#and also while still dresses like that trying to use her woman-charm on jack???

[gonnaeatyourgirlfriend]

i love how after all this time we are all still in love with elizabeth swann and just simply never stopped thinking about The Pirate King

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You Chapter 15

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 15

Chapter Summary: "Two lines means pregnant, right?"

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, miscarriage, illusions to smut and a shitty ex, swearing.

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5} {Chapter 6} {Chapter 7} {Chapter 8} {Chapter 9} {Chapter 10} {Chapter 11} {Chapter 12} {Chapter 13} {Chapter 14}

Everything seemed so similar to how it was the first time, years ago. The pit in her stomach, her pulse pounding in her ears. The feel of the wrapper when she opened it, the awkward positioning, wondering if she managed to soak it for the required amount of time, the unpleasant task of putting the cap back on the stick to keep urine from getting on anything else. All the same as the last time.

This time however, she also bore the scars from the previous experience. How her hopes had been crushed, how she'd been cast aside. She'd thought he would have been happy for some reason. He didn't use protection, so that meant he must have wanted to build a family with her, right? She had learned that wasn't the case. He was just a selfish prick. She'd waited for an ultrasound, just to fully confirm the life she had inside of her. She'd been thrilled to learn there were two of them. Twins, just like the rest of her family! He'd thrown the picture in the trash the second he realized what it was. He wanted nothing to do with her anymore. She was used goods. Worthless. Trash, just like the picture of her babies.

Now though, her boyfriend was waiting just outside the bathroom door. It had taken some urging to get him to leave the room, actually. It would seem the manner in which the test had to be taken had slipped his mind. An awkward staring contest had ensued before Faye had quietly asked him to leave so she could pee. A rare luxury she had as a mother, to be perfectly honest. He was quick to grant her some privacy after that.

She placed the plastic stick face down and scrubbed her hands thoroughly, wasting as much time as she could before she had to to open the door. Henry was waiting just outside, as he had promised, an unreadable expression on his face. Of course he would keep his emotions hidden for now. He was an actor, after all. No sense in letting her know how much he was freaking out as well, right?

"Well?" Henry asked softly, his hand automatically reaching out for hers, needing to feel her skin on his.

"It takes a couple of minutes to work..."

"Are you alright?" Henry asked softly, gently cupping her jaw and tilting her head to look up at him. Concern. A look she hadn't been accustomed to all those years ago.

"I don't know... I'm scared."

"I'm so sorry I put you in this situation." Henry apologized, carefully pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her. He needed to hold her in that moment, possibly even more than she needed to be held.

"I know you didn't mean to... It's just... well I told you about the last time."

"I'm not him, darling." Henry assured, resting his cheek on her head. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know, and I keep telling myself that. It's just hard to forget what happened before. For some reason, I thought he would have been happy. I should have known better, honestly. He never thought about anyone but himself."

"I can promise you, I would be incredibly happy to raise more children with you, if that's what you want. If you decide you don't want anymore, that's fine. I'll just have to settle for spoiling Briar even more to make up for it."

"I always pictured myself having a few kids. After having to go through my entire pregnancy alone and the miscarriage, and then having to raise Briar by myself, though... it wasn't easy. It made me wonder if I was even meant to be a mother."

"You're a fantastic mother, Faye. Briar thinks the world of you, and you've done an excellent job raising her, but you don't have to do it alone anymore."

"It's got to be done by now... can you go check it?" Faye asked hopefully.

"Together?" Henry asked, slipping past Faye to grab the stick.

"No, just tell me." Faye requested, chewing the inside of her lip nervously.

"Uhh... two lines means pregnant, right?"

"What?" Faye yelped, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.

"I'm just looking at the key! There's only one line!" Henry quickly corrected, his eyes going wide when he'd realized his mistake.

"Oh my God,  you asshole!" Faye groaned, throwing her arms around his middle and hiding in his chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that." Henry apologized, tossing the stick back onto the counter and holding her close.

"I'm so mad at you!" Faye whimpered, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Would putting on your pretty new dress make you feel better?" Henry offered, smiling to himself at Faye's slow nod. "Then let's both get cleaned up. The sitter should be here in an hour, and I don't think answering the door wet and wearing nothing but a towel is a good first impression."

"You'd kill the poor girl if you did that." Faye snorted, tilting her head back and resting her chin against his chest.

"We need her to live. Someone has to watch Briar while we got get unreasonably drunk."

"Planning on drinking a lot tonight, my love?" Faye asked, raising a brow at him.

"Oh we are both definitely drinking tonight. It's a celebration and you've just been given the go ahead for drinking."

"But if we're both drunk, who's going to be the responsible one?'

"That's why we're hiring a sitter. We can both be irresponsible, at least for one night."

"Fine, but I'm taking the first shower." Faye sighed, pulling away and slipping down the hall, giving Henry a confused look when he followed right after, already stripping his shirt off the second he got into their bedroom. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Playing lifeguard." Henry taunted, shooting her a shit eating grin.

"Is that a polite way of saying jacking off while I'm showering?"

"Well you could always lend me a hand." Henry offered, already working on his belt.

"We only have an hour before the sitter gets here!"

"That forty five minutes more than I need." Henry growled, shoving the rest of his clothing down his legs, kicking them off, and snatching her up.

Faye felt the need to point out that his estimation of fifteen minutes had been a bit lean. It was almost half an hour before they reemerged from the bathroom. Henry tried to argue that they spent some of the time actually bathing, though he knew it was a pointless debate. All it took was Henry taking her dress from the closet, still in it's protective bag and laying it on the bed for her to drop the subject entirely.

"It's so pretty!" Faye sighed as she unzipped the bag, running her hands over the soft fabric. It was a soft grey dress, the skirt made of tulle and a structured corset like top to it. Henry had insisted she go with the grey after she'd tried on numerous other colorful options. All the color suited her bright personality, but clashed with her already brightly colored hair, and took away from the shimmer in her smile and the wide innocence she held in her eyes. In the grey, she shined. She was the center of attention instead of what she was wearing. It enhanced all of her wonderful qualities instead of competing with them. Henry had no doubt she would be the one on everyone's minds tonight.

Most of the drive there was spent with Henry trying to coach Faye on what to do. He knew how terrifying everything could be, and he knew people would have a lot of questions, mostly about who she was. He instructed her to just keep her eyes on him to avoid being overwhelmed by the crowd and the flashing cameras. He didn't expect her to talk to anyone, and advised against saying anything to anyone that was recording or looked like any type of journalist, especially without him there. He knew they tended to twist words and make mountains out of molehills, and he didn't want any more stress on her than necessary.

None of it felt real until the driver finally came to a halt, Faye spying the waiting crowd for the first time. Sure, she had been expecting some people. It was the season two premiere of a Netflix hit show. She just didn't know it would be this many. She wasn't a fan of crowds at the best of times. Now, she was debating on just having the driver take her back home.

"Eyes on me." Henry reminded her, smiling brightly when her brown doe eyes met his blue gaze. "None of that matters, it's just us." He assured, taking a slow deep breath which Faye mirrored before his door was opened and he stepped out, shooting a charming smile at the crowd as he buttoned his suit coat, the flashes of the cameras temporarily blinding him.

He turned back around and offered Faye his hand, seeming to relax more himself when she delicately rested her hand in his and slid from the car. Just as he expected, the cameras picked up into an absolute frenzy, everyone eager to get a picture of the mystery woman accompanying Henry Cavill at such an important event.

Brushing off their questions was easy enough for Henry, simply replying with "She's gorgeous, isn't she?" Whenever anyone asked who she was and moving along. That did nothing to quell the 'news' stories that popped up later that night and into the next day, all calling for who this mystery woman was and what her relationship to Henry was, however.

He had happened upon it by chance, just scrolling through his newsfeed on Facebook. It wasn't the title that caught his attention, however. It was the picture of her face, that bright smile he'd only seen in old pictures and those same wide eyes, now locked on someone else like he was the only man in the world. She thought she could just move on like that? Didn't that idiot know she was used goods? Nothing but a whore that would try to trap him into something for the rest of his life.

"That bitch!" He hissed, feeling his blood boil. Did she really think she could get away with embarrassing him like this? Going around and flaunting what being a whore could do for someone? No, he wasn't going to allow it. She was his, and it was time she stopped all of her nonsense and came back.

Taglist: @Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay

[swan-of-sunrise]

Specs and the Flyboy (Chapter Four)

Summary: Jack finally comes to the conclusion that he needs some help with his off-the-books investigation. Unfortunately, the only person who can help him is Agent (Y/L/N), the woman who hates his guts.

Pairing: Jack Thompson X Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Four Stark Mansion, Los Angeles (Previous Chapter)

Just once, it would be nice for something to work out in my favor, a frustrated Jack thought to himself, just once. After weeks of searching through countless Los Angeles telephone books, he’d finally made contact with an old Navy buddy from the war that could help him with his ongoing off-the-books investigation. Unfortunately, the man turned out to be absolutely useless; though he’d been an assistant codebreaker on a battleship for several years, Seaman Luther Pulver hadn’t a single clue as to what sort of code was written in Peggy’s ‘uncovered’ file, the file that chronicled her supposed war crimes and the one that had been gifted to him by Vernon Masters. And to add to Jack’s growing annoyance, Pulver had innocently suggested he get into contact with a Bletchley Park codebreaker for assistance, unaware that the Chief of the New York SSR worked not twenty feet away from one and that she hated his guts with a fiery passion.

Since their contentious confrontation outside the bank a month earlier, Agent (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had avoided Jack like the plague and flat-out refused to utter a single word to him or even acknowledge his presence; if she for some reason had to directly address him, then it was with an icy demeanor that even Dottie Underwood couldn’t match. He’d never say it out loud, but (Y/N) intimidated him just as much as she annoyed him, and the thought of having to grovel to her to continue his investigation caused his stomach to twinge unpleasantly.

“Chief Thompson! I didn’t realize that you were still awake…” Jack glanced up from his scotch to see Edwin Jarvis standing in the doorway, dressed in red tartan pajamas with a glass of milk in his hand. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine, I was just going over some case files.” Jack downed the rest of his scotch and contemplated the butler. “Working for Stark, you must have a lot of experience dealing with dames. Do you mind if I ask you for a little advice?”

Jarvis’ eyebrows rose almost comically. “I feel I must remind you, Chief Thompson, that I have been most happily and faithfully married to Ana for nearly five years, and-”

“Keep your pants on, Jarvis, that’s not the kind of advice I’m looking for.” Jack chuckled at the flustered expression on the butler’s face. “I need this one dame’s help with something at work, but she’s not exactly my biggest fan at the moment; how do I get her to help me without pissing her off even more?”

“Well, I may not know all the facts of this situation, Chief Thompson, but the first thing I suggest you do is refrain from calling this young lady a ‘dame.’” Giving Jack a reproachful look, Jarvis walked across the sitting room lowered himself into an armchair across from him. “And with that in mind, I would ask her politely for her help while simultaneously pointing out that she’s the only person on the face of the earth who can possibly help you. Now, I observed during our dealings with Mr. Stark’s stolen inventions last year and the Zero Matter business several weeks back that you fancy yourself a hardened detective. I also observed that you have a quick temper and foul disposition whenever you’re slighted or wronged.” Jack opened his mouth to argue, but Jarvis merely held up his hand as he continued. “If you really require this young lady’s assistance, then the only piece of advice I can truly give you is to be anything but your usual, ah, charming self.”

Rolling his eyes, Jack sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You done insulting me, Jarvis, or you got a few more jabs saved up for emergencies?”

A coy smile played on Jarvis’ lips as he stood. “Working for Mr. Stark has taught me the importance of stockpiling ammunition; I believe the same could be said for witticisms. If you excuse me, I’ll be off to bed now, Ana will be missing her glass of milk.” With a tiny inclination of his head, Jarvis walked out of the room, but not before calling out over his shoulder, “I wouldn’t underestimate Miss (Y/L/N) if I were you, Chief Thompson, she’s as fierce as she is intelligent.”

Listening to the butler’s retreating footsteps, Jack couldn’t help but smirk at Jarvis’ words; when he was released from the hospital, Jack was extended an invitation from Howard Stark to stay at his Los Angeles mansion with the Jarvises and seeing no other option, he’d reluctantly accepted the offer. But the unusual couple had inexplicably grown on him; Jarvis was full of stories about his adventures as Stark’s butler and Ana cooked with the skill of a world-renowned chef. Things could’ve been a lot worse, Jack thought to himself, I could be shacking up with Sousa and his god-awful snoring.

But Jarvis had been correct about one thing: if Jack wanted to move forward with his investigation, he needed to try and win the SSR’s top codebreaker over to his side, even if that meant changing his entire attitude towards her and her profession.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This better work, Thompson.” Jack muttered to himself before entering Lou’s Diner; the restaurant was moderately empty, save for a handful of occupied booths, and Jack was pleased to spot the back of Agent (Y/L/N)’s head near the end of the diner. Squaring his shoulders, Jack made his way over to her booth and spoke as he lowered himself into the seat across from her. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Agent (Y/L/N), but Sousa was yakkin’ my ear off back there. So, what’s good here?”

(Y/N)’s eyes flashed dangerously, but Jack kept his seat and pleasant mood. “I’m here on assignment, Chief Thompson, so why don’t you go take a long walk off a short pier?”

Jack nodded in understanding, ignoring her snarky jab and the swell of irritation that followed. “Your informant’s name is Jonathan Grant Williams, right?” (Y/N) blinked in surprise. “You see, my cousin’s name is Jonathan, my middle name is Grant and Williams was the name of my commanding officer in the Navy; I guess you’ve never read my file, huh?” He grabbed a menu off the table and began flicking through it; try as he might, he couldn’t deny that he was enjoying pissing off the codebreaker. “I haven’t had a good corned beef sandwich since before the war. The ham and cheese sounds good, too…”

“So, you lured me here under false pretenses. That’s interesting.” Jack was a little relieved to see that she appeared calm, but that feeling quickly dissipated when he heard the unmistakable click of a pistol’s hammer being pulled back. “I’ll give you one minute to explain yourself, Flyboy, so you’d better start talking.”

Goddammit, Jarvis was right about her, Jack thought before quickly launching into an explanation. “You know all about the whole Zero Matter situation, right? Well, I kept that fake file Vernon Masters gave me to discredit Peggy and hid a copy of it at the SSR before I prepared to leave L.A.; lucky I did, too, ‘cause when I was shot, my would-be killer stole the original file from my suitcase and left me on the floor of that hotel room to die.”

The fingers of her free hand began to impatiently drum against the top of the table. “Thirty seconds, Flyboy…”

“That file’s somehow connected to my shooting.” He insisted. “Someone knew I had it and didn’t want me investigating it, so they tried to have me killed. I wanna find out who’s behind all this, but I need you and your codebreaking skills to decode parts of the file for me.” Jack pulled the file in question out of his briefcase and placed it on the table before sliding it over to her, along with a small black light. “Here it is, if you don’t believe me.”

With a look of skepticism, (Y/N) put on her reading glasses, opened the file and began scanning its contents, using the black light to illuminate the redacted words and sentences; he was relieved to see that the longer she read, the less angered she appeared to be.

“Hey, Specs, you weren’t really gonna shoot me just now, were you?” The codebreaker didn’t answer, too engrossed by the file she was examining, and he exhaled loudly in obvious exasperation. “Well, that’s two women now who’ve threatened to shoot me this year…”

“Oh, really? I can’t imagine why; you have such a charming personality, after all.” She mumbled sarcastically under her breath. “Relax, the gun wasn’t even loaded. Whoever wrote these codes…they must be a genius.” Her eyes met his, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I’ve worked with some of the most highly skilled coders and codebreakers in Europe, but I’ve never seen anything like these before.”

Jack’s frown deepened. “But you can crack ‘em, right?”

“It’ll take time, of course, but I think I could.” She sighed and furrowed her brow as her eyes continued to scan the file. “These war crimes, though…Peggy could never have done these things to another person. Torture, dismemberment, mass execution of civilians…it’s deplorable. Besides, we were working alongside the Howling Commandos during the summer of ‘44 and we were nowhere near where these incidents occurred.”

He only half-listened to her words, far too excited that his investigation was finally taking off. His elation quickly turned to confusion when she stared back up at him with a horror-struck expression. “What? What is it?”

(Y/N) pointed at the top of the file. “This file’s about an ‘M. Carter.’”

“Yeah, pretty sure I already said this is a fake file about Marge. You know, Specs, you really need to work on your listening skills-”

“Would you just shut up and listen to me, Thompson?” She glanced around the diner and lowered her voice. “In 1940, Peggy’s older brother was reported missing in action and to this day, they’ve never recovered his body. His name…his name was Michael. Michael Carter. If this file is as real as you say it is, then Peggy’s brother not only survived the war but committed war crimes against Allied soldiers and innocent civilians for over five years.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Son of a bitch.”

His secret investigation had suddenly become even more complex than he could’ve possibly imagined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Wow, what a twist! Thank you so much for reading! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I created a Spotify playlist for this series and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21pWY7OiMFj8LaYpxhtVtW

Chapter Five

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up​ @fluffymadamina​ @remmyswritings​ @ourstarsailor​ @darkusangelus​ @josis-teacup @marvel-jackt-loki-buck​ @yeetyeetchickenmeat​ @sameoldbaby​ @theserenityspace​ @seeing-but-not-observing​ @supervoldejaygent​ @momc95​ @brooke0297​ @kinda-c0nfused​ @outoftheregular  @mads-weasley​

[jawritter]

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 10

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo​​​​​​​​​

Square Field: Cas

Word Count: 1750

Warnings: Series finale spoilers here!! Mentions of canon character death, Mentions of grief, some fluff, probably language in there too. This is the heaviest chapter of this series honestly. Mentions of past smut. I think that’s it.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 11 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST** **MASTERLIST**   **BECOME A

Dean’s sock-covered feet dragged as he made his way down the stairs, and into the kitchen in search of his morning coffee. You were still wrapped up warmly in bed, sound asleep when he’d forced himself up, and made himself get out of bed. 

God knows he didn’t want to get up. He would have rather stayed right there, wrapped up against your warm body, but that would have led to something he wasn’t sure you were ready for yet, and he didn’t want you to feel like just because you were a couple now that you had to sleep with him. 

Sex was something that had been somewhat polluted for Dean over the years. It was just a mechanical function he used to blow off steam or to just scratch that itch. It never meant anything, just another nameless face he’d forget in the morning. With Lisa, it was mostly just something to do to stave off the mind-numbing boredom, but still, even though he did care about Lisa to an extent, it meant nothing. 

When the time finally did come, and they decided to take that step, he wanted it to be different, to actually mean something for him. He wanted that connection he’d always craved, but never been able to achieve. He didn’t want to just go through the familiar physical motions. He wanted more this time. 

He was standing at the kitchen window, looking out over the snow-covered lawn with a cup of coffee in his hand, and his mind swirling in the stress-induced storm that had become his norm over the years when you slipped up behind him, and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his broad back. He seemed to relax a little as soon as your arms were around him, and you would have given your left arm to know what was going on inside that head of his, but you knew Dean, and it was best to let him work himself through it, and if he wanted to talk he would. 

“What’s got you up so early?” Dean asked, sitting the coffee cup down on the counter in front of him and turning to wrap his arms around you, pulling you tighter to him. “You were sound asleep when I got up.”

You shrugged against him, you didn’t want to admit you weren’t asleep when he got up, but rather was just laying there enjoying the warmth his body was providing until he decided to randomly sneak away. 

“Just woke up I guess. What’s got you out of bed so early?” you asked him. 

Dean sighed deeply, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful laying there.” 

The two of you stood there in comfortable silence for a long time, even though neither of you said anything you could almost feel the wheels turning inside Dean’s head. Dean was a strange, complicated person on a lot of levels. You knew he wasn’t going to completely open up to you overnight, but on days like this, when he seemed stuck in his own head, you wished more than anything he’d let you in. 

Suddenly, Dean stood up straighter, letting go of you and stalking towards the little tree in the living room. The stance of his body had yours suddenly on high alert. It was a predatory prowl that Dean only reserved for hunts or immediate danger, and it had your own hunter scenes on edge. 

Reaching behind you to the knife draw you pull out a butcher knife, never taking your eyes off of Dean as he stalks his way into the living room, seemingly headed for the Christmas tree, but looking around him as if something were going to jump out of the corner of the room and attack at any moment. 

Finally, he reached his goal and stooped down to retrieve what looked to be a deep blue something, warped with a red bow, and a card you hadn’t noticed until he retrieved it. 

Slowly you made your way towards the center of the room where Dean was standing with the little package in hand, your curiosity getting the best of you. 

“What is it Dean?” you ask him quietly, and you were surprised when he jumped a little. Dean didn’t startle easily. 

Dean turned, showing you the little bundle of what looked like silk material, and the folded card, confusion etched deep in his perfect face. 

“You didn’t put this there?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the tree. 

“No, I’ve been with you all night,” you reply, looking closely at the little bundle in Dean’s hand, an uneasy feeling still deep in your bones. 

Dean turned the card over in his hand, reaching it in silence. You watched his features change from something hard and calculating, to soft and almost vulnerable. In fact, you could have sworn he was about to cry. 

He swallowed thickly, handing the card over to you for you to read. It was written in an unkept, child-like scrawl you never thought you’d see again, it was obviously Jack’s handwriting. 

Dean, 

Merry Christmas. Here’s a little something from some of those you have waiting on you in Heaven. Even though we can’t be with you in person this year, we’re here in spirit. So here's a little something to remember them by. 

With love, 

Cas, Mary, and Jack.

Dean’s hands shook as his thick fingers pulled the little silk ribbon, undoing the little bow on the bundle and opening it slowly, revealing Cas’s blue tie, wrapped around Mary’s charm bracelet he’d only ever seen once in his life when he’d traveled back in time to try and stop his mom from making that fatal deal; as well as the mixed tape he’d made Cas so long ago. 

Dean sat down slowly, the little trinkets in his hands that shocked ever so slightly, one single tear sliding down his face as he held the reminders of those he loved and lost. 

You sat down quietly next to him, your hand resting comfortably on his thigh. You wanted to give him his space, but you wanted to also let him know you were there for him. 

“I thought this was lost in the fire,” Dean said finally, shifting the little charm bracelet in his hand. “I looked for it once I returned back to my time period. Looked all through Dad’s stuff, but I never could find it. I just wanted something to hold onto that was hers.”

His eyes shifted to the mixed tape he’d made Cas as he laid the other items down on the coffee table in front of him. “I didn’t even know Cas had kept this.” 

From what little bit you all knew, once Cas had been taken to the empty Jack had rescued him, and they were rebuilding Heaven. You knew that the loss of Cas had affected Dean greatly, you were there sitting outside his door on the nights he thought everyone else was finally asleep, listening to him pray to his friend, begging him to come back just one more time while he thought no one was listening. 

Dean closed his eyes and leaned into you. You didn’t hesitate in wrapping your arms around him, grounding him, letting him quietly work through his emotions. 

“Tell you what,” you say, running your fingers through his sleep tossed hair. “We’ve done enough for me. What do you say we have a Dean day. Sit around here, bake a pie, watch slasher movies or some old westerns, and not even get out of our PJ’s.”

Dean sat up slowly, placing a sweet kiss on your lips. “Let’s save that for tomorrow, today I thought we might head downtown so that you can have a look at those shops that sell that old stuff you love so much, and they’re also having a Whiskey tasting on the main street today. One of the local breweries is throwing it for Christmas.”

Dean sat up, looking at you with a hint of excitement that was hiding behind those shining green orbs of his, the ghost of those memories from the past still lingered there, but he seemed to be handling it well. If you knew Dean, he didn’t want to pass up a whiskey tasting, and you did want to go through those old shops. You loved antique things, and those places were usually littered with them. 

“Okay fine, only if we can go get some more of those waffles from that waffle house first, I’m starving,” you tell him, and watch as his face lights up like you had told him he’d won the lottery. 

“That’s my girl,” he said, pecking you on the lips before gathering up his gifts, carrying them off upstairs to hide them away until he can take them home and add them to that little wooden box he keeps for his most precious possession. 

“Get dressed woman! I’m starving,” he yells down over his shoulder as he disappears from sight, and you smile as you stand from your place on the couch. 

“Thanks, Jack, thanks for giving him something to hold onto,” you whisper to the wind. 

Dean never really got any closure from Cas’s death, and Mary was taken so suddenly away from him again, you could think of no better gift from them this holiday season. This was his first Christmas without Cas, nowhere near the first without his mom, but it was a nice little reminder that even though they weren’t physically here with him, they still were watching out for him. 

Dean wrapped up his gifts back in Cas’s Tie, and placed them safely in his duffle, a soft smile on his face in spite of himself. Sure, it had caught him completely off guard, and at first, the reminder hurt, but the peace he now had in knowing that his mom and Cas were in Heaven waiting on him was an unsuspected gift he wanted, but never thought he’d be able to get. 

It also gave him hope that maybe, for the first time in a long time, he was moving in the right direction and not just in circles of more pain and torment. Hopefully, this was a sign that what he had started with you was the beginning of the peace he’d always wanted, but was never allowed to obtain.

Forever Tags: 

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[write-orflight]

Trouble: Chapter 2

*Gif not mine*

Pairings: HotchxReader

Prologue  Chapter 1

Rating: M

Words: 3K

Warnings: Basic witch stuff, angst, mentions of child birth, mentions of near death

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: After Haley’s passing, Aaron Hotchner has lost the light in his eyes. He seems to find it it the most unlikely of places, an occult themed coffee shop ran by a witch.

A.N: Tarot, wicca, and crystal information is very secondhand if you see any inaccuracies, no you don’t. If you are a witch tho and want to help and be nice to me enter my ask box please, I’m annoying my friend too much.

Chapter 2: God, don't let me lose my mind

The deeper into autumn you got the more busy the shop was. 

Halloween was a big money grabber for your shop. People loved to come to the shop around that time because your shop offered such ‘spooky’ feel, as the hipster who came in that morning would say. You hated that. Halloween was one of your favorite holidays simply because the veil between the natural and supernatural was so thin it was the best time for spells and charms but what you didn’t like was people and baby witches asking you about certain spells or how to commune with spirits just so they can do something “extra spooky” for whatever parties they were having for the season. Consultations were such easy money though so you’d never turn them away but your answer was always the same, that Spirits are not toys and that if they are going to invite them it better be serious and for the right intentions otherwise they might not leave. 

Despite it being your favorite season, It didn’t make you less annoyed. 

“If I have to make another Pumpkin flavored whatever and tell a sorority girl not to invoke a demon in her house, I’m going to scream.” Silena says to you as you enter the shop, Artemis in tow. Your sitter had to take an exam so you had to watch her for the first 2 hours of your shift. Artie, knowing the drill by now, tries to crawl up to the bar stool. You watch her for a second, smiling her little legs before taking pity on her and hoisting her up. She immediately pulls a coloring book and crayons out her bag, before working diligently in silence. You kiss her temple before walking behind the counter, tying your apron on. 

“You had another consultation today?” You asked.  

“Pfft, it wasn’t even that. She asked me while ordering her coffee, though I should’ve charged her for that dumbass question.” You look at her pointed, nodding your head towards your child who repeats everything. Silly winces “Sorry, but still. If this is how halloween is going to be, you’re probably going to have to do some balancing spells.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Exactly what I need, more work.” 

“What’s a dumbass?” Artie pipes up from her perch on the stool. 

“Something you are not and shouldn’t repeat unless you want your mom mad at me.” Silly says, reaching across the counter to ruffle her hair. 

The doorbell of the shop rings and the very man who’s occupied your mind these past couple of months steps in. Aaron Hotchner was one of your favorite customers despite not talking very much, he’d make small talk while you made his order which you found yourself doing slower than it would normally take you, just to get a little bit more of his time, he’d leave a tip in the jar and be on his way always leaving you with a small smile that you always immediately returned with a wide one. You tried to stop yourself from getting attached but here you were, an adult woman who had a crush on a customer who probably didn’t think about you when he left the shop. 

You’d never seen him on a weekend though and frankly you didn’t know if you could handle seeing him like this again, he wore dark blue jeans, a black belt and a black t-shirt that fit a little too well over his broad chest you couldn’t help but staring at his arms that you’d never seen on display like this. You knew for a fact(well you hoped at least) he’d have no issue picking you up or pinning you down. 

Now’s not the time, y/n… you think. 

“Hey, you.” You greet, flirtatiously. You’ve been trying not to flirt with him, you really were but sometimes you couldn’t help it. It was your personality. “Didn’t think I’d see you in here. On a weekend, no less.” 

“Yea, decided to stop for coffee before heading to my sister in law’s. Can I have my usual and an Americano for her?” He asks 

“You got it.” You wink before starting to work. Silly gives you a knowing look which you brush off. Hotch takes a seat at the bar a few seats away from your daughter who looks up at him. 

“Hi!” She says excitedly. “I’m Artie.” 

“Hi Artie, I’m Aaron.” He looks around. “Are your parents around?” You look up. You’d forgotten to mention you had a kid to Hotch, which would probably explain his confusion of a random child sitting alone. 

“My mama’s right there, silly.” She laughs. “Mama?” She says you look up automatically from the milk you’re frothing. 

“Yes, bean?” You say. 

“Can I have a brownie?”  

“Well, I don’t know. Did you finish the addition tables I asked you to do?” She shakes her head at you. “Well, how about you do that then we’ll see if it’s brownie time, deal?” She nods, fast while pulling her math homework out of her bag. Hotch watches the interaction confused but with a slight smile. 

“I didn’t know you had a kid.” He says 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Gus.” You say, calling him by the nickname you affectionately gave him your first meeting. “But yes I do, that’s Artemis.” 

He nods, knowingly. “How old?” 

“Well, I don’t know. How old are you, bean?” You say. 

“I’m six!” She says, holding up 5 fingers, you grab her other hand to extend her other index finger too so the number was actually 6. 

“Really? You’re not 16 yet?” Silly asks, ruffling her hair. “I thought you were driving us home tonight?” 

Artie shakes her head. “Mama says I can’t drive yet.” 

“Between you and me kid, your mama shouldn’t be on the road either.” You swat at her. 

Aaron gives a small chuckle at the display in front of him. But he has to ask the burning question in his head. “Her dad—“ 

“Not in the picture.” You cut off. “Like not even in the same gallery.” 

Hotch nods understandably as you put his drinks in the carrier for him. He looks at you confused when you add a 3rd cup. 

“Hot chocolate.” You say. “For your son. I imagine that’s where you’re going. To pick him up from your sister?”  

“How did you know I had a son?” He asks. 

“Oh, I just used one of my witchy spells to find out information on you.” You say jokingly, but he looks at you with mild horror. “I’m kidding, Spencer told me.” 

He nods. “Thank you, y/n.” 

“No problem, come back to see me?” 

“Always.” He says, offering you a small secret smile before leaving. You can’t help the dreamy look you give his retreating back. 

“Are you coming back to earth anytime soon?” Sil says, shaking her head. “You got it bad, kid.” 

“Pfft, no I don’t.” You say turning to clean up the mess you just made. 

“I don’t understand why you just won’t ask him out.” 

“He’s healing, Sil.” You say, shrugging. “And I don’t want to push him into something he’s obviously not ready for.” 

Not to mention you also didn’t think you were ready for it. 

———————————————

On Halloween day, you get a visit from one of your favorite customers 

“Pennywise!” You say to chipper blonde women who strolled in she was wearing a orange and black dress with little jack-O-lantern earrings that you had gotten her the beginning of month. You move your hair back to show her the Ouija board pointer earrings she had gotten you in return. Penelope Garcia couldn’t just accept a gift without giving one in return. 

“Hey Y/N, how are you this ole hallow’s eve?”

“It’s Halloween and a full moon tonight.” You say excitedly. “It’s like witch Christmas.” 

“I don’t know about that but I am happy for you. Can I have a pumpkin spice latte and since I’m such a good friend an Americano with extra sugar for the good doctor?” She asks. 

“You got it, Pen.” You say before starting her order. “Heading into work now?” 

“Sure am! Hopefully there’s not a gruesome murder so I’ll be able to spend my Halloween having fun.” Penelope says. “You got any plans?” 

“Other than taking Artie Trick or Treating and charging some crystals in the full moon, no.” 

“Come on, no wild parties? no hexing beautiful men into falling in love with you?” Penny asks. You laugh loudly, shaking your head. “Man, maybe the life of a witch was more exciting in my head.” 

“Yea, you did.” You laugh. “I’m basically just a cool rock collector plus love spells, so not my thing.” 

“So there’s such a thing?” 

“Yea there’s love spells. I don’t believe in using them. I think love itself is it’s own powerful being. It shouldn’t be manipulated with, if someone was meant to love me they would.” 

“Speaking of love and love spells…” Silena pipes up from the display case she was loading pastries she just made into. “Penelope, how’s your boss?” You glare over at her. 

“Hotch?” Penny asks looking between the two of you before smirking at you. “Why do you want to know?” 

“I don’t.” You say at the same time as Silena says. “She has a Texas sized crush on him.” 

Garcia practically squeals at that. “Let me set you up please.” 

“No, Penny.” You say, immediately 

“Why not?” Her and Silly say at the same time. 

“Because… I don’t know didn’t his wife just die months ago, it’s hardly appropriate for me to try swoop in.” 

“Ex-wife. They were already long divorced before she died.” Penelope adds 

“Still! It’s not appropriate.” You say. 

“So what? You’re just going to keep making him free coffee until he realizes you're into him?” 

“Yup” you say adding the 3rd cup to Garcia’s carrier. “Give that to Grumpy for me please.” Garcia opens her mouth to say something but you just hold up your hand cutting her off 

“Fine.” She says, grabbing the carrier. “Only because I have to go to work though, this conversation isn’t over.”  

“Yes it is.” You call after her. 

——————————————

You were back in the shop. Artie was tuckered out after a long night of trick or treating and crashing from her sugar high so you decided to charge some of your crystals and do some balancing spells, knowing for a fact a lot of teenagers did stupid shit to upset the balance. 

As you were lighting the candles and incense, you heard a knock at the door. You were long closed so who could possibly need something right now? You look out the window and Aaron is standing there. You’re confused but you let him in anyway. 

“Hey Grumpy, what’re you doing here?” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t know you were closed, I guess I’ve never been here at night. I’ll go. I'm sorry for bothering you.” He says turns to go but you grab his arm to stop him. 

“Gus… it’s almost midnight, no business is open. You’re here because there’s obviously something upsetting you so I’m not just going to let you leave.” You all but push him into barstool. “Now like I said it’s almost midnight so there is something important I need to do so if you’ll sit tight for like 2 minutes, I’ll make us coffee.” 

Hotch obliges, sitting silently watching you as you lit some candles on the altar you kept in the shop. You placed the honey cake you had made earlier in the day on the altar before whispering. 

“Thank you to the patron, Artemis, Great goddess of Moon and Magic. Mistress of deer and owl. Be thou my guide and Inspiration. Teach me Thy mysteries and lead me in thy ways.” You stand and turn back to Hotch who is watching you intensely. “Sorry about that, midnight is her favorite time. Coffee?” You ask, He nods as you move behind the counter. 

“Can I ask what it is you just did?” Hotch ask. 

“That?” He nods. “It’s a full moon so since Artemis is my patron goddess, it’s best to leave a sacrifice to stay in her favor.” You shrug. He looks at you like you're crazy but you're used to that look. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s no different then some catholic practices. In fact, Christians often stole from pagan practices, and only one is just considered ‘taboo’ now.” 

“Is that why you named your child Artemis, because she’s your Patron?” He asks. 

“Actually, Artemis is my Patron because of Artie.” You say, he looks at you as if asking you to continue. “I wasn’t always like this.” You say gesturing to yourself and the shop. “My parents are pastors and for a long time I was this faith devout christian girl. But I got pregnant out of wedlock, my parents disowned me and I was looking for something to turn to. I met Silena and she introduced me to Wicca, and said whoever my Patron was through meditation and study, They’ll reveal themselves to me. So I went months, meditating daily, and still nothing was working. Then I went into labor, and everything was going wrong. I thought, this was my punishment from god for not only getting pregnant without marriage but turning to witchcraft. I had to have an emergency C-section. And when I was on the operating table, I almost died, Artie almost died. I started to see these images of deer and boar running through the forest. And finally when I came back to, and I could hear my baby crying, the first thing I saw when my eyes opened was the full moon out the window.” You sigh, sliding a cup to Hotch before moving from behind the counter to take a seat next to him. “That’s when I realized the goddess had saved me and my child. And while Artemis prefers virgin patronage, and that ship had long sailed past back then. I figured naming my child after her was the next best thing.”  

“That’s a beautiful story, Y/N.” He says, looking at you sincerely.   

“Thank you, and since you’re not running for the hills, why don’t you tell me why you really knocked at my door at midnight.” 

“It’s just…” He starts, clearing his throat. “Tonight was the first ‘major’ holiday without Haley. And I tried to take Jack’s mind off it, make it fun but it was like this looming weight above us. That it wasn’t the same without her and that it never would be. And I was upset and just wanted to take a walk but I guess my feet carried me here.” He shrugged. 

“Well I’m glad you’re here grumpy. And you’re healing you need to give yourself time--” 

“I don’t have time!” He snaps. You flinch back a bit, having never heard his raised voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just-I don’t have time to heal. I have to be there for Jack.”

“Who’s there for you, Aaron?” You ask. He looks at you confused. You hardly ever call him by his name. It's either grumpy or gus or a combination of the two. Never by his actual name, he hated how much he liked how it sounded coming from your lips. “Do you know what a rock tumbler is?” you ask, he shakes his head confused where you’re going with this. You run behind the counter to retrieve the box you had dug through the very first night you met.

“Well a rock tumbler is a device you put rocks into. Rocks that have eroded, rocks that have trekked the earth, rocks that have been to hell and back. And what you do is you put them in this device with a little bit of water and you wait. Days, weeks, months all the while this device is just spinning, you don’t see what’s happening on the inside but after a while, when the time is right, you get these beautiful lustrous stones.” You say, showing him the box. “Healing is the same way, others don’t see you working. But in the end, they’ll see the result. And you’ll feel the result too. But if you don’t take that step you don’t end up with gems like these. You just end up with an eroded dingy rock.” You look up at Hotch and he’s tearing up slightly. Your heart melts. “Do you want a hug?” you say. 

“You don’t have to--” 

You cut him off. “No one on earth gives hugs because they have to. I want to give you a hug if you want one. So do you want a hug?” 

He nods, fastly. So you stand, he follows suit and allows you to pull him down into a full embrace. Your arms around his neck and shoulders, he envelopes you fully into his torso, arms tight around your waist. You sigh, content. Before shaking yourself out of it. This wasn’t about you. No matter how right it felt. 

After a minute or so you break apart. You look him in the eyes and he’s staring back at you in what feels like admiration. You clear your throat. “Can I give you something?” you ask.

“Is it another crystal?” He asked back. 

“Yes, it is.” You rummage through the box before pulling out the one you needed. “This is Aragonite, it’s good for healing old wounds and building emotional strength. Now I can gift you this but you have to activate it yourself. Even if you don’t believe it, I feel like it’s good words to hear yourself say anyway.” You grab his left hand, sliding the crystal into it. He looks into your eyes. “Now say, I release past wounds and embrace resilience.” 

Hotch sighs. “I release past wounds and embrace resilience.” He then slides the stone in his pocket. Before grabbing your hand again. “Thank you, Y/N” 

“Anytime, Grumpy.” You say.  

Taglist: @megatrexus @roses-and-grasses​ @tittymuncher69​ @liaabsurd​ @ladyravenclaw​ @genevievedarcygrangerreading​ @softbibxtch​ @xxdisappearwithoutatracexx​

[vixenpen]

Neighbors (Bakugo x Hawks x Miku)

12. Who Can I Run To?

Bakugo ran his fingers through his blonde hair and paced back down the stairs for the millionth time that night.

He hadn’t slept a wink since Miku had caught him and Kirishima in bed that evening. His eyes burned from lack of sleep and his head felt foggy and heavy.

He tapped Miku’s contact again.

“Miku...Dove, look,” his voice cracked, he cleared his throat, “baby, I know how bad it looked, but we need to talk. I need to—I owe you an explanation, right? Please, just pick up. We can work this out. Think of everything we’ve been through together, Angel. Four years strong, baby, remember? I don’t wanna throw that away. Please, Miku, just give me a chance to explain.” He barked out a pained little chuckle. “Damn, you got me beggin’, Dove. Fine. I’ll fuckin’ beg, but just-“

“If you’re satisfied with your message, press one to send.”

The robotic female voice cut him off.

“FUCK!”

He tossed the phone harshly on the couch before collapsing beside it and raking his fingers through his messy hair.

Dammit!

He’d gotten comfortable, and as a result, had gotten sloppy and careless.

The fact of the matter was, he loved Miku. He was in love with her. He wouldn’t have invested four years into her and their relationship if he wasn’t, but he also loved Eijirou.

It wasn’t as if his love for one made him fall out of love with the other. He didn’t love one more than the other, he just needed Miku to let him explain...

Just then, his phone buzzed with a call. He practically pounced to grab it, answering without bothering to check the caller ID.

“Miku?!”

“No.” Was the deep voice’s dry response.

Bakugo exhaled and plopped back against the cushion.

“Eiji, I don’t have time to-“

“Shutup and listen,” the desperation in his voice made Bakugo snap to attention, “have you checked the tabloids yet?”

“Yeah, babe, I’ve spent the last ten hours catching up on the latest gossip,” Bakugo snapped back, “no I haven’t fucking checked the tabloids why would—“

“JUST SHUT THE UP AND LISTEN!” Kirishima shot back, cutting him off. “There’s a video. Of us. Together. I don’t know how it got out or who did it, but it’s been spreading like wild fire all over the fucking blogs!”

“A video?”

“I just sent the link,” Kirishima replied, sounding tired, “just...call me back when you see it.”

The line went dead.

Grumbling in confusion the man checked the link that had his lover so out of sorts. The moment he clicked it, he felt his entire stomach bottom out.

Ground Zero Blows Up Relationship With Pop Princess, Syren!

Just one week before before the biggest charitable event in hero society, top ten heroes, Ground Zero and Red Riot, are discovered to be secret lovers!

The explosive hero has been very public about his relationship with long time girlfriend, Syren. Not so much with his supposed liaison with fan favorite hero, Red Riot.

This footage shows the two heroes in the throws of a secret passion.

Bakugo didn’t have to watch the video to see that it was obviously himself and Eijirou on the tape. Both their distinctive hairstyles were as distinguishable as what they were doing together.

“SON OF A-“

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Bitch...”

Keigo’s golden eyes scanned the article once more as he waited for Miku to answer the door.

He never mistook the younger hero for a nice guy, or even a decent person for that matter, but as much as Keigo hated to admit it, he at least thought Bakugo was a good boyfriend to Miku.

Speaking of which, Miku finally opened the door. Her skin looked dull and her big eyes were bleary and glassy. She wore the hotel issued kimono robe tied loosely on her hunched over frame.

When her eyes landed on Keigo, her face crumpled and she burst into a fit of sobs. He grabbed her immediately and ushered her inside.

“It’s ok, Angel.” He assured her.

“You were right, Hawks,” Miku looked up from the crook of his arm with wide, wet eyes. “All the signs were right under me, but I was too stupid to notice.”

“You weren’t stupid, Angel, you were in love.”

She shook her head. “I caught them together in Katsuki’s bed.”

“Yikes.” Keigo felt that one in his chest. So he could only imagine what Miku must have felt actually discovering it.

“I am the biggest idi-“

Keigo tickled her tear streaked cheeks with a feather, cutting her off with a weak giggle.

“What are you?-“

“I’m not about to let you beat yourself up for loving some jack ass that didn’t deserve it. You are not stupid for trusting your heart to the wrong guy, ok?”

Miku nodded, tearfully.

“Good.” He squeezed her shoulders. She melted into him. He smelled good. Like outside and whatever aftershave he used and he was thin, but solid, and-

Miku pulled back and pouted up at him.

“Will you fuck me?”

The man practically swallowed his own tongue.

“I-what?”

Miku crept a hand up his leg and pressed against him. His breath caught.

“Please, Hawks, I just-please fuck me.”

“Angel,” he grabbed her hands and gently eased her away from him. “No.” He replied as gently as possible.

Still, Miku’s face fell like she had been slapped, and Keigo felt like a complete asshole for the causing the hurt on her face.

“You don’t want me either?” Miku sniffled.

“Angel, come on, you know that couldn’t be further than the truth.”

“Then why won’t you? I want you-“

“No, you want to use sex to cope, and I am not about to take advantage of you while you’re in this state, Angel. You don’t need dick. You need a friend.”

Miku’s lips quivered.

“I’m such a—“

“No, you’re not!” Keigo shot back, a bit harsher than he intended. Especially judging from the way the woman’s mouth snapped shut. “Now get up and get dressed. You can’t hide here forever.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“MIKU?! I SWEAR TO GOD—LOOK, I KNOW I HURT YOU, BUT THIS IS TAKING IT TOO FAR! CALL ME.”

“Miku, at least tell me,,did you have something to do with that article? Look, I know you’re pissed, and you have every right to be, but...fuck, Dove, we could have talked about this! If you would just answer the damn phone-“

“Miku. Baby, I promise I’m not mad at you, but we have to talk. We can clear this up.”

“Baby, please, what happened was a mistake. Please believe me. I love you.”

“Dove, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I love you.”

“I can explain everything, Angel, just give me a chance. You have to let me explain.”

“Baby doll, just give me a chance to make this right. I’m sorry.”

The switch in Katsuki’s voice and demeanor was terrifying and Miku felt sick to her stomach listening to each message.

“Angel,” Hawks called out in a warning tone, “stop checking his messages.”

He gave her a chastising look. Miku sighed, tucking the phone away.

A strong hand stroked her white curls, and even though the touch was unfamiliar—and she usually cursed most people out for touching her hair—she leaned into the it.

Hawks had brought Miku to yet another one of his properties which was situated so far on the outskirts of Tokyo, she wondered if the location could even technically still be considered apart of the city.

He flashed yet another charming smile down at her, and passed her a cup of tea. Miku managed a smile back.

“It’ll get better, beautiful. In the mean time, you can stay here as long as you need. I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

“Please don’t,” Miku sat the mug down on the coffee table in front of her. “I don’t wanna be alone right now.”

Keigo nodded, ruffling her hair once more.

“Then I’ll be here.”

His amber eyes were warm and sincere. For the first time that day, Miku felt reassured.

Hawks plopped down beside her, and pulled her into another gentle hug. Miku cuddled into the huge, vermillion wings wrapping around her body and cooed.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Light My Fire - CH19

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: Flangst

WC: 2596

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​​ <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST 

BECOME A PATRON ~ BUY ME A COFFEE

The alarm pulls her right out of her sleep but Dean’s already awake. He doesn’t move though.

“I don’t wanna go home,” She mumbles, rubbing at her eyes. 

“Me neither,” Dean whispers, “But this is actually the third time the alarm has gone off, so we should maybe get going and pack,”

Her eyes fly open in horror, “Dean!”

“What?” He’s chuckling, kisses her neck, “You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up.”

She rolls away and out of bed while Dean tries to grab her but his hands clutch around emptiness. 

They pack in record time and Dean joins her in the shower after. It’s hard to just shower and not do other things like they usually do. It’s hard to not just let him fuck her. 

 *

 They’re on the plane home, and she sits next to Dean. There aren’t many people on the plane and especially not in the first class. Jack’s sitting on his own in the seat across from Y/N and Dean and he has his earphones in his ears. 

After taking off, and after she let Dean help her over her anxiety of flying, she looks over to see how Jack’s doing, sees him looking out of the window as the plane leaves the island.

Dean’s typing away at his phone but he notices her, “Go on, you gotta spend time with him,”

“Yeah,” She smiles and stands up to walk over. 

Jack takes his earphones out when he feels her presence. He opens his arms for her to loop her head through, “Hey,”

“I remember you always loved flying,” She smiles. 

Jack grins, his lips curve up wide, “It’s awesome!”

Y/N has to chuckle at his enthusiasm, “Don’t get used to it, though.” With the next breath, she adds, “I’m sorry things turned out the way they did. I just thought about you and your education.” 

Jack tilts his head to look at her, “It’s okay, Dean’s not bad, you know,”

She looks over to where Dean’s sitting. He’s still typing something into his phone. With a smile, she says, “No, he’s not,”

 *

 When they land, they have to say goodbye to Jack because he has to take a connecting flight. She doesn’t really want to let her brother go and clings on to him, her arms wrap around his middle, while Jack rubs her back.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” She says, “I’ll come visit,”

“Sure,” Jack places a kiss on the crown of her head, “We’ll see each other again in the Summer,”

Y/N looks up to her brother with a smirk on her face. She’s trying her hardest not to cry, “What did you and Dean talk about?”

There’s a grin on Jack’s face when he lowers himself to her level, “If I tell you, I’d have to kill you,”

She rolls her eyes at that and Jack laughs. 

*

After they reach Dean’s apartment, Dean goes out to meet with Chuck and Sam. She’s left to unpack and relax but that’s perfectly okay, because she wants to mentally prepare herself for dinner with his parents later. 

Y/N really, absolutely, doesn't want to go but she’s still his wife for two weeks. She had asked Dean why he didn’t tell his parents the truth and he just grinned at her, telling her that she didn’t need to worry. That he’ll tell them the truth, that he’ll come clean. That’s the whole purpose of them going there. Because he wants them off his back. They’ve been calling every day apparently, and he just wants them to stop pestering him when he has other things on his mind.

Late afternoon, Dean’s back, and he looks happy. She doesn’t ask, doesn’t really need to know. She’s doing what she agrees to do and the rest is in the hands of Dean and his team. 

He takes a shower and she’s finishing her look. Not that there’s too much to finish. She wears the same dress she already wore to the restaurant when they went to meet Chuck. It’s really her best dress, something that parents would probably approve of in their daughter in law. She doubts that Dean’s parents will, but other parents would for sure.

Y/N’s waiting in the living space when Dean walks out of his room, he looks good, wearing trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, top two button loose. The white of his shirt brings out his tan. She can see the freckles, even when it’s darker. It’s a casual look, a mixture between his holiday look and his business look, and he smells heavenly. 

He smiles when he walks closer and weaves an arm around her waist to pull her close, “You look beautiful with that holiday glow,”

She has to smirk when he places a kiss on her cheek, “You look great yourself, Mr. Winchester,”

There are tan lines around his crinkles.

“You ready?” He asks and pushes her towards the door, his hand on her lower back. 

“‘M not.”

“Yeah,” He huffs out a breath, “Me neither,”

*

Dean’s parents live in a big villa with a huge driveway. There’s a light up fountain in the middle. It looks like one of the houses she has only seen in movies. 

“Wow,” She says in awe. 

Rich people really know how to live, don’t they? She can’t even imagine what it’s like to live here, to have grown up here. She can’t imagine what it’s like to have a butler ready to open the door for her. Can’t fathom having chefs and maids, having a driver and personal trainer. 

“You grew up here?” She asks him as they step out.

“No,” Dean says, “You’re an employee. You should know about the history of the company and how I got where I am now, no?”

“Ugh, I should, shouldn’t I?” She grimaces and Dean’s full on laughing. 

“Dad started from scratch and he made it grow and successful, although I made it grow even more and it’s more successful and bigger than it was under my dad’s wings.” Dean’s hands are on her waist as he leads her up the steps to the front door, “I didn’t exactly grow up poor, Y/N, but we weren’t rich either. Dad only bought this property two years ago. The home I grew up in is much, much smaller.”

“Is there something I need to know before I meet them? Something I shouldn’t say?” 

Dean stops, places his hand on her shoulder to turn her towards him. He pretends to think and after a while he says, “No, you just be you, okay? I would never ask you to change to impress them. Let me speak. Only speak when you’re spoken to. That way we can avoid any unpleasant questions they might throw at you.”

“Okay,” She says, and suddenly her heart pumps faster. She’s nervous as hell.

He smiles a little, cups her chin between his thumb and forefinger, “You’ll be fine, I got you,” He pecks her lips, lingers there a little longer than necessary. 

Although she wants to stay like this, she knows that Dean eventually has to pull himself away, eventually has to ring that damn door and she eventually has to face her fake fucking in-laws. 

A maid opens and they step into a big hall. Everything looks so neat and flawless. It’s all white and beige marble, and she feels the urge to take off her shoes because she doesn’t want to ruin the floor. 

“There you are!” A woman walks in, tall, blonde, a smile wide on her face. She assumes that it’s Dean’s mother. The woman’s dress is so nice, it puts her nicest dress to shame. 

The woman comes closer and Dean leans in to peck her cheek, then he straightens himself, “Y/N, this is my mother, Mary.”

Mary takes her hand in both of hers, clutches at them tightly, “I’m so happy to finally meet you, Y/N.”

“It’s nice meeting you, too, Mary. Thank you for having us over.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal. We were dying to meet you! Come on, John’s already waiting at the table, he’s hangry,” Mary chuckles and places her hand around Y/N shoulders to walk her into the dining room. Dean sighs and trails behind. 

Dean’s father stands up from his chair when he sees them walking in, and he smiles. It’s bright and wide, almost the same smile as Dean’s. She can see that he certainly got his boyish charms from his father.

John places both of his arms on her shoulder and leans in to peck her cheek immediately, “Hello, Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

She nods, repeating the same line she already said to Mary and they sit down right away. Apparently his parents don’t mess around. Maybe they want to get it over with as much as she does? 

The first question comes during the appetizer, “How did you meet? At the workplace or did you know each other before?” The question came from Mary and although she looks at Y/N, she didn’t address her directly, so Dean takes a napkin and brushes at his lips before he swallows and speaks.

“Y/N used to work in the coffee shop close to the office building and she regularly delivers coffee for other offices there. I walked out one day to grab lunch and she bumped into me. I could have saved her from falling, but the collision spilled the coffee, wetted my suit too.”

She squints at the memory. It was all her fault. She wasn’t looking at that time. Dean was so pissed and she was afraid that he would lash out and rip her a new one right there in the street, but he didn’t. He was dressed so nice that day and she had to go and pour coffee all over him, ruining his suit and probably his day.

Dean is looking over to her with a small smile on his face, “And I went in there about a week later. She thought I was there to talk to her manager, but I just wanted to see if her ankle was fine because I remember her limping a little afterwards. I watched her work and saw how she reacted under pressure, saw how she behaved around her colleagues and customers and that’s when I thought that I wanted to offer her the job as one of my assistants. Ruby needed help and she already knew Ruby because Ruby was in that coffee shop quite often. She said no. But I went in every day until she said yes.” He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. It makes her face flare up. Partly from the kiss but also from the way he remembered details.

It’s true, though. Y/N remembered him telling her about a job that would be perfect for her. That she could earn much more by working for him. She had consulted with Ruby about it and after weeks of Ruby telling her that the company was really good, she finally agreed to the job offer.

“That’s a lovely story,” Mary says, “Does she have the required degree though?”

Well, Mary, she does not, but thanks for asking. 

Y/N never attended college having to take jobs to hold her and Jack above water.

“Mom, a degree is just that, a degree. It doesn’t say anything about your work ethics, your integrity or willingness to work a job. I don’t think most of the people I employ have made it through college. It’s about what they are capable of. She’s smart and she’s doing a fabulous job.” Dean’s voice rolls deep. She can feel that he’s trying to keep himself together. 

The maid came to take their empty plates. Hers is not empty but her appetite is gone. 

“Still, it tells me that she’s not actually qualified to do her job. And qualifications are important.” John chimes in with a somewhat unnecessary addition.

“Do you have a prenup?” Mary asks.

Wow, Dean’s mom goes straight to the point. She wonders how long Mary’s been holding it back. But hey, Mary made it past appetizer.

“Mom!” Dean gets a little louder.

“Relax, Dean, I was just asking,” Mary tries to sound nonchalant but adds with her next breath, “Do you?”

Y/N folds her napkin and places it neatly on the table before she stands up, “Excuse me, where’s the powder room?”

“Tessa can show you,” Mary says, a fake small smile on her face, and then she calls out for the maid, “Tessa, can you please show Y/N the way?”

“Sure, madam,” Tessa looks at Y/N with pity in her eyes. She must have heard the whole conversation. 

She follows Tessa and locks herself into the bathroom, which is bigger than her fucking apartment it seems. 

After a while of watching youtube videos, she walks out and crosses the entrance section. She can hear that there’s a heated argument going on in the dining room.

“Always make fucking sure to protect your assets! I thought you had a fucking brain!” It’s John’s voice. 

“Stop it, dad!”

“Damn, son! I thought you would be better prepared so not let some girl screw you over!”

“I don’t have a prenup because we are not fucking married, alright? It’s just for fucking show!” Dean’s so loud, it makes her jump and his words hurt, it really does. He’s not wrong but they hurt nonetheless.

“What do you mean it’s fake?” It’s now Mary who asks the question.

“It’s as fake as it can get. I am being blackmailed and I have to pretend to be married to Y/N to get the other girl off my fucking back!”

She hears Mary gasps, “Oh, thank god,” And then his mother adds, “I thought it was real how you gushed over her. I’m so glad it’s fake,”

“Mom—” 

Y/N’s heard enough. 

She walks straight to the door. She wants to be quiet, but the door’s heavy and it closes with a bang. She’s halfway to the car when Dean flies out, calling after her.

Damn his fucking long legs. He’s grabbing at her to turn her around and she can’t hide it. Can't hide the tears that are running down her cheeks. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” She says, but she doesn’t look him in the eyes, “My home.” 

Y/N’s angry, but she can’t quite tell him why. She can’t tell him that hearing him telling his parents that what they have is fake, hurts her because he’s actually not wrong. It’s the fucking truth and if she has a problem with it, it’s her own fucking problem. It’s not her place to be angry because everything is indeed fucking fake! 

She shakes him off and Gabe opens the door for her to get in. “I need space, Dean. Give me that. Make some excuse for me.” 

She expected him to lash out, to be angry at her and demand of her to hold on to the contract and make her stay, but he doesn’t. He steps back and nods, “I understand,” He turns to Gabe, “Drive her home safely and come back,”

With that, he closes the door and lets her drive a way. Gabe didn't talk the whole way which she’s glad about. 

Before she gets out, she takes off her rings, figuring things were over anyway, and hands them to Gabe.

 CH20

[balticprincess]

Crash landing on you - perfect for K-drama-beginners. Just watch out - it‘s addictive

I may not be the target audience, but this has really got me. After watching it for the 3rd time back to back (with 16 episodes that are about 70 -90 minutes it’s ok, I guess, when finishing it, I want to see the start again) I now need to put some thoughts down.

Why do I (and apparently millions of others) love it so much?

It‘s funny, tragic, super romantic and suspenseful. The actors are great, not only the main couple Ri Jeong Hyeok ans Yoon Se-Ri as star crossed lovers, but also the second couple, which is even more star-crossed and one half of it is for a lot of episodes hopelessly tied and in love with the elusive RJH. Also the supporting actors are great, especially the band of brothers from Company 5, who do everything to help their leader and YSR. The villain is great and so vile, you hate him - until you see him in the Behind the Scenes-vids, where he is most charming.

It‘s a bit like fanfiction in a series: found family, vile brothers, destiny, star-crossed lovers, fake fiancee, reversed makeover, sleeping in one bed, all the tropes are there, but never blatant, but lovely and well executed. A lot of people who watched it say it’s also enemies to lovers, but I seriously doubt that, seeing Captain Ri‘s face at the end of the first episode. It’s more like love at first sight, smitten and whipped.

While he is a kind of super-hero („Do you think you‘re in the Avengers“) he also has flaws, is sometimes jealous, easily flustered by Se-Ri and exasperated by the whole set up. Still, he does everything for her to make her feel better and to help her escape to the south. He is an ace at fighting, can cook, is a very quick thinker, a good shot, plays the piano and is endearingly truthful (most of the time). Not to say extremely easy on the eye. She, and that is very important in my pov, is no damsel in distress. She is, actually, but she does not act like it. Being a very successful ceo, she takes the North and its people in her stride and instead of whining, heats water and helps poor kids. She cries sometimes when she is overwhelmed, which is a totally normal reaction in my opinion, making her relatable. She is beautiful and successful, he is super handsome and from an upperclass family, but both are supremely unhappy before she literally falls down on him. How they are helping each other is one of the main attractions for me. F.ex. After Se-Ris first really bad meeting with the villain and him coming to the rescue, he asks her if she is allright and not hurt. You can really see how much that surprises her, which is in turn heart-wrenching. He doesn‘t talk much, but one of his catchphrases is: „I am alright“ - which is mostly untrue, whether he stands on a mine, was shot or beaten or impending doom is coming at him. She calls him out for that, which is lovely. Both actors are nearing 40, although they look impossibly younger, but for me, being ever so slightly over 40 it was great that this was not a series with CEOs that look as if they are still in High school.

The Chemistry between the leads is so amazing that one comment said that it could light up North Korea for real. I‘d say it’s not chemistry anymore, it’s Physics, waiting for the inevitable chain reaction/explosion. Captain Ri aka Hyun Bin and Yoon Se-Ri aka Son Ye Jin started dating IRL after the show (or long before, who knows) and are still going strong. That’s really romantic, especially if you watch the BTS. 🔥🔥💥

If you are not interested in history: skip this! Another point in this far too long post is that I asked myself why I could relate to these main characters who are so different from me, being a tall, sturdy blond highschool-headmistress. My husband is a pianist, but that is not it. But I lived long enough to still remember the iron curtain slashing through my country. Not to liken the then existing GDR with NK, but while we West-Germans were allowed to visit in the East, different from the Koreas, the East-Germans were not allowed to come to West-Germany. I had friends in the GDR near Dresden. My parents met them in Hungary and I was pen-friends their daughter. It was super difficult to go to Dresden, but we could meet in Berlin where it was easier to cross the border. In 1986 we met for the first time in person. I was ateeneager on a classtrip. My teacher brought me to the border in Friedrichstraße Railway station, called „Palace of tears“ by the locals. I crossed the border on foot and was in a different county and world in the same city. The cars, how the people dressed, the shops - it was strange, old fashioned and for my 20 years backwards. But the people where lovely. We met like a blind date, they were carrying a white rose. The banners seen in CLOY promoting communism and heralding the states own greatness were everywhere. When they brought me back to the eastern entrance of the railway station I had to cross, I knew why this was called Palace of tears. We cried, everyone there who had to let go family or friends to the west cried. It was heartwrenching. Unification 3 years later was a wonder I had never expected. Never. So, although our situation was not as bad as Se-Ris who knows she cannot visit NK, it is still very relatable. It wasn‘t the 38th parallel but still a nearly impenetrable wall. One of my highschool friends was in love with *drumroll for cloy-watchers* a cellist from the GDR. He was devastated to leave her at the border when we left east-berlin. Our poor teacher - I off to meet unknown people (with a permission slip from my parents but still, no phones etc) and Frank off to meet his gf at the suburbs of east Berlin. But we both came back unscathed. They got married after unification btw.

My favourite scene: Very difficult to choose, the whole set up in Pjöngyang possibly, their argument about destiny, his jealousy and him telling her to stay in his sight and 2 seconds later him being so ashamed to have said that. Also: the scene with Daddy Ri.

Strange things that happened after watching: I really want a Range Rover, preferably red. I own a cloy t-shirt and watched all behind the scenes-vids multiple time.

Why I am so late watching it: the subtitles. Apart from Shtisel, which I love, I watch English dubbed (I am German) all the time. We are used to dubbing here. What can I say: it took me 10 minutes to forget that.

For my fellow Miss Fishers murder mysteries/Phrack-lovers: I know nothing can compare the Phryne and Jack. But: The extremely dashing Captain Ri has a lot of Jack Robinson vibes going on. Dealing with trauma, being honest and respectful, accepting and encouraging the woman he loves, being so handsome and dependable. He also does not talk much but has very speaking eyes. And while Se-Ri accepts more help than Phryne does she is also a badass woman in her own right who dresses sharply and is self-sufficient and smart. CLOY is very romantic though, you can‘t really say it is a slow-burn, the aforementioned chain-reaction happens very fast. The whole thing is quite chaste, but in my mind a lot happens after the camera roll stopped...The OST is beautiful and I listen to it all the time.

Give it a try and see if you are not hooked at the end of the first episode like I was... #fighting!

[neon-junkie]

Sinners Prayer

Summary: Dutch has asked you and Micah to tag along for the evening at the Mayor's party, but the catch is that you two have to go as a pretend married couple.

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 6557

Rating: SFW

Tags: Friends to lovers, Strangers to lovers, Fake relationship/marriage, Saint Denis, Shady Belle, Party, Dress up, Formalwear, Slow burn, First kiss, Flirting.

Notes: God I LOVED writing this, which is why it's sooooo long. I've had this fic idea lingering in my head for months now as I'm a sucker for the whole fake couple/marriage trope, but it feels so good to finally write this<3 

Obsessed is a strong word to use, especially when it's relating to a stranger. But maybe it was the right word because you found yourself swooning over this man over and over, despite barely ever speaking to him. You were in the same camp, sure, but that didn't mean much apart from sometimes riding by his side during a mission, or sitting on the same log as him at the campfire. You'd exchanged few words and you somewhat hoped it'd stay that way, knowing exactly the kind of man he was.

Was this secret obsession something to do with past trauma? your previous encounter with a toxic man that you thought you'd gotten over? or was Micah really just meant to be yours?

But seriously... Micah. Micah Bell. Micah Bell the third, in fact, because somehow his shitty family had managed to breed more than once.

You want to feel sick every time you see him, you really do, just like everybody else in existence does, but you find yourself gazing at him from the other side of camp every single day, so drawn to various little bits of him.

There's the scar on his chin, the one that starts at his split lip, and you're curious as to how he got it, but not as curious as to if you'd be able to feel it when you press your lips against his. You try to tell yourself that his facial hair is stupid, but he always keeps it so neat and clean, and you can't help but wonder what that 'stache would feel like brushing over your thighs as he kissed along them. And his hair, his scraggy shoulder-length hair, the dirty blonde locks that you just want to run your fingers along and grip onto if you had the chance to ride him.

You're doing it again.

You give your head a little shake as you snap out of your daydream, straightening your back and taking a swig of your drink. It's late, and you're enjoying a beer before bed after finishing your shift on guard duty. Micah's sat at his usual space by the campfire in your line of view, and thankfully you haven't zoned out staring at him else, well, that'd be embarrassing.

Micah also seems zoned out, staring at the fire with his hands dangling freely down his sides, one ankle crossed over the other. He lets out a sigh and rolls his head back, staring up at the stars before looking over at you.

Oh shit.

You quickly look away, taking another sip from your drink. You can feel Micah's gaze still on you, but when you do finally peek over, he's back to staring at the fire.

You've accidentally met his gaze a few times before, a mix of you meeting his, and him meeting yours. At least it wasn't always you staring at him, he seems to have an interest in you too, though the two of you rarely ever interacted. Micah had, for some reason, kept his distance from you, despite his blatant and poor attempts of flirting with other women of the camp. Maybe you just weren't his type? But then why would he always stare at you?

Your beer is finally finished and you turn in for the night, following your nightly routine and climbing under your blankets, only to stare at the tent walls and think about Micah.

Ugh. That man, if you can even call him one.

You're a sinner, just like the rest of this crazy bunch that you run with, but it seems whatever Gods float about in the sky continue to ignore your prayers, despite them being desperate.

Please, please can they just stop this attraction to him? Please. There were so many better men out there, a handful of which you run with, but you find yourself worryingly obsessed with this foul man, yet you can't seem to stop it.

You roll onto your side, letting your eyes fall shut and as always, drift to sleep with the hopes that you won't be obsessed when morning comes.

  Morning does come, and oh boy, does it hit you hard.

Dutch was quick to call you upstairs to the balcony by his room, telling you to finish your breakfast first, but hurry up as soon as possible.

"It's a party," Dutch tells you. "The mayors' party," Dutch smirks, raising his hands as if he was waiting for you to jump with joy.

"And...?" you question.

"Well. I've picked a fine bunch to tag alongside me, but I'm asking you specifically to help with a special task. Myself, Hosea, Arthur, and Bill will be mingling as singles, but we need a couple to go. We need a couple to weave their way in there with all the others and see what they can find. Maybe get invited to some fancy private getaway or... whatever it is those upper-class city folk do in their free time," Dutch explains, speaking with his hands as always.

"Dutch," you laugh. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm unfortunately single," you tell him as you shake your head.

"I know, just like the rest of camp, but I'll make suitable arrangements for you, my dear," Dutch replies.

"What about John and Abigail?" you ask, the only couple that springs to mind.

"I wouldn't dare ask them, not after that whole fiasco that happened with our dear boy Jack," Dutch says as he shakes his head. "You can say no if you want to, but I could really do with this."

You let out a sigh but then ask "what arrangements are you thinking?"

"Well..." Dutch begins. "I wanted you to be a part of this job to begin with, I knew that as a fact. You've got a good charm and I've seen you gussy up folks before. You know exactly what you're doing, and I need that strength right now," Dutch compliments, though his tone of voice and the way his eyes begin to avoid yours makes you fear for the worst.

"Trelawny's going to take you into the city to pick out a dress for you, the women have already said they'll help get you ready for the party-"

"Dutch. Who am I going with?" you cut him off, noticing the way he's avoiding the elephant in the room.

"I put a lot of thought into this, ___. I really have. I've gone through all the members of the camp-"

"Dutch," you sigh as you cut him off again. "Just tell me."

"Micah," Dutch says as his eyes meet yours. "Like I said, you can say no if you'd like. I just know the two of you would be able to make this work, and I could really do with this," he explains.

"Have you already asked him?" you question.

"I have, and he said he's happy with it if you're happy with it," Dutch tells you as he watches your expressions and body language, though you surprise him as you show no signs of discomfort.

"Alright, I'll do it," you shrug.

"Thank you, my dear," Dutch grins as he places a hand on your shoulder. "It's this evening. Trelawny will be waiting for you outside the tailors in Saint Denis, and make sure you're ready a little early. I want time to run through the plan before we set off."

  The Gods were definitely mocking you at this point, sat up there on their high horses, laughing and pointing down at you as they continued to worsen your situation. Really? A party with posh folk? And you have to pretend to be a couple with Micah? You barely know him for starters. What if you two really weren't meant to get along? The last thing you wanted to do was cause a scene after Dutch had asked you so kindly to go in there and fish out information for him.

Trelawny seemed in his usual cheery mood when you met him, helping you pick out something nice. Honestly, the dress is gorgeous, and you feel beautiful wearing it. You have no problem playing dress up, sometimes secretly looking forward to it as you rarely get an occasion to wear something other than your usual attire.

The women shower you with compliments as they help do your makeup, picking out some nice matching jewelry that compliments your facial features, along with a pretty necklace that seemed to draw even more attention to your cleavage. You haven't worn a corset in a while, and the sight of your boobs bulging up against your chest was clearly meant to be a distraction to try and lore out some weaker men. Maybe Micah would end up dragging them off to the side, only to knock their lights out and loot them for "looking at my woman!"

Ugh. Your stomach hadn't stopped turning like a stormy sea the second Dutch had told you who you were going with. You hadn't seen Micah around the camp all afternoon, probably mentally preparing himself for whatever shit-show that was about to happen.

Well, you were ready.

Mary-Beth was quick to run out of the house and draw everybody's attention, attempting to give you some kind of grand reveal, as if the camp had never seen you in a dress before. They have, but this was the fanciest you'd ever worn; with your hair up in a do that took all afternoon to keep in place, and jewels that perfectly matched the shade of your makeup.

"She's ready!" Mary-Beth squealed, attracting the attention of Dutch and Arthur as they lingered over, the rest of the camp perking up their ears and eyes. "Now, you better all flatter her 'cause she seems a little shy, and we spent all afternoon helpin' get her ready, but-"

"Mary-Beth, please," you sigh as you exit the house, not wanting the grand entrance that she would want. There's still a mix of oo's and aah's throughout the camp, and Susan is quick to rush over and take your hands in hers, looking like she's about to cry.

"My dear, you look so wonderful," Susan tells you.

"Thank you, Miss Grimshaw," you reply as you give her hand a little squeeze.

"She's right, ___. Trelawny and our women have excellent taste. Thank you, all of you," Dutch tells them as he speaks to the camp, then turning back to you. "Are you ready, dear?" he asks.

"Physically, yes. Mentally, no," you joke, though you're serious.

"Well, it'll have to do," Dutch nods.

"My my," a dreaded voice calls out. Micah's approaching, stopping just beside Dutch as he speaks to you. "Ain't no way you can go the party like that, sweetheart. You're gonna knock 'em all dead with them pretty looks of yours," Micah compliments.

Your stomach begins to turn again, though you begin to question if you should curse the gods or thank them, because the sight of Micah in a tux is one you could get used to. He's dressed like the other men, a smart black tux with a white shirt and bowtie. He's clearly had a bath, as his hair looks the cleanest you've ever seen it, nearly bunched into a low ponytail with a few loose strands shaping his face. Micah always keeps his facial hair clean, but it's freshly trimmed and perfectly shaped just underneath his jaw.

You notice Arthur already glaring at him in the corner of your eye. Why Dutch didn't ask Arthur to go with you was beyond your knowledge, but something tells you he has a deeper reason behind picking the two of you to go together.

"Thank you, Mister Bell," you softly reply as your eyes meet his.

"Guess that makes you Mrs. Bell for this evening," Micah smiles. "Don't it, Dutch?" he asks as his eyes quickly turn to Dutch's.

"It does! Now, let's all get going before we're even later than we already are. I'll go over the plan on the way there," Dutch huffs as he waves his gloved hands about, hurrying everybody along to the stagecoach that was waiting.

You're about to walk off, but Micah's sudden movement catches your eye. He offers you his hand. "Gotta look the part, darlin'," he tells you.

"Oh! I just remembered!" Micah says as he suddenly moves his hand away, reaching into his pocket to fish out a pair of gold wedding rings that he no doubt had stolen recently, specifically for this event.

"May I?" Micah asks, holding out his hand again. You take it, your soft palms gently settling in rough ones. He flashes you another smile, then flicks his eyes down to focus sliding the wedding ring onto your finger. The sight of that alone is enough to make your knees go weak, but you try your hardest not to pass out, and thankfully Micah doesn't seem to notice how lovesick you're feeling.

The ring is only slightly too big, and hopefully, you'll notice it if it gets close to slipping off. He quickly slips the other one onto his own finger, and takes your hand again, his eyes finally moving away from yours as he leads you over to the stagecoach, following behind the others.

  The ride there isn't too bad, and the plan seems simple enough. Steal nothing, only information. Only your 'husband' was most definitely not going to do that, even if he doesn't tell Dutch about it.

He helps you out the coach, gently tucking your hand around his arm as he walks with you into the party. Surprisingly, Micah didn't bring his guns with him, making a comment to you under his breath about how he doesn't trust anybody with them. That's understandable.

Dutch and Arthur head upstairs to do whatever it is they were going to do, speak to Jack's surrogate father or whatever, leaving you and the others to wait on the balcony.

You rest your hands on the railing, looking down at the mishmash of strangers below. Micah removes his hand from yours, resting it on the small of your back as he turns to speak to you.

"You nervous?" Micah asks.

"I'm sure I won't be after a couple of drinks," you joke, turning your gaze to meet his. You've never seen his expression so soft before, and have his eyes always been that blue? They're an icy shade, maybe a warning sign about his cold heart, but he's making yours burn up with his stupidly sweet smile and that stupid cute little ponytail that he just had to tuck his hair into.

"So now I gotta take care of my drunk wife whilst also lookin' for leads?" Micah jokes back, though there's something about him calling you his 'wife' that makes your stomach turn faster than it ever has before.

"I ain't gonna get drunk!" you laugh. "Your wife can handle herself, thank you very much," you raise your nose jokingly.

"You sure? Cause if I remember rightly, the last time you got drunk you tripped over and almost fell in the campfire," Micah chuckles, watching your expression drop. How did he remember that? That happened months ago!

"I'm a changed woman," you reply, "for tonight," you add.

"Sure you are, Mrs. Bell," Micah grins as he moves a few loose strands off your face. "Then after tonight, you can go back to fallin' into campfires."

"And would my dear husband not save me if he saw me falling into one?" you question.

"I ain't really your husband, sweetheart. Not unless you wanna keep that ring on and keep playin' dress up with me," Micah replies, trying to make it sound like a joke, but you both know that if you said yes, Micah would happily continue your fake marriage.

It's a good thing Dutch arrived when he did, cutting you off as you opened your mouth to speak, but you were thankful as you hadn't even thought of a reply.

Dutch gave you all another pep talk before shooing everybody off on their way, and you were thankful a server passed you as you reached the bottom of the stairs, taking a glass of champagne for yourself and thanking them, Micah grabbing one for himself also.

  Your hand finds Micahs arm and he walks with you a while, eyeing up any obvious leads as you pass through the strangers. You come to a stop at the back of the party, pulling Micah to one side as he rests his hand around your waist. God. You could get used to Micah having his hands on you at all times.

"You see anything obvious yet?" you ask Micah before taking a sip of your champagne. At least it was decent, not having that awful cheesy flavour that cheap bottles had.

"I ain't been lookin'," Micah replies, making you snap your eyes over to his with a little scowl on your face.

"What?" you ask.

"Hard to focus on a bunch of snobby strangers when I got this pretty woman clinging onto me," Micah grins. You realize that your hand had come to rest on his forearm as his hand had found your waist, clinging onto him a little too tightly, your body practically pressed up against his. At least the two of you looked like a couple.

You go to take a step back, but Micah is quick to pull you against him more, holding you firmly in place. "I'm jokin', sweetheart," he tells you. "I've spotted a few here 'n' there."

"You better not be lyin'," you tut.

"You not trust your own husband?" Micah smirks, chuckling even whilst he has a sip of his drink. "Besides, we ain't even planned our story yet. How we gonna mingle with other couples when we don't even know how we met? Or when we got married?" Micah asks.

He's right, the two of you had no time to prepare your story, but you're far from earshot of these strangers, so now would be a good time to get your stories straight.

"Well, what have you got planned then? Seeing as you brought this up?" you question.

"Nothin'," Micah shrugs. "I figured I'd ask my lady, seeing as you women tend to fantasize about these situations." You can't deny that, because little does Micah know, you've had a few fantasies about the two of you getting together for quite some time now.

"Do I look like the type for romances, Micah?" you ask.

"Do I?" Micah replies. Good point.

"Well..." you sigh, trying to think of a few ideas. "You plan how we met, and I'll plan our wedding?"

"Sure, darlin'," Micah nods as he finishes off his drink.

"Wait here. I'll go get us a refill," you say as you take Micahs empty glass, finishing off your own, and wandering off back into the party to find your next round of booze.

Micah watches you leave, tucking his hand into his pockets to fish out a cigarette to enjoy whilst he waits and ponders.

  Finding a server wasn't hard, and you thanked them as you swapped your glasses over. On your walk back you overheard another couple talking about how they met, saying she was a server on one of the ferries and he was there to gamble, only he ended up spending the night distracting her from her job.

You find your way back to Micah, who's just finished his cigarette, stomping it out on the ground with his polished black shoes. "I picked you up at a bar," Micah tells you as you hand him his drink.

"What? No," you scoff, scrunching your face up at the generic and boring backstory.

"What else you got then, sweetheart?" Micah asks before taking a sip from his drink.

"I just overheard a couple say that they met on one of those gambling ferries. She was a waitress and he spent the whole night chattin' her up."

"You wanna steal their backstory?" Micah tuts. "Dutch said we shouldn't be stealin," he says as he shakes his head jokingly.

"We'll just change it a little... I was a bartender and you spent the night chatting me up," you suggest.

"A woman bartender?" Micah questions your suggestion.

"Times are changing, Micah. It's believable," you reply, getting a little defensive.

"I didn't mean it like that," Micah says as he raises his hand. "I like it. And we met 4 years back, got married in April last year. How's that sound?" he asks.

"Good," you nod, realizing that you'd done each other's jobs rather than the ones you assigned. "You ready to mingle?" you ask him.

"Fine," Micah sighs.

  Neither of you wants to do this, both forcing a fake smile and kind accents as you speak to the strangers. After an hour, you haven't found much, a few mentions of summer homes and private boats, but nothing within the area.

You're a few more glasses in, beginning to feel ever so slightly tipsy, but you needed that buzz to help you get through the smugness of these strangers.

"You want another?" you ask Micah who has barely sipped on his current one. He's only drunk a glass less than you have, but he doesn't seem affected, though his tolerance is probably higher than yours.

"I'm alright, my love. I'll wait here for you," Micah tells you as he moves his hand off your waist, letting you wander off into the crowd.

You're still not used to the pet names, but you hope they continue to roll out of Micahs mouth, seeing as you no longer had that sickly feeling in your stomach. It seems your nerves had finally calmed down, being replaced by a warm and gentle buzz instead, though that's probably the alcohol in your system.

You thank the waiter as you take another glass and turn to leave, but overhear the most hideous voice you've ever heard call out to the same man you just thanked. You attempt to walk away, but quickly stop and look over your shoulder, face scrunching up at the sight of quite possibly the rudest woman you've ever seen, if you can even call her a woman.

She drones on and on, insulting this poor stranger that was only trying to do his job. God. The way she spoke to him made you sick, and before that little voice in the back of your head can stop you, you've already approached her and cut her off, attempting to speak to her sweetly.

"Are you an entertainer?" you ask.

"What on earth are you yapping about?" She questions as she looks you up and down in disgust.

"Well, it's a very good act you've got going on here. Playing the stereotypical obnoxious upper-class woman, though I wouldn't recommend performing it when you're not on stage," you respond, acting as if you genuinely thought she was a man in drag.

"Well, I never!" She squeals. "You've got some lip on you, little girl. Do you now know who I am?"

"Oh, I do apologize, madam. What's your act called? Maybe I'll drop by to hear you squeal on stage next time I pass the theatre."

You can't hold back the grin creeping across your face as the stranger's face turns red, her huffing and puffing attracting a handful of eyes nearby. Thankfully, the poor served had managed to sneak off, so at least she wouldn't take it out on him any more than she already had.

She goes to open her mouth again but is quickly cut off when Micah appears by your side.

"Oh, I do apologize for my wife's behaviour," Micah says with a wave of his hand. "Sweetheart!" he says as he turns to you, putting his arm around your waist and beginning to walk you away. "What have I told you about feeding the animals?" he says in clear earshot of the woman.

The both of you don't get to see the woman explode as you rush off, but your grins are as wicked as each others as you lead Micah to the back of the party, giggling devilishly.

You can still hear the woman protesting as she's asked to leave, and is eventually dragged out, which was more than satisfying to watch. The party returns to how it formerly was, the strangers barely looking your way as it seems you'd done everybody a favour.

Your eyes meet Micahs, his arm still wrapped around your waist as your hand rests on his shoulder, your body pressed against his. Both of your grins remain there as the two of you look at each other, suddenly realizing just how pressed up you were against your 'husbands' body.

"I ain't seen that fire in you before, sweetheart," Micah tells you.

"There's a lot of me you ain't seen, Micah," you reply.

"Ooooh," Micah sighs as he chuckles. His head dips down slightly, speaking more directly into your ear but far enough that he can still see your reaction. "Well if you'd be so kind as to show me," he flirts.

Your knees feel like giving up on you, and you're thankful that Micah's grip is tight enough around your waist to hold you upright. You go to open your mouth and invite him to find out, but you're cut off before you can even make a sound.

  "Mister and Mrs. Bell?" A familiar voice asks. Both of your smiles fade as you turn to see Dutch standing there, his brows slightly furrowed. "What the hell was that?" he whispers through gritted teeth.

"She deserved it," Micah shrugs, his voice returning to his usual tone as he softens his grip on you.

"What happened?" he whispers.

"Dutch, trust me, anybody would have done the same. It seems I did everyone here a favour," you reassure him.

"I don't care if she deserved it or not. Just stop drawing attention to yourselves, please!" Dutch hisses.

Micah raises his hand innocently, "sure, boss," he says.

"We'll keep quiet," you add on.

"Thank you, now go and mingle," Dutch attempts to force a smile, waving his hands about as he encourages you to head back into the crowd.

He doesn't walk away, so you're forced to drag Micah back into the handful of strangers and continue where you left off, doing whatever you can to find at least a little something to take back to the camp.

Thanks for ruining the moment, Dutch.

  The whole time you're speaking to these strangers, all you can think about is the flirtatious glisten Micah had in his eyes when he said that line. His hand is around your waist once more, only you're well aware of the way his hand is slowly trailing down you, eventually resting on your tailbone, a little too close to your ass, though you wish he'd move his hand a little lower.

A stranger quickly thanks you for having that woman kicked out of the party, and your bitching session about her is cut short from the loud bang coming from the sky. You almost drop your drink, surprised to hear what sounds like gunshots, only to turn and see the sky glowing an array of colours.

They're fireworks. You've heard about them before but never seen them, and despite how pretty they are, you wish they were a little quieter. Sure, you're a gunslinger, but loud noises still make you jump, despite being somewhat used to them.

Micah stands almost directly behind you, moving his hand to your hip as he pressed his body against yours. You relax against him, your back pressed against his chest and shoulder. Micah places his empty glass on a tray that trails past him, using that same hand to brush a few strands of hair from your face, catching your attention as you move your gaze off the fireworks.

"You think we're doing a good job, sweetheart?" Micah asks.

"A good job of what, exactly?" you reply.

"You know exactly what I'm on about," he chuckles. His gaze was soft on you to begin with, but it softens out even more as you make him laugh.

"I think we're doing well, but we can always do better," you flirt.

"Oh?" Micah smirks, picking up on your hints. "And how are we gonna do that, my love?"

Micah boldly places a gentle kiss to your temple, your heart fluttering as his 'stache brushes against your skin, a lot softer than you thought it'd be.

"Well, for a start, you could kiss my lips rather than my temple," you reply, just as boldly as his move.

"That so?" he smiles.

"It is so, darling," you reply.

"Just you wait," Miah grins, kissing your temple again. "I ain't gonna let that happen in the middle of these folk," he explains.

"That's alright, Mister Bell. I can wait," you reply as you rest your head against the crook of his neck, angling upwards so you can continue to watch the fireworks.

Micah places another kiss to your temple before wrapping his arms around your waist, enjoying the way your hand rests on top of his, the other one still holding your glass. He continues to place gentle kisses against you every so often, holding your back firmly against his chest.

Little do you know that Micah's heart is also racing just as fast as yours, his stomach feeling just as sick and his knees feeling just as weak. All those times he'd accidentally met your gaze from across the camp were times when he'd been admiring you, watching you from afar as he tries to figure out a non-creepy and non-cheesy way to talk to you.

When it comes to one night stands and quick hook-ups, Micah will blurt a few stereotypical pickup lines out and hope for the best, but he's been lovesick the second he saw you, and his feelings continued to grow the more he saw your personality come out within the camp. He felt a little jealous at first, finding a woman who's just as good with a gun and knife as he is, but the thought of "but what if she was mine?" struck his mind, and he then decided that he just had to have you.

Micah struggles to talk to women, he's barely interacted with them, and it's even worse growing up without a female role model in his life. But the camp continued to move and hunt for money, and when Micah found out that Dutch was invited to the mayors' party, he finally saw his chance. Despite trying to recommend taking another set of hands along, without Micah making it obvious that he wanted an excuse to talk to you, Dutch quickly picked up on what was going on and decided to stir the pot even more.

Originally, Micah just thought Dutch could do with his help and maybe take one of the ladies, but Dutch is smart and picks up on little things like the two of you admiring each other from afar. Dutch grinned as he thanked Micah for his suggestion, and then said he could do with a fake couple there so they had all their options open. Micah was quick to dip his hat over his face and blurt out "sure boss, I'll leave it to you," scurrying off when he realized that he'd dug this hole a lot deeper than it was meant to go, but he swallowed his fear and went along with it.

  And here the two of you are, Micah leading you over to the gazebo at the back of the mayors' house to have a "little talk about the leads we've found." There's another couple stood on one side, but the gazebo is big enough so if the two of you stand on the other side and speak under your breaths then they won't hear you.

"Well, what you think?" Micah asks as he gently removes your hand from around his arm, holding it lightly in both of his hands as he leans back against the railing, crossing one ankle over the other.

"We got a few bit here 'n' there. It ain't been easy," you shrug. It seems that despite every single person here being an obnoxious prick, they had their guards up around strangers, not letting things slip out too easily.

"But have you had fun?" Micah chuckles.

"I've had fun playing dress-up with you, Micah," you grin, noting the way Micah's fidgeting with the ring on your finger, probably slightly nervous.

"We can always do it again some time," he flirts. "Maybe go to one of them fancy poker games they host at the saloon here," Micah suggests.

"Oh, I bet you'd enjoy that," you giggle. "Gambling, liquor, and me sittin' on your lap."

"How could I not enjoy that?" Micah asks as he stands upright. "But is it a sin if I do enjoy it?" Micah asks, his tone turning slightly stern as he looks into your eyes.

"Do you want it to be?" you ask, watching as Micah moves your hand from his to rest on his shoulder, his hands finding your waist.

"I ain't really bothered, sweetheart," Micah tells you with a little shrug. "Sin or not, I'll have you on my lap, so I'll be happy," he adds.

"You know, we ain't gotta play dress up again just for you to have me sit on your lap," you flirt as your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, slowly wrapping around his neck.

"Don't say that, darlin'. Cause we both know that you'll get tired of me constantly takin' up that offer," Micah jokes.

"You think I'm gonna get tired of you, Mister Bell?"

"You might," Micah says with a shrug. He moves one hand off your waist to gently cup your chin, making sure your eyes are on his. "Mrs. Bell," he says with a grin, noticing the way your heart flutters at the sound of it.

"I bet you I won't," you smile.

"We'll just have to see about that, won't we?"

"We will, Mister Bell."

Micah gently moves his hand from your chin, gently brushing it along your jawline as he cups it, his thumb rubbing slowly over your cheek. You melt into his touch, and the sight of that is enough to pop Micah's patience.

He finally dips his head down, gently pressing his lips against yours, though he's not surprised when you begin to kiss back, deepening the kiss. Micah's hand moves from your cheek, joining the other one around your waist as he holds onto you, pulling your body against his.

Despite how firmly his lips are pressed against yours, his moustache is a lot softer than you imagined, running against your upper lip, lightly tickling you. There's the strong taste of champagne on his lips, and a faint taste of tobacco on his tongue as he slides it against yours. It's a good thing Micah has your body pressed up against his, holding you firmly, as you can feel your knees getting weaker by the second.

Micah lets out a soft sigh as he moves one hand to gently cup the back of your head. Your fingertips brush against his low ponytail, a style that you hoped to see him wear again. Maybe he'll keep it for this upper-class poker date that you'd both just planned, and even though neither of you said it was a date, the way you were gazing at each other says otherwise.

  There's a sudden cough, and that's when you realize that someones been coughing to get your attention a few times now. You were far too engulfed in locking lips with your 'husband' that you didn't notice poor Arthur standing a few feet away, trying to get both of your attention.

Micah momentarily breaks the kiss to mumble "go away, Morgan," before bringing your lips back to his, continuing where you left off.

"We're leavin', Micah," Arthur tells him in a stern voice.

Micah ignores him, and although you feel bad for Arthur being there, you're not willing to break this kiss for anything. You've waited far too long for this.

"You two, come on," Arthur sighs, and Micah finally breaks away from you.

"Fine," Micah frowns as his gaze meets Arthurs. Arthur ignores his attitude and walks off, heading through the slowly-dispersing crowd to find the others.

Micah doesn't say anything but flashes you a cheeky smile as he offers his arm once more. You take it, and he leads you through the party, meeting the others who are already climbing into the stagecoach when you arrive.

Micah does most of the talking on the way back, telling the others about the few leads the two of you had found. His hand rests on your knee the whole journey back, and Dutch seems to notice it, smiling to himself.

When you arrive back at camp, Micah offers you his hand as he helps you down from the stagecoach, and despite being back, his hand still lingers in yours whilst you say goodnight to everyone.

"You want me to walk you home, Mrs. Bell?" Micah jokes.

"Oh, you're so kind, offering to walk me ten steps," you giggle.

Micah does it anyway, stopping outside your tent.

"I err..." Micah gulps, his eyes flicking around the camp, then back to you. "I had fun tonight. Now I know we didn't get many leads, but I still enjoyed myself."

"I did too. Maybe we'll make up for our losses when we go on that upper-class poker mission," you smile. Micah's eyes widen a little.

"You were serious about that?" he asks, a tint of doubt to his voice.

"I was. But I understand if you're tired of pretending to be my husband already," you jokingly sigh, bringing a smile back to Micah's face.

"I ain't ever gonna get tired of it. But if you're up for it, then well, I guess I better start lookin' for a way to make it happen," Micah replies.

"You let me know as soon as you find it."

"Anyway, I ain't gonna keep you up. You get to bed, sweetheart," Micah says as he takes hold of your hand, placing a gentle kiss against your knuckles.

"You still ain't learned where my lips are, have you?" you flirt, watching Micah's eyes light up at your comment.

"I guess you better show me then, Mrs. Bell," Micah grins, his face dipping down to meet yours as you lean up to kiss him, your arms wrapping around his neck once more.

Micah doesn't keep you up for too long, softly kissing you goodnight and finally letting you turn in. You hear him walk away as you close your tent flaps, taking your time to get undressed and get ready for bed. The whole time you're changing, your stomach is still turning with butterflies, in shock at tonight's turn of events, even though you adored all of them.

In some ways, the Gods finally did answer your prayers, giving you the sinner you fawned over rather than taking your feelings away. Either outcome would have been fine, but you definitely preferred this one, especially now you had a date lined up.

Maybe those romances that Mary-Beth reads aren't so silly after all.

[youllallriseintheink]

Angel of the Ink Machine, Chapter 1: An Unlikely Encounter.

Alright, this was a long time coming. And by a long time, I mean I have literally had it in mind since Fall. As a result, I’m going to ignore new information from TIOL so that I can do it as I originally planned.

The premise of this AU is simple: Sammy leaves the studio instead of Henry, and as a result, Joey needs a new partner in crime. He finds one in Allison. Power struggles, sacrifices, passion, ecstasy and tragedy ensues.

---

Sammy never even bothered to formally quit the studio, and it fell on Henry to explain to Joey what had probably transpired.

“He told me a few days ago that he wanted to get Mr. Arch’s attention and maybe a job from him. Sorry to say, Joey, but I think he got what he wanted.”

Joey’s face twisted with disbelief and anger and then back to serenity. “No, Sammy loved it here! I’m sure he’ll be back soon- he’s probably just sick. And even if he isn’t, well, we don’t need him anyhow, do we, Henry? So long as we have each other.”

“Hm? Yeah.” Henry didn’t tell Joey that Nathan had made him an offer as well, and that he was beginning to regret not taking it.

After a few days, Joey accepted that Sammy was gone and promoted Jack to the head of the music department. It was better that way, anyhow- Jack wasn’t so demanding, and let Joey have more run of the music room when he wanted it.

For the next decade, things went along as usual. The studio grew, Henry remained Joey’s finest and most hardworking artist, and Joey even began to look into some dark magic that could help him make his vision for the studio a reality. Joey was, however, beginning to feel increasingly alone in his vision. Henry had grown bitter and distant to him over the years, and then quit. It was disappointing, but not a surprise. It left Joey feeling rather empty in the realization of how little he’d lost. The loyal, invaluable partner he’d once had had turned into just another artist years ago.

Joey needed another person who truly understood his vision. Sadly, he didn’t know anyone that could have fit the bill.

And then he found her.

The place he’d found her had been a speakeasy during the prohibition- a hub of all sorts of illegal affairs. Joey had come here for booze and the occasional round of cocaine during the prohibition and had discovered magic that way. Now, the prohibition was over, but criminals still came to peddle their wares, and Joey, a frequent user of magic now, still came to supply himself with books and reagents that couldn’t be found anywhere else. It was a sleazy place- dirty, greasy, full of prostitutes and men who looked like they could rob you. So it didn’t surprise Joey when a woman- mid-twenties, curvaceous, and on the tall side- approached him while he was buying potions. He figured it was just a prostitute trying to find a customer.

“I need three of the generic restorative ones.. And a vial of clean animal blood, and a liter of chloroform, please.”

The woman next to him chuckled. “You know that restorative potions are horrendously marked up, right? And you could get the animal blood... from an animal.”

Looking at the woman for the first time, Joey realized two things. First, the nearly knee-length pink dress and grey leather jacket she was wearing looked far too new and expensive and a bit too modest to be a prostitute’s, and she looked awfully healthy and clean for one. Secondly, he recognized her from somewhere. Still, he wouldn’t let the woman embarrass him. “Well, yes. But I haven’t practiced making my own yet, and I don’t want to test the first few on myself! And I just so happen to have plenty of money for them.”

The woman finally made eye contact with him. Light grey eyes, Joey noted. “Really? So, you been into magic long, Mr…”

“Drew. Joey Drew. And not too long. My specialty is in the demonic, but I’m experimenting with a bit of everything. Trying to figure out what will work with my vision. Yourself? Actually, why don’t we have this conversation somewhere more pleasant.” Joey paid the man for the potions, and the two walked out of the dark alleyway and into the city lights.

“My specialty is potions. I brew my own. I also really like charms.”

Joey’s eyes went wide. “Charms? You criticize me for buying potions, and you buy charms? There’s no way of even knowing if they work!”

“Well, unlike you, I’m not working towards any grand vision. I think charms work. I think they make my life better. And that’s good enough for me. Honestly, some magic users forget that magic is meant to enhance life, not fill some kind of void in it. Heck, I could say the same of some artists.”

“Funny you should mention art. I’m an artist. And my life’s goal is to reflect life in art. It seems we have a similar view on life, don’t we? It’s just that I want to be the one to show it to other people. Say- would you like to see a bit of my vision tonight?”

“Sure!” Allison said with a smile.

Joey took her to his car and held the door open for her.

“Oh. A gentleman. And a rich one, it looks like!”

“Yes. I own one of the greatest animation studios in the world: Joey Drew Studios.”

Allison giggled. “I’m no cartoon expert, but if it’s one of the greatest in the world, then why haven’t I heard of it?”

“Well, it might not be the very best yet, but it will be! Especially once the project I’m about to show you takes off.”

“Great!” Joey could see the excitement in her eyes, and he loved it.

“And what do you do, Ms. Pendle? I feel like we’ve met.”

Allison’s face darkened a little. “Well... I used to be a Broadway performer. I quit. You see, I have an ugly history with cocaine, and some of my coworkers were getting me back into it. I knew I couldn’t stay without it ruining my health... so I didn’t. I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life, though.”

Joey could remember her now- a backup dancer in one of the plays he’d seen. He committed everything she’d said to memory, knowing it could be useful later on.

Before long, they were at the studio, and Joey showed her to the pedestal room.

“Wow. You got your entire staff to participate in your rituals? That’s amazing.”

“Just a few of them, actually. But yeah, a little power goes a long way when you’re dealing with magic. And this isn’t even half of it. Come. I assume you aren’t a vegetarian witch?”

“Well, I’ve never slaughtered an animal for magic, but I’m up for it so long as it’s not too often. It’s no different than meat, really.”

“Fair enough,” Joey said. Maybe it was stupid to trust this woman that he’d met this same night, but he got a good feeling about her. He just had to share everything with her. The elevator wasn’t romantic enough, so he took her to the ink machine, suspended with chains, and watched the amazement on her face as it lowered until its top was at floor level. Joey stepped onto the machine and pulled Allison along with him. He held her waist as the machine lowered until it hit the floor of the very basement.

“Wait a moment,” he said, before climbing down the machine and running to turn on the lights.

Allison’s heart was beating a million miles a minute looking at all the pentagrams on the floor, the supplies on the shelves, and the strange machinery. A small part of her was glad she’d packed a knife in her jacket pocket, especially given the human-sized iron cages. Mostly, though, she felt like she’d died and gone to magic-user heaven. Joey had thought she wouldn’t be scared off by this, and was more than happy to be proven correct.

“This is amazing!” Allison beamed. “What do you use it for?”

“Well… nothing good, yet. I’m trying to create life, but there’s only been failed attempts. Let you show you my best one.” Joey led her to a supply closet that only he had the keys for. The door opened to reveal a metal cage and little else. When Joey clicked on the lights, a mound of black sludge, maybe a foot and a half tall, made itself visible. A cartoonish mouth floated down about where an ear should be, and two black mounds that vaguely looked like pie-cut eyes rested at its base. “I don’t know what to do to improve results,” Joey admitted. “Ultimately, I want to bring my cartoons into the real world. But can you imagine me presenting this old thing on a stage?” Joey laughed. “Wouldn’t exactly have them cheering, now would it?”

“Hmm... well, it’s a long shot, but a while ago while I was traveling, I stayed with a witch for a while and learned the recipe for a special potion. I kind of... stole the recipe from her, so I don’t know all about how it works, but it’s had all kinds of effects on the substances I’ve used it in in the past. I once burned all my hair off by mixing it with shampoo! So, you wanna to see what happens when you mix it with ink?

“Why not?” Joey said. He was sure to hear an earfull from Thomas the next day about some mechanical nonsense, but at that moment, Joey didn’t care.

“Alright,” Allison said, digging out a small vial of clear liquid from her bag. “Where do I put this?”

Joey directed her to the insertion nozzle. Allison put in the substance. Joey gathered some film of Bendy and added it in as well. And then, Joey started up the machine. What came out was an abomination- a strange, humanoid creature made of ink, its spine and joints jutting out at sharp angles from its body. It had Bendy’s horns, his smile, and one of its gloves, but the similarities ended there. It looked around at its surroundings before beginning to wander off.

Allison yelped. “What do we do? I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Joey said in an extremely calm voice. “Just be calm. Find an iron cage big enough and open it for me.”

Allison did as she was told, and Joey calmly approached the beast as it took in its surroundings. “Hey, there, buddy. Come with me. It’s okay.” He offered the beast his hand and led him towards the cage. He and Allison wrestled the creature into the cage and locked it. Joey sighed in relief. “That could have been ugly.”

“Yeah. That was amazing. But I’m sorry for causing it!”

They made eye contact. “Don’t be! That’s the closest I’ve ever come to making a functional toon! I mean, it still needs something... but thank you.” Joey ran his hand over her arm. “Allison. You can sing, right? You sang on Broadway?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been looking for a person who understood me- this side, the artistic side, the lust-for-life side- for years. Would you like to join my studio as a voice actress and help me with this grand project? Help me to do what no magician has done and create sentient life with me?”

“Yes! I’ve been looking for the next adventure since I quit Broadway!”

She hadn’t hesitated. This could only end well.

“Okay. Now, I’ll want you as a partner in crime and voice actress either way, but would you like to go out to dinner on Friday?”

Allison rolled her eyes. “Oh, well, pentagrams and demonic machines were one thing, but dinner? Now you’ve gone too far.” A pause. “I’m joking, Joey. Of course I will.” Dangerous just so happened to be Allison’s type, and she knew she could handle this little adventure if it turned sour.

[shadow-assassin-blix]

Be Still, My Heart

PART 1

Marcus Pike X Tattooed/Pierced Reader

A/n: So... this has been in my WIPs for a few months. I’m dedicating this to @pikemoreno​ cause its her husband, obviously and @flightlessangelwings​ since this was our Lovechild idea. Both of us are tatted, she wants lots more piercings and it is my lifelong goal to join the FBI and be on the Gang Unit. So this was created. Enjoy!

Taglist: @mikeisthricedeceased​

It has been about month since the dreaded break up between up Marcus Pike and Teresa Lisbon. Marcus, who has not yet transferred to D.C., was still having to work in same space as her and Patrick Jane. And it killed him.

He hated seeing them together. True, he understood that maybe he moved too fast, and that she clearly wasn’t over her feelings for Jane, but it left a bitter seed inside him.

‘Why wasn’t I enough?’

He tried his best not to ruminate on the thoughts, feelings, or memories that would barrage his brain all hours through the day. He tended to run through the motions. His team could tell. His team noticed he was quieter, that he smiled less. There was nothing they could. How does a person help heal a broken heart?

It was about midday when he was informed that he was getting a transfer teammate. They were coming in from the gang unit. So, he got the desk that sat opposite his ready for them.

He was deep into reading a file, vaguely aware that the elevator dinged, when a voice cleared their throat.

He looked up and was surprised by the sight he saw. It was a woman, dressed in pencil skirt and a silk blouse, that fitted her perfectly. She had tattoos up and down her arms, and he could see some on her legs. She had multiple piercings in her ears, and one in her lower lip.

Upon first sight, he expected someone who was going to be gruff and rude but was pleasantly surprised when he heard her speak.

“Hi. Agent Pike? My name is Steel,” Her voice was soft and dainty sounding.

“Steel?” He asked, slightly confused because that was not the name he was given.

She gasped, slapping a hand lightly to her forehead, and gave him her real name.

“Sorry, I’ve been undercover too long. Steel was my nickname,” She apologized by biting her lip softly.

“That’s okay. I like it. Is it because of the piercings or what?” he asked curious, he found her charming.

“That and they said I had ‘nerves of steel.’ I don’t know. It’s silly, but it stuck,” She commented with a shrug.

He smiled and nodded before informing her, “Alright, so here’s where you’ll sit. This pile of folders are all of our open cases so far. Familiarize yourself with them. This isnt the gang unit so it’s not really action-packed, so… sorry if that’s a problem.”

“Not a problem at all. I’m ready for something a bit… calmer. Question though, why is our unit down here? I thought we had an entire floor?” She questioned sitting down.

“We usually do. The floor is being renovated and in a month and a half, half of the team will be going to D.C. so. Kind of just stuck here,” Marcus explained ignoring the pang in his chest as he thought about it.

“Oh. Okay. Would I be included in that half?” She asked quietly.

“Probably. The director will let you know by the end of the week,” He told her before returning to his file.

She nodded her head and took a moment to quietly study him. He was awfully handsome, and she could tell he was probably quite the gentlemen. She knew her body art can be quite the shocker, but his stare never once turned judgmental. In fact, he almost appeared curious about them.

She got to work and slowly met the rest of the team as the day went on. At the end of the day, they offered to buy her a drink, as a celebration. She accepted with a smile and looked over at Marcus who was still working.

“Would you like to join us?” She offered walking over to him.

He looked up at the question and noticed everyone was about to head out.

He politely shook his head, “No. Thank you though.”

She nodded her head once, and gave him a small wave goodbye, as she rejoined the others. They headed to a local pub that was 2 blocks over. They ordered their drinks and were talking amongst themselves.

At one point she noticed, one of the team members, Jack, scoffed quietly. She looked at him confused and followed his gaze over to the table where the other team that they shared space with sat. The others slowly got into a soured mood as they noticed their presence as well.

She whispered, “What’s up? Why are y’all acting weird?”

Amanda, who sat next to her, “So, you were bound to find out. But... the leader over there? Lisbon? Marcus was dating her.”

Chase who sat across from her finished, “He even proposed to her. She accepted but not even an hour later, broke it off to be with the blonde asshat you see with them.”

“So. We don’t like them,” Jack stated rolling his eyes.

Steel mouthed a silent ‘oh.’

“Worst part is, he’s also divorced. He has the worst luck with women and he’s honestly the sweetest guy I know. If I didn’t have a wife, I would take him,” Amanda said with a small sigh.

Steel listened to them, as they told her more stories about their boss. Not one of them seem to have a bad thing to say about him. That night as she went home, she was determined to make him smile again.

It began subtly. She would leave sticky notes randomly on his desk, that told silly jokes/puns or have phrases of encouragement.

His smile would be faint when he would find them. He was well aware of who was leaving them. Only one person had bright pink sticky notes, and she left them sitting on her desk.

Then she began to leave little flowers or candies on his desk. She always acted like she didn’t know what he was talking about when he brought it up. This went on for 2 weeks. When she found out that she would be heading to D.C. with them, she asked Marcus if he would be okay with helping her pack up some things. With it being a month away, most of them had the majority of their things packed up already.

He agreed to help with a smile.

That weekend, they went and got boxes and tubs galore. Her house was two-story townhouse. She fortunately, didn’t have stuff in every room, but she did have quite the library. Which is what he wound up helping her with the most.

They spent a great deal of time talking about books, especially over lunch and dinner. They were finishing up in the library later that evening when Marcus paused for a moment.

“How… how many tattoos do you have?” He asked eventually.

“Quite a few. I plan to get more as well. Piercings is probably easier to tell you,” She mentioned offhandedly.

“You have more than what I can see?” He inquired looking at her closely.

She giggled and cleared her throat before explaining “So I have 5 in each ear. My lip. Umm. This is probably too much info for my boss to know but I also had my nipples pierced anddd.. someplace else.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, his mouth dropping. “Wow.”

“Well, I had to get rid of,” She gestured to her chest. “when I began in the academy, so I technically don’t have them anymore. Uh. Tis not fun to run with them.”

He blushed lightly at that and chuckled softly, looking away.

“And… I think that’s enough on the TMI portion from my end. Um. Do you have any body modifications?” She asked awkwardly trying to get the focus off of her.

“No. I do not. Um. Always thought about getting a tattoo but was never brave enough to do it,” He mentioned as he took a seat on a tub.

“Really? Well. Maybe when we are in D.C., we can go get you a tattoo. I’d hold your hand and everything,” She suggested sitting next to him.

“I’d like that. Even the hand-holding part,” He teased lightly.

They stared at each, looking softly at one another. Her eyes glanced down at his lips briefly, wondering what they would feel like against hers.

He slowly leaned forward, his hand brushing along her jaw. She hesitantly closed the gap, pressing her lips against his. She pulled away slightly, trying to make sure he was okay with this. He pulled her back to him and kissed her more firmly. The passion was unhurried, building up gradually. When they pulled away, they were both breathless.  

“Wow,” She whispered looking down, feeling her cheeks warm up.

Marcus cleared his throat and said, “I really like you… and I’m sure you’ve heard… about my previous relationship. If… if it doesn’t bother you… I’d like to be with you but… if.. if we could take it slowly?”

She looked up at him, stunned. “Honestly… I was worried you were about to say that was a mistake. I don’t mind taking this slowly. I just got out of pretty bad relationship myself to be honest. But I like you. A lot.”

He bit his lip briefly and nodded his head. “If I may, since we only really got a room done… maybe tomorrow I can take you out to lunch as a date before tackling the next room?”

“I’d like that,” She agreed softly smiling brightly at him.

She walked him to the door, and she started to tell him goodbye, but stopped.

“I know we agreed to take it slowly… but can I kiss you again?” She requested, fiddling with a lock of hair nervously.

He stepped forward, leaned down, and pressed his lips to hers in response. She slowly wrapped her hands around his neck, burying them in his hair, as she kissed back.

The kiss was shorter but still just as passionate.

As he pulled away, he quietly confirmed, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She nodded telling him goodbye as he walked out. She locked the door with a sigh. She felt super giddy and couldn’t wait to see him again tomorrow.

Marcus, as he stepped into his car, felt happy. Something he hadn’t felt in a while. He looked forward to seeing Steel again. That night, as he got ready for bed, he realized… that not once that day… did his mind ever think of Lisbon. Even now, as he settled into his bed, he wasn’t riddled with thoughts or memories of their doomed relationship. He fell asleep thinking of woman covered in tattoos and piercings.

[clvmtines]

welcome aboard, clementine martinez, student #2. we are excited to set sail with you !  has anyone told you that you look like alexa demie? according to our records, you hail from florida, usa, prefer she / her pronouns, are a cis woman, and are here to study creative writing. we also see you received a spot on the ss university because of your online lottery win — we won’t tell anyone. during your first few weeks here, other students said you were + charming, + free-spirited, but also - restive. it sounds like you spend most of your time at the billiards room. upon checking your luggage, we noticed you packed a casino chip carried around for luck from home. hopefully your roommates don’t steal it!

hi friends! i’m very excited to be here. i’m jay (est, she/her) n i used to play astrid nyland a few months ago if anyone remembers bt i had to leave for personal reasons. i’m so glad to be back now that i hve life sorted and some free time for summer break <3 read on for some details abt this new muse of mine, clementine. 

01. biography !

so ! clementine was born in florida. & yes, her real name is clementine. her mom thot it was the cutest name idea ever. clementine mostly goes by clem. she comes from the town [redacted] in florida bcoz i am too lazy to look up a specific town <3 but alas ! it was swampy and humid and she lived in a trailer park. 

her parents got knocked up at nineteen. clem was born nine months after a particularly wild 1999 fourth of july. her birthday is march 26th and she’s an aries. 

(TW: addiction, child injury) clem’s dad was a gambling addict and petty criminal—he wld steal credit cards n whatnot. he wld gamble away diaper money n it would cause constant fighting until her dad finally left. her mom took this very hard n began drinking a bit too often, leaving clem to to make cereal for dinner n fend for herself. once clem tried to make hot dogs on the stove and spilled boiling water on herself. got a p bad burn on her arm/shoulder and still has a big scar.

the soundtrack of her childhood was cicadas buzzing and stray dogs barking. the sizzle and pop of natty light cans. turning up her ipod to max volume to drown out the sounds of her mother fighting with her new boyfriend.

throughout her upbringing, clem’s dad was always in and out of the picture. he’d blow into town when he hit it big. he’d take her on these little “adventures” like staying in a motel 6 n renting movies at block buster n ordering good pizza nt the dominos shit she ate with her mom lol. ofc he was charging it all to someone’s stolen credit card. he’d always promise to, like, take clem away. n clem was a daddy’s girl so she believed him. the last time it happened was her h.s. graduation. her mom didn’t show ( "overslept” after a bender ) but her dad did and surprised her n said everything wld be different. bt then he bailed on their plans for the next day n when she called his cell, the number was disconnected. tht was the defining “i’m done” moment. clem promised to never be disappointed by her father again.

(TW: racism) her mother has mexican ancestry and clem’s always been called her twin. but clem was raised in a predominately white area and honestly ?? it was really hard without her even realizing it. she’s still unpacking a lot of things today abt her youth that jst weren’t okay bt she thought were normal. like microaggressions, stereotypes, being fetishized by boys in high school. gross shit.

as a kid, clem was rumored to be really poor bc she wore tattered clothes n got free lunch at school. once she invited a friend to her house & the next day they told everyone it’s in a trailer park. that reputation—the “trailer park girl”—was really hard to shake. and clem got almost desperate to shake it. she was endlessly trying to set her old self on fire and emerge from the ashes like a phoenix.

eventually clem became more “popular”. in school she was, like, a straight b student. very average although super creative and quick-thinking. she always had street smarts. problem solving skills. independence. more of, like, practical intelligence as opposed to book smarts because academia bores her tbh. she was like why am i reading these overrated boring books by dead white men or learning abt polynomials when i know nothing abt how to pay a mortage or do taxes. like...she saw the american education system as bullshit and put in modest effort because she didn’t believe it deserved her sweat and tears. 

however, she entered the online lottery for the seas program on a whim and got in. so she’s studying creative writing now.

02. personality !

first thing you shld know abt clem is that she’s a compulsive liar essentially—she tells various stories to make her life seem better than what it was. to one person, she’s an heiress to a real estate company and grew up wealthy. to the next she was raised by nomadic hippies. some of her lies are small fibs while others are grandiose tales. she rarely talks about her actual upbringing. she hates talking abt her family or the v real trauma of growing up in a household where both parents struggled w/ addiction; the uncertainty, the broken promises, the fact that she had to grow up so soon and deal w/ so much. it wasn’t fair, and if she thinks about it too much, she feels this anger. anger at the universe. anger at her circumstances. she doesn’t know where to put this anger. she doesn’t know how to shrink it. so she avoids it.

despite her rough upbringing, though, clem is actually really sweet and kind. she’s adventurous, fun-loving, free-spirited, and bold. 

bt ! she can also be closed-off, competitive and restive. 

she’s seemingly tight with everyone? like she’s jst that girl who can get along with anyone tbh. 

in her spare time you can catch her tanning by the pool, hanging at the bar, playing pool ( which she learned from her dad ), and socializing. she’ll never say no to hanging out with people. 

she learned a lot from her little “adventures” with her dad, who was very good at conning others and often involved her in his dumb little scams. clem is suuuper good at pulling the ‘im baby 🥺’ card to get what she wants.

she can be a little selfish, because she grew up looking out for herself. 

stubborn and dogmatic as hell !!!

she doesn’t do too many relationships but when she does fall, i imagine she falls hard and fast. she refuses to be made a fool of, tho. when she gets vulnerable she flashes back to being a kid, waiting all day for her dad to show up only to have him bail on her. again. she hates that feeling. so if she, like, senses a shift in someone’s energy she’ll b like, “i’ll break up with u before u can do it to me” and the person wasn’t even tryna dump her lmao.

has a lot of sex. too much ?? sex?? mayb. but she’s v sex positive.

her personal style is v late 90s. hair clips, big scrunchies, neon, fur trim, crop and tube tops, hoop earrings, chokers, patterns, platform shoes, biodegradable glitter cuz it’s good fr the earth *winks*. clothes from o-mighty.......actually jst google o mighty, pull up the images and That is clem. she dresses like a bratz doll. she’s dedicated to the aesthetic.

03. headcanons !

her item brought from home is a hot pink poker chip from a casino. her dad gave it to her. he said it reminded him of her because of the color; he got it during one of his winning streaks and said it was lucky. she has a complicated relationship w/ her dad n doesn’t even speak to him anymore, bt she will never go anywhere without it.

she’s a smol bean—only 5′4

an astrology girl and she reads palms ! she absolutely makes astrology tik toks that people only watch because she’s hot. her flirting technique is to ask you to read your palm.

she doesn’t typically drink to get drunk. but she does love a good sugary cocktail. to her, a drink is like an accessory. a blue fishbowl by the pool, a jack and coke as she stands around a bar. usually she'll nurse the same beverage for a while. if you see her wasted it usually means she’s going thru it emotionally lol. the one thing she does do is drugs tho 

pretty much listens to exclusively female artists.

a bit of an activist. environmentalism, feminism and the like, she’s v outspoken. vegan for ethical reasons (TW: drugs) bt still does cocaine. she wears shirts with ‘my pussy my choice’ bedazzled on the front.

loves to rollerblade ! back home she didn’t have a car so she’d bike or rollerblade. now she still has her blades and she’ll use them when the ship docks. 

03. wanted connections !

Friends, bffs, ride or dies, friends who are like siblings to her, maybe a friend with an unrequited crush on either side ??

an ex she dumped/cheated on/otherwise self sabotaged their relationship because she was afraid of vulnerability.

an ex friend who realized she lies a lot abt herself n felt betrayed. OH ! ESP if they opened up to her on many occasions abt intimate, personal stuff. imagine the betrayal they felt when they found that everything they thought they knew abt clem is a lie.

someone who she actually opens up to. a confidant. or, maybe, like, a stranger she drunkenly spilled her soul to and now she avoids them like the plague.

a rival. clem can be competitive.

her drug dealer 

someone she knows she shouldn’t hook up with and… does it anyways. like a friend’s ex or smthing. spicy <3

i welcome anything !

[offspring-of-calliope]

Pins and Needles (Newsies Gang AU)

Chapter 3

Description: Davey's and Les' first day as Newsies and they already meet the famous Katherine Plumber.

words: 1675

warnings: There's no warnings on this chapter but if I did miss something triggering, feel free to tell me.

A/N: I know that there are only approximately two people and a shoelace who are even interested in this story but still - I'm sorry for not having updated this in ages. I kinda had a big writer's block which I've overcame for now, I guess, but we'll see how long that may last.

Also, just stating the obvious here but considering latest complications between my gender and me, I changed my username from "daughterofcalliope" to "offspring-of-calliope", I hope that's not too confusing.

As always, feel free to tell me if I've made some mistakes considering grammar or spelling. Comments in general are very appreciated.

I hope you enjoy it at least a little bit,

Sincerely me,

Lélo

-----

If David had thought that the Manhattan Newsies had been loud before, now he was convinced that the concept of volume got a whole new meaning when being around these boys. Selling with them was like sitting in the front row of an opera performance you hadn't even planned to attend.

David sighed. His thoughts were so misleading that he feared that people who he'd tell them to might think he hated the Manhattan Newsies. It was quite the opposite. Despite his urge to keep everything in order, to not overstep boundaries and to behave like a mature boy his age, being with the chaos that were the Manhattan Newsies filled his insides with joy.

The people he talked to at school couldn't really classify as real friends, seeing as their discussions were always aimed at topics they'd covered in their lessons or some other things that didn't relate a lot to something like free time. They were always so serious and David sometimes felt as if the other people didn't even want to talk to him more than absolutely necessary. With the Newsies, it was different. Some of them were even regularly trying to include him in their conversations, to find out about him as a person. Ironically, every one of them seemed to make a better spy than him, who couldn't even think of important questions to ask them that would lead to something that Sarah could work with.

Right after leaving the circulation gate, some kids named Kid Blink – a guy with an eyepatch and a charming smile –, Race – who constantly had an unlit cigar dangling between his lips – and Jojo – who had the most animated facial expression David had ever witnessed – had pestered him to tell them if Italian or Spanish was the more beguiling language. (While they'd been bickering, David had started to regret telling them that he was currently teaching himself Spanish. That had been the trigger that had started his inclusion to the debate.) The whole conflict had been postponed when a guy named Romeo had loudly declared that neither Spanish nor Italian was the real answer and that no language was as enthralling as his love language. Then, he'd proceeded to lure a pretty woman to buy a paper from him – the other Newsies were too nice to make him aware of the fact that she'd only bought the pape to escape his flirting – by sweetly talking in a language David didn't know. (It had been Tagalog, as Jack had later explained to him.)

Yet in his defence, David had also managed to overhear some conversations that hadn't been for him to hear – cue his bad conscience. One conversation in particular had irritated him. Some redhead – Albert was his name, he distantly recalled – had at one point asked Race if “it was cloudy up there”. That in itself hadn't been confusing since it was indeed very cloudy this day but Race's answer had been: “Oh, don't worry, I was just thinkin' 'bout somethin'. Everything's sunny as could be.” The sun didn't even shine! But maybe that was just a code David simply didn't understand.

“Sing 'em to sleep, will ya?” A voice was breaking through his thoughts and David only now registered that he had been blaring the words “Extra, extra! Does somebody want a paper?” for quite some time without actively concentrating on actually selling some newspapers.

The owner of the voice, Jack, - because of course it was Jack, why did Jack always seem to be near him? - took the most recent newspaper from his hand and exclaimed: “Extra, extra! Terrifying flight from burnin' inferno! You can hear the story right here!” It didn't take long for some guy to come and buy the paper.

David scoffed. “This story isn't even in the paper.”

“Well, I didn't say that, did I?” Jack retorted, a cheeky grin on his face.

“My father taught us not to lie,” David said, clutching the remaining newspapers in his hand tighter. He didn't want Jack to take papers from him again, or else it might become a habit for the other boy.

Jack only shook his head, holding one of his own papers into the air. “And mine taught me not to starve. Seems we both got an education.”

“Jack, Jack, look how few papes I got left now! I did everything you said I should do and the people just wouldn't stop buying the papes!” An excited Les ran over to them, smiling brightly and holding up some money for David to put away. “This is so much better than school,” he added.

“Don't even think it.” David tried his best to put on his strict-older-brother face.

A few feet away, Jack laughed. “At least someone listens to me.”

“Yeah, maybe if you'd start to actually say some things that are true, it'll be something worth listening to,” David answered. He didn't even know where the sudden burst of confidence came from. At first it had been difficult for him to focus around the leader of the Manhattan Newsies. However, after getting to know Jack a little, focusing was still difficult but now he couldn't suppress taking out his frustration on the other boy.

“I see you're making a habit out of attracting people who will put you in your place some time.” Suddenly there was another voice and upon turning around, David surprisingly found himself face to face with Katherine Plumber.

“Hello, Miss. Can I interest you in the latest news?” Jack said and his smile grew somehow even bigger. It made David's stomach twitch.

Katherine chuckled and held her hands up. The fabric of her dress wrinkled around her elbows and David noticed some spots on her clothes that were patched up. He'd always assumed that rich people would just buy new clothes when their old ones were torn but apparently Katherine didn't fit this assumption. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, Kelly, but I've bought two papers already. One from Specs this morning, the other from the little boy here.” She was pointing at Les. “He truly is a talented student of yours.”

“Hey!” Les exclaimed. “I'm not that little!”

“Of course not! But compared to Jack's ego, everything is little,” Katherine conceded amused.

Jack, who had somehow managed to sell a paper during the former exchange, crossed his arms before his chest. “Why are you all hating on me now? First Davey, then ya, too. That reminds me – Les, Davey, meet the wonderful Katherine Plumber. Kath, that's Davey and his brother Les.”

It seemed as if Katherine only now started to examine David closer. It made him so nervous that he completely forgot to tell her that it was actually David and not Davey – nobody had ever called him Davey before and he didn't know what to think of that – and without further ado, his hands started to flutter. Eventually, Katherine smiled and said, “Nice to meet you both. Say, do we know each other already? I feel like I've seen you before.”

Panic bubbled up in David's stomach. Did she somehow know that he was Sarah's brother? What if she suspected something and the whole charade – which hadn't really been that good to begin with – blew up? He looked over to Les, maybe to search for help, maybe to feel a little more at ease. And then he remembered that indeed, he had talked to Katherine before. Relieved, he let out a breath. “Yes, we already met each other once. Or better, we talked once on the street. I'm a big admirer of your work, Miss Plumber.”

“Oh, please, just call me Katherine. Kath is fine as well, friends of Jacks are also friends of mine. And thank you, I appreciate that. Perhaps we could talk more about this topic another time? I'm kind of in a rush right now but I would like to hear your opinion on some of my articles – I got this feeling that lately, something is missing but I haven't really been able to figure out, what.” Katherine was just as modest and friendly as he remembered. It was interesting that she also had a teasing side on her when it came to Jack, apparently.

David blushed. “It would be an honour, really.”

“Great,” Katherine said, then proceeded to pat both his and Les' shoulders. “Kelly, it was nice seeing you, maybe I'll stop by the lodging house later.”

“Well, it's not like you's paid a lota attention to me,” Jack retorted with a teasing grin. “Don't flirt with my colleagues that much, a boy might get jealous.”

David only registered Katherine's laugh after that. He didn't really know why but something in him refused to listen further. Well, he did know why but it was totally unfair and irrational of him to be jealous of Katherine. It was not like he was interested in Jack or something. The boy was frustrating and distracting, always had a snarky remark on his tongue and – as even Katherine had said – had a really big ego.

That was also really fragile, at least as far as he could see. The way Jack's smile had faltered for a second upon Kath's remark. The way he wouldn't take credit for the thoughtful things he'd do, like tying Crutchie's shoelaces or trying to help Romeo to court a pretty girl that had watched them doing an impromptu dance performance for a while.

“Hey, Davey.” Breath on his ear, Jack's presence right next to his – didn't he know of some thing called personal space? “If ya keep starin' at Kath like that, maybe I should draw a picture of her and pin it to yer head for a day, aye?”

David sighed and elbowed Jack in the side. Forget the thoughts of Jack being thoughtful – the boy was such an idiot.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 24: Helen Richardson

It’s been almost five hours that Helen has been making the rounds of this particular house. It’s a Grade II listed building, which means that on top of the usual bankers, executives, dentists, and barristers traipsing through, she has a few people she’s fairly certain can’t afford the building but who are clearly interested in what a historic home that can be lived in might look like, despite the fact that the interior has been redone several times. She’s a little more brusque with them than the others—nothing that can be complained about, of course, just on the off-chance they are actually able and, more importantly, willing to buy it, but there’s no point in wasting her time on someone she won’t earn a commission from.

She checks her list. She has one last viewing scheduled for the afternoon, and she frowns slightly at the entry. She’s not certain how to pronounce the last name, which instantly puts her on edge, and she’s a little bit annoyed that whoever put together her appointment schedule didn’t proofread it before they printed it.

It’s only when she answers the door that she realizes that her list is actually meant to say Dr. and Mr. Walter Koskiewicz.

“Ms. Richardson?” one of the two men says. His voice is far more polished and refined than she would have expected. He’s neatly dressed in a pearl-grey button-down, tailored black pants, and a discreet but expensive-looking watch. His bearing is assured and confident, and despite the warm smile on his face, he moves like a man accustomed to obedience, respect, and wielding a decent amount of power.

Still, Helen is hard-pressed to keep her distaste from showing. The man’s silver-streaked dark hair is longer than she thinks is decent for someone in a position of authority and worn in a style more appropriate to a twenty-something entrepreneur running an experimental tech start-up than the middle-aged academic he appears (she guesses the “doctor” title is more in the nature of a Ph.D. than a medical degree). He’s also covered in scars, round and slightly ridged, pale against his brown skin, and she can’t even begin to guess where they came from, but it’s probably not something she wants to even think about, let alone know about.

And then there’s his…husband?

They’re an odd-looking couple, to be sure. The second man is at least a head taller than the first and decidedly fatter—Helen thinks uncharitably of an illustration in the book of nursery rhymes she had as a child depicting Jack Spratt and his wife—with blue eyes and fair skin dusted with freckles. His hair is short and curly, a mix of caramel and white, which is the only clue that he’s probably around the same age as the other man. He doesn’t hold himself with the same assurance and authority; while he’s smiling as well, he actually seems more than a little nervous. He’s dressed just as neatly and professionally as the first man, but he’s clinging to the first man’s arm very tightly. She can’t tell if it’s out of nerves or possessiveness or what, and she almost wants to tell him that she’s not interested in his man.

Instead, she schools her expression as best as she can. “Yes, I’m Helen Richardson.” Normally she would ask if they are the last name on her list, but she doesn’t really want to try and pronounce it, so she simply waits.

“I’m Dr. Walter Koskiewicz,” the first man says smoothly, holding out his hand. It bears the same round scars as his face, with the addition of what looks like the remains of a severe burn on his hand, which makes Helen extremely reluctant to touch it. “This is my husband Kieran. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Helen says. She accepts his hand for a perfunctory shake and keeps her professional smile on her face despite the somewhat unpleasant feel of the thing. She ought to offer her hand to the other as well, but frankly she just wants to get this over. “Shall we begin the tour?”

“Of course.” Is it her imagination, or does Dr. Koskiewicz sound slightly disappointed?

Helen launches into the by-now familiar script as she begins showing the two men around the house. Dr. Koskiewicz makes several remarks that seem rather banal to her regarding the decor, and she finds herself wondering what his field is. She can’t place what Mr. Koskiewicz does for a living, either. She’d almost suspect he was simply arm candy if he was younger and fitter, but unless he’s let himself go to seed a great deal, there has to be a reason beyond that they married. And in her experience, most men whose trophy wives no longer meet a certain standard of attractiveness obtain divorces and trade in for a newer model. It may be different for gay men, though—how would she know? Of course, Dr. Koskiewicz isn’t exactly a beauty prize himself, and considering this house is on the lower end of the pricing spectrum for the sorts of places Helen usually shows, he likely isn’t as well-off as all that, comparatively. So it’s entirely possible he simply doesn’t want to rid himself of an old spouse until he’s lined up a new one.

It’s also possible that they’re actually in love, but Helen wouldn’t know about that either.

As they approach the kitchen, she begins mentally wagering with herself on whether or not they are actually interested in purchasing the house. Usually the kitchen is where the distinction comes in. It’s had all modern appliances and new counters and cabinets put in, so generally speaking, the people who are only there for curiosity’s sake start asking questions about when it was renovated and how permission was obtained and what it looked like before (Helen has no idea; the renovations were done some years ago, per the specs, and she wasn’t even working for Wolverton Kendrick then) and, often, rant about destroying the historical significance of the house, even though it’s only a Grade II. At least it enables her to weed them out as having an intent to buy before they see what’s been done to the upstairs. The serious buyers will peer in but not usually show much interest in it, considering most of them have someone to do the cooking for them, or else comment on the colors or the brand of the appliances.

She doesn’t tell the two men this, of course, only gives them the standard patter about the timing of the upgrades as she leads them in to show them the door to the back garden. Dr. Koskiewicz checks in the doorway and turns to his husband. “It’s a bit narrow. Do you want to go first?”

“You go ahead,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. It’s the first thing he’s said since he came into the house, and his voice definitely isn’t as polished as the doctor’s. Helen wonders if he’s an academic as well, just not as highly distinguished a one—a librarian, maybe? He also has a faint accent she can’t quite place. She can’t tell if they’re both foreign and Dr. Koskiewicz just had better teachers, or if, odd as it may seem, Dr. Koskiewicz chose to take his less-impressive husband’s surname rather than whatever name he had before. “Just warn me before you stop.”

“Of course.” Dr. Koskiewicz kisses him on the cheek, then moves forward to follow Helen.

She watches Mr. Koskiewicz for a moment, and then it hits her all of a sudden. He’s blind. She didn’t notice at first because of his glasses—clear glass, not sunglasses—and his eyes look, well, normal, not cloudy or scarred like she might have expected. The fact that he can pass himself off as a normal person bothers her, for some reason. However, the couple appears to be in the class of being able to afford the house, so she’s not going to risk saying something that might offend him, or his husband. She merely continues with her spiel.

“What are the schools like in the area?” Mr. Koskiewicz asks as they come back in from the back garden. The question makes Helen miss a step. The sorts of people who usually buy homes from Wolverton Kendrick normally have their children taught at home, and the older ones tend to get sent away to boarding school. It’s so unheard-of for her to get that question that she hasn’t even bothered to familiarize herself with the answer.

“How old are your children?” she asks, to buy herself a bit of time while she sneaks a quick glance at the folder. Surely there’s something in there about area schools. Surely.

“Oh, we don’t have any yet,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “At the moment, it’s only the two of us and the cat. We’ve begun the application process to adopt, though, and we’re hoping to be matched soon. It’s why we’re looking at homes. Our current living situation is spacious enough, I suppose, but…not necessarily somewhere you’d want to raise a child. Or children, as the case may be. We’re hoping for more than one, at some point.”

“Well, then, you’ll have time to select the right schools.” Helen manages to find the data on local primary schools and reads off the statistics in her file. She tries to make it sound like she already knew the information, but the steady look Dr. Koskiewicz gives her makes her suspect he knows she was unprepared for it, which makes her tense and a little angry. It’s not her fault they chose to ask about something so unusual.

As they head up the stairs, she decides to fish about a bit for some information. The problem is that she still isn’t confident that she’ll pronounce their name properly, and the last thing she wants is to be condescended to. That’s the way with these academic types, she’s often found; they have a little bit of power and wield it like a weapon, especially over a woman or someone they perceive to be beneath them. So in order to get the information she wants, she’ll need to come at it sideways.

“Are you at Kings College?” she asks, casually, trying to sound as if she doesn’t care one way or another if he does.

“No, I work in Chelsea,” Dr. Koskiewicz replies. At first she thinks that’s all she’s going to get, but after a moment, he adds, “I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Magnus Institute?”

Helen isn’t, not really, but she’ll chew off her own arm before she admits that. It never goes over well with clients when you profess ignorance of their profession; they always get offended if they think you should have heard of them, or at least what they do, and you haven’t. Besides, she doesn’t want to wind up in the middle of a history lesson on a non-profit or a think tank or whatever the Magnus Institute qualifies as. Best to hedge her bets. “Quite a prestigious institution,” she says in as neutral a voice as she can.

“You might say it’s outstanding in its field,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. His voice is almost as bland and neutral as Helen’s.

“It’s where we met,” Dr. Koskiewicz informs Helen. She glances over his shoulder to see him smile at Mr. Koskiewicz in a way that makes her stomach turn over. “I was hired as a researcher, he was in the library.”

Helen feels a slight stab of vindication—she was right about Mr. Koskiewicz—but it’s layered with a veneer of disgust about the whole situation. This isn’t the sort of neighborhood that would normally welcome people like them, she doesn’t think. Some of these high-end neighborhoods are getting a bit more diverse, but these two are a bit much all at once. She’ll admit that Mr. Koskiewicz seems normal enough, at least to all outward appearances, but he’s very clearly the less powerful of the two, and his blindness is definitely a point against him.

Upstairs in the home are four rooms designated as bedrooms, and used as such by the current owners, but which can also be studies or something similar if need be. She delivers the usual speech extolling the virtues of the rooms. Mr. Koskiewicz is listening rather intently, but to her surprise and slight annoyance, Dr. Koskiewicz seems distracted. He keeps examining every door intently, peering into the spaces in between, like he’s looking for evidence of woodworm or wants to see the details of the construction. There’s something a bit unsettling about it.

“Calm down, serce, you’re going to give me a headache,” Mr. Koskiewicz murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I know, it’s—” Dr. Koskiewicz sighs and squeezes his husband’s hand before turning to Helen. “Ms. Richardson. Have you ever noticed…something unusual in this house? Or any house you were showing? Like…a door that shouldn’t be there?”

“I’m…sorry?” Helen says cautiously. She’s had some weird questions asked before. She’s been asked about whether or not a basement can be made watertight (not waterproof, the client had insisted, he wanted to fill the basement with water and have a subterranean swimming pool and wanted to know if it was possible). She’s been asked about a room’s suitability for rituals to the Old Gods and about whether it contained enough space for an exorcism. She’s been asked if homes are haunted, if any murders have taken place in them, and if they might have secret tunnels used by robbers or counterfeiters. But being asked if she’s ever seen a door that shouldn’t be there? That’s new.

“It’s not a trick question, Ms. Richardson. Have you ever encountered a door in a place you weren’t expecting—yellow, perhaps?”

Okay, this is definitely weird. And a yellow door? Why is he being so emphatic about it? Her smile is slipping. The worst of it is that Helen doesn’t know the right answer. The truth, of course, is that she has no idea what he’s talking about. Of course she hasn’t seen any appearing or disappearing doors. She deals firmly in reality. She’s never seen a ghost, never spotted a UFO, never met anyone possessed by a demon. She doesn’t believe in magic, or have much truck with religion—she goes to church services with her mother on Christmas and Easter, but that’s about it, and she’s not sure how much of it she actually buys into. Certainly she’s never seen a door that wasn’t exactly where the house plan said it should be.

But she’s also usually fairly good at judging why a client is asking about such things. Some of the people who ask about murders or hauntings are fearful. Others are hopeful. The answer is almost always actually no, especially if it’s about the supernatural, but when she senses a client who will pay extra to be haunted or to be able to claim a salacious history to their new home, she’ll make something up, then jot it down after the client leaves just in case someone else asks before the first client commits to the sale. Very, very occasionally, there is an actual alleged haunting attached to the house—and once she really did have a house on the market that may have been lived in by a serial killer during the height of his crimes—but she’s good at spinning the story properly whether it’s something the owners disclosed to her or she made it up on the spot. The trouble is that she doesn’t know if Dr. Koskiewicz wants this alleged door to be there or not.

After a heartbeat, she decides on honesty. Frankly, she doubts they’re actually going to buy the house, regardless of what she says. At least this way she doesn’t have to pretend to have seen an unexpected door, be asked to describe it, and get caught out in a lie. That won’t do much for her credibility, or her commissions. You never know what kind of influence people actually have and they might spread around that she can’t be trusted.

“I can’t say that I have, Dr…” She trails off as she realizes she still doesn’t know how to pronounce his name properly.

“Koskiewicz,” Mr. Koskiewicz supplies. He’s studying Helen intently, making her wonder if she was wrong about him being blind…but no, he’s just looking in her direction, but seeming to focus on a point slightly to the left of her. It’s actually more than a little creepy and she wishes he would stop. “That’s a good thing, Ms. Richardson. A very good thing.”

“Please, allow me to explain,” Dr. Koskiewicz says, sliding his arm around Mr. Koskiewicz’s waist. “We at the Magnus Institute study the paranormal and the supernatural. One of the phenomena I have been studying involves this…door that keeps turning up unexpectedly. You might say it’s a rather persistent haunting. And it’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”

“I see,” Helen says politely. She hopes he’s not about to lecture her. There is nothing she finds less enjoyable than an academic explaining his pet project or particular area of study to her. She would, in complete honesty, rather jam a sharp stick into her eardrums. And the paranormal? Definitely not an area she has any interest in. The historians she can just about tolerate, as she occasionally learns something worth sharing about a house she’s showing that can bump up the price if the right party hears it. But she really isn’t sure she can sell a haunted door as a feature. Unless this mysterious door comes with a ghost of some kind, but really, that seems a bit ludicrous. And there’s no guarantee it would be tied to any one particular house. There’s no resale value in it.

“But you haven’t seen anything like that,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “You’re certain?”

“Very,” Helen says firmly. “I would remember.”

Dr. Koskiewicz studies her, then nods. “Good. Very good. I’d hate to raise a child in a house with that hanging about.” He laughs and adds, “I’m not altogether certain the Professor would be all that thrilled with it, either.”

Helen raises an eyebrow before she can catch herself. “Ah, if you have an adult housemate, this room right here also has an en-suite bathroom. Not as grand as the master suite, of course, but certainly private and well-appointed.”

“The Professor is our cat,” Mr. Koskiewicz says with a smile. “I doubt he needs a whole room to himself, but we do appreciate your point. Perhaps a room for an oldest child.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Koskiewicz agrees, the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards. “Someday.”

Unbelievably, there’s still a chance Helen can make this sale. She still isn’t sure she wants to, but there’s a chance. She slips back into the familiar patter, rattling off the specs and amenities of the house and neighborhood. Now that they’ve dealt with the ridiculous question about an unexpected yellow door, it’s a lot easier.

She winds down the spiel as they head down the steps. Dr. Koskiewicz asks several questions, more normal ones than asking about the supernatural or the paranormal, and from the sorts of things he asks, she thinks she gleans a bit more information about the pair of them. Certainly enough to tailor her closing speech properly, anyway. It’s something she prides herself on. She tends to get the bigger commissions from her employers because she can sell houses most people have given up on, at a higher price than the seller is asking, by targeting specific things about the potential buyers—either something they’ve shown interest in regarding the house, or something they’ve let slip about themselves that she can exploit. Admittedly, she’s prone to occasionally exaggerating a teeny bit, and sometimes downplaying things she can be sure won’t show up as a hit on a pre-sale inspection, but nobody’s ever come back to complain about it. As long as the company does well out of it, nobody really cares.

She delivers the closing remarks, highlighting those things she thinks they’ll be drawn to, and talks up the amenities. She decides not to mention her concerns about how well-received they would be in the neighborhood, since neither of them looks like they belong; if they buy the house and find out their neighbors are going to make their lives miserable, well, that’s not really on her, and maybe she’ll get the listing if they decide to resell. Not that she’s necessarily hoping for that, but hey, a commission is a commission.

“Contact me if you decide you want to buy,” she finally says, handing Dr. Koskiewicz her card. He studies it for a moment, then pulls out a leather wallet and tucks the card inside. “I understand you’ll need to think this over, but if you’re interested, you may want to hurry. There was a couple in this morning willing to put in an offer.”

It’s a lie, of course; these two are the most intent viewers she’s shown the house to yet, and nobody’s made an offer. The house also hasn’t been on the market very long. But she’s learned that dangling that bit of bait often gets people to put in a higher offer. The owners want two and a quarter million, but she wonders if she can get these two to go to two and a half or maybe even more. She might even be able to get them up to three, which of course means a bonus for her.

“I can assure you that you’ll be the first to know, once we’ve talked it over,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. He holds out his hand. “Thank you very much, Ms. Richardson.”

“Of course.” Helen gives him her most professional smile and accepts his hand, trying not to wince at the feel of the scar tissue against her palm. She means to give it another quick shake and move on, but he tightens his grip slightly, holding her still, and stares at her intensely. It’s extremely uncomfortable.

“Please be careful,” he says quietly. “And if you do run into…anything unusual…I urge you to come to the Institute. You’ve been so kind to us. It’s the least we can do.”

Helen has no idea what he means, or what she should be worried about. And she doesn’t feel like she’s been especially kind, unless the other real estate agents they’ve dealt with have been more openly hostile about their foreignness and their homosexuality and his scars and his husband’s disability. But she’s not stupid enough to say that out loud.

“I assure you,” she says, fighting to keep her smile in place. “If anything unusual happens, you will be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Koskiewicz releases her hand, but he keeps staring at her intently.

Mr. Koskiewicz holds out his hand uncertainly in her direction. “Thank you for being so helpful and direct. It’s refreshing to not feel…misled.”

Helen accepts his hand uncertainly, but honestly, after the doctor’s, it’s a relief—soft and fleshy to be sure, but he doesn’t grip overly hard, and it’s not as dry or, well, corrupted. Still, she’s a little unnerved by his statement, or more accurately by the way he says it, like it’s some sort of joke she doesn’t get. “Certainly. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I wasn’t.” She takes a half-step back and manages another smile. “Have a nice evening.”

“You as well.” Dr. Koskiewicz takes Mr. Koskiewicz’ arm and leads him to the door.

Helen, as is her habit, walks them to the door and watches them head down the path. Then, unable to stand it, she quickly hurries after them and peeps through a gap in the privacy fence sheltering the front garden. She doesn’t know much about cars and isn’t sure what she’s expecting, but the battered, ancient Ford Escort isn’t it.

She stares, utterly gobsmacked, as Dr. Koskiewicz opens the door for Mr. Koskiewicz, then goes around to get in the driver’s seat. The engine coughs and chokes for a moment before it catches and the car pulls away. It somehow doesn’t fit with the image she cultivated of the two of them. Either they have less money than she thought, or they have as much money as they do because they don’t spend a lot of money on new vehicles.

Either way, she thinks, glancing at her watch, her appointments are over for the day. She’s free until eight o’clock tomorrow morning and can go get something to eat, and she decides then and there that she is going to have a martini. Maybe two.

She rather thinks she’s earned them. Even if she doesn’t make a commission off of this one.

[queenbirbs]

the open door | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC

Warnings: swearing, some brief mentions of corpses and body horror, spooks and possible spectres 

Word count: 7.7k

Premise: Bryce invites Sloane, Sienna, and Aurora on a tour of a haunted estate on the night before Halloween. What could go wrong?  

Notes: I’m super bummed that we didn’t get a Halloween-themed chapter for this book, especially since it’s my favorite holiday. Takes place post chapter 11, though I’ve played with the timeline a bit to include Halloween. Re-post because it fell out of the tag, as posts seem to want to do as of late. 

Taglist: @maurine07 @caseyvalentineramsey

 ------

“You are aware there’s no such thing as witches, right?” 

“Well, yeah,” Bryce scoffs. “Maybe. Besides, I said she was rumored to be a witch. That’s a whole different thing.”

“Oh, right, of course it is.” In the backseat, Aurora rolls her eyes. “Just tell that to all the people killed during the Salem witch trials due to mass hysteria.”

“Hey, now -- it’s not like she was killed for being a witch.”

“Right. She pulled a classic Rose for Emily,” Sloane mutters while Sienna makes a gagging noise.

“What?” Bryce asks. 

“It’s a short story by Faulkner.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. Sloane wonders if he even knows who that is. Then: “Is he the dude that had a hard-on for the Civil War?”

“Yeah,” Aurora snorts. “Basically.” 

“Yeah, never read any of his stuff. I think I used SparkNotes for one of his books in undergrad.”

“Same,” Sloane admits, to which Bryce shoots her a look of faux-surprise. “Yeah, yeah, we all had to skate by sometimes.” 

“Well, well, well,” he crows. “Looks like the ‘next generation of medicine’ isn’t so high and mighty after all, huh?” 

“Wait, how did you--”

“Ramsey was four drinks deep at Donahue’s the other day, and one of the interns came up and bothered him about a possible spot on the team. Which meant we all overheard the twenty-minute spiel about what a great doctor you are.” He snickers as she puts a hand over her face and groans. “Yeah, it was real sweet. Real obvious, but sweet.”

She’s saved by the GPS on her phone, cutting through the music playing over the car speakers; Bryce takes the next exit as instructed. The off-ramp spits them out onto a two-lane county road.  Posted across from the solitary stop sign, the blue services sign offers nothing but blank, white squares. 

“There’s a bathroom, right?” Sienna asks. “Because I’m not seeing a gas station.”

“It’s a house, you guys,” Bryce scoffs, “not a cave.” 

“A haunted house,” she clarifies. 

“Well, I mean, I don’t think the toilets are haunted.”

For several miles, there’s nothing but sweeping woodlands and the occasional passing car. Long squiggles of tar decorate the asphalt, snaking across the empty, leaf-strewn road. The setting sun casts a golden hue over everything, spears of light cutting through the tree trunks. It would be a nice, evening drive if it weren’t for where they were headed. 

Forty minutes north of Boston lies the small, nondescript town of Angler. Even under the cover of dusk, Sloane can tell that it’s one of those towns. Pretty Tudors line the main street, their porches decorated with smiling scarecrows sitting on bales of hay; banners along the telephone poles advertise the annual apple festival. The bank and the post office and the dry cleaners are all tucked together in the refurbished general store. It’s the stereotypical, pleasant, all-American town. Which means that it’s the perfect place to hide a dark stain of history. 

Why Bryce signed up for such a thing and how he won the tickets is beyond her. When he asked them all to join him for a haunted house, Sloane expected the typical theme: some dingy warehouse refurbished enough to meet modern building codes, full of tight mazes and masked actors with chainsaws.

“Nah, guys, this is the real deal,” he gloated over lunch the previous afternoon. “Back in the 1800s, this woman -- uhh Margaret, or Maggie, I think, yeah Maggie Angler -- she was one of the Boston Brahmins, owned this estate out in the country, blah blah blah. No one knows a whole lot about her because she was a little weird and she kept to herself. At some point, this dude woos her and they get married. But then, a few years later, he dies. Neighbors drop by to offer casseroles or whatever, but she won’t answer the door, so they give up and leave her alone. A few months go by, and suddenly this dude from town goes missing. Then a year, and another goes missing. This continues for several years and--” 

“So, what, she’s some kind of black widow?” Elijah asked. 

“No, this isn’t one of those Marvel--” Bryce’s brow furrowed and then lifted, realization striking his handsome face. “--oh, heh, yeah, sorry. But yeah, sort of. It wasn’t until word got around that the latest dude was seen talking to Maggie at the store that people got suspicious of her. So, they gather up some people and storm the house, where they find a Satanic Bible and other spooky shit. But that’s not the only thing they find.”

They all glance around at each other, waiting to see who will encourage Bryce to break his silence and finish the damn story. “They also find... the missing dudes.”

“What, buried in the backyard?” Sloane asked, and frowned when Bryce shook his head. 

“No, not buried. She killed them and then kept them in the house. Supposedly, they were posed at the table or sitting on the couch, rotting away.”

 Sienna made a show of pushing her plate away. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know there’s a group of people in Indonesia that keep their dead relatives at home,” Aurora said, “but they’re preserved and cared for. This doesn’t sound like that.”

“Nope.” Elijah shook his head. “Definitely not the same thing.”

“What happened to the woman?” Sloane asked.

“No idea -- get this: they never found her.” Bryce lifted his eyebrows for dramatic effect. “But the story goes that she still haunts the place, searching for her lost lovers, and maybe… trying to get some new ones.”  

Jackie, who had been busy scrolling away on her phone through the tale, snorted into her salad. 

“And you want us to come with you to some evil witch’s house on the night before Halloween to go ghost hunting? I may not believe in any of this shit, but no fucking way.” 

“Yeah,” Elijah sighed, cringing at the crestfallen look on Bryce’s face. “Sorry dude, but I’ll pass. My idea of fun is a John Carpenter movie marathon, not a tour around Jane the Ripper’s house.” 

“Okay, understood.” With that, Bryce looked to the remaining three and turned on the charm, draping his arm across Sloane’s shoulders. “C’mon, ladies, whaddaya say? Hard to pass up the prospect of touring a bona fide haunted mansion with one of the most handsome men you know -- second only to Elijah here.”  

Tapping at her chin, Sienna nodded and grinned. “Sounds fun. I like scary things.” 

Aurora, on the other hand, shot him a skeptical look. “Are you going to shout at the air and act like you’re possessed, like I’ve seen that one ghost hunter do on TV? The one with the spiky hair?” she demanded to know. 

“Uhhh no to all of those things, but especially to the spiky hair.”  

“Okay, then,” she shrugged, “I’ll go.” 

Every eye at the table turned to Sloane; Bryce squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. 

“Alright,” she agreed. “It’d be fun to get spooked, I guess. I’m down.”

Which is how she comes to be in the passenger seat of Bryce’s car, leaning forward onto the dashboard as they take the final turn onto a hidden lane. A thick tunnel of trees swallows them up as they drive deeper into the woods. After several miles, there’s a break in the pines, and then: sprawled atop a hill, looming above them, is the house. Even if she hadn’t heard the backstory, Sloane feels like the place would still give her the creeps. With its filmy lace curtains and its tall windows glowing yellow in the approaching darkness, the house looks like it’s been pulled from an Edward Hopper painting. Worn pavers lead from the semi-circular driveway and up to the front porch. Framing either side of the steps, thin, brittle blades of tufted hairgrass shift in the wind. Two people turn from the front door and raise a hand in greeting.

Bryce kills the engine and twists around in his seat to grin at his compatriots. 

“You guys ready to get scaaaared?”

Sienna wraps her hands around Sloane’s seat and leans forward, her eyes wide as she stares out the windshield. 

“Why does it look like The Amityville Horror house?” 

“Is this a bad time to mention that the Blair Witch Project’s producers used this place as inspiration?”

“Yeah,” she hisses, “definitely a bad time.”

Shouldering open her door, Sloane lets in the cool October air in an attempt to corral their attention. It works; the rest of them pile out of the car with her and approach the couple. 

As the current owners of the property, Jack and Nancy Bell guide them through the main floor of the house, pointing out spots of reported activity. The interior is lovely -- one of those Sloane would see in a Pictagram post of a wedding venue, with all those carved banisters and original wainscoting. Her brother, a successful carpenter in the Twin Cities, would have a field day in here. Most of the furniture is original to the house, as well, and in surprisingly good condition.  

The only aspect setting the house apart from any other on the historical registry are the props. In the front hall, a bulletin board hosts an array of newspaper clippings. The earlier articles blame a serial killer, dubbed the ‘Butcher of Angler,’ for the mens’ disappearances. Then, starting on October 28th, 1892, the headlines change to the ‘Wicked Witch of Winthrope County.’ In the drawing room sits an Ouija board, surrounded by melted candles. A cauldron and a Satanic Bible share space on the kitchen counter; corked bottles of what look like cooking spices and herbs clutter the open cabinets. Mannequins lounge at the dining table or on the sofa, dressed in dusty clothes, their jaws slack, their painted eyes still and dull. Beside them, framed in cheap plastic, are the grainy photographs of the corpses as they were found. To Sloane, it all feels hokey, like a regular haunted house with the strobe lights turned off. 

There’s something else, though, something underneath the fine layer of dust and the creaking floorboards and the shrouded furniture. It skitters across her neck and down her back, making her shiver, which she discounts as a wayward draft in the old house. 

It’s the distinct feeling of being watched.  

“Aside from the big house, there’s a carriage house to the left there. We rent it out in the summer and fall for overnight stays.” Jack gestures to the east as they step out onto the back veranda, where, just beyond the slope of lawn, a smaller house sits with a solitary porch light glowing. “And back down the path there will lead you to the lake. When we bought the place, the deed stated that there was a cabin out near the state park line, but we’ve never been able to find evidence of it.”

“Maggie’s been seen down by the lake, too,” Nancy chimes in. “People say they see her there, inside the boathouse, or walking along the shore with her head down, as if she’s searching for something.” 

“We’ve got lanterns here if you want to use them as you go about the grounds, though you’re welcome to use your flashlights.” Jack nudges a neat row of antique lanterns with his sneaker. “For the optimal experience, though, we recommend turning off all the inside lights and using secondary light sources instead.” He chuckles when Sienna makes a throaty noise of dissent. 

The couple leads them back through the house and into the front hall to finish the tour. While Jack goes over the various rules, Nancy motions for Sloane to follow her out onto the front porch. 

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of your friends,” she starts off in a whisper, “but I wanted to talk to you about our son, Ben.”

For a fleeting moment, Sloane thinks that she’s going to get questioned about his bowel movements or a mysterious rash, that Bryce must have told them he was bringing along his doctor friends. “When he was seven, he nearly--” Nancy cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her heart, “--he drowned when we were at the beach in Florida. I did CPR until the EMTs got there, and they were able to resuscitate him, thank God.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane murmurs, “that must’ve been awful.”

“It was. But I’m -- the reason I’m telling you all this is because, after that, Ben seems to be more… open. More open than the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane says again, though this time out of confusion, “but I don’t--”

With a huff, Nancy shakes her head and waves her hands. “No, no, I apologize. I must sound crazy. I just wanted to warn you that, due to what happened to you, you might see things or experience things that your friends can’t. That’s all, dear.” 

Sloane opens her mouth to question her further, but they’re interrupted by the rest of the gang filing out beside them. “We’ll be back at one a.m. to lock up behind you,” Nancy says as she follows her husband down to their car. 

With a cheery honk, the little Subaru rumbles down the winding driveway and disappears. The sun having set during the tour, the landscape before them is now draped with the heavy blanket of night. The moon peeks at them from just above the treetops, as if still deciding on whether or not to come out. The only lights are far-off, unmoving: porch lights of the houses back in town; cell towers with their red stars blinking lazily against the dark. A cold wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves and scattering them across the front walk, the dried edges hissing along the brick. 

“Can you believe he said no alcohol?” Bryce breaks the silence with a whine. “I read about this fun séance thing you do with tequila shots and--” 

“No séances!” Sienna declares. “And definitely no tequila!” 

“Can we argue about this where it’s warmer?” Aurora suggests and steps back into the house. 

As she and Sienna wander off into the drawing room, Sloane wraps a hand around Bryce’s arm and pulls him back. 

“Did you tell her about me?”

His nose scrunches up to meet his furrowed brows. “Tell who about what?” 

“The-- Nancy, did you tell her about what happened to me? With… with the senator, and…” it’s embarrassing how much of a struggle it is to get the words out, even now, even after three weeks and two therapy appointments. 

His face falls from confusion to concern. Bryce reaches up and lays his hand over her own. 

“Slo, I didn’t tell them, I swear. I would never,” he promises. “Did she say something to you?”      

She loosens her hold, frustrated at herself that she even considered he would do such a thing. He’s one of her best friends, the man who handed over the reins to a cutting-edge surgery just to be by her side. 

“Yeah, no, listen: it’s fine,” she stumbles through a paltry reassurance. “She was probably trying to scare me, that’s all.” 

He gives her a quick once-over, lips twisting into a frown as he debates on whether or not to push. She bites back a breath of relief when he relents, his hand releasing hers.

“Okay,” he says, and nudges her into the house ahead of him. “C’mon. Between the two of us, I think we can convince them to turn off the lights.”

------

Although he puts up a good fight, Bryce loses on the no-lights front. 

Which is just as well, because by the time they reach the second floor, Sloane is glad for the light from the antique lamps. To be fair, nothing actually happens: no spooks, no spectres, and no signs from the former resident. Nothing she can point to with any amount of certainty. Whatever it is hovers out of reach, just on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t seem to give it a name. Maybe it lies -- like any good, scary movie -- in the setting. For as grand as the house is, time and dereliction have taken its fine features hostage. Thick, gray dust coats the wooden spindles and curled handrails of the antique staircase. The corridors are tight, the shadows gathering in the space where the lights can’t seem to reach. Small curls of peeling wallpaper look like fingers reaching out from the wall, backlit by the sconces. The cloying scent of wood rot and mold fills the air, like a pile of papers left to curl and yellow with age. The rooms are small, cluttered with furniture and trinkets and artwork. 

Sloane stares at such a portrait in the master bedroom, where a couple stares down at her from above the fireplace. The man sits in a chair, the woman standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder. It would be any other family portrait, if it weren’t for the unsettling glaze over the man’s sunken eyes. 

“Bryce, please don’t-- aaaand he’s sitting on the bed.” 

“You do know that’s where they found her husband, right?” Sienna points out. “That’s why there’s a mannequin on it. And a picture of his dead body on the nightstand.”

“Maybe Maggie will see what a catch I am if I’m laid out for her. I’ve never met a woman over the age of sixty who could resist my charms.” Bryce waggles his eyebrows as he bounces once, then twice on the mattress before stretching out. “What’s up, bro?” he asks the mannequin beside him before doing a double-take. “Hey, it’s Annie!”

He snatches off the ugly wig and fake beard, and lo and behold, an old CPR dummy gapes up at them all. Sloane snorts and shakes her head. 

“Looks like the years haven’t been kind to her.”   

“Probably saddled with student loans just like the rest of us,” Aurora mutters as she wanders over to inspect the photograph. “Had to get a second job here.”

“Hey, that was a joke!” Bryce commends. “And a pretty good one at that.”

“I do jokes.”

“You so do not.” 

A muffled bang from somewhere in the house stops their banter. Everyone glances at each other, verifying that everyone in their group is indeed in the room. 

“What was that?” Sienna whispers. 

“Probably the pipes,” Aurora says. “It is an old house.” 

As if on cue, the lights flicker once, then switch off, sinking them into complete darkness. There’s a flurry of noise as everyone digs out their phones; the bedroom seems even creepier, now, under the white glow of their flashlights.  

“What do we do?” Sienna hisses, scurrying from the window to latch onto Aurora.  

“We could always search for the breaker,” she suggests. 

“Which would be where?”

“In the basement, most likely.”

“Um, no,” Sienna balks. “Hell no.”  

“Are you guys serious right now?” Bryce hops down from the bed and pokes his head out the open doorway. “This is so cool! Who wants to go downstairs with me and grab the Ouija board?”

“If you bring that thing near me, I will break it in half.”

He grimaces at Sienna’s threat. 

“You’re not really supposed to do that with them. It’ll keep the door open for the spirits to come in.”

“It’s a toy made by Hasbro,” Aurora scoffs. “It’s not going to ‘let in’ anything. And the planchette doesn’t actually move on its own. That’s due to the ideomotor effect.”

Moving over to the window, Sloane presses her temple against the pane’s edge and squints. Just past the eastern wing, she spots a faint halo of yellow light on the lawn. 

“Hey,” she raises her voice over their bickering. “It looks like the carriage house still has power.” 

“Great!” Sienna squeaks and pulls Aurora with her towards the door. “Let’s check it out. I… love carriage houses.” 

They push past Bryce and start back down the hall. Turning from the doorway, a coy smile spreads across his face, a single eyebrow lifting at his wordless request. 

“Oh, no.” Sloane shakes her head as she crosses the room. “I’m not staying up here so you can play Twenty Questions with a ghost.”

She ignores his good-natured grumbling and leads him to the staircase, where Aurora and Sienna are waiting on the landing. Aimed at the ground, their flashlights slice at the hand-carved walls; dustmotes dance in the twin beams, kicked up by their feet. The air feels heavier, mustier here, too, like breathing through wet wool. They tromp down the stairs and across the first floor to the kitchen. Being at the back of the group, Sloane can’t help but glance back now and again at the shadowed recesses, searching for the source of her uneasiness. That she finds nothing amiss doesn’t seem to curb her anxiety. 

The sensation wanes when she closes the door behind them, sealing up the house once more. 

“How is it warmer outside than in there?” Sienna asks as they start cutting across the lawn for the carriage house.  

Bryce zips up his coat and shrugs. “I’ve heard that ghosts tend to suck the energy out of a room, creating cold spots when they mani--”

“Please stop talking,” she begs. “At least until we’re somewhere with electricity that actually works.” 

“Aw, come on, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve seen enough scary movies in your life to know that we’re safe if we travel together. Besides, everyone knows the funny guy goes first.”  

“I think that honor belongs to people of color, now, sorry.” Aurora chuckles when he spins around to wince at her. 

“Yeah, fair point.” 

Coated in fallen leaves, the ground crunches loud underneath their shoes, blocking out the night sounds as the four of them approach the smaller house. “But for real, I don’t think we have much to worry about from Maggie here. I mean, almost all ghost stories are about little white girls from Victorian times named Sally or Sarah or Kate.”

“That’s because of the spiritualism boom in the late nineteenth century,” Aurora answers.

Bryce sighs and quickly changes the subject, uninterested in a history lesson. 

Converted into a proper guest house sometime after the turn of the twentieth century, the carriage house lacks the severe decay of the main house. Though not as grand, the wallpaper here is intact, the dust not as heavy. It might just be the comforts of amenities such as central heating and electricity, but the inside of the house feels much more benign. As they complete a loop around the building, though, Sloane realizes that the feeling of being watched still remains, growing stronger when she passes or glances out one of the windows. With the glare of the lights, though, it’s hard to see much of anything past the panes. None of the others seem to be frightened -- or if they do, they keep quiet. The same can’t be said when Sienna flips the light on in the parlor.  

Toddler-size dolls lean against the walls, their porcelain hands cupped around their faces. Each wears a pretty, pastel dress trimmed in white lace, their hair falling down their backs in long, springy ringlets of dark brown, cherry red, and honey gold. Bryce makes a noise of disgust when he spins one around, its face blank: no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Time-out dolls, Sloane tells them, remembering her grandmother’s friend who owned several back in the early nineties -- though hers were all dressed as clowns. 

“People actually rent this place out? They pay money to stay here?” Sienna shudders. “I’d rather sleep in the other house, even with all the cobwebs and mannequins.”

“And the ghosts,” Bryce adds. 

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Aurora says. 

“Okay, Scully, that’s enough out of you.”

------

As the clock ticks closer to ten, Bryce votes to go check out the lake. Aurora and Sienna, however, vote to stay in the warm, well-lit kitchen. The plan is decided to split up and then meet back at the main house in time for midnight. 

“You know,” Bryce explains as he and Sloane make their way across the lawn, “because it’s the witching hour.”

“I thought it was three a.m.” 

“It is if you’re taking into account REM cycles and all that, but I’m not. All the legends I’ve read say…” he trails off, frowning as he jogs up the main house’s back steps. “Hey, you shut the door when we left, right?”

Her phone’s flashlight sweeps up the French doors; one of them is ajar, standing open several inches. She reaches for the handle and shuts it, listening for the snick of the latch.  

“I guess I didn’t pull it closed enough.”   

“Or,” he taunts as he grabs two of the lanterns from the porch, “something else opened it.” Ignoring her scoff, he pockets his phone and hands one of the lanterns to her. “These are nice. Do you think they’re original?”

“Bryce, they bought these from a Cracker Barrel. And besides, they’re battery-powered.” 

“Oh.” 

The back of the estate has been left to run wild. Overgrown swath rolls along the ground like dunes, snagging dead leaves between the dry blades. Thickets of barren shrubs creep out from the distant tree line. The path to the lake is marked by an old fence post, tied with a tattered ribbon. They make their way across the wide expanse of lawn, the trees ahead towering higher and higher the closer they get to the forest. Sloane can’t help but check over her shoulder. The house is just as they left it, though the moonlight is too weak to see if the door is still closed. 

Gravel crunches under their feet as they step onto the trail. The quiet night is broken by a ding from her phone. 

How goes the ghost hunting? 

She hooks the lantern in the crook of her arm and taps out her reply: Fun so far, lights went off by themselves. Very spooky 10/10

Ethan: What do fractions have to do with what you’re doing?

Sloane: Nvm 

Ethan: This isn’t 2002. You do have a full keyboard under your fingertips. 

Sloane: so?

Ethan: So there’s no excuse for using T9 acronyms.       

Sloane: Never thought I’d see the day you reprimand me for texting 

Ethan: I’ll spare you the lecture and let you get back to your witch hunt. Text me when you get home, please, so I know you returned safely. 

She hits send on the next message. Several seconds later, a red bubble appears beside her will do!, informing her that it refused to send. A quick glance at the top of the screen shows the one measly bar of service her phone is clinging onto. With a sigh, she tucks it away.   

“How’s Dr. Ramsey?” Bryce asks.

“Preparing a TEDtalk on prehistoric cell phone etiquette.” 

His nose scrunches up. “What?”

“Nothing,” she chuckles, exhaling through her mouth just to see her foggy breath. 

The light from the lanterns casts an eerie, yellow glow across the tree trunks and underbrush. Creaks and knocks echo up out of the dark -- branches smacking against each other as a cold wind sweeps through the area. The last vestiges of October skitter along the ground; the leaves almost sound like footsteps, dragging across the dirt behind them. The trail tightens as it winds down a small embankment and into a hollow. Their pace seems to pick up, though neither of them mention it. Sloane burrows into her scarf at the sudden dip in temperature.   

“How’s Keiki?” she asks, more so out of need to make conversation than actual curiosity.  

“Probably eating her way into a food coma with the pizza money I left for her, and beating all my high scores on Need for Speed.” He’s grinning as he says it, though, which Sloane finds encouraging. “I invited her to go with us, but she said no.” 

She doesn’t miss the crestfallen expression that crosses his face for a moment. 

“Trust me when I say this, because I speak from the experience of having a younger sibling, but she didn’t say no because she doesn’t like you or anything. It’s because she thinks you and your friends are dorks.” 

He sputters at the insult. “I’m not a dork!”

“You so totally are.”  

“Am not.” 

“Are too!” she argues. “Ethan thinks I’m bad, but you -- you come in on your days off and you like it.”

“That’s called dedication to the craft.” 

“That’s called being a dork.” 

What little she can see of the path ahead is more winding turns, more endless seas of bark and brushwood. But just when she thinks that they’ll never reach the end, that they’ll wind up stumbling upon Elly Kedward’s house -- there’s a small dot of light and then a break in the trees, where the path spits them out onto a rocky shore. The lake glints under their lanterns, the pearlescent gleam of the moon dancing on its surface. 

“Oh, hey, that was nice of them.”

Sloane’s gaze tracks along the shore and over to where he’s gestured. A solitary lantern sits in front of an old boathouse, illuminating the weathered cedar shake.  

“Too bad they can’t install lights along the path,” she mutters as they make their way to the structure. 

“What part of ‘bona fide haunted mansion’ did you not understand? This is the thrill of it!” 

Bryce shoulders open the door to a dim room with a half-sunken rowboat in the center. 

“Thrilling,” she drones, side-stepping his attempt to whack her arm. “Right.” 

They poke through the dirty raincoats and rusted tackle boxes. The wooden planks under their feet jostle and flex. Everything smells of wet and mold, the walls slick with grime. “I can think of several better places to haunt.” 

Bryce hums his agreement as he prods at a stack of old hunting magazines, the pages sealed together. Sloane steps over to look down at the boat, where minnows dart underneath the oars to escape her light. 

“Watch where you step,” she tells him as she crosses to the starboard side. “Some of these boards are really falling apa--”

The rest is lost to her shriek as the floor underneath her snaps. Her foot goes through the wood. She drops the lantern and scrambles to stay upright. The soggy planks slip from her grasp as she falls backwards, and then: water, the icy rush of it closing over her head. 

She fights back a gasp at the sudden cold. With her knee trapped in the joists, she can’t get her feet under her to kick to the surface. Her hands sweep out, flailing desperately. Something hard slams against her neck. She twists at the waist; the sunken lantern illuminates the long shadow of the boat. She digs her fingers into the wood. The cold saps at what strength she has, her muscles refusing to work as she tries to push herself out of the water. Her lungs ache; her heartbeat thuds inside her skull. Down in the murky depths below, a long shadow reaches towards her. Fingers, then hands seize her waist; her skin hits the cold air. Sloane blinks away the muddy haze that coats her eyes and sucks in a lungful of blessed oxygen. 

“Sloane!” Bryce shouts, as if he was expecting to pull out someone else. He ropes an arm around her back and helps her up out of the water. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of--” the rest of his words are lost to an undignified oof as Sloane wraps her arms around his neck. 

“Thanks.”

His hands come up to rest along her back, gently rubbing there to warm her frozen skin.

“I would say don’t mention it, but please do. The notoriety of me saving your life needs to make its way back to the hospital, so Rahul will finally go on a date with me.” 

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You would be concerned about getting a leg over while mine is still stuck.”

“Oh, whoops. Sorry, here, I’ll...” Sitting back on his heels, he steadies her against him and helps her shimmy out of the hole she’s made. Despite how saturated the planks are, her jeans are torn along her knee, where blood wells across several scratches. “Ouch,” he hisses. 

“Nothing a few bandages and a tetanus shot won’t fix,” she assures. Wobbling as she stands, Sloane limps over to the storage chest in the corner. The blanket she finds is tattered and smells of mold, but it’s better than braving the night’s chill in just her soaked sweater. “Alright, I want out of this place like yesterday.”

Bryce picks up his lantern and nods, following her out onto the shore and back onto the path. 

------

“And, I don’t know, he’s also distant with me sometimes, ya know? He’s hot, then he’s cold. He’ll flirt with me and agree to a date, but then he bails at the last second.”

“I get you.”

“That’s why I’m coming to you, oh wise one,” Bryce says with a grin. “Teach me your ways of dealing with difficult guys.”

Sloane laughs, the sound echoing through the quiet forest. Tucking the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she shakes her head. 

“Trust me, if I knew how to, I wouldn’t have such problems with my own.”

The cell phone in her pocket burns at the reminder of Ethan -- not that she could contact him if she wanted, given that the freezing water had zapped the last of its battery. 

“Yeah, but you could at least give me some pointers on how to wear him down.”

“Oh, my god, Bryce--”

“Okay, okay, not… ‘wear him down’... more, like, encouraging than that, I guess....” he trails off with a shrug. 

Humming as she thinks over her plan of attack, Sloane slows her pace to drop behind Bryce to skirt around a fallen tree -- until she can see it no more. “Fuck!” Bryce curses from in front of her, rattling the lantern as if abuse will bring it back to life. “Batteries must be dead. Let me…” There’s a rustling of clothes, a brief, hopeful inhale, then: “Fuck. Phone’s dead too. Must be the cold or something.” 

Sloane closes her eyes and opens them again, hoping that they will have miraculously adjusted to the dark -- but no such luck. With what little moonlight seeps through the canopy and the dusting of fog that’s rolled in, it’s hard to see farther than a few feet ahead. It will make this slow-going trek of theirs even slower. She scans the woods surrounding them and stops when she sees a pinprick of light back down the trail.

“I have an idea,” she says, “but you’re not going to like it.”

He does not, in fact, like her idea. But even he can’t argue against it. Besides, they’d only made it about a half-mile up the path, and the boathouse wasn’t that far back. 

Which is how Sloane comes to be sitting on the log, trying her best to ignore the darkness pressing in on her from all sides. If Aurora were here, she would be explaining that being afraid of the dark is just a concept carried over from early hominid days. Then again, if Aurora were here, she wouldn’t have had to send Bryce back for the other lantern, and they’d be back at the house by now. Sloane knows she should keep moving to stay warm, but she’s cold and wet and her knee is throbbing something awful. 

She’s uncertain of how much time passes before that silly bundle of nerves in her stomach morphs into the proper weight of worry. Bryce should be back by now. She knows he made it to the boathouse because the light through the trees is gone now. Her eyes have since adjusted to the night, which means it’s been at least thirty minutes. Maybe that lantern died, too, she reasons. Sloane listens for his familiar cursing, or his footsteps on the path -- but there’s nothing. The nighttime noises of the forest are gone: no animals, no birds, no wind. The stillness is nothing short of eerie, especially when she feels that now-familiar sensation of being watched.   

“Bryce?” she chances. 

From out of the black, she can hear someone walking down the path.  

“Bryce!” she shouts, struggling to her feet. “Sienna? Aurora? Is that you?” 

Whoever it is doesn’t respond. She starts down the trail towards them, cursing when she nearly trips over a rock. “Seriously, guys, I’m not in the mood--”

An awful sound echoes out of the dark, like a high-pitched whistle played over radio static. 

She freezes, pebbles and twigs skidding across the dirt at her sudden halt. Every hair on her body stands on-end, her muscles locked as adrenaline races through her. Sloane swallows and clenches her blanket tighter.  

The high-low tone of the whistle sounds again. Whatever’s out there is just beyond the reach of her vision. Sloane wheels around, her gaze darting across the shadows, as if she’ll be able to even see-- a light. It’s several hundred feet out in the forest, back in the direction of the house. It’s too far away to make out who’s holding it. It has to be Bryce, though -- playing a prank on her, as if she’d find this sort of thing funny in the state she’s in. 

She bites back a curse and hurries after him as best she can, keeping low to the ground in an effort to hide from whatever animal is out here with them. The trail becomes rougher, more overgrown as she trudges through the leaves and shoves away sticker bushes. Forced to waste precious time watching where she’s going, she glances up only to keep track of the light that grows closer every second. 

The whistle comes again -- louder, closer now. Whatever it is, it’s still following her. Sloane pushes through a thicket and stumbles into a clearing. Tucked between a small grove of pines in the center is a cabin. With the caved-in roof, sagging porch, and front steps that form nothing more than a woodpile, it’s obvious the place has long stood abandoned. Sitting on the porch and casting a glow into the open doorway is a lantern -- the same make as the others. Approaching the steps, she slowly leans up and snatches the lantern from the porch.  

“No fucking way,” she mutters to herself. “I don’t care if it is a bobcat out here, I’m not hiding in the Evil-Dead-looking-ass cabin.” 

The dark silhouettes of the trees rustle under the cold wind that blows through the glade. Carried with it is a different sound: voices, all slurred together, but forming one syllable. She steps away from the cabin and back towards the forest, straining to make it out. Her name, she realizes with relief. They’re calling her name.        

She sucks in a breath to yell back when movement catches her eye. Something dark curls away from the tree line, only to dart into the tall grass when she swings the lantern in its direction. Sloane squints at the underbrush it disappeared into, waiting for it to appear again. For a few, blessed moments, she thinks it’s run off, that it’s finally given up.   

Until a black shadow crawls out of the underbrush towards her, shrieking, braying like an animal in pain. It’s an ear-splitting cry, echoing across the clearing. Sloane tightens her grip on the lantern and bolts. Ducking back into the trees, she heads in a single direction, knowing that she’ll either hit the lake or the house -- of, if she runs far enough, the town. 

Shoving through low-hanging branches, she glances over her shoulder to see the shadow chasing her, peeling itself out of the shadows as it moves between the trees, somehow darker than the black surrounding them. Her foot hits a patch of wet leaves and she slips, skidding down the hillside and tumbling out onto a stretch of asphalt. She grits her teeth against the pain in her leg and crawls forward into the middle of the road. With no time for hesitating, she pushes to her feet and runs, hoping she’s picked the right direction. 

It wails again, in the trees to her left, scurrying across the hillside after her.   

“Fuck off!” she screams.

Another noise comes roaring out of the dark, drowning out her cry. Lights -- searing, blinding -- swing around the curve. Brakes squeal as the car swerves, narrowly missing her; glass shatters as Sloane staggers to the roadside, her lantern cracking as it hits the pavement and rolls off into the grass. The guard rail is like ice beneath her palm where she clutches it, using it to stay upright as her heart threatens to vacate her body through her throat. The hillside is drenched in red from the car’s tail lights. 

“Sloane!” 

Ethan -- it’s him, his car, he’s here, but he should be in Boston, shouldn’t he? He was when he texted her and that was only an hour ago so why is he here and how did he-- all of her panicked thoughts cease when he folds her into his arms and hugs her tight. The night around them is still, save for the purr of the engine and the soft dinging of the door ajar warning. 

“What the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the road like that?” he hisses, pulling her back to pin her down with his glare. “You could’ve-- I could’ve killed you.”

“You’re here,” she whispers. 

Her lips are numb from the cold and shock. She reaches up for the blanket, then realizes that she must’ve lost it somewhere along the way.

“Of course I’m here. You really need to stop scaring the hell out of me, you know that.” His brow furrows as he frowns, taking in the state of her. He slips off his own coat and bundles it around her. “Honey, you’re freezing. Let me--”

“We have to go,” she urges, remembering what’s waiting for her, out in the forest. Grabbing hold of his hand, she starts tugging him towards the car. “There’s -- in the woods, there was -- I don’t know, this thing, and it kept screaming, it was horrible--”

Ethan shushes her rambling and guides her into the car, buckling her seatbelt when her hands won’t stop shaking. She tucks her nose into the collar of his coat, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he backs the car up and turns back towards the estate. With one hand on the wheel, the other finds hers and holds tight. 

“Your friends called me when they couldn’t find you, wanted to know if I’d heard from you, in case you’d made it to somewhere with a working phone. I called you-- well, more than I’d care to admit, though it was obvious your phone was dead.” 

“How did you get here so fast?” she wonders aloud. 

“I got here around twelve-thirty, did a sweep of the woods. Around one I started driving around, hoping that I’d come across you in case you made it to the road.” He gives her a worried glance before returning to the road. “The others have been out with the sheriff’s office and the owners, searching the woods.” 

“But I… that doesn’t make any sense,” she tells him with a shake of her head. “It wasn’t even midnight when me and Bryce started back, and he was gone for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. And then I saw him-- well, not him, but at the time I thought it was him being an asshole-- and then that… thing chased after me and I got turned around, sure. But it couldn’t have been more than an hour.”

“Sloane, it’s nearly three in the morning.”

Her immediate reaction is to protest, but the concern in his tone and the clock on his dash render her mute. Which is for the best, she realizes later after pulling up to the house and seeing the driveway choked with cars: Bryce’s, the Bell’s, and several police cruisers. Modern floodlights tucked below the eaves turn the dark house into a bright beacon. Blue and red lights of the cruisers swirl across the lawn. As soon as they pull up, her friends race over to the car and wrap her into a hug. One of the cops takes her statement, ignoring Ethan’s insistence about getting her home and taking it over the phone instead. 

“Must’ve been a coyote,” the cop tells her after she’s finished. “We get a lot of reports of them out here, being so close to the state park.”

“A coyote,” Sloane repeats. 

“Well, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Unless you think it was something else?” 

She doesn’t have an answer for that. Having dealt with her fair share of wildlife coming down from the mountains and into her backyard growing up, she can’t remember ever hearing anything similar. Even her grandfather’s tales about the Wampus cat, her favorite spooky story as a kid, didn’t hold a candle to… to whatever was out there. 

After the cops leave and the Bells lock up, her friends pile into Bryce’s car for the ride home. Though not before Bryce shares with her his own experience with the mysterious shadow. However, he’d gotten a good look with the lantern. 

“It wasn’t an animal,” he whispers to her. “It was her. It was Maggie, I swear it.” 

Sloane didn’t know what to say to that. So she hadn’t said anything, just squeezed his hand and hugged him goodbye. Returning to Ethan’s car, she settled into the passenger seat, thankful for the change of clothes he had in the trunk -- and the first aid kit, of course.  

With the classical music floating out of the speakers and the warmth of his hand in hers again, it would’ve been easy for Sloane to close her eyes. She can’t help it, though, when they back out of the drive. She looks up to the long row of windows. It could be a trick of the headlights, but something watches them from around the lace curtains. As they start to pull away, it slinks back into the shadows of the house. 

------   

Author’s notes and what-have-yous: 

The inspiration for the Angler Estate is the abandoned Uplands Mansion in Baltimore, MD. If you like urbex stuff, I highly recommend looking up some videos of it on YouTube. It’s a gorgeous place, despite all the vandalism. The owners’ surname being Bell is a fun nod to the Bell Witch Cave, my state’s claim to supernatural fame. The mention of The Evil Dead cabin is another poke, since the 1981 original was filmed an hour away from where I live. 

The “watch where you step” line is pulled directly from Uncharted: Drake’s Fortune. 

[sif-the-tsunami]

Ropes and Roses part three

Summary: Elizabeth Rosehill is a talented dance instructor and a force of nature that beguiles her famous student. Events in her life, however, have led her to search for more creative ways for her to keep herself afloat. What will she do to keep her dreams secure and what will it mean for her blossoming relationship.

Warning: this passage contains some drunken shenanigans, heavy petting, making out, self deprecating humor, stripping down to ones underwear, sexual frustration, some insecurities, and angst. Oh and the beginning of Elizabeth showing her dominant side. If I missed anything please let me know

Word count: 2500

A/N: If you read it and like it, it would mean a lot to me if you could say something nice!

“And what will the lady be having?” The handsome bartender asked from behind the wooden top.

“Gentleman Jack, two fingers, neat. Please and thank you.” Elizabeth had her face all smooshed up in her hands, cradling her own head, resigning to the feeling of utter defeat. Gregory Chapman had called her and told her that the movie had lost its funding. The promises he made her were now as empty as the glass in front of her. As was her bank account. At least the bartender quickly remedied the empty glass problem. Henry saw her sitting there, her perfect posture was replaced by the pose of someone who wanted to be as small as possible.

“Oh shit, you are taking the news way harder than I thought you would. I also had no idea you liked whiskey.” He saw that her eyes were puffy, she had rubbed the winged eyeliner tip off on one of her eyes. He took the hand closest to him and gave her a gentle squeeze. The best part of having had their lessons was they had grown comfortable with touching each other. He appreciated the intimacy they shared, even if he though it had been platonic on her part. “Cancellations happen pretty often, don’t beat yourself up too much.”

“You were getting so good too.” Her voice came out as a whine, she took a sip of her liquor.

“I was mediocre at best, I just happen to look good while you dance around me.” The gold tinged light above them made her eyes and the drink the same color. Everything about her right then seemed angelic to him, even with her sad expression she glowed. “My only regret is that I won’t get to see you as much. I’ve enjoyed our time together.”

“That is very kind, Henry.” Elizabeth laced her fingers with his. “It was a pleasure to teach you.”

I love how she says my name, he thought. “So, what happens next for you?”

“I have to work harder to try to keep my dance studio open.”

“What do you mean? You have some great teachers, you have full classes.”

“Greg had told me that once he was given the funding he planned on investing in the dance studio with some of his earnings. I’m not sad about the movie being canceled, I’m just sad that this is just one more thing to have gone wrong this year...” she trailed off.

“Want to talk about it?”

“If I start, I will not shut up, I’m sure you don’t want to listen to me bitch and moan for an hour. Don’t you have more important things to be doing?”

“I could listen to you complain all night. Besides, nothing is more important than us getting drunk and possibly finding people to snog with tonight,” he said with the intention of making her laugh, but with a quick look around the pub, it looked like the their options would be limited. “I bet you could charm the pants off that lad at the end there.”

The lad was an older gentleman wearing a newsboy hat and a sweater with patches on the elbow.

“Oh Mr Cavill,” she said in a dreamy, playful voice, “he’s just my type. Do you think he’ll like me?”

“I don’t know Ms Rosehill, you might have to show him a little clevage.”

She pretended to pull the top of her dress down a little, big shit eating grin on her face, “How’s that? Better? Oh please, sir, notice me. Please come tap my ass like a keg!”

The remark caused Henry to choke on his drink. After a deep gasp of air he looked at her incredulously “never mind, you’ll kill the man. Give him a heart attack talking like that.”

The two talked, Elizabeth told him about how earlier that year she had gone through a bitter divorce, her ex had left her with more debt than she would be able to handle by herself and then her mother had passed away. She felt like she was drowning and the first life raft that had been thrown her way was being pulled from her.

“But you know what? I am a pretty damn good swimmer, and my momma didn’t raise no bitch.” She stated. She sat back sagaciously for a moment, “I think that might be the whiskey talking.”

Henry chuckled to himself. They were both a few drinks deep into their conversation and she was feeling it. He paid their tab and took her with him, “Come on, you lightweight, let’s go put some food in you so you don’t black out on me.”

Trying to get the teacher to do anything while she had been drinking was like trying to get a cat to cooperate. Every time they walked for more than a few minutes, she would wonder off some where distracted by anything that caught her attention. He stood there the fourth time when she stopped to look at display of macrons in a window.

“Are you like this every time you drink?”

“No, only when I forget to eat during the day before hand, I’m so hungry, I would perform unspeakable acts if I could get my hands on some fried pickles right now. Are those even a thing here?”

“Fried… pickles?” He responded moderately concerned for her sanity. “Why?”

“Do you want the drunk answer or the athlete answer?”

“Both. Oh my god woman, would you get off of that. You are like the worst version of the worst mission in video games. No, no, no, you wrap your arm around mine right now, I will get you food, I promise. Stay with me, Lizzie, tell me about the pickles.”

“Drunk answer is that they taste good, you know what takes a sandwich from eh to great. Pickles.” She tucked her arm right into his, with his other hand gently resting on top of her arm ready to guide her along. “Athlete answer is that they help re-hydrate you, after work outs, after drinking. Drinking pickle juice always cures my hangovers. Although chips work too, especially with salt and vinegar.”

They found a place still open that was serving delicious smelling fried food. He was together enough to set her down on a curb. “Please stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She leaned against him as soon as he sat down and handed her their snack. It was beginning to get late and a chill in the autumn air was starting to creep in. “You called me Lizzie earlier, I haven’t been called that since I was a little girl.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you still are a little girl. Well, compared to me anyways.” He nudged her with his elbow a little to get a smile out of her. “I hope you don’t mind, I won’t call you that again if you hate it.”

“It is totally fine, I’ve gone by Liz, Lizzie, Lizbeth, Beth. Just please don’t call me Libby. My middle name is Louisa, my ex would call me Libby-Lou, knowing how much I hated that nickname. Made me feel like I should be living in Whoville, waiting for the Grinch to steal my Christmas dinner.”

“They can be the worst, ex’s. They always know where they can jab at you with a mean joke or poke at an insecurity. One of mine would make comments about what I was eating, especially if I was between jobs.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and felt her whole body shiver.

“I’m sorry, you never deserved that.” She said softly. He looked into her eyes, the eyeliner had somehow gotten more smudged, she looked as exhausted as she sounded.

“No, neither did you. I don’t know what all he did to you, but you deserve better too.” His voice came out low and husky. “Do you want to come back to my place, I live pretty close by and you look like you are about to freeze.”

“I don’t know, Mr Cavill, I seem to remember you mentioning something about finding someone to make out with tonight, will I find one there?”

With the straightest face he could possibly muster, “As long as you don’t eat all of my pickles.”

***

A twenty minute walk later, they were in Henry’s home. They were both greeted by a very excited Kal, who snuffled and snorted at his daddy’s new friend. A warm welcoming glow came from the living room where the lights had been left on for his dog. He offered her one of his hoodies to help her warm up and planted her on the couch so he could take his boy to do his business outside. He came back as quick as he, honestly expecting to find her asleep. Instead, she was looking at him with her whiskey colored eyes. He had wanted another drink, and brought them both another glass of the liquor. He sat down at the other end of the couch, trying to respect her space. “Are you comfortable, can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m warming up well, thank you. You have a beautiful home, it’s nice and cozy.”

“Thank you, I like it here a lot, it is just enough for me. And Kal, for that matter.” His furry buddy was pressing as much of himself against the spot Elizabeth sat on the couch. She was delicately rubbing the area between his eyes and cooing at big beast, his fluffy tail wagging happily. “I think he likes you.”

“Oh good, I’m glad His Lordship approves of me.” She moved her hands to rub his chin. “You are just a big softy aren’t you? Good man, Kal.”

Henry watched them get acquainted, allowing himself to melt into the couch, legs spread apart. She turned her attention to the beautiful man before her. Maybe the booze was making her feel more bold than usual, but damn did she want him. Her mind was still swimming from their earlier adventure. Hopefully, it was an invite to climb between his powerful thighs. She shot back her glass and put the empty cup on his side table. He reached over to her and pulled her close. She positioned herself to face him and straddled his lap. His breath caught in his throat for a moment.

“If I’m being to presumptuous, I can stop. I will go sit on the other side again.” She said quietly.

“No, I want this. I want you.” He reached up, fingers were gently touching the back of her arms.

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his, “Before you... we… whatever it is here that we are doing, I need you to know that I don’t know what all I can give to you right now. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I think you are worth the risk,” he whispered to her and they connected.

Henry had wanted this from the first time he placed her hands on him. Every nudge, posture correction, hand offered to help him, whenever he felt her skin on his he felt the current between the two of them and it was electrifying. He felt himself grow hard as she invited him to explore her body. His hoodie was off was off of her body as soon as they started, and then shortly after came her black dress. They continued to make out as she unbuttoned his soft flannel shirt.

He fingers searched the back of her bra for it’s clasp. She broke off their kiss long enough to lean back and unhook it from the front. Henry could feel the pressure building in his jeans as he looked at her body.  All she had left on were knee high black boots and a pair of silky purple panties. Elizabeth gave him a lopsided smile as she leaned back into their embrace. Her fingers danced and tickled down his chest running down to to the bottom hem of his shirt. Henry stopped himself before she removed the cotton undershirt, ever so gently. “Before I take this off, I want you to not be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” she asked breathlessly.

“I don’t look like Geralt right now. I’m in my off season, and I don’t know what kind of expectations you have...” Elizabeth slowly ran her hands back up his chest.

“I like you, Henry: your beautiful, overthinking, intelligent mind; your sweet nature; your burning passions. You as a person.” peppering his neck and face with tender kisses, her hands tangling in his hair. “Everything else is just sprinkles on a cupcake.”

“Sprinkles on a cupcake?” he smiled. She nibbled on his ear and he moaned, hungry for more.

“Cupcakes don’t need sprinkles to be delicious, I have never refused a cupcake because it didn’t have sprinkles on it.” She ran her fingers back down to the bottom of his shirt. “So, Mr Cavill, do I have permission to take your shirt off?”

“Yes, Ms Rosehill, you do.” The woman on top of him pulled the garment off, never breaking eye contact. After it’s removal, she kept a firm grip on his arms, inching ever closer to his wrists. With her hands on them, Elizabeth pressed her weight against his wrists and pinned him as best she could to the back of the couch. She ground her pelvis against his as she started nibbling and kissing his neck, her torso against  his. Appreciating the nuzzling and nibbles on his neck, he closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for her to continue.

All he felt was her soft breathing against his skin. A moment later her hands dropped from his wrists. Henry tried to move himself to see what what was going on when a soft snore came from his would be lover. He rubbed his face, not believing what had just happened.

“Liz… Lizzie… wake up, sweetheart.” He tried kissing her cheek to wake her. The only response she gave was tucking her arms to her chest and adjusting her head on his shoulder. He groaned, but knew what he had to do. Elizabeth was as limp as a rag doll, so he guided her arms through his flannel shirt, placed her down gently on the couch and prepared his guest room for her. Making sure his warmest duvet was on the bed, he left a bottle of water and some Tylenol on the bed side table for her. He carried her to the room and tucked her into bed, making sure a pillow was wedged behind her back to keep her on her side.  Henry then went to his room, fell face first into bed and yelled directly into a pillow.