#Apartments at rent in New Orleans

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Alibi

⚜ Pairing: human!Alastor X reader

⚜ Content notes: Reader is a sex worker, Alastor is a serial killer, brief reference to domestic abuse and injury, explicit sexual content, reader is a woman, reader has a pussy, bathtime, cum pooling in the collarbones, the sex is transactional but not like that

⚜ Wordcount: 4.5k

Only about half the men who come to the bordello come for sex. Those are the easier half. The simpler half. The guys who will be happy as a pig in muck to have a girl who squeals real pretty and a wet hole to fuck.

The other half are complicated. Guys need things other than sex. Some of them want someone to talk to, someone to listen to them and unfurrow their brows. Some of them want someone to hold, someone who doesn't flinch and look away when they cry. Some of them have other lovers, men or women, and they use the whorehouse to hide their affairs, paying for you and the room and sending you away to play cards downstairs at the bar.

Then there's Al. Al for Alibi.

He’s a sharply dressed whiplash of a man, a sweet, charming guy who plays a mean jazz piano, but this is Storyville- everybody and his brother is a charming guy who plays a mean jazz piano, so that doesn’t set him apart. No, what sets him apart is a quality that you struggle to describe. It’s something like grit, you think. Al’s got the eyes of someone who has found themselves sitting in the dirt at the bottom of a well and decided to dig themselves out. He talks like he’s about to sell you the golden gate bridge, and he dances like a man possessed, and again there are plenty of men like that in New Orleans, but none of them have that same look in their eyes. You like him a whole lot.

You keep a spare set of clothes for him, in the bottom of the tea chest at the end of your bed. He always picks you, always picks your room- it's the one with the biggest bathtub and the window with the trellised wisteria beneath it he can climb down. You don’t know why it’s you he picks, but your guts tell you it’s something to do with the red flannel bag you keep on your dresser, the one with grave dirt, dahlia petals and a deer’s tooth in it. His eyes linger longer than a man not initiated, and later you notice he’s got his own- a faded little bag in his pocket.

He always brings you flowers, as if he has come to your parents’ house as a suitor and not to your room at the bordello, and kisses you once, on the cheek, before he changes clothes and climbs from the window. It makes you feel some kinda way when it really shouldn’t; you’re no blushing girl at a cotillion ball but a grown woman fucking men to pay her rent. The sensation of a man’s lips against your cheek shouldn’t linger like this does, a phantom on your skin long after the wisteria has stopped shaking.

When he comes back it's hours later, bloody and wide-eyed, grinning from ear to ear, trembling with adrenaline from whatever it is he's done. His eyes say he’s still in the well; still trying to dig upwards, and it stirs a feeling in your chest that is either pity or envy or both.

You don't ask him where he's been, or what he's done. That's not your job. Your job is to run a warm bath for him, and help him out of his bloody, torn clothes. Your job is to get the soap he likes, the scent in the water he likes, and help him into the tub. Your job is to hold his long, elegant hands in yours as you meticulously clean the blood from under his fingernails, his nailbeds. Your job is to help him down from his quivering maniac high, to stroke the tension from the muscles in his thin shoulders and bring his face to your chest.

Your job isn’t to desire him, but somehow he always manages to stir that part of you too. Even after a day when you’ve been touched too much he is beautiful, all long lines and sharp angles, leaning into your touch but never demanding it. The first few times you bathe him you hope that it might turn into something more, that he might rise from the waters of the tub and ask to know you biblically, but it doesn’t happen, so you content yourself, pitifully, to pleasing yourself after to the memory of the planes of his back, or the feel of his hair through your fingers as you shampoo him.

When you’re done bathing him he allows you to wrap one of the bordello’s fluffy towels around him, and he lies on the bed, his head in your lap, looking up at you as his breathing slows. He likes to talk, just like all men like to talk, and Al talks big. He talks jazz, about the musicians he’s seen and the ones he’s played cards with with. Who he’s had on his show, who he wants on his show. Sometimes he talks like he’s selling himself, like he’s one of the girls downstairs in the bar on a long and unfruitful night and you’re a big spender who just walked in. It’s not so uncommon that a guy comes in trying to impress a girl, but from him it’s downright charming. It’s not like he’d even have to try to get your panties off, but what he wants from you is approval. Your undivided attention. He’s paying, so you give it.

You stroke his hair and tell him how well he’s doing, how his momma would be proud, and he nods like he wants to believe you, but his eyes don’t change. He’s still staring like he’s got his back to cold earth and his face to distant, untouchable stars.

One night you have a bruise on your face from your boyfriend, covered with powder and rouge but the swelling still visible, and he wants to know who has done this to you. Most guys know better than to ask this kind of thing; you’re a whore, after all, and violence is a hazard of the workplace, but Al is persistent.

For once, he doesn’t leave through the window to climb down the wisteria, instead sitting on the bed with you, one long thin arm round your plush waist. Asking who did this, who did this. His voice is sweet as brown sugar, the same darkness underpinning it, as his accent drifts, from bright, clipped wireless polish to something lower down in his register, something more recognizably local. For once in your relationship Al wants something from you, something more than an open window and an alibi for his nocturnal hobbies.

“Tell me, chouchoute.” Al’s mean jazz piano fingers trail the line of your jaw to your chin, his index finger curling beneath to lift your face to his. There’s something more in his soulful brown eyes now, more than the look of a man deep in the hole. There is hunger. Desire.

You feel your mouth grow dry, feel the pulse in your neck. To be wanted by him, in whatever way that is, is a feeling with an intoxicating potency. You like sex well enough, but sex is work. Being touched by him feels like a genuine seduction, the sort that sets your skin feverish and lips chapped from kissing.

“I shouldn’t tell you,” you say. You know you’re right. Telling a customer about your personal issues is not something that ends well for people like you. Guys get involved. Guys get attached. Guys get violent.

“Oh? You shouldn’t?” His eyes are fixed on yours. He smiles like a wolf. “Are you worried about what I might do, once I know?”

The problem is, you want him involved. You want him attached. Frozen under his gaze, you think of the blood under his fingernails. He’s already violent. Every night he’s steeped in red, whiplash thin body sharp and manic. But your boyfriend is a bigger guy than him. You don’t want Al getting hurt. “Would you promise not to do anything, if I told you?”

“Where would the fun be in that?” Al gives a huff of laughter. “Let’s make a deal,” he says, his eyes still hungry, his hand still on your face. “You give me what I want, and I take you to heaven tonight. You hear the angels sing as many times as you want. Sound good?”

From most of your customers, you would dismiss an offer like this as male ego. Boastfulness. But Al’s slender fingers give you goosebumps as they trail down over your windpipe, telling you he’s good for it.

Al doesn’t wait for your answer, but he does kiss you, all sweet and soft and romantic, like he’s your sweetheart and you’re on a date, enough to make you melt into him. You don’t usually kiss clients, and it takes you off-guard, his honeyed tongue sweeter than his words as it strokes against yours, still selling his offer. His long musician’s fingers are going to curl inside you and his cock is going to be hot, silk-sheathed steel against your skin and just the thought of that makes you ache for him. You moan against his tongue and his lips twitch against yours, smiling.

“Well?” he says, though he knows your answer. He’s just offered you something that far outweighs the value of what he’s asking. A night of his attention, all for a name.

“Payment up front,” you say, drunk on his touch already.

“Clever girl,” says Al, and from anyone else that would feel damn patronizing, but out of his sly smile it makes you want more.

He undresses you, which isn’t exactly hard- you pick your costumes as things that can easily be slipped off and tossed to the floor, but Al drags his mouth against the skin of your neck, your back, your shoulder, slow, sucking kisses that aren’t quite hard enough to leave marks, but feel like they might. His isn’t a sloppy, desperate gambit, but a studied one, fingers ghosting over the bruises on your face. Fuck, you want him to take you, want him so much that it makes your guts ache with it. You want him to throw you on the bed, point your toes to the ceiling and make you see stars, but he’s not a man to be rushed.

He’s there to taste you, to breathe in your breath. He’ll be everything you ever wanted him to be, if you’ll only let him.

When he loosens his tie it’s with a coquettish tilt of his head, and you can tell he likes being watched. Al slows the process down for you, undoing buttons with a studious slowness, twirling each sleeve garter once around his finger as he removes it before tossing it to the side. When he takes off his belt, he winds it once round each of his palms and snaps it tight, mouth twitching when you startle at the noise. Hurry up, you want to tell him, but watching him is just too damn fun. When he’s down to vest, boxer shorts, socks and sock garters, the point at which most men look ridiculous, he gives you a sultry look and stalks over to the bed where you are sitting, your legs off the edge. With a haughty flick of his head, he plants one arched foot on the mattress between your knees, toes first, and leans forward onto that knee, his face perilously close to yours. You run your hands down his leg, from his knee to the garter for his sock, and he catches your mouth in a light, teasing kiss.

You undo the clasp on the garter, pulling it down along with the sock, and stroking the long, lean, line of his calf. He makes a noise in his throat that’s almost a purr, and breaks the kiss as he steps out of the sock entirely and switches legs. You take more time with the second garter, not least because the position gives you a view of Al’s boxer shorts. He’s hard for you, the small white buttons on his fly straining to hold back the length of his cock, and the sight makes your mouth water.

Al pushes you back, climbing on top of you, and his legs straddle your waist as you slide your hands up his thin sides, hooking your thumbs under the hem of the ribbed cotton of his vest and pushing it up over his chest. He has a hungry frame, not a scrap of softness to be found, just the stark plane of his stomach and the ridges of his ribs under your fingers. It suits him, matches the hunger in his eyes, the hunger that you see flickering when he peels the vest off over his head and tosses it to one side. You press your hands up to his sternum, feeling his heartbeat, and he closes one hand over them, smiling down at you as he frees his cock from its confines with the other. He’s uncut, his tip a deep fuchsia pink and weeping, and all you can think about when you see it is how he will feel against you. How he will taste. How it will feel to have him wedged deep in your cunt.

Happily, Al obliges on the first count, leaning down to kiss you, the tip of his cock pressing warm against the softness of your stomach. You kiss more, rolling, shifting, your fingers in his hair, his roving over the contours of your back, until you are side by side on the bed, skin to skin.

You love his cock. You love the hot, turgid weight of it against your hand, your stomach, your thigh. The way he beads with wetness at his tip, the trail he leaves against your skin like a proof of desire. To feel Al press it against you is a surge of warmth to the bottom of your spine, a building pulse between your legs. He’s not even seeking egress, just sliding that silky solidity over your skin in an act that has you feeling completely and utterly wanted. You touch him, stroking your palm up over his shaft, and he allows himself to groan, rutting into your hand and against your body all at once.

You shuffle up the bed a little, until your nose is level with his collar, then hook one leg over his hip, parting yourself with one hand as you guide his cock with another, so that he rests between your inner lips. He rolls his hips in a slow, considered motion, and it is you who are sloppy; slick with arousal and reckless with desire.

The noise in Al’s throat is a pleased growl, his hand sliding round over your hip. He’s not trying to get inside, not really, just enjoying the sensation of you rolling your hips so that his cock grazes your clit and entrance in turn. He stills your hip with his hand, mirroring your motion with a roll of his hips that has him rutting through the boat of your labia. There’s a purr in your throat at the feel of him, hot satin sheathed steel.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, chouchoute.” Al’s sugar laden bedroom voice brings you back to the present, the vibration of it palpable with your face against his narrow chest. He doesn’t stop rolling his hips though, something for which you are grateful as the zenith of each arc brings new pleasurable sensation.

You speak against his skin, and it’s harder to talk dirty to him than with another client, even now with his cock rutting between your lips. “You could make me come like this,” you say, face hot, and hear his soft groan in response.

“Would you like that?” he asks, his cock sliding between your legs again, and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard. You don’t even say yes, just press your face open mouthed against his chest and shoulder. You feel his soft huff of laughter, his grip on your hip tightening as he angles a little more perfectly, and the long roll of his hips becomes a movement that is tighter and more focused, a back-and-forth that brings a cry unbidden from your lips.

You are swearing, soft and sweet against his skin as he grinds an orgasm from you, the tip of his cock kissing your entrance as his shaft presses firm into your clit. It’s like his lips on your cheek, a sensation that’s going to linger like a phantom in your body long after Alastor himself has left. It’s more than the exquisite sensation, each nerve ending alight, but the knowledge of his desire; his long fingers gripping the flesh of your hip and the groan from his chest as he feels you tremble, orgasm close.

“Fuck,” you breathe, as you feel yourself fall, your hole fluttering around nothing, the entirety of your core seeming to pulse in time. Al tilts your chin up, pulling your face from his skin, and kisses you while you’re still in the middle of it. There is nothing needy in his lips and the touch of his tongue. Rather than an entreaty his mouth is a gift. His hand on your cheek is a gift, his hand on your hip is a gift. And his cock, its weeping tip brushing your entrance. That will be yours, too, as soon as you say the word.

His touch is a flame that laps at firewood, and you bathe yourself in it, pressing your quivering body against his, your softness against his hungry lines. Another kiss, another roll, and you are pulling him atop you, face to face, his knees between your legs. Another man would be in you to the hilt now, but Al is polite to a fault. Patient, he waits for your hands on his hips, your legs hooking around the back of his knees.

You kiss him as you pull him inside you, your hands on his narrow ass as you feel the cry the act pulls from his chest, the shiver that runs down his back. His cock is everything that it promised, filling your cunt with its weight and heat, but what’s more is that it’s his. More delicious than the sensation of him moving inside you is his response; the way his grip on you tightens, his mean jazz piano fingers no longer playing a melody but merely a rhythm that matches the beating of your heart, the way his hips twitch for you, his breath catching, and the way he moans soft against your lips.

When he opens his eyes they are unfocused; for the first time since you first met him they don’t have the look of a man in a hopeless kind of pit. They are the eyes of a man lost in the moment, in your moment. Al is a gift, and your heart tells you to treasure him.

“You feel so good inside me,” you tell him, and it’s no professional courtesy, but an honest and unvarnished truth, words spilling out of you as his cock pushes in. Then Al lifts your legs to get himself deeper, and you are the one who is lost. There’s no artistry to the fuck, but it’s not needed, not with your cunt still tender from your first orgasm and your toes pointing to the ceiling. The sensation is strong enough that it threatens to overwhelm, the metronome of Al’s hips drawing note after tremulous note from your voice box, and the feel of him is sublime. He puts a hand on your mons, thumb stroking your clit, and the sensation of that is something you would willingly succumb to forever. It’s his name on your lips as you orgasm round his cock, and he grins down at you, teeth white as fresh-starched shirt collars.

“You’re enjoying me so far, chouchoute?” he asks, fingers tracing the contours or your cheek, the contours of your bruises.

“Al.” You pause to kiss his fingers, an aftershock that you’re sure that both of you feel running through you. “You are a wonder of a man.”

“Someone’s good at flattery,” he says, a gentle kiss to your lips, but he’s not so good an actor that you can’t see he’s proud of himself, proud of the state he’s got you in, all boneless and glowing.

“But what about you?” you ask, a hand down his warm side, to his hip. “You’re just gonna make me go again and again, and nothing for you?”

“It’s a change of pace for you,” he says, and he pulls out of you, leaving you achingly, tragically empty.

“Who’s to say I don’t enjoy seeing a man satisfied?” you say, your hand finding his gleaming cock, drenched in your slick, and squeezing. Al breathes out, slow and shaky, lowering his face to yours.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, lips against your ear, voice low in his register. “I can spend myself over you, then attend you again as you lie covered in my regards.”

“Yes,” you breathe, voice higher than you intend, and he closes his hand over yours around his cock, nudging you supine as he pumps the shaft. His weeping slit smears against the skin of your stomach at the nadir of each stroke, and you can feel the state of him under your fingers, still slick with your juices. How he swells, harder and hotter, his grip forcing yours firmer until at last he spills himself, a line up your stomach and chest. His breath is unsteady as his cock pulses in your hand, and he strokes a hand up your body, smearing his seed into your skin.

“Now you,” Al says, a little breathless as he crawls backwards over your body, soft kisses in places his cock has marked. His long fingers find your sex, parting your lips and drawing slick across your folds. “How would you like to climax next, chouchoute? My fingers? My mouth?”

“Your mouth?” you repeat, heat spreading through your core. Even here in Storyville, there are not many men willing to kiss a whore’s cunt.

Al’s smile widens, showing teeth, and you realize belatedly that with his fingers between your folds he can feel the surge of wetness that seeps from you at the mere thought. “I think you like that idea,” he says, and he pushes two long fingers inside you.

He fucks his fingers in and out of you, and you bite your lip as you feel him start to press against spongy tissue. Girls make jokes about musicians and their fingers, but you know firsthand that the finest musician in the world isn’t much use if he doesn’t know the instrument. If a guy doesn’t know the curve of your walls, to smear slick up and over the hood of your clit, it doesn’t matter a damn how well he can play the steel guitar.

Al can play a woman’s body well enough to hit the high notes. His fingers curl and drag, and the noise the action brings from you was one you didn’t know you could make. There are tears in your eyes from the intensity of it, and it is all you can do not to beg him for more. All the while he moves down your body, his mouth soft over the skin of your chest, your stomach, your hips. His breath is hot, even in the summer evening heat, and Al is smiling all the while, glancing back up at you to see your expression.

You wonder what you look like to him as his breath graces your inner thighs, his lips brushing teasingly on the fragile skin there. Are you a thing of beauty, to be treasured and worshiped, or merely a needy wretch, trembling and panting, each movement tantamount to begging for his touch? Perhaps both. He curls his fingers inside you once more as his tongue touches hot and slick against your overwrought clitoris.

You had expected his cock, wanted his cock, but to feel his mouth on you is something else. It is bliss. Pure, untrammeled bliss. He leaves you with nothing but sensation, the flat of his tongue pressing, laving, until it becomes too much and you want to cry out, then the seal of his lips on your slick, engorged flesh, a little suction, a noise of appreciation in his throat. You stop watching, surrendering fully, his long fingers hitting a sweetness as his tongue strokes on bliss. There are no thoughts in your head anymore, only his touch. Your hips are bucking, uncontrolled, your fingers in his hair, and still he gives, his honeyed tongue sweeter than even his words had been.

It’s with a broken cry that you cum on his fingers, and he stills for you, breath hot on the lips of your cunt, fingers still inside you as you tremble and quake.

He crawls up your body again, folding your limp form in his long, thin arms, a pleased hum in his chest.

“You’re satisfied with my end of the bargain, I hope?” he asks, and it’s not a mercenary question from him, paired as it is with a kiss to the top of your head.

The notion of proposing marriage to him swims through your sex-addled brain before you remember that jobs are thin on the ground in Louisiana right now and you have rent to pay. You swallow down romance and sentiment, which is difficult with those arms around you, but you manage it. “You best not set up shop here,” you say. “The girls downstairs would be spending their whole night’s earnings for just a couple minutes with you.”

“That’s a good thing, surely.”

“They’d make themselves destitute.”

You feel his thin chest shake as he gives a soft bark of laughter, but there’s relief in there too, and gratitude. He holds you a little tighter, longer than he needs to. You let yourself enjoy it.

“The name?” he asks, when that moment of softness has passed.

“Elijah,” you say. “My boyfriend.”

“Former boyfriend, I’d hope,” says Alastor, pointedly. He has the hungry look in his eyes again, the look like he’s trapped and digging his way out. The look you like.

You touch your face, where the bruise is swelling beneath your makeup. “Sure looks like it’s going that way, yeah.”

Alastor leaves by the window that night. You fold his clean clothes and put them in your tea chest, in case he comes back, his little sleeve garters and his ribbed cotton vest and all of it, smelling faintly of him. He doesn’t return.

The next morning, when you go back to the rented room that you share with your boyfriend, there’s no sign of him, either.

[gardenianoire]

so my last post fell off so I'm remaking y'all I am so close to being rid of my terrible roommate and back to being on my own and being thirty flirty and thriving. I found a better and slightly cheaper apartment in a safe (enough) part of town close to public transportation and a grocery store the property manager even offered to let me move in early but I just need help paying this deposit. I missed three days of work for a mandatory mardi gras break (I'm a preschool teacher all schools are off the lundi gras mardi gras and ash wednesday in new orleans it wasn't my choice and I'm still within my 90 days so no paid holidays) so my psycheck will be short and I won't be able to handle rent, deposit, moving expenses so I am begging my tumblr community for any kind of relief

there's all $0 and three cents in my checking account. also if I don't raise this money I will have to choose between living on the street or going back to my emotionally abusive parents in ohio and losing my job, my mental health progress, my friends, probably more than likely killing myself

my goal is $800 for the deposit to secure my housing

cashapp: jocedun94

paypal: xandra.l.duncan@gmail.com

venmo: xandrachantal

no forreal I'm trying to keep it light but I'm going to level with y'all I'm mental ill like the scary cluster b meets depression and general anxiety, I'm Black, a woman, bisexual it's almost my birthday I need help please at least reblog this my roommate calls me outside of my name everyday and I can't exactly punch her in the face because assault charges are real but also I have poor impulse control so I might I just need to leave immediately

[valkyrieromanoff]

JAMES KELLY IMAGINE: The mechanic and the spoiled princess

word count: 3.8k

warnings: age gap, praise, pet names (spoiled princess, little princess, good girl), mention of sex

summary: Your car breaks down for the tenth time and James is your mechanic.

a/n: After seeing many edits of this character on tiktok, I had to write something about it. I hope you like it, maybe it's not so faithful to the character ;)

After everything that had happened to his brother, James wanted to leave everything behind and start over, far away from New Orleans. And that's what he did. He gathered up all his savings and bought a one-way ticket to Portland, where he got a job as a mechanic in a workshop in the city center. It wasn't much, but he managed to rent an apartment and live comfortably without being haunted by the ghosts of his past.

It was a Sunday afternoon when you walked into the workshop where James works, and he smiled when he saw you. After all, in the four months he'd been living in the city, you must have visited the mechanic's shop about ten times.

"Hey, you, what happened this time?" James joked, raising an eyebrow as he wiped the oil off his hands with a cloth.

"Hi, uhm, my car broke down again," you said, biting your lip nervously. 

You used to show up at the garage; your parents always brought their cars in for maintenance, oil changes, or any necessary check-ups. It was a hot day; you'd chosen a flowery dress and red sneakers, your brown curls tied up in a ponytail with a ribbon, and your eyes covered by sunglasses.

James raised an eyebrow, leaned against the counter that held his tools, and crossed his arms. "Y/n, come on. It's been a month since your last visit." "What's wrong with it this time? Is it the transmission again? Or did you forget to change the oil?"

"Do I have to change the oil every month?" You asked, frowning in confusion.

He sighed and shook his head. 

"No, of course not. Do you know how to check the oil in the first place?" James asked, rolling his eyes. "I know you're young, but you should know that, at least now."

"Let me guess; you don't know how to change a tire either." He joked, leaning closer.

"I, I mean, I know how to change a tire. I've just never done it, but if I need to, I know how to do it," You said, trying to believe your own words. James narrowed his eyes and looked into yours.

"Y/n, the last time your vehicle broke down it was because you ran out of oil. You literally only need to change the oil every six months in a car. And it's very necessary for the engine." 

He sighed and pinched the tip of his nose. "How did you get your driver's license again?"

"The practical test doesn't require changing a tire or oil," You retorted, crossing your arms, making the neckline of your dress more obvious. "But I filled the tire once at the driving school"

James let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. He couldn't believe that someone as beautiful as you could be so carefree. He let his eyes roam over your body and smiled. 

"Well, I'm not exactly complaining." He joked, winking at you. He paused and shrugged. "Well, anyway, what's wrong this time? Let me guess, you ran out of gas again?" "No, I know when I need to fill up. I'm not stupid." You snorted softly, crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't know what happened; everything was fine with the car when, out of nowhere, it started making some strange noises."

James' ears perked up at these strange noises? "What kind of noises? Is it coming from the front or the back? Or is it the engine? Give me more details, and maybe I can find out." He suggested it, raising an eyebrow. "I think the noises are coming from the front." You mumbled, biting your lip. "What if I showed you the car? Wouldn't that make it easier for both of us?" He nodded, smiling, and pointed a finger at you. "I like the way you think. Show me the car, and let's see what the problem is." James replied, winking at you.

"But there is one little problem," you confessed shyly.

He raised an eyebrow, already sensing what you would say.

“What’s this little problem now?” James replied, smirking.

"Well, my car broke down at my house, so I couldn't bring it to the mechanic." You said, looking at him expectantly. "Can you help me? Please"

James sighed and let out a groan.

“Fine, fine, I’ll help you. But you know it’s gonna be at least a few hours, right? And I swear, if I have to change the oil in your car, I’m gonna choke you.” He replied, narrowing his eyes at you. He was trying to be mad, but it was obvious that you would get him to do whatever you wanted so easily. Damn that smile.

"Thanks, James; you're the best." You said, smiling excitedly.

He let out a huff and shook his head. It was obvious that he was pretending to be annoyed. He then sighed and began putting on his jacket and grabbing his keys from his pocket.

“Just come with me. I’ll drive you to your house. And try to learn how to change a damn tire while you’re there.” James replied, glaring at you. You were absolutely adorable.

"I'm sure I'll learn a lot from you." You shrugged, running to the sidewalk where James' car was parked.

You looked adorable in your sundress, red converse, and bow in your hair. Your delicate face and innocent smile remind James that she was almost half his age.

James rolled his eyes as you skipped over to his car. He thought you were absolutely beautiful. He opened the door for you and waited for you to get in. The thought of teaching a pretty girl who looked like that to be independent made his heart flutter.

After you got in the car and shut the door, James got into the front seat and drove to your house, looking at you from time to time.

"My parents are at a neurology convention or something on the other side of the state." You commented, looking out the window, your finger tracing the rain marks on the glass of the passenger window. "Can you believe they only warned me today when I called them, asking why I was home alone." You sighed, putting your head on the back of the seat.

He was a little surprised by the fact your parents left you home alone for a few days. Although you were of age, your parents always seemed so controlling and attached to you. They kind of treated you like a child, maybe because you were an only child or something.

"Oh, and I see you’re really just a little princess. Parents go on a business trip for a few days and leave little y/n here all alone. You must be helpless without them.” James teased, smirking as he looked at you from the corner of his eye.

He then focused on the road, waiting for your reaction.

"Don't be annoying; I know how to take care of myself; it's just that I would have preferred to have been warned beforehand." You retorted, your chest rising and falling as you sighed dramatically. "My parents never even let me go on school trips; it's a bit strange that they just disappear out of the blue."

James smirked and nodded, still trying to hold on to his laugh. The image of this little princess, helpless without your parents for a few days, made him want to test your limits.

“So basically, you’re saying that you haven’t had a sleepover without your parents before? Oh, that makes you even more adorable.” He teased, winking at you.

“I was always very well-behaved as a child. And well, my focus was on getting into medical school, not hidden  parties." You commented, taking off your sunglasses and biting the stem. James's breathing became tense at your movement. "Not that I didn't go to parties, I just, well, it wasn't my priority. And I kind of had a boyfriend at the time."

He let out a groan and rolled his eyes, clearly in shock.

“So you’re saying you never snuck out and went to a crazy party at 14? You didn’t have those teenage rebellious years? You weren’t grounded once for dating someone your parents didn’t approve of? Wow. You truly are a princess if you’ve led a perfect life.” He replied, looking over at you.

"I'm the good girl stereotype. I was a cheerleader, class leader, and president of the UN mock. I had better grades, and I dated the football team captain." You snorted, as if your adolescence was a long time ago, although it's only two years ago. "And well, now I'm in medical school to follow the family tradition."

James let out a low whistle, impressed by how flawless you were in every aspect. You literally were his dream girl. You were beautiful, had good grades, had a good sense of humor, and came from a successful family. You had to have some kind of flaw.

“So what’s the flaw? You can’t possibly be perfect. That would be too good to be true.” James asked, smirking. And yes, he was flirting with you. He didn't even try to hide.

"I guess I just wanted to reach adulthood. And now I realize it sucks." You muttered, looking down at your own hands resting in your lap.

James smirked, surprised to hear you curse.

“What’s wrong, princess? Can’t be a little more vulgar than that? It fits you more." James teased, smirking as he looked at you from the corner of his eye.

"My parents forbade me from swearing; I think it's still a little weird to swear out loud. It sounds wrong.” You confessed, your cheeks blushing at your honesty.

He thought it was adorable how innocent you were. It was like he was the one who corrupted you.

“Wow, so swearing is taboo in your family? I assume they don’t let you drink as well then..?” He teased again, winking at you.

"I'm 19 years old, James. You know that it's only after the age of 21 that you can legally drink here in the US." You reminded him, raising an eyebrow.

He pretended to be shocked and widened his eyes in response.

“So you mean to tell me that the spoiled little princess never snuck out and tried a sip of alcohol with her friends?” James teased, smirking at you.

He focused on the road again, waiting for your response.

"Well, I never drank. Or I went to parties in secret; in fact, my last party must have been school dances." You confessed, twirling a curl around your finger.

“You mean to tell me that you actually did have a high school love life? Damn girl, you really didn't sneak out and not tell your parents anything. You really are a good girl.” He teased, smirking. He couldn’t help but notice that his heart was beating faster the more that he teased you and made you admit to innocent things. 

"Wait, what about your high school boyfriend? Did you have to hide him from your parents?"

"It was actually my parents who introduced me to him, he was the son of one of my father's colleagues." You explained, tilting your head to look at him. "We met at a Christmas party that my parents' hospital hosts every year."

“So this boyfriend of yours was perfect, huh? I assume he was on the high school football team too, right?” He teased, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Yes, he was the team captain." You sighed, raising your eyebrow in amusement. "Am I that predictable?"

“Of course, you are precious. I’m starting to think you were probably a goody-two-shoes in high school. Not a single rule was broken. Not a single bad word was spoken. No sleepovers. No kissing the captain. Not even sneaking out to be with him.” James teased, making it very clear he was teasing.

“You were a perfect angel, weren’t you?” He smirked, leaning slightly toward you.

"We did more than just kiss, if you want to know." You retorted, your cheeks turning red at your own words.

He let out a small laugh at your words, his smile wide on his face.

“So you aren’t always innocent after all. Are you more into the ‘bad guys’ then? I thought you were the princess who only dated the captain of the team.” He teased, smirking as he waited for your response.

"Well, I only had one boyfriend," You confessed, biting your lip. "I can't say I have a lot of experience"

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by her confession. “Wait so you’ve only been with that one boyfriend? You haven't even had a few no-strings-attached snogs? You’re saying you were a good girl all this time?” He teased, nudging you. James looked out the window as he drove, waiting for your response.

"Well, I dated George since freshman year" You commented, looking at your legs, playing with the hem of your summer dress. “So, I had a boyfriend, I wasn't going to get involved with other people"

He let out a groan and sighed, not even bothering to hide his smile anymore. You were just so innocent and cute.

“So tell me, what happened with George? Did you two break up or what? Or did you finally muster the ability to break out of your good girl routine?” He teased as he looked at you from the corner of his eye.

"I am studying medicine at Harvard, while George went to Yale to study law. So, we ended up breaking up because long-distance relationships don't  work." You explained, the hem of your dress had ridden up due to the tightening of your belt. You tried to pull it down gently.

James' eyes fell on your legs, lingering longer than he should have.

“How tragic! So the spoiled princess couldn’t stand not being with her football captain boyfriend, so she broke up with him. I’m sure you must have been absolutely heartbroken.” James teased, smirking yet again. He took a small turn and focused on the road, waiting for your reaction.

"Actually, it was a bit of a relief. I don't know if I really liked George or just the idea of him. My parents wanted us to be together, and I think I just accepted that." You confessed, grabbing a gloss from your handbag to apply to your soft pink lips.

“So you’re telling me that you were so desperate for your parents’ approval that you never even thought about what you wanted? That you were willing to settle down with a college football star just because your parents wanted you to? That is such good girl behavior.” James teased, smirking at you. He noticed the application of the lip gloss and was fixated only on your lips for a good minute or so.

"You know, we were going to get married when we finished school. Now this seems so stupid, but my parents thought it was a great idea." You commented, giggling at the memory.

James rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Of course, the only child of very rich parents goes on to marry a college football star. Oh, I wonder if your parents will be satisfied with a surgeon as your husband. Or will you marry into a political family next?” He teased, looking at you with a grin. He couldn’t help but notice your full lips and the way the lip gloss made them look even more appetizing.

"I don't even know if I want to get married. My focus right now is on graduating from medicine and getting a good  job."You murmured, moving your lips together to spread the lip gloss. Before you parted your lips to check the application.

The sight of your lips and you applying the gloss was distracting him more than it should have, especially since he was driving. He tried to focus on the road, but the more his eyes wandered to your lips, the more his heart beat faster.

He cleared his throat, bringing his eyes back to the road. He looked a little flustered as his cheeks became a soft red.

“Wow, so are you saying that the princess actually has motives and aspirations other than being daddy's girl?” James teased.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his speech.

He let out an exaggerated groan, but he was still teasing.

“I swear, you’re giving me more surprises than a box of cereal. The little princess actually has aspirations of being a doctor. Wow, I never would have thought.” He teased again, looking at you again from the corner of his eye. James couldn’t help but focus on how his tone and tease seemed to have affected you, turning your cheeks a light red. He had never met anyone so innocent. It was intoxicating.

"And what are your ambitions, James? Do you intend to be a mechanic all your life?" You asked genuinely curious.

He let out a laugh and rolled his eyes.

“Me? Oh, I don’t have ambition like you, princess. I’m working my butt off on this shitty job because I couldn't afford college, and some shits happened in between.” James mocked, looking over at you, although there was some truth in his words. 

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“So what? Do you think I’m a loser?” He asked, waiting for your response. "For not having a fancy degree?"

You curled your lips at the amount of swear words in his sentence.

"No, I think your profession is very worthy." You stated gently. "Who would fix my car for the tenth time in a month if they didn't have you?" You retorted with a playful tone.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming in mischief as he heard your response.

“I guess it works out then, I have a princess constantly breaking her car down for me to fix. And the best part is, she’s too innocent to know how to do it herself so she has to keep coming back.” James teased, looking at you.

He felt a rush of blood going where it shouldn’t but he ignored it, refocusing on the road. What was wrong with him?

You smiled softly, looking away from the window. The journey was peaceful until you arrived at your huge and fancy house.

James pulled his car into the driveway of your house, turning off the engine. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself, when he saw the expensive-looking house. He then realized the way his heart was racing in his chest and how sweaty his palms had gotten. James shook his head, trying to clear his head, and looked at you.

“This is your house, huh? So this is where the spoiled princess calls home, huh?” He teased, smirking. His heart kept beating faster.

You rolled your eyes, opening the gate with the controller.

"Welcome to my humble home, James." You spoke, your lips curling into a mischievous smile.

He rolled his eyes again, pretending to be offended.

“Humble? Don’t you mean the Y/S manor? How modest of you to call it humble, but it does kind of remind me of a dollhouse. I wonder if this is where you play princess dress up. You even must have a pink porch!” James teased, winking at you.

"I would even invite you to my room to find out, but I think you'll be busy with the car." You retorted, with a mix of innocence and malice in your smile.

James raised an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his lips. You were going a little back and forth between being innocent and sassy. He liked it a lot. The fact that you were being playful and giving him a reaction just made him want to test his luck even more.

He stepped closer and widened his body, forcing you to lean slightly against the desk in the garage that was next to you. He stood closer than was necessary, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

James cleared his throat. “Oh, really?”

You parted your pink lips, your tongue sliding between them nervously. Your chest was rising and falling as your breathing became harder due to your proximity.

"Why don't you find out?" You teased him, raising your eyes to look at James.

He thought he saw a hint of lust in your eyes, and that gave him the courage to pull closer to you, his eyes becoming even more fiery. James was getting the feeling that he would be able to play with you, and you would just keep reacting the way he wanted you to.

He smirked and spoke in a low voice: “Oh, you’re challenging me, princess?”

"Only if you're willing to play." You retorted, biting your lip as you held your breath in anticipation.

James smirked, noticing you were getting impatient with him.

“Oh princess, I thought all those years as a princess you would have learned to be a little bit more patient." He teased, moving his thumb to the corner of his mouth. “Oh, and you bet I’m gonna play with my delicious little princess." He replied maliciously, winking at you.

James crashed his lips against yours, his hands squeezing your hips and pulling you closer. You closed your eyes when your lips touched. The way James' mouth moved against yours in a soft and possessive way made you gasp.

He parted his lips and deepened the kiss. One hand moved up to your waist while the other one held the back of your neck firmly. James kept you pressed against his body, feeling your warmth against him. His heart was beating even faster than before. His mind and his body were screaming for more—a lot more. His hands now trailed lower on your hips.

James felt his heart skip a beat and his chest rise. His mind was a little dizzy from your touch. He couldn’t think clearly at that moment; he could only feel you. His hands were now on your thighs and sliding up to your hips.

James was kissing your neck, biting it softly. He was getting so lost in the way your body felt under his lips and hands and in the taste of your sweet mouth. He was holding you tightly, biting down on your bottom lip, moving his hand under your sundress, kissing your neck and your ear, and whispering to you dirty words that made your cheeks blush.

James was touching the sensitive spots that were under your dress. He was getting out of his mind completely. His hands were moving quickly and passionately all over your body, touching and teasingly caressing parts that he wasn't supposed to.

But who could blame him? How could James resist the little princess, who had a crush on the mechanic?

[deadmotelsusa]

New Orlean's Carib Motel last operated as the Crystal Inn. It closed in 2022 and the exterior was repainted. I think it started renting its rooms as apartments, based on the "TENANTS ONLY" signs that were placed on the driveway entrance, though I can't find verification of this anywhere online nor can I find apartment listings. Its sign was replaced with the word Sunrise on top and the letters _O_ER on the bottom. Can anyone tell me what word that's supposed to be?

[section-chief-prentiss]

'tis the damn season

Summary: You bring a fake date to make your ex-girlfriend, Emily, jealous at your high school reunion. But you’re taken by surprise to learn that she did exactly the same thing. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader, JJ/Will LaMontagne 

Word Count: 2669

Ao3

You stood in front of your bed, where half a dozen dresses lay, scrutinizing your options. You weren’t sure how long you stood like that, half-naked, hands on your hips, but a knock at the door pulled you out of your indecision.

You’d tried on each dress countless times, and none of them felt right. But they were the only options you had.

You wanted to look amazing—no, better than amazing, stunning—when you reunited with your ex-girlfriend, Emily, at your class reunion tonight. You started dating not long after Emily transferred to your high school during your junior year, and your relationship lasted almost all the way through college. When neither of you was sure what your future laid for you, it seemed easier to figure it out apart.

And you hadn’t spoken since.

You hadn’t wanted to come to your reunion at all, but your friend, Wren, was in charge of organizing it, and you asked her to let you know if Emily RSVP’d. Shortly after she did, you did the same.

You threw on the black, lacy dress—black was always safe, you figured—before grabbing your heels and rushing to let in your date for the evening. 

You opened your door to find Will LaMontagne, his dark hair styled and light eyes sparkling. He was dressed in a bright blue button-down and slacks, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Come on in,” you said, stepping aside. “You look great.”

“So do you,” he drawled in his thick, New Orleans accent. “Your sister said this color blue would… bring out your eyes?”

The earnest confusion in his voice earned a genuine laugh from you. Will’s brother and your sister had gotten married last year, and ever since they got engaged, they kept pushing you and Will together, hoping that you’d fall in love.

While neither of you felt that way about each other, you had found a best friend in Will. A confidante.

So when you needed a fake date for your ten-year high school reunion, he offered freely.

“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” you said, for what was probably the hundredth time. “High school reunions are a drag under the best of circumstances.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he joked. “Plus, I do get something out of it. We get to tell our siblings we gave it a real shot. Maybe after this, they’ll leave us alone.”

The other deception of the night, aside from Will pretending to be your boyfriend to make your ex jealous, was telling your siblings this was a date. At the end of the night, you’d tell them you were better off as friends and hope they finally left you both alone.

“I brought a tie,” Will said, taking a patterned blue tie out of his pocket. “Is this a tie event?”

You stuck your tongue out in a disgusted face, which earned a laugh from Will. “I didn’t think so, but I didn’t go to my high school reunion, so I wanted to be sure.”

“Don’t change a thing,” you said, reaching for your purse. You were equal parts itching to get out the door and hoping you didn’t arrive too early. 

“Should we go?” Will asked, sensing your nerves.

You smiled gratefully. “Please.” 

***

A silver lining to the evening was that the reunion wouldn’t take place at your actual high school. Instead, Wren and the rest of the planning committee rented out the ballroom at The Plaza downtown, a hotel you’d always been curious to see the inside of. 

The lobby itself had your jaw on the floor. An ornate crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Below it, on the floor, was a sparkling fountain. Gold pillars plunged from the floor to the ceiling, and the perfectly placed white and gold couches and chairs felt too pretty to sit on. Against the far wall were the check-in desks, with perfectly maintained attendants standing behind them. 

“This place is too fancy for me,” you murmured.

Will chuckled. “Fake it ‘til you make it.”

A sign posted near an adjoining hallway pointed toward a room you couldn’t see, with Roosevelt High School Reunion written across it.

“Must be this way,” Will said.

“Your detective skills tell you that?” You joked.

Ignoring the jab, Will led you down the hall and toward the ballroom, music already floating out to meet you. You smiled, recognizing it as one of Wren’s favorites, and wondered how much of her influence you’d hear in the music tonight.

You were pleasantly surprised to find the ballroom relatively crowded when you entered. Decorations with your school’s colors—royal blue and silver—draped from the ceiling, colored the tablecloths, and reflected in the centerpieces, but it wasn’t over-the-top. You had to admit it—you were impressed. 

“You made it!” A familiar voice trilled.

You turned to find Wren, dressed in a vibrant pink dress, scampering toward you, arms out to embrace you. You opened your arms just in time to receive her and held her tight.

“Wren, this place looks incredible,” you gushed.

When she pulled away, she was blushing. “Well, thanks, doll. You guys look great.”

“Oh! Wren Taylor, Will LaMontagne Jr. Will LaMontagne Jr., Wren Taylor.”

“Date?” Wren whispered.

You laughed. “No, just a good friend. Unless you see Emily, then… date.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“When you told me she RSVP’d with a plus one, I couldn’t exactly show up here alone, could I?”

“Yes, you could, actually,” she said. Her eyes widened, focusing on something behind you. “Speaking of…”

You stiffened—sensing her presence before you saw her. Even after being separated for six years, you still recognized the buzzing in the air you felt when she was around.

You braced yourself as you turned toward the entrance to the ballroom, and her beauty took your breath away.

Emily’s dark hair was curled, and she’d grown her bangs out. She wore a white dress and black heels, and your heart skipped a beat.

She was stunning. And you were feeling very plain in comparison. 

But then you spotted her hand in someone else’s and froze. Because next to her was a beautiful woman with blonde hair pulled back in a high, curled ponytail and a light blue skirt and white blouse. 

They matched, you realized, the sensation a punch to your gut.

Seeing Emily with her partner reminded you of your mission, and you reached for Will’s hand instinctively, who was waiting to take yours. 

“It’s now or never,” you muttered, sounding braver than you felt. Will’s advice from earlier rung in your head—fake it ‘til you make it. 

You made your way toward the other couple, meeting them halfway, using each step to force a smile across your face before you reunited.

“Y/N!” Emily said, not letting go of her partner’s hand. “You look great.”

“So do you,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t shaking. “This is Detective Will LaMontagne Jr., my date.” 

He reached his free hand forward to shake both of the other women’s. “Pleasure,” he said.

“This is my date, Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau,” Emily countered. Were you imagining it, or was she putting emphasis on supervisory? 

“JJ,” the woman said, offering her own hand. You shook it, fighting to not squeeze it too hard.

It didn’t escape you how Will’s gaze lingered on JJ a second longer than you expected. 

“You know, that color brings out your eyes,” Will drawled, gesturing to her vibrant skirt. 

You bit back a smile from spreading across your face and embarrassing him. 

“Thanks,” JJ flushed. 

“Special Agent?” You asked, calling Emily’s attention away from Will’s attempt at flirting before he blew your cover completely. “So, you chose the FBI after all?”

“Not at first,” Emily hedged. “It’s a long story.”

“Right,” you said. And not one you were entitled to anymore.

Wren, ever your savior, marched over to talk with Emily, and you used that moment to excuse yourself with Will. 

He led you onto the dance floor as a slow song came on, and you were grateful for the distraction. You took one of his hands and placed the other on his shoulder, letting him lead you.

“Should we come up with a safe word in case you want to leave early?” Will asked.

You smiled. “That’s okay, but thanks, Will.”

One song bled into another until you lost track of how long you’d been dancing. You kept your focus on Will because you knew if you watched Emily and JJ for too long, your heart would shatter completely, washing away your carefully crafted facade.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” you said, dryness scratching your throat. “Want anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay, thanks.”

You made your way toward the bar—an open bar, which was half of the reason you agreed to come at all—just as the last person in line got their drink and walked away.

“Old fashioned, please,” you said.

The bartender nodded, and you fished a few dollars out of your purse for the tip jar. 

“Make that two,” said a familiar voice.

Your back stiffened, and you glanced over to find Emily standing next to you. 

“Having a good time?” Emily asked, throwing in a few dollars of her own to the tip jar.

You pursed your lips and nodded. “Yeah, Wren did a great job.” You glanced around, surprised to find her partner nowhere in sight.

“No JJ?” 

“She had to take a call,” Emily shrugged. “The job follows us sometimes.”

“Here you go,” the bartender said, holding out both drinks.

You thanked him and wandered away to make room for other patrons. To your surprise, Emily followed. 

“Do you like it? The FBI?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“It’s rewarding,” Emily said. “Difficult, but rewarding.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say to that, and took a sip of your drink.

“How’s your photography business going?” Emily asked, and you startled, nearly choking on your cocktail.

“How’d you know I have a photography business?” 

Emily flushed. “I’ve kept up with your career over the years. Is that such a surprise?”

Yes, you thought. You’d considered doing the same countless times over the years, but you knew if you tracked her down in any capacity, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from reaching out. It was easier, less painful, to wonder instead. 

“I guess not,” you whispered.

“So? How’s it going?”

You sighed, setting your drink down on a nearby table. “What are you doing, Em?”

She frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Are we just acting like nothing happened? Like we didn’t have a fight the day before graduation? Like you didn’t ditch the ceremony the next day and never talk to me again? I just need to know what page we’re on here if we’re going to pretend.”

Emily set her drink down near yours. “Y/N…”

“I thought seeing you again would make me feel better,” you said. “But I’m not sure it was such a good idea anymore.”

Emily started to speak, but you turned on a heel and beelined for the hallway. Tears were brimming in your eyes, and you’d rather run than have her see you fall apart.

The hallway outside the ballroom was still too public, so you didn’t stop until you were safely around the corner. You took a deep breath, collecting yourself, and wiping away the hints of tears in your eyes before they could fall. You wouldn’t lose it. Not here, at least. That could wait until you got home later.

A hand on your shoulder nearly made you jump out of your skin.

“Jesus, Will, announce yourself…” you chastised. But when you turned, it wasn’t Will.

It was Emily.

“Are you everywhere?” you snapped. “Go back to your date; I’m sure she’s wondering where you went.”

“I could say the same about your date.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is that what this is about? Fine, Will’s not my date. He’s my friend; I brought him to make you jealous. Happy?”

“Actually, yes,” she said, stepping toward you.

You frowned. “Wait… what?”

Emily took a deep breath. “I was immature in high school. That doesn’t excuse what I did, but I think it explains a few things.” 

“So?”

“So,” Emily continued, “Our futures were pulling us in two different directions. And I didn’t want to go in two different directions. Y/N, I would’ve followed you anywhere, my own ambitions be damned, and I knew if I showed up to graduation, I’d do just that. If I apologized for the fight we’d had, I would’ve wanted to spend the rest of our lives making it up to you. And one of us would’ve made sacrifices for the other, and we would’ve ended up hating each other in the end. So it was easier to just… run.” 

You laughed bitterly. “That wasn’t your decision to make, Em. We should’ve talked about that together.”

“Can you tell me I’m wrong? That one of us wouldn’t have given up our dream career for the other?”

You opened your mouth to argue but clamped it closed when you realized you couldn’t. Because she was probably right.

“Exactly. So watching from afar as you accomplished everything you dreamed of… I considered that a consolation prize. If I looked at the pictures long enough, it was like I was there with you.”

You blew out a long breath. “Em, you can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re with JJ now, and it’s not fair to be with her and say these things to me.”

Emily took another step closer; she was only a breath away now. You took a step back, but you were against the wall now, and Emily closed the gap between you immediately.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not with JJ,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss your neck.

Your knees wobbled, and it took every ounce of willpower not to reach out for the woman who still owned your heart.

“What?” Your head was spinning, and you weren’t sure you could trust your hearing. 

“I lied,” she said, planting kisses from your neck up to your face. “To make you jealous. She’s just a friend.”

You grabbed Emily’s shoulders and turned so it was her against the wall. “You’re not in a relationship?”

Emily smiled. “Not since we broke up. You’re the only one I want. If you’ll have me.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you grinned, crashing your lips against hers. Every nerve in your body felt like a live wire; Emily’s touch was electric. 

She buried her hands in your hair, and you shivered. How were you ever apart from this woman? The thought seemed unbearable now.

“You know,” Emily said, pulling away just long enough to speak. “I have a room. Upstairs.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, kissing her again. “Don’t tempt me, Emily Prentiss.”

“We should tell our dates we’re leaving so they don’t worry,” Emily whispered. “And then I’m going to spend every minute of tonight making up for the last six years.”

“Fine, but let’s hurry,” you agreed.

Hand in hand, you practically ran back into the ballroom, praying that Will and JJ wouldn’t be hard to find. 

Blissfully, you got your wish—you both staggered to a halt when you found your dates on the dance floor together, arms wrapped around each other, kissing like they were the only two people in the room.

“Huh,” you said. “I have to say, I didn’t see that coming.”

“She said I owed her for dragging her to a high school reunion that wasn’t her own,” Emily mused, lacing her hand through yours. “I think I’ll consider that debt repaid.” 

You giggled. “Can we go now?” 

“I’ll follow you anywhere you want.”

You brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Let’s start with tonight. Everything else can wait ‘til tomorrow.”

Emily nodded. “Tomorrow.” 

Tag List: @yena-reyna, @propertyofemilyprentiss, @chaekhan, @obsessedwjill, @mrs-prentiss Join my tag list! 

[brooke0297]

A Chance At Happily Ever After (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Post-Endgame; Pre FATWS)

Summary: Bucky believes tonight was a mistake. That he doesn't deserve the happy ending his best friend left him to find. But midnight musings lead him to a life changing conclusion.

Warnings: Allusions to Smut; Bucky being self-deprecating.

Author's Note: This started as a 3am idea and I'm pretty proud of how it's turned out. Reader uses She/Her pronouns.

************************************************************************

Bucky swears she can hear his heart thumping in his chest.

He lays amongst the rumpled bed sheets, feeling the sweat cooling on his fevered skin, gazing wide eyed at his ceiling. The window is open and the city sounds bleed into background noise. Born and bred Brooklyn, it soothes him. But does nothing to stop the wild beating of his heart under his ribs.

He can feel the heat from her body radiating beside him and his eyes slide to take in the full expanse of her back. Smooth skin illuminated by the moonlight from his window, the outline of her spine running down the center. If he were younger, from the before time, he might have reached out to trace the lines of her. Maybe allowed himself to curl into her and fold her into his warmth…

A jolt of something that he can’t unravel settles in his stomach and he tries again to calm himself.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thinks to himself. Damn you, Steve.

It had been his secret mantra for months now. He thinks back to watching his best friend disappear from that platform of Stark’s, knowing in his bones that Steve was going to get his happily ever after. He remembers turning away as Sam began to panic, commanding Banner to bring him back. He remembers her running to Sam, begging him to explain what had happened. The two of them approached the man on the bench while he hung back, trying to pretend the emptiness in his stomach was normal. He remembers her tears as she walked past him. She was always trying to appear tough and unbothered. 

He knew what a broken heart looked like. He’d seen it in the mirror.

It had taken a couple weeks after Steve left for him to finally unravel the pieces: a friendship borne in the days after the Chitauri invasion, her support during Steve’s search for him, the accords. She had confessed to Sam one night that there had been something there. Before she’d turned to dust with the rest of them, Steve had promised her the moon.

She shifted slightly, curling into herself. Bucky tensed as she let out a small, contented sigh and went still again.

So how could he have let this happen?

He had relied on her in the past few weeks and their friendship had gotten stronger. Sam had returned to New Orleans and they had remained in New York. Bucky had a sneaking suspicion that she had remained to keep an eye on him in some latent promise to the one who’d left them both, but he’d shoved those feelings down deep and tried not to think about them too hard during her mandatory movie nights.

Tonight was a stupid moment of selfishness. She had a habit of checking up on him before the end of the day. She had rented the apartment two doors down from him and would often take a detour to his door before turning in. This time, she’d caught him delirious from a mid afternoon nightmare that he hadn’t been able to avoid. He was just so damn tired and he only wanted to rest his eyes for a minute…

He hadn’t had to ask. She had gently taken his arm to steer him back to the couch, turning on a mindless sitcom for background murmur, and began the process of steeping some tea. He watched her practiced movements in his sparse kitchen and felt something warm perch in his chest at the thought that she was right at home in his space. The mug warmed both hands–clammy flesh and icy metal alike–and he listened as she began to tell him a funny story about something that had happened to her at work that day.

Once the tea was gone and his tremors had ceased, she had paused and gazed at him with worried eyes.

“Have you told your therapist?” she’d asked quietly. He’d shaken his head. He wasn’t ready to discuss the nightmare yet. It was bad enough having to recount the exploits he remembered from his soldier days.

“I’m sorry,” she had said, eyes downcast.

“For what?”

“For…I don’t know. Not being here when you needed me? For all of the bullshit those bastards put you through? It kills me, knowing that they hurt you so deeply.” She grasped his metal hand–he tried to hide the immediate recoil, but even with the new appendage he still worried about her fragile hand in such a powerful extremity.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

“It still hurts to know they caused you so much pain, Bucky. I wish I could tear them limb from limb for what they did.”

Something else he had realized in the time he’d known her: she was a lioness when it came to those she cared about. The thought of her going in any proximity to Pierce or Karpov, however, made his anxiety spike and his breath wooshed out of him harshly.

“I would die before I let them near you,” he’d growled. When he realized what he’d said, he’d reluctantly turned his gaze to hers and found her looking back at him with such tender fondness that it had made his chest tighten in a pleasant way.

“I know, Bucky. Because you are so good. You will always be better than what they tried to make you. You choose everyday to be good despite the hand you were dealt. You deserve happiness and a content life of your own and I will always work to give you that in whatever way I can.”

He hadn’t planned it. He didn’t even know if he was aware of what his body was doing. But something inside him had snapped into place. As she stood to take his cup to the kitchen, he found himself gently tugging her back to him to cradle her neck in his flesh hand. With his other, he brushed her hair away from her face and pressed his lips hungrily to hers.

It had been too long since he was this close to someone, let alone a beautiful woman. He could smell her shampoo and the faint perfume of her body wash overwhelmed his senses. He could feel her warmth through her sweater and her lips were soft and pliant against his. She was surprised and Bucky steeled himself for when she would pull away and slap him for getting fresh with her before disappearing from his life.

Instead she threw herself into his arms and kissed him back fervently. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him impossibly closer, emitting a soft moan that caused his tight control to slip.

There was a war within him. One half of him wanted to set her on his couch, rip their clothes off, and have his way with her. The other half was disgusted and raised the issue that he hadn’t even taken her to dinner first. That he was a monster who had killed people with his bare hands. He was dangerous and she could get hurt.

This isn’t right. We should stop. I need to stop.

When her nails scratched lightly against his neck, he was nearly undone. She dragged her mouth from his and began placing hot, open mouth kisses along his jawline. His eyes shut tight against the feeling of her lips trailing towards his ear and his arms moved as if to push her away. 

“Don’t stop…” she whispered to him.

The rational voice was still screaming at him to let go and get as far away from her as possible. Instead, he hiked her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, and carried her into his nearly unused bedroom.

Now, laying in the aftermath of his loss of control, he felt a twinge of regret. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to go that far with her. He wasn’t thinking clearly and allowed his body to guide his decisions. He hadn’t been rough with her, but it hadn’t been gentle. He’d used her as an excuse to feel wanted again. He’d allowed himself to sink into her warmth and light and forget that he was a monster who didn’t deserve her.

He began to calculate a plan. He could easily slip out of bed, find a 24 hour diner somewhere, and wait it out. The aftermath might be minimal: she could be so embarrassed of him that she would never speak to him again. He tried to ignore the hollow feeling in his chest at that thought. He could go sleep on his couch and use the warmth of the room as an excuse. But she knew he hated the cold from years of cryosleep. And he worried she would be drawn to the sound of his nightmares. 

The air outside had moved from comfortably chilly to verging on cold. Bucky began to gently shift out of his bed to pick up his discarded boxers, his brain continuing to run through variables.

In that moment, she shifted and rolled onto her other side to face him. He froze, holding his breath. He began to panic, thinking she was about to wake up and catch him running away from her. He’d wanted to avoid all this. Stupid idiot. This is what happens when you think for a moment that you could be happy.

Instead, she unconsciously moved in closer and intertwined their legs. Her hand rested above his heart and her head nestled into his shoulder. He could feel her breath fan across his skin and he erupted into pleasant goosebumps. He watched as she sighed serenely for a second time that night and smiled into his neck.

Oh.

The warmth that spread through his body was different from the lust that had consumed him only hours previously. The anxiety that had tensed his muscles relaxed and the weight disappeared. Every nerve ending that had been in fight or flight relaxed into a comforting buzz beneath his skin. His heart finally–finally–quieted to a soft thrumming under her hand. He felt drunk. He felt refreshed.

He felt happy.

This was it. This was what had eluded him for so long. All of his worries about Steve and hurting her and being vulnerable? They were irrelevant.

This girl–the human equivalent to sunshine–had sought him out for warmth and safety. For companionship and comfort. She’d pulled him into her orbit and he didn’t want to let it go. 

She wasn’t afraid of him or what he could do. She had chosen him. She had wanted him.

Bucky felt his world come into sharp focus. He tentatively wrapped his flesh arm around her back and pulled her slightly closer. She nuzzled closer still. He gently took his Vibranium hand, shaking slightly, and placed it over hers on his chest. When she didn’t pull away, he gently intertwined their fingers.

“You deserve happiness and a content life of your own.”

Her words echoed in his head. There was a large part of him that hadn’t believed them at first. But now, with her in his arms in his bed, he realized that she may have been right. Steve had been right.

Steve had gone for his happily ever after. Maybe it hadn’t been the best decision for Bucky. Or perhaps it had opened up a life Bucky couldn’t possibly have dreamed of himself.

He realized that he had wanted this all along. The intimacy, the comfort of someone seeing the worst parts of him and still choosing him. He wanted a happily ever after. 

******

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until the early morning sun shone through his windows. His limbs felt lethargic and he realized he hadn’t tossed and turned like he usually did. He had slept the whole night without a nightmare.

“Bucky?”

Her morning voice was low and raspy, thick with sleep. He looked down to see her blinking up at him. He waited until her eyes had focused on the lines of his face and she gave him a warm smile.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

With a swoop in his stomach, he leaned over and pressed her firmly back into the mattress. His hands braced on either side of her head and he bent down to catch her surprised mouth in a sensual kiss. She responded immediately, wrapping herself in his arms and pulling him closer. He pulled away as she gasped quietly and he felt the biggest smile break across his face.

“Hey, Doll.”

************************************************************************

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!

[idesofrevolution]

My Best Friend, the Ghost

It was the best feeling in the world. Picture this: a simple spread of the legs in the summer heat, sweat dripping from your forehead. You feel a cool, slick touch slide down your inner thigh. It feels almost slimy, though it leaves no residue as it inches toward your taint and ever closer to your rear. You gasp as it circles the tight hole, as if an expert were rimming you with their cold, wet tongue. Then, quickly, a gentle thrust. You feel it enter you, slithering slowly, intentionally. It begins to fill you, that frosty ooze spreading all throughout your body. Your breath is laboured, as you begin to contort and expand as it is overtaken, washed and inundated with this foreign substance bubbling beneath your skin. It pushes up your throat, choking you, taking the last of your breath away before it presses at the top palate of your mouth. It would feel almost like drowning, though your sensations only fire endorphin after endorphin of euphoria. Pressure builds as it presses harder and harder, until... pop. The hard palate gives way as it rushes and balloons into your head. Thoughts and stresses fade away, and you're left in a state of total ecstasy as your body begins to move on its own.

Fuckin' amazing, am I right? Well, guess what? I get that incomprehensible experience whenever the hell I want. Perks of living in a haunted apartment! Confused? Let me explain.

I moved to New Orleans a year ago, give or take a couple of months. I graduated college, and after testing out a couple of places that didn't really pan out for me, I landed in the cement swamp in the height of the summer. I'd just left Salt Lake City, so coming from the tepid air of Utah to the brick wall humidity of Louisiana was a lot. Yet, I was determined to make the best of this one. I'd secured a low-level office gig at a non-profit, and rented out a cheap two bedroom just outside the French Quarter. The house was one of those old shotgun-style places. It wasn't well maintained, frankly incomprehensibly so to be up to purpose for a tenant, though I was still paying an arm and a leg.

The first few nights, I didn't sleep super well. It was hot, I was sleeping on a hard air mattress, and the tall ceilings and old wooden floors made every little creak and groan of the house sound like some demonic entity moaning in the darkness just out of sight. At the time, I was resolved to believe such a rational theory. After all, ghosts aren't real. That recent college graduate sensibility: anything can be rationalized. Looking back, I scoff at what I thought I knew compared to what I know now. But that skeptic within me was what I relied on. It got me through my courses, it got me my job, it is what guided me through the insanity of life. So, as more peculiar occurrences began to happen, that is precisely the lens with which I saw the world.

When things started to go missing: my trusty running shoes, a pair of underwear, my gold chain, my laptop, even my keys, it was just me being forgetful. I took my Adderall and just ordered new things. I hunkered down and just focused on my work. When I heard scratching in the walls at night, footsteps down my hallway, quiet breaths echoing in the shadows... I was just sleep deprived, I took my Xanax and zonked myself out. Those dark shadows that crept around the corners just on the edge of my peripherals? Eye floaters, nothing more. Though, after about two weeks of just a miserable living experience, I finally experienced something I couldn't rationalize.

It was after a soul sucking day at the office, having spent all day sifting through piles of meaningless paperwork to the grating click clack of my coworkers silently typing on their keyboards like mindless drones. I'd gone into overtime that day, and after five or six cups of coffee, I can't say I was even remotely physically tired that evening. My mind, of course, was entirely devoid of functionality. Walking through my front door, tossing my keys in the little dish by the door, I collapsed onto my couch and just scrolled through Netflix, looking for nothing in particular. That's when I saw it. I'd turned to grab my vape pen from the side table, and my glance had grazed past the mirror which hung above my mantle. Floating behind me, clear as day in the mirror, was a figure. It was larger than I, big broad shoulders and pecs, tapering down to a narrow waist, flanked on either side by two muscled arms. It's face was chiseled and sharp, brows furrowed, golden eyes narrowed and full lips twisted in a mischievous smirk. It had no legs; rather, its body was condensed into a long whippy tail. Most notably, I would argue, was the... well... rather sizeable phallus which stood erect above it's navel, with two grapefruit sized balls hanging beneath it.

I sat frozen, unable to look away from it sizing me up in the mirror's reflection. All the other things I could make sense of in my head were obliterated at the sight of what was merely inches behind me, and inches above the floor. I finally found the strength to merely exhale, letting a soft billowing cloud of breath out of my mouth. It was the middle of June, and perhaps 91 Fahrenheit outside. It was impossible. Everything about what my eyes were seeing was impossible. As it began to creep toward me, I fully expected to spin around and like every haunted house movie of all time, there would be nothing there. Though as I whipped my head to look behind, no such luck. I was face to face with it. It was grinning as we were nose to nose. Bringing it's cool, ghostly hand to my cheek, it caressed it with the back of its fingers and winked at me.

"Hey there." It's voice boomed like a timpani, yet it's timbre was gravelly and suave. I couldn't help myself. In a primal state of panic, I shrieked a terrified scream. It didn't last long. The spirit seized the opportunity I was entirely unaware I had given it- quickly shoving it's head into my open mouth. The force by which it had taken me was overwhelming, though I suppose with it's sheer size, in retrospect it makes perfect sense. I was flung down into the cushions of the couch, as it pushed itself into me. I grasped at my throat, which was bulging from the thing which was now flooding down my gaping maw. I could hear it laugh from within me as it squeezed itself in, it's massive upper body condensing in on itself and slowly pushing deep into my gut. My stomach ballooned out, stretching as if it were rubber while it's tail whipped aimlessly against my face before it slipped between my lips.

This was the first time I felt the sensation. The euphoria. The cascading waterfall of endorphins as my body was contorting and stretching as the ghost slipped me on like a suit. I could feel it thrusting it's hands into my arms which expanded and stretched to accommodate the spirit's size. I could feel my chest burst through my shirt, with two jiggling pecs now engorged with it's essence. I could feel my thighs and calves swell with thick muscle, and my feet lengthen and explode through my socks. It was as if someone had taken a water hose and filled me like a balloon, and as I felt it's head rising up my throat one last time and slither into my head, I can't say I wasn't in the throws of intense and indescribable bliss. My eyes opened, I was no longer in the driver's seat.

"Ahhh fuck." It's voice boomed out of my mouth as I found my body moving of it's own accord. No, rather moving of his accord. I stood up, feeling my jiggling muscles slowly firm up and tighten as I walked to the mirror. The thing which wore me as a suit was checking itself out! It had my skin, my face, but otherwise I was unrecognizable. I was indeed approaching 6' 4", my jawline was square and chiseled, my arms as large as my head, my feet probably a size 16, and my... appendage? Let's just say he was now an anaconda snaking down my thigh, his hood restored and flanked on either side by an impressive bulbous sac. "Shit, that feels nice." My voice was soft like velvet, but frayed with a coarseness which tickled the mind like sandpaper. It stretched my muscles and cracked my neck and knuckles before finally bothering to introduce itself. "Name's Antoine, nice to meet ya." My hand slinked down to my member giving it a playful tug. "Actually, tonight, your name is Antoine too, baby." He smiled with my pearly white teeth, and it would be an outright lie to deny I was not eager to see what this Antoine would be using me to do that night. We sauntered over to my bedroom, tossing shirts and pants out of my drawers before he found some shorts and a tank top that fit my new musculature whatsoever. I had but only one pair of sandals that he could force my massive feet into, but neither he nor I could care less. As walked to the front door, and stepped out into the humid New Orleans air, he took a deep breath with my borrowed lungs, sighing in satisfaction. "Aight, my man. Let's see what kind of trouble we can get in tonight."

Thus began our mutual understanding. Our partnership. Frankly, our friendship. That night was one filled with club hopping across town, hitting dancefloors right and left, drinking outrageous amounts of liquor, grinding on sexy men with our tongue down their throats... None of which I would have ever experienced on my own. It was an entire world I knew nothing about, nothing I could have ever imagined myself doing, but with Antoine it seemed like second nature. After a night of debauchery and a tryst in some leather daddy's hotel room, he returned near the crack of dawn, collapsing onto my bed in a sweaty, swampy heap. He closed my eyes and almost immediately afterward I reopened them. The sun had risen, and peering at my phone, it was then 9 AM.

For a moment, I sat there and stared at the ceiling. I waited for my body to move on his command, though when it didn't, I whipped my sheets off to see that I had returned mostly to my former stature. I did note that I had grown ever so slightly. Perhaps his presence within me had left some residual effects on my body, a pleasant fact of which I did not mind whatsoever. I sat up, stretching my arms above my head, a wet warm musk wafting from my sweaty pits and steamy feet from the night before. For the first time, I found myself rather enjoying the scent... Where it once used to make me grimace with disgust, it now made me nearly salivate at the slightest tickle on my nose. I peered to the corner of the room, where now even in broad daylight I could see Antoine's spectral self floating above the floorboards, his arms crossed and his bright smile greeting me in the morning light.

We stared at eachother for a mere moment, before I smiled back at him. It didn't take words for us to understand what was to soon come to pass. Frankly, from then on, it was an unspoken pact. An inseparable bond, bound by an awakened hedonism and carnal desire. Starting that morning, our boys night out became a regular occurrence. I'd get home from work, exhausted and tired from a thankless day of grinding in the soulless office, and we would come up with a plan for the evening. He'd take his time slipping into me, knowing full well just how much I enjoyed each breathtaking second of it. In fact, we took a Saturday to go shopping for "night clothes" which would actually fit us when he was inside me.

Antoine was a bit of a casanova, able to make any person he met swoon with a single glance. The parade of men strutting the walk of shame out of my home every morning did not go unnoticed by my neighbors, not that they particularly seemed to care. It was the spirit of New Orleans, live every day like it's your last. That sentiment was instilled in me, along with a new attitude. I began to care less and less about this dead end job which had only gotten more and more unbearable as our relationship grew. My boss began to notice this as well. He noticed that my productivity had slipped, that I'd begun to come into work with more and more tattoos (which were admittedly against company policy), that my musky scent was becoming stronger and more apparent, that I'd become more casual and laid back, that I was trying to force myself into work clothes that were increasingly more and more revealing as my body grew toned and large. This, to him at least, was unacceptable. I don't entirely recall what it was that finally set him off, though I think it may have had something to do with me having my feet up on my desk as I took calls and the delicious pheromones to which my coworkers had taken a liking to. Something to do with my cubicle mate Daniel lapping up the pungent sweat from my socks beneath my desk as I worked. Couldn't say. Either way, it was the last straw for me.

It wasn't much of a loss, as my frequent appearances at the clubs, or rather my appearance altogether, which the bar owners had taken notice of. I had a line of bartending and gogo boy offers to take up in it's stead. Though, it wouldn't be enough to cover the rent on my own. Thus, we hatched a plan. A solution to both our issues: my financial one, and a more permanent solution for Antoine.

It was an average night in the French Quarter, we were behind the bar, and there before us appeared our solution sitting on a stool near the drink well. He was a tourist, a particularly needy and rude one at that. No friends, failing every attempt to snag the attention of our regular hustlers with his more than lacklustre personality. He was perfect. It wasn't difficult to play into his inflated ego, all it took was playing into his cringeworthy advances and unwelcomed touches before he was licking our pits and nipples, ready to head to our place. A lack of a tip was the final nail in the coffin, we were ready. The 'three' of us stumbled back to our apartment, and it took merely five minutes of making out before the drunken asshole had passed out in our bed.

Walking back into the living room, Antoine regurgitated himself out of me. Feeling him exit was always a bittersweet experience, euphoric in sensation but longing in sentiment. He floated in front of me, winking as he compressed himself under the door of our bedroom, slipping in with a quiet pop. Wiping the sweat from my brow, and taking a deep whiff of my dank sneaker like degenerate scent pig I'd become, I popped open a bottle of our nicer tequila to celebrate. As the yellow liquor began to pour into the glass, I heard the delightful sounds of possession begin to loudly bellow out from behind the closed door. A shriek, followed by squeaks and rubbery creaks atop elated moaning and gasping. Taking the two glasses, I meandered over to the couch, kicking my wafting, wet feet up onto the coffee table and grabbing the bong to pack a nice bowl.

The sounds of inflation and gargling, stretching skin and growing muscle were like candy to my ears, as I wondered what Antoine would look like. The guy was less than ideal before, though as a host, the sky was the limit to how gorgeous he was going to be. I lit the bowl, taking a deep drag before blowing an adequate cloud. Antoine's moans got louder and louder, his voice all the more recognizable as it progressed. One more puff from the bong and the sound of that final pop soared through the air. The house was silent apart from the heavy panting quietly emanating from the bedroom.

I sat there for a solid moment. He always was the master of the tease, knowing full well that I awaited his reveal. I could hear his chuckling before I heard the click of the lock on the door. Slowly, I stood up and walked to the bedroom door, pressing my ear against the wood. Nothing. I grabbed ahold of the doorknob with bated breath, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. The lights were on in the bedroom, and there in front of the mirror taking a selfie with his host's phone was my Antoine.

He was better than I ever could have imagined. That lanky, sad excuse for a man was long gone and in his stead stood the dreamiest hunk I'd ever set my eyes on. Our bodies were nearly identical in stature, as over the past several months he'd completely stretched me out to his own measurements. Though, his delicious golden eyes on that gorgeous, masculine face sent me over the edge. He was stacked, he was tall, he was caramel, he was packing down there, and he wafted that buttery, salty musk that made me drool. All he needed to do was to turn to me and wink in his new body and I felt myself harden.

"What's up, baby boy?" He flexed his massive arms, seductively licking his sweaty bicep for me. Let's just say that tequila and that bowl were still there the next day. We were rather preoccupied throughout the dawn, the morning, the afternoon, the evening... Endless hours of carnal pleasures and sensual overload. Simply washing the bedsheets of our intertwined cum imbued into the very threads of the fabric took longer than expected. I imagine you get the picture, so needless to say, such days were and continue to be frequent.

I suppose that brings us to today. As I sit here and write out how we got to this very moment, waiting for an Uber to take us to our honeymoon, I'll go ahead and mention that my former boss just walked by us, feigning pleasantries as if we were old buddies. Asking if now that I had a partner, I was finally ready to knuckle down and come back to work in a 'real job.' I turned to Antoine, he turned to me, and as we found our hands sliding toward eachother's growing bulges, basking in eachother's beguiling musk while my frump of an old boss indignantly watched, I flipped him the bird.

He stomped off, I doubt I'll ever see him again. Why should I need to? I have my man, I have our future, we have all the delicious men of this raunchy city to enjoy... What else can a guy ask for?

[magicalqueennightmare]

New Orleans

(Eventual) Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Your first day in New Orleans you quite literally run into a certain blonde who decides she wants to be friends. Who are you to argue?

How exactly had you decided on New Orleans again? Oh yeah, a new start. You needed it after the last few years. Maybe you could even find a legit job to help pass time between hunts.

You had the address of one of Garth's contacts that was willing to rent you a furnished apartment just outside the french quarter, no questions asked as long as she got her rent every month. You knew you'd need basics like bedding, towels and such so you decided to check in there first to get your keys and a full list of what you'd need then go shopping.

You were juggling a few bags, holding everything from sheets to a single serve coffee maker. You were already regretting moving somewhere that it made more sense to walk than to drive because the trunk of your nova would certainly come in handy. You needed to stop and grab something to eat considering you hadn't eaten since the diner you'd stopped at the night before.

You picked a cafe that looked interesting enough and had a small enough line. You ordered a simple sandwich and lemonade and had intentions of heading out to the patio to eat but when you pushed the door open to head out you ran full bodily into a blonde woman. “Oh crap! I am so sorry!” You reached out to try to steady her but she had a slight smile on her face “No harm done” her accent got your attention considering it wasn't the usual twang of Louisiana.

You felt the tattoo on your shoulder twinge a bit and studied the blonde for a moment but brushed it off “I promise to watch where I'm going from here on out” she nodded towards your bags “Tourist?” You shook your head “actually i just moved here” she extended her hand “I'm Rebekah Mikaelson” you had to catch yourself to make sure your expression didn't show your true reaction to her name.

Leave it to you to literally run into one of the original vampires. You'd heard they'd vacated New Orleans, was your information bad or had they just done a loop back? You shook her hand and told her your name. She cut her eyes down to where your lemonade had spilled all over the sidewalk “Allow me to buy you another drink? After all I'd hate to seem unwelcoming to someone new to town”

You felt the slight pull of compulsion and breathed a sigh of relief knowing the warding in your tattoo hadn't been a waste. She raised an eyebrow at you and it took everything you had to not let a nervous laugh out, you had no beef with her family and didn't need any.

“It's no problem” you assured her but she was already opening the door to the cafe and ushering you inside “Oh I insist. I have a feeling the two of us are going to become good friends” “Ok then” you agreed with a small smile. Why the hell had you picked New Orleans?

—----------

You sat across from Rebekah listening as she spoke of her family and their ties to the city you now resided in. After a moment she smiled again then leaned forward to where only you could hear what she said “I've got to ask though. What are you?”

Your eyes widened slightly “Excuse me?” Laughter bubbled out of her “When I told you my name you flinched, I couldn't compel you. You're not a vampire because there isn't a single ring on your finger. Werewolf is also no because you're sitting across from me. I'd wager witch but that doesn't seem to fit you either”

You swallowed hard but shrugged one shoulder “I'm someone who knows a little about a lot. There's a tattoo on my shoulder that's warded with every sigil seven different covens could get their hands on. I mean no harm to you or yours. I just needed a new place to live and a friend knew someone here who was willing to rent to someone with no proof of identity or job”

She nodded slowly “Are you a hunter?” You gave one sharp nod. Either she'd kill you here and now or get one of those brothers you'd heard so much about to take you out. You hadn't expected a smile to brighten her face “Delightful. We need to get together again sometime”

“Is that a request or a demand?” You asked and she shrugged one shoulder “It's an offer, just friendship. You're new to town, my family built this town. Besides there's some here that wouldn't take your word that you mean no harm and having one of us on your side could help” you held her gaze for a moment then motioned to her phone “Let me give you my number in that case”

By the time you got to your place you felt exhausted mentally and physically. How the hell had you ended up with one of the original vampires in your contact list?

You walked through your front door and dumped the bags on the floor. It was a small place. One of those open floors where the bed was about fifteen feet from the front door. A couch and a television was shoved into a corner as a living room of sorts. The kitchen consisted of a few counters and a tiny stove with a microwave installed over it. At least the bathroom was a decent size with a walk in shower and a stacked washer and dryer.

You needed to make the bed, put towels away and set up your coffee maker but all you wanted was a shower and to crash. One thing at a time.

The Originals

[aheathen-conceivably]

Chestnut Ridge, modern day, in an alternate Darlington Universe ✌🏼🌻🐎

Zelda was back-packing across the American countryside when she met Antoine Duplanchier in his hometown of New Orleans. Days turned into months in his tiny French Quarter apartment, putting off the bus she meant to catch until she decided to stay there with him.

Their lives fell into a distinctly New Orleanian rhythm, rarely leaving the small neighborhood near the river and falling ever deeper in love. Antoine spent his nights as a struggling jazz musician and Zelda a reluctant waitress, subsiding her habit of writing poems at all hours of the day with a meager income of tips at night.

Their lackadaisical lives came to a screeching halt when Zelda discovered she was pregnant, and the two decided to raise their daughter somewhere more akin to Zelda’s upbringing in England. They settled on Chestnut Ridge, in the American Southwest, where their city rent bought them the mortgage on a run down farmhouse and a rescue horse named Toulouse.

[latitudeapartments]

Luxury Apartments at Latitude | Rent Apartments New Orleans

Welcome to Latitude

Latitude is an upcoming residential tower designed to deliver an aspiring lifestyle to the urban nomad. This 196-unit complex, being built in Metairie, Louisiana, is conveniently located on Lake Pontchartrain's south shore near New Orleans. Often touted to be one of the best places to live in Louisiana, Metairie's spirit of a mixed urban-suburban feel is captured beautifully in Latitude's architectural design.

The city exudes a unique cross-cultural charm making it a favorite tourist spot and a proud home to many enjoying its arts, unique entertainment profile, and French-accented Southern grace. Surrounded by water—the lake to the north and the Mississippi River to the south—and papered with parks, entertainment venues, and historic businesses and eateries. There are a lot of bars, restaurants, and coffee shops frequented by locals and tourists alike.

Latitude is located at 3100 Lake Villa Drive at the intersection of Rye Street and is easily accessible by Interstate-10. And is minutes away from many major employers as well as shopping, dining, and entertainment.

Visit Us: 3100 Lake Villa Dr, Metairie, Louisiana. Call: +1 985 618 1600 Email: contact@latitude.apartments

Follow Us: Facebook | Instagram | Twitter

[ereardon]

Friends Don't || Chapter 3

Summary: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late? 

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid] 

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, angst, alcohol

WC: 2.8K

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

You met Denver when Bob got stationed at Lemoore. You had still been living in New Orleans, planning your move up to San Francisco, but it was taking a while because the magazine had you doing an Asia tour: Vietnam, Laos, Japan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Nepal. 

On your way back from Tokyo, you stopped in San Francisco to do some apartment hunting, before renting a car and driving down to Lemoore to visit Bob. 

He was still a newer member on the team; everyone but Denver had been there for years. They were a knit family, and he was the odd one out. But at least he had her. 

“You’re going to love her,” Bob said. He was teeming with excitement. Seeing him happy made you happy. You knew that he hadn’t quite fit in at Newport, his station before Lemoore. You knew that he desperately wanted to be part of a team. 

And he had found that with Denver. 

The bar was crowded. And hot. You were wearing a tiny tank top and a pair of denim shorts, not much of a going out outfit but Bob had insisted the two of you go straight to the bar so you could meet his friends. 

Bob weaved through the packed bar, his hand warm in yours, over toward one side of the curved wooden bar. You spotted the familiar khaki outfits that screamed military. Bob raised his free hand excitedly in a wave and you smiled up at him. 

“Hey guys,” he said, and a few of the khaki uniforms turned. Their eyes shamelessly rolled over you, and your hand in Bob’s, jaws going slack. 

“Floyd,” one of them, a classically attractive guy with a broad jawline, said. “Who’s the girl?” 

“Reid,” you said, sticking out one hand, keeping your left firmly in Bob’s. You shook his hand. 

“Harvard,” he said. 

You squinted. Another guy, even more ridiculously handsome, sidled up behind him. “I’m Fritz.”

You nodded. The other two were Omaha and Yale. The callsigns went in one ear and out the other. You were notoriously bad with names. 

And then you heard a small voice, like a delicate bird. “Stop drooling all over her, fuckheads. She’s way too hot for any of you.” 

All eyes turned to the right. A tiny redhead was making her way over to the group, her hands full of beer bottles. She handed one to Omaha and then another to Bob. Finally, her piercing green eyes landed on you and she smiled, holding out the remaining beer bottle. “You must be Sunny.” 

You grinned. “I am. You must be Denver.” 

“Sure hope so, otherwise I’m wearing someone else’s uniform.”

You laughed and took the beer, sipping it carefully. You watched Bob’s face light up as he spoke to the pilot. The casual way she put her hand on his forearm. How easy and light they were together. The way his eyes tracked her across the room. How she always brought him back into the conversation where he might have fallen out of it. 

For the rest of the night you snuck glances at the two of them. And for the first time you saw what Bob looked like when he was in love. 

“Hey.” Fritz approached you from your right, leaning against the wall where you had your butt pressed, staring out across the bar at Bob and Denver. 

“Hi,” you replied, taking a swig from the gin and tonic in your hand. You were tipsy, edging on drunk. 

Fritz followed your gaze. “They’re good together, don’t you think?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, they are. Never seen him like that before.” 

“Like what?” 

“So happy,” you replied. “Carefree.” The two of you watched as Bob laughed at something Denver said, her eyes sparkling as she faced him. 

“He looked pretty damn happy when he told us you were coming,” Fritz said. 

You shook your head. “Nothing like that.” 

Fritz moved slightly closer and you looked up at him with a smile. 

“Live nearby?” you asked. 

He grinned. “In fact, I do.” 

You took his hand, weaving through the crowd toward where Bob was standing near the bar next to Denver and Yale. “Bobby?” you said softly, raising a hand and pressing it to his upper arm. 

He turned around with a smile. “Hey Sunny, where’d you go?” 

You looked up at Fritz. “Just got another drink. I, uh, think we’re gonna head out. Can I call you tomorrow, get a ride back to your place?” 

He frowned. “Are you sure?” 

You felt Fritz’s hand slide into the back pocket of your jeans, fingers gripping the swell of your ass. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Bob looked between you and Fritz with narrowed eyes. “Sunny? Gonna ask you one more time, darlin’, are you sure?” 

You nodded then leaned up and kissed his cheek, letting your hand fall from his arm. “See you tomorrow, Bobby.” 

You let Fritz’s hand migrate to your low back, guiding you out of the bar and into the humid California night. You weren’t sure why, but it took everything you had not to turn around and take one last look at Bob before you walked out the door. 

Bob looked up at Denver with angry eyes. 

“I shouldn’t have let her go. She’s been here twelve hours, she has no idea where she is. Fritz is a goddamn stranger to her.”

“Reid can do what she wants, Floyd,” Denver said, leaning her small arm against the bar. “She’s a grown woman. Besides, Fritz is a puppy dog. You don’t have anything to worry about.” 

He shook his head. “I’m going after her.” He put his glass of seltzer down and started to walk toward the door when Denver grabbed him, yanking him back shockingly hard for such a small person. 

“Floyd! Snap out of it man. She isn’t yours.” 

“Yes, she is. She’s my responsibility, don’t you get that? I brought her here.”

Harvard shook his head. “Fuck, man, you’re down bad for her aren’t you?” 

Bob squinted his eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Harvard laughed. “See, I always thought you had a thing for Denver over here. But apparently you’re just the nerd in love with the hot girl next door. And she ditched you the first chance she got.”

Bob felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. He lunged forward, but Denver grabbed his arm. “Come on, let’s get some air, Floyd.” 

He let her yank him out onto the back patio of the bar, anger already starting to pool in his stomach. 

“Is it because of Fritz, or is it because she left with anyone but you?”

Bob shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Please, Denver, just drop it.” 

“No. I won’t drop it. Tell me the truth. What is it about her that has you so wound up, ready to fucking combust?”

Bob sighed. “It’s just been me and Reid for a long time, OK? It’s a hard dynamic to change. That’s all, I promise.”

Her green eyes scanned his face. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you Robert?” she asked softly, stepping closer. 

Bob raised his eyes to hers. “No, Sarah. I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

She nodded, lips pursed in a tight line. The two of them stood side by side, leaning against the railing of the patio, staring off into the distance in silence.

***

You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but somehow you ended up hosting a pizza night at the house as a way to repay the team for helping to unbox all your stuff that had finally arrived from Brooklyn, along with all of the new items you had purchased that had shown up on the doorstep, much to Bob’s dismay. 

The two of you arrived home one night to no less than twenty boxes from Crate & Barrel on the front porch. Bob turned to you with wide eyes and you gave him a small shrug across the middle console of the car, hopping out to examine the boxes. 

“Sunny,” he said, exasperated. “I said yes to redecorating. But what on Earth? Did you buy the whole store or what?” 

“Hate to break it to you, honey,” you said, opening the door and scooting the nearest box inside. “But your house? Your stuff? It’s depressing.” 

“I’m offended,” he said, following after you with a box in his arms. 

“No you’re not,” you replied. “And if you are, you’ll get over it when you see how much cute shit I got for us.” 

Bob groaned, digging in his pocket. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Calling in backup,” he said, hitting a button and lifting the phone to his ear. “Rooster? Yeah, can you and Hangman and Phoenix come over? Bring Coyote. Reid bought all this stuff and we’re never going to be able to unload it all ourselves.” He paused, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll buy you guys dinner.” 

He clicked off the phone and you laughed, already headed to your room to change into athletic clothing. “Remember that you love me!” you called from down the hall. 

“How could I ever forget?” Bob replied, shaking his head and grabbing a box cutter from the top drawer in the kitchen. 

That was how you found yourself sitting on the floor in the middle of Bob’s kitchen unwrapping a set of Estelle colored wine glasses and handing them to Phoenix, who was carefully placing them in a cabinet. 

In the living room, Rooster and Hangman were fighting over the instructions for the media center that you had ordered, while Bob was chatting with Coyote as he built a coffee table. 

You handed a blue stemless wine glass to Phoenix who took it with a smile. “So, how are you liking San Diego?” 

You shrugged. “It’s alright. I like the beach nearby.” 

“Bob said you’ve lived all over the place.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ve bounced around a lot. I did New Orleans, Seattle, Austin, SF, London, Barcelona. Most recently I was in Greenpoint.” 

Phoenix put one hand on her slim hip. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“Why here, then? Sounds like you’ve lived in the best cities in the US, maybe even the world. So why the hell would you want to move to San Diego?” 

You looked out over into the living room. “It’s the only place where I can see him every day.” 

Phoenix raised an eyebrow as you stood up from the floor, dusting off your knees with your hands. “Bradshaw is gonna ask you out. Even got a blessing from Floyd.” 

You turned to her. “Bob said yes?” 

She nodded. “Wasn’t too convincing, but he said Bradshaw was free to do whatever he liked. So just keep an eye out. He’s a good guy, Rooster. You could do worse.” 

You ducked down, opening a new box to reveal a set of ivory plates. “I’m not really looking to date right now.” 

“Anyone, or does that just apply to Rooster?”

“You two gossiping about me?” Bradley appeared in your field of vision, guzzling from a water bottle on the counter. He set it down and wiped his mouth, revealing a wide grin. 

You looked at Phoenix with panic and she cleared her throat. “Was just telling Reid here that you’re a sore loser because Hangman beat you at darts last week.” 

“Fuck, it was one time!” Rooster tossed his hands up and his genuine nature made you laugh. He dropped his hands and smiled. “Listen, Reid, if you’re not busy tomorrow, I’d love to take you to dinner.” 

You hesitated. What you had told Phoenix wasn’t a lie. You moved to San Diego to spend time with Bob. It wasn’t about a new crop of potential suitors. But the way that Bradley was smiling down at you, and the broadness of his shoulders, and the air in the kitchen, all had you nodding. “Sure,” you said softly. “I’d love to.” 

Bradley smiled so wide it threatened to split his face in half. “Great. I’ll pick you up here, say seven thirty?” 

You nodded. The rest of the night was spent unpacking boxes, you and Phoenix largely sequestered to the kitchen. Hangman and Rooster finally stopped yelling at each other long enough to get the black wood and cane media console set up and you watched with a grin as all four men argued about how exactly the tv should be set up. 

At the end of the night, you swept the empty pizza boxes into a trash bag and followed everyone out into the driveway to say goodbye, dumping the trash inside the can near the garage door. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said lightly to Bradley and he stepped closer, kissing your cheek softly.

“See you tomorrow Reid.” 

He walked away and you heard Jake huff to himself, muttering under his breath, “What does fucking Bradshaw have that I don’t?” 

You smirked to yourself, waving to Phoenix as she got in her truck, before heading back inside. In the kitchen, Bob was wiping down the counter, placing the last beer can in the recycling. 

“Good work tonight,” you said, looking around with your hands crossed over your chest. You still had some boxes to unpack and you were lacking a dining room table, but the living room was practically brand new. 

Bob shook his head. “You didn’t have to do this, Sunny.” 

“Um, I kind of did if I didn’t want to live in a frat basement for a house.” 

“It wasn’t that bad.” “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” You slipped past him, opening the fridge and pulling out a water bottle. “Alright, I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed. Goodnight.” 

You started down the hall when Bob’s voice stopped you. “Are you really going out with Bradley tomorrow?”

You turned. Bob stood in the middle of the hallway, his hands in his pockets. There was an air around him that you couldn’t place. You nodded. “Yeah, I am. Phoenix said you told Bradley it was OK to ask me out.” 

Bob grunted, turning around and heading for the kitchen, breaking down a cardboard box in frustrated silence. 

You followed him back into the kitchen, one hand on your hip. “Bobby? Are you mad? Do you not want me to date your colleague, is that what this is about?” 

“You always do this, Reid,” he said, shaking his head. There was something unnerving about Bob calling you by your first name. It was always Sunny, honey, darlin’, sweetheart. Never Reid. 

“Do what?” 

Bob looked up. “You leave a trail of men everywhere we go, Reid. I get it. You’re the anywhere-but-here girl. But you have to realize that you can’t do that this time. This is my life you’re walking into. You’re meeting my friends, living in my house. You told me you were settling down this time. But you’re still acting like the same Reid as before.” 

“And who exactly is that?” you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Bob let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t want to do this right now.” 

“You started this,” you practically shouted. “So fucking end it, Bobby. How am I acting?”

“You’re doing what you always do!” he yelled. “You’re acting like the Reid that fucks any guy that’s halfway decent to you. And then you run away before it can become anything more than a one night stand because you’re fucking terrified of having to stay and owning up to responsibility for the first time in your life. You just steamroll over everyone and everything, have your fun and then you’re gone. And you’ve always been like that. But this time you don’t get to just flit off to Mexico or Sweden or Croatia and send me a little gift basket and act like it never happened. This time you’re fucking with the people in my life, Reid, and it will have consequences. For once can you care about someone other than yourself and look at the situation and realize that what you do impacts me, too?”

The two of you stood, frozen, in the kitchen. The tension in the air was palpable. You could count on one hand the number of fights you and Bob had gotten into over the last nine years. 

This was one of them. 

Your eyes were locked on Bob’s blue ones. You watched as his face fell. As the realization of what he had just said washed over his familiar face. 

“Sunny,” he murmured, stepping closer and you shook your head, backing away. 

“No.” You whispered it, but there was venom laced in the word. “Don’t you dare try and take that back,” you added. “Because you can’t.” 

“Honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.” 

You whipped around, practically jogging down the hall toward the stairs at the front of the house. 

“Reid!” 

You climbed the stairs, two at a time, and slammed the door to your room, locking it behind you, sliding down against the back of the door onto the ground in a heap. 

You hated fighting with Bob. But this time, what you hated the most was that he was right. 

Tag list: (or turn on notifications for my library @ereardonlibrary)

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@minamisulemisa @shawnsblue @blue-aconite

@seresinhangmanjake @brehonodea @babyminghao @crthurston

@angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @mizzzpink @wkndwlff @mygyn @sadpetalsstuff @shanimallina87 @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye

@wittywhispers @wildlyobserving @eyesthatroll @localhockeygirl @xomrsalliej4787xo @rosiahills22 @teacupsandtopgun

@sexytholland @djs8891 @rxmtoon @darkestbeforethedawn16

@cactajuice @purplevortexx @dempy @lemur46

@louie-bug @arson-tm @valkyrja-siren-blog @avengers-fixation

@fudge13 @phantomxoxo @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @not-two-shrimp @emorychase @horseshoegirl

@xoxabs88xox @abaker74 @evans-dejong @clancycucumber230 @horseshoegirl

@mygyn @storysimp @interstellarloneliness @leafyturtle @deliriousfangirl61  @brookiecookiez0

[milfzatannaz]

Anne Rice goths and Neil Gaiman goths are not actually enemies. they’re lovers in a dysfunctional relationship renting a shitty apartment in New Orleans

[thosehallowedhalls]

Five of Cups

Book: Bloodbound

Character: Gaius Augustine

Rating: Teen

Word count: 492

Summary: A stranger might understand Gaius better than he thinks.

A/N: For @ascindio, who gave me the prompt five of cups, reversed, and requested Bloodbound. Day ten of my 30 days of drabbles.

It happens in New Orleans.

Gaius is ambling about Jackson Square, his shirt tight and confining around his shoulders. Gods, he will never get used to modern clothes, no matter how the fashions change. But worse, much worse, is the noise. A cacophony of voices and heartbeats, music and movements, all scraping against his skin until it’s raw.

After centuries spent in the outermost corners of the world, surrounded by the lilting sounds of nature, New Orleans is a sensory overload he was not prepared for.

He remembers a time when it wouldn’t have been like this. When he would have rejoiced in the thundering heartbeats, each one a sign that blood flowed freely in human veins, his for the taking. For the plundering. When the rowdy, shrill thunder was a welcome reminder of his superiority over these fragile, mewling creatures.

He remembers, no matter how hard he tries to forget.

“You want a reading, hon?” A voice breaks him out of his reverie. Why he heard this voice distinctly, amidst the hundreds of others, he’ll never know.

He looks in the direction of the sound, where a woman sits behind a folding table, a sandwich board to her side announcing Tarot Readings, and scoffs. “Certainly not.”

“A skeptic, are we?”

“A realist. Tarot cards began as regular playing cards. They were not used as divination tools until the eighteenth century.”

“Things change.”

She’s telling him. “Not quite that much.”

“In that case, would you mind moving it along, dear? You’re blocking foot traffic, and rent won’t pay itself.”

“By all means.”

But as he begins to walk away, a teenager skates by, forcing Gaius to step backwards until he bumps into the woman’s table. The deck on it comes apart, a few cards flying off the table.

“My apologies,” he says, bending down to pick them up, but she’s already gathered most of them. He takes the lone remaining card and hands it to her.

“Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“Five of cups. Reversed.”

“I thought rent wouldn’t pay itself.”

“This card clearly wants to pass along a message.”

“Cards don’t…” He sighs. “Never mind. What, pray tell, does the card want to tell me?”

If she picks up on the sarcasm, she doesn’t let on. “The five of cups is about loneliness, despair, loss. Normally, it could signify regrets, suggest that you’re stuck in the past.”

“Could? Shouldn’t you know?”

She ignores his tone yet again. “That’s not how tarot works, dear. But either way, that’s not what it represents now.”

“What does it represent now?”

“The card is reversed. It represents,” she meets his eye. “Self-forgiveness.”

Even as a slight shudder rocks him, he rolls his eyes. “Fascinating.”

“You know what else the reversed five of cups stands for?” She calls after him as he begins to walk away again.

Despite himself, he turns to face her. “What?”

“Healing.”

Gaius leaves without another word.

He doesn’t believe in Tarot cards anyway.

[inuhalfdemon]

Dirty Dealings (4/21)

Word Count: 2,460 Words

Chapter 4: The Grave

“I’m a demon, my dear.” Alastor told her warmly. “I really don’t give a damn.”

Lafayette, Louisiana

June 25th, 1970

“I’m not fucking around, here.” The guy yelled in Addie’s face, shoving her hard so that she stumbled and fell backward into the alley behind the apartments. “I told you to get lost, bitch!”

“But…” She gasped, shaking from his escalated aggression. “I-I paid for-“

“You fucking didn’t!” The man screamed at her. “You’d think I’d forget a face that’s staying in my apartments!?”

There was a sound of someone clearing their throat. The man who had shoved Addie, whirled around, his eyes finding Alastor leaning against a brick wall – ‘dressed-to-the-nines’- in his human form with a smile on his face.

“My good man,” He said, casually “Is there a problem?”

“Luc…?” Addie breathed, shakily.

“This broad here thinks she can get away with staying in my apartments rent free.” The guy spit, turning back toward Addie. “I was just seeing her out.”

“Hm…well.” Alastor pushed off from the wall and strolled over to where Addie was, offering his hand to help her from the dirty cement. “Perhaps, a tad excessive.”

“Excuse me.” The guy turned on Alastor. “You have something you want to fucking say?”

“How about a magic trick!?” Alastor snapped his fingers, bright green smoke bursting in the man’s face. The man wobbled backwards. He shook his head and blinked at Alastor and Addie in confusion.

“I-uh…” He grunted. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” He asked, all anger gone now.

“We were just discussing my sister-in-law.” Alastor explained to him happily. “You see, she needs a place to stay when she comes here for work. We were interested in one of your apartments but she will be new to the area, you have never met her before and I worry that you won’t know who she is when she comes to stay in a room that’s already been paid for.”

“Oh,” The guy started to say, “Well, I suppose-“

“You were just getting ready to sign this document!” Alastor smiled, suddenly showing him a paper and pen. “It will provide your signature in the event that if any problems should arise, my dear sister-in-law could produce it and provide to you the proper proof of purchase.”

“Of-of course.” The man stated, fumbling for the pen. He continued to blink repeatedly, his hand sweeping clumsily across the page as he signed.

“Pleasure doing business with you, my good fellow!” Alastor exclaimed happily, flourishing the document and pen back into his hand. “But, now, my friend and I must be off.”

Turning away, Alastor led Addie quietly away from the man and out of the alley.

Addie paused, glancing back into the alley briefly. “Did you just…?” She looked at him pointedly.

“Heaven’s no!” Alastor waved a hand. “This was for you, not me.” He handed her the document. “You show that to him at anytime and he won’t be giving you any more trouble. Stay there as long as you like, it won’t make a difference, the paper will still do the trick.”

Addie took the page from him. It glowed briefly, warm in her hands before the ink melted into the paper, fading away. The paper had become blank but she could feel it thrumming softly against the skin of her fingers. She carefully folded the sheet, placing it within a pocket of her jeans.

“Well, thank you…I guess.” She told him, not quite sure how she should feel about the situation. “You do realize if I use this, it will be stealing…”

“I’m a demon, my dear.” Alastor told her warmly. “I really don’t give a damn.”

“Thank you, then.” Addie told him. “Truly.”

“Think nothing of it.” He told her. “Now, there is the matter of our anniversary. I am afraid that I have a pressing engagement that will require my absence from you tonight. I’m sure you are quite devastated.”

“Not really.” Addie told him.

“I thought as much.” He chuckled softly.

“However, why don’t you get settled in to your new place? I have an errand to run in New Orleans; won’t take me long. I can come back…say…in the next couple of hours?”

“You’re going to New Orleans?” She asked. “I-I haven’t been there in…ages…” She suddenly realized.

“You are welcome to join me, if you’d like!” He happily offered.

“…really?” She asked. “I mean, I-I think I’d like to.”

“Splendid!” He took a large, sweeping step back. Snapping his fingers, green sparked and formed into whirling pool of smoke that spun beside them.

“Ladies first,” He dipped, an arm out toward the portal.

She hesitated.

“It is quite safe, I can assure you.” He promised.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the spinning portal, preparing herself for all sorts of…unpleasantness.

As she stepped through though, nothing happened. She simply stepped out into the same exact bright daylight she had left and felt entirely the same.

A young black man, hurriedly stepped directly into where she was standing and she gasped loudly, surprised. When the man never stopped or even touched her, she whirled around, disoriented. He and the friend that was with him had kept walking - somehow - right through where she had been without seeing or touching her.

“Quite, alright.” Alastor told her, stepping beside her. “These things do have their ‘fool proofs’.” He glanced around briefly, checking that no one was looking, before snapping his fingers. Addie realized that a soft green glow had been surrounding her and it dissipated immediately – fully materializing her to the spot. They were standing just off from a quiet street in New Orleans.

“Can all demons…do that?” She asked him.

He was swiping at his hair, trying to get the sweep just how he liked it. “No.” He answered, simply. “So, would you like some time to see the town? I can pop back by when I’m done.”

“I thought you were going into town yourself.” She said, confused.

“Oh, no. I have another outing in mind.” He told her. “Another kind of anniversary, in fact.”

“Oh, well, I-“ She wasn’t sure how to admit it. She was excited to be back in New Orleans. She hadn’t been back here since…well, since returning to the swamps the night after their deal had been made. That was 1950…had it really already been 20 years?

“You are welcome to come along.” He told her, still fussing with his hair. “I can’t say that it will be especially exciting for you.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” She asked him.

“Not at all.” He smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Oh, blast it.” He sighed, done trying with his hair. “Would you mind terribly if I…well, if I took a more comfortable form? This one suited me fine for quite some time but it gets rather….stale, after awhile.” He was trying to explain.

“I guess not.” She said, having seen him in a few forms now and wondering why he even felt the need to ask.

“Humans will not be able to see me,” He explained. “You will, but others will see you talking only to yourself.”

“They would forget about me doing anything as soon as they no longer saw me, so why do I care?” She asked him dryly.

“Well, I’m just being polite.” He told her, before producing a long black cane and spinning it agilely about. In an instant, he was no longer human. He took the form of the dealer demon she had shook hands with those many years ago out by the bayou.

Obvious relief brightened both his smile and his mood. His long black cane now was a red and black staff with a microphone fixed to the top. He wore the same bright red, flashy clothing he had the night of their deal and his ears and antlers were even more pronounced in the light of day. Spinning the staff with the microphone, he began to walk away down a dirt road that led away from the city of New Orleans. The staff disappeared entirely, before he crossed his hands to the small of his back and whistled happily as he strolled away.

“Wait.” She said.

He paused, tilting his head and smiling at her.

“If you could already do all that…why even bother?” She asked.

He didn’t reply. He simply, happily shrugged.

She sighed, going over to where he had stopped. “Well, if you don’t know then I’m not going to try to understand it.”

“So, where are we going?” She asked him, falling in-step beside him when he turned to continue his jaunt.

“To visit someone very dear to me.” He told her but then saying nothing else. She noticed his voice had that same crackling-old radio sound it had had before as well.

They walked quietly for a few moments, Addie wanting to know more but also not wanting to annoy him.

“You know,” He said. “These were my old stomping grounds when I was alive.”

“Really?” She thought about it briefly. She supposed it made sense.

“Were you anyone I would know or remember?” She asked him.

He laughed. “Hardly. No, my dear, I spent my time in much different circles of society than you would appreciate, I think. But, I was a host to one of the earliest radio broadcasts in our lifetimes.” He proudly told her.

“That’s…interesting.” She admitted. “I can’t say that I’ve accomplished much myself…even with our deal that we made.”

He didn’t offer any comment to this, but if his ears were any indication, he was listening to her as they kept walking.

“The clause you added…” She told him. “It makes everything too hard. I want to do meaningful things, travel, see the world, find something I’m good at but…” She vented to him, frustratedly. “I can’t. No one remembers me long enough to make an impact or get anything done. I can’t apply for travel documents, I can’t get a job….I can’t even fucking write or draw, everything I ever make an impression on just…fades away.”

Alastor chuckled. “I made it so you can never be remembered, Adeline. Part of that is not being able to make any meaningful impact or form any meaningful relationships with others.”

“Not to mention that even just day-to-day tasks are…incredibly difficult now.” She sighed.

“Yes, well.” He giggled. “That’s just a bonus.”

She glared at him. Of course he was enjoying this. He would.

They were approaching the end of the dirt road now, an old rusted black metal fence encircled what looked to be an old cemetery. Alastor never slowed, but went to the old gate at the fence and swung it out wide, the metal screeching. He waited politely for Addie to walk through before following her, closing the gate behind them.

Addie paused, looking around the graveyard. There was a much nicer cemetery actually in New Orleans but she saw that these headstones were…very old. The most recent date she saw were ones that had the year 1929 but there were many other stones that were there dating back into the 1800’s.

She followed Alastor as he kept his strolling gait between the rows of long-since dead. At the edge of the graveyard, a large, beautiful oak grew just beyond the perimeter fence. Its branches casted long and twisting limbs over and into the yard. Just beneath, engulfed in shadow, was a lone headstone.

Alastor stopped at the grave and Addie watched him. He still wore a large smile across his face, but his eyes had softened and there was a gentle sadness there that she didn’t expect to see from him. Several moments passed with him standing there, just like that, completely and utterly still.

Addie thought about stepping away and leaving him alone, when he told her, “She was my mother.” 

“Your…mother?” She wasn’t sure what she had anticipated. Looking more closely at the gravestone now she saw that the day of death was June 25th…

“You come here…” Addie said, starring at the worn stone. “Every year? On the day she died…” Addie hadn’t visited the grave of either of her parents. Not once.

“Not every year.” He told her, almost as if they were chatting happily. “But, every year that I am able.”

“Isn’t the day though…” Addie wasn’t sure how to ask it. “I mean, it’s kind of depressing right? Why not visit on another day of the year? Her birthday even?” Addie couldn’t fathom it.

“I wasn’t around when she was born, Adeline.” He told her. “I was there when she died.”

Addie didn’t know what to say to that.

“Do you…? She offered, after some time.  “Do you want me to go-?”

“No, no that is quite alright.” He told her. Snapping his fingers, he produced a brilliantly colored, red rose. Bending down, he tenderly placed the rose atop of the grave’s headstone.

“Do you…?” Addie fumbled, not sure if she should even be asking him this. “Do you know where she is now?”

“Heaven.” He told her. “But, even it doesn’t deserve her.”

“What do you think she’d say…? You know, about you being what you are now?” She wondered.

“Oh, she would be horrified.” Alastor laughed. “Absolutely, and truly mortified. But,..” He looked at Addie, now, the radio static falling from his voice briefly. “She would still love me.”

Addie suddenly was fighting back tears. “Wow..” She breathed.

He looked at her, his expression happily curious.

“It’s just…” She sighed, really trying not to cry. “I really miss my dad.”

He watched her, not saying anything.

“He died before…well, before our deal so it’s not like that changed anything… But, you come here every year you possibly can to visit your mom? I’m not even sure I know where his grave even is…” She said it, realizing it was true. “What kind of a person does that make me?”

Alastor offered her no reply.

“My dad…” Addie wanted to explain but she just didn’t know how to do his memory the justice it deserved. Instead, she told him, “You probably wouldn’t remember it…but I gave you a ring. A wooden ring. He had carved it for me just before he died…” She was losing her words, unsure of how to say just how much her father had meant to her.

“You mean,” Alastor snapped his fingers, and in a rush of green the wooden ring appeared in his hand. “This ring.”

Addie starred at it, uncomprehending. “B-but you-you burnt it. You said it was worthless and you burned it away right in front of me!” 

“I never said it was worthless, darling.” He smiled coyly back at her. “I said it held no value to me. It obviously had meant quite a lot to you, however, and there is much greater worth in that. So, I kept it.”

She starred back at him. She was torn between wanting to scream in his face for all of this petty-shit-stuff he was putting her through - just for his own amusement – but then, also in being overwhelmingly grateful that he had kept the ring all this time, safe and sound.

He chuckled deeply when some time passed and she still hadn’t sorted through all of her feelings.

“Well, my dear, Adeline.” He smiled. “Happy 20th Anniversary.” And he, gave her the ring.

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 5

[mikes-walkman]

So can you tell us some facts about your jeremy fitzgerlad

Silly doodle to go along with this!

Info below!

He’s the cousin of missing kid Fritz Smith and his sister Frankie Smith! He moved to (New Orleans or Utah i can’t decide where to put my fnaf au rn) after Fritz disappeared in 85.

He’s originally from New York, but left due to 1. cousin going missing and wanting to be there with his other cousin and 2. to escape some trauma and get a new fresh start. (it’s a sensitive topic so i wont mention it here) 3. His mom decided to tour for her music career and Jeremy wanted some where to stay where he wasn’t constantly moving place to place.

His full name is actually Jeremiah. He has ADHD and has always been in love with space and astronomy. big science nerd. Also he’s 6’8” like the actor(Theodus Crane) of Jeremiah from the FNaF Movie! He’s also gay and probably not cisgender(i keep having dreams where he’s there and transmasc with Michael who he transfem)

Jeremy is a chill and kind guy who often avoids conflict for the sake of keeping peace.

He got the job at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza in 1987 because he wanted to pay rent to the Smith family for letting him stay there. He had been working at a diner that closedown.

At Freddy’s he started working behind the prize counter where he met Michael, who was working as the delivery “boy”. The two struck up a friendship that eventually led to a romance.

After the bite happened Michael stayed around, and the two got promise rings. (avoiding an engagement ring due to the times)

Jeremy had separated himself from Freddy’s and he (along with Michael) adopted a baby girl when they are in their 40s. The little girl being Cassie from Ruin!

After Michael disappeared/died, Jeremy put all his time and focus onto caring for his daughter Cassie. Jeremy never fell in love again after Michael died. After multiple decades Jeremy couldn’t imagine himself with anyone else romantically.

Jeremy ends up getting a job as a technician for Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizza Plex—he was the main technician for Glam Bonnie along with Bonnie Bowl. Must to his dismay he is once again working under FazEnt but now with a brain chip! Through FazEnt he met Vanessa who Jeremy would offer a babysitting gig to. So Vanessa and Cassie grew a sisterly bond.

After Cassie goes missing Jeremy falls apart but Frankie helps take care of him until Cassie gets home. (spoilers: Gregory and Vanessa save Cassie from Mimic cause I care for Cassie so much)

Jeremy is still alive and will end up dying of natural causes that come with old age. He lived a long good, happy life.