#who knew drawing an even mustache was so difficult

[weloveabigblackcar]

This song is just Mumbo coded and I can’t explain it

[tehuti88-art]

12/22/23: r/SketchDaily theme, "Tree Week: Free Draw Finale." (I did regular Free Draw Friday.)

This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Sergeant Major Champere. He's the leader of the French resistance forces. He's a good guy but has rather an attitude problem and can be difficult to deal with. There'll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding his design, he went through the wringer in the Great War, so his ears are nicked and torn and he has a burn scar over his eye; his vision was impaired but not blinded. He wears an old kepi (yes, I finally learned the name of the hat Louis Dobermann wears).

TUMBLR EDIT: Champere dates to before the circa-2000 reboot, I believe, yet his character has never been significantly developed. All I really knew was I'm not quite sure of his rank--major or sergeant major?--or if he was even truly in the military, and that he's a jerk. Although he receives advance warning of the planned German attack on Trench Rat Headquarters, he refuses to get involved or warn them--he even orders Papillon to say nothing--until after the fact. It's Didrika's partisan forces who arrive first to help the beleaguered Rats, despite the Rats being on closer terms with the French partisans. And you can bet that Didrika gives Champere the tongue-lashing to end all tongue-lashings for it. And likely tosses a few curses and evil eyes at him while she's at it. (Even Boris, who can't stand the Trench Rats, considers it a dirty move.) AND although he belatedly sends his men to offer after-the-fact aid, he never apologizes or explains himself, so for quite a while, Trench Rat/French relations are severely strained; Papillon, deeply humiliated (as well as hurt--Drake Rat, with whom he's quite close, is captured in the attack), is left to try to patch things up between the two groups. Champere mellows out a bit as the series goes on, but never quite warms to the Americans.

I always just assumed Champere--that's likely not even his real name--was a snobby a-hole. His character has never been dropped from the story, though I've never paid much attention to him either, not being interested. As I chose him from my to-do drawing list and started brainstorming his appearance--he was going to have a mustache, but how do you do that and whiskers?--he finally, grudgingly opened up to me a tiny bit. But just a tiny bit. Many details, including his life history and his reason for distrusting the Trench Rats so much, are still unknown. I imagine they'll start emerging sometime soon, now that he's made it clear he's not just a boring snob.

I've long suspected shadiness on Champere's part. Sergeant Major or Major? He's named the first on the character list, but I swear someplace he was referred to as Major. Was he ever even really in the military? Because he's not leading a military unit now--yet still goes by a military rank. Is he some kind of fraud? Is it a Red Badge Of Courage situation and he just assumed command after mistakenly being perceived as a war hero? Is he crazy? From what little I know so far, it's all kind of complicated.

You notice I mentioned the Great War. Champere is indeed originally a military man. He has the wounds to prove it. He also has the bottomless hatred of Germans. I'm toying with him having encountered Captain Himmel, who also fought in the Great War--while underage--though it's unlikely as Himmel ran into Sergeant Camo Rat back then, and it just seems like too many coincidences, but who knows. He obviously had a rough time of it however, given his scars, so I imagine some of the hatred comes from that. He probably saw a lot of his fellows die miserable deaths in the trenches and it's left him not just bitter but nationalistic. Thus, he dislikes Americans as well, even though they're allied.

I suspect as well that Champere is a little...not all there. I think maybe a lot of his paranoid, erratic behavior can be chalked up to mental imbalance. He was likely a sergeant major in the Great War...now that he finds himself with a partisan unit behind enemy lines (HOW a group of "French partisans" came to be in Germany is never explained, same as all these groups of Allies fighting on German soil--this was based on my childhood misunderstandings of WWII and I haven't retconned any explanation for it yet), he's assumed the title of "Major" although everyone knows he's not one; they humor him, because even though he obviously has some screws loose, he's still a charismatic, intelligent, effective leader. His irrational distrust of others can be a liability sometimes--as it is with the attack on the Trench Rats--yet this incident is more of an exception than the rule, and his men decide it's worth the risk.

That being said, Champere avoids fighting except when absolutely necessary, and then when a victory is almost ensured. His group seems more invested in gathering intel and doing heavy work that doesn't involve direct combat. One major incident I know of where his men aid the Trench Rats is when they find an abandoned camp in the woods and need to handle the bodies; Didrika's guys for once aren't so helpful due to superstition, so Champere sends some of his guys to carry away the dead instead. (See Reseda's entry.) They also frequently trade with the Rats and Didrika's partisans. Again, I'm not sure why any of this is, why these guys are in Germany if it's not primarily to fight...

...

...Hm.

Uh. Anyway. That particular detail needs to percolate, and indeed, you just saw my brain hiccup with a tiny bit of an idea. It only JUST peeped into my head, and may be forgotten tomorrow...but as I said...percolation. Is that a word? Well, it is now.

I'm picking this up again after sleeping and WELP, indeed, more of Champere's story is coming out. Normally I'd start gushing it out here, but it's still heavily under development, is really weird and convoluted, either needs research or for me to make it up whole cloth (considering how much of it seems based on a mix of semi-religious psychotic delusion and actual supernatural experience), and to share it while it's so nascent would be a mistake. As a teaser, some of the stuff that's begun to emerge (which is all subject to change) is: A WWI battlefront vision, Turquoise and Nixie, the earliest days of Projekt Weltuntergang, the Thule Society, a secret pledge and a mission (maybe finally explaining why/how these French guys end up in Germany?), and Holy Roman Emperor Otto the Great. So...yeah. It's looking a tad bit wild at the moment.

Anyway. I mentioned that Champere does mellow out somewhat as the storyline goes on, though never completely. Despite his inaction re: the attack on Headquarters, the situation does wear on him; after an obviously aggrieved Papillon fills him in on the outcome, he doesn't bother to turn around and look him in the eye, and reiterates his decision, but then quietly adds, "I'm sorry for your loss," indicating that he knows about Papillon's and Drake's discreet relationship. He's fully committed to not intervening for whatever reason, he believes in all his heart that he's doing the necessary thing, yet he does feel guilt over the outcome. He's driven by impulses he can't explain yet believes he must follow for the greater good...a sign common to both mental illness and religion, which look like they're gearing up to be big themes in Champere's story. When Drake is finally liberated and Camo returns, Champere acts out of character in personally letting them know he's grateful that they're back. Drake is simply too worn out by his experience to harbor any anger; that's Camo's reaction. He feels intense spite over Champere's refusal to warn them, and doesn't accept his comments graciously. There's some difficulty convincing Camo to work with him to get everything wrapped up.

I'm not entirely sure what happens to Champere toward the end; given the turn the plot is taking, I assume he survives the war, and almost certainly plays a previously undisclosed role in Ultima Thule. If he's indeed still alive and it's not just a matter of him leaving info behind, then this means a likely collision with/culmination of events that were set in motion way back on the Western Front of WWI. Champere isn't COMPLETELY crazy. He just has a strange way of viewing and interpreting the things he's experiencing.

And that's where I guess I have to leave things for now; no point hashing it out yet when it's still so embryonic and highly subject to change. I'm not even sure if Champere survives the storyline or not, though he almost certainly plays a role in the outcome (i. e., the fall of Jäger's proposed Fourth Reich and the destruction of the Alpine Fortress). It's a conclusion that encompasses two wars and almost thirty years, so I imagine it'll need quite a bit of ironing out to see the light of day.

[Champere 2023 [‎Friday, ‎December ‎22, ‎2023, ‏‎3:00:23 AM]]

[hottieivy]

jjk boys + k-drama clichés (pt.1)

warnings: use of word ‘razor’ in nanami’s part

pairings: yuuji, megumi, inumaki, panda, gojo, nanami x gn!reader genre: fluff.......?  i felt like it was getting a too long, so i split it into two parts, part 2 includes choso, toji, yuta, geto and noritashi. after that i want to move on to jjk women with the same topic. :P  your support makes me feel motivated!

FALLING ASLEEP WHILE RIDING A BUS: yuuji, is as sleepy as you are, on your way back to Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, but you're the first to fall asleep in the back of the bus. you can no longer carry your head and with heavy eyes swinging in the void, you find a shoulder to lean on. yuuji turns his head to you with his eyes wide open and a slight blush formed on his cheeks ughhh stops all life functions so as not to disturb your sleep lol he literally stops breathing

WRIST GRAB: megumi, who had just returned from a mission, was covered in blood and bruises as usual. seeing him like this upsets you every time, no matter how much you’ve seen it already. you went to visit his dorm room, just to meet his beautiful face wrapped in bandages. you noticed he was asleep, so you left the fruit plate on the nightstand and sat next to him on the bed. ’’you want to help people, but do you really have to hurt yourself so badly every time, without even caring about yourself?’’ you complained to yourself in a quiet voice. despite his wounds he had a peaceful expression on his face. ’’i’m proud of you and i’d be lying if i say that i don’t like taking care of you. but seeing you in pain is not something i can get used to nor like’’ you continued. after watching him for a little longer, a sigh left your lips as got out of bed to leave the room, but a rough hand wrapped around his wrist prevented you from doing so. ’’could you stay with me a little longer?’’ he said with his eyes still closed. a surprised, ’hey!’ left your lips with a laugh, then you sat back on the bed, this time to lie down next to him. ’’i didn’t know you liked being scolded so much’’ you said teasingly, ’’please shut up i’m in enough pain already’’ megumi said with a little smile forming on his face.

RICH GUY, POOR GIRL: gojo, lmao do i really need to say anything? you’re probably in debt to him for some ridiculous setback, and he’s not letting go of this debt that he doesn’t normally care about, just because he likes to mock you, and now you’re gojo’s part-time servant until you pay off your debt. yup, that kind of thing. good luck

VISITING HOME TOGETHER: inumaki, what’s worse than a boyfriend you can’t communicate with verbally? it’s a trip to meet his family, which you can’t also communicate verbally! you knew they can communicate through telepathy instead of words, and it just made you feel even more nervous. in fact that so you’ve never felt so anxious in your whole life, you even wondered if this trip was a bad idea. to your surprise, communicating with them wasn’t as difficult as you might think, because they all know sign language and they were the nicest people, slowing down so you could catch. after having a light brunch all together and inumaki telling you that there was a place he wanted to show you, you guys decided to go for a walk with picnic baskets with little onigiri and snacks on your arm. a soft ’’tuna, tuna!’’ sound informed you that you have come to the end of your walk; an azure sky, a small waterfall and the most beautiful shades of green greeted your eyes, it was almost like a monet painting. you didn’t notice how time passed when you were out there on a little picnic in the green, listening to music and drawing bad paintings of the scenery. you thought to yourself, maybe this whole trip home was about showing you the secret place he liked to go when he was little. maybe that wasn’t a bad idea at all 

SECOND LEAD SYNDROME: panda, a character that everyone likes but nobody ,,, loves ?? </3 panda i feel u

SHAVING MUSTACHE/BEARD: nanami, was not one to disrupt his personal care. so you were surprised when you felt his growing beard while giving him a kiss this morning. it led you to the moment that he was sitting in a chair in the bathroom right now, with you sitting on his lap, his arms around your waist and he was leaning back with a towel that you wrapped around his neck, and a little warm towel over his eyes and shaving foam on his face. his pointed jaw, wide jawbones and adams apple in your perspective made you regret for a moment that you covered his beautiful facial contours with foam. as his soft blonde hair fell back, nanami, looked as breathtaking as ever. you dipped the razor in the bowl to get it wet, then you turned to him and said in a playful tone, “okay, here i go. it's in your best interest not to move!” and with a slight smile on his face, he lifted the heavy, wet towel over his eyes to show a single eye staring admiringly at you. in an almost cynical tone, he said something that seemed more like a question than an answer: ‘’i trust you, darling’’

[beskarhearts]

Tension (Javier Peña x reader)

gif credits @bestintheparsec

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: mentions of drinking/prostitution, use of the word whore, canon typical violence (shooting), cursing, SOFFTTT Javi (bc I am a hoe for it)

Word count: over 7.1K

Summary: Your relationship with Javier Peña was complex enough and becoming a source to relieve tension for each in a surprising way made it even harder to navigate.

Notes: SURPRISE SHAWTY! I have never written for someone other than Din so I am pretty nervous about this. I love Javi so so so much but I don't know if I write him well. So please give me your honest opinions, like, reblog, share, etc. It means the world to me!

______________________________________

You knew who was knocking at your door before you even opened it. You didn’t know how you always knew but something deep down in you could always just tell, almost instinctually - like your gut knew it before your mind even did. It wasn't like the knock always followed the same pattern. No tell-tale melody that echoed into the still walls of your apartment that clearly indicated whose hand was knocking away. It was always sharp and short but never quiet the same. Yet you knew.

You let out a small puff of air as you dragged your legs over to the door, tossing it open and not even sparing a glance at your visitor as you stumbled to the bottle of whiskey on the empty coffee table you had. “I’m trying to drink into complete oblivion. Go away.”

You poured the golden liquid into the cup, giving yourself a more than fair portion which you greedily gulped. You allowed the warmth of it to wash over you, fill your senses if only for a moment. The silence continued to drag on and you thought that maybe, just maybe, he had left until a husky, hoarse voice spoke out. "Care if I join?"

He sounded exhausted, beaten down. You supposed you sounded the same but it seemed to be more impactful when he was. He sometimes tried to seem so cocky and put together in front of you, didn't ever want his tough façade to crack in front of other people. But in the end, you were both fighting the same battle - one that often left you feeling hollow at the end of the day.

You looked around the apartment you had, your eyes dancing across the plain walls and rarely used furniture. It had become a place for you to merely sleep and drink, and thats if you even had time to drag yourself home. It was empty and lonesome and it had none of the warmth or refuge that a home was supposed to offer. It reminded you of yourself - cold and bare and vacant. And you didn't want to be reminded of that. Hence why you were seeking some semblance of something within the alcohol that danced over your tongue.

Maybe he needed the same. Or maybe you were just hoping he could be the something that would make things a little better.

"Knock yourself out, Peña." you finally spoke, your own voice laced with the kind of exhaustion that was so strong that it made it so you couldn't even sleep. Like sleep and rest was a foreign concept meant for people that weren't you. Meant for people more deserving and more normal. You finally turned as the dark-haired man leant forward, his fingers grazing yours as he grabbed at the bottle. You tried to ignore the rush that ran through you at the contact but after all, isn't that why you allowed him to stay?

He brought the bottle directly to his lips, taking a long sip from it as his eyes fluttered slightly. You scoffed as you walked away, dropping your body on the couch you had and looking up at him. "Thanks for drinking out of the bottle, asshole."

You held out your cup as he neared, allowing him to pull it from his lips and pour it into your glass. Once he had done so, he sat down on the couch next to you and leaned back, letting out a long sigh. You couldn't help the way you studied his face. His brows were furrowed, looking almost stuck in the position, as well as the wrinkles on his forehead that were scrunched up. His neck was trickled with sweat from the baring heat of Columbia as his chest rose and fell, his button-up shirt revealing some of the skin of his collarbone. He took another long sip of the whiskey, bringing the bottle to rest at the coffee table. "This whiskey tastes like shit."

"Then go home and drink your own whiskey." you countered, taking a sip before bringing your own glass down to the table, next to the bottle.

His head lolled over to look at you, brown eyes tracing over your own as you settled into the couch more, bringing your legs up. "I don't want to go home."

The words were said so softly and you understood them. The brokenness and the wear and tear of the job. You tried your best to give him a small smile but was afraid your own face was stuck in a scowl of sorts. "Then don't complain about my liquor."

A small chuckle finally left his lips at your joke, warm air that smelled like cigarettes and whiskey fanning over you. You didn't want to bask in it, show you enjoyed it. But for some reason you did. You had hated the stench of cigarettes before. Thought it was absolutely deplorable. But that was before Peña. Before the smell of cigarettes and liquor always made you think of the DEA agent you had come to simultaneously despise in some ways but also admired greatly in others.

You tried to pull yourself from the endless stream of thoughts that ran through your head, all of which consisting of Javier Peña. But you found it difficult to and you didn't know if it was because the effects of the liquor or the intoxicating pull that he somehow had on you. A small gasp almost left your lips as one of his hands reached out to grab at your knee, coarse fingers gently drawing small movements into your skin that felt like they were being etched into the deepest chamber of your mind. These were the small things that he did that stayed with you. Things you would sporadically remember throughout your day and would make your stomach do twists.

"Peña, what are you doing here?" you asked, not pulling away from his movements despite the future wellbeing of your mind begging you to do so.

"Call me Javier."

You froze, raising a skeptical eyebrow as he turned away from you, staring straight into the bottle that sat in front of him. You couldn't remember a time you had ever called him by his first name. When you had first met him, you had called him Agent Peña and he had teased you for doing so ruthlessly. Saying how your experience in D.C. had made you too much of a goody two-shoes for Columbia. You had resented it at first but ultimately let it get to you, instead calling him just Peña. Calling him his last name had just been a natural thing now, something you always did. First names felt too personal, too deep. Like you were stepping over the lines of work and into a darker territory you couldn't make your way through.

But he had asked.

"Javi, what are you doing here?" you repeated, trying to ignore the way the softer nick name had slipped from your lips rather than his full name. You didn't even know where it came from but it felt more natural.

He let out a small hum, bringing his hand up to run over his face and down his strong nose and past his mustache. "I don't know. Needed some company I guess."

"Isn't that what the whore houses are for?" You didn't mean for it to sound so harsh but the inkling of resentment you held deep within you had managed to slip out. Javier's hand slowly left your knee as he rested them on his thighs, fingers spread and clenching. You shouldn't have said it, shouldn't have made things less civil than they were.

"I guess I wanted your company." he admitted, reaching forward for the bottle and taking a big chug. Your gaze wandered over his back and neck, the muscles seeming so tight. He wasn't relaxing at all. He was so full of tension that it seemed to radiate off him.

You would blame the whiskey on it later, though you knew deep down you hadn't had enough to warrant this behavior from yourself. You would never mention it again. But you let your hand settle on his shoulders, making him freeze. You waited for him to push you away or tell you off, but when he didn't you let your fingers just barely dig into the muscle. His shoulders settled back as he seemed to lean into the touch, his eyes falling closed as his head tilted back softly.

You shimmied your way behind him, each knee on either side of his back as he moved forward to give you more room to settle behind him. You dug your hands in deeper, letting them push into the muscle that seemed as hard as a rock. You pushed into it, worried you had been too hard but a small moan left Javi's lips that sounded like blissful heaven to your ears. It seemed to echo throughout the primarily empty apartment, or maybe that was just your mind playing it over and over again like it was scripture.

"Relax, Javi." you whispered as your hands lowered slightly, digging into the muscles of his back.

A groan this time, one that sounded just as beautiful as the first noise. You closed your eyes, soaking in the contact. You wouldn't admit it but you were desperate for it. Simple touches at the office seemed to light you on fire sometimes. A brush of the shoulder, a hand on your back as he made his way past you, a nudge on your side to get your attention. All of it had felt like so much. But this... this was too much in the most addictive way.

Minutes had passed before your hands made their way up to his neck, lightly massaging the skin there as your eyed his hair. It was always so enticing and so soft. Fuck it. You ran your fingers up and into his hair, letting them spread over his head and he definitely leaned into the touch then, a small sigh leaving his lips.

You knew Javier Peña had been touched. His reputation was no secret. But you wondered if he ever got this. Was physical contact limited to a rough fuck in his apartment with some woman he had to pay afterwards? Or did another's fingers dance and dig and knead into his skin like yours was right now? When was the last time someone had softly ran his hands through his hair with the lone goal to just relax him?

"Bebita..." The word drew out of his lips slowly, almost as if in a prayer. He had called you it once before, shortly after you started, and you had scolded him for it. You remembered the way you had jabbed a finger into his chest, ridiculing him for using such a term with you. But it no longer sounded sinister or condescending like it had that time. It was soft and gentle and you wanted to hear it over and over again. Part of you wanted to beg for it, plead for the word to spill from the lips you admired daily, but you couldn't do it.

Your fingers ran through his hair, down his shoulders and back one last time before you slowly pulled them away. You didn't move from the position you were in, allowing his lower body to pin you against the back of the couch and for your legs to anchor into his sides.

A silence flowed through the room but this one didn't seem as lonesome and volatile as it usually felt when you were by yourself. It was filled with the soft breathing of you and Peña, the small shuffle of his leg as he shifted his head to look back at you. Your breath caught in your throat as he turned his body slightly, eyes staring straight into yours. "Thank you."

You nodded dumbly, your hands coming together so you could twiddle them with the nervousness that filled your body. You were usually so strong, so defiant, so loud. But he had melted you like butter and you felt like you could barely breathe with the way he was looking at you.

When he rose from the couch, you let out a small breath in relief. He would leave, maybe go to one of the women who kept him bed warm, and you could pretend this never happened. Not a word would be mentioned of it and you would see him at the office tomorrow like nothing happened, ignoring the phantom traces of his skin that danced across your fingertips and the way cigarette smoke and the scent of whiskey he exuded seemed to wrap your whole body up and soak you in it like some sort of intoxicating bath.

He slowly made his way to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle but pausing at it. He faced away from you and you looked up at him slowly.

"Goodnight, Peña." Confirmation. It was you telling him to go do what he did and to pretend that you hadn't shared that moment with him. Allow yourselves to both dwindle on it independently but never dare delve into what it just might mean because that would come with answers you don't think either of you were prepared to face.

A small sigh left his lips as he opened the door, offering a small "Goodnight" before he closed it behind him.

Your eyes drifted to the bottle of whiskey, the one his lips had been on, and you brought your hands to your face. The aftershave he used filled your senses and became all you could smell. You tore your hands away and rushed to the small kitchen, where you scrubbed at your hands like they had been stained with blood.

_________

"Thank you for... last night."

Your head whipped up as you found Peña at the head of your desk, hands resting on it as he leant forward so he could quietly speak the words to you, avoiding any other ears that might barge in on such a sensitive topic.

You raised an eyebrow. He wasn't supposed to mention it. He was supposed to pretend it never happened. Not walk to your desk while you were working and thank you for it.

"It's fine, Peña." you said back, trying to keep your voice even and clear. Act like you had nothing to hide. That you had felt nothing and that the feeling of him hadn't been seared into your brain all night and made it impossible to sleep.

You could see Murphy's head pop up slightly, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Pena's softened face and your perplexed one. You cleared your throat and dug a file out from under your desk, opening it and pretending to read the words. But the agent still lingered at your desk, so close that you felt like your chest was tightening up. "You need something, Peña, or just enjoying the view?"

Yes. Sarcastic remarks and plain stares were what you needed. What had to happen because if he looked at you like that anymore and you said something, even the smallest thing, everything would spill over. Peña finally straightened up, fingers dragging off your desk as he looked down at you, his face morphing for the same softness he had used last night to his usual scrunched up eyebrows and plain stare. "No, agent."

You tried to ignore the way the words seemed to be said with some grit, some non-discernible layer that was soaked with annoyance or frustration or maybe even...hurt? You didn't dare look at him again as he walked away, leaving only you and Murphy sitting at your desks. Your eyes traced over the same word over and over again as Murphy let out a small noise.

"Did you sleep with Peña?"

Your head whipped up as your glared at Murphy, the blond-haired man looking slightly intimidated by the harshness in your eyes. "Jesus Christ, Murphy! Do I look like one of Peña's whores?"

"Then what was he thanking you for last night for?"

You had hoped Peña had spoken the words quietly enough but Murphy was after all an agent and could read in between the lines well enough to detect a change in the air between you two. You softened your harsh expression, still giving Murphy a critical look but not one that could kill. "He just... came over for a drink. That's all."

Murphy paused, his eyebrows just slightly bunching together as he looked you up and down like he was trying to find the slightest inconsistency so he could piece together something far more exciting than a drink. But hadn't that been it? A drink and sure, a lousy massage. But nothing else. Nothing special. "A drink?"

"Yes. A drink."

"Why?"

You weren't surprised by the question. You and Peña had a relatively complicated relationship. It had started off with a lot of disdain and aggravation. You were a strong woman, new to Columbia, and you weren't about to be swindled around by the man whore of the DEA. You didn't even have to know the rumors to know that was the case. All it took was walking in the room and seeing his sly looks and flirtatious quips he had given you at first, until he realized you weren't going to fall prey to his good looks and charm.

But once he settled down, realized you were going to be his and Murphy's partner and you were serious about the work, your relationship became amicable. You worked well together - more than you had thought possible initially. You couldn't quiet find out why but you were able to read him pretty well, even more than you usually could with your co-workers. Maybe that was why you always knew it was him knocking or knew when he walked into a room before you even saw him. But you two worked together. So for a while you two remained steady partners with a good work flow.

But once the curtain had been pulled back and you realized Javier Peña might be something other than a work-junkie man whore, you started to appreciate him. You admired his determination and work ethic, because while the man could be brash and a little hot-headed, he had good intentions behind what he did at work. You identified and respected the passion. He wanted to nail Escobar just as badly as you did. Hell, maybe even more. And while it wasn't clear upon first glance and it took you a while to see it, he cared. He cared about people. He might not have loved them but he even cared about the girls from the brothels he visited. He cared about Murphy and you think somewhere deep down, he might of given a shit or two about you.

But it wasn't anything obvious. You don't think anyone would point to you two and remark about how great of friends you were or anything of the sort. In the end, you weren't friends - not really. Or maybe you were in some fucked way that made sense for people like you and Peña. You didn't normally question it. And while you had wondered why he had come to your place for a drink last night, it made sense to you. You couldn't explain why but it just did.

You looked back at Murphy, realizing you had gotten lost in thought and hadn't answered his question. You shrugged slightly, trying to appear non-committal and unbothered. "I don't know. Maybe one of his girls was too busy for him last night."

_________

Five nights. In a row.

You would hear the knock at your door and you would answer every single time, knowing who it was and knowing what would happen. If the whiskey bottle wasn't already out, you would grab it from a cabinet and let him sip from it directly and make a sly comment about how bad it was. There were a couple nights he would try to make conversation but he either didn't know what to say or was too exhausted to try to stall the inevitable. Eventually your hands would land on him and knead into his muscles, stripping it of its tension until he walked out of your apartment.

Javier hadn't bothered to say anything at work again. No additional thank you's or asking if it would happen again. You and him both knew it remained better unspoken and unplanned. You both would rather just have him turn up at your door. Even when it was just you two in the cloak of darkness that wrapped around your apartment, he didn't say anything about it.

Tonight was the first time in a few days you didn't think you would make it home but perhaps to your dismay (or maybe your luck), Javier wouldn't be either. Murphy had given up not long ago at all, leaving the office with a loose tie and frazzled state of mind, muttering something about seeing his wife. The rest of the people had been long gone by then meaning once Murphy left, it was just you and Peña sat at desks across from each other, staring into an endless void of paperwork.

You couldn't tell what time it was, not that it would matter anyways with how much reading you had to do. The less glamorous and exciting side of being a DEA agent meant loads of paperwork and reading, something you hated more than you could describe. You finally blinked, realizing you hadn't done so in a while with the way your eyeballs were stinging. You looked around your desk and let out a grunt. Seven paper cups lined the front of it and you raised an eyebrow. Had you really had seven cups of coffee? Papers were strewn all about, so many little letters that seemed to swim in your mind and become muddled symbols to your weary eyes. The room was mostly dark, except for the glow of your lamp and Javier's.

"You okay?"

You jumped slightly, the sound starling you after what had seemed to be hours of silent reading with the occasional rustle of paper work, sips of caffeine, and puffs of Javier's cigarette. You looked up at Javier who looked just as disheveled as you felt. He had long forgotten his jacket, that was now thrown over the back of his chair with an arm dragging over the floor. His tie was on his desk and a couple buttons of his shirt had been undone. His hair was rustled, like he had been running his hands through it (and looking like it usually did when you were done massaging your own fingers through it). His eyes were lidded but he looked over at you intently.

"Yeah." you croaked out, feeling like the sound of your own voice was foreign after not talking for so long. "Just...exhausted."

"You should go home."

"Nah. I'm not going to sleep. Just drink whiskey and-" You froze. What were going to finish that with? And wait for you to show up at my door?

Peña didn't seem to want you to finish your answer, either because he could fill the restnin on his own or because he didn't care. "You look tense."

"Oh, yeah. Just the compliment every woman wants to hear." you joked, leaning back into your chair and giving Peña a sly smile that he returned.

"Well I tried to call you beautiful once and you yelled at me."

You snorted that time, remembering the memory clearly. Peña had called you hermosa once and you had told him to fuck off, thinking he was trying to just get under your skin. "Yeah. I did."

"If it helps, you look-"

"Don't." you said abruptly. You couldn't handle that. Peña was smooth with everyone but you didn't need him doing it with you. You were already twisted up enough.

"I was going to say you look exhausted as well." Peña cheekily said, one end of his lips quirking up into a small grin.

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks."

You looked back down at your desk, grabbing a piece of paper and lamely looking at it. You didn't look up when you heard Javier rise from his seat and his steps echo into the empty room. You assumed he was leaving, having given up on getting any more work done. That was until you felt two hands rest on your shoulders.

You sat straight up, your body becoming stiff as your felt the hands spread over your shoulders. They were so warm, even through your shirt. You let out a soft sigh when you felt his fingers dig into your shoulders, applying a perfect amount of pressure that felt heavenly.

"This okay?" he softly asked.

You nodded your head. "Yeah, Javi."

He continued pressing into your muscles, each one seeming to relax almost instantaneously with his touch. You hadn't even realized how stiff and sore you had been. How much your body was craving something like this.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you leaned into his touch, letting out a groan when he dug deep into a really wound up spot. "Your muscles feel like shit." he said as his hands drifted lower to your upper back.

"You are full of compliments tonight." you softly said.

"Sorry, bebita." You let out a small hum at the nick name, letting a small smile tilt your lips. Javi was close enough to feel the warmth of his body, to smell cigarettes and the aftershave that had seemed to be stuck to your hands for days now.

Javier seemed to pick up on the small noise before you had, ripping his hands away from you right as the door to the room opened. You sat up straight, grabbing at a piece of paper lamely as Javier shuffled behind you.

'God damn, Murphy.' you thought as the taller agent looked at the two of you, raising an eyebrow.

"I just forgot something." he quietly said, walking to his desk where he grabbed his wallet. He looked back at you two, raising an eyebrow at the way Peña awkwardly started to walk towards his own desk. "Did I interrupt something?"

You sighed, standing up from your desk and grabbing your jacket. "Nope. I was just about to head out for the night."

"Me too." Peña said, grabbing his own jacket and giving you and Murphy a single nod before marching out of the room.

Steve looked back at you, a single eyebrow raised. "Okay. What happened?"

"Nothing. I was just showing him a paper." you muttered, grabbing a file to bring home, already knowing you wouldn't be sleeping at all with the way your mind was whirring.

"What paper?" Murphy critically asked, following after you as you ushered out of the room.

"DEA stuff." you mumbled, hating how you felt like you were being integrated by one of your own partners.

"That's not vague at all." he teased, a small smile popping up on his face as he saw how you were getting more and more flustered.

"Fuck off, Murphy." you huffed, marching out of the office and leaving him behind.

________

The knock on your door this time was much harsher and louder, still enough for you to know who it was but also enough to know Peña was in no good mood tonight. You had come to look forward to the nightly visits but today had been a field day for you that had gone very awry. You were tired and you felt like you were burnt to pieces, crumbling to ash before everybody’s eyes but nobody could put you back together because the damage had already been done.

You waited a few moments but when the knocking presumed at a much faster rate, you knew there was no hope he would walk away and let you spend this night alone to wallow in the events of the day. You opened the door, this time standing at the entrance where an incredibly disheveled Peña stood across from you. For once, he didn’t look tired like he usually did at night. If anything, he looked like a fire had been lit under him that was consuming him whole, swallowing him until he was the orange burst of flames itself. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top like usual but wrinkled. His hair was all over the place. You couldn’t help the way your heart slightly dropped. He looked like a man who got laid.

You slowly walked away from the door, hearing as Peña walked in and slammed it shut behind him. “I’m not in the mood tonight, Peña. Go fuck another one of your girls or something.”

“What the fuck?” he growled.

The aggressive and frantic tone alarmed you, causing you to turn and face him as he stared at you. Upon better inspection, he didn’t look like a man who got laid. But a man who was pissed.

“What the hell is your problem?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared him back down, not daring to back away from the challenging gleam in his eyes.

“You nearly got shot today!”

Oh, yeah. It’s not like you had forgotten. It had been the main event of the day, the bullet that was meant for your head just barely grazing you instead. Murphy had been there and said something about it being dumb luck. You had tried to say something about how you didn’t believe in luck and it was just your quick nature, but you had barely been able to get the words out with the way your mind was doing somersaults and the way your whole body seemed to shake with an electrifying cocktail of adrenaline and fear. You had been on the brink of coming to a rather unfortunate death and yeah, you were glad you hadn’t died. But you weren’t glad that the mission had led to little of anything. It had been a fruitless effort and that was the worst part.

“Well, I didn’t so whoopie doo.” you sarcastically answered, throwing your hands up rather undramatically as you tried to make your way to the kitchen to fetch the whiskey as normal. But Peña was faster, marching towards you and grabbing an arm to pull you back.

“You could of died.” Peña hissed, locking eyes with you. The fierceness held in his eyes was almost intimidating, so stark and powerful that it seemed to blow the wind out of your lungs almost as much as your graze with death had earlier in the day.

“Okay. But I’m still alive so I did something right.”

“What were you doing on the field today?”

“Umm... doing my job.” you said, your face scrunching in confusion as you looked up at the man before you. His chest was rising and falling quickly, his hairline beaded with droplets of sweat.

“Why didn’t I know? I should of been there.” Peña demanded, his hand still holding your wrist. The touch was hot and poignant. You didn’t know how but the way his calloused hand grabbed onto your wrist seemed to hold such a vast array of emotions you couldn’t even begin to place them.

“I didn’t realize I had to come to you with everything.” you sarcastically quipped back, trying to pull your hand away with no effort. His grip still remained strong as his eyes wandered all over your face. “Peña, what the hell is your problem?”

“My problem is that you are running around, nearly getting killed.” Javier barked back.

“That’s kind of part of the job!” you yelled back, feeling a frustration grow inside you that felt unfair. You wanted to relax or sleep or get drunk or who knows what. Not have a yelling match with Javier Peña in your shitty apartment.

“You don’t even try to be careful!”

“Well, there are parts of the job that nobody likes but oh well! I don’t like that you nearly get killed or fuck who knows how many women but fuck it, it’s who we are and what we do!” You fired back, feeling your mouth clamp up when you realized the words that were spilling from it freely. The emotions of the day and the heat of the argument was too much and you felt flooded in every which direction. You couldn’t control the onslaught of confessions that tore from your lips and you hadn’t even expected.

Javier hadn’t seemed to either, pulling his hand away from your wrist. He stared back at you, chest still rising dramatically, but his face seemed less enraged and more questioning, curious, and thoughtful. You felt your face warm even more than it had been from the fight, stepping back slowly and nearly stumbling in the process. You were the first to look away, staring down at your hands which were shaking slightly.

“Sit down.”

You looked up at Javier, letting out an awkward chuckle at the bizarreness of his demand. “What?”

“Sit down.” he repeated once again, leaving no room for additional questions and his unwavering stare seemed to demand you to do so. You let out a small sigh and wandered over to your couch. Once your bottom landed on it, you let your body cave forwards, your elbows rested on your knees and hands cradling your face. You didn’t look up even as you heard Peña walking around your apartment, opening cabinets and grabbing glasses. You just kept your face buried within yourself, trying to shield yourself from things you couldn’t comprehend. Perhaps the events of the day or maybe feelings that always seemed to grow within you each time you saw Javier Peña. You couldn’t tell but you had felt like your brain was working at half-capacity, if even that, and you didn’t want to waste it on dwelling over what was plaguing your mind in that moment.

You heard Javier step towards you and you finally brought your hands away from your face, coming up to meet his outstretched hand holding out a cup full of whiskey. He had abandoned his tie he had been wearing when he first entered, his shirt slightly unbuttoned like it always seemed to be. You grabbed the glass from his hand, ignoring the slight tingle that rushed through your fingers at the minimal contact, and took a small sip of the liquid.

“That good?”

You looked up at Javier again, who was still standing in front of you. You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Thanks, Peña.”

His gaze softened as his eyes drifted over your face. “Don’t call me that. Not right now.”

You nodded again. “Thanks, Javi.”

He seemed to visibly relax at the use of the nickname for him. It wasn’t like he had never been called it before. Some people at work had called him that. Family members back in Texas definitely had. Even his former late night companions had yelled out the name in throes of passion. But it sounded sweetest slipping off your tongue, like warm honey. It was something he had come to crave in the last few days like he craved his cigarettes. You had only said it for the first time a few days ago but it had become addicting, sending this sense of calmness through Javier that nothing else seemed to - not even his typical vices he used in abundance.

“Sit on the floor, bebita.” you didn’t bother this time to send him a curious glance, instead just slipping off the couch and plopping your bottom down on the carpeted floor. You felt the couch shuffle behind you as he carefully sat down, one leg swinging over so one leg was framing each side of your body. You leaned back softly, your head meeting his upper body and you let out a soft hum, bringing the glass to your lips to take another sip. Your eyes fluttered closed when you felt calloused fingers meet your neck, rubbing it up and down in a way that was slightly ticklish, but not in a bothersome way. They were warm and rough but also soft. They knew what to do to put you at ease, something you can’t remember ever finding in a person. Touch had never been your love language, instead oftentimes making you uncomfortable. But Javiers touch had always done something to you that you couldn’t explain. Maybe a thrill, maybe a need. You didn’t know but did it really matter when no matter what it always felt so good?

“You mind if I take this out?” Peña whispered, his hands trialing up to the hair tie that held your hair back into what was now a rather messy ponytail. You didn’t speak, only slowly nodding your head. He gently began to pull the tie down, letting your hair slip out from its confines and cascade down. His fingers lightly brushed through your hair, occasionally getting stuck in tangled that he gently worked through for what seemed to be hours. You let him do so, the gentle touches and silence making a warm peace fill you. Eventually his finger tips moved upwards, reaching your scalp and lightly moving slow patterns through it. “You are so beautiful, bebita.”

You were so relaxed that you didn’t allow anxiety or confusion to run through you from him compliment. You just let out a small hum, opening your eyes and tilting your head far back to make eye contact with Javier. He looked straight down at you, brown eyes full of so much warmth and admiration that it seemed to take your breath away. You didn’t want to but you managed to somehow pull your eyes away, looking back down so he could continue massaging your scalp. “I need you to be more careful.”

“If it helps, it freaked me out too.” you gently offered, trying not to read too much into his request.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be.” I will be if you stay.

“I just want you to be okay.”

The softness with which the words were spoken were so new, so vulnerable. It was a new side to Javier. He had always seemed to keep an eye out for you but you assumed it to be because you were partners and that’s what you should do. But this wasn’t just two partners watching each other’s backs. This was personal and raw and meaningful. So much so that you couldn’t try to deny it or brush it off as some meaningless, odd occurrence. At least you prayed to God you couldn’t.

“Are you okay?” you asked, slowly bringing a hand up to rest at one of his knees. It was an awkward angle but you just wanted to hold him in some way. Part of you yearned to bring your fingers to your head and intertwine them with his but you didn’t want to step over a boundary and ruin the haven that seemed to encompass you both.

“I’m okay when I’m with you.” Javier confessed. “If anything happened to you...”

His voice drifted off but you didn’t need him to fill in the blanks. You had voiced those same concerns to yourself in the middle of the night and before missions. What if? It was such a terrifying, earth shattering question. More than it should be for two people who were just ‘partners’.

“I’m here, Javi. And you are here. We are okay.” you soothed, your hand rubbing his knee slowly. You slowly turned your head, causing his fingers to slip away from it as you adjusted your body to face him. You looked up at him. “Can I do something?”

“Anything.”

You slowly rose from your spot on the ground, pulling yourself up slowly as you slipped one leg on each side of Javier. You slowly lowered yourself, not breaking eye contact as you sat onto his lap slowly, moving at a snails pace. His hands seemed to instinctually reach out, wrapping around your back to shimmy you closer to him. You lowered yourself into him, sinking into his warm embrace and allowing your face to cradle into the nook of his neck. One of his hands moved back up to your hair, running down it. You took a deep breath, taking in the scent of him: the aftershave and the cigarettes and the smell that was so inherently Javier. You reached your hands up to wrap around his neck, pulling him into you like your life depended on it. “Javi?”

“Yes, hermosa?”

“What is happening?” you mumbled into his neck, your warm breath fanning into his skin.

“What do you mean?” He knew what you meant but he needed you to say it. He couldn’t because this was one of the few things in life he was genuinely scared of.

“This isn’t just massages, is it? This is...more.” You didn’t mean to sound so needy or pleading, like your well-being depended on the answer. You weren’t that type of woman normally. But you needed him to say something now, something that wouldn’t break your heart into two.

“It’s not just massages.” Javi said, stilling his moments. You slowly pulled back, now facing him. You brought your hands down to his shoulders, rubbing them softly with a nervous smile on your face.

“What is it then?”

Javi took several moments to respond, simply staring back into your timid eyes. You were nervous but you found shelter in the way his breathing seemed to pick up and his eyes had a nerve-wracking glimmer in them.

“I’m not good at this.” He confessed.

"Me either." A small smile finally broke out as you said the words, causing Peña to give you a small, lopsided grin. He brought a hand to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

Javi finally let a long sigh pull from his lips, his gaze not wavering as he spoke. "I just know that I want you."

"I want you, too." you barely whispered out.

"I don't know how to do this." he whispered, shrugging slightly.

You leaned into him, giving him a hug as you furrowed yourself into the shape of his body, allowing yourself to meld into one. You had once thought that if a moment like this ever happened, your heart would race and you would panic. But in the moment, everything, for once in your life, seemed to fall in place. "Me either. But I wanna do it with you."

You felt Javier nod against you, relaxing further as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in even deeper. "Me too, bebita."

You had never felt this feeling before but somehow, in the back of your mind, you knew everything would be okay.

[mello-jello]

Don't we all agree that Hange loves to play pranks on Levi? I'm pretty sure the most fucked up joke she made was when she pretended to sacrifice to save humanity and being burn alive? lord, Levi was so pissed off! It tooked like 3 years to finally forgive Hange and they finally living in a small cottage in the forest. How do I know this? Cause I'm their handmaid.

omg anon, how does one get that job? I will do it for free! I would PAY to have that job.

I realize Tumblr is collectively over the BBC Sherlock, but can you just imagine Hange with a stupid pencil drawn on moustache, trying and failing SO HARD to lighten the mood?

Maybe Hange needed to lay low? Maybe the Yeagerists has eyes on Levi, and making contact with him would have put him at risk?

oh no...

UhHHmm... hang on, I made this into a whole thing:

It’s midday and yet the sky is dark. Thick storm clouds circle above, threatening torrential downpour at any moment. The ceremony was good, all things considered. The 104th all gave short speeches about their beloved commander, which was nice. The priest was a little religious but kept the service pretty well non-secular, which is what Hange would have wanted.

Levi on the other hand, would have loved some sort of reassurance that this wasn’t the end. He would love to be able to believe in a heaven, where Hange is spending their time in complete bliss and will be there when it’s his time. He wants to believe there is any sort of omnipotent being in control of everything. He wishes he was capable of that kind of thinking.

And yet.

Everyone has left by now, and Levi’s not sure how he’d been standing there, staring at the freshly laid soil below a headstone. Fighting back tears, he speaks aloud, a last ditch effort to communicate with God or whatever. How does he know for sure Hange’s not listening anyway?

"Hange,” his voice catches as he had been clenching his jaw all day.

“I… I was so alone and I owe you so much. But please, there's just one more thing... one more thing, one more miracle, Hange, for me? Don't. Be. Dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop it. Stop this..."

Levi felt silly. Talking out loud to the dead never appealed to him before, why would he start now? He dropped the bouquet of flowers he was gripping too tightly onto the grave and turned to leave, just as the rain started to pour.

---

Onyankopon, Gabi, and Falco can sense Levi’s depression. It stems from more than the loss of Hange, it comes from everything Levi has ever lost in his entire life. There is no need for Levi to fight anymore. No more distractions. The lack of distractions is what makes living on so difficult.

It’s been three years since that fateful day, and the trio wanted to do something on the anniversary to take Levi’s mind off of it, even if just for an evening. Levi was bitter and cold as usual, but he knew they were just trying to help, and he did appreciate it. So reluctantly, he agreed to a movie and dinner.

He never even needed to shave before, but Levi had grown quite an impressive moustache during this time. The kids seemed to like it, they said he looked distinguished. Levi figured it would also help get attention off his scars.

Gabi and Falco were particularly excited for the movie. It was a musical comedy, of all things. Levi surprised himself by actually kind of laughing at it. He enjoyed the caramelized popcorn, too. At dinner, the 4 of them sat around a fancy table and Levi listened wholeheartedly as the other 3 discussed the movie. At one point, Gabi had shot soda out of her nose from laughing too hard, and Falco was teasing her about it.

Levi was about to interject with a snide remark, when he was suddenly interrupted by a particularly terse waiter.

“Sir, I think, you’ll find this vintage to your liking”, they said in an accent Levi had never heard before, while shoving a bottle of wine in his face. Levi was pissed, as the bottle so rudely brought up unpleasant memories.

“Tch, no.” Levi said as politely as he could muster through his teeth.

“It ’as all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new,” they said, as if purposefully ignoring him. Levi was actually having a good time tonight, why did this guy have to be so pushy?

Keeping his locked forward, Levi said again, “No, thank you.”

The waiter switched sides, now on Levi’s left, which had the eye he could see with. Onyankopon gave Levi a sympathetic look as the water continued, “Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers, suddenly one is aware they are staring into ze face of an old friend.”

“No, look seriously,” Levi finally breaks and looks up, “could you just-”

Levi’s face drops. His entire body jolts impossibly rigid, as he stares with an expression of utter disbelief.

Hange. Hange was the waiter. They dipped a napkin into a glass of water, and wiped off the fake mustache from their top lip. “Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends, and anonymity to waiters,” they said in their normal voice.

“Levi?” Gabi asks, and Levi is suddenly aware that he forgot to breathe. He forgot to blink too. He feared that if he moved in any way, Hange might disappear.

He turns his head to Onyankopon, then his eyes fill with tears and he ducks his head momentarily before he stumbles clumsily to his feet, shaking the table in the process. He looks at Hange again, who then extends their arms, as if expecting Levi to hug them.

“Hange?” Oyankopon questioned, incredulously.

Levi looked down at the table, breathing heavily before locking eyes with Hange again.

“Hey, does your rub off, too?” Hange gestured to Levi’s facial hair, to which he did not find funny. His gaze was slowly turning murderous.

Falco put his hand on Levi’s arm. “What-?”

“Well, long story short,” Hange explained, a little awkwardly. “I’m not dead.”

Hange stares into Levi’s eyes as they slowly realize that this was a bad idea. They start feeling guilty. “It was a bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. I could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defence, it was very funny. Okay, it’s not a great defence-”

“I SAW YOU!” Onyankopon broke through their rambling.

“Oh, no-

“YOU DIED!”

“I just checked, and no, no I didn’t!”

Levi made a fist and pounded the table, nearly spilling all their drinks and drawing attention to them. Hange looked around nervously, but Levi did not care, although he whispered, “three years.”

“Okay, Levi, I’m suddenly realising I probably owe you some sort of an apology,”

Levi took another, deliberately deep breath and asked, “how?”

“Just… okay, one question! Let me ask one question,” Hange asked. They pointed to Levi’s moustache, “Are you really going to keep that?” They blurted out in laughter for all of 2 seconds before Levi launched at them. They both crashed to the floor, Levi on top of Hange, trying to throttle them.

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Sex Tape

Pairings: Johnny Depp x Reader

Request: “ If you take requests, would you consider doing johnny reaction to like theirs sex tape getting leaked? Reader may also be a celebrity or not. Whatever you prefer “ - @fanficshitandother 

Warnings: Mentions of sex but no actual smut

Word Count: 1800

A/N: Sorry this one is so short. I was having a harder time writing it than I thought I would. I hope you enjoy!

__________________________________

Shit. 

You knew this was a bad idea when he suggested it but no. He just had to have this video “for when he was away filming.” It always ended like this, though, right? It always started out as fun and games until bam! Celebrity sex tape leaked! 

The gossip talk show video that your best friend had sent you was still playing on your phone and you watched in silent horror as the red haired woman talked about your sex life to her male counterpart as if she had any actual right to have an opinion. In the top corner was a picture of you and Johnny at the red carpet for the premier of the Crimes of Grindelwald, his arm around your waist and both of you smiling for the paparazzi pictures. “Okay, guys. You are going to want to hear this,” She started, clasping her absurdly long acrylic-clad fingers together and holding onto her knees, “So there has been yet another sex tape leaked and I want you to guess who’s it is.” She looked over to her co-host. He had a push broom mustache that was bleached blonde to match his hair. 

The man hummed before waving his hand, which also donned long yellow acrylics, “I swear, Laurel, if this is another Kardashian or Paris Hilton tape, I’m gonna scream. That’s such old news.” 

“Actually, it’s someone that I certainly didn’t expect. Johnny Depp and his wife, Y/N L/N.” She dropped the news and the co-star’s mouth dropped. 

“Are you serious? Like Jack Sparrow, Sweeney Todd, Willy Wonka, Johnny Depp?” He asked in total shock, “I didn’t expect that either! But you know what? I feel like he’d be really good in bed.” 

He and Laurel both laughed, “You’re so bad!” She squealed, hitting him with the paper notes in her hand, “But, between you and me,” She leaned in, as if she was telling an actual secret that wasn’t being broadcast on the internet, “I did see it.” 

“And?” 

“It was pretty hot, I can’t lie. That Y/N is a very lucky girl indeed.” The pair giggled like a pair of school girls. 

You were absolutely mortified. How did this happen? How many people had seen it? Who had seen it? Oh God… all you could imagine was your family stumbling across the video or, debatably worse, Johnny’s kids. This had to be one of the worst moments of your life. 

You turned off the video and quickly dialed your husband. “Hello, love.” He greeted cheerily on the other end. The faint sound of cars passing in the background told you he was probably driving home from the meeting he had been at. 

“Did you see it? Did you hear it?” You asked frantically. 

“What?” He asked, confused.

“The video! The video got leaked!” You ran your fingers through your hair messily, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. 

“What video?” He questioned, not sounding like he fully understood what had happened, but then you could almost feel the weight of realization falling on him, “Wait, our video?” 

“Yes! Our video!” You were yelling at this point, not at him but at the situation and thankfully he understood that. 

“Okay, okay. We’ll- Hang on my manager is calling. Probably to tell me about it. I’ll be home in five minutes. I love you.” He signed off your call quickly before hanging up without giving you the chance to respond. 

While you waited for him to get there, you spiraled down the rabbit hole that was the tabloids and social media. Your phone buzzed off the charts as everyone from your sister to Helena Bonham Carter called you to ask if you were okay. Of course, you weren’t. But it was one phone call from a former college roommate, Sheila, had really gotten your blood boiling. 

“It’s okay! If anything, this is just going to make you more famous! Look at all the other celebs who’ve had their sex tapes leaked. They’re like, super famous.” Sheila sounded more excited than she should have, which certainly made you question her motives behind calling you in the first place. Since marrying Johnny, you’d had the unfortunate displeasure of having to cut a few people off from your past who had randomly called you up after years of little to no contact, asking more favors in the movie industry, money, or even just for the clout of saying they knew you. There really was such a downside to this whole marrying famous person thing that nobody ever really talked about - not that you would take it back, though, of course. You loved Johnny more than anything. 

Still, when the words left her mouth, you felt a flash of anger swell up, “Contrary to what a lot of people might believe, being famous actually kind of sucks,” You spat angrily, “And call me crazy, but I don’t exactly feel thrilled at knowing the whole world as access to a video of my naked ass!” 

“At least it’s a good naked ass, though! Your boobs are looking pretty good too. Did you get them done?” She asked bluntly, still not a care to be heard in her voice. You swore you could almost detect a fake valley girl accent too. 

Your mouth dropped open in disbelief at the words coming from her voice, “I can’t believe you.” Without giving her a chance to respond, you clicked the off button before flipping her off through the screen, though you knew she couldn’t see it. The audacity of some people. 

The front door swung open, drawing your attention as Johnny hurried into the house, setting his bag down by the front door. “How bad is it?” You asked, knowing his manager must have told him the full extent. 

“Do you want the truth?” Johnny saw as panic and humiliation swept across your face, knowing that perhaps that wasn’t the best way to break it to you that it was pretty bad. He stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms, “I told Harrison to take ‘em down. Whenever he found one, he said he’d get it deleted. 

You sighed defeatedly, “That doesn’t stop the fact that a bunch of people already saw it.” Your arms wrapped around Johnny’s torso and you allowed your head to fall against his chest, trying to calm yourself with his scent- exotic spicy cologne and old books. 

His large hand came to stroke through your hair, “That is true,” He conceded with a heavy breath, “But, it also means that fewer and fewer people will continue to see it.” There was a pause in which neither of you said anything, only took a few minutes to hold onto each other while you thought about the future now, “Y’know, I can’t help but feel like this is partly my fault. I shouldn’t have asked to make the video. I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You shook your head in disagreement, “I agreed to do it too. It’s on both of us. In retrospect, we should have put it on an actual VHS tape or something that would be more difficult to get into the tabloid’s hands.” 

You were tired of this - of this constant running from the vultures that prayed off your every misstep just to turn them against you and create headlining stories. You felt like you couldn’t even breathe without a scandal unless the media allowed it. You were just grateful that you happened to marry one of the most private actors in Hollywood, knowing that whatever pressure you felt, more public figures like Angelina Jolie had it much worse. Still, something inside you stirred, a decision that you’d stop living in fear. 

Johnny pulled back and gave you that infamous cocked eyebrow look of wonder, one that you’d mostly seen him use as Jack Sparrow. Little did everyone know, it was a gesture he’d picked up on doing in real life as well. “Do we even have a VHS player anymore?” 

You chuckled and buried your head back into his white shirt, “I don’t even know. I feel like there must be one laying around somewhere. And if not, I’ll go down to a pawn shop and pick one up just for you to use while filming.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” You leaned back, pulling on his shirt to bring him down closer to your level, “That if we’re going to be making you another one of these videos, it’s gonna be on something that stays only between us.” 

Your husband nearly choked on air, “Another one? After what just happened?” 

“Only if you want to and only if it stays on something physical like a CD or VHS that we can mutually agree to burn and destroy if anything happens.” You giggled and Johnny joined in with a low chuckle as well, “But… the video was leaked. We knew that was a risk when we made it. But, y’know what? I’m tired of living in fear of the paparazzi and public. They’ve already seen us fuck. There’s not much else we’ve got to lose.” 

His dark eyes flashed with mischief before he took off in a light jog down the hall without a word. You followed him, “Where are you going?” You giggled, turning the corner to find him digging through your little Harry Potter closet under the stairs. 

When he stood up, he shook his long hair out of his eyes messily and held up an old tape recorder that had to be at least twenty years old. Johnny swayed towards you, jokingly flirtatious as he spoke, “Well, Mrs. Depp, it would seem that you’re in luck because your husband likes to hoard old shit.” 

The grey and black machine seemed to stare at you and some hesitation set in again but then you remembered what you’d said: I’m tired of living in fear… there’s not much else we’ve got to lose. 

Johnny flicked open the side compartment and his eyes opened in surprise to find a tape still in there. He lifted it from the slide and looked it over, shocked to see that it appeared to be an unused blank tape, “Well, well, looks like we’re in luck.” 

Biting your lip, you looked up at him with those eyes before grabbing his hand and running upstairs to your bedroom, dragging him along. “The world thinks they’ve seen us fuck. They only got a preview.” 

“Only a preview? I thought we went pretty hard last time?” He countered with a low challenging laugh.

You turned around at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister as you turned to face him. His body collided with yours, his hand reaching around the small of your back to steady the two of you and you arched your body into his, being sure to brush your body against his groin, “Oh, Johnny… we’re both throwing our backs out tonight.” 

[novelconcepts]

omg can you do a print of damie in canon just interacting with flora bc i would love that

She’s lost Flora. 

There is, Dani thinks with the forced calm of one already beginning to spiral, little cause to panic. The house is big, but it’s not that big--and Flora is a good kid. She’s not exactly prone to just wandering off. She certainly wouldn’t, say, vanish from sight and reappear somewhere unexpected, suddenly acting like she didn’t entirely remember the time in between.

That doesn’t sound like Flora at all.

She isn’t running, per se, from room to room. Running would suggest there is a problem to be handled, and if she starts thinking along those lines--if she starts obsessing about Flora’s distinctly off-putting way of gazing over her shoulder, of saying things just a little too odd to be hand-waved away, of looking at Dani as though she can see straight through her to the unease thrumming under the surface--well. That way lies nothing useful. Nothing at all.

“Have you seen Flora?” The kitchen had seemed a good bet. Here, after all, is Owen, puttering away over the ingredients for the evening’s meal, his mood somber as he uses the manor to avoid reflecting on his mother’s upcoming funeral. Here is Hannah, dutifully rearranging the china, pretending not to steal glances at Owen’s lanky frame every few seconds. That spot at the table is made for Flora, little legs hanging off the chair, brimming with questions--

But Flora isn’t there, and Owen is shaking his head. 

“Not since lunch. Lost her, have you?”

No, she almost snaps. A count of three, a long-held breath; she smiles tightly, reminding herself that this is not Owen’s fault, nor Owen’s job. The children will be your responsibility alone, after all. 

“She’s quick,” she says instead. Hannah purses her lips.

“Perhaps upstairs with Miles?”

She isn’t. Miles, bent over a book with a solemn expression, blinks up at her as though she’s dragged him by the shirt collar out of the actual wardrobe to Narnia. 

“She asked me to color--what time is it?”

“Two,” Dani says, sparing the briefest glance for her watch. He shrugs. 

“An hour ago, I think? I told her to ask Hannah.” A flash of concern crosses his face, a too-adult creasing of brow. “Was that wrong? I just wanted to finish my book--”

“It’s fine,” Dani assures him, ruffling his hair. Too-adult, his expression may be, but this is the most kid she’s seen Miles in days. The last thing she wants is to dissuade him from reading, or from the loose sprawl of his posture. 

An hour, though. In the days since coming to Bly, Dani can’t remember twenty minutes passing without Flora turning up underfoot. 

Outside, she thinks with another swell of barely-restrained panic. She’s outside. By the lake, probably, where Flora can so often be found keeping company with dolls and talismans and snatches of ethereal song. 

It isn’t exactly a reassuring thought, particularly with summer rain sluicing down the windows, scattering over the roof like pellets. A storm, it isn’t, but an eight-year-old girl has no business wandering in weather like this. 

You'd have loved it, at her age, Dani reminds herself. There’s nothing at all wrong with a little girl puddle-jumping for the sheer joy of it. Flora probably got bored, cooped up with a bunch of busy adults and her brother uninterested in playing games. She’s fine. She’s almost certainly fine.

An umbrella is waiting beside the door, still damp from Owen’s trip in before breakfast. Dani takes a breath, pops it open, steels herself for the brisk wind. 

The grounds are gray, the puddles turning the grass to a squelchy mess beneath her shoes. She keeps her head up, her eyes carefully turned away from the puddles which sit like recklessly-dropped mirrors at every turn; if she so much as glances down and spots a flash of glasses, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her composure. 

Flora is not by the lake, as it turns out. Nor the statue gardens. Nor the rose bushes. Flora is nowhere, she’s starting to think, and her mind is finally turning toward the worst--toward the depth of that lake, how easily a small girl might slip off the embankment and tumble headlong into its hungry waves without notice--when she remembers the greenhouse.

Jamie will help. The thought rises without warning, a solid patch of sunlight at the center of the storm. Jamie will help--because Jamie knows every corner of these grounds as well as her own hands. Jamie, who maybe doesn’t know Dani all that well, but didn’t seem to mind offering gentle reassurance, exchanging unexpectedly deep conversation on the couch...or Dani taking her hand in the dark. Jamie, who had said, Who the hell knew? Jamie, who had worn an expression a little like awe.

They haven’t had time to talk about it since, but even so. Even so, for Flora, Jamie is sure to--

She hesitates at the door, fist raised to knock. It feels foolish, rapping on the entry to a greenhouse like it’s Jamie’s own bedroom--but this is, she reasons, as close to Jamie’s home as she’s ever likely to get. 

“Jamie, are you...”

“Here,” her voice comes from somewhere just out of sight. Dani takes a cautious step in out of the rain, jostling the umbrella and pulling it hastily shut. Best not to invite bad luck--she’s certainly already had her share. 

“I’m looking for Flora,” she calls, feeling a bit silly. There’s so much going on in this room--plants and tables, pots and a variety of outdoor furniture draped with old blankets. Normally, Jamie is easy to spot amid the riot of greens and pinks, her hands busy coaxing seedlings to life. Today, Dani feels as though she’s tripped and fallen into a game of hide and seek. 

“Don’t have to look far,” Jamie’s voice comes again--from behind the sofa, Dani thinks. “C’mere.”

“Miss Clayton!” Flora pipes up, and Dani feels the tension leave her body in a violent rush. Her hand grips the nearest table for support, her eyes closing in relief. “Come color with us”

“Come--sorry?” She can’t have heard right. Jamie? Jamie the gardener, putting aside work and temper to waste an afternoon on crayons?

Yes--yes, that appears to be exactly what Jamie is doing. Sprawled on her stomach, still dressed in her coveralls, she’s got a blue crayon in hand and a green one tucked behind her ear. She glances up as Dani steps nearer, a smile lighting her face. 

“Kid came stumbling in out of the rain an hour ago. Expect she didn’t think to warn you in advance?”

“Sorry.” Flora offers a sheepish smile, sitting up quickly. “Are you very cross?”

“No, of course not.” Just going to need a minute to purge the image of finding you facedown in the goddamned lake, is all. “Next time, though, you’ll have to tell me you’re leaving the house alone. I need to know where you are at all times, Flora.”

She expects Jamie to scoff at this--to say, Ah, she was with me, she’s fine. Instead, Jamie stretches over to land a sharp flick on Flora’s upper arm. 

“Rude to make Poppins worry. Look, she’s gone all pink.” She looks up at Dani, grinning. “Not a bad look, if we’re in the market for honesty.”

Dani suspects pink is the lightest shade she can manage, with Jamie gazing at her that way. It’s too easy, all of a sudden, to remember an unexpectedly soft hand under her own fingers, Jamie turning reflexively at the wrist to hold her back. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Flora says, a phrase Dani is starting to think is more Flora than even perfectly splendid. “Here--I was just about to do one of you!”

Jamie gestures with the blue crayon, a silent suggestion for Dani to sit beside her. “Might as well. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon.” She lowers her voice, eyes fixed on Flora’s determined rummage through the crayon box. “Sorry about that, Poppins. Know she’s been unpredictable lately, didn’t like the idea of her stumping around in the cold. If I’d known you were worried--”

“It’s all right.” In truth, she’s glad Flora made her way out here. Growing more pleased by the moment with this development, really, as Jamie slides a blank sheet of paper in front of her and presses a purple crayon into her hand. 

“Join us. We’re doing portraiture.”

“I can see that,” Dani laughs. Jamie’s handiwork speaks of a distinct lack of care for detail--each sketch on her page is, at best, a stick figure with a single defining feature. “How does Owen hold up his head, carrying a mustache the size of his torso?”

“With minimal decorum,” Jamie says, grinning. “And she’s right, it’s your turn.”

Dani suspects she’s going less pink, more a volatile shade of maroon, with both parties squinting at her face, their papers, her face again. Flora is doing her very best work, taking several minutes just to select the closest shades of blue, yellow, pink. Jamie makes an enormous production of holding up a crayon, closing one eye, gauging proportions--and then, cheerfully, scrawling a figure identical to the other four already on the page. 

“I’m taller than Hannah?” Dani asks, unable to resist a giggle. Jamie frowns.

“Ah, you’re...standin’ on a crate.” She adds a box beneath Dani’s non-existent feet with a flourish, nodding. “There. It’s symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“I’ve ranked you all on how much I like you. Takin’ into account, of course, certain accusations pointed my way regarding mud and shiny floorboards.” Jamie winks. Dani finds herself gripping her crayon almost hard enough to hurt. 

“You’re not drawing, Miss Clayton!” Flora observes. Dani glances away from Jamie’s smile--a difficult act only a few days ago, nearly impossible now--and clears her throat. 

“Well. Maybe just until the rain stops.”

There are, she thinks as a comfortable quiet settles over the greenhouse, infinitely worse ways to spend her afternoon. 

[whatanoof]

Cold Hands and Warm Bodies

Merry Christmas! This is a Secret Santa gift for @autumnleaves1991-blog!

There’s a sequel now!

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Whiskey x Reader

Word Count: ~4.7k

Content: fluff, dancing, swearing, oral sex(female receiving), rougher sex, fluffy, smut, there’s a part at the beginning where Reader rejects a man’s advances but it doesn’t get past name-calling

A/N: I liked the idea of a lonely Christmas in a new city turning into something much better through unexpected events, especially since so many are going to be celebrating with less people than normal due to the pandemic. The music referenced is Gasoline by Halsey from her Badlands album.

Your parents had begged you to not complete the move over the holidays, surely it could have waited a couple of weeks so that you could celebrate with your family. But you were decided, and the timeline of your new employment was not up to you. Staying in LA for Christmas wouldn’t have benefited anyone. The confidential nature of your job meant you couldn’t talk about your job with your family, and that’s all that families really want to know besides if you have a boyfriend yet. This left more rumors flying between the aunts than bullets around a battlefield. At this point, you’re pretty sure that your own mother thinks that you’re a prostitute.

Alcohol is an easy option to curb loneliness. The drink burns on the way down, but you savor it. It’s been cold in the new city, and you haven’t been able to shake the chill since moving. Your current choice of atmosphere is the bar closest to your house, leaving you with the freedom to slam as many drinks as would let you forget how alone you are at the time of year when no one should be alone. You don’t have to drive home this way. But now, inside and looking around at the excessive Christmas decorations, you begin to wonder if this was the best way to avoid the holidays.

There are Christmas wreaths all around, draped over as many surfaces as possible. Mistletoe hangs near the corners of the cleared section of floor, and you wouldn’t be surprised if some of those corners were soon occupied by drunk dancers. Lights dangle over the bottles behind the bar, and the bartender is wearing a Christmas elf headband. And to top it all off, most everyone inside has a partner, making you stick out like a sore thumb. Your sole point of luck is that the bar isn’t Western based. 

“Well, hello good-looking.”

The moment is shattered by the stranger’s arm around your shoulders, pulling you too close for the small amount of liquor in your body. The brunette man smells like spearmint, but his breath clearly reveals his state of mind. 

“The name’s Grey. Now, I heard a little birdie that told me that you’d be coming home with me tonight.” His grin appears genuine, but something glitters in his eyes that sends an icy distrust through your gut.

You turn away. “No thank you.” Better not to give him any attention, drunks are never reasonable if you let them believe for even a second that they have a chance.

“Now that’s not very kind. I was being civil, and you rebuff a poor man who just wants a warm bed tonight. May I at least get the lady’s name so that I can address her properly? Where’s the Southern hospitality? ” You catch a concerned look from the bartender, though there’s no need to worry. This isn’t your first rodeo.

“Nonexistent, Grey.” You grab his wrist, yanking it off of your shoulder. 

For a blissful second, the contact is gone, then it returns, and now his fingers are digging into your bare skin. His hands are cold. The handheld taser in your pocket is burning, and you reach for it as he snaps, “Now, there’s no need to be a bi--”

“Hey now,” The new voice is sudden, but there’s a distinctive Southern drawl to the baritone voice that sends pleasant tingles down your spine. Now that is a voice that you could listen to the rest of the night. “The lady said no. And last I checked, Southern hospitality doesn’t apply when said person isn’t Southern.” 

The arm around your shoulders vanishes and you slowly reach for your bag. Angry voices echo behind you, but you’re too preoccupied with leaving to worry yourself with the brewing argument. Goddammit you had only come for drinks, and now you might have to duck out before a fight starts.

But the angry voices lower and the normal barroom din returns. You slowly release your bag to rest once again at your feet, and a new man appears on the stool at your elbow. 

“Good evening.” It’s the rumbling voice of your faceless Southern gentleman. 

He saved you, but that doesn’t mean you can trust him. Feigning disinterest is more difficult now, but you take a sip of your drink and focus hard on how the light from the glass catches the amber liquid. “Thank you for stepping up. Doesn’t happen often.” 

“Unfortunately. Mostly for the men if you end up pulling that taser.” The casual observation catches your attention.

You turn and finally look your gentleman in the eye. Oh. You weren’t prepared for him to be so-- gorgeous. That’s really the only word you can summon to your scattered brain at the moment because, damn. Dark hair brings out darker eyes that glimmer warmly in the lowlights of the bar despite the cowboy hat. A mustache accents plush lips. Tan skin and bold features draw you in, and you don’t want to stop looking except he clears his throat and you realize that you’ve been staring for much longer than the appropriate time.

“Is there something on my face?” Your eyes dart back up to his face and you’re struck by how unfair it is that someone can be so effortlessly attractive.

“N-- no!” Stammering, really? Dammit you’re a full grown woman, pull yourself together. “How-- how could you tell I’m not from around here?”

He beckons a finger to you, and you lean in. “I am an undercover operative working with an American based agency that deploys me worldwide to handle top-secret missions.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back to take him in again. The jacket over the tight shirt shows his athletic build rather well, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it were true, “Really?”

“No. It’s the accent.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. The pleased smile spreading over his face matches the one sneaking over your own. “You’re right, I just moved here.” A thought strikes you, “What are you doing alone in a bar during the holidays? No family or friends to visit?”

“None left that mean enough.” The statement is casual enough, except there’s a tension in his voice that makes you hesitate. “And I could ask you the same thing. What motivates a lady to move to a new city, all alone at Christmas?” The tension passes and he waves at the bartender, who immediately turns and starts making a drink. He’s a regular here, apparently.

“A job,” You swirl the remnants of your drink lazily before finishing it, “I’m starting tomorrow.” The last dregs slip down your throat, and the burning buzz will last for now.

“Ah, a beautiful woman and a hard worker. It’s too much for my heart.” 

“If that alone is too much, then this is going to be a short evening indeed.” The subtle innuendo doesn’t fly over either of your heads, and you don’t miss the smile spreading across his face when you flirt back.

“I think I may surprise you, darling. We’re both willing to work for what we want.” His drink arrives, and he takes a sip. Heat pools in your core at the implications. “If this evening is going to continue, may I have the lady’s name so that I can address her properly?”

You hum low in your throat in response. You’ve never brought a man home at the first meeting, never allowed flirting to be anything more than that on the first night. But something’s different about this one. In a split second decision, you give it to him. 

He repeats the syllables after you, rolling them around his tongue in a way that sends a thrill through you as you wonder what else he can do with it, “Gorgeous. George, another drink for the lady, on my tab.” 

You tilt your head back, catching his eyes, “And may I then have the gentleman’s, so that I may know the name of my fearless knight in… shining leather and spurs?”

He laughs, “Jack Daniels.”

“Jack Daniels, like the whiskey brand?” 

“Something like that.” His grin is mysterious and seems a little too practiced, but that’s fine with you. You smile back anyway. Your drink arrives, and you raise the glass to Jack as you take a sip, though you find that the burn of the whiskey doesn’t leave you with the same satisfaction.

A song starts playing in the background, and you straighten up and glance over your shoulder at the dance floor. “Wait, I--”

“--love this song.” You both finish the sentence together. You look back at him hopefully, and he looks at you with a bit of a challenge in his eyes. 

The stool scrapes across the floor and he rises, extending a hand to you, “Would you care to dance, sweetheart?”

“Depends. Are we going to square dance?” 

“Only if you want to, darling.”

“Yes to the dancing, no to the square dancing then.” You accept his hand and walk with him to the center of the dance floor. Your drinks remain abandoned at the bar.

The bassy thrum of the music and crooning vocals keep your hips undulating against his, but Jack has other ideas. He hasn’t let go of your hands, and your arms are crossed over your chest when he draws them up and over your head. Your arms extend and you spin, meeting his eyes as you grasp his hands. 

The alternative pop song doesn’t translate perfectly to the style that he brings, but you can hardly complain. Around you, people are grinding against each other, but a small space clears for him to sway and turn with you. It’s surprisingly fun compared to what you knew of night dancing in a bar. 

The tempo slows and you step inside his reach so that your back is against his chest. 

‘Are you strange like me?

Lightin’ matches just to swallow up the flame like me?’

His breath catches hot and heavy in your ear as you press back into him, savoring every breath and drop of sweat that is your effect on him. The verse fades, and you allow him to lead once again. The melody swells in your head, drowning out everything around you until it’s only him and you. But this time the lyrics make you wonder about the man holding your hands.

‘Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.’

The music ends with a crescendo and a final spin, and you’re left panting as your gaze locks with Jack’s. He’s holding you firmly, one hand on your waist, and your bodies feeling like they’re steaming in the chilly air. The spell breaks with a single glance upwards from him. 

“Well that’s a fine addition to an already wonderful night.” There’s a tinge of amusement in his voice, and you follow his gaze.

The mistletoe hangs directly overhead. You glance down, a thrill of nerves running through your body at the intensity in Jack’s stare. Something must have shown in your eyes or body language, because he relaxes and loosen his grip on your waist.

“Only with your permission of course, darling.” He’s fighting it, but disappointment clouds his tone, and he withdraws. “I understand if it’s not something you wan--”

You cut him off by snagging his collar and pulling him close. The surprise on his face gives way to a smirk as you quip, “Don’t mind if I do, cowboy.”

Then his lips are on yours and you’re melting into him. The bar fades into the background and you lose yourself in a man that you had met three hours ago. He tastes like your drink. Tingles spread through your body as he deepens the kiss, warming you to the tips of your fingers.

Then you’re being pressed backwards until you hit the wall, hands instinctively flying up to tangle in his already messy hair. Something soft and firm brushes your fingertips, and you snag it on instinct, lifting Jack’s hat to plop it on top of your own head. He breaks the kiss, a soft smile spreading over his face when he pulls back to look at you. 

“Do I make a good cowgirl?”

“Looks better on you than me, darling.” He kisses you again, hands sliding over your waist down to your ass, and you don’t think that’s a lasso pressing up against you. A low moan rumbles out of his throat, and you stifle a whimper at the sound. He chuckles, “Want to get out of here, cowgirl?”

“Yeah.” Lust boils in your stomach. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his kiss-swollen lips that part ever so slightly so you can see his tongue flick over them.

“Got any friends to notify of your immediate departure?” His breath ghosts over your skin and his dark eyes flick up from your lips to meet yours, warming your body as you lose yourself in the deep brown.

“No, too new to the city.” You whisper back, the noise of the club fading into the background while a wave of heat crashes over your body, swelling between your legs.

“Your place or mine?”

---

Funny enough, Jack didn’t bring a car either, but he doesn’t explain and you don’t question it. You don’t regret walking the short five minutes to and from the bar, especially when Jack pulls you close to his side as you walk. You’re just passing under the bridge on your street when he stops walking.

“Stop, do you hear that?” You instantly freeze, eyes darting around for any perceivable threat. There’s too many potential hiding places, the shadows of the bridge supports could hide a man of any size and--

“Listen closely…” He hums the tune from the bar and steps away, tugging you forward a couple of steps. He pulls you back into him, and you’re able to hear the melody through the vibrations in his chest. 

‘You can’t wake up, this is not a dream.’

You find your rhythm. The tempo picks up, only a shadow in your mind as you sway to the invisible beat. He matches you easily, and the two of you move with an unpracticed ease out from beneath the shadow of the bridge into the streetlight glow. The melody swells, and you laugh when a breeze ruffles your hair. You sing the last line to him.

‘Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.’

You end up back in his arms, breathing hard and smiling up at Jack. His fingers slip down to interlock with yours, “I can help with that.” You should be freezing, but heat throbs under your skin in time with your racing heart. 

He leans in, but just before his lips touch yours, you whisper, “Jack? We’re here.”

His eyes shift over to your front door briefly, then back to you. He grins. “Nice place.”

---

You laugh as you stumble through your front door, your back hitting yet another wall when Jack pins you to the side of the living room. Heated kisses trail down your neck and a muscled thigh slides between yours. You shudder at the contact against your clothed pussy, your heartbeat throbbing between your legs fiercely.

“Jack, bed’s that way.”

“Oh sweetheart, that would be the end goal for sure.” Hands support your rear, and you fold your legs around him. You’re vaguely aware of him walking you towards the door that you indicated, but you can’t bring yourself to pay attention when he’s licking into your mouth and he’s so close and so warm and right there for you to enjoy. He lays you gently on the bed, legs dangling off the edge. 

“You want this?” The question is so starkly unexpected that you blink and sit up for a moment. He’s standing there between your legs, hair disheveled and shirt half unbuttoned. His pupils are completely lust-blown and his shoulders are heaving with the heavy breaths he’s taking, and you’re struck with the thought that this is the first time someone has thought to ask. But you’d have to be half-dead to say no now. 

“Yes.”

And then he’s undoing your pants and dropping to his knees in front of you. Warm breath ghosts over your exposed skin after he gently peels your pants off. You squirm as large, warm hands rub over your inner thighs. “Beautiful.” But he is too, with the way he glances up at you from between your legs. He’s absolutely beautiful, as he carefully pulls your panties to the side and drags his tongue through your folds. 

“You taste better down here, sweetheart.” He immediately concentrates around your clit, tracing lazy circles around the sensitive nub and you forget how to breathe. 

Your hips roll against his face, trying to gain more friction than what he’s giving, and you whimper as his mustache leaves a tingling trail on your skin. The heat pooling within your core is begging for more, and you’re close to doing the same as he continues to patiently taste you. 

“Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. I’m going to make you feel so good, darling, you’re going to be screaming my name.” A thick finger rests against you, gathering your wetness and continuing to massage against your clit while his tongue finally dips to press against your entrance. You flutter in response, a whine scraping against the back of your throat. His tongue presses deep into your core, and you clench around the insistent pressure.

“Ja-Jack I’m go-gonna--” The words refuse to come smoothly, but he seems to sense your urgency. His tongue returns to your clit, sucking and kissing the flesh while his finger slips into your pussy. 

“Come, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” Every flick of his tongue against your clit pulls another whine from you. Fuck, something inside you snaps and then heat is burning through your body. The wave crests, and you dimly hear a choked moan when your floor muscles convulse and heat drips from you.

He continues to taste you long after you’ve stopped convulsing, while the light fades from you vision and you regain feeling in your limbs. And you understand something. He’s tasting you simply to taste you, giving for the sake of giving. You know why you allowed it to get past the flirting stage.

“You doing good, darling?” He climbs up over you and kisses you, lips molding to yours like they were made to. He tastes like you.

You can’t respond, don’t want to when it means pulling away from this moment right now. The only thing you want right now is to stay like this, to stay in this perfect warmth, where the only thing you know is that he’s kissing you and you’re floating on the sheer feeling of being able to give because you feel like it.

Then he shifts, and you feel his erection brush against your thigh. And your gut tells you it’s his turn now. You move your leg, bringing it up between his thighs. It bumps against his length, and he tenses, pulling away and dropping his head to the crook of your neck. And you take the moment to flip the two of you, straddling his hips. 

“Give me a second, darling, have to find a condom.” His arm reappears from the edge of the bed with his wallet, but you stop him.

“I have an implant. Are you clean?”

“Last checkup, yes. And I haven’t been with anyone since.”

You smirk, “Well then I see no need.”

He exhales, arms going behind his head as he grins up at you, “I’d have to say, as enjoyable as that just was, seeing you like this?” He shakes his head, “Best part of the night.”

“It’s about to get better.” His dick is velvety hard between your thighs, and you can’t help grinding down on it just a little. 

“I’ll believe it when I feel it.” He groans, head falling back against the pillow. 

The challenge floats in the air, and you grab both it and his length in a single moment. He’s going to be saying your name soon. Notching it at your entrance, you sink down in a single motion. He drags against your insides so perfectly, fitting to you and filling you so completely. Your back arches at the burning stretch, but all you can focus on is Jack’s groan when your butt meets his hips, how his body seizes under you, and how his hands fly to clutch at you. 

But his cock inside you isn't enough, you need more contact, need to know that he’s right there with you. You grab his wrists and drag his hands up to your breasts, relishing the moan that escapes him as he squeezes them.

Your name echoes through the air, followed by his gasping breaths as you raise yourself off of him and sink back down. The heat starts building inside you again. His hips jerk up into you, seemingly unintentionally. “God, fucking perfect. Feel so good around me. Not gonna last, not after earlier, please sweetheart.”

You grind down onto him, finding your rhythm again. The fire inside of you is constant and overtaking you. It swells on its own without needing anything else besides Jack, who’s looking up at you like you’re the only star in the sky. 

“You look so good bouncing on my dick, cowgirl, but I’m going to have you under me, squirming for me while I get you to keep making all of those cute noises. I’ll be-- fuck!” His breath catches and his hands dig into the flesh of your hips, and a voice in the back of your mind tells you that you’re going to have bruises tomorrow. You can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

You fight to retain your own rhythm, but it’s unsustainable, and your screaming muscles wear down in the face of Jack’s strength. They give out, and you’re caught in the rhythmic slapping of skin as Jack takes over.

“Ja- Jack! Fuck!” You can’t organize yourself enough to think, let alone acknowledge him while he continues to drive up into you. The ragged cries ripped from your throat lose all coherency. It’s too much, and the orgasm rising through your body is taking your mind with it. A hand detaches from your waist and presses directly against your clit, rocketing you further towards your climax. “Jack!” 

“Come on sweetheart, I know you’ve got another in you. Let go. Let me take care of you.”

Your own orgasm hovers at the edge of your mind, but you shove it away in favor of tripping his. His breaths are coming heavier now, and his hips continue to slam upwards into yours. He’s going to outlast you at this rate, unless--

A hand grips your neck just enough that you register the pressure, and he drags you down against his body. The world flips around once more, and then you’re underneath him instead and his arms are planted on either side of your head as he-- fuck. The pace increases, no it must multiply by some large number because your body is shaking with every thrust, and the headboard is slamming against the wall and you’re glad that you don’t share these walls with anyone else. Your cry is muffled by his mouth, but the new angle causes him to drive up against something inside you that you swear makes you see a corner of heaven.

It spikes with a fury, driving you over the edge as you clamp down around him. Your body seizes, arching against Jack as the shockwaves claim your body. You’re rocketed somewhere high above the clouds for the second time tonight, and all you can really comprehend is how happy you are that you brought him home. And through the haze, you faintly hear him purring in your ear, “Good girl, pretty girl, gorgeous. Gorgeous.”

He keeps fucking you through your high, and you need him to cum. You need him to feel the same bliss that you do, and you know how to do it. The idea barely crosses your mind before your body accepts it, and your floor muscles clamp down almost of their own volition. He falters, and a gasp is the only sound you hear before he’s coming. His hips piston out and in one last time, and then he’s spilling deep inside you.

When the light fades from behind your eyes, you feel yourself being shifted. Your combined juices trickle down your leg as he pulls out, and your back is pressed against his chest. You drift, blinking in and out of consciousness. You feel him rise from behind you and then hear the sound of running water. He returns moments later, and there’s a damp cloth cleaning between your legs before he’s back in bed behind you, arms locked around your waist and pulling you close. His fingers intertwine with yours over your belly, and as they brush against the skin of your stomach, you realize that they aren’t cold anymore. He drags the comforter over your bodies.

The world around you is dissolving in a haze of exhaustion, but his voice rumbles through the fog. You’re so comfortable and warm, and by all rights you should be asleep. But you force yourself back to the world of waking, enough to hear him thanking you as he plants slow kisses along the back of your neck. The delicious warmth of his skin against yours draws you farther under and stifles the confusion at the statement, and you finally surrender to the exhaustion pulling at your body. 

---

Your phone alarm wakes you the next morning to an empty bed. 

Realistically, you shouldn’t have expected him to be there, shouldn’t have hoped that it could have been more than a one time thing. Right? You’re a certified badass, a top-rated handler at Statesman Distillery who has guided multiple agents and friends through life and death scenarios. You deal in realism and pessimism. You have had one night stands before, none of which led to any kind of connection. You don’t need emotional connection to function. This shouldn’t be any different. Right?

Except you know how you normally feel after one night stands, and this isn’t it.

You’re on autopilot as you shower and dress for your first day. All you can think about is the warmth of his hands as they ran over your skin, his smirk as he caught your eye, mouth glistening with your release. His quiet ‘thank you’ last night as he curled his body around yours before falling asleep. If you could have had a say, you would have wanted more than one night. A second chance, maybe, but it’s not like you get many of those these days.

Statesman Distillery is across the street from last night’s bar, and the brisk air helps to clear your head and prepare you mentally. As soon as you walk through those doors, you’re Agent Seltzer, not a girl pining for a man whom you barely know beyond his name. You hesitate under the bridge on your way to work. The music echoes in your ears and chest. You keep walking. 

The receptionist directs you to your new office. Top floor, third door on the left. It’s roomier than your last one, though now you’re at HQ, not the LA branch office. A woman meets you at the elevator. She is slight, but her steely composure and short cut hair give her an air of maturity and ability. 

“Good morning and Merry Christmas, Seltzer.” She’s holding a basket with a label that reads ‘Happy First Day!’ “I’m Ginger Ale, the head overseer of the base-side handlers, and I’ll be giving you the basic acclimation on your first day. Sorry that it had to be a holiday, but an impending crisis in Chicago has just taken a turn for the worse. The mission briefing has been sent to your tablet.”

Your brow furrows slightly, and she continues as if she could read your internal question. “This isn’t usually my job, but it’s the holidays and most of the other agents trained in onboarding are on leave. We’re throwing you into the deep end on your first day, unfortunately, but your superiors at the LA branch assured us that you would take to it naturally.”

She sets the gift basket on your desk, and you notice the largest item in the basket is a bottle of the famed Statesman whiskey. You idly take it out and study the label. “Interesting first day gift.”

Ginger shrugs with a faint smile, “That’s directly from your assigned field agent, Agent Whiskey. He gifts those to his new handlers.”

“Any reason why?”

“He--” She seems to start to say something, then stops herself, “It’s an early apology. He’s experienced, and he operates as he sees fit. He burns through handlers faster than a hot knife through butter.”

The challenge floats above your head at the explanation, and you take it. “I’m assuming that I will get to meet Agent Whiskey before our official briefing?”

“Yes,” Ginger checks her watch, “In about… two seconds.”

“Sweetheart.” The voice is achingly familiar, and memories of last night crash over you like a heatwave. Second chances, hm?

Part Two if anyone cares for it

[mosshead-lover]

The Snowflake & The Kitten

Shoto x Reader

Summary: It’s your first Christmas with the Icyhot. You know he shows little or no enthusiasm in the holidays. How will it end up after you go against your instincts and decide spend the Eve with him.

A/n: Hey y’all! Hope you had a fabulous Christmas. I wanted to post this in time for Christmas, but my lazy ass was well..busy procrastinating. Any ho, I'm a Lil late, but hope you like the Present :D

It was late evening, and you were strolling through the streets, slower than usual, observing the decorations on the buildings and homes. Christmas sure brightened up your otherwise mundane city. You go back to wondering the same thing that's been in your mind for so long, whether you should get him something and if yes, what should you? It's been almost ten months since you and Shoto started going out. If you had to point out one thing that you not necessarily liked about him(not until recently), it would be how minimal Shoto's reactions or expressions were, almost all the time. It just made it really difficult to gauge his likeness or dislike-ness towards something. It was hardly a problem or something that bothered you until you had to pick a gift for him.

*Buzz Buzz*

You have a new text message.

Jirou: Yo! Coming?

Y/n: Will be there in 5 min.

Jirou always played her gigs to you before she actually performed. This had become a ritual more of. You started walking faster, paying lesser attention to the decorations along the way.

Jirou rocked it, as usual.

"Are you sure you don't want to join?"

You Jirou and few other girls in the class who couldn't go home for the holidays had planned a night out. Jirou still couldn't digest that you were missing it. Her reaction was only normal considering the enthusiasm your boyfriend had towards holidays.

'I want to spend the holidays productively,'

is what he had told the last time holidays came up in one of your conversations.

"Yes." You replied with a hint of uncertainty.

"At least buy a tree and some decorations on the way. Pretty sure he wouldn't have put one up." Jirou sighed.

"You don't know that!" You defended, regretting it a second later.

Jirou shrugged.

Your head was filled with ambiguity. You knew Jirou wasn't the kind who joked around or even talked much. You knew there was weight to whatever she said. You draw the cell phone and type a quick message.

y/n: Hey, I am on the way and stopped by to get a tree. What size do you prefer?

*Buzz Buzz*

Doki: What tree?

You despised Jirou for a second for being so accurate. Was not bothering Shoto with the pressure of celebrating the best gift you could give? You wondered if it was too late to join the other girls.

Doki: Oh, I see. Whatever works for you.

You picked a tree small enough for you to carry and some decorations along with candy canes. You had forgotten about the Christmas present for him until you came across the headband section with cute cat ears. You bought a white one and read one. At the billing counter, you struggled, You still had time to put it all back. Maybe just have dinner and watch a movie like any other weekend and not bother your not-so-festive boyfriend. But, you made up your mind. There was no turning back now.

--

"Hi, y/n."

Shoto helped you with the shopping bags and the tree. You reluctantly unzipped your bag and took a white sweater out. It matched the one you were wearing. The couple-Christmas-sweaters that you drunk ordered three months ago. Before you could say anything, He checks the time and,

"Hey, the webinar that I was supposed to attend this afternoon? They postponed it to seven. It will take an hour, Hardly, okay? I'm sorry, but I hope you understand."

He rushed through his sentences.

"Oh! This is for me? Thank you"

He grabbed the sweater from your hands, pecked your cheek, and hurried to his room.

You crashed into the couch. He didn't even notice that you were wearing the same sweater. You sulked and buried your face in the couch pillow and let out an inaudible scream. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself why you wanted to do this in the first place. It was your first Christmas together. You had to make it memorable for both of you. Moreover, Shoto never got together with his family to celebrate anything. You couldn't blame him for not getting excited about the festival.

You decided to look at the brighter side of it. You had an hour to make the house Christmas friendly. You went and bought some more lights and bells, set up a tree, put the lights around. You had to go to his room a few times to get the stapler, tape etc., He didn't mind. You had time to modify the cat ears as well. You removed one of the ears and carefully sewed the other color ear to match his hair color. You took one last look at the setup. It wasn't much, but it was a pleasant sight. It was almost ten. He wasn't done yet. You were too hungry to cook, you'd end up eating, and eating without him was the last thing you wanted to do. You decided to stay away from the kitchen. You fired up the TV and started surfing through the channels. Another hour passed. You gave up and went to the kitchen to fix yourself a cup of coffee. You were too sleepy and didn't want to doze off.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, you heard his door open. You set your coffee aside and sat up. He was wearing the sweater. He wore an apologetic face that transformed into a delight when he saw the tree.

"There is .. on your.."

Before you could process what he was implying, he bent down and cleared the foam mustache above your lips with a kiss.

"Coffee? at this hour?"

Shoto spoke up softly as he settled down next to you.

"I had to stay up, so..

”Did you eat?” He sounded tired too.

"No..I.."

He widened his eyes as a mother would, reacting to her kids skipping meals.

'Wait a minute, I am the one who should be mad!' You shouted on the inside.

"That was one heck of a long webinar." You comment, trying to suppress everything that you were feeling.

"I know." He acknowledges and takes you by your arm to make you sit on his lap. You put your legs on either side and sit on him, facing him.

"The fact that you were here, waiting, made it even more difficult for me." he continued as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

The sincerity in his voice was something you could never bypass and stay mad at him even if you wanted to.

"I am sorry."

"You are forgiven," you murmur and begin arranging his bangs. His face was ever charming against the constantly changing TV lights.

You both stayed there for a while, making out. You might have, longer if it wasn't for your grumbling stomach.

"You think that Soba place will still be open?"

You both go out and eat stomach full. Shoto offered to hold your hand on the way back. You were surprised as he never did that before. He always stayed away from PDA.

"It's too cold. I'm just keeping you warm." He justified.

"Besides, this way, there is a higher chance of people noticing that we are twinning."

You felt warmer as his heterochromatic eyes met yours. Your eyes dilated further at the sight of his tender smile. It was almost midnight when you reached home.

"Hey, It's almost Christmas." You squeak. You weren't worried about him being non-festive anymore. He reacts with an equally encouraging smile. As the clock struck twelve, you swing your arms around him and raise your toes, he helps by lifting you a bit, you kiss and wish him a merry Christmas.

"Merry Christmas to you too, y/n" He kisses you back and puts you down, gently.

"Hold on." He said and rushes into his room. He came back with two tiny boxes and placed them under the tree.

"Too Late?" You nod and join him to near the tree.

"Open!" his excitement was palpable. You carefully unwrapped the first box and saw a tiny glass slab covered in transparent resin shaped like a cuboid that was decorated to look like a charm.

On further inspection, you realized what was inside was a slide. You bought it closer to your eyes and tried to make out what was inside.

Shoto handed you a magnifying glass.

"Doki, Is this a ...?"

"Yes." He sounded proud.

"A real ...?"

"Yes."

You were awestruck.

"I didn't know Snowflakes can be preserved like this!"

You finally took your eyes off the charm and looked at him.

"Apparently, we can."He beamed a brighter smile, soaking in every inch of your reaction.

”And this way, an important part of me will always stay close to you."

He meant it. It was obvious from his tone and expression.

The present had exceeded all of your expectations. It was thoughtful, symbolized much more than Christmas. It was perfect. You were left speechless.

Shoto handed you the second box. Your vision blur from teary eyes. You managed to stop the tears and open it. It was a silver snowflake bracelet.

Shoto went on to explain it.

"Since the actual one is quite delicate and I couldn't morph it into a bracelet like I wanted to, I got this too, you know a ..."

You interrupted him the midway with a kiss, followed by another, and another.

He returns all your kisses with equal passion and holds you close.

He reaches out to grab his gift, you push away his hand, and take the present away from the tree. You felt so stupid. You were flustered with embarrassment suddenly.

"Hey, let me see it." He complains.

"No!" You exclaim and hide it behind your back.

"Why not?" He was confused.

"B..B...Because... It’s is not for you!"

"What?" He chuckles.

"Y/n... Are you sheltering someone else here without my knowledge?" He narrowed his eyes to look serious.

"Wh..what...No...I mean.."

Shoto pounced upon you and snatched the gift while you were in a state of confusion. You tried to snatch it back, but it was too late.

"Cat ears?" Shoto turned it back and forth, inspecting the band.

"Looks adorable. Should I put it on?" He asks innocently. You nod, still looking down.

"Like this?" You finally look up, and all your unworthy feeling lifts that just how adorable he looked. He smiles and brings his palms closer to his cheeks, trying to imitate a kitten. You almost had a nose bleed. Your reactions must have been so obvious, for he burst out laughing.

"Here, you try it on."

"No! don't you dare take 'em off!" You warn him.

"There is an extra pair." You beam ear to ear and get the other one. Of course, you had enough time to mend the other set.

After you pet each other, you take a bunch of photos together, you took his solo shots. Near the tree, in the kitchen, in front of the door, in the bedroom. You wanted to take a couple more, but you decided against it, reading the growing annoyance in his face.

Then you both sat by the tree, checking the cards he received. You were honestly a bit shocked to know he never went through them.

"Wow. Isn't this your sister?"

"Yes. and her Boyfriend." he eyes at the photo and gets back to his phone.

"They look so cute together!"

You were a little annoyed he wasn't paying attention to the cards. You snatch the phone to find him looking at the cat-ear pictures of you both.

"I think we look better." He states, unaffected by your barbaric snatching.

”We should use one of these pictures to send out cards”

You ruffle his hair and giggle, not because of the comments he just made. But because he could make such cheesy statements with a straight face.

Suddenly, you couldn't recall why you were worked up the whole day.

”Hey”

Shoto breaks the silence. You were on the couch, sitting between his limbs, as he wrapped his hands around you, warming you up and letting you rest on his chest.

”Um?”

”We should do this every Christmas”

”Do what?”

”You know, the tree, the matching sweaters, the cards...”

You chuckle.

”We will, Doki”

’Oh My baby Kitten, this is how Christmas is supposed to be!’

[wornoutmouse]

Illumi x black Y/N

JUST OCCURRED TO ME I NEVER UPDATED MY ILLUMI STORY ON HERE?!??!

It was the next day when Illumi came home and all night you had to force yourself to ignore the phone calls that came throughout the night. "Y/N I brought you breakfast." you could vaguely hear the monotone voice through your sleepy state. Sitting up you wipe your eyes and look around the room before finally taking in the food in front of you. You blink slowly as you take in the large egg in front of you.

It was about 2 feet tall and larger than your own head with speckled spots all around it. "Illumi what the hell is this?" Illumi blinked at you, "A boiled egg, I heard it is popular among you people." he replies, taking out a spoon and whacking the top of the egg at light speed. All at once, the egg was made up of cracks before they all fell lightly around the egg itself.

"You people? What does that mean" you glared at him, arms folded. Illumi looked at you blankly before closing his eyes and standing up, "Isn't it obvious? Americans." You looked at him for a while, questioning the life choices that lead up to this moment. "Are you going to eat this with me?" you asked poking the large food product with a fork provided by Illumi's brother from your last meal. Illumi shook his head, "No I ate two weeks ago I'm quite full."

At this point, you didn't have any desire to question it as you pierced your egg with your fork eating it. You were surprised at the abundance of taste it held without having any noticeable sauce or seasoning on it. "This is amazing!" you said digging in the egg savoring every bite. Illumi took out a notepad and scribbled something down. "What's that?" you ask, eyes lighting up as you finally made it to the yolk. "Notes my mother gave to me in order to make you accept this family as your own. Step 1: Take them, easy enough. Step 2: a way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Illumi looked up to you with what you could only guess to be pride.

"Did you just call me a man?" you asked blandly suddenly wanting to throw something at the skinwalker. "As far as I can see, you carry no masculine features but even if you did, my family has ways of making it work." Illumi says gesturing at the pins adorning his green vest. You internally shiver at the sight of them as you think back to the night you two met. "Why wouldn't you answer my calls?" Illumi asks, black eyes peering down at you as if they could swallow you whole. "Why did you call me while you were inside someone. Aren't I supposed to be your wife?" you questioned sarcastically licking your lips and setting the plate to the side.

You had only finished about 1/8 of the egg but you felt as if your stomach would implode on itself. You jump as you see a pale hand planted on the bed next to you. You gaze up at Illumi as he looks down at you, seemingly to take in all your features. "Would you prefer I were inside you?" You squeal jumping up and out of the bed falling onto the floor. "Where did that come from!?" you yelled pointing an accusing finger at Illumi as he walked around the bed towards you.

"Although I would prefer our lovemaking to be only when conceiving a child, I do not mind indulging in your fantasies." He says sliding a nail down the middle of his vest opening it up to reveal a green shirt underneath. "You stay right there slender man! Touch me and it's on sight!" you say wielding your fork as if it were a weapon. "Onsight? But I can see you just fine, are you perhaps blind?" You look at him with distaste as you stand up lazily throwing the fork in his direction. “You’re so weird.”

Illumi looked like a kicked puppy, “I don’t know what was strange, you chose to insinuate that you were jealous of me giving physical pleasure to another woman.” There was a knock on the door and a tall man with a mustache walked in. “What is it Gotoh?” Illumi asks, facing the man. Gotoh takes in your disheveled appearance and Illumi’s rare lack of that ugly ass jacket and smirks. “Look OG I don't know what you're thinking but that ain’t it.” you say rolling your eyes before walking into a closet to see what you could possibly wear.

Illumi looks at you with an eyebrow raised, “What is an Oh Gii? Is it a term of endearment?” You look at Illumi for a while before giving him a thumbs-up, “Yeah totally.” Gotoh pushed his glasses up doing his best to contain his amusement. “Your mother and father request a meeting with you and your fiance.” Illumi nods and Gotoh takes his exit.

You pull out an outfit that looks similar to what Illumi was wearing but instead of green it was red. “That'll work.” you mutter flinching as you feel arms wrap around your waist and you feel Illumi rest his head on your shoulder. “I am quite fond of you Oh Gee.”

You have to close your eyes and take deep breaths in order to keep in the laughter threatening to exit your lips.

Much to Illumi’s outward displeasure yet obvious pleasure, you and him were wearing the same thing. Although his vest was tightly hugging your chest and the pants were getting ready to bust from your ass. You two walked down the corridor in silence as you took in the navy blue walls that adorned the hallways. “I mean, knowing what you people do I wasn't expecting to see any loving family photos but how do ya’ll not get depressed with all this nothingness.” Illumi gazes forward but pulls out a small parchment. “I prefer to carry family memories.”

Illumi holds out a small photo to you. You look at it and it appears to be a child Illumi with his father in the woods. Ordinarily, this would be a sweet and endearing photo if not for the fact that Illumi was covered in blood splatter. “This was my first kill.” You quickly handed back the photo and chuckled awkwardly. “How cute a child murderer.” Illumi nodded, “Grandma thought so too.”

You silently prayed that someone, anyone would come to get you from this nightmare.

Illumi opens the double doors and allows you to walk in first. The room was much more lively than the halls but still managed to not look out of place. The room was a deep orange with golds everywhere from the linen to very abstract paintings placed in gold frames.

Sitting on a large pillow was Illumi’s mother and if they had your way, your mother-in-law. Illumi’s father of course sat next to her, broad-chested and overall intimidating. “I bet his dick is small.” you mutter trying to ignore how fast Illumi turned his head to gaze at you.  “Illumi my son, come, come, sit!’ The woman cried, throwing her arms in the air in a welcoming manner. Illumi sat down.

You continued to stand because there was no obvious pillow for you to sit on. “Umm.” you scratched the back of your head before walking close to Illumi to sit. “No need for you to sit my dear, you will be leaving soon anyway.” you raised your eyebrow at that and couldn’t help but feel a chill go down your back. “W-What does that mean sir?” you ask. To your left, a small man in a lab coat walked from behind a door holding a clipboard. “We are ready sir.” he says not looking at you the entire time

“Y/N can you please go with him.” Illumi orders not even giving room for objection. You put your hand on your hip slapping away the hand the little man offered to you. “Like hell, I’m just going with Dr. Frankenstein over here without having any information!” Illumi sighed, having the audacity to look embarrassed. “You chose yourself a feisty one, my son.” Silva chuckled looking at you with a gleam in his eyes that made you thoroughly uncomfortable.”Illumi!” you warned, tapping your foot on the carpet. “More like obnoxious.” you could hear Kikyo mutter but you were too pressed with Illumi to care.

“It is understandable Illumi, I’m sure she would be more comfortable with her husband present during the examination.” You tapped your foot faster, getting anxious at the words 'examination.'

After a long pause, Illumi get’s up and follows you into the next room. This room was ordinarily dull. The floor was hardwood but the walls seemed to be adorned with expensive fabrics. “Miss if you will, can you roll up your shirt so I can draw blood.” You jerk your head at Illumi who simply looked blankly at you.

Seeing no other choice you roll up your sleeve but before the doctor could put the needle within you, you freaked out and stopped him before holding your hand out to Illumi. Illumi looked at your hand before recognition set in his eyes. He leaned forward and gave you a high-five. “My brother Killua taught me that.” You put a tight smile on your face before reaching over and grabbing the nearest object and throwing it at Illumi’s head satisfied as it hits him square in the jaw.

“No dumbass, hold my hand.” you responded. Illumi opened his mouth to say something but decided against it before taking your hand into his. Illumi’s hands were unsurprisingly cold considering how pale he was. The fingers were thin, long, and too delicate to belong to someone that takes lives for a living. You couldn’t quite help but laugh at how your skin tones concentrated so drastically, it was almost comical.

Before you knew it the blood work was done but you still didn’t let go of Illumi’s hand fearing what was to come next. “Please take off your clothes.” You Look at the doctor for a second before slowly sliding out of the chair and bolting for the door. Before you could make it you feel the neck of your vest being jerked back. “Don’t make this difficult please.” Illumi sighed.

“Hey you're not the one being asked to strip in a strange place.” Illumi shook his head, “Would you like it if I striped you instead of the doctor?” You smacked him on the back of his head, “No with your weird-ass!”

In the end, you kicked Illumi outside and found yourself propped up in a chair as the doctor took swabs in your cooter much to your discomfort. Illumi comes back in by the time you finally put your pants on and you follow him and the doctor back to the original room.

“How did it go doctor?” Silva asks and as you come closer you notice a large pillow sat out for you. “I’ll have you know my findings are quite peculiar. This woman seems to be a second nen ability within her but it’s dormant. This only happens with twins when one consumes the other.” You knew this fact, your momma always joked about how you were so hungry as a child that you ate your sister. “And what else.” Kikyo said, opening a hand fan impatient. “Is the girl barren and therefore of no use to us?!”

“Oh you won’t have to worry about Illumi’s ability to produce children, this woman is extremely fertile. In fact, I’m sure all it would take would be one time. There is also a high chance they could produce a white-haired offspring.” Your eyes widened, Kids? What the hell are they talking about, it’s been 3 days do you not get a got damn orientation? Silva held his chin in thought, “Though I do not doubt Killua’s loyalty, it’s always good to have a backup.”

You stood up and headed out the door as fast as you could, fists clenched. “Back up my ass, I ain’t having no brat with any of you people!” You walk down the hall, having no intention in mind highly doubting that you could make it to any exit without this damned family allowing you to. “Who the hell are you?” You hear a voice down the hall coming from a small boy with white hair. ‘This must be Killua.” You thought as you continued to walk past him, “A bad bitch who doesn't need no weird-ass fish-eyed man.”

Before you take another step, you hear a loud sound coming towards you, “Get out of the way!” Killua said, pushing you against the wall. There is a loud crack then footsteps, “Hello Killua.”  You heard Illumi’s monotone voice say as he comes to be in front of you. Reaching above your head, Illumi picks out one of his pins from the wall behind you. “The hell was that Illumi!’ both you and Killua yell out, pointing an accusatory finger at the man in question.

“I see you’ve met my bride.” Illumi continues ignoring the situation. “It was good to see you again, finally tired of your ‘friend’?” Killua scoffed, “No, I’m here because dad called me.” he shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets and walking away, “Hey!” you look up at Killua who had his hand raised in a wave, “Sorry for your loss.”

Illumi crowds you back into your shared room with more force than necessary. “Hey watch it!” you snap shaking your shoulder out of his grip. “You embarrassed me in front of my mother.” He replied blandly. You roll your eyes, “Well sorry for you pretty boy, but I have bigger fish to fry.” Illumi looked around the room slowly, “I swear to god if you say-” “What fish?” You groan plopping on the bed burying your face into the sheets.

In your own world, you ignore the feeling of the bed sink, but you do not ignore the crotched pressed into your ass. “What in the hell do you think your doing nigga?!’ you say not in the mood whatsoever. “What is a ni-” you swing your hand behind you and attempt to slap Illumi in the face only for him to grab it and press it into the sheets above you. You begin to feel uneasy, “What are you doing fish eyes!?” You attempt to lift your hips but he secured them with his own. “Considering the results, I say that now is a perfect time to start consummating.

[sugarsnap-caely]

A Cozy Winter’s Day

Large flakes fluttered and fell between the bare branches of snow-covered trees. It had been snowing for quite sometime earlier and there had to have been at least a foot of the white crystals on the ground.

A window fogged up as a very large fluffy dog leaned up against the back of a chair, it’s nose nearly touching the glass as it looked outside with big longing eyes.

Marvin leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, a smirk on his face as he watched the dog yearn. “Hey, Jackie,” he called, tilting his head back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, Marvie?” Jackie poked his head around the corner of the hallway.

“I think someone wants to go outside and play.”

Jackie stepped fully around the corner, still holding on to a holiday decoration he had been in the process of hanging up. He stood just behind his boyfriend, listening to his death omen doggie give a small whine. “Well, what are we waiting for?” He put down the decoration on the coffee table as he stepped over to the door to grab his coat and a leash.

As his owner passed him, the dog turned in his direction, panting affectionately. Once he noticed that Jackie was grabbing for the leash he immediately bounded off the couch, his tail wagging as he bounced at Jackie’s feet.

“You ready to go outside, boy? You wanna go outside?!” Jackie leaned down, pulling a hat on his head as he baby-talked the dog.

The dog let out a very loud, Broof!

That was all the answer Jackie needed as he hooked up the leash and opened up the front door, running out with his companion.

Marvin smiled, watching his boyfriend through the window as he and the dog ran across the yard. He sat down on the couch, admiring the view. The dog bounded and jumped, trying to nip at the flakes falling from the sky. In turn, Jackie stuck out his tongue, trying to catch them as well. However, he failed to notice the leash slowly beginning to wrap around his legs. Marvin, on the other hand, did not miss this detail as he bit his lip in anticipation.

Sure enough, the dog jumped up in the air, and in one sudden movement, Jackie found his face planted in the snow.

Marvin howled with laughter, nearly falling off the couch as he hugged his sides.

Just outside, Jackie was wiping the snow off his nose but having a difficult time between laughing and his dog trying to lick it off himself. “Down, boy!” He ruffled the dog’s fur, kissing him on the top of his head as he picked himself back up.  As he dusted the snow off his hair he looked around. He breathed a sigh of contentment, watching as the light made the snow glisten and sparkle. “If only Marvie were out here to see this.”

“Right behind you, silly!” The next thing Jackie knew, something cold and wet pelted the back of his neck. He whipped around, seeing Marvin wearing his cape and chuckling as several snowballs floated around him.

Jackie beamed, laughing. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who wanted to play outside!”

“Damn straight!”

Jackie just barely managed to dodge another snowball as he ran for the cover of the tree, his dog bounding behind him. He swiftly crouched on the ground, beginning to create his own line of icy ammunition. Marvin may have had magic on his side, but Jackie certainly outdid him when it came to agility and strength. Peeking from around the tree he lobbed one of his snowballs at his boyfriend, managing to pelt him in the shoulder. He ducked back around, pumping his fist in celebration.

“You can’t hide behind that tree forever!” Marvin called, creeping closer.

“Try me!” Jackie regretted it immediately as snowballs fell from the air above him. He threw his arms over his head, running out from behind the tree. “Hey! That’s cheating!!” The smile on his face betrayed the anger in his voice.

“You call it cheating, I call it an advantage!” Marvin laughed, chasing after his boyfriend as he dodged the snowballs being thrown back at him. He was on his tail. 

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. The dog was now barreling towards him. He yelped, turning around and running the other way.

“Now who’s got the advantage!” Jackie yelled as he chased after Marvin. With one final leap, he tackled him sending the both of them into the snow.

Once again, they found themselves laughing heartedly.

“I guess it was my turn to get a face full of snow, huh?” Marvin chuckled, doing his best to shake the hair out of his snow like a dog.

Jackie didn’t answer. Instead, he gave a small sigh, a lopsided smile on his face as he stared at Marvin. The snow stuck to his boyfriend’s lashes, and the sunlight was causing them to sparkle and twinkle. Combined with the blue irises, Marvin’s eyes looked like the night sky. It matched perfectly with the inside of his cape. How did a dope like him end up with someone so pretty?

“Cuz you’re a handsome dope.”

Jackie blinked, blushing as he realized he’d said that out loud. “I--well...uhhhh,” he stammered, trying to hide his head in his coat like a turtle.

Marvin chuckled. “Come on,” the magician said as he got to his feet, holding out his hand to help his boyfriend up. “While you might think the snow looks pretty on me, it’s freezing out here, and I’d like to be warm and toasty.”

“Well, that’s what you get when you don’t wear a coat or hat, Marvie.” Jackie lightly shoved his shoulder, his face still red like a cherry. “Besides, you’re doing a great job of keeping me warm.”

Marvin picked up the dog’s leash. “Oh, hush. Let’s just go back in and make some hot cocoa.” Although, now his face was a little warmer as a blush of his own dusted his cheeks.

~~~~

The two of them curled up on the couch, mugs of hot chocolate in their hands as the fireplace gently crackled. Marvin’s head leaned against Jackie’s shoulder as the two of them watched a movie start-up on the television. His hand gently stroked and scratched his cat’s ears as he purred at his feet.

He had traded his pants, shirt, vest, and cape for a pair of Jackie’s sweats. Once again, he had forgotten to do laundry and was left with almost no clothes. Thankfully, Jackie had let him borrow some of his own. Marvin rubbed his face affectionately against the hood of the sweatshirt. Where would he be without his big, strong hero?

Beside him, Jackie took a sip of cocoa from his mug. He sighed, setting down his mug and wrapping an arm around Marvin, giving him a light squeeze.

Marvin turned his head at the contact, pursing his lips and trying to hold back a laugh. However, he couldn’t hold back the red hue that spread across his face.

“What? What’s so funny?” Jackie raised an eyebrow, an amused chuckle escaping his lips as he turned to look at him.

That did it. Marvin giggled nearly spilling the contents of his mug as he did his best to set it down. “You--you’ve got--” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before he caught the confusion on Jackie’s face and a new wave of giggles washed over him.

“Well come on, spit it out, or your cat’s gonna leave his spot, and I know how much you hate that.”

Marvin wiped the tears prickling at the corner of his eye as his giggle fit died down. “Alright, alright.” He pulled his cat back towards the couch, causing the feline to let out a slightly annoyed mewl. He grinned, the laughter still lingering in his voice as he continued. “Jackie, you’ve got whipped cream for a mustache, and it’s on your nose, dumbass.”

Jackie crossed his eyes as he looked down at his nose. Sure enough, there was a generous coating of sugary cream. He licked it off his lips, wiping his hand across his face.

Marvin’s giggles came back for a moment and he covered his mouth with his hand. “Hey, Jackie.”

“What is it now, Marvie?” Jackie was nervous. How else was he going to embarrass himself today?

Marvin glanced up, smiling. “Look.”

Jackie looked up. Dangling above their heads was a small clump of mistletoe. He could just barely see the whisps of Marvin’s magic disappearing into the air around it. “Oh no.”

Marvin’s grin widened. He was blushing full force now as Jackie looked back at him. “Oh yes.”

“Must you be so cliche?” Jackie said, giving Marvin’s shoulder another squeeze.

“Only if it gets a reaction like that out of you.” He poked Jackie’s cheek indicating the tomato red tone.

Jackie chuckled as he cradled Marvin’s face with his hand. “Speak for yourself. You’re redder than my sweatshirt.”

Marvin leaned into Jackie’s hand, humming contentedly. “I love you so much, Jackie.”

Jackie craned his head closer to Marvin’s as the two of them looked into each other’s eyes. “I love you too, Marvie.”

The two of them locked their lips together, embracing as the fireplace crackled and burned like the fire they shared in their hearts for each other. And that was all the warmth they needed.

~~~~

AN: This story is based on @inspiredrawaw’s Death Omen AU (seriously go check them out). The Marvelspeticeye ship is so cute I can’t. I wanted to do something for this amazing AU but I’m not as confident in my drawing skills as I am in my writing skills. But anyway, I’ve been thinking about writing something like this for a little while now. It finally started snowing today, and so this just POPPED into my head. I couldn’t resist.  (I would have had it done earlier but I had to go to work...)

This is my first time really writing something romantic, and I hope I did well. I also hope that I got the characterization right, and I hope not too much of my own versions bled into this story. All in all though, this was very fun to write. ^^

Also, this is a bit of a holiday gift for them, so I hope you like it. ^^

[clonecaptains]

LIKE LIGHTNIN’ - an agent whiskey fic

word count | 3k+

rating: m for sexy times, language 

summary: agent whiskey x female reader; you’ve been crushing on agent whiskey for ages - maybe tonight you can do something about it when you’re assigned to be his wife for a mission

a/n: this was just a stab at a fic w/ him so here goes lol hope yall like it! and we’re ignoring what happens at the end of the kingsman movie in this fic

LIKE LIGHTNIN’

From day one of joining the Statesman, you’ve had a crush on Agent Whiskey. Crush is putting it lightly. Your knees shake when you walk towards him. Your heart pounds in your ears if he touches you. Your face burns hot if he talks to you. 

Genuinely you do care for him though, make no mistake.You were at his side in the infirmary after he was shot in the head. He jumped up and called you ‘sugar’ and flirted with you and Ginger Ale both. You almost wish she hadn’t shown him the picture of his lost lover. That brief moment of him flirting with you even if it was superficial - felt nice.

He flirts with you casually, you’re easily flustered by him making you a target for fun. But you’re never the girl he takes home.

After he returned with the Kingsman after the Poppy incident, you’d made a promise to yourself to make a move, or at least TRY to admit your feelings. He’s taken other lovers since the one he lost, surely he might be open to getting to know you better.

Your chance would come on your next assignment. You were to accompany Whiskey to a gala as his wife. It was a recon mission really. It was mostly classified information - need to know. And all you needed to know is you’re posing as Whiskey’s wife.

That alone was enough to make you feel sick. You’d be his date the whole night at a nice party. Even if it was fake, you were going to soak it all up.

You were finished getting ready and were waiting on him. Which was no surprise to you. You were given a dress to wear, it was a classic black dress. No back, and smooth velvet. It fit you like a glove and you felt amazing in it. Even Tequila gave you a whistle when he saw you. Ginger Ale gave you an earpiece to put in, and Whiskey would get one as soon as he was ready.

When he was ready and came to get his earpiece, you almost lost your lunch. He looked so handsome cleaned up. His hair was styled perfectly, and his mustache trimmed. He had a sleek tux on, and you felt dizzy when he smiled at you.

“My beautiful wife,” he winked and pressed a kiss to your cheek. His mustache tickled your skin, and you swear his lips left a burn. Ginger Ale gives you a quick glance as she hands Whiskey the earpiece.

She knows better than anyone about your love for him, She knew before you did.

You fight the blush that fights it’s way up your neck, but you just can’t help it. When he kissed you, a strong whiff of his rich cologne hit your nose. It was all too much to take in.

Playing the part, he offers you his arm and you take it, your hand resting on his firm bicep. You feel like a teenager going to prom with her crush. To add to the scenario, a limo arrives to take you to your destination.

A warm hand touches the bare skin on your back and it sends goosebumps up your spine and a spark of heated pleasure to your core. You’re never gonna survive this night.

Once in the limo, you go over your cover names etc. But just being in the same space is making it difficult to breathe.

“You alright darlin’?” he asks observing you. The pet name sends a jab to your heart and you feel your heart jump up your throat.

“Do you have your flask?” you answer his question with your own. “Things like this make me nervous.” And that’s not a lie. Being with him is making you very nervous, but big parties like this aren’t your scene. This is why you work behind the scenes.

He fishes his flask out of his coat pocket and hands it to you. Your fingers barely touch his during the exchange, and you’re not sure if you can take anymore. You know how this night will go. You’ll do the job and then you’ll go back home. You’ll go to your room, and he’ll go to his and tomorrow will be the next mission. The close moments like this will end. So you make a point to enjoy it even though his touch is too much to bear.

You take a swig from his flask, and taste the smooth whiskey. You wince a little at the burn but swallow anyway. He chuckles as you hand back the flask.

“You’re surprised that I like that?” you ask with a laugh.

“Do you?” he asks taking a swig himself.

“No,” you laugh and he cracks a grin from behind the flask.

“So tell me darlin’,” there’s that pet name again, “why do you work for a distillery if you don’t drink?” he takes another swig.

“Didn’t figure that would matter,” you admit. He shrugs, doesn’t bother him you’re not interested in drinking.

The limo ride doesn’t last as long as you’d like, though you’re grateful for fresh air when you step out of the vehicle. Whiskey helps you out, and his hand finds its place on your back again.

Whiskey has a big mouth and he likes to talk - so you let him do most of the talking tonight. You really don’t mind either, you’re his arm candy and you’re getting a good meal. A whole night by his side hearing him talk and smelling his cologne is enough for you.

And you’ll never tire of hearing him introduce you as his wife.

You know Whiskey is working. You’re so used to watching him on the other side of the camera. Years of aching. Watching him flirt with other women. Now you’re the woman. He’s greeting other guests, and putting on the charm. Kissing women’s hands, he’s definitely working. You’re not even sure who you’re supposed to be observing, but he knows.

As the night goes on, it makes you sad. It’s going to be over soon. Your evening with him will come to a close and you’re not ready.

“Your wife is lovely,” a man speaking pulls you from your thoughts. Whiskey has been talking to him for a moment. You can only assume this is the person you’re here to investigate.

“She is,” Whiskey smiles and gives you a wink. Without warning he leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your face burns red, the only thing saving you is it’s not uncommon you think for a wife to blush at her husband’s compliments.

A tiny spot of lipstick is on Whiskey’s bottom lip, and you wipe it off with your thumb. The action draws his attention, and he looks at you. Really looks at you.

“Hey,” he whispers with a smile. You want to crawl into a hole because somehow you know with this look, he’s seeing you.

The wife of the man just speaking ‘awwed’ at your action, turning Whiskey’s head. His hand is still on your back, and you know he can feel you tremble because his hand is moving up and down, thumb rubbing into your skin.

The rest of the night at the party is a blur after that kiss. You’ll take that with you for the rest of your life no matter what. The feel of his soft lips, the brush of his mustache. The way he looked at you when you touched his lip. His big brown eyes will be the death of you.

And before you know it, you’re back at HQ.

Ginger Ale and Tequila debrief you first. Whiskey disappeared to change clothes during your debriefing. You’re so flustered you forget to give the earpiece back  after the two of them give you a look - they saw the kiss.

Soon Whiskey comes in the room, and you’re headed out. Whiskey says something about ‘being glad that was over,’ and you feel a gut punch. Your heart sinks, and you leave the room as quickly as possible.

With your earpiece in, you hear everything being said, and it makes you feel worse.

“What’s wrong with her? She ok?” Whiskey’s voice comes in.

“Dumb ass,” Tequila claps him on the shoulder. “Do you really not know she’s in love with you?”

“That was the time of her life tonight, and you just blew it,” Ginger Ale tuts.

You don’t hear anymore because you take the piece out once you reach your room. Angry, embarrassed tears flow down your cheeks. You try and get your dress off, but in your frustrated movements, the zipper gets stuck on your lower back. Groaning, you crumple into a heap on your bed.

You almost don’t hear the knock on your door the first time. But you hear the second knock. It’s not loud, you can tell it’s a knuckle tapping quickly.

Part of you doesn’t even want to open the door. But if you don’t, you might miss your chance. Makeup is already smudged on your face from crying, and your dress in the lower back is half unzipped, you look like a mess. But can’t get worse you guess, so you open the door.

Whiskey looks just like you’d imagine him to on the other side of your door, leaning against the frame casually- except his face. His eyes look a bit sad, and his lips aren’t curved in the usual smirk.

He’s already changed clothes, and even though it’s late - he has his usual hat and jeans. A white tee shirt clings to his tan skin. Your mouth goes dry.

“Hey,” he nods. “Came to apologize.”

“For what?” you ask moving aside so he can come in your room. It dawns on you he’s never been in here. You’ve fantasized about this moment, but what’s happening now is nowhere close to what you imagined.

He’s quiet for a moment, looking around your room. You honestly have no idea what he’s going to say. And from the looks of it, he doesn’t either.

“I’ve been a fuckin’ idiot. I didn’t know, you-”

“Didn’t know I was in love with you?” the words spill out of your lips.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs with a sigh. “I guess I did. I just thought you were easy to flirt with cuz ya always smiled at me. But then tonight,” you didn’t notice as he’d been talking he’d also been walking closer and closer to you. He touched your lower back again and it nearly sent you to your knees, “tonight little darlin’ you were shakin’ in my arms. And the way you looked at me, fuckin’ damn baby. Bring a man to his knees with that look. Guess I thought you were nervous at the party, but baby you hit me like a bolt o’ lightnin’.”

His face is millimeters from yours and you’re still trembling in his arms.

“Then why did you say you were glad to be done after tonight?” you whisper, making eye contact with those dark eyes.

“I was just ready to get outta that monkey suit and into regular clothes,” he grins.

“Oh,” you laugh embarrassed.

“Truth is, I wasn’t ready for the night to end with you. It was nice. So don’t you cry any more tears for ol’ me now ya hear me?” he presses a kiss to your cheek. He’s turning to leave, but you grab his arm.

“Wait.”

He turns quick, and before he can ask what you need, he cups your face with both hands and gives you a real proper kiss on your lips. His warm hands are on the bare skin of your back, and your hands are grasping at his t-shirt. A denim clad knee was about to wedge its way between your legs, but your long velvet gown kept him from it. You giggled when he grunted in protest against your lips.

“We gotta get this off,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Wait,” you say again and make him look you in the eye. “Is this real?” you have to know.

He takes your hand, and brings it down to touch the growing bulge in his jeans, “that feel real to you?” he asks, mischief in his tone and he bucks himself more into your hand. He delights in the flush on your cheeks.

“I mean it,” you say pulling your hand away. Quick as lightning, he grabs your hand again, and puts it over his heart. It’s a steady thunder deep in his chest.

“Let me take care of you little darlin’,” he brings that hand up to his mouth to kiss your fingertips. “I told ya, being with you tonight made me realize that I’ve wanted you too.”

“Then help me take this dress off,” you gasp. Your head is spinning. “The zipper is stuck.”

“I’ll get it,” he goes around behind you. The zipper is small on your lower back. First he tries to yank it apart, which doesn’t work. Then he fishes out his pocketknife from his jean pocket. A quick cut and the zipper is free.

Now you’re free to get out of the dress.

Oh.

Now you’re free to get out of the dress. It’s backless, you’ve got no bra on. Once this thing comes off it’s only a pair of panties between you and Whiskey’s damn tight jeans.

You’ve stood frozen for too long, and he notices.

“What’s wrong sweet pea?”

Your back is still to him, and you’re holding the dress to yourself. It won’t fall off unless you pull it but you still feel like you need to hold it.

“I’m nervous,” you whisper.

You feel his mustache before you feel his lips on your bare shoulder.

“Ain’t nothin’ to worry about darlin’,” he kisses your skin. The charm is coming on strong. But still there’s a gentleness to his tone. This isn’t like other lovers. The ones who fling themselves at him. He’s looking out for you.

“Whiskey-”

“Sweetheart, call me Jack,” he kisses your shoulder again.

He waits til you start to move the dress off yourself, and he reaches up to help. Soon the dress is off you completely and in a big black heap of fabric on the floor.

You’re clad now only in a pair of underwear, You’ve crossed your arms over your chest, still feeling nervous.

“Turn around,” he says. You’ve memorized what Jack’s voice sounds like, but somehow in your room speaking to you it sounds so different.

You turn to face him, arms not moving from your chest.

“Little darlin’,” he smiles and puts his hands on your shoulders. “Come on, you gonna let me see?” Damn him and his charm.

He wraps his arms around you in a hug, and he pulls your arms off yourself to wrap around him. Now your chest is pressed against his.

He takes one step back. His eyes still locked with yours, and your arms still around his shoulders.

“You gonna let me?” he asks, his eyes are sincere, but his grin is devilish.

One nod from you is all it takes before he looks down between you. He eyes your chest, and licks his lips.

“This was what you were hidin’ from me?” his hands are quick to grab a handful of each breast. That’s when your knees buckle. His laugh in your ear is so playful. You’d smack that cocky smile off his face if you didn’t love it so much.

“Fuckin’ hell, you feel good,” he kisses your neck as his hands massage your flesh. Then he drops his head to a breast and sucks a nipple into his mouth, his mustache brushes against sensitive skin and you cry out. He chuckles again and backs you up towards your bed. Gently he guides you down until you’re on your back. He sucks your nipples and sucks hickies all over your chest.

“Jack,” you whine.

Quick fingers dance down your stomach and into the band of your underwear.

“This all for me?” he kisses your stomach while he feels the slick between your legs. He wastes no time sticking a couple fingers in your heat and pressing a thumb to your clit. Your moan is embarrassingly loud, which only fuels him on. He barely touches you before you’re coming hard around his fingers.

“Fuck, I bet you got a couple more for me don’t ya? How many?”

“As many as you want, oh fu-” you can’t even finish the sentence you’re trying to catch your breath.

He sucks his fingers off, and the sound is obscene. This feels like a dream. A sexy dream you couldn’t even comprehend.

Leaving you on the bed to breathe a moment, he takes off his hat and peels off his shirt. He sits down on the bed next to you, legs spread wide. And he pulls you up over into his lap so you’re straddling a thick thigh.

“You’re gonna ride baby,” he tells you. The pressure of his leg between yours almost sends you over the edge right then. You can’t help but admire his tan skin now that he’s shirtless in front of you. He looks perfect.

Grabbing your hips, he starts to guide you. Your center pressing against him. There’s not enough friction, and you groan and stop him so you can take your underwear off.

“That’s it,” he tells you when you get back on his thigh and move. The friction is delicious, and almost hurts. But soon a thumb works you over, and your juices are leaking out on the denim.

“Good girl,” he tells you and kisses your neck. “You got one more for me?”

Your chest heaves, but you nod. You’ve been wanting him for ages, you’re not gonna waste it.

Shifting back a little on his leg, he makes quick work to unbuckle his heavy belt and unzip his pants. Your mouth waters when he pulls himself out, you’d always wondered what he looked like. Now you know, and now you need to feel. You push his hand away to touch him, he raises a brow watching you. Then he lets out a sharp hiss between his teeth. You shudder to feel him.

His hands find you hips again, and he eases you down onto him. Both of you groan together, and you can’t help but smile into his neck.

“How long you been thinking about this hmm?” he teases and thrusts his hips up.

“Shut the hell up Whiskey,” you laugh and bite down on his neck.

Your bodies move together wonderfully. You’re still sensitive from your last two - and this third orgasm isn’t as sharp but the pleasure is all the same.

And when he finds his release, his groan in your ear is one you’ll never forget.

He pulls back and lets out a whistle, “damn darlin’. I mean DAMN.”

You can’t help but laugh and blush, and fall back into the crook of his neck to hide from his eyes.

When you pull back to look at him, he looks wonderful. His hair is messy (thanks to you) and his lips are plump from the kissing. Even the hairs on his mustache are askew. His eyes are heavy with exhaustion from pleasure, and his grin says it all.

“Don’t leave for your room,” you tell him combing your fingers through his hair. “I couldn’t bear it if you left.”

“Little darlin’ I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

//

@pajamasecrets / @mandoplease / @spacedadheadcanons

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Better Together: "ALN" Story (Pre-Serum Omega!Steve and Alpha!Bucky Modern Domestic AU)

Epilogue:

"He, uh," Steve paused, his throat still aching. But he knew he needed to do this. If he didn't report this incident than it could allow Brock to potentially hurt someone else. And Steve couldn't let that happen.

So, glancing over at Bucky who was helping the police officer question their toddlers, "He propositioned me... and when I declined... he grabbed my neck."

Nodding, the officer wrote it down. The older omega scratched at his hidden upper lip before smoothing down the gray mustache, "And what is your relation to Mr. Rumlow."

"Doctor. It's Dr. Brock Rumlow," Steve corrected. Worrying his lower lip, he glanced over at Kit, snoozing in his swing, "He delivered my youngest son."

Another nod as he wrote down what Steve was telling him. "Did he use his Voice?"

Steve shook his head, and even that was difficult. The medic had already evaluated his injuries, but didn't deem them severe. But damn if it didn't hurt like a bitch when he swallowed or tried to talk. Nevertheless, Steve answered the questions asked, "Do you want to press charges?"

"Yes," Steve didn't even hesitate.

The officer nodded and handed him a card, "In case you need to reach me."

"Thank you, Officer Michaels," Steve rasped, standing from his seat to cross the room.

The older omega crossed the house to talk to another officer that had cataloged the crime scene. Steve crossed the room to his guys. In a soothing tone, the female beta officer asked, "And what did you do when you saw Brock hurting papa?"

"I yelled," Oliver told her. His little brow furrowed in his concern and determination, "I yelled for daddy."

Nodding, she wrote it down and then said, "That was very brave of you. You both were so brave. You helped your papa the best that you could, and that means a lot. You did a very good job."

A sad smile tugged at Bucky's lips as he kissed the tops of each of their heads. The little boys clung to their daddy as though they couldn't trust anyone else. Well, until they spotted their papa.

Steve sat down on the sofa beside Ollie and the tiny brunet marked his papa with his underdeveloped scent gland. Learning the behavior from his fathers and understanding that it was done to comfort. And a fresh wave of tears built in his eyes because his sons were so caring and nurturing, even at their young ages.

The officer stood and offered Finn and Oliver two stickers. One with a koala bear that said, "good job," the other a, "well done," elephant. The boys perked at the stickers and Bucky told the officer, "Thank you."

"Of course," she smiled and headed over to the other officers.

Steve knew that they would be gone soon and then he'd just have to wait. He didn't want things to be drawn out and he didn't want Brock to try anything. But really, Steve just wanted the whole thing to be over with and to go make their bed into a nest again and pretend that none of this happened.

"If we have any other inquiries, we'll contact you," Officer Michaels said as a farewell, leading the officers out of the house.

With the officers gone and their evidence collected, Steve stood, needing to clean the blood off the floor. Before he got too far though, Bucky stopped him with a tender tug to his arm, causing Steve to pause.

Bucky stood, wrapping Steve up in his arms. Rubbing soothing circles on his back, Bucky marked him in hopes of comforting him. Steve just felt like crying more. Especially when he felt the sorrow and guilt rushing through the bond to him.

"Hey," Steve looked up at his mate. Needing the alpha to know, "This isn't your fault. This is all Brock's fault. He should've known better than to put the moves on me."

For Steve's benefit, Bucky weakly smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Steve reached up to stroke over his prickly jaw, and assured, "I'm okay. I promise. Just a few bruises."

Bucky shook his head, but leaned forward to pepper Steve's face with kisses, "You go make a nest, I'll clean up."

Not wanting to draw the trauma out, Steve nodded and herded the boys towards the bedrooms. Making sure to get Kit from his swing on the way. In the linen closet, he grabbed all the spare bedding he could and was relieved when his little guys were acting like their normal selves as they jumped on the bed. And in his arms, Kit started to wiggle and giggle, seemingly sensing his brothers' joy.

They'd make it through this, they would.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag

[tryingmybestpls]

Run (The Mandalorian x Reader)

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian finds the reader in a cantina, but he isn’t the only one after her.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Violence, use of a weapon, talks of suicide, hints at abuse

A/N: I think this sucks but I just needed to write it to get it out of my system.

"And I tell him 'No I don't think you're inherently a shitty person at all, but I do think you're a fucking asshole.'." The Mandalorian hears her before he can see her, but he follows the sound of her voice and the laughter that follows the statement. He can see the top of her head and then there you are.

Y/N is sitting amongst a small crowd, perched on top of the bar. A smile is stretched out across her face. Y/N is practically the embodiment of carefree. Just seeing her is making some sort of feeling bubble up deep inside of the bounty hunter, but he quickly pushes it away. She's supposed to be on the run, staying hidden. If Mando found her, hopefully that means that other bounty others were still looking for her-Kriff.

A group of men-bounty hunters- walked in at that moment, tracking fobs in their hands. Mando sat down in a slightly hidden booth, trying not to draw any attention to himself. If she hasn't seen him yet, she'll definitely notice the men that just walked in. While part of him wanted to take down the men for her, Mando knew she was more than capable enough to do it herself.

"Hi gentlemen, are you lost?" Y/N greets happily, all attention in the room suddenly leaving her and going to the men at the door. The five men shifts in their boots. The leader, a humanoid, grins.

"I think we are exactly where we need to be Y/N Y/L/N." His voice is rough, like something is physically wrong with his vocal cords. She grins, leaning back on her hands as the men pull out blasters of various sizes and models.

"Can you at least let these lovely creatures leave this establishment before you fail at your job?" She asks, finally seeing Mando out of the corner of her eye. The woman smirks, keeping up the nonchalant act. The Mandalorian knew that she was carefully planning her attack in her mind.

"You know Mando, I think you really like watching me do all of this. That's why you like teaming up." Y/N teases as she puts restraints on a bounty that was practically double her size. The durasteel covered man only sighs in response as Y/N pushes the bounty towards the Razor Crest, walking past him. She made bounty hunting look almost effortless. If he was the best in the parsec, she was an extremely close second.

"Y/N, I just want to get the job done as efficiently as possible." The Mandalorian tried to correct her. Y/N's laugh rings out like a bell.

"Whatever you say, Tin Can."

"Fine. They got five seconds." The man announces and the patrons of the bar quickly scramble to the exits. Even the bartender abandons his alcohol. Mando, of course, stays in his seat and readies himself. She will either be straight to the point or she’ll decide to put on a show and at this point, Mando couldn’t really tell. Y/N continues to look disinterested, studying her fingernails as the men take another step closer. It's an act she uses a lot, pretending to be an idiot (although she'll tell you that she's just luring them into a false sense of security. It's Mando who says she's acting like an idiot).

"Maker, I really wish you hadn't interrupted my story. I was getting to the good part." She says as she stretches her arms over her head, a smile stretching across her face, "But this will be far more entertaining."

Mando leans back his the booth, watching as she finishes her drink. Y/N throws her glass drink at the main man's head. It shatters on impact, which gives her time to slide behind the counter. The main man stumbles, gripping his bloody forehead as the other four men started shooting their blasters where she had been sitting.

Y/N was great at what she did. The Mandalorian had worked beside her many times, usually on extremely difficult bounties that he would be barely able to handle by himself and somehow she made it look like a piece of cake. Her skills were always a topic of discussion within the Guild. Clients mainly wanted her if they wanted someone particularly ruthless.

The men stopped shooting for moment, looking around for the hidden woman. Mando couldn't see her, but she was currently holding a blaster in each hand. Y/N let out a breath that she didn't know she was holding. She listened closely, waiting a few more seconds. Y/N was extremely skilled and she knew that the longer she waited to pop up, the more comfortable they would get.

It would be like shooting porgs in a barrel.

"We don't have all day, Y/N!" One of the side men that had a shitty little mustache calls out. Y/N rolls her eyes and it's during that split second where she pops up, firing her blasters into the men. All five of them drop dead, all her shots hitting them exactly where she wanted them to. Mando was always a little surprised at how seemingly perfect her aim always was. It was almost like she was the one that has been training since childhood and not him.

"It's like they only send the shittiest hunters after me, Tin Can." She speaks up, climbing up and over the bar. Y/N walks over to the bodies, nudging one of them with her foot to make sure they were actually dead. Mando rolls his eyes under his helmet and rises from his spot. She stomped on the tracking fobs, silencing the aggravating beeps.

"They still found you." The Mandalorian responds and now it's time for Y/N to roll her eyes. That's when she heard another beeping noise. She stilled and turned to look at the Mandalorian. Her friend was standing right there, a tracking fob in his hand. A dry chuckle leaves her throat as she walks back to the bar.

"And it looks like so did you."

"I wouldn't fight you, y'know. If you were sent out after me." She tells him as she holds a cup full of some sort of alcohol to her lips. The Mandalorian tilts his head slightly at her, urging the woman to continue. Y/N takes a long sip of her drink, her eyes looking at something across the cantina.

"If you were sent after me, I wouldn't fight you, Mando. It would only draw out the inevitable." Her voice doesn't sound the same. Something is off with her, but it only lasts for a few seconds before she turns to look at him. Y/N has mischief in her eyes as she asks, "So can you still have sex, Mando? Or is it truly a "no fun creed"?"

"Who wants me dead?" Y/N asks as she pours herself a drink, now standing behind the bar. The Mandalorian walks over to her, sitting down in front of her on one of the stools. The bounty hunter pressed his lips together, watching her movements.

"You have to be brought in alive, Y/N." He informs her, knowing that it won't make much of a difference. She downs the shot, using the back of her hand to wipe off her mouth.

"Who is the client, Mando?" Y/N questions, her tone completely serious. She's glaring right into the visor, her eyes pinning him to his seat.

"Your parents." The words are heavy as they leave his mouth. Y/N's gaze softens slightly and lowers. She focuses on the empty glass in front of her like it's the most interesting thing in the galaxy. Y/N mutters a curse under her breath, shaking her head as she pours herself another drink. She immediately downs it, ignoring the way it burns all the way down her throat.

"I'd rather die than go back to them."  Y/N mutters, leaning against the back of the booth. Her finger carefully traces the brim of the glass that she had finished off. Mando pretends to not be interested in the conversation even though he was intently listening.

"Didn't you live in a palace, Princess Y/N?" One of the other bounty hunters questions her, practically sneering as the blue skinned alien leans forward slightly. Y/N didn't discuss her past, but they all knew where she was from. Her family ruled on one the planets in the Inner Rim. Certainly a far greater life than anyone else in the Guild has ever had. Yet, Y/N had run away from all of it, choosing to become a bounty hunter, which had in turn cut her off completely from her family. The other bounty hunters laughed.

"My family were Empire sympathizers. They wanted to marry me off to a high ranking Moff. He was fifty cycles older than me. I needed to get out of there so I left the day of my wedding. I was sixteen."  Y/N's tone was harsh and quickly silenced the laughs. She smiles, leaning forward as she asks, "What? Princess got your tongue?"

"I'm not going back to them, Mando. Not alive." Y/N tells him and she looks back at him. There's tears in her eyes and she's trembling. Y/N's scared to death. She knows that she can't beat him and Mando-Mando knows that this is going to be a fight she's going to lose. The Mandalorian watches as a tear slips out and rolls down her cheek. The Mandalorian knew that she didn’t just runaway because of an arranged marriage.

"Don't-Don't do this." Mando tries, rising in his seat as she tries to blink away more tears. His chest aches with a pain he has never felt before. Her free hand reaches out, grabbing ahold of his yellow leather glove covered hand. The way her fingers interlock with his makes his heart race, which only makes it all hurt so much more.

"It was nice knowing you, Tin Can." She says with a small smile on her face as her free hand reaches towards the blaster she left laying on the counter. The Mandalorian's movements are fast as he knocks the gun away from her hand while he still held onto her other hand. She looked at him, a mixture of emotions on her face. Y/N quickly regains composure and Mando doesn't know if that comes from her time as royalty or if it's something she picked up during bounty hunting. Mando's eyes drift back towards where their hands were still clasped together.

The Mandalorian swallows hard and grabs the tracking fob he had stored away. The bounty hunter looks down at the blinking light. He hates the fact that he even thought of turning her in, like she meant nothing to him. Without a second thought, he crushes it in his free hand. The bounty hunter doesn't know why he does it, but it feels like the right thing to do in this situation. Y/N watches as he lets the crushed metal and plastic fall to the ground before looking back at the durasteel covered man as he sits back down. Mando wonders if her gaze would be less piercing if he was covered head to toe in Beskar.

"I'm not-I'm not going to bring you in." The Mandalorian tells her, as if his actions didn’t already say that enough. The tension seems to visibly leave her body as she looks down to their hands again. Neither of them had pulled away yet, which is surprising since neither of them are big on feelings. Mando never talked about his and Y/N only did when she was incredibly intoxicated.

"What are you going to say? I bested you and ran off? It'll never work." Y/N responds, her voice is as soft as a cloud. Mando's never heard her speak like this. Her hand pulls away from his and Maker, the Mandalorian's hand has never felt so empty and heavy. Y/N walks around the bar and takes a seat on the stool beside him.

"I won't say anything. I'm not very talkative." The Mandalorian retorts and she makes a noise that sounds like a laugh, but the humor doesn't reach her eyes. Y/N wipes at her fallen tears.

"You getting soft on me, Tin Can? Seems like you're breaking a code here." She's trying to save face, acting like she wasn't holding onto his hand a minute or two ago. The Mandalorian doesn't quite know how to respond to her. He tried to ignore the fact that she had created her own little space in his head, tried to ignore the fact that Y/N was going to leave his head for some Maker forsaken reason.

So he just doesn't respond, letting the silence settle around the both of them. Neither of them were going to voice whatever they were feeling in this moment, so it was far easier to just not speak. Y/N poured herself another drink, raising it towards the Mandalorian. What comes out of her mouth wasn’t exactly what the Mandalorian was expecting her to ever say to him.

“Thank you.”

[saintheartwing]

Breaking Dawn, Part Five: The Sapphire Serpents

Breaking Dawn, Part Five THE SAPPHIRE SERPENTS

The feminine Vortian nervously rubbed the back of her neck as Feyr handed her a cup of coffee, giving her a gentle pat on the hand as he did so. She was used to his "there-there" treatment...it was commonplace. All the prisoners had referred to him as a touchy-feely kind of being.

How odd that Irken society would produce one so tender and sweet. He enjoyed talking to them about their families, their friends. Personal stories, usually.

"So where were we last?" Feyr the Consular inquired, one invisible eyebrow arched up as he fingered the necklace as it hung over his chest, a glittering orb almost pulsing with life. "I think you were telling me about the time that your garage caught on fire."

"Oh, right, right." Halle nodded, leaning back in her chair, looking away from her interrogator and up at the ceiling. "I can remember the smell of smoke...that was what we first noticed. It made us turn our heads, glance out the window...somehow, under the burning hot Vortian sun, our garage had caught aflame. And then it EXPLODED."

She chuckled slightly. "It was quite the sight, lemme tell you. Smoky haze hung around for days, and grandma's ears were ringin'." She hesitated then, looking over in his direction as he smiled down at the orb on his necklace before glancing back to her. "But why do you always like talking about our family life? You never ask us about any secret sabotage plans, no plots to bring down your vile empire..."

"Frankly, I sympathize. The only thing the Irken Empire loves is itself, and that's quite unacceptable to us Consulars." Feyr told her, his fern-like antennae sweeping over his head as he sighed. "Absolutely unacceptable. But they'll never know our true goals. We have ruled their lives since they first looked upon us, but they'll never know. All it takes is one touch and we have control over the minds of others."

Halle giggled slightly, a bubbly, tingly feeling rising off her. Was...was the room spinning? She couldn't concentrate. It all seemed so...funny, she...she was shrinking. Getting smaller and smaller. Wow. Like...wow.

"You're probably asking why I'm telling you this...no, no." He stroked his chin. "You're asking if you're really shrinking, I think. And the answer is I put a special venom secreted from our all-powerful Entity into your coffee..."

"V-Venom? Like a snake's? Wh-what's...what's going on?" Halle giggled again, hiccupping slightly.

"I have been "setting you up" for quite some time. Sometimes it takes longer on others who have stronger wills, but in the end, you all shrink."

Feyr calmly waltzed over to her form, carefully plucking up her tiny, shrunken body, giving her a gentle pat on the head with a careful claw. "You see, little one...the minute you let me touch you all those days ago, your mind became an open book and I learned all I needed and reported it. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. You're in my coils now...and you're going on a trip."

Carefully, he held the tiny figure over his mouth, zipper-toothed maw opening wide. The inside of his mouth was a strange color, grayish-green, a sharp contrast against the pinkish teeth, though his gums were slightly greenish/pink. He tilted his head back, placing the shrunken Vortian on his tongue.

Halle had given up on resisting...it felt so natural...she trusted this gentle giant, and allowed herself to relax as he began to swallow, her feet being the first to enter. She slid into his throat, a a slight pull on her body as she straightened herself out, looking behind her at the world outside his mouth as her waist and chest entered his throat. The throat finally slurped her up, sliding down and depositing her squarely in his stomach.

She could feel a gentle hand rubbing the outside, and hear his psychic voice within her head, still quite tender and sweet. "Don't worry, there's no acids in there, and the saliva your body is coated with now will put you into a state of suspended animation until you're ready to come out." Feyr intoned as Halle looked down at her feet, seeing shimmering pink crystals rise, covering her, aiming to engulf her body.

"It'll all be over soon, little Vortian. Just wait...soon you'll be in your new home..." Feyr purred in pleasure, the little one crystallizing in his belly's pit as he licked his claws free of her taste. Quite good, yes. Not quite as good as Irken flesh, admittedly, but it had a distinct flavor to it...and to think, he had three more prisoners to interrogate today...

The Consulars took a sense of pride in giving new meaning to the term "I want you inside me"...

The city...of Philadelphia! Located fifteen miles from anything non life-threatening.

Ahhh, the quiet state of Pennsylvania...and a demon is on the loose.

The people...are terrified!

The police...BAFFLED!

This FIENDISH being strikes without warning! Without mercy!

With diabolical cleverness...

He draws mustaches on people's faces.

It could be you...it could be ME...

"But it happens to be ME!" GIR the robot said cheerily as he waved his marker in the air, calmly stepping away from a movie theater, every single poster now desecrated by black mustaches drawn on every living being within. Monster movie? Godzilla looks great with a handlebar. Cameron Diaz has a fine and thick brushy mustache.

GIR WOULD have drawn one on Michael Jordan's underwear AD located by the snack machine, but he thought the Hitler moustache he was rocking was embarrassing enough.

You see, ladies and gentlemen, GIR...could see as GODS DO. He knew things, understood things, that nobody else did. Didn'tcha, GIR?

"You're darn tootin' right!" GIR cheerfully exclaimed, nodding in agreement as he strode from the theater, putting one robotic hand over his chest, over the big red watch that constituted for his heart. "We all have our missions in life. We get into different ruts. Some are the cogs on the wheels..."

He then burst out giggling, bouncing back and forth. "And others are just plain NUTS!" He put a finger over his lip and bounced it over and over, going "Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo" as he bounded back home.

He was momentarily distracted though, by seeing Dib peeking out at him from HIS house, via the window. Dib was looking through binoculars straight at GIR, one eyebrow raised.

"Nope. No ring on him yet." Dib murmured, seeing GIR wave and grin at him as he made his way down the sidewalk. He scratched his head, turning it to see a large billboard showing Poop Dawg, the head spokesdog-person-thing for Poop Cola, drinking a can of his signature drink and now sporting a "Robin Hood" style mustache. "GIR has WAAAAY too much free time." He mumbled, turning back to shake his head at Gaz as she played away on her GameSlaveX, the latest in the video game system series.

He poked his head back out the window to try and focus in on ZIM'S house this time, but before he could get out his binoculars, GIR promptly swung down on a pulley system he'd somehow erected atop of Dib's house, marker in hand, drawing a very large Bowler moustache on the kid's face.

"Oh she was an acrobat's daughter...she swung by her teeth from a noose! Then one matinee, her bridgework gave way and she flew through the air like a goose!" GIR sang out, promptly grabbing bounding through the window, jumping off Dib's head to land in his room and reach into his chest compartment, pulling out fifty bucks to Gaz and giving them to her.

"Thaaaanks." She said with a smile as she leapt back out through the window, heading for his home as Dib wiped his face off.

"Did GIR PAY you for the permission to draw on my face?" Dib reasoned.

"Whiner." Gaz muttered, rolling her eyes and heading downstairs, off to go make a "special stop". Dib raised his hand up.

"Gaz?"

"Just...don't." She insisted. She didn't want him to come. Didn't want him to talk about it. Didn't want him to even THINK about it. She calmly headed down the stairs, the ring around her finger pulsing slightly as she walked out the door.

Dib sighed and headed to his computer, which had booted up to the Intergalactic Net. He was pirating galactic web from Zim's house thanks to an upgrade his dad had so generously installed and was trying to check on the latest auctions for interstellar items. Mainly, technology he could use to help make Zim's life as difficult as possible.

Plus, he was waiting for a pair of special see-through goggles. X-Ray, Infrared, Radar...

Wait. What was this? Somebody was auctioning off an "Onslaught-Class" starship...and not just ANY Onslaught-Class starship...

Somebody was selling The Massive itself!

...

...

...

... "...they're gonna make this my fault." Senior told his charges as he slapped his gloved hand to his face, looking at the place where the Massive HAD been parked as Feyr examined the people chained to the nearby railing of the parking garage, Red and Purple shaking with anger, turning very, VERY pale with rage, antannae and lips a-quiver. "I just KNOW it."

"What kinda sick being steals a ship but doesn't even bother to let it's prisoners go free?" Jayd wished to know, his black eyes shimmering with concern as he glanced over at the prisoners Feyr was standing by.

"That's actually kind of amusing." Peech spoke up, chuckling slightly as her enormously thick orange jetpack jingled with her laughter. "My kind of thief!"

Sude, still QUITE untouchable or audible to any of the others save for Senior, carefully tiptoed behind Red and Purple as they turned around to glare at Senior, the draconic entity of Life raising his hands up and imitating a puppeteer, with the Tallests as his puppets.

"Funny or not...our SHIP is GONE! OUR ship! All because of your day off!" Red growled at them, pointing an accusing claw as Sude raised his "arm" rope, making a mocking frowny face. "You're going to pay DEARLY for this!"

"We'd make you do "The Electric Chair" but there's no stinkin' chairs around!" Purple added. "And who had access to the ship anyway? Huh?" He asked, putting his hands on his hips, Sude imitating him as Senior began to giggle. "Huh? Huh? Huh?"

"N-n-no-nobody-hee-hee-hee..." Senior giggled, bursting into laughter as he held his sides, the others looking at him like he was insane.

"What're YOU thinking about?" Red snapped.

"Oh just...puppets." Senior wheezed out, wiping a tear from his eye as Red's eyes glittered.

"Good idea. PUT ON A PUPPET SHOW FOR US." He demanded, slamming his fist into his palm as Senior gulped.

"Uh...puppet...show? Er...okay..." He gulped. "But I've not got any puppets."

"A PAK with no PUPPETS in it! SHAME!" Purple insisted, shaking his fist at Senior. "You get a PUMMELING!"

An instant later, tiny hammers popped up on springs from the communication officer's PAK, bonking him over the head as Senior fell to the ground, "ow-ing" and "ooh-ing" over and over.

"Wow, voice-activated pummeling system in every PAK, regulated only to the Tallest's voices? Nice." Sude admitted as Peech reached into a compartment in her jetpack, pulling out some studly-looking puppets as Jayd got out some of his own from his considerably large belt, joining Senior in the puppet show.

"Say, Zimma-diah, ya think there's any big ol' space worms in this cave?" Senior said in a country-hick-style voice, holding up two puppets of, ironically, Zim. One in a bad shirt, the other in a dress for some strange, strange reason. What sort of lunatic would take the time to make TWO kinds of Zim puppets, let alone one with a dress?

"I dunno, Zim-thro!" Senior squeaked out in a falsetto. "Let's take a look-OHMYGODASPACEWORM!" He cried out, Jayd going "nom-nom-nom" as he "ate" the puppets a few moments later, Red and Purple whooping it up. Anything involving anyone looking remotely like Zim getting hurt was funny to them.

Plus...puppets.

"I guess we'll have to move to the palace." Red supposed as Jayd and his boss then did a puppet rendition of "Tallest Grapa's Electrocution Incident". "It HAS been a while since we were able to just sit back and relax there."

"But we'd have to sleep in separate rooms!" Purple whined. "You KNOW I don't do well alone." He clung to Red then, purple eyes brimming with tears as he whined like a puppy.

"I've gotten you your favorite night liiiight..." Red said in a sing-song voice, patting Purple's head as he pulled out a big smiley face'd version of himself, which lit up and glowed with gentle light when you plugged it into the wall.

"Aww, you always know what I like." Purple cheerily remarked as Jayd struggled not to say it, but couldn't keep it in.

Don't do it, Jayd. Don't-

"The Ambiguously Gay Duoooo!" Jayd laughed out loud.

KRAKA-THROOOOOM! Lightning promptly zapped him from out of the clear sky above and he coughed slightly, wiping the soot off his body as Feyr unchained the last of the prisoners.

"Does that...happen often?" May Nar inquired as she looked over at Senior.

"...I wish I could say "no"." The communications officer admitted to her, frowning slightly. He was CERTAIN he'd seen her somewhere before, and not just on the news. It was like...he knew her. REALLY knew her. But how?

Jayd noticed a considerable scrape on the Vortian's leg, frowning slightly as he approached, gently kneeling by it. "Here, let me heal this." He insisted politely, placing one hand over it as the Vortian looked on in surprise. It was so strange...the tubes connected from his PAK to his gloves were now filling with a strange, multicolored cloud of tiny particles that passed from his glove over the wound, like a shimmering, gentle mist.

"Nanogenes." Jayd explained to the mystified Vortian. "Be it near-death or just a scratch, as long as I've gotten a template for a living organism integrated into my PAK's matrices, I can cure any being. Plus, everybody likes the tingle."

"It's true. They do." Purple said, rubbing the back of his neck and turning visibly red as he thought up a way for him to injure himself later in the day. Hey, he could stop ANYTIME he wanted!

"Might I be allowed to make an inspirational speech, sirs?" Senior requested politely as Red and Purple looked him over.

"...why not? This could be good for a laugh." Red mused, rubbing his chin as he raised an invisible eyebrow. Senior was ALWAYS making inspirational speeches to the workers on the massive: they were often grade-A cheesecake. So much so that they'd come up with a drinking game: take one shot every time he uses a tired, worn-out cliché. Purple whistled for several assistants to bring them alcohol and they sat down on the backs of several unfortunates who were being forced to be used as stools for the Tallest.

Senior cleared his throat, Dite rolling her eyes as he began. "I know all of you expect me to say I'll always be a brave and courageous and noble leader. That I'll be the perfect inspirational figure for you and the right sort of person to emulate. That I can protect you from anything that'll befall you here. That I can save everyone."

"DRINK!" Purple giggled, downing one beer.

Senior ignored them and his antennae lowered, drooping slightly as he held one hand over his chest, sighing slightly as the others looked on in surprise. "Well, that isn't going to happen, because your Senior is a weak, WEAK being. But...but I'm good enough to promise this."

He gestured at all of them, his kindly eyes looking out across the empty garage. "I will be there. I'll be afraid. Confused, even. But I WILL be here with all of you, experiencing everything you go through. If NOTHING else...I will try to be by your side, even if I can't protect you from everything that'll attempted to be stuck into yours."

None of them spoke, all of them quietly looking at him before Jayd quietly clapped his hands together, nodding at Senior. "I liked it, sir." He said.

"It was honest...if nothing else." Xeil admitted, pulling down her communication's garb face mask to smile slightly at her boss.

"Thanks for keeping the clichés low, sir." Dite grumbled.

"Your kind words are always helpful." Feyr agreed, a look of sympathy flashing across his face.

Peech nervously tugged around an imaginary necklace as she flashed a slight, fake grin. "Yeah, yeah, uh...real nice...real nice..." She trailed off, a guilty expression flickering across her face, orange eyes slowly gazing down to stop at the ground.

"Yeah, yeah, let's save sittin' around singing campfires and all that crap for some time when OUR SHIP ISN'T STOLEN. Come on!" Tallest Red yelled out, clapping his hands together. "We're headed to the palace!"

"Uh, yay?" The many workers on the Massive mumbled, Purple sighing as well. Evidently he LIKED sitting on communication assistant's backs.

"...there's an "Orange Julius" on the waaaaay!" Red mumbled, folding his arms and rolling his eyes.

"YAAAAAY!"

Sude's frown, however, made Senior lose his happy grin. "What is it?" He whispered as they headed down the street towards the palace of the Tallest.

"The Entity of Love, Jourmungdr, is...dangerous." The draconic being whispered back as they kept walking. "And I've been sensing his presence growing stronger and stronger every minute I've been on this planet. I think he's been here longest out of all the others!"

"But he's the Entity of LOVE. What's scary about that?" Senior inquired, looking skeptical as he tilted his perfectly-round head to the side, Feyr happily introducing May to the other prisoners from the Massive, chatting it up with them all.

"He/She's not simply motivated by love, but by the absence of love."

"But he's not Chulainn, right? He wouldn't KILL us or anything because we're not shiny-happy-people, right?" Senior inquired, becoming slightly pale.

"Oh, no...NO!" Sude laughed nervously, pausing for a few moments. "...yes."

"...okay, uh...er..." Senior gulped. "I'll think of something!"

...

...

...

...GIR was slightly confused that his master wasn't at home, but he didn't mind it TOO much. Plopping down in front of the television with a bag of chocolate-covered popcorn, he decided to waste the rest of the afternoon with his favorite television program, the "Scary Monkey Show".

There's really not much else to say about the show. Seriously.

"I LOVE this show." GIR decided for the eighteenth millionth time as he munched away at his popcorn bag, momentarily turning his head to in the kitchen: Torque Smacky was tied to the table and there was a bucket filled with some kind of hypnotic soup that Zim had been testing. He wanted to introduce it to the school's cafeteria, to get everyone to do his will, but unfortunately there was going to be nothing but hot dogs and corn chips for the next week. And then the week after it would be hot dogs and potato chips.

Zim would simply have to wait three weeks until he could disguise his new, evidently VERY successful stew as creamed corn, because apparently Torque thought he was Clodah Rogers, and kept singing.

"I'm...just...a...jack-in-the-box! I go wherever love knocks! I'm gonna jump up and down on my spring!" He kept singing out as GIR frowned slightly, eyes turning red.

"I'M A-TRYIN' TO WATCH MY SHOW!" He yelled. "Stupidhead!" He snapped, grabbing ahold of the nearby lamp and tossing it through the air. It sailed across the room and into the kitchen, whacking Torque on the head and making him realize exactly where he was.

"Wh-what the...GET ME OUTTA HERE!" He yelled out. "What have you done to me? What have you done?"

GIR frowned darkly and walked into the kitchen, getting out a hammer from the nearby drawer near the sink and hopping onto the table, holding it high.

"AAAAAA!"

THWUCKA-THRONK!

"Thanks, I needed that..." Torque grumbled out, slipping into unconsciousness as GIR, satisfied, ripped Torque off the table and tossed him out the window to land in the rose bushes, heading back for his TV show to see-

A robotic being standing there, holding a ring with a yellow glow to it.

"INTRUDER!" GIR growled out, eyes transforming back to red, his forehead popping open as several large cannons suspended on mechanical wires shot up from within, aiming squarely at the feminine being.

"Don't you want this ring? This...SHINY ring?"

"...yes, it SURE is shiny..." GIR mumbled, his eyes becoming a cheery blue once again as the guns retracted and he inched closer...closer...

"Does GIR WANT the shiny ring?"

"GIR wants shiny very much." GIR whispered as Miyu smiled, sweet like darkest poison, handing him the ring as he slipped it onto one of his tiny fingers.

"GIR...you have the ability to inspire great fear. Welcome to my corps." Miyu laughed coldly, golden-yellow light shooting up around GIR's body as he was transfigured before her eyes, golden plates sliding onto his arms, yellow "boots" appearing on his feet and his chest and arms changing from blue to shades of yellow as well as his eyes, which now were alit with keen artificial intelligence.

"Amazing...AMAZING." He whispered, looking over his body. "The power...UNLIMITED POWEEEERRRR!" He roared out, rising into the air on flashy yellow lightning, cackling madly. "I'm gonna blow stuff up now!" He added cheerily, popping out through the window and waving goodbye as Miyu chuckled darkly. Sure, he might be seen.

But if he was seen...he'd just kill. Problem solved. What she didn't know, though, was that another thought was popping inside of GIR's head...a desire to go visit Gazzy and show off, since she was such a favorite of the robots. He wanted to hold onto her, GIR decided. After he'd killed her brother and father, he'd make sure to keep her alive, and when she died, he'd put her beautiful eyes in a mason jar...

But meanwhile, not far away, a quiet, careful figure concentrated, whispering quietly as he too thought of that same purple-haired girl formed in his head. This sort of spell took careful concentration...

"Come on...I call you forth...I call you forth...I call you forth...I call you forth..." He murmured and murmured, carving into his body the necessary runes, dark blood dribbling down his arms and chest as he held his hands up high. "I call you forth...I CALL YOU FORTH..."

...

...

...

... "I couldn't think of anything!" Senior moaned, tugging down on his antennae as they made their way towards the palace. Indeed, it was a beautiful structure, shimmering silver in the middle of a beautiful sea of purplish ground. There were dozens of columns lining the front entrance with images of famous Irkens inscribed on the columns, the pillars of the past being the pillars that held the palace's high roof up.

Most noticeable of all, though, were the flags that flung from the top, high banners of varying colors by several spires. One was green, another white, the other blue...symbols of the grand philosophy of the Irken race: Sacrifice for the Empire, Faith in it's Leaders and the Ambitious Will to Survive and Succeed.

"I can FEEL him. He's IN here." Sude murmured into Senior's lack of ear, eyes widening. "Hiding...waiting...waiting to KILL!"

"Kill?" Senior gulped inside his head.

"Just bein' overly dramatic. Sounds better than "do nasty things"." Sude commented calmly as they strode inside the set of double doors, the Tallest snapping their "fingers" as a red carpet was rolled out for them, a white-labcoat-wearing scientist with blue eyes bowing as he knelt before the Tallest as they ascended to the stairs.

"It is ALWAYS a pleasure to have you come back, my all-powerful Tallest." Trivvik, aka Trik, Head Scientist of the Research and Development Department for the Irken Military insisted ashe gestured at the many other ornately-decorated scientists, cooks, servants and guards in the palace. "We're ready for whatever order you have to give."

"We wanna eat food. We just stopped at an Orange Julius but we want something very cheesy. I'm talkin' three heart attacks in one serving." Purple insisted.

"You heard the man!" Red snapped, clapping his hands. "THREE heart attacks!"

"One, two...five?" Trik inquired.

"THREE."

'Three." Trik whistled sharply and the chefs quickly zipped to the kitchens as Trik clasped his clawed hands together. "Anything else, sir?"

"We need our feet rubbed." Red added, he and Purple walking off as the many former inhabitants of the Massive looked at each other, Senior sighing.

"I suggest we all find rooms and get some rest." He told them all, stretching his arms wide as he watched Feyr sneak off with the prisoners in tow, eyes narrowing. "...follow him, right?"

"Hell to the yeah, I believe is the term." Sude murmured, Senior slinking after Feyr and the prisoners, down a hallway to see-

Gone. He'd just...vanished.

"Where the...?" Senior glanced left and right in the labyrinthine hallway. "Where is he?"

"Count the doors." Sude ordered immediately.

"...six, there's six-"

"SEVEN. Look in the corner...of...your...eye." Sude murmured as green eyes slowly turned...more...more...

There. A perception filter had kept it hidden, but there it was...a slight pinkish glow emanating from underneath, light curling it's claws beneath the door. Senior grit his teeth as he opened it up, and his eyes and mouth widened in shock.

"WHAT...THE...HELL?" He screamed out.

The room was an enormous structure with hundreds upon hundreds of crystallized coffins of some kind, containing various alien beings. Some were Irken, others Vortian, some Meekrob, or Screw-Head and some even humanoid in appearance. Real Earthlings? Here? On Irk?

And standing in the middle of the room, suspended in the air by a pinkish energy construct formed around it like a giant artist's drawing rigging, was an enormous cobra-esque being. It was looking around the top ring of crystallized prisoners, removing something glittering from it's mouth time and time again and popping them across the wall, the glittering gems expanding into crystal prisons as they embedded deep in the walls. It turned it's head, noticing their presence and nodded over in the direction of-

Feyr. He was there, with the prisoners...all of whom were crystallized. He removed one such tiny gem from his own mouth, putting it to the wall as it expanded to reveal a Vortian female. May was the only one not yet crystallized, she was clinging behind an enormous sapphire pillar, one of many that held the room up, her own pink eyes widening as Feyr turned, smiling at Senior.

"It appears the secret's out." Feyr mused, shrugging as his appearance began to shift and shimmer, changing into a vaguely dress-like outfit, complete with a tiara and gloves, all shades of pink and white. And, for some reason, a slate of chest armor that allowed his...BELLY BUTTON to be shown?

What in...HOW? Unless...he was a NATURAL Irken? What ELSE had he been hiding? As Senior looked upon Feyr, Sude shimmering into full visibility by him, the communications officer shivered. Why had he never seen the dark intensity lurking behind Feyr's eyes? This snake in the grass had been hiding for so long in his garden...why had he not known?

"Because you didn't want to." His inner voice whispered.

"Jourmungdr...it's been a long time." Sude spoke loudly as May inched over to Senior, instinctively preferring the Irken that WASN'T trying to turn her into a piece of wall art.

"Time has been kind to you, as it has to me. Too bad you didn't emerge sooner. I've been here on Irk for centuries with my children the Consulars." Jourmungdr said, in a voice half feminine, half masculine. It bowed it's hooded head, stars sparkling within the hood as the insignia of Love shone brightly atop the cloth hanging over his...her...forehead. "I am Jourmungdr, little host. Don't be astonished by my appearance or my ways. Once all of these beings have seen the light, they shall be found."

"What "light" is that?" Senior demanded to know, clenching his fist tightly and shaking it at the snake. "You're keeping them prisoner and...and what have you done to Feyr?"

"All of them are having he embers of Love reignited within them. Just like Will and Rage and Fear and the others, everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE...is capable of feeling love to a degree." Jourmungdr intoned, pulling one crystal off the wall as it grew in size, gently stroking an Irken cheek. "In the case of the Irkens, who threw away their ability to spread love with others, I am bringing back their body's ability to freely love."

"You're MUTATING Irkens..." Senior murmured, eyes widening as he stepped back in horror. "Forcing them to gain sexual organs for your needs?"

"Your definition of "mutation" is incorrect. Think of it as bringing back what once was. REPAIRING, if you will." Feyr explained. "At one point, we Irkens were hermaphroditic, we bred freely with any beings we wanted. Survival was all that mattered, and we didn't care who bore our children. We must return to the flesh, my Senior." Feyr told him, suddenly striding to his boss's face and caressing his cheek, sweetly smiling, every syllable dripping with tender poison. "Return to our old ways. Jourmungdr wants all beings to embrace love. You have it in you. I can see it."

For a brief moment, Senior felt a terrible, harsh pain in his chest. It was as if his heart literally had been punched. He found himself momentarily glancing over in the direction of Lard Nar's sister as she glanced at him, as if seeing something else in him. "I...I..."

"Within you is a great amount of love and compassion for your kind...and for other species. You come from a time when we were allies with others...your tolerance towards them allowed the seeds of love to spread. You would make a fine mate for HER, I'd imagine." Feyr mused, glancing back at May.

"I want you to leave her alone and let these people GO." Sude insisted. "You cannot FORCE love on others."

"Sude..." Jourmungdr sighed and shook his/her head. "If a being is in a crisis and refuses to acknowledge it...you know only outside intervention shall save them. I will be that intervention. Please...don't stand in my way."

"I don't have a choice." Sude growled, putting one clawed hand on Senior's chest. "Senior...time for you to say my Oath! It is time for you to accept my blessing fully, and rise in light with the power of the White Rose!"

...

...

...

...GIR had been in the middle of a snacking spree at the nearby Pet Store when he'd noticed Gaz sneaking through a nearby alley. Putting his face up to the window, he watched her scuttle across the street, heading into the nearby cemetery.

Wait. The cemetery? GIR frowned slightly, yellow eyes narrowing. "What is she...?"

He moved smoothly out of the pet store, following after her, intent on figuring out what she was up to, wiping his mouth free of blood and fur, eyes widening at the sight of her pulling her coat away. She was now fully in her armor, all red and black and concentrating.

"Come on...come ON!" She snarled as she stood before a gravestone, pointing her red ring at the grave as it shimmered brightly. "Bring her BACK!" She yelled. "BRING HER BACK!"

With that...it WORKED. A burning red fire shot forth as blood dribbled down from her mouth, and her eyes widened as the fire seeped into the ground...and her mother's skeletal form rose, holding a hand to her cheek. "Wh-what's...what's going on?" She murmured out. "GUAAAAHH!" She hit the ground, panting and heaving, dry-vomiting as she struggled to stand.

No skin...no muscles...no eyes, a faint red glow around her body, but...some hair left...and her voice. Her mother's voice.

"Amazing. A rotting sack of bones and tumors and all she can feel is love..." GIR whispered, hiding behind a tree some distance away, eyes widening in surprise as Gaz's ring began to form the flesh and hair for Gaz, her mother nervously looking around, one hand holding her head.

"Mom? Mom?" Gaz whispered, clinging to her mother and looking deep into her eyes. "Do you know where you are? Do you know who I am?"

"G-Gaz...Gazlene? Is...that you?" Peggy Membrane inquired, eyes widening at her daughter.

"Yes...YES." Gaz felt the tears come, but did nothing to halt them. Screw the laws of life and death. Fuck anybody who would dare to laugh at her weeping like a little girl. Gaz felt just fine. BETTER than fine. And more importantly...so was her mother.

"I...feel so...strange." Peggy murmured as GIR approached nervously, Gaz glancing over at him, pnot really caring about his new outfit. "I...I can't remember much." She mumbled.

"It's okay, take your time. This is a friend of mine. He came here to see you, RIGHT?" Gaz asked, glaring slightly over at GIR, who eagerly nodded.

"Your daughter's a FINE young lady." GIR said quickly, nodding enthusiastically as Peggy felt her daughter's cheek. "You were sick but she made you aaaaalll better."

"I...I don't think..." Peggy mumbled as she clutched her head. "This...I'm sorry, this..." Her eyes grew wide. "This isn't RIGHT." She gasped out. "What did you DO, Gazzy? I'M NOT RIGHT. What did you DO?" She demanded.

"I brought you back." Gaz said, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Mom, I SAVED you."

"You saved a SHELL of me, baby." Peggy whispered, taking Gaz's cheek, a mournful expression coming over her face. "This isn't the way things were meant to be. I'm so sorry...the truest part of me is already gone. And..." She shook her head slowly back and forth, her voice dropping in tone. "...and you know that...don't you?"

Gaz stared for a long time at her mother before she finally covered her face with her hands, closing her eyes. "I..." She whispered. "...I..."

With that...she was gone. GIR helped Gaz lower her mother's body back into the coffin as the Earth returned to normal and Gaz placed a single, tear-stained hand over the cold ground, GIR sitting nearby on his knees, a deep, mournful expression on his usually-jovial face.

"...your rage is subsiding over the form of the one who caused it."

"...I kept blaming Dad...I kept blaming Dib...and I kept blaming Mom. But...it was MY fault." Gaz whispered out. "...because I wasn't strong enough to just...let go. I..."

She gritted her teeth, the tears trickling down her cheeks as she sobbed. "I can't do this anymore. I...I just...I just wanna start over."

"Gazzy..." A familiar voice whispered. GIR and Gaz's head whipped in the direction of a fully-clothed, and VERY much alive form. There, purple hair flowing gently in the breeze was Peggy Membrane standing proud, hands clasped, a look of love on her maternal face. "Oh, Gazzy...you CAN start over."

[shannapage]

Stellae: Chapter 1

Author: Shanna Page

Status: Incomplete / Ongoing 

Genre: Fantasy / Sci-Fi

Synopsis: The gods do not exist. Divine intervention is only imagined by those too cowardly to act. No, we only have ourselves in this word. Ourselves, the weapons we wield and the evil we choose to tolerate.

Eline Ritvak is the most renowned thief in all three Kingdoms. Mentored by the infamous criminal, Nightshade, she lives by a strict code of honor seemingly at odds with her chosen profession.When the Prince of Nitenbeir requests Eline steal a sword for him, she is curious enough to accept on his terms. What happens next sends Eline’s world tumbling into chaos, and she finds herself on the run from the most feared man on the continent. All she has is a sword, a know-it-all bookkeeper and the realization that perhaps, they are not alone in this world.      

Word Count: 5,782

Author’s Note:  As part of my fundraising initiative on my other blog for BLM, I stated that if a certain number was reached, I would release the first chapter of my unpublished (non-fanfic) novel. Since this amount was reached, here it is! This is only the first chapter and I do not plan on releasing more on this website. Know that this fight is not over and we still have tons of work to do. If you can still donate, please do so. If you’re living in the US, ensure you’re registered to vote at TurboVote.Org. 

More information about this world / my novel can be found here on my page.

Those who frequented the gambling dens of Kebasa had a saying they told to anyone who would listen; the most fruitful of grounds often bore the most teeth.

The saying was old, stemming from the antewalk, an animal known equally for its migratory patterns as a distinct lack of self-preservation. There was a game amongst children named after the animal in which the smallest of them attempted to cross a field before they could be tagged by the larger, faster children. If they were tagged, they were considered out.

The game was cruel by nature but then again, most things were cruel by nature. Every summer, the antewalk migrated to their northern breeding grounds through the Beir Mountains. If any place could be described as ‘having teeth,’ the Beir range was a natural contender.

Spiders as large as a person’s fist dangled from shoddy webs, draped across caves which housed the fearsome gargantum – a predator as feared as death itself, whose jaws could easily snap a cougar in half. Snakes the size of tree trunks hid in the canopy above before dropping ten feet to feast upon unsuspecting prey. Despite all these horrors, the antewalk continued to make the same journey.

To them, the potential goal of their breeding ground was worth the likely cost.

Much as those who frequented gamblers row viewed the potential for riches to be worth its likely cost – bankruptcy.

It might be worth noting that the antewalk were nearly extinct.

Regardless, the gambling dens of Kebasa drew a multitude of customers, not only its regulars who sought to turn copens to riches. The dens were famous across the vast continent of Prima – and even further than that, drawing attention past the Farephen Sea. Merchants, nobles, and paupers alike were drawn to the gamble and in this way, the dens were amongst the most diverse places on the continent.

Lounged in a seat, one leg crossed over the other, Eline considered the Merryweather laid out before her.

Contrary to its name, the Merryweather was neither a cheerful place, nor was it exposed to the elements. As far as gambling dens went, the interior was much of what Eline had come to expect – crooked tables, crooked people, and an overwhelming stench of spilled ale in between.

At a first glance, she counted seven people in the crowd who did not belong. They were easy enough to spot, once one knew what to look for. Although Eline herself was not Kebasan, she blended in as though she might have been. Her gaze lingered near the bar, assessing a lone, pockmarked youth who glanced longingly at the door. Likely, someone had said this would be the easiest way to escape in case of an emergency.

Utter nonsense. Once a person entered the den, the only way out was further in.

Uncrossing both legs, Eline returned to her game. Casually, she tossed a gold coin on the table.

“Jinn,” she declared.

Murmurs of outrage rippled around the table – to Eline’s right a man growled, not bothering to conceal his state of frustration. The move was a provocative one, to be sure. Scarab was a game designed to confuse its own players, an eclectic combination of dice, cards, and boldfaced lying. It took several years to become proficient but luckily, Eline had learned the game from the best.

Jinn was a give me command. A player could use it only once per game, but once declared, all players were required to increase their bet or exit the table. By using it when she did, Eline had raised the game not by a copen – which was traditional – but by an entire talir. Such riches would have bought the very table they sat at.

“That’s not fair,” grumbled the man to her right. He spoke around the toothpick which dangled precariously from his lip. “Copen’s the norm.”

“It may be the norm, by my move wasn’t illegal.” Eline spoke with great boredom, as though the entire conversation were below her pay grade. “What’s the matter, Revani? Not good for the money?”

The man beside her started, not having expected her to know him by name.

Eline was no fool. She did careful research before deciding to enter any given situation; this was the main way she ensured she only walked into situations she could walk away of. Not everyone was as careful as Eline, but then, not everyone was as successful as her either.

Revani scowled and removed his toothpick. Much to Eline’s utter disgust, he placed this on the table beside her palm.

“I’m in,” he declared, tossing down a gold coin.

The hair beneath his cap could have been either blonde or brown; it was difficult to tell through its matted mess. The clothing he wore gave nothing away either; plain, loose fabric designed to resist the sweltering heat of Kebasa. The only hint of his heritage were his eyes, which were blue. Only certain parts of the southern Kingdom of Sur claimed such a color. 

After much hemming and hawing, another two players tossed their coins down. The rest pushed back their chairs, scraping the floorboards, and casting annoyed glances at Eline.

Beneath her crimson hood, she tried not to smile.

Only four players remained: a more manageable number. A lucky number as well, according to Surnese superstition. Eline was not the type who subscribed to good fortune, but when she did, she found the Surnese gods to be most obliging.

Stretching, Revani extended both arms overhead to reveal a wrist tattoo. Foolish of him to flash his crew’s sign so carelessly since it was not the same colors as those of the Merryweather. Men had gotten killed for less than gambling on other crews’ turfs.

He was not the only player Eline knew at the table. To her left was a man who called himself Lorcin and directly across from them were two called Copper and Jo. Those two seemed to move as a team, one of them shifting when the other went still, and vice versa. Eline wondered if they behaved like this always, or only when they felt they were cornered.

Eline was the only woman at the table, although this was to be expected. Many nations and Kingdoms underestimated womenkind. Eline supposed she could not be perturbed by this fact, since it meant those same people underestimated her, as well.

In her line of work, underestimation was a valuable tool.

Lowering her gaze, Eline looked once more her cards. They were not terrible, but neither were they a winning hand. This fact did not bother her since the prize Eline sought was not a singular card game. No, her quarry was far more valuable than that.

Thumbing the sharp edge of her deck, Eline sighed. “Are you going to take your turn, Jo?” she asked, looking up. “Or will we all die of old age before you realize you’ve lost.”

A low chuckle rose from the other men at the table.

Jo – a man whose mustache was the most defining thing about him – scowled. “Don’t know why you’re trying to rush things, ma’am. Scarab is a game best savored, not swallowed.” He paused, allowing a smirk. “I’d imagine you know a thing or two about that.”

How clever; a reference to Eline’s assumed sexuality. She’d dealt with far worse jibes in her lifetime though and so, she ignored him and awaited his next move.

Copper nearly choked at the remark, forcing Jo to reach over and pound him on the back. Eline tried not roll her eyes at this, although it was hard.

Ko women were not known for being overly revealing and this was Eline’s chosen character for the night. Beneath her bright cloak, she wore simple merchant’s clothing from Ko, a distant Kingdom across the Farephen sea.

It was one of Eline’s preferred disguises; it was infinitely easier to pretend she hailed from Ko than say, one of the northern lands, like Dagmari. Dagmari women all had skin the color of the bone underneath, with copper-colored hair distinctive on every continent. Their accent alone was difficult to emulate, full of clipped consonants and elongated vowels.

At least Ko women had dark hair, even if their eyes were known to be golden, not silver. No Kingdom on any continent was known for silver eyes though, and so in this, Eline remained squarely out of luck.

Whenever someone asked about the unusual color, Eline would brush it aside and claim bastard parentage. Likely this was true, but she had no way of knowing for sure.

Exhaling loudly, Jo reached for the dice.

His resulting throw was not favorable and based on his sour expression, Eline assumed his cards to be no good. Ruling him out as competition, she moved her attention to the other men at the table.

Twisting around in his seat, Revani flagged a passing waitress. “More ale,” he instructed before turning back. Glancing in Eline’s direction, he offered a wicked smile. “What about you, Lady? Care to partake?”

The word Lady was mocking and belied his nation of origin. Although the three Kingdoms of Prima were monarchies, Kebasa was run by wealthy merchants, Nitenbeir was militaristic and only Sur had retained the notion of nobility – in more ways than one.

The use of Lady indicated Revani hailed from the south, although none of their renowned education seemed to have stuck. From where she was sitting, Eline could see his whole cards, and they were not particularly good ones.

“Thank you, but no,” she declined. “I prefer to keep my wits about me when I play.”

Revani’s upper lip curled. “Ah. Womanly concerns.”

“I’d imagine so,” Eline said. “As one must first possess wit in order to be concerned about losing it.”

Revani’s cheeks reddened, his entire expression darkening as Lorcin released a chuckle. He had been the quietest at the table so far and thus, was the only one Eline judged as true competition.

Shooting her a bemused look, Lorcin crossed both his feet at the ankles. Based solely on appearance, Eline assumed him to be from either Nitenbeir or Dagmari. Both were northern Kingdoms, so the complexions were similar, although neither wore their hair in the way Lorcin did – long and unbound, hung nearly to his waist.

He kept one hand beneath the table to conceal his cards from view; the other lay casually beside his untouched wine. Smart, to blend in while keeping his head clear.

Copper laughed, the joke just catching up to him. “A clever tongue,” he said, reaching to pick up his dice. “That’s a shame. Isn’t it a pity when women are clever?”

“It is at that.” Revani accepted the flagon he had ordered. “Clever women always get themselves into trouble.”

Outwardly, Eline betrayed no reaction but inwardly, she burned. What she would not give to have these men know her true wrath; to let them know exactly who she was and what she was capable of.

She knew if these men only knew her other name – if anyone in this establishment so much as whispered the word Umbra – it would make them shake in her boots and yet, here she sat and pretended to smile. To reveal who she was meant losing the upper hand, and in Scarab – as in life – having the upper hand was tantamount to winning.

“Indeed,” Eline said. “Clever women often make men uncomfortable. I imagine those without beauty are often discomforted to find it has a voice.”

Lorcin burst out into laughter as Revani’s scowl deepened.

Eline imagined that under different circumstances, she might have been able to enjoy Lorcin’s presence – a pity then, that her line of work failed to leave time for meaningful connections.

In the corner of her gaze, she saw the door to the Merryweather swing inward, allowing balmy, summer air to escape from the street.

“Shut the door!” someone called from the closest table.

All the gambling dens of Kebasa were housed belowground. This allowed for the coolest environment, since Kebasa was a desert city half as often as it was mountainous. A narrow staircase at the front led to the street; a purposeful decision to restrict entrance or exit.

In Ko, humidity and high waters made underground enclosures impossible. There, gambling dens were tied together like rafts, bobbing in sea at the ends of each dock. Eline disliked these types of places; the small amount of time she had spent in Ko was enough for her to realize she despised the ocean.

With the entrance of Kebasa’s heat came an actual person – several people actually, each one climbing down from the mouth of the alley. This was not unusual; men rarely chose to gamble alone. What was unusual was the way they all gripped the balustrade, as though uncertain whether the stairs could support all their weight.

Eline hid her smile. Make that ten men in the Merryweather who did not belong.

At least the first two men tried to blend in. They wore breathable fabric paired with the colorful vests preferred by Kebasa’s working class. Of course, most Kebasans wouldn’t wear such attire to a gambling den. Bright clothing was how one got noticed; it ensured one’s memorability and most who visited the dens preferred to remain anonymous.

The last man through the door didn’t even bother with a vest, though. His back stayed straight as he entered, steadily scanning the premises with an air of disgust. His distinguished sideburns marked him as a high-ranking citizen of Nitenbeir, as did the thin sword he had buckled around his waist. A rapier, much preferred amongst the dueling sort of men. Eline had always found the weapon rather silly, preferring instead the flexibility of her short sword.

It was the scar though, burnt into the side of his neck, which revealed who he was.

As far as legends went, General Marksam was known across the whole continent. He had been captured in his youth by Dagmari forces, held for twenty days and twenty nights until he escaped by fashioning a knife from his spoon to kill two guards through the door of his cell. That had been years ago, but the man’s name remained feared across Prima.

Nitenbeir nobility was strange; they dressed in severe cuts and sharp lines, as though to emulate their method of thinking. It was surprising to see one Nitenbeiran in a gambling den, let alone two, but Eline had been certain Marksam would appear tonight.

It was rumored the General had a fondness for gambling, which was something his Kingdom frowned upon – at least they did in theory. It was the Nitenbeir way to present no external weakness, but to privately indulge if they wished. Whenever Marksam traveled, he was known to clean out a tavern or two.

The Merryweather had a reputation as the highest of stakes, the most varied clientele, and a mostly discrete owner – for the right price, of course. Travelers had recently swelled Kebasa’s town limits for the summer solstice festival; Marksam was merely one amongst the many. It was the perfect opportunity for him to slip away, get his gambling fix and return before he was noticed missing.

Their group were stopped just inside the entrance, searched, and ordered to hand over their weapons. Marksam looked as though he argued with the bouncer, pointing at something on his chest which might have been a medal. He should have saved his breath for how much he succeeded. Eventually, Marksam handed over his sword, as Eline knew he would.

The rules of the Merryweather were simple – disarm, or don’t play.

Of course, the bouncers did need to find your weapons in order to remove them.

This was something of a game to the locals but people like Marksam were obviously unaware of the rules. It was proper in Nitenbeir for a General to wear their sword at their waist. The gesture was intended to show discipline, decorum and had absolutely no place on gambler’s row.

Swords around here came for their target in night, cloaked with darkness and ill-intent. It didn’t matter if a person showed their sword when one couldn’t be certain what they hid behind their opponent’s vest.

Shifting her weight, Eline stretched her toes against the worn pad of her boot. There were several knives concealed on her frame, since Eline had been forced to leave her short sword at home. One knife was hidden in the sole of her boot, another in its lining and a third strapped to the inside of her thigh.

The key to remaining armed in the Merryweather was to look unimportant. Marksam was obviously unaware of this lesson.

Flapping his coat out behind him, Marksam gingerly sat upon a rounded stool in the corner. His table was closer to the front than Eline’s – which meant the stakes of his table were lower and his game was considered easier. Eline assumed he would move further back over the course of the night; men like him were rarely satisfied with a cheap thrill.

His back faced the door – again, not what Eline would have done. His two comrades seemed to be smarter; they faced the only entrance, keeping careful watch on whoever walked through the door. Eline could only assume Marksam had hired them because they were more familiar with the gambling dens than he was.

Smart of him to seek out their guidance. Stupid of him not to listen.

Returning her attention to her own game, Eline scanned the table before her. While she had been distracted, Jo had backed himself into a corner. Only she, Lorcin, Revani and Copper remained as contenders.

Scowling, Jo threw his cards down to stand. “I’m out,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “May your pockets stay strong.”

Another idiom; this one easier to discern, if no longer applicable. Back when Kebasa was barely a town, trade was exchanged using gemstones as currency. The stones were so ubiquitous to its natives, legends stated they didn’t know their true value until neighbors from Nitenbeir and Sur reached them across the Imir desert. That was when Kebasa began to blossom as a Kingdom and eventually, coins came to replace gemstones as currency.

While in use though, the gemstones had been heavy and to have sturdy pockets meant you had been blessed with good fortune.

Downing the rest of his ale, Jo slammed his glass on the table and stalked towards the bar. The same pockmarked youth Eline had noticed remained slouched in its corner; Jo squeezed in beside him to order another round.

Revani added a second gold coin to the pile. “And what of that, Lady?” he asked, leaning back. “Are you good for it?”

He mimicked her words from earlier. Eyes narrowed, Eline moved to respond but before she could speak, there came a shout from the bar.

“Thief!” The pockmarked boy pointed, wide-eyed, at the door. “THIEF!”

The response around the room was instantaneous.

Jumping up from their table in the corner, both bouncers rushed towards the rickety stairs. Alertness swept through the crowd, jumping from table to table as players craned their necks to look. Many did not seem to care – they had already bet their livelihoods on the games – but many more flinched and scrambled for their purses.

Including Marksam, who instinctively clutched his right pocket – after patting it once, he exhaled and let go.

Hiding her smile, Eline returned to her cards. Fool.

“In,” she declared and added a coin.

Lorcin increased the pile without comment, throwing his dice and losing his next turn. Copper took up the dice and shook, glancing up at the ceiling before rolling a sixteen.

His smile broadened. “Reveal.”

Groaning out loud, Revani slouched in his seat.

The rules of Scarab were complicated, but the final player in any increase round had the opportunity to roll to end the game if they desired. Copper had rolled high enough to do just that, which meant the rest of the table was forced to lay down their cards.

Eline kept her face casual as Lorcin revealed his hand to be better than hers – better than anyone else at the table, including Copper, who looked a bit green as he stared.

Placing her cards down, Eline revealed her hand to be slightly lower than Lorcin’s. Revani’s was worst, but Eline had already known that before he revealed them. His cards held no coherent order, almost as though he had never played the game before, nor learned what it was. Eline idly wondered how he had gotten a seat at their table. Probably money.

“I need another drink,” declared Copper, standing up from his chair.

He wandered over to Jo, who still stood at the bar. The youth who had yelled thief was nowhere to be found, likely scared off by the events of the night.

Undisturbed by his loss, Revani spread his legs wider. “Care to play again, Lorcin? Or you, Lady?” he added, shooting Eline a smirk. “I would have the chance to redeem myself.”

Eline pushed her chair back. “Unfortunately,” she said, gathering her coins. “Redemption is not something I’m in the habit of giving.”

Scanning the den, she drew her cloak tight and wondered where to go next. There was no purpose to her cloak’s color other than to be remembered. At the end of the night, she wanted her face to be paired with this cloak in the den’s memory.

“I agree with the lady,” Lorcin said, also standing. “Best to quit while ahead.”

“Nitenbeirans.” Revani sighed and rolled his neck. “All of them the same. So meticulously practical. Very well,” he said, glancing past them to where multiple players had lined up on the wall. “Which of you wants to try their hand?”

Several rushed forward, eager to take their departed seats and Eline slipped past them, unnoticed.

The den was more crowded than when she had first entered, the dense scent of sweat and alcohol hanging low overhead. Elin scanned the room as she walked, coming to a stop beside the wooden bar. Drinks stained its surface, blending into the varnish until it seemed part of its décor.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Marksam stand from his seat. One hand splayed to the table, he questioned his players and glanced away from the entrance.

There were several halls which led from the back of the Merryweather. One of them ended in a stairwell which climbed to other floors of the building. As it was with the rest of gambler’s row, the Merryweather was not only a place in which to take bets. Its owner, Ren Drago, dabbled in various illicit activities throughout Kebasa; the main floor was merely the tip of the iceberg.

Marksam nodded at whatever his table said, turning around to disappear into the crowd. Eline’s gaze followed him to the back where he entered a hallway marked with a green arrow. Its interior was dimly lit, she could barely see his cloak whipping around the cramped corner.

Eline waited a moment, then slipped behind a group of players to remove her cloak and pull it on inside-out. The other side was dark, a coarser material not unlike that of the other gambling patrons. Lowering the hood, she moved out from the men who hid her from view.

Anyone who saw her would fail to place her as the gambler in red. Another trick from the thieves’ manual – create a memorable character, then become someone else. No one followed Eline as she moved towards the same back hall, which meant no one would remember her as the person Marksam encountered.

He was not difficult to spot once Eline reached the hall. He stood out even amongst the shadows, glancing about him with a puzzled look on his face. It seemed not even the advice of his table had been enough to locate the washroom.

Eline paused before entering, reaching out to puck a flagon of ale from a table. Adopting an intoxicated swagger, she raised the cup to her lips as she pretended to drink.

The light from a singular gas lamp dimmed when she passed, the hood of her cloak blocking out most illumination. Said lamp swung from above her, attached to the weathered ceiling; all sconces in the hall had been pilfered, their metal likely stolen and sold to melt down into wares.

Hearing Eline’s approach, Marksam turned his head. Giving her a swift once-over, he apparently decided she was harmless and lifted a hand.

“You there!” he called out. “Madam.”

As though surprised by the address, Eline stumbled for some of her ale to slosh towards the ground.

Nose wrinkled, Marksam drew back as though he could smell the imaginary alcohol on her breath. Eline noticed he didn’t seem to be drunk – at least one of the Nitenbeiran principles had rubbed off on him. It meant he would be more aware though, which made this transaction dangerous.

“Are you familiar with this establishment?” Marksam’s other palm rested upon the hilt of his rapier. “Do you happen to know where one might relieve oneself?”

“Establishment?” Laying the Ko accent on thick, Eline came to a stop. “You’re out of your depths, soldier,” she laughed, ending the word with a hiccup. “This here’s no establishment, it’s a right pigsty.”

Marksam’s eyes narrowed at the title she gave him.

Nitenbeir social hierarchy was based upon military rank. Their system was complicated – overly so, in Eline’s opinion – but based on his attire, Marksam could be identified as at least a General. Calling him a soldier was an insult; one strong enough that in Nitenbeir he wouldn’t have been remotely out of line in challenging her to a duel.

And they had the nerve to call other Kingdoms savages.

“Regardless of where you think I belong,” he said stiffly. “I would hear your response.”

Lifting her drink, Eline’s hand trembled, more ale sloshing over the rim. “You would hear my response?” she mocked, mimicking his imperious tone. “Most people just piss down that hall to the left, I guess. That’s if they even bother to – ah!” she blurted, spilling the flagon down his front.

Marksam swore and jumped back, but the damage had been done. Brownish-gold liquid dribbled down his front of his shirt, seeping to stain the white silk underneath.

“S-sorry,” Eline stuttered, blinking at him in horror.

Marksam froze for a moment, staring stunned at his shirt. Slowly, his gaze lifted to hers. “You… vermin,” he hissed and lunged forward.

Eline cowered away from him, her right shoulder hitting the wall as she tripped on the end of her cloak. She cut a pitiful figure in the dark of the hall, both hands lifted as Marksam reached for his sword. Here he hesitated, chest heaving while he considered the pathetic figure before him. Eline worked to make herself seem smaller, hunching both shoulders as she stared at the ground.

At last the image seemed to work, since Marksam slowly exhaled and slid his sword in its sheath.

“Bah,” he grumbled, shoving past. “Filthy urchin. Not worth my trouble.”

Eline let herself be pushed, briefly gripping his cloak to steady herself – and then he was gone, disappeared around the corner. He left not in the direction of the gambling floor, but to the left, deeper into the den in search of a washroom.

As soon as he was gone, Eline straightened.

Trying not to smile, she slipped her hand into her pocket and ran the tip of her finger along the edge of a key. Here, at last, was her true prize for the evening. The entirety of the wealth played in the front room barely held a candle to the key inside her pocket.

It was one of twenty keys distributed by King Tulen himself, the ruler and monarch of the Kingdom of Kebasa. Each key granted entrance to the most exclusive level of the summer solstice festival; the highborn, an ongoing celebration to which only twenty people could enter at one time.

Eline had a buyer who wanted a key.

What her buyer needed it for, she did not dare ask, nor did she care. Eline had a job to do and that was all that mattered. After all, she more than anyone understood people often did desperate things in desperate situations.

Marksam was one of twenty individuals who had been granted a key. Each Kingdom on the continent usually received two or three to distribute. Marksam was considered important enough in Nitenbeir that the King had sent him in his place.

While Marksam had been distracted by the drink she spilled, Eline had dipped a hand in his pocket and pilfered his key – the very same pocket he had patted when the pockmarked youth at the bar had yelled thief earlier.

Yet another thief’s trick, and a widely effective one.

When a reasonable person heard the word thief, they immediately reached to protect their valuables. Of course, if another person – say, Eline – were also watching, said person would give away where they were keeping their valuables. All it took was a little distraction to ensure Eline stole the key out from under his nose.

She made a mental note to pay Jaspin, the pockmarked youth, double tomorrow for a job well-done.

Turning around, she strode down the corridor. At the crossway she turned in the opposite direction of Marksam. It would be a while before he returned from that particular hallway. Eline had purposefully sent him in that direction, since the corridor housed the back rooms where private games were held.

If no one stabbed Marksam as soon as he entered, it would take him a while to explain his mistake. Once he did, Eline would be long gone.

Paused at what seemed like a dead end, Eline came to a stop and lowered her hood.

Glancing above, she scanned the long grate in the ceiling – another common design on gambler’s row. Although there was only one way inside the den from the street, there existed another way out from the back.

It would be inconvenient for a den’s owner to barricade themselves in, along with anyone else they wished to trap. As a precautionary measure, most buildings housed a special exit: a crawl space between the first and second floors, just large enough for a person to move through while escaping to the next alley.

Glancing over her shoulder, Eline ensured no one was watching and backed up a few steps.

Bending both legs, she leapt to grab hold of a stone jutting out from the wall. Using the smaller crevices as handholds, she swiftly climbed to reach the ceiling above. Positioning her weight evenly on all limbs, Eline reached above to loosen the grate and push.

It clattered off to one side – frozen, Eline waited, but no one seemed to have heard. Re-gripping the grate, Eline swung her legs upwards and launched herself into the hole. Once inside the crawlspace, she carefully repositioned the grate in the floor.

Crouched to the ground, Eline examined her surroundings.

The space around her was dusty, as though no one had used the corridor in quite some time. Eline suspected this was the case; Ren Drago, the owner of the Merryweather, was amongst the most feared men in Kebasa. To break a rule in his establishment usually meant you’d break something else. There were not many a man like Ren would feel the need to escape from.

Not wasting any time, Eline began to move, carefully positioning her weight so she failed to make noise. It was unlikely anyone would think to look for her here, since the actual entrance to the crawl space was on the second floor, but it was better to be careful than dead.

At the end of the tunnel, Eline pulled a knife from her boot and went to work on the grate. Twisting the screws one by one, she calculated how much time had passed since she left Marksam alone. It wouldn’t be long before he returned – if she were lucky, he wouldn’t notice the missing key until he returned to his lodgings.

Removing the final screw from the grate, Eline jiggled it free from the wall. She hesitated a moment, listening to the sounds of the alley below.

Nothing unusual.

Setting the steel grate aside, Eline leaned out of the opening to glance at the ground. Nose wrinkled, she sighed. The grate emptied into an alleyway behind a butcher shop. Scraps of days-old meat were piled below, their blood trickling slowly to join through the cobblestones.

At least the meat would offer her a soft landing. Swinging both legs aloft, Eline held her breath as she dropped down from the ledge. For most people, this would have been a difficult task, but these kinds of feats had always come easily for Eline.

Straightening from her crouch, Eline immediately strode in the opposite direction of gambler’s row. Her footsteps were muffled, thanks to special boots Eline had designed herself.

Even if the alleyway was quiet, the city around her was not – each distant yell of laughter sounded at once too far and too loud. The dense, squatted buildings forced Eline to imagine she saw shapes in the shadows.

One hand drifted towards her belt as she walked; a pointless reflex, since her short sword remained at her lodgings, but she still found it comforting.

It would have been suspicious for her to run from gambler’s row, so Eline forced herself to calmly walk on. Each muscle in her body strained against instinct, yearning to be free now that the job was complete. All that was left was dropping key in its preassigned destination, collecting her money, and washing her mind of the memory.

Eline was good at that.

She was good at forgetting what she needed to forget, unseeing what she needed to unsee. It was why she made such a good thief, as her mentor once said. Eline could compartmentalize her soul in ways few even dreamed of and even while distracted, her senses remained intact.

It was how Eline heard the moment someone turned down the alley, their footsteps echoing hers around the sound of leaking pipes. Tilting her head, she listened as she walked, her stride never breaking as she pretended not to hear.

When the footsteps were barely a pace away, she exhaled and turned, yanking a knife from her belt.

Her blade was met with another, aimed directly at her heart.

The man on the other end of the sword smiled, his face hidden by shadow. “The famous Umbra,” he said, inclining his head. “I’ve been searching for you.”

  © Shanna Page, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.