curl up and bury yourself at the bottom and sleep for a year. Right?”

Kaiba said nothing, heaving another sigh.

“Sit up. Eat this.” Yuugi thunked a plate of pear in front of Kaiba, each slice wafer-thin, almost translucent, dripping with light. Kaiba dutifully pulled himself up and removed several slices of pear, with jenga-like precision, careful not to damage Yuugi’s artful pinwheeling. “Well?”

“I always feel like this,” Kaiba said, a startling confession, all the more terrifying for the blithe, dismissive tone with which he confessed it. “So what if it’s a little worse than normal? I’ll find my way out of it.” 

Yuugi leaned over the counter, hands clasped atop it, business-like. 

“I have no doubt in your ability to get out of this,” he said. “But I don’t think you should do it alone. See, I don’t want you to leave, either.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah?” Yuugi said. “I challenge you to a duel. My deck’s in my backpack. I have some new strategies I’m dying to test, and you’re the only one who makes me really fight for it. How about it? Wanna duel?”

Kaiba exhaled, resting his elbow on the counter, his cheek against the back of his hand. He plucked out another pear slice, not eating it; instead just letting it dangle from his fingertips, watching a tiny pearl of water roll off the edge and break apart on the plate with monumental indifference. 

Watching him, Yuugi allowed himself a brief, private moment of grief, for Kaiba, knowing he wouldn’t want it, and he’d be insulted if he knew. To have your heart broken by what you love was one thing; to swing from love to hate was another; but to stand still and feel your love go, leaving nothing in the hollow it left behind, was the worst.

With a light flick, Kaiba released the slice of pear, his gaze drifting again. 

“No. I’m tired of fighting,” he said sullenly, so dull a sound that Yuugi sucked in a breath, two dueling thoughts colliding with concussive impact in his chest. Good, stop fighting, why don’t you finally get some rest, and the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and shout no! keep fighting! I know you’re in there! 

Kaiba lifted his head, looking at Yuugi with an air of steeling himself. “Okay. What... what do you want from me?”

Yuugi almost laughed, but caught himself. No good things came from laughing in Kaiba’s face. 

“Other way around,” he said, drawing a circle in the air with his finger. “This is about what you want from me. Whatever you need. Whatever you want.”

Kaiba frowned, thinking.

“Do you seriously believe the magic of the Millennium Puzzle helped you make friends?” he said.

"Um. Well, it was more like a domino effect, you know? A chaos theory, butterfly hurricane kind of thing - “

“Magic had nothing to do with it. It was all you,” Kaiba said, with more heat and passion than he’d shown in weeks. “But you have to understand I’ll never be your ‘bro’ - ” couching the word in air quotes, a disdainful pair of twin finger twitches - “and I’m not one of your little pals, like Jounouchi, or whatever. That’s not who I am. That’s not how I do it.” 

“I know,” Yuugi said. “Listen - ”

“I don’t - ” Kaiba huffed and scowled at the counter, at his blurred, misty reflection. “I prefer to handle things on my own. I always have. I don’t - know how - ”

“Kaiba.” 

Kaiba looked up, shoulders stiffening, his face tight and stricken. 

“I know,” Yuugi said. He let that hang between them until Kaiba’s shoulders had eased out of their anxious coils. “Don’t worry. I’m not adding you to the group chat or anything. I don’t expect anything from you except the occasional bitchy comment, and maybe a good, boisterous laugh, from way deep down in your chest, like when you draw Blue-eyes in a duel. You know, the ‘I got you now, fucker’ laugh.”

Kaiba laughed - a laugh at half-power, lacking his usual trumpet blare of triumph, but a laugh nonetheless. “You are an oddball.”

“Birds of a feather,” Yuugi said smugly, and checked his phone. It was getting late. “Okay. I think I’ve bothered you enough for the night - ”

“You’re not bothering me. Are you taking the train back into the city?”

“Yeah.” 

“What line?”

“Red line,” Yuugi said, and was struck by an idea. "Why? Somewhere you wanna go?"

"I'm in the mood to get out of the house for a while," Kaiba said. "It's too fucking quiet in here without Mokuba."

Yuugi fixed him with a look. "Yeah, so one of the interns was telling me about a new arcade that just opened off the Ishibashi station. I was gonna go after work with the guys to check it out some time, but..."

He didn't even need to finish the thought. Despite his best effort to hide it, something hopeful had bloomed across Kaiba's face, rich and warm. It made Yuugi ache to see that look, and to wonder what he would've wished for at fifteen, freshly cast from the forge and still hard and brittle and white-hot with rage, burning everyone who touched him.

"Get your coat, let's go," Yuugi said, and Kaiba almost sprang off his bar stool. "Wait - finish the pear. I cut it fancy for you and everything."

Kaiba rapidly ate the pear. "The grilled cheese was excellent, by the way."

"Really?"

"Yes. If you come back and make me another, I'll make all the bitchy comments you want."

Yuugi laughed. "Deal."

***

ATEM did you talk to him? 

Yuugi leaned against the polished wooden edge of the pool table, his thoughts whirling in his head lazy and kaleidoscopic. He was halfway through his third beer. They'd gone through air hockey. The racing games. The shooting games. Foosball. Kaiba had spent fifteen minutes at the claw machine, winning a plush Kuriboh for a middle schooler and pressing it into her hands with a firm explanation of how the machines were rigged against her. 

Then they'd found the pool tables, in a dim little corner, the green felts shining like tropical islands in a shadowy red-brown sea under the hanging lights. Yuugi was still smarting from the whipping, which Kaiba had delivered with almost careless ease, drink in hand. 

"Yuugi. Look," he said, leaning over the table, aiming the pool cue at some bizarre constellation of pool balls, his long shadow falling across the felt. 

"Give me a sec," Yuugi said, and swiftly rescued Kaiba's sweating old-fashioned from the edge of the table.

YUUGI ya. now he's showing off

YUUGI trick shots at the pool table

ATEM so he's fine?

"You're not looking," Kaiba said, lifting his head. "Look."

"I'm looking," Yuugi said.

The cue moved smoothly between Kaiba's fingertips as he aligned his shot - sleek, frictionless, silent - with a quick, sharp thrust he sent the pool balls smashing into each other, cracking like lightning across the table and vanishing into the pockets. The last ball rolled towards the last pocket with slow, melodramatic flair, teetering over the lip, like it knew exactly who had struck it, and what kind of show it needed to put on. 

It dropped in, clattering into its fellows at the bottom of the pocket.

Kaiba laughed, triumphant, glowing with youthful glory, catching the victory by his hip with a yank of his fist.

YUUGI he will be

"Did you see?" Kaiba said, turning to Yuugi. The lines under his eyes were still there; the seams that held him together, pulling apart. Those would take some time to repair.

But for the moment he was radiating with energy, beaming, star-like in the dim electric gloom of the arcade. Not hidden in the blackness of space, but brighter for it. Despite it.

"I saw," Yuugi said.

[siremasterlawrence]

Fight Or Flight Part 2

Oliver Queen AKA The Green Arrow now is under my total control kneeling at me feet to serve me completely in every way possible offering his hand.

Handing Oliver a letter wrapped up with a tie lit in gold shiny as ever he takes it from my hands happily and shook my hands up tight.

My hand lifts in front of him snapping loudly my fingers in the air the blows a weird shock wave through the entire are blasting both of us.

The room fades in to black washing us in to darkness blanketing us forever transporting us into a new dimension of space and of my time.

Suddenly, white light glows up transforming us forever now I can see through a circular clear window and I can see Oliver appear in a strange place.

Doing a load of backflips one building to an another roof top to roof he lands in to a new area and speeds up to a strange cave he jumps in.

He swims upward in to The Bat cave sneaks into the land causing Bruce to notice him who is upstairs in to a bat scaffolding talking with Alfred.

Bruce spins about pushing Alfred back to the end of the gate he walks upward to the main area flipping off stage on to the main ground floor.

His Batman cape flows in to the air swirling floating down trying to impress and also put a bit of fear in Oliver who stood unmoving in my stance.

“Bruce Wayne is a man on the mission as per usual, what’s next?” Oliver ask.

“What’s with the whole gold motif?” Bruce ask him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? I have a surprise for you.” Oliver smirks.

“Fess up Oliver.” Bruce demands.

“The Pharoh wants you” Oliver

“Oh yeah!” Bruce

“You have one chance “

“Submit and join us”

“Fuck off”

“Fine Bruce!”

“The hard way it is”

“What are you doing?”

Oliver snaps them in to a portal in between time in place.

“I submit for you”

“Master Lawrence “

“I am glad “

“What?”

“You see it my way”

“Never “

“NEVER”

“You wish “

Nightwing returns to the lair in shock to see Alfred is no more laying in the midst of it all because it’s gone.

The Batcave no longer is in this worlds type of existence because it’s an empty space with a giant portal.

Nightwing loses it racing in to the portal as he leaps in head first flipping in midway he grabs his knees.

Landing on his feet he is at loss at what he is seeing because it is a separate world in between worlds.

The portal closes behind him showcasing his ass so perfectly tight fitting so well in his pants.

Nightwing’s reaches for his e-stim sticks from his back flipping them in to the air and catching them.

He switches in to a fighting stance finally surveying the room to find any information of inconsistencies.

A blue lit young man stood still walking from space of the darkness clapping his hands ferociously.

A shadows appears on the wall she’ll shock hits him backing up to the wall he starts to protect himself.

“Who the hell are you? What do you expect of me?”

“Oh Grayson! I expect everything from you.”

“No! No need to speak because you are in my world.”

“What is this shit hole?”

“Watch it”

“Zip it”

“Make me”

“Alright bitch”

“Get him”

“You called Master”

“Get him Clark”

“With pleasure “

“Enough!”

“Stand down”

“I mean it Clark”

“Or what?”

“What are you going to do it?”

“Watch my eyes”

“No No No Clark”

“Nnnnnnnoooooooo!”

“Mwahahahahaha

The end

[snowbird-down]

Sixth Sense

The weirdest thing about waking up that day was that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Laelia had gone to bed sober for once – well, that was more common these days with Valeriaux’s gentle influence – and she’d not had any out of the ordinary dreams. The day before had been as good and productive as it ever was, with her making her usual Gridanian rounds before returning to where she’d hidden the Delphinus in the woods. She’d brought back extra treats for Brutus who, now fully-grown, consumed meat like a dragon. Seeing him happy always made her happy.

And sure, Val was away in the Gentry Ward on business…the kind of business that she couldn’t really help with. Laelia knew when she and her lack of social grace would only be a detriment to her lover. It didn’t bother her any. Besides, she’d had plenty of her own fun recently with Vicky and Max, even if it had ended with her getting banned from the Gold Saucer.

No, today should have been a day like any other, but instead Laelia woke up feeling spooked. She couldn’t quite figure out why until she pulled on a pair of well-loved cargo pants and a tank top and sauntered outside.

The forest hadn’t changed. Not really. But through her third eye Laelia could tell that the shadows were not where they normally were this time of day. It took a bit of staring through it before she realized that every tree around her was leaning ever-so-slightly to the south. The shift was so subtle that she couldn’t even really tell when looking with her ‘regular’ eyes.

But in this forest? She knew that meant something.

Thankfully Quixia appeared on cue, her little leaf-wings buzzing merrily as she wove her way into the clearing. She was carrying a covered basket in her stick-arms and looked thoroughly frazzled.

“This one is so sorry!” she called. “This one found such a good sunny spot that this one slept late! But this one remembered the glamour powder!”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Laelia slanted a smile and reached to relieve her of her little burden. “It’s not a huge deal, I just like having it for places where I can’t wear the hat.”

“Oh this one knows!” Quixia nodded. “And smoking one has done so much for these ones! It’s the least these ones can do.”

That gave Laelia an idea. “Your purple cousins getting all antsy lately…is that related to the trees?”

Quixia tilted her head. “Smoking one can Hear?”

“Heh! Nah. But I can see things, sometimes. The trees are…I dunno. Different today.”

The sylph nodded. “Oh yes. A tower appeared in the south! Something is very, very wrong.”

“A tower.” Laelia furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? What kind of tower?”

So Quixia described it to her. Sylphs were not known for being meticulous, but something about the picture she painted left Laelia’s hair standing on end. It was less so that the tower had apparently appeared out of literal nowhere (although that certainly bothered her too) and moreso that it sounded like…

“I don’t suppose they know who built the tower?” she asked.

Quixia bobbed in place a bit. “The walking ones say it must be the iron ones who did it.”

That didn’t make sense either. Van Baelsar was dead, Ala Mhigo lost, and – last she’d heard from what few contacts she had left – another civil war had broken out. Garlemald wouldn’t have any designs on Eorzea now of all times.

“…Quixia, I’m gonna have to ask another favor of you. I’m going to need a lot more glam powder.” Laelia turned to gesture at the Delphinus. “Like, a whole lot.”

“Hmm.” The sylph considered this. “Very well! But smoking one will have to pay a heavy price for so much powder.”

“Name it.”

“Smoking one must dance with all of these ones.”

Laelia groaned.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 “Welp.”

Laelia stared out the window. The tower looked as though someone had torn the spine straight out of an eikon and thrust it into the earth, whereupon it bled red light into the sky. There was nothing about it that looked magiteknical, nothing that displayed Garlemald’s cultural hallmarks in its construction. Why in the world did the Adders think this was the Empire’s doing?

“Just because it’s black and red doesn’t make it Garlean…” she muttered.

Brutus shifted behind her. He had trouble fitting in the cockpit these days but wanted to always be close. The pugnax turned in place half a dozen times and finally flopped against the back of her chair. She definitely wasn’t getting out anytime soon.

Laelia tried pinging the tower; it showed up on her radar but the sonar waves distorted once they got close to it. The aethernometer couldn’t make sense of it, let alone pinpoint a local power source – in fact the system was convinced that the tower was not a tower, but rather a mass gathering of thaumaturges. Though she hovered malms away from the construct, her dashboard twinkled festively with various warning lights:

 WARNING: ANTI-AIR DETECTED

WARNING: INCREASE ALTITUDE

WARNING: SECURE CARGO

 Brutus stirred restlessly behind her with a low complaint.

More questions than answers. Laelia frowned and reached for the Vox, idly scrolling through frequencies. Out here she was lucky to catch anything that wasn’t static, but perhaps if the tower was broadcasting something, she could—

A sudden grating noise nearly sent her shooting out of her seat. Brutus began to bark and howl.

The pilot stared at her dash. There, at 4625 kHz, she’d managed to capture some sort of signal. It wasn’t anything per se, just an awful, terrifying, inhuman sort of buzzing sound that droned on and on with perfect repetition. Something about it was like claws digging into her flesh, just under the skin. It was empty. Haunting. Threatening.

Laelia switched the Vox back off. Brutus calmed, did his turnaround routine again, and laid back down – but the tawny, wiry hairs on the back of his neck remained standing, and he did not go back to sleep. “What the fuck…” Laelia whispered.

 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 She couldn’t sleep that night. Any time she closed her eyes the droning sound raked across her mind. This time the nightmares did come, of fire raining from the skies as Garlemald burned. But that was impossible. Try as she might, try as everyone might, nobody could topple the Empire.

So why couldn’t she get those dreams out of her mind? Why did they march hand in hand with that awful sound? Why did she suddenly feel so protective of the home that had betrayed her?

Because it’s still home… she thought, staring at the far wall.

Her family. She had no pictures of them, only the images in her mind. Dysfunctional though they all were, they’d still had happy times – days when flour fights would break out in the kitchen, days when Mater came home with sweets, days when the sun was actually out. Namedays and holidays. Snow days that kept them all home from school.

Irene had been missing for three years now. Tacitus was always busy teaching. Marcus had started a family and Elaria was abroad. Mater and Pater had been forced to hire local teenagers to help serve in their place, as they were forever too busy for everything while the restaurant slowly grew. Nonna and Papa still commanded the kitchen.

They were safe, all of them. Even Irene. They had to be.

They had to be.

And yet the next day Laelia found herself setting out again, her ship still glamoured to look like an Ironworks vessel. This time she flew east out to the Wall, to a Vox booster she knew still worked. There were a few Populares who, like her, had fled to Aldenard -- a few who still had eyes in the capital. A quick check-in would put all this to rest.

Laelia had done this a dozen times before already. She ran the proper cables to and from the Delphinus, attuned to the right frequencies. One by one she went through the callsigns she knew. VULT did not answer. IGNIS did not answer. TEMPUS did not answer. Nobody answered.

Only the buzz answered. No. No, she was imagining that part.

Laelia remained until the sun began to go down and a patrol departed from Castrum Velodyna in her direction. She hastened to disconnect the Delphinus and vanish back into the Shroud, knuckles white on the helm the entire way. She’d have to try tomorrow, of course. And the day after that if need be. They weren’t always at their Voxes, but they would be. She just needed to be patient.

It was fine. This was fine. Everything was fine.

It had to be fine.

It had to be.

[thatesqcrush]

Play Pretend, Pt. 1

Rafael Barba x Reader. CW: eventual smut & language. AN: An established couple decides to spice things up.

Tags: @madpanda75 @ottosuricato @delia26 @dreila03 @sass-and-suspenders @glimmerglittergirl @melsquared79 @mommakat32 @garturbo @southern-magnolia @tropes-and-tales @niyashell @imjustreallynosy @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @sweetsummertime99 @evee87 @scarletsoldierrr @kscarlett1 @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @zoeykaytesmom - anyone else just ask!

**

Being in a long term relationship certainly has its perks, but it also has some downfalls. Some of your most favorite nights were just curling up with Rafael in sweats, watching a movie and eating takeout. It’s freeing to be completely comfortable with someone, to unabashedly yourself, but it also fosters an illusion of familiarity.

You weren’t bored per se, but you knew you two were hitting a rut. It all had become too monotonous and routine. For instance, Fridays were “flex-Fridays” at the courthouse and Rafael came home early those nights, a perk of being one of the more senior ADAs. As a courtroom sketch artist, you also had a more flexible schedule. You could almost count to the second he would walk through the door. Even the Chinese take-out place knew you before you even gave your name. “Cashew chicken and shrimp lo mein, egg rolls with hot mustard, I know, I know,” the woman on the other side of the line finished gleefully before you could even finish your own sentence.

Rafael thrived on the routine, since it created calm in his insanely stressful life but he could sense you were becoming unnerved. So one night, while you slept soundly, Rafael crept out of bed, and did some research.

When he pitched the idea to you, you were instantly into it.

There were fake names and backgrounds. You were a model in town for a shoot; he was a broker on Wall Street. There was also safety words: one as a warning and one to call the entire thing off in case either became too uncomfortable. You chose a bar in the Financial District - not too far from home/work but far enough that neither of you should be recognized.

Rafael had no idea what to even wear. Endless clothes hung in his closet and yet nothing seemed good enough. Eventually he settled on dark denim jeans, a crisp white button down and a black suit jacket. Prior to, he shaved off his beard, which he knew you might give him shit for later, but he wanted to really change it up for you. He tucked his gold crucifex into his shirt and sprayed on cologne. He ran the comb through his hair once more, creating a swoop in the front. Giving himself a once over, he nodded and grabbed his wallet and a mint to suck on.

Walking to the bar that night to meet his own girlfriend, Rafael was struck with anxiety. Choosing a bar stool felt as fraught with possibilities and drawbacks as an opening chess move. In the end, Rafael settled on a stool two away from another man at the end of the bar, leaving you the choice to sit beside either him or the other man.

He ordered a scotch and out of habit, he almost ordered you your own drink: a scotch on the rocks with a twist. Rafael took out his phone and hit up the SCOTUS blog, a favorite - reading about legal updates was soothing on his nerves.

As Rafael read, he was tempted to check the time every five seconds. He began to have second thoughts when you didn’t show exactly on the nose. Perhaps you changed your mind and when he got home, he’d find an empty apartment. That thought alone made his stomach knot up and want to puke.

You did show. Only 15 minutes late. When you walked in, Rafael had to remind himself to pick up his jaw, which had gone slack. You were, as always, beautiful. But you were almost unrecognizable. Your hair, which was usually pinned up, was loose, cascading over your shoulders. You wore a tight white halter sleeveless crop top, that just bared your midriff and a brown leather midi skirt, with a slit that traveled high, and left little to the imagination. You feet were adorned with leopard print heeled booties and you carried carried a red clutch. Your ears were adorned with thin silver hoops. Your makeup, which was usually demure, was bold. You had decided at the last minute to get your makeup done at Ulta, which was why you were late. The visual alone had roughly the same warm, disorienting effect on Rafael as a half a Dilaudid, chewed did.

Your eyes instinctively met and the familiarity of that alone, calmed you. Part of you just wanted to run up to him but you didn’t. You scanned through your seating options: sitting next to Rafael was too easy. Instead, you chose to sit across the way. The bartender approached and you ordered an old fashioned.

Rafael tried to watch you inconspicuously. He watched as you swirled the cherry from the drink with your tongue and he swallowed hard as you took it in between your teeth and bit down, squirting cherry juice on your lips.

Just as he was about to make his way over, someone else beat him to you. Rafael watched as the man struck up an easy conversation with you. You laughed at something he said, and leaned in just ever so slightly. Rafael shot the rest of his drink back quickly, and slammed his drink on the bar table a bit too hard, causing you to stop and glance over. The look was so subtle, that to anyone else it would have just been nothing, but Rafael could see the reassurance on your face. You quickly turned back to the persona non grata.

“Let me buy you another drink,” the man whose name you didn’t care to remember asked. You shook your head and raised your still full glass. “Thanks, but I am still working on this one.”

“You’re very beautiful. I find it hard to believe someone hasn’t snatched you up.”

“That’s because I am no one’s to snatch,” you replied curtly with a wink. “But I’m flattered that you find me beautiful.”

Rafael ordered another drink, accepting that you were forced to behave realistically flirtatious - that the game was no longer truly private - it was tethered to reality.

And to his own surprise, Rafael was also approached by someone else who was also interested in him. She was a lawyer - in wills and estates. She was interesting and pretty, so he did his bit, trying to not break character. Rafael pretended to be interested in what she was saying.

Eventually the stranger left, leaving you back alone. You watched as Rafael flirted on his own. You knew Rafael was easy to engage with and charming. You tried to not get equally as jealous as Rafael ordered the woman a drink - a martini with an obscene amount of olives. ‘How could anyone not be attracted to him?’ You wondered. “It should be illegal to be that fucking hot,” you muttered before taking another sip of your drink.

You weren’t alone much longer, as you were approached by someone else. The conversation with gentleman number two went more smoothly even though you felt uncertain and self conscious as to how the game would continue.

Both new friends left, and somehow subconsciously you found yourself closer to Rafael. And finally, Rafael approached you and introduced himself. It was awkward at first, but then it became flirty and fun. There was a sense of trust and permission granting that whatever was happening was okay. You were both playing together.

Chit chat was made about where you were both from and lines of work. Rafael was enchanted by your persona. Gabrielle Cilmi’s “Sweet About Me” played in the background; the raspy and coarse delivery against the electro beat and rocksteady grooves with lyrics about making trouble seemed to resemble the playful mood between you and Rafael.

Rafael allowed himself to be seduced by you and you him. You closed the gap between the two of you as he talked about dominating the stock market.

“Is that so?” You batted your eyes coquettishly, pressing yourself against him. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and you can dominate me.”

Rafael’s eyes darkened as he swallowed his drink. You smirked before leaning over the bar, trying to wave down the bartender to order another round of drinks. Rafael admired the how the supple leather framed your rear and he could feel the heat pool in his groin. More drinks were had. The flirtation intensified. When Rafael touched your hand, the feeling was electric - as if you were touching for the first time. Rafael dipped his head to your ear, his breath tickled you and his cologne overwhelmed your senses.

“Want to get out of here?” Rafael questioned huskily, his voice low and gravely.

“What did you say your name was again? I want to make sure I’m screaming the right name tonight,” you purred, caving.

Rafael grinned cheekily. Never had he paid a bar tab so quickly.

TBC.

[lifblogs]

Livin In You: Chapter 10

Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Pairing: Destiel Summary: Castiel is a mental health worker who is just fine with the way his life is. The only thing that really bugs him is how much his co-worker, and friend, Meg, mentions Dean Winchester, the most famous rock star in the modern age. Meg drags him to a concert, and he ends up getting tied into the wild and angsty life of Dean Winchester. Suddenly his old life seems boring, but so much calmer. Suddenly, it matters to him that he’s still a virgin. Suddenly, this rock star that he despised the mention of now matters to him. Dean Winchester is a rock star who’s on top of the world when it comes to music. Yet there’s more that he wants. He misses Lisa and Ben, he craves connection, craves being himself. Any hope for that amidst his alcoholic life all changes when Zachariah, the head exec of Heaven’s Records, pairs with a new exec, Michael Edlund -- the Archangel of Music. Under Michael’s dominance, he’s no longer in control of his own life. There are rules. No more sex with fans. No more alcohol. And in Dean’s view, no more god damn free will. Yet he stumbles into Castiel. Chapter Word Count: 2725

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CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 | CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 8 | CHAPTER 9

Dean had to get up to throw up once or twice in the night, and between all that, he forgot Castiel existed. Sure, he passed his sleeping form with a head of hair that was black in the darkness on his way to the bathroom. But the other man wasn’t nearly as important as his shaking body, and reeling stomach.

Eventually, some time before five A.M., he managed to fall into sleep that wasn’t restless or broken by the after effects of his drunkenness. By the time he fully woke up, the room was dark, the curtains pulled closed so daylight wouldn’t filter through. Dean knew this kind of dark. It was the dark of waking up late. He supposed he didn’t really care. His head hurt, an incessant ache that wouldn’t leave, and his stomach just felt wrong.

He groaned as he rolled over and cracked an eye open.

A bottle of gatorade was on his nightstand, along with two pills of aspirin lying on a tissue.

Garth. His incredibly friendly and chipper assistant must’ve done this.

Dean sat up, took the medicine and started drinking the gatorade. It wasn’t till he felt well enough to walk out into the main living quarters of the hotel suite that he remembered another person was there.

Really, it was the back of Castiel’s head that gave it away.

Was the dude seriously still sleeping?

Dean shrugged after some consideration. Maybe he’s a third shifter. But what to do with him?

That thought hit him hard, and Dean sat down in a chair across from the part of the couch Castiel was sleeping on, open bottle of half-finished gatorade in his hand.

“Shit.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, or so vehemently. He must have because Castiel started from sleep, and then turned his head this way and that, eyes wild. He backed away from Dean. But then there was recognition, and he relaxed, but didn’t seem at all pleased.

Well, Dean could take people not liking him… he hoped.

Why didn’t Cas like him? He knew he’d asked him, but it just didn’t make any fucking sense.

He was Dean Winchester!

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean quipped. “Want me to call Garth and get us some coffee?”

Castiel started righting himself properly, pulling the blanket up into his lap. He ran a hand through his hair, but it was still a mess, and to Dean it looked a lot like sex-hair. God, it looked good on him.

He nodded.

“Yes, I think that will suffice.”

“You got a fancy way of talking.”

Castiel just gave him a look that said… Actually, Dean didn’t really know what it said. In the daylight, Castiel seemed difficult to read. It made Dean uncomfortable. Who was this man?

And what am I going to do with him?

This wasn’t like the other times Dean had brought people back to his room, not just because he hadn’t slept with him — which was super weird in this instance — but because he wasn’t allowed to be here. His presence would surely get sniffed out. Crowley could’ve talked to Clif already. Though Dean figured Clif wasn’t working with his manager behind his back. He was Dean’s bodyguard. So maybe even if Clif had gotten a call, he wouldn’t run to tell mommy about Dean and his new friend.

But how to keep his new friend hidden?

It also meant there was the issue of the car as well. Dean would have some money missing, and there were witnesses.

Hell, witnesses?

What was he even thinking like?

It wasn’t like it was a crime scene. Okay, aside from crashing his car into Castiel’s, it wasn’t a crime scene.

But Zachariah could smell the original sin on an otherwise innocent baby fifteen miles off. Dean was screwed, especially with Michael as the head honcho now.

God damn it!

Dean’s face must have gone through a lot of transformations because Castiel asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh? Uh, nothing.” He walked back over to his bedroom to go grab his phone, and before he closed the doors behind him said, “Just uh… just gonna call Garth.”

With the doors closed, he took a deep breath, and then ran a hand through his hair.

This was crazy. Not his usual brand of crazy. Hell, maybe it wasn’t even that bad.

But then Dean remembered a beer bottle getting taken out of his hand, remembered Zach’s stern — maybe even angry — face. He remembered what he’d told him. He owned Dean now.

Dean went to the far wall and groaned, hanging his head against it. Really, he wanted to use it to bang his head, but most doctors wouldn’t advise that as a way to relieve his headache.

Dean straightened, closing his eyes.

Was it worth a shot?

No, definitely not.

So Dean got out his phone, and called Garth. He could do the shouting thing he’d done the night before, but in hindsight that had seemed rude. His drunk self obviously hadn’t cared.

“Morning, Dean Bean! Well, hmm… oh no, it’s not noon yet, but cutting it pretty close there. What’s up?”

“Wondering if you could get me and my friend some coffee. And uh, you were in here earlier, right?”

“Was I?”

“Gatorade, aspirin,” Dean added.

“Oh no, silly, that was your friend there. He was up earlier and asked me to pick those things up for you. He grabbed them at the door, brought them to your room himself.”

That had Dean pause in what he was about to say.

Cas had done that? He’d thought about him?

That started to make Dean feel guilty for practically kidnapping the guy. Or had it been the other way around? He’d been the drunk one after all. Huh, how did that work? There was another emotion there too, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. It was pretty foreign to him, or had been in the couple of years since he’d left Ben. Was it… affection?

No, that would be bullshit. He’d just met the guy last night, and part of him still wanted to sleep with him. This was just a messed up situation.

“Dean-o? De-ean!”

“Hmm, what? Yeah.”

“You all good?”

“Yeah, um… Coffee. You know the regular I like, and for him, just make sure to bring packets of sugar and cream and stuff, I don’t really know what he likes.”

“Okie dokie. See you in ten.”

“Five?”

“Dean, I don’t control the pace at which the world runs.”

“Okay, ten,” he relented. “And, oh, is Sam up?”

“I’m not his assistant too, Dean. 

“Okay, but he’s famous by association. I know you and Clif keep tabs on him when he’s not staying underground.”

“Yes, he’s up.”

“Cool, thanks.”

Despite feeling like shit, Dean took the opportunity of some private time to get dressed. Nothing fancy. For him nothing fancy stil came out to a thousand dollars or more per outfit, but it was just jeans, a black undershirt, a white and blue flannel, and a leather jacket. The boots were nice too. Custom-made combat boots with gold inlays.

“Great, now I feel underdressed,” Castiel said as Dean walked back into the room.

“Uh… I have some jeans,” he told him, plopping down on the couch beside his… whatever he was.

Cas made a face. “Not sure they’d fit.”

Dean smiled, glancing at Cas’ hips and legs. He whacked him playfully on the thigh. “Come on, you should be able to squeeze those into a pair. Not like you’re fat. You’re just…” Dean couldn’t think of the word, and trailed off. Thick, muscular, large, beautiful. Yeah, all of that. Fuck. “Yeah, body’s shaped differently. But come on, I can get my bowlegs into these, you should be fine.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed, brushing Dean’s hand off of his leg.

“Fine.”

“Bottom drawer,” Dean said helpfully as Castiel went into his room.

Part of Dean wanted to follow him, wanted to watch him take off those sweatpants, or maybe even take them off for him. The jeans he was wearing were ripped at the knees, but he figured the skin of his knees would be fine with a bit of friction on the floor. Rugburn didn’t hurt too badly, not as bad as his hand still did. At least he’d somehow managed to get that taped and bandaged up. There was an ace wrap around it as well. So he was still able to function, use it for some things, just not all the sexy things going through his head at the moment.

Dean was drawn from his sensual reverie as there was a knock on the door. He went and answered it, apprehensive, gut twisting.

This was it.

Crowley knew. Zach knew. He was going to lose his dream, everything.

Dean sighed in relief, leaning against the open door when he saw it was just Sam. He was dressed in dress pants, a white button-up shirt, and a tie. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. In one hand was a yellow legal pad, a pen pressed between that and the crook of his thumb.

“What, you lawyering today or something?” Dean asked.

“Yes. The contract’s going to be sent over, and we have business to discuss apparently.”

Dean just stared at him, contemplating slamming the door in his face. Reality was not fun right now. He glanced back at his gatorade he’d left on the coffee table. Was there anyone around who could pull a Jesus and turn it into alcohol? Huh, maybe Sam. He had the look, what with the scruff and the hair and all.

Eventually Sam said, “Morning. Or…” He held up his wrist, looking at his watch. “Actually, no. Good afternoon.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and then let Sam in.

“Thanks for coming,” he eventually said, relenting, knowing it wasn’t his brother’s fault that any of this was happening.

But shit, he’d forgotten about the contract.

“You want anything to drink?” Dean asked, playing the gracious host.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Dean settled back down on the couch with his gatorade, and Sam eyed the blanket, taking a seat away from it.

Dean ignored the look, though he surely wanted answers. “So who’s dropping off the contract?”

“Don’t know.”

“When’ll they be here?”

“One.”

Dean sighed at that. Okay, he had some time to get Cas out of his hair.

A drawer slammed shut, and there was some cursing. Sam straightened, looking at the doors to Dean’s bedroom.

“Who else is here?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “A friend.”

Sam looked at Dean, then back at the doors, then Dean again.

“Is it that guy from last night? Dean, tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

Sam’s eyebrows, which had been furrowed with concern, now rose in a disbelieving look.

“He’s getting dressed. You can ask him yourself when he comes out. But” — Dean broke up his speech with a long swallow of gatorade — “I need to get rid of him somehow. Or, I don’t know, hide him. I kinda like having him around.”

“Dean, you’re not supposed to—”

“Like I said, I didn’t.”

“And okay, then what about the issue from last night? What exactly am I risking my license for today?”

“Car accident.”

“Are you serious?!”

That was when Castiel slid open the doors and walked back into the room. Dean noticed that the knuckles of his right hand were red, like they’d gotten slammed in a drawer. That must’ve been what had happened.

“Uh…”

That was Castiel, and Sam was already being business-like, getting up and going over to shake his hand.

“Sam Winchester,” he said. “And you are? I didn’t get your name from Dean yet.”

“Castiel,” he said, and then added, “uh… Novak.”

“So what’s the situation?” Sam asked.

The poor guy looked like a deer caught in headlights, so Dean went over and grabbed him, having him sit beside him. He couldn’t tell if Castiel liked that or not; he seemed neutral about it more than anything. Dean was far from neutral. He’d gotten a good look at Castiel in his jeans, and god, had it been a mistake to tell him he’d fit? He didn’t exactly, but wow, he looked damn good. The material hugged his body, and somewhere in Dean started pulsing as he eyed the unmistakable bulge of his denim-wrapped groin. Dean figured if Cas turned around he’d see the clothing hug his ass too, just like it did in the front and to his thighs.

Dean eyed him even as they sat together. He hadn’t noticed he’d drifted off and started biting on his bottom lip, till he heard Castiel talking about what had happened.

Thank god he was taking the lead. Dean still had a headache.

He zoned out till Garth arrived with the coffee, and as he started back over, Sam reprimanded, “You were supposed to come right back to the hotel.”

“What are you, my babysitter?” he snapped. 

He passed Castiel his coffee and packets of cream and sugar and sat back down. Dean had a sip of his own coffee, and saw Cas start preparing his the way he liked it.

Sam just breathed deeply and gave Dean a sympathetic look. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Dean, or-or… control you like what everyone else wants to do. I just want you to be careful. I know how much your music means to you.”

Dean argued, “Think having my own life is pretty important too.”

“That’s not what—”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Castiel asked. “What’s happening?”

Sam and Dean immediately shut up, and Dean turned to Cas with big eyes. Shit, he hadn’t meant for any of this to come up around him. They were just supposed to talk about Castiel’s car and the insurance company.

“Not important,” he eventually said.

Castiel didn’t just shrug it off as he expected. Instead, the strange man gave him a look that seemed to say a million things at once: I understand. I’m here if you need to talk. You’re not alone.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at that handsome face and into those startlingly blue eyes.

How the hell could he do that?

Sam cleared his throat, and both turned back to him.

“We can discuss it later,” Sam said. “And uh… Castiel, I’m not sure how good of a friend of my brother’s you are. I—”

Cas: “Oh, we just met last night. When he crashed his car into mine.”

Sam gave a tight smile, “Lovely.”

Dean wanted to roll his eyes at the tension he saw in Sam, but he didn’t. His brother was doing a big thing for him. Dean could at least repay him by not being an asshole for a couple of minutes.

The discussion was exhausting, but they eventually got it all sorted out, Sam taking notes on his yellow legal pad, and after a few Sam-dominated phone calls with various people and insurance agents, it was all settled.

And according to his watch it was one P.M.

Fuck.

There was a knock on the door.

Dean’s eyes went wide, and he grabbed Cas in a panic, while another hand reached out for his brother, as if he wanted to grab him to hide behind.

“Shit, shit. Cas, you gotta go.”

“Go where? I can’t leave, unless you have any ideas as to how I could survive the drop from the window.”

Dean got him up, pushing him over to the bedroom. “Bedroom,” he urged. “Stay quiet.”

Sam was going to get the door.

Dean tried sliding the bedroom doors closed, but Castiel held on just before they were about to obscure his face.

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Let you out soon, and uh… maybe get in the closet?”

“The closet? Dean!”

Footsteps sounded. Dean closed the doors, and then turned. He fixed his outfit, making it look like he’d just come out of his room from getting dressed and was straightening his clothes.

The man who had arrived was wearing white dress shoes. It was the first thing Dean noticed, and as his gaze traveled upwards, he stopped dead.

“Mr. Edlund.”

The dark-haired man with glimmering blue eyes who held a thick packet of papers smiled. “Please, call me Michael.”

[jaehyun-eclipsed]

Before I Met You | Seven

Updates: Sundays, 8 PM EST

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas…) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Warnings: Some swearing

Author’s Note: Sorry I’m a little late!!

Before I Met You Masterlist

Prev | Next

Jaehyun presses his lips together. “So…” He pauses and blinks a couple times. “It just ended like that?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah, it was pretty anticlimactic.” I sigh. “I knew exactly how it was going to end. I mean, I was never given a reason to think otherwise and yet, the irrational part of my mind still wanted to have hope.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that… so long as you don’t let it consume you.”

“The fact of the matter is – well, I didn’t really know him. I knew everything on the surface and that’s why, if you asked me to describe him…” I shake my head in disappointment. “… I can’t.”

“At least you got confirmation that he did like you,” he says. “That’s more than most people can get.”

Introspection.

Introspection is a double-edged sword. It is one of the single most useful tools for self-analyses as it gives you the ability to think about your past actions and how they affected you and others. And hopefully, each time you reflect, you learn something… something that you can file away in the archives of your mind in case it ever happens again; so that you know how to deal with it and hopefully have a better outcome compared to your initial exposure. However, it is also one of the best inducers of anxiety and regret. What if? What if I had done this instead? Would things have been different? And those questions lead you down a rabbit hole you do not want to go down. It’s a one-way ticket to overthinking and sleepless nights.

Lucas taught me that sometimes things just fizzle out for no apparent reason. There’s no big ending scene where you get all the answers you’re looking for. And you certainly can’t guarantee a happy ending. To my disappointment, Seulgi also had more control over him than I would have liked and probably more than he even acknowledged himself.

“But honestly,” Jaehyun says, pulling me from my thoughts, “it sounds like you dodged a bullet.”

“In retrospect, yes,” I say, solemnly. “The things that would have mattered in maintaining a long-term relationship weren’t there. We were way too incompatible.” I shrug. “But I was young and inexperienced and it’s not like I was expecting anything major. So no harm, no foul.”

“Why did a girl steal him at the end both times?”

“Uncanny, isn’t it?”

“What happened with Seulgi?”

“She and Lucas attended university together. They still never dated, as far as I’m aware. She moved away after graduating and basically dropped off the grid. I’m pretty sure she was just using him to feel good about herself – feel like she had control over a boy and was desired.”

“And you never heard from Lucas again?”

I think for a moment.

I did hear from him once more many years later. Perhaps it was something he did out of regret over what happened; a bread crumb to indicate that he still has an affinity for me and that he’ll always support me from afar.

 “Hello?” I say, picking up the phone.

“Hey! Did you see what Lucas posted on your Facebook page?” Hana asks.

“My what?”

“Yeah! Go look!”

I open the Facebook app on my phone, a single notification flashing red. When I tap on it, sure enough, Lucas had posted on my wall. One simple sentence that I would have never expected to hear from him in any form.

“Congratulations on getting into law school, Y/N!”

I don’t even have time to prevent the expletive from tumbling out of my mouth. “What the fuck?”

“Right?!”

“How did he even hear about this?”

“I don’t know. He must have heard it from someone you told.”

I ponder for a moment. “I didn’t really tell anyone… Though I did go visit our high school last week and mentioned it to some of the teachers. Maybe he heard that way.”

“I don’t know. But you know what this means!”

“What?”

“He still has the hots for you!”

I scoff. “He has a girlfriend, Hana.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have the hots for you,” she says, amusement underlying her tone.

I laugh. “Doubtful, but I’ll take your word for it!”

 Jaehyun rolls onto his side, propping his head up with his right arm.

“Well, I agree with Siwoo on one thing.” He smirks at me. “I think she was jealous of you.”

I give him a look of incredulity. “What?”

“Well, yeah. Sicheng confirmed it too,” he says, as if his statement was completely obvious. “Why else would she have pulled Lucas away so quickly at the dance? Besides, you also have more going for yourself than she does. And if she thrives off attention, it’s pretty likely she would have said something against you for the sake of keeping him at her beck and call.”

I frown. “That’s so silly, but you’re probably right.”

“Either that or he was intimidated by you – or both.”

He uses his free hand to caress my cheek, gently tilting my head to face him. “Hey,” he says with a smile, “I know I’m your boyfriend, so I’m probably biased, but I see you – I know what you’re like. I was intimidated by you – hell, I thought you were out of my league. There’s a pretty good chance he felt the same way. And there’s a pretty good chance that gave Seulgi a reason to be jealous.”

I hold his hand against my cheek, closing my eyes, enjoying his warmth before grinning at him.

“Yeah, you’re definitely biased,” I say, feeling flattered, yet slightly embarrassed as I wasn’t entirely convinced.

“But Y/N,” he says, “why do you think so many of your male friend’s girlfriends dislike you?”

I shrug. “I try not to put too much thought into it.”

He hums and nods his head. A moment of understanding.

I have a horrible habit of putting myself down more than I need to – thinking I’m not as good as how other people view me despite having the actual skills and abilities to back up those claims. I suppose it’s a form of insecurity. ‘Imposter syndrome’ is what they often call it. Despite having the résumé to demonstrate your abilities, you still never think you’re good enough.

Growing up, you’re told to remain humble – never bragging about yourself, being down-to-earth. But there’s a fine line between being humble and putting yourself down. And societal standards can be confusing. Be confident, but don’t be arrogant. Be strong and independent, but not so much that you intimidate people. Stand your ground, but be accommodating. It’s difficult to find that balance because it’s a mental exercise of weighing yourself. There’s no solid definition of where the line is. And unfortunately, I haven’t been very successful at determining where the line is as I set very high bars for myself, causing me to overcompensate in trying to remain modest; and recently, I’ve been beginning to wonder if I’ve been doing more harm to myself than good.

And so, while Jaehyun makes a good point and while I have enough confidence in myself to know that I’m good at what I do and have done rather well for myself, I have tried to remain humble at the detriment of my overall self-worth.

“Hey, Jae!” I call from his bathroom as I swipe my cheeks with a link pink blush.

“Yes, love?”

“Do you want to take a walk after dinner?”

“Yeah, I was thinking we could walk along the river nearby.”

Jaehyun and I are rather private people. We’ve had to be for the sake of our relationship. Oftentimes, when we go out to dinner, we choose to go to upscale restaurants and reserve private tables in the back. It sounds pretentious, but we do it for the privacy. It’s better if no one sees us together.

And truth be told, there’s something so thrilling about having to keep our relationship relatively secret. The excitement of possibly getting caught gives me this rush – not to say I purposely put us into compromising situations, because I don’t. But having this secret that I get to keep because I know it’s just for me, gives me more of a high than I’d like to admit.

Tonight, we’re at one of our favorite downtown restaurants, seated in the corner, white-clothed and candlelit table providing a cozy and romantic atmosphere to contrast the chilly spring evening. He looks handsome and sophisticated in his standard black suit and tie with loafers; it’s a look that I’ll never tire from. I’ve chosen to match with a fitted mahogany red turtleneck, black leggings, knee-high boots, and all the gold accessories to match. We admire it now as we know it’ll all end up on the floor in a hasty attempt to undress later.

As per usual, he’s decided to order filet mignon and I’ve opted for grilled salmon with a white cranberry sauce.            

I prop my chin up on my fists and smile at him. “So,” I begin, “why did you decide to make the leap?”

“What leap?”

“To go out with me.”

Shortly after I had asked Jaehyun out, a pandemic had broken out, causing most of the world to shut down. He hadn’t given me an answer yet and because of the circumstances, we couldn’t contact each other.

“When we were on lockdown, I had a lot of time to think,” he says. “I realized that life is too short to not do the things we want to do or to tell people how we feel.”

He reaches for both of my hands and cradles them in his, gently kissing my fingers, allowing his mouth to linger on them for a moment more.

“We’re not promised tomorrow.”

I start to laugh and he looks at me, baffled and slightly offended that I didn’t take his tender words to heart.

“What?!” he exclaims, on the edge of laughter. “I was being serious!”

“I know!” My giggling continues. “But it took a pandemic to occur for you to realize that?!”

He looks down at the table, a slight twinge of red in his cheeks.

“No…” he says, clearly embarrassed. “It’s just I –”

He’s at a loss for words, fiddling with my fingers in his hand as he stares at the table, completely dumbfounded. He sighs.

“It was a sort of a split second decision. I thought about it for a while and then I woke up one morning and said, ‘Forget it, I’m gonna go out with her.’”

“Well, I applaud your bravery,” I say with a smirk. “And I’m very grateful for it.” I raise his hand to kiss it. “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with such a wonderful man if you hadn’t.”

“For the record, you’re a lot different than I imagined you to be.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “How so?”

He shrugs. “I mean, I knew you – like… knew who you were, but didn’t know you.” He purses his lips and hums. “I knew you were nice and smart and beautiful, but –”

“But what?” I interject with a cunning smile. “You thought I shopped at Saks Fifth and ate caviar for breakfast?”

“No! Of course not!” He looks at me, horrified that I would suggest such a thing, like he couldn’t imagine ever disrespecting me like that. It’s endearing.

I look down at the table and smile. “I don’t even like caviar,” I mumble.

He chuckles. “No, I – I guess I was surprised at how low-key you are.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “Like – you have the look.”

“What look?”

“I – you do realize that you’re quite intimidating, right?”

I frown. “No?”

“You are very attractive,” he states simply. “And you dress very well and carry yourself in a very… sophisticated manner. I don’t know, when you first walked in, I thought you’d be a bit more privileged… going to art museums and eating at expensive restaurants… being a bit more outspoken.”

My jaw drops with an exaggerated gasp. “So you did think I ate caviar for breakfast!” I tease.

“All right, maybe the very first time you walked in,” he admits. “But after speaking to you, no.”

I shake my head in mocked disappointment as our orders are placed in front of us. The previous topic, though creating immense curiosity, was left forgotten.

“Do you miss college?” Jaehyun asks as he places several slices of his filet mignon onto my plate.

“No, not at all.”

“I guess I better not ask you to write a favorable review,” he quips.

I chuckle. “Let’s put it this way, I was grateful for the opportunity I had, but it wasn’t the greatest experience I’ve ever had.” Sighing, I follow with, “I wasn’t happy most of the time.”

A look of concern washes over his face. “Why not?”

“My first year was really hard… Classes were difficult and I had trouble making friends because I was never really in the mood to be around people. Most of the people I did meet weren’t what I was looking for. It was difficult to talk to them.”

“Did it ever get better?”

I smile.

Mark.

Mark made it better.

“Yes.” I nod slowly. “But it didn’t last for very long.”

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