#also I had to leave really quickly today so this is unbetad as well

[gallifreyanlibertea]

I Took My Hater Out On A Date (2/7)

(1/7)  (3/7)  (4/7)  (5/7)  (6/7)

a/n: thank you to everyone that replied to my post!

Arthur barely heard the text notification over his yowling cats. Of course, the beasts only got louder once he turned his attention away from them in pursuit of his phone. They thumped his leg, stomped on his foot. Arthur sighed defeatedly as his fingers curled back into his palm. It seemed his cats weren’t going to let him check his messages until they’d been fed.

Honestly, they acted like Arthur starved them. 

Arthur scraped the food into their food bowls, pausing momentarily at the sound of yet another phone notification, to which his second kitten, Gregory, mewled yet again at Arthur’s distraction.

“Alright, alright.” Arthur snapped. He finished dispensing the food and his cats went to town, to which Arthur’s annoyed, furrowed brows ironed out with a slight, forgiving smile. He couldn’t stay mad at them for long. He reached to scratch their ears as they ate, only to be startled by yet another notification. It was one too many from what Arthur usually received at such a quiet, boring time as one twenty-three PM.

Most of his friends were at work by that time. Arthur would’ve been as well, had it not been for the fact that he’d slipped in his bathtub and nearly snapped his back in two a few days ago- he chose never to explain that incident in detail to his YouTube subscribers, who no doubt saw him as a young, sarcastic and somewhat robust man. It was an illusion he hadn’t been so quick to shatter, so he’d told them he was hospitalized and that was all they needed to know. 

It wasn’t exactly a lie so much as it was a half-truth.

Arthur had been leaning to check his messages when he was startled by five firm knocks on his front door. He scrambled to brush the cat hair off his sweater before he opened the door to- “Francis? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I left early. Have you seen it?” Francis said, lips spreading in what seemed to be a mocking smile.”That American’s new video?”

“Wh- what? I-”

Francis helped himself into Arthur’s apartment, squatting by Arthur’s coffee table to retrieve Arthur’s laptop from underneath, all with the familiarity of an ex- live-in boyfriend.

It put a sour taste in Arthur’s mouth to remember that he’d actually dated Francis Bonnefoy.

Francis hated cats, Arthur hated the French, Arthur wasn’t quite sure how it had all worked out for three months, much less a minute.

He supposed the sex had been good. Really good. That was all their relationship had been, really. It lacked any substance, it had moved far too fast, it was far too sloppy, which made it all the more easier for Arthur when Francis finally grew bored of Arthur and broke things off.

Nevertheless, Arthur found that he was never able to truly get rid of Francis Bonnefoy. He hadn’t minded that sometimes.

He minded it now, as he watched Francis nearly step on a cat in his hurry to sit on the couch.

“Watch out for Greg!” Arthur hissed.

Francis paused. His lip curled. “I’ll never understand your choice of pet names.”

“The name means to watch, to be alert.” Arthur sniffed. “Cats deserve meaningful names as well, you know, he’s got those sharp ears and those big eyes, like he’s always looking for something-”

“You named the first one Biscuit.”

“I thought it was cute!”

Francis rolled his eyes and went back to work. Arthur eyed him as he threw Arthur’s laptop open, with long painted fingernails clacking on the keys.

“I hardly think it’s that important, Francis.” Arthur scoffed. Curiosity gnawed at the pit of Arthur’s stomach, but Francis didn’t need to know that. 

See, all Francis would need to know was that Alfred Jones, that annoyingly attractive American YouTuber, was nothing more than an insignificant part of Arthur’s YouTube career. Arthur’s subscribers had brought Alfred to Arthur’s attention, and Arthur had done what he did best, what his viewers liked best. He’d reacted to Alfred’s videos.

Besides, it was shockingly easy to make fun of Alfred, just as it was to poke fun at any gaming YouTuber, really. Arthur never had understood the hype.

He recalled almost groaning at the thought of having to watch Alfred’s videos to find something to talk about. He’d clicked on them reluctantly. He wasn’t exactly eager to spend his time watching something he knew for a fact he wouldn’t enjoy, even if it was for the sake of his ‘career’.

He supposed he’d judged the book by its cover, but that form of evaluation almost always worked when it came to gaming YouTubers. They were all the same. With their same, screamy, juvenile content. Their same ‘squads’ playing games together, their same scripted content. Arthur never understood how they gained so many subscribers.

And there had been no plot twist, no sudden realization that, wow, I’d misunderstood this Alfred Jones all along! Because Arthur had truly hated the first video he’d seen. 

That particular video had been Alfred and his mates playing a game with commentary voiced over. It had been dreadful to watch, so painfully boring. Arthur never understood how it could be entertaining to watch others play a game and not actually play it yourself.

Arthur had, however, smiled a little- maybe a little- at some of Alfred’s light humor, sprinkled in between censored curse words and loud laughter. That was all.

It wasn’t until he’d watched a video with Alfred’s actual face in view that everything struck him. 

The other video had the game in full view with a small window in the corner where Arthur could see Alfred and his friends playing. He’d skipped to the middle to watch it and left almost a minute after, so Arthur hadn’t gotten to see that deliciously strong jawline in clear view, full lips parting for dimpled grins, broad shoulders clad in that sweatshirt of his.

Suddenly, Arthur found it difficult to piece together his argument. He was at a loss for words when words were the things he desperately needed to conjure up- dry-humored, cynical words, ones that had never failed to entertain his viewers. 

Well, it was easy to draft something vicious, of course. Arthur never ran dry on ways to insult a person, but he needed to find something… genuine.

Arthur liked to think his videos were an extension of him. Nothing was scripted. He’d just talk and talk and edit out the rough parts, but it seemed everything he had to say about Alfred was a rough part. He’d gone on for minutes flaming Alfred’s content in front of his camera until it had figuratively laid in simmering ashes at Arthur’s feet, but when Arthur re-watched the footage, he felt something missing. 

He didn’t know what.

It was strange, considering that Alfred had an enormous amount of content, which meant more for Arthur to talk about. That meant it would be easier to find material for a reaction video, right?

Arthur’s research had started out with a wide sweep of the channel. He could’ve easily poked fun at just the amount of playlists the lad had- it seemed he made a video about everything.

There was a gaming channel. Arthur had passed that one almost immediately, not wanting to torture himself any longer. He’d already had enough to say about those videos.

There was a… conspiracy theory channel? Arthur had paused upon seeing that, wondering if his eyes deceived him. He’d clicked onto it to find videos about faked moon landings, Mandela effects, theories as to how the world would end- Alfred seemed to be very well versed in his research.

“Hey guys,” Alfred started all his conspiracy videos with chilling music. Arthur liked to pretend it never got to him, but he had clicked out of the video that night and watched it the next morning, in broad daylight. “I have a brand new conspiracy to talk about and- wow, I honestly could not see anything the same after researching it.”

That low, husky voice Alfred put on for the videos, Alfred’s knowledge on the matter- it gave Arthur... mad-scientist vibes. Arthur hadn’t known he’d been blushing profusely until he’d clicked out of the video and taken a break for a quick glass of water.

Arthur couldn’t help his attraction to the strangest little things. He had a thing for tourists, for conspiracists, for glasses, for a nice tall build, and Alfred was inconveniently all of those. Alfred was annoyingly, incredibly, attractive, and there was no denying it.

But hell, Arthur found many things attractive. Even Francis was attractive (which was something Arthur would never tell him) but that had never stopped Arthur from making fun of him.

So yes, Arthur found ample things to discuss in his video, but he had never been content with a single take. In fact, he’d contemplated giving up on the idea, but he couldn’t afford to pass up on making a video that almost guaranteed viewer satisfaction, what with the sheer amount of Twitter posts, YouTube comments, Instagram DMs and whatnot that practically begged Arthur to consider Alfred Jones.

He would simply have to make it work. He’d scanned his thirteenth take, in which he’d been sitting in front of the camera with a sneer on his lips. “I don’t know just how offended I should be that you lot selected someone so unbelievably annoying, so humorless, so-”

And Arthur had winced, just a little. Despite the fact that his viewers adored his rant videos, Arthur didn’t have the heart to be so cruel this time. At least not without some sort of filter. Besides, he wasn’t exactly keen on having Alfred Jones superfans flooding his comment section.

So Arthur had found a comfortable middle-ground. He indulged his viewers in the mockery while diluting it for the sake of diplomacy- er, however much diplomacy could be managed with a Reaction YouTuber’s videos.

“As pretty of a face as he does have, I’d still never subject myself to his mind-numbingly boring and clichéd content, nor would I subject myself to a date with someone with a loud, annoying, cookie-cutter online personality.”

Arthur wasn’t wrong. Alfred was attractive, and Arthur had been pleased with the take. It hadn’t been too harsh. It had just the right amounts of everything, just enough not to make Arthur feel too guilty. After all, he complimented Alfred! Even if it was just a little.

It also helped that Alfred wasn’t there in person. Arthur doubted he could say anything remotely rude in front of those big blue eyes.

… or maybe he could. Arthur didn’t know. That was the whole point of the situation, because Alfred was a YouTuber on Arthur’s laptop screen. It didn’t feel real. It made it all the more easier for Arthur.

It also didn’t help that Alfred was predictable as well. When Alfred had replied, it was as Arthur had expected. It was like a game of chess. It was hardly two people in a petty fight- Arthur assumed that if this were in person, that was what it would be. But because it was online, it felt like a battle, a war.

See, he’d learned a lot from dating a popular MUA, and it was that YouTube interactions between two well-known creators were hardly ever just an interaction. It was a tactic. It carried benefits.

When Alfred had said, “Besides, I’d never date anyone who can spend that much time complaining on camera”, Arthur had raised his brows. He’d checked the comment section to find some of Arthur’s subscribers meagerly defending him. How cute.

He’d checked his twitter to find the brewings of a feud. Subscribers of Alfred’s fought ones of Arthur, subscribers of both were eager for more. Oh god, Arthur had even found hate-to-love fanfiction-

The viewers were not letting this go. Therefore, Arthur would not be letting this go. He would not be sparing Alfred Jones.

It seemed Alfred wouldn’t be sparing Arthur either. Arthur checked his messages as Francis searched for Alfred’s latest video, one he absolutely had to watch, apparently, because Arthur’s first message had been from an ex-roommate that Arthur still kept in contact with, Bharat:

Have you seen it????

Another had been from his older brother, Allistair:

Watch the new vid, am honestly cryin HAHA its what you get fer fuckin round on yt all the time

And two others had been from Francis:

MDR did you see??

I’m coming over I’m almost there

It seemed Alfred wasn’t sparing Arthur either, because Arthur found his expression contorting into one of pain every second of Alfred’s latest video, wondering what exactly on God’s green earth was Alfred’s plan. 

It was unpredictable, and Arthur never made his next move until he knew what his opponent was up to.

Francis had let the cursor hover over a video on the trending page titled ‘Why Arthur Kirkland Should Date Me’. Arthur’s eyebrows had shot up. “Wh… what?”

Francis had clicked the video with a smirk. “Trust me, it gets worse.”

“Hey, what’s up you guys! I’m back again with another video.” A chipper Alfred said on the screen. “I’m gonna assume you all know why I’m making this. A YouTuber I’d never seen before- and trust me, I would never have forgotten a face like that if I had.” Alfred winked. 

Arthur choked on air. Francis bit back a smile. 

“He’s been dragging me to hell and back, and his recent video was particularly interesting to me.”

A thumbnail link of the video popped up on the screen. Well, at least, Arthur was getting some advertisement.

“Come on now, dude, this isn’t kindergarten! For a guy that spent a good ten minutes talking about how childish I am, you’re not so much better yourself.”

Arthur had frowned quizzically, not entirely sure of where the message had been going.

“You think I’m hot, I think you’re hot-”

What.

“I mean, I’ll look past the huge eyebrows and the fact that you wear the same type of sweater in all your videos, if you can look past my cookie-cutter online personality. I took the liberty to make a video just for you, in the hopes that you’ll just drop the act and slide into my DMs.”

Arthur furrowed his brows. Alfred was a clever lad. A clever, clever lad, it seemed, because, well, this was Alfred’s plan. If Arthur made another, normal reaction video, there would be no changing of the fact that millions of viewers now thought Arthur was some schoolgirl with a crush, some schoolgirl in denial.

Arthur watched the scene cut to Alfred lifting weights in the low, orangey light of a gym-

“I work out!”

-then, to Alfred on some sort of gymnastic mat, doing impressive backflips and other... bendy things, “I’m flexible if you know what I mean.”

Arthur watched, red-faced, as Alfred winked on screen. The scene then switched to Alfred playing with a pet- a fat, fluffy white cat with brown ears. “I saw in a video that you liked cats. I have one too! His name’s Hero!”

That bit was predictable. It was easy to see that the Alfred was a comic book buff from the figurines that lined the room he filmed in, the posters on his walls.

Now, Alfred was on a couch, scrolling his phone with a big, cheesy smile. “I just googled your height, and I think you’d fit just perfectly in my arms. People tell me I’m real warm.”

This was ridiculous. Surely Alfred had to know that! Arthur’s cheeks burned red in embarrassment. He was suddenly aware of Francis’ presence, those blue, mocking, laughing eyes of his drilling into Arthur’s mortified body.

And finally, much to Francis’ glee and the twist in the pit of Arthur’s stomach, Alfred took off his sweatshirt. He took off the shirt underneath it, displaying a deliciously tanned expanse of toned muscle. Alfred grinned cheekily, and Arthur felt his insides flutter. “And last of all, because this is what’s under my sweatshirt.”

“That bastard,” Arthur muttered as the video came to an end. “I- I don’t even know what he… that cheeky bastard.”

“I say you accept his proposal,” Francis joked. Arthur ignored him.

“I’ve got to do something, Francis. I can’t just let him- I… I need to match his play, but I can’t just do something like this, God knows I don’t have that in me!”

“Stop blubbering. Does it always have to be a play with you?” Francis scoffed, “Maybe he likes you.”

“Oh come on,” Arthur rose from the couch, taking to pacing in his living room, “He’s doing this for views and I know it. Fans go crazy over gay subtext like this.”

“It’s hardly sub-text.”

Arthur ignored him again. “I’m not going to let myself be ridiculed like this.”

Arthur filmed a new video the next week, in which he’d taken to coming up with a list, similar to Alfred. He’d filmed in various locations, similar to Alfred. Arthur matched the play.

“Sometimes I box after a stressful day,” Arthur had said as Francis filmed him in the ring, boxing glove-clad hands poised up, “I can quite easily knock a tooth out.”

The scene switched to Arthur sifting through his mail. “I’ve got all these bills that I’m paying with my job. In case you’re not sure what that is, it’s an adult responsibility. To put it into terms you might understand, my job is like a… um, quest that I complete to gain coins, money, um… V-Bucks, so I can pay for ‘cool stuff’! Like rent! And it’s very important, so I’d rather not be bothered with children dragging my name into videos for viewer satisfaction.”

And there was much, much more. Oh, so much more. Arthur titled the video ‘Why Alfred Jones Should Fuck Off’ and posted it with a smug smile on his lips.

It was trending a week later.

Arthur scrolled through his email notifications absentmindedly, watching his subscriber count grow, as his free hand stroked Biscuit on his lap.

See, Arthur could admit that all the new subscribers did make him feel a little bit nice. Maybe that made him slightly egotistical. He liked to see his email chock full of the notifications. He liked to scroll through them, when he had nothing else to do, and recently, he’d had quite a few in his inbox. With the time he’d taken off work, he’d also had quite a few moments in his day when he had nothing else to do.

He then paused. He blinked. His lips curved up in a slight smile.

Alfred Jones has subscribed to you on YouTube!

[harper-emory-writes]

Cowboy Casanova

Summary : When arizona catches the eye of quentin blake's notorious right hand man, and she flees she does not know that the same right hand man was going to use what ever he wanted to get her.

Pairing : Burke x ofc (Arizona)

Warnings: implied smut, breeding kink, forced marriage, knife play, dark, Language, violence, 18+

A/N : ok this was a one shot ended up being a parter but hey new year first post to Tumblr.  possibly not everyones up of tea as a story but I really enjoyed writing it so there. also possible spelling mistakes this is unbetad. 

word count: 4236

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The sound of more breaking glass was the first thing that set Arizona on edge. That a bunch of outlaws were running around town was never a good thing. That she was one of the few girls working on the bar tonight was also unnerving her. Height was never at Arizona’s advantage, coming up to an average female height being 5"3'. The bustling crowds in full swing as she tried to barge through the crowds to get to the bar. Her dress tatty as she had it dragged on the floor. The smell of whiskey was very familiar as Arizona heard the smash of glass. Her body soon stood up as she stormed out into the bustling bodies. Her eyes soon lit up at the familiar sight of Quentin Turnbull’s right-hand man. His eyebrow quirked up as he saw her coming through the crowds.

Arizona looked on the scene, her boots mud covered, that's what you get when you're working as a barmaid instead of a prostitute. Her deep red dress old and well-worn, her corset pushing her breasts up as her tone annoyed as she spoke. “Burke, I thought you were moving off from here?” her eyes rolled as she kept her eyes stared at him. His coat hung up on the hooks with his bowler hat. His distinctive Irish accent was audible as he retorted back to her. “Is that right, Missy? Don't you think you're getting into someone else's business.” Arizona soon crossed her arms over her breasts. Her attitude was unfriendly as she stood up to the same man who was definitely dangerous. But she was going to stand up to him. “Yes, but you're in a saloon you're not supposed to be in, are you Mr. Burke?” That was when she heard a scoff coming from his mouth before he stood up. His height towering over hers as she soon saw him turn on his heel, grabbing his coat and bowler hat. Not before whispering as he passed Arizona. “You might have won today Missy, but you wait until I Can get my hands on your body properly, eh.” His grin unsettled her as he finished speaking. But not before tipping his bowler hat up at her before going into the night.

Arizona shook her head before slamming the door of the saloon shut. Her hand reached for the shotgun as she fired it up to the ceiling. “Anyone else wanting to cause a fight tonight, or wants a drink at all the bar is closing in ten minutes.” the customers soon scattered as she started serving up the whiskey for patrons who wanted it. Her corset got uncomfortable as she kept trying to raise it up against her breasts. Unknown on what is happening for the night ahead of her as she finishes up the last errands of her night. Most of the patrons leaving drunk, or at least not sober. Her hand went to the broom as she grabbed it to sweep the floor.  The broken glass of bottles and other items that could injure others. The sound of boots on the front porch decking. Arizona shouted out to the night before she turned her back to the flooring. “Saloons closed for the night, sorry boys!”

There was soon a soft “tsk tsk” that Arizona could hear as she put the broom away. That was before she heard the cock of a gun behind her. Her body whirled around as she stared down at the barrel of a gun. The man behind it was Burke, his black tattoos even more menacing than normal as he cocked his eyebrow up at her. “See Missy, I said we would meet again, didn't I?” his bowler hat still on as he cocked her wicked grin. His eyes watching her as she whistled a slight tone of a song. Arizona gave a small smile before she ducked under Burke's shotgun. “And why are you back here Burke, isn’t your leader looking for you right now?” his dark brown striped waistcoat had a tear in it. The next thing Arizona saw was Burke's hunting knife out of his knife sheath. The silver blade sharp as it held to her jugular, “not back chatting now are we Missy?” His grin was disturbing as he placed the knife down against her corset. Heavy breathing could be heard as Burke looked her up and down. His head shaking as he reached for her dark brown locks, his fingers running through them. He whispered into her ear. “Now you never told me your name did you Missy, unless you want to be dubbed Missy. When I take you back to Quentin, sure he would enjoy you?” Arizona gulped as she felt Burke's knife reach under her breast, quickly making work of the fabric above them. Burke's blue eyes watched her in every moment as he bites down on her earlobe. “See Missy, you're going to get 3 seconds to give me your name before I blow your brains out.” Arizona let out a slight whimper. Burke pressed the gun barrel to her head, his voice calm as he started on the countdown, “3….” she soon blurted it out, “Arizona…. My name is Arizona you can stop calling me Missy now ok Mr.Burke.” His grin came back as he put his finger up under her chin, before brushing his finger over her lips. “Maybe I will keep you for myself, Arizona.” Her body released a shiver down her spin as she looked at his black tattoos.

“What are we going to do with you, Arizona? You are not married, definitely not received a child, and you're waiting to get hitched. Perhaps wanting to be taken interest in by a rich trader.” Arizona sobbed as he reached behind her body. The leather strings of her corset loosening as Burke devilishly grinned at Arizona's look. Her hair covering most of her back as his knife scraped at the red fabric on her breasts. His hand holding her lower stomach as he whispers in her ear. “you would make an amazing mother, you know that Arizona?” His comment confused her as he kept hold of her flat stomach, his knife back in the sheath as he carried on looking at her. “darling you need to marry a husband, one who can keep you safe in all stages of your life.”

With this Arizona soon ran. She was confused about her body being affected by his touch and voice. Unknown to what he was meaning, nothing can be good when a dangerous criminal. Is interested in you, let alone one of Quentin turnbulls. she had to leave the town in the morning, it would be safer for everyone who once knew her. Especially now that she had Burke interested in her now. The fabric that was cut dangled down as she ran from the saloon. If Burke had any ideas where she was heading, she was screwed. But she did not think that he would follow her as she ran into the dark night. Her chest was heaving at the time she reached her safe house. Her dresses and other clothes crammed into a bag. The only clothing that was left out was a very masculine outfit, her way out to be slipping into the night.

The last thing that Arizona saw as she stole someone else's horse before kicking the horse on as she galloped out of the small town. Her small pistol attached to her hip as she made sure to be gone from the town by morning. Her hat just about calming her hair as she left a dust trail behind her. She would head north, if anything told her to be careful going up north with a horse. Would have been safer than going down south. Her clothing was the heaviest bit of her packing, as she kept the small pouch of coins in her bag. in case of any proper difficulty. The horse was holding steady as she dismounted her steed. Letting the horse grab a drink as she sat down on the sandy soil by the river. Her boots left on as she moved her hat to shade her eyes from the sun. The bliss of being outside as she looked at the tree that sat shading her. The sound of a train very close as she remounted her horse carrying on with reaching the nearest town. Arizona might have been close to if at all close to civilisation.

Arizona squeezed the horse on as she watched an immense bunch of cowboys following a train. The tracks had someone on as Arizona kept her head low. The person on the train tracks looked familiar.  She tried to avoid the large herd of horses and cowboys coming out for her. If Burke caught her going tail between her legs back, she could not let him win at all, even if he followed her. She would be well ahead of him by the time she had gone over the mountains. The afternoon sun was high in the sky by the time that Arizona got into the higher peaks of the mountains. The rivers and lakes have sparse rarity. Arizona kept her eye half behind her to make sure nobody had followed her.

By the time dusk had fallen, Arizona was coming down from the mountain peaks. Her body cold as she saw what looked like the remains of a campfire as her body stayed on edge. The sound of shots alerted her that someone was there. Her body slipped back into the shadows as she stayed behind some bushes. The similar Irish accent came as she felt a knife at her neck. “Give it up you're caught, either we can settle this business now or the noose can come?” The tip of the knife poking into her chest, leaving a slight nick in her pale skin. Arizona soon stood up, her body in full view for burke as he kept a devilish grin on her as he spoke again. “Gotcha missy, this time I Can keep a hold on you.” The holler from another voice over the other side of the bushes. Burke placed a bit of fabric and his knife between her lips. “Burke are you there?” Burke stood up as he walked out from the other side of the bushes. His eyes set on the shadow of Arizona as she tucked behind the bushes. Her body cold as she tried to avoid having more confrontation from burke. Moving herself against the cold mountainous terrain. What made her stop was the tall shadow behind her, another man from the looks of it. The last thing she felt before a rifle butt knocked her out from behind her.

Dazed by her surroundings, Arizona woke as she surveyed the surrounding room. Her hands wriggled as she realized that rope bound them around her wrists. That she had something holding her legs in position as well, most likely also by rope. The heavy sigh from her mouth almost prompted someone inside. Burke soon opened the door, his grin more demonequse than normal as Arizona spat at his feet. “You little son of a bitch, you have taken my livelihood away. That you found me is easy enough, but tying me up be serious you can’t even get that damn grin off your face.” At this Burke burst out laughing. His grin reaching up to his eyes as he was very amused by Arizona. “Missy you're  in the situation that I could make you a damn whore at this rate you're going.” Arizona gasped before retorting a reply to him. “You would never Burke at this rate you're going to keep me for yourself. You said it yourself after all.” Burke soon smirked at this comment from Arizona. “I will still, depends on if you're going to be a good whore.”

Arizona was uncomfortable as the slight stench of whiskey came from his breath. His blue eyes watched her, amused from the reaction that she was having next to him. The room was old, the smell of musty damp wooden planks was one she was familiar to her. The smell of recently fired shotgun cartridges. Arizona was cold, her skin paler than it is, and her lips tinged with blue from her outfit. Her body shivered as she looked up at Burke's face. “Can I get a change of clothes at least burke?” He looked at her with one eyebrow quirked up as he chuckled again. His hand reached for his knife as he looked at her again before speaking. “I don’t trust that you're not going to run away again, whore, you know what that means?” Arizona shook her head again trying to deflect his question. “No, burke, why would you think that?” His reply was short and sharp, very blunt and to the point. “Cause that’s what you did the last time, and we found Yeh, didn’t we, you filthy whore.” with this burke flicked his knife out and faced Arizona. “I know your not stupid now give it up, what do you think we are going to do with you?” his face in a grin as he looked at her, his knife thrown up in the air as he caught it with the handle again.

The palpable tension in the room was noticeable as there was a knock to the door before a voice spoke out. “Burke are you done in their we have to get a fucking move on soon.” Unknown to the man's voice behind the door. Burke stormed over to it and opened his shotgun at the door. The last thing that Arizona saw is the loud sound of a shot, right through the other outlaws’ head. Burke's face turned back to her as she looked at the blood spattered face of burke. His bowler hat still in perfect place as Arizona screamed. “You killed someone innocent!” With this he turned the barrel of a shotgun to her. “Now missy, if we are going to come with us, you're going to need to be quiet about that ok, whore? Don’t mention anything about it, otherwise you know what you will be doing for the rest of your life.” With this, the ropes to Arizona’s chair were cut. Not before burke saw Arizona soon nod her head as she did not retort her mouth back to him. “Good girl, now come on we have some business to do.” Arizona muttered to herself. “What business can be more important than being a demon.” her face was completely straight. She had thought that she had got away with it, but she soon walked into Burke's back. His body taught as he turned around to her, the knife pointing to under her chin as his eyes watched her. “Take it back, whore?” The sound through gritted teeth through his lips as he stared at her before reaching for her arms.

Arizona gulped as she was hauled over to the wooden shack wall. Her back thudded very against the wood. nails poking into her back from the old shack as she felt the large blade nick her cheek. The sharp scratch was a mark on her skin now, but the blood was welling up from the slight cut he gave her. “Now whore you're going to behave, aren’t you?” her body wiggled as he wedged her into the walls more, his tone menacing as he looked straight down at her.

Her cheeks were flushed at this stage, not only was she trying for her freedom. She was also very aware of the tense atmosphere that was around her currently. Another voice soon came through as Burke looked almost a talk and you're dead glare at Arizona. He turned to the door before opening the door again. “Mr. Burke, there is this strange suitcase, sitting outside with ladies’ clothes in. Do we have a visitor or something going to happen?” Burke answered, “yes and if you don’t want your head blown off, get out now.” The man soon went scurrying as Burke turned his head to Arizona again. “So missy, any suggestions or ideas what I am going to do with you?”

Arizona whimpered as Burke snaked closer to her, his body covering hers. His lips ghosting over her lips as he kissed her, his eyes watching her as he muttered into her lips. “Your mine, Arizona. You might not know it yet but you're going to marry me as I watch you raising our children? You understand that missy.” Arizona soon spat at him. Her eyes hurt as she retorted a reply to him. “Never, burke, I will never be your wife.” She lifted her hand as her hand striked his face. Her body soon turned as she ran to the nearest open window, the tiny crack of the window enough. To fit her slender body shimmy through her hand was grabbed. Her head flicked back to the window to show Burke glaring at her. His smile turned into a tortuous grin as she stared at his tattooed arm. “You leave now, missy I will hunt you down. I Am going to have fun with our little game. Now either you can leave and we will find you or you can come back in and be a good missy and not make a fool of yourself?” Her first thought was that of running away and joining up with no one taking the traders route into town. Arizona had a niggling thought in her mind that if she ran. There was also a high likelihood of Burke catching her again. Another voice brought her out of her thought process as she tugged her hand away from his, only to get another hand put over her mouth. Her body wiggled and struggled as she tried to get out of the unknown person. Who grabbed her, but not before she heard the distinct Irish accent of him. “Bring her in we have an occasion to get ready for.” Arizona kept squirming as she manhandled into a room. Burke sat by the fireplace, his face illuminated by the firelight. “See I will always get you? Won't I missy?”

Arizona gave a blank stare to burke. Before she heard a softer voice, one that was more feminine. Rather than masculine like the surrounding group. “Can I help at all, burke?” Arizona could not turn her head to face the female voice. Burke stood up from his chair as he turned to the small window. His voice let out a chuckle as he turned back to the unknown female voice. “yes, you can help Hattie, but I won’t be leaving the room and I wouldn't want you injured by a firecracker.” burke's eyes scrutinised Arizona as she rolled hers at his comment before retorting her own reply. “You know burke if you weren't holding me against my hostage. Where a proper gentleman is about this marriage. There is a possibility of marrying you without it being forced?” At this remark, burke chuckled before speaking again. “But Arizona, my little missy you would have never said yes.”

Arizona kept her arms crossed, the other female whispered something into burke’s ear as he said back to her. “If she runs don’t be afraid to call me.” His crystal blue eyes set onto Arizona's eyes, not before he said to her. “Now go along darling you have a wedding to get ready for.” Hattie looked at Arizona before letting out a sigh of relief. “I don't know what you have done to ruin his normally perverse mood.” Arizona looked at the blonde haired female whose name she had picked up as hattie. “So you must be married or one of the outlaws mistresses?” A light laugh came out of hatties mouth as she replied back. “Yes i am married to one of the outlaws, you might know him seeing as he was manhandling you earlier.” Arizona looked wistfully before looking back at hattie. “Do you have any strong drink around hattie?” Hattie giggled before opening a bottle of bourbon. Pouring the small amount of amber liquid into a small glass tumbler. “Yes here drink up before burke finds you drunk before his wedding to you.” Arizona smiled at the blonde haired girl as she sipped at the drink. Not before asking a poignant question to her. “Children ? you don’t look much older than me?” Hattie nodded, her eyes crinkled before speaking again. “I was only 20 when I married my outlaw husband of nearly 6 years now. The fact that he currently has a mistress leaving his wife at home wanting revenge while she nurses his only child.” Arizona sat next to her quietly sympathising. The other woman before getting up and tossing her a small knife. “The only thing that burke has not found is the item on myself yet hattie take it and use it for yourself.” Hattie chuckled before tucking the small knife into her cleavage. “Thanks Arizona, let's get you ready now.”

Hattie slowly made Arizona slip into the checkered blue dress. The blue was not her colour but she could not fight Hattie on changing the dress. It was one that Burke had picked out for them to be able to get married without her looking like it was forced. To the parson or person marrying them. Arizona was soon taken out of her daydream when the tattooed man stormed through the door. His hand snaking around Arizona's waist as he looked at her with a smug grin. “Darling , come meet Quentin.” Burky lowered himself to her ear. “you fuck it up, your going to risk a lot more than your cunt tonight whore.''  Burke stood up again but not before making sure his hand wrapped tight around her waist. With this he led her outside as Arizona noticed a man who she had not seen before at least around the bunch of outlaws. Burke soon coughed as the man turned around his eyebrow quirked as he boomed to the group around him. “Burke you scoundrel who's the new lady.” Burke grinned his tattoos moving as he faced arizona. “Quentin, this is my new wife arizona.” Arizona smiled as she shook the renowned outlaw leader's hand. “Burke married never thought there would be a day for my right hand man to be married.” Arizona looked out at the landscape, her eyes captured by a dark silhouette as Burke whispered in her ear. “Darling stop gazing out into the open world.” Arizona soon looked at him before making her way over to the recent discovery. Her throat seized up as Burke grabbed her body. “No you don’t darling go inside and wait for me there.” Arizona soon gave her graces as she walked back up to the fireplace. unknown to her that burke kept his eye on her while she closed the door to his room.

Her first place to go was the window as she sat down watching the crowd of outlaws that were outside. Burke’s bowler hat was noticeable as she saw his hat moving throughout the crowds. His body stopping on the occasion as he stayed to chat to other outlaws. The sky was a pretty clear blue as Arizona stared out into the open sky, the vultures circling around in the sky. Her head turned around her as she sighed yet again for the current day.

That was until she heard the door close again. Her hand was soon grabbed as she felt the rough hand of him. Her head soon flipped towards the blue eyes in front of her. His hat tipped over as he looked at Arizona, his voice threatening as he asked her a question. “You ruined that chance Arizona, now I will take what's mine.” His blue eyes watched her before he tilted her chin up as he lowered himself to her lower neck. His teeth grazed her neck as he spoke up. “Who’s mine, arizona?” a quiet murmur from her back as he kissed up her neck. “I am yours burke.” Her voice slightly breathless as she was undone by him. Their room is the bare minimum but enough for the moment.  Burke reached for his knife. He reached for the fabric underneath her breast as he pierced his knife into it. the sound of tearing fabric audible as he looked into her eyes. “All mine.” the last thing he murmured before claiming arizona's lips with his own. Intimately kissing her as he lost the bowler hat, cornering Arizona up against a wall. His eyebrow quirked as he spoke again, Arizona's cheeks flushed as she chewed at her bottom lip. “My darling we have to leave tonight, are you going to be able to move off tonight.” Her body was open for him as his striped waistcoat on the front and destroyed in places from gunshots and burn marks. “Or are we a fuckin’ pansy for this after all. Locked up with only your husband to make your body sing.” His grin soon held, that insane unstable mind of his will always win him over. He pointed the recently sharpened knife under her chin if she did not know any better she might have ran, screaming for the hills. But she stayed quiet much to Burke's displeasure as he had hoped that she did not.

[biihoebi]

@newsiesgiftexchange

for @what-goesaround-comesaround for the Newsies Winter Gift Exchange 2020

aaaah ok so this unbetad because usually I bully you into betaing my stuff so it's quite stream of consciousness but whateverr. also maybe I took some creative liberties on the historical accuracy but who cares

(its kind of a shit show but shhhh Irish Spot)

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read on ao3 here

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While it was Jack's father who taught him not to starve it was his mother who taught him the value of his heritage. Which is why when the new kid at the lodging house was sitting at the end of his bed, distressed over a throwaway comment Albert had made, Jack was doing his best to comfort them.

"He said I was losing my accent" Rua had all but wailed. "How can I be Irish without me accent. And Granda said he used to have flaming hair like mine before it went dark with age. Then I won't even look Irish." they continued.

"But yer Irish by blood not by hair or by voice. I mean my hair ain't red but you'd be hard pressed tryna tell me I isn't Irish." Jack sighed. "Look, I've never stepped foot in Ireland, youse is ahead of me there, but my Mam kept it alive in the stories she told. Some were legends and some were just memories of her and her siblings getting into all sorts of trouble in the fields. And I can speak Irish just as good as the next guy, no matter what Spot Conlon says" he finished. Rua let out a short sniffle.

"But my Mam works in a factory. I never see her no more" they said wiping their face with their sleeve.

"We ain't the same, I'm Irish sure but I was born here. Youse is better off asking Spot about this, he was born in Dublin, didn't come here til he was about 8. And seeing as Albert started this whole mess he can be the one to go to Brooklyn to deliver the message after he's done selling. Now it's time for newsies to go to bed, you ain't no use selling if your half asleep." Jack declared.

——————————————————————–

To a bright eyed and bushy tailed Rua morning couldn't come soon enough and neither could the circulation bell nor could the final sell of the day. By the time Albert left for Brooklyn every newsie in Manhattan knew about it and was sick of hearing about it.

"Just because Albert's gone today, don't mean Spots gonna visit today. Heck he mightn't even visit at all. Do youse really think this is a big enough deal for the King of Brooklyn to take time out of his busy sche-

"Stop shit stirring Boots" Jack interrupted sternly. "Just because Spot doesn't like Brits like you doesn't mean he won't help out a fellow Paddy" he joked. At that Boots straightened his back

"I'll have you know Mr Kelly that Spot Conlon said I's is the best 'Brit' he knows" he said, smugly straightening an imaginary tie.

"Best of a rotten bunch" a new voice chimed in. Every newsie in the room suddenly started scrambling to look half presentable. "I got your message Kelly, now where's the young wayne?" the person continued. In response Jack stepped aside revealing Rua, who had been hiding behind his legs.

"I-I'm Rua" they stuttered out. The man crouched down to their eye level.

"I'm Spot Conlon, but I thought youse was supposed to be Irish. Where's me 'dia duit'? It's like you ain't even tryin'. No wonder youse losing yer accent" Spot said. That did nothing to help the already nervous wreck that Rua was.

Spot shot up suddenly, shooing everyone but Jack, Rua, Crutchie and Race out. He sat down on the middle bed and kicked his feet up, gesturing for everyone to follow. Ever the rebel Race decided to lean against the bunk instead while the rest settled into the surrounding beds. "Look, Jack says youse is struggling with moving on with yer life while staying Irish. I went through the same thing when I first came 'nd look at me now, King of New York"

"King of Brooklyn" Race coughed out which Spot shot daggers at him for.

"I'se is the King of New York, don't let no street rat tell you otherwise" he spat "but I wasn't always, I was once a youngin like you, fresh off the boat with only my poor parents and a sack full of stuff between us…"

——————————————————————–

The dock bustled with workers and passengers alike. Some leaving but most stepping off boats and into their new lives. Among those coming off was a young Seán Conlon. With wild hair and big eyes filled with the wonder and excitement of seeing somewhere beyond the slums of Dublin. It was an outbreak of TB amongst the tenements that did it in for his parents.

Seán didn't have long to admire the new world he had just entered before his hand was grabbed and he was dragged off into a long line filled with fellow immigrants. Hours passed before the tired young boy would make it through the front door to his new home. It was a small one room apartment completely unlivable by today's standard but to someone from the worst slums in Europe it might as well have been Buckingham. "Go bhfoire Dia orainn, tá sé linne!! Níl aon theaghlach eile ina gconaionn liomsa?" Seán gawked in awe.

"Tá, ach bí curamach, níl cead agat bí ag caint as gaeilge nuair a tá tú taobh amuigh" his father responded.

"Cén fáth?"

"Mar ní maith a lán daoiní, duine eile ag caint as gaeilge agus sin é sin a bhfuil."

"Ceart go leor"

That night Seán lay awake in his bed wondering why anyone could dislike speaking Irish. Well besides the British but Uncle Seamus always said that their opinion didn't matter and that he and a few of his friends from the Irish Republican Brotherhood would soon rid Ireland of them. Whatever that meant. His father would always laugh alongside and say 'that would be the day' while his mother would give out to him for encouraging Seamus.

It wouldn't be for a few weeks that Seán would find out what his dad was talking about. He was out selling papers to help make ends meet, as small as the room was all three of them had to work hard in order to pay for it. He stood there waiting at the gate for the circulation bell to ring, when it happened. On his first day one of the older kids taught him a few tricks and gave him a few pieces of advice. One of those pieces was 'stay away from Acton Williams'. An unspoken rule he had managed to avoid up until that point.

Acton had walked right into him, dropping a strange wooden item in the process. Seán liked to think that his mother raised him right so he apologized and bent down to pick up the trinket

"Brón orm" he mumbled as he crouched, item in hand.

"The fuck you say to me?" Acton grunted. Seán froze realising his mistake and everyone went silent at the sound of Acton's voice.

"I was just saying sorry" Seán rushed out, trying desperately not to get baited so soon after joining the newsies. Acton let out a laugh.

"That's not what you said though is it?" he said " see I think youse was speaking some stupid language from the stupid country you came from. So I'mma ask again 'the fuck you say to me?"

"I said 'brón orm', you heard me the first time," Seán said, gaining confidence. It was one thing to be intimidated by an older kid who would definitely knock your block off but his Nan taught him better than to let someone talk shite about Ireland. Acton scoffed.

"I pity the Mum who raised such a rude brat " he spat taking a step towards Seán.

"Yeah well I pity the Mam who gave birth to such an ugly ogre"

And they were off! Acton could easily outrun Seán's tiny legs so his only hope was to lose him with twists and turns through the back alleys and busy streets. After what felt like hours of running, Seán finally ran into a deadend. Turning to face a panting Acton, Seán gulped and started reciting any and all prayers he could think of to any saints that popped into his head. In fact it wasn't until Seán went to clasp his hands in prayer that he noticed what he had picked up earlier.

A slingshot!!

Grabbing the nearest rock Seán loaded the sling. 'Dear St Anthony, pleeaassee help me find the ability to aim well' he prayed as he scrunched his eyes shut and released.

The next thing Seán heard was the large thump an unconscious Actons body made as it hit the ground. Opening his eyes to examine the noise he had heard Seán was shocked to see his feeble attempt at fighting back was actually a success. Seán quickly pocketed the slingshot and left before Acton had time to wake up.

——————————————————————–

"...and that's what it means to be Irish" Spot finished proudly

"Beating up British people is what it means to be Irish?" Rua said in awe of Spot's story. Spot grinned.

"See, this kid gets it" he joked, ruffling Ruas hair.

"That was a lovely story yer highness but how is that surppsoed to help 'em keep their accent" Race chipped in.

"Well what about you then Higgins if you have so much to say? D'you have any stories worth listening to?"

"What about being Italian? Well I-"

"Italian? Are ye not Irish?"

"No? What made you think that?"

"Yer surname is Higgins"

"Yeah, Higgins is a classic Italian name"

Jack and Spot made eye contact for a good minute before bursting out laughing. "Yer telling me this entire time youse never knew you was Irish?" Jack choked out between laughs. Even Rua stifled a giggle.

"My own mam was a Higgin, Racetrack" Spot roared. "Yee just can't make this stuff up" he said wiping a tear from his eye. Race's face was a brilliant red as he sputtered out excuses.

"Yer just joking, right guys? Right guys??"

——————————————————————–

BONUS :

At the gates the next morning Seán stood there absolutely shitting bricks. What had happened yesterday had been a stroke of luck but if Acton decided to continue the fight he was dead meat.

"Wait, is that Williams? No way what's with the giant bruise on his forehead?" a voice spoke interrupting Seán's train of thought.

"No way that's a bruise, he doesn't get those" another shot back. Soon a whole symphony of voices were arguing over whether it was a bruise or not.

"Wait a minute, weren't you getting chased by him yesterday, newbie? How come there's not a scratch on ya, and why's there only a big bruise on him?" the first voice said piecing the puzzle together. Soon everyone was crowding around Seán, looking for the story of what happened.

"Look nothing really happened" Seán reassured trying to downplay the situation "he chased me for a bit before I eventually shot him with this sling and he passed out on the spot."

Apparently telling them he knocked out the bully of the newsies was not the right thing to say to defuse the situation. Some started cheering for him others just rolled their eyes at his story.

"He clearly made that up on the spot" one voice chiming in.

"Nah, look at Acton, that's a massive bruise, obviously from being shot with a sling" another rebutted. Eventually the crowd settled a bit and someone had the common sense to ask for his name.

"Oh! I'm Seán." he responded. Everyone groaned.

"Not yer real one, yer newsies one" someone said. After Seán told them he didn't have one, everyone put their thinking caps on.

"Let's call him Spot, 'cause we'll never really know if he knocked him down on the spot or made up that story on the spot."

[notnaturalanahi]

What Kinda Lame Name For a Demon is Dean?

Characters: 1st person Gender neutra!lReader, Demon!Dean, nameless Demon, OC’s (also unnamed). It can be a Demon!Dean x Reader if you want to.

Wc: 3167 (consider this a long drabble)

Warnings: Foul language, drinking, violence, blood, death (minor character), loose ends and loopholes, open ending. 

[This is a crack fic, don’t lose sleep over it]

Summary: I decide to stop  for a drink on my way home and it’s defenitely not what I expected for a wednesday night.

A/N: This piece is my entry for @evansrogerskitten Ash’s Hottest Dean Challenge my prompt is bolded in the text and there’s also a gif. I have so much writing this one. It was supposed to be a drabble of this scene that popped into my mind, but it turned out into this cracky/action thing. 

Unbetad, brace yoourselves for mistakes.

Check out my Masterlist - Also you can Join my TAGlist - Or Talk to me, gimme some feedback

Whatever, love you. bye!

The weather’s chilly and drizzly tonight, from where I’m sitting at the counter I have the perfect view of the dark night and the empty street outside. Well, empty with the exception of the occasional car that rolls by with the windshield wipers mid speed or the passerby covered head to toe and carrying an umbrella or a few street dogs… Okay, maybe not that empty. Anyway,  since I forgot my umbrella and only realized it after I got off work I decided to make a stop when I saw the bar down the street from my office was open. This first half of the week had been dreadful, so I deserve a drink to cut short the week.

Staring at my drink in hand I reconsider my previous plans. I made the decision as I walked into the establishment that I would only have two drinks, but now as I contemplate the last of the 2nd one I find my mouth itching for more, maybe just a 3rd or even a 4th after that one… I know I shouldn’t, I have an early morning tomorrow and I should be at home right now finishing with the retouches of my thesis. It’s been a long way but I think after the professor’s last corrections it’s gonna be perfect… so yeah, I’m going home.

A sudden chill runs down my spine, as if a cold breeze hit my skin or someone breathed right behind my back, twisting my neck I see noone. The front door remains closed, a big clock above it telling me it’s 8:45pm. Taking in my surrounding for the first time since I walked in 30 minutes ago I see the bar is almost deserted. To my left, a happy looking couple, too immersed in their own conversation, looking super cute together, sitting on the same side of the booth. To the right a drunkard nursing on his beer, eyes looking beyond anything, right into the astral plane. Also somewhere around the back is the bartender, a middle-age guy who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Sighing I look up and notice the amount of dirt in my glasses, I’ve lost count of how many times a day I had to wipe them today, I snatch a paper napkin from the metallic holder while removing them from my face and proceed to carefully rub the lenses. Once I finish I put them back on. Why can I just not wear glasses, what’s the meaning of having eyes if they’re not gonna work properly?

Ugh, the story of my life.

I shiver again and take it as a cue, in one semi-large chug I throw back the rest of my vodka, grimacing at the scolding sensation traveling down my esophagus and I know I’m gonna regret that in five minutes or less, my stomach’s not gonna let me forget about it. Immediately I fish onto my bag for my ever evanescent wallet. When I find it, I pull a big enough bill to cover for both my drinks and a very, very modest tip -sorry to the bartender but as student/trainee I don’t have much to spare-. And slide the sleeves of my jacket over my arms, followed by the strap of the crossbody bag before jumping off the barstool.

Apparently my eyes were closed or maybe I’ve fallen asleep while moving; I don’t know I’m tired, it’s been a long day, because I only notice the tall man standing right next to me when my face collides with the solid, yet tender wall of muscles that is his wide chest. I open my eyes.

“Oh shit! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Almost like you appeared outta nowhe-” I can’t help it, I look up adjusting my glasses already fuming at the back of my head cause I will have to wipe them again and my words cut short, I swallow the rest of my apology down. At the end of broad shoulders and resting above a thick neck I find an extremely handsome face. Jawline for days, covered with sexy scruff. Plump lips -cocksure smirk- slightly crooked nose, deep, deep green/ hazel eyes that stare down at me and all of that served with a side of freckles dusted all over.

So hot, I hate him.

He just stares, smug smile and wrinkly eyes. He’s wearing more layers than a normal person needs tonight -it’s not that cold- and his hair is combed to the side.

“Leaving already?” obviously he ignores my apology.  

I blink the salacious thoughts away and focus on his piercing gaze “It’s late,” I explain plain and simple.

I attempt to sidestep him but apparently somewhere in the middle our four words conversation he laid an arm on the back of my old chair, successfully trapping me between himself and the unmovable counter.  I look back up and of course the mother fucker knows what he’s doing, a mischievous glimpse sparkles in his eyes.

I sigh, dramatically.

“Look I’m flattered. A tall, hot guy like you coming up to me. But hooking up is not why I’m in here tonight. So I dunno. Maybe we can exchange numbers, you know… get a raincheck. You can call me on the weekend? Tonight I have plenty to do, and unfortunately you’re not on the list.” I know he hasn’t say anything and I’m rambling a little. But certainly I don’t give a shit. Perhaps I did some time ago but at this point in my life, I don’t anymore.

He chuckles. A hand comes up and I still myself because I have no idea what’s so funny or what his intentions are. Thick and long fingers -I gulp at the sight- pass through his mane, pushing it all back and I think he looks even better that way than styled to the side.

“What?” I ask while trying to push his arm off the metallic bar at the back of the stool, realizing how solid it is, pure fucking muscle. My hand pulls at it but nothing happens.

“Dollface, I’m not here to flirt and sleep with you,” he states, “although I wouldn’t say no to you,” he adds giving me a once over and throwing a chin shrug to the mix.

When he stops talking my eyes shoot up, no longer entertained with the way my fingers look hooked around his forearm, or how the tips don’t touch each other as I wrap them around his wrist. With a coked eyebrow I demand to know what he means.

“I’m here to kill you,” he simply says, like it’s nothing.

I back away a little and snort at his joke. It’s gotta be a joke right… Who comes up to someone they don’t know at a bar and tell them they’re gonna kill them?

I let out a chuckle that I can’t hold in and he joins me. Our laughter increasing by the second and soon we engage in a full body laugh, belly shaking and I let my hand lay on his firm chest because I need to feel that firmness again. All of the sudden he stops laughing, I’m too busy to notice though, cackling away. Both my hands now on his chest, supporting my weight missing the way he leans in forcing me to bend backwards until my back hits the barstool.

My eyes flutter open and his face is right there, deadpan expression. “I’m serious,” he hisses, hot breath fanning my face.

“Okay,” I gush rolling my eyes.

His gaze drops, entrusting me to do the same and as I follow his line of sight down his chest and hairless stomach, up to the waistband of his jeans where he’s pulling the hem of his shirts up for me to see… and Oh. My. God! That belt’s kinda low around his hips and ugh they’re so narrow. Why are his hips so narrow? Is this how he wants to kill me?

Sign me up, please!

His hand let go of the fabric and it lowers down, my eyes widen because I think he’s gonna open his fly or something and flash me and I don’t know if I wanna see that … not here at least.  Except what I see is the handle of a knife, a blade that seems to be made out wood or bone or something… Eesh!

“Are those teeth?” I slap myself mentally, seriously though? The guy it’s showing me his lower abdomen and a knife, of curse the knife is actually what matters! I compel myself to stop looking, because as alluring that sight may be, he just told me he was here to kill me. Closing my eyes I lift my head to I can look at him in the eyes and-

“FUCK! Your eyes are totally black. Are you aware of that?”

He only nods.

“Okay it’s that because some medical condition or some like that and I’m being a total asshole for bringing it up. I’m so sorry!”

“I’m a demon,” he says with a malicious smile.

“Whaaaaaaat? No you’re not!”

He sighs, not even trying to conceal this exasperation,and with a blink his eyes go back to the normal deep green -yeah I’m gonna go with green- and he signals to the bartender, asking for a whiskey when the server gets closer.

“Hey!” I complain and he quickly changes his order from one to two. “Thanks! If you’re gonna kill me, at least buy me a drink first… like common courtesy,” I joke.

Breathing through his nose he pulls the barstool next to the one we were standing by and sits down. He’s so tall he only needs to move his ass to the side and he’s sitting. Me on the other hand, almost need crampons to climb into that thing like the first time, but I make it just in time to see the bartender deliver our drinks and some peanuts.

“I’m assuming you know everything about me, or at least enough… I mean, you’re sure I’m the one you wanna kill?” I say.

“I’m sure,” he answers before his lips latched to the glass.

“Oh-kay…you have a name?”

“Dean.”

“Dean, Really?”

“What the hell’s wrong with my name?”

“Nothing it’s just… Kinda lame ain’t it. I was hoping for a Moloch or Aemon or I don’t know… errr Abaddon?”

He gives me a killer look. “Dean’s fine though… Yeah, or perhaps you could also go with Deacon. Deacon has more of a demonic charm I think.” Dean makes a sound, kinda like a growl or something. “Okay, okay. Dean!”

“So what’s the deal, Dean. How’s this gonna happen? You gonna get me drunk and stab me with your big bone?”

He turns to face me, smirking, lines appearing in his forehead because of his questioning eyebrows. A horse laugh escapes me when I realize what I said, but I cut myself, this is not a funny situation.

“I mean, you come in here, pretend you wanna sleep with me and at the last second you drop this bomb on me and that’s it? When you gonna do it or why?” I move my bag from the middle and start removing my jacket.

“Shut up,” he commands. Breathing deeply he combs his hair with his hand again and looks at me sternly.

“Fine,” I complay and bite my lips into my mouth and turn to hang my jacket on the back of my seat, sitting forward in silence. He has the knife, so I should do as he says I guess. Taking a peanut from the bowl I play with it, rolling it around my fingers. Pulling that little tip of and chewing it with my front teeth.

I open my mouth to say something, closing it right away because I don’t even know what to say. I take the small rimmed glass in front of me and take a big gulp almost spitting it all out instantly. “God, I hate whiskey.” After that we both remain silent for I’m not sure how long until I can’t take it anymore and I jump off the stool.

He does the same and stands right in front of me. “I’m just gonna go to the restroom,” I tell him, lifting my right hand up as promise.

“How do I know you’re not gonna run on me?”

“If I do run, would you come after me, find me?” I allow my hand to lay on his arm, enjoying the way his muscles twist under my touch.

“I will,” Dean promises, roaring near my face.

“Then it’s useless for me to run. I’m gonna pee, if I don’t come out in… let’s say 4 minutes you can come looking for me.” With a couple of soft slaps on the side of his arm I walk past him and towards the restrooms, not even looking back to see if he’s watching me because I can totally feel the way his eyes pierced a hole in the back of my head.

Once in the restroom I sigh and closed the door behind me. Apparently I’m dying tonight… That’s happening. Shit!

Bending down to take a good looks in the stalls I check all of them are empty. I don’t like going to the bathroom with people sitting right next to me where they can hear everything I do. I pick the one on the far back and do what I have to do. I can see the stains all over my glasses again but chose not to wipe them to hurry it up a little just in case. When I get out I go to wash my hands and I hear the door sing open. The bar was empty so of course I assume Dean came to check on me.

“Hey it’s been like 2 minutes, you could have a little more trust in me. I told you I wasn’t gonna run,” I joke to my killer because that’s how I am and rinse the foam of my hands. “Besides, the moment I start running I will trip over my own feet and that’d be it for me,” I add while giggling but the second I lift my gaze from the jet of water I see someone else. A man, definitely not Dean standing right behind me at the sinks.

I turn around, my eyes scan his tall form, and head to toes black attire. He blinks and his eyes match his clothes.

“Fuck!” I try to go for the door, but he’s quicker than me -of course- and steps in my way, pulling my head and throwing me back. I stagger but surprisingly I keep my feet on the ground, his large hand lands on my throat and he’s pushing me to walk back, until my back hits the wall of the first stall.

My hands grip around his forearm, but no matter how much force I apply his grip won’t loosen, he’s a lot stronger than I am -not that that’s so hard to accomplish.

“I already have a demon here to kill me,” I force myself to speak through his hold, maybe he doesn’t know about Dean.

My eyes are starting to get lazy though and the blurry spots appear in my line of vision. The bathroom door whips open, crashing against the wall and closing again due to the forced and I’m able to see Dean walking towards us.

“A demon,” I scream, although I know it’s barely a whisper and I’m not really sure Dean can hear me, but I point to the demon with my finger, so he can catch my drift.

Dean retrieves the bone knife with teeth from his jeans and launches for this other demon, who ducks in time and he toss me aside, as if I were just a piece of paper. I land with my side of a trash can, wailing in pain.

The new demon, flashes from under his sleeve a long silver pointy knife, and it makes me wonder what’s with demons and funny shaped knives. It’s that like a trend?

They both stand right in front of each other, like facing a duel or something. “All you Abaddon groupies are the same, you know that?” Dean asks rhetorically.

Wow, Abaddon does exist it’s not just mythological!

“You can’t just can’t accept that the queen is dead, can you?” Dean continuous.

Oh, and it’s she and she’s dead. I sit up because I never in my life thought I see a demon, less of all two demons ready to duel… Will they count their steps?

“Maybe we just can’t accept that a douche like you was the one who killed her,” the other demon spits with anger.

It doesn’t truly surprise to know it was Dean who killed her. He does look like the guy who’d take down a  big bad legendary demon. “Ah. Yeah, that’s got to hurt, doesn’t it?”

That was too cocky, Dean should learn to be a little more humble.

The fight it’s quick, the other demon, swings to get Dean with his pointy knife but Dean is faster -ugh soooooo hot!- and blocks his move, spinning him around and jabbing his bone, teethy knife into his chest. I gasp, unintentionally when orange light shoots from the demon’s eyes and chest.

Then Dean let his body fall to the ground once he’s dead and blood start pooling around his body. I get up as fast as I can, I don’t want his blood to touch me. Dean looks at me, not even preneting he’d help me get up and nods towards me.

“I’m okay,” I raps clearing my voice. My throat feels swollen already.

He comes closer to me, his hand moving up and I freeze because he’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna do it and my last words were I’m okay, so lame. At last second his warm palm rests on my chest, fingers inspecting the bruises forming around my neck and I open my eyes.

“Let’s go somewhere you and me,” he says close to my face. I blink dumbfounded.

“What, you and me?” I swallow, the soreness of my throat still there. “Where?”

“I dunno, anywhere,” he shrugs, bending over to clean his knife of the dead demon clothes.

“You wanna kill me,” I refresh his memory in case he’s forgotten.

“I just save your life,” he defends.

“I guess you’re right, I’m still alive. But what are the chances of that becoming a thing?” I caress my own neck, whining in pain.

“Let me ask you this. If I really wanted to kill you, wouldn’t’ve done it by now?”

It’s my turn to shrug. “I guess.”

“Let’s go. You should get some ice on that neck before it gets worse,” Dean says, his hand on my lower back as he hold the bathroom door open for me and leads me towards the back door of the bar.

Everything: 

@nadiandreu7, @thegreatficmaster (no Sam/Jared), @mogaruke, @samisimportant, @ria132love, @donnaintx, @feelmyroarrrr, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @love-kittykat21, @emilyymichelle, @walkingkhaleesi, @imagining-supernatural, @kdfrqqg, @charliebradbury1104, @thedevilinthedetails, @docharleythegeekqueen, @artprincessbree, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels, @supernatural-girl97, @sam-inaflannel, @sammys-lost-shoe, @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester, @nanie5, @roxyspearing, @emoryhemsworth, @rambling-rabbit, @akshi8278, @meganwinchester1999, @geekgirl1213, @maui137, @creepykatftw @novakfandoms, @waywardasfudge, @kickasscas67, @spnwoman, @tattooedmomster13, @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou, @asgardianvamp21, @michell868,

@possesstheheart, @thatpeachybandgirl, @read-the-reid, @supernaturalmistress @jensen-gal, @its-my-perky-nipples, @esoltis280,

Dean/Jensen: 

@missmotherhen, @valerieshubin, @chennyetomlinson, @justanotherdeangirl, @jennell79, @ruprecht0420, @jalove-wecallhimdean, @evyiione, @laurafloradora, @fanfreak07, @superapplepie, @wingedcatninja, @sandlee44, @plaidstiel-wormstache, @lessons-of-red, @supernatural-fan-123, @mandilion76, @blackcherrywhiskey, @akshi8278, @papertrailsstrewnacrossthefloor, @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car, @aly-winchester, @winchesterdemon67, @supernatural-strangerthings-1980

[roseandor]

coffee and misunderstandings I one shot

pairing: Jenny (the doctor’s daughter)/ Martha Jones, background ten/rose

fandom: Doctor Who

summary: Martha is stressed. John seems to surround himself with blondes, and Jenny is a jock with a crush.

word count: 1838

disclaimer: so, this is my first time writing Martha and Jenny! I hope this turned out all right. it’s unbetad, so all mistakes are mine!

this is written for the fluffluary bingo: coffee shop au.

tagging: @legendslikestardust

Martha was officially going crazy. Now, many people said that about her on a daily basis – she is a med student and freaking out is part of her daily routine. But, this is for another reason: three times a week she works at a coffee shop in the campus, and in every one of her shifts she sees the most beautiful man in the universe. 

For the first month he showed up alone and she tried flirting with him, at first she thought he was flirting back but she eventually realized this was just his personality, but that didn’t stop her from forming a little crush on him.

But that’s not what’s making her go crazy. It’s the fact that on Mondays a short blonde comes to the shop with him, and he seems unable to stop touching her. On Wednesdays, another blonde, this keeps her hair perpetually on a ponytail and seems to always have dirt somewhere in her body – he doesn’t touch her as much as he does the Monday girl, but he seems pretty familiar with her as well. On Fridays he comes alone and spends hours working on something on his laptop, sometimes checking his phone, a smile almost always reaching his eyes when he does.

In short, this mysterious man who seems to only own a red converse is going to drive Martha crazy with his cheating.

“You are a bloody wanker.” she says three months after he began bringing his girls to the shop.

The man’s brown eyes widen comically at her statement. Martha almost felt bad since he lost his balance and almost dropped his coffee on the papers he was carrying, but honestly, she was seeing him play around with two girls and that was annoying the heck out of her.

“Do i know you?” he asked looking around, as if he was expecting a friend pop up from behind one of the chairs. The coffee shop was empty though, one of the reasons why she choose today to confront him – she didn’t want someone later complaining that instead of serving customers, she was fighting with a random guy. 

“No, but I see you here every week and you seem to be juggling two girls. Like, how stupid are you? At least take one of them to another place, what if the other one comes looking for you here?” she hadn’t meant to begin giving him advice on how to keep two girlfriends, but it just slipped out. “Fuck, that’s now what i meant to say… are you laughing at me?” she asked furiously, her dark eyes shining with anger as the bloke held a hand against his mouth to stop himself from laughing. 

“No! No… Yeah. I am. But not at you!” he said waving his arms around. 

“Martha? That’s your name right.” it was written on her apron, but he didn’t want to anger her anymore. “I’m John.. and I am not ”juggling“ two girls. I really like this coffee shop, it’s one of the few places I can work. So me and my girlfriend have a standing date here, on Mondays. We see each other other days, but… it’s we like having a weekly date, it’s domestic.” somehow he was able to grimace whilst saying the word, at the same time his voice went impossibly tender. “and on Wednesdays I meet my younger sister. The one in the ponytail?” even though he had done nothing wrong, John looked honestly guilty about making this girl think he was cheating on his girlfriend. Great, she had yelled at one of the good guys out there. “We don’t see each other as much as we used to when we lived at home. We are twins, it’s really weird not seeing each other everyday anymore.”

“I’m sorry…” she said scratching the back of her neck. “Next week your coffee, for your date, your platonic date and your study session are free okay? And don’t even think about protesting.” John was already waving his hands again to tell her that wasn’t necessary, but Martha Jones is not a woman who takes no for an answer. “It’s happening.”

On Monday the first blonde seemed to laugh the whole date, every time she looked at the counter of John she began laughing.  John tried looking angry, but his eyes shone with tenderness and eventually he joined in on her laughing. 

On Wednesday Martha is the one who almost ends up getting a date.

“You know why he comes here on wednesdays? He will say it’s because he likes working here, but that’s a load of crap, he loves working at home. Wilf, he is our grandpa always makes when John comes home. Donna, our older sister, i have to tell you that so you don’t think he has a secret girlfriend. She  always listens patiently about what he is working on and help him see what he is missing; even though she skipped going to university. That’s my sister though, John may be the genius one in the family, but Donna is the brilliant one… That phrase always makes more sense in my head, but you get what I mean don’t you? Oh well, I am the one who likes coming here. I love the scones, the coffee is to die for! Plus, I really like the view.” Now, Martha is a medical student and because of that she has to learn about the great wonderful things about the human body. But none of the things she has learned, prepare her for Jenny’s ability to speak without taking a pause to breath.

And it hadn’t prepared her for the way her heart skipped a beat when Jenny began blushing. 

“So! He said you are giving him his coffee for free this week, which I think is a terrible decision. Have you seen how much coffee he drinks?” Jenny said taking a tenner out of her purse. “But, i also heard you won’t accept payment.” quick as a mouse, the blonde stuffed the note on the tip jar that read ‘Martha’ on top. “For the whole week, though Rose told me she did the same thing when you took a break. Also, if you see an angry redhead stuffing notes in this, it’s Donna.” An amused smile crossed over Martha’s features as she thought about what happened earlier today – a very angry redhead came in, stuffed a few notes in her tip jar and left without saying a word, leaving a baffled Martha in her wake. “Oh! She has been here already. I can see it, you have the Donna passed through her face. it’s very distinct. Anyways, I was wondering if you would like to go out with me sometime.”

The blonde changed the subject to quickly, that it took Martha a few moments to process what she had said. 

“What?” she said, as baffled as John had been when she called him a wanker. 

“A date. You know, two girls going out…” Jenny’s earlier confidence seemed to dissipate with every word. “Um… And I see you aren’t interested. I thought so.. you kept looking at the table, i thought you were interested.. Oh! You were! Just not at me.” Before Martha could get a word in Jenny had already left, leaving a confused Martha in her wake and what appeared to be an angry John, who quickly grabbed his bags and left the coffee shop.

He didn’t return with Rose on Monday.

Wednesday was also skipped.

On Friday a man with black hair and blue eyes picked up the ridiculously over sweetened coffee that John always ordered, and for a few seconds she considered he also had terrible taste in beverages but he kept staring at the cup with disgust. 

Two weeks later a fuming Rose entered the shop, saw Martha and left immediately.

One month later she learned Rose and John were still coming to the shop, but at a different day.

Martha isn’t sure why she is so obsessed in finding that blonde, it’s not like they had a lot of conversations. Just basic coffee shop talk. But the more Martha thought about her, the more she began remembering things she learned when observing John – she played some sort of sport, soccer probably, because she always had dirt on her knees and wore a sporty kind of shoe (the ponytail suddenly made a lot more sense). She didn’t attend the same university as her, instead the one a few miles from here (Jenny’s shorts had an emblem) – it was an all girls school, known for having a great science department and a competitive sports section. 

Using that information Martha grabbed a bus and headed over there on a bright sunny afternoon, immediately heading for the soccer fields. Now, John and Jenny always entered the shop at 5, so Martha left work at 3, assuming Jenny was always dirty because of practice.

Thankfully, her guess was right. Not perfectly right – it seemed like Jenny was practicing alone instead of with a team, but she was practicing. So, Martha counted that as a win. 

“You know, I was kinda afraid your sister would come into the shop and kick my ass.” Martha said approaching Jenny, her hands  stuffed in her pockets. “Kept waiting for that streak of red hair.”

“I stopped her a block from the coffee shop.” Jenny confessed, kicking one of the balls she had lined up. “I couldn’t stop Rose though, but apparently her plan was yelling at you in the middle of the coffee shop and she realized on the last minute what a terrible idea it was.”

“I had a crush on your brother.” Martha blurted out, immediately regretting her words when she saw Jenny’s eyes fall. “But… When you guys stopped coming it’s you I missed. I missed how much money he spends on his ridiculous drink, but I wanted to see you again.” she explained, a smile slowly spreading through her features when she saw hope glimmer in Jenny’s eyes. “So.. Wanna grab some coffee with me sometime?”

“I hate coffee.” This time it was Jenny who blurted something out, which made no sense since she had seen the girl drink coffee every week for the past months. “I only ordered it because it’s the drink that takes the longest while to prepare and I could chat with you… There is a great seafood place near here.” Jenny suggested instead, a hopeful smile on her lips. 

“It’s a date Jenny.” 

Monday afternoon John entered the coffee shop with a spring on his step. 

“Oh, how i missed this coffee shop.” an exuberant voice exclaimed as he entered the coffee shop. “Hey! Martha Jones! You are not allowed to break up with my sister. I can’t go without this place again.” John threatened jokingly as he approached the counter.  

“Don’t worry John, I breaking up with her is not on my to-do list. So, what can I get you today?”