#but hopefully the promise of money will be enough enticement

[starwolf53]

Been thinking about opening commissions but idk how I'll go about it . but i might

[runwithwolvcs]

You Know I'm No Good - thirty five

Warnings: none

A/N: kinda short but the next one is a big one, i promise

Hes A Sucker For You

The morning after her argument with Paul, Tallulah called the one person she figured might know how she feels and asked her to meet her at the local diner on the rez. Although she was still upset with him, Tallulah kept her promise and sent him a short text, telling him she would be busy all day and wouldn’t be able to see him. Though it wasn’t exactly the truth, she just needed some time to digest what he had said.

This is why I never wanted to imprint.

He never wanted this and now he was stuck with her, forever. It made her nauseous just thinking about it. He had mentioned how he only stayed with Rachel because it was easy, and then Lenna had informed her about his nefarious infidelity to Rachel, she couldn’t help but wonder if that would become of them in five years. 

He had to stay around her, not necessarily with her. Just close enough to protect. That was his duty.

“What are you thinking about?” she heard the older girl across from her ask, pulling her from the darkness her mind was falling into

“Is Jared ever over protective of you?” she asked Kim.

“All the time, it’s gotten better since he first imprinted, but he still has this neediness to him.”

“Paul does too. It’s suffocating sometimes.” she admitted, hoping she would be able to relate.

“Paul’s just worried.” Kim said, giving her a sympathetic smile.

“I know it’s just that I feel like I need his permission to do things, like seeing my friends because of how worried he gets..”

Kim shook her head, “he's not worried about you going to see your friends, he’s worried you won’t come back.”

“What?” she asked, completely confused. That was never a worry he had brought up to her before, nor something he should even be thinking.

“I didn’t tell you this but, he has his moments of doubt where he thinks one day you’ll wake up and realise all the normal things that you’re missing out on. Jared joked about Paul chaperoning prom because he wouldn’t be able to go with you and he nearly phased.” she explained, “It didn’t help that Jared mentioned that Chase kid you hang out with could take you.”

“I don’t even want to go to prom.” Tallulah stated, running her fingers through her hair. Another thing she had never brought up to Paul. The glitz and glamour of prom never enticed her. It just seemed like a waste of time and money. She would much rather spend the night with him, in his home, hopefully in his bed.

Kim shrugged and took a sip of her latte, “He thinks that he’s not enough to keep you around and that this is just the honeymoon phase of the imprint. We all went through it.”

“That's so silly. What about the bond? I can’t just leave him.”

“No, but the imprintee decides the course of their relationship with the imprinter. You could decide you just want to be platonic friends and he’d have to go along with it.” she reminded her.

“We tried that and it didn't work.” she admitted. That day in the clearing when the first kiss should’ve been a warning to both of them that once they started, they would never get enough of each other. Falling in love with him seemed inevitable.

“Is that what you wanted?” she prodded, and from the look on Kim's face, she knew the answer already.

“I don’t know..”

“He really loves you, Tallulah. More than I realised he was capable of.” She partially jokes.

“I want to love him, I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else, but this control thing is too much sometimes.” Tallulah murmured, absentmindedly picking at the muffin in front of her.

“Listen, I totally understand where you’re coming from, I do. But with the whole situation right now, all the boys are on edge. He just wants to know that at the end of the day, you’re safe.” Kim repeated basically what Paul had the night before.

“I guess, but that doesn’t change the fact that he said he never wanted to imprint. It’s not like I would've ever crossed paths with him without it. He’d still be with Rachel, maybe.”

“He’s dumb for saying that. But he’s a boy, who rarely thinks before he speaks. And you, are extremely bright and wise for you age and have the ability to read between the lines of the stupid things he says. So, as your honorary older sister, I’ll have your back and make him realise why he shouldn’t have said that.” Kim grinned, patting her hand before Kim pulled out her cell phone and dialled a number. 

“Wait, what?” she asked, the older girl held a single finger to her lips, motioning for Tallulah to stay quiet as she pressed the speaker button on her screen.

“What do you want, Kim?” his voice was tired and she knew from the time on her phone that he would be leaving for patrol soon.

“Care to explain why you told Tallulah you never wanted to imprint?” Kim said haughtily.

“She told you that?” he asked, his voice muffled through the speaker as if he were distracted by something.

“Yep. I’m waiting for an answer and don’t you dare hang up on me again.” Tallulah hid her snicker at this, clearly Kim calling him wasn’t a one time thing.

“It sounds bad, but I just meant that we could’ve had a normal relationship had I not imprinted on her. No wolf bullshit.”

“There wouldn’t be a relationship, Paul.” Kim chastised.

“You don’t know that.” he said, now on the defence

“I do, for a fact, know that. You’d still be with Rachel, and Tallulah would be living her little high school teenage dream, without you. A twenty six year old who really has no business being with an eighteen year old, unless they somehow knew they were basically soulmates.” as Kim explained it, she could see why her dad thought it was inappropriate. She couldn’t imagine what it looked like to people who didn’t know the pack secret. Though her friends have at least been supportive.

“Fuck..Is that what she thinks I meant?”

“Paul, you have a relationship with her because the imprint brought you two together. You can still have a normal relationship with her. You just gotta loosen up a little.” Kim explained, in a nicer way than she could have.

“Yeah, because I’m currently not fucking with her entire life.” he said sarcastically, “If we had a normal relationship, I’d follow her anywhere she wanted to go. New York, for fucks sake. She’s looking at a school in Tacoma because I can’t leave, when she really wants to be in New York. She’s now stuck here because of me, and I can’t fucking stand it.”

“Calm down, Paul.” Kim warned, the two girls could hear the anger in his voice and it had Tallulah reaching for the phone, only for the older girl to swat her hand away.

“You don’t get it, Kim. Jared didn’t ruin your life.” Tallulah furrowed her eyebrows at what she heard, she had never, and would never think that he had ruined her life. Quite the opposite in her opinion.

“Did she say that?” Kim mused, clearly seeing the confusion on Tallulah's face.

“No, but..”

Kim cut him off, “Then don’t think that. Maybe try listening to what she actually says instead of making stuff up in your head.”

“And if she does think I ruined her life?” he shot back.

“She doesn’t, ask her and she will tell you that you're an idiot.” Tallulah grinned and nodded her head, giving the older girl a thumbs up. She would tell him he was an idiot.

“Fuck, I gotta go, Kim. Jared should be back soon.” he said, stress lacing his voice.

“Okay, Paul. Stop overthinking before you push her away, okay?”

“Mhmm. “ he mumbled before hanging up.

“Like, I said, boys are dumb and he loves you more than he knows how to show it.”Kim said with a grin as she put her phone back on the table.

It wasn’t long before Tallulah's phone pinged and she looked at the screen, one unread message from ‘Paul  🐥💙’

‘ i love you, lu’

She grinned, re-reading  the text before quickly replying, 

 ‘ be safe tonight ‘

“He is such a sucker.” Kim said, giving Tallulah a knowing smile.

Taglist: @cperry0516 , @bhasbhabiessss, @fuzzyfingersandcavier@haventdecidedyet @alwayshave-faith @emmettcullenswife @kingniazx @sorrow-and-bliss@swidkid

[fanmoose12]

a little something for @bruciesnat :) i know i've promised it like a lifetime ago, sorry for the delay! oh, and i decided to combine it with a prompt i also received a long while ago <3

Mike doesn't know why he's doing this. Doesn't understand how he agreed to it, can't comprehend why Erwin would make him do it. Mike doesn't know what he had done to deserve this- this punishment.

He's- he's a good man. An honest one. He serves to ensure the future of humanity, he risks his life to give others a better one.

He's good at it too, he's excellent at fighting and slashing and scouting. He was the best one at it, before- before the annoying midget came.

The same annoying midget, who is insanely strong and easily irritated. The same annoying midget, who has a crush on their adorable Hange. Hange, who Mike has to seduce to test Erwin's theory that Levi, insanely strong, easily irritated Levi, truly has a crush on their Hange.

Mike swallows heavily as he sits next to Hange, just a little too close as Erwin instructed. He smells that it won't end well.

He cringes, as he puts his arm around her shoulders.

Mike likes Hange, a lot actually. Sometimes he feels like they're siblings that were torn apart by some bigger entity. So yeah, he likes Hange. But definitely not like that.

But, oh well, anything for the cause, right?

"Hey, Hans," he murmurs, adopting his most seducting tone. He hopes that his smile is charming enough to captivate their dear scientist. "Are you free tonight? I have two tickets to the theater perfomance," he leans in closer, lowering his voice to what could probably (Mike is an eternal optimist!) be called an enticing whisper. "They're showing the creation of the the Walls tonight."

Somewhere on his periphery, Mike can see a swift dark shadow that oozes the smell of detergent. That shadow, it grows closer, its aura becoming more menacing.

Mike can only hope that if Levi attempts to kill him, Erwin would intervene.

Although... knowing Erwin, he'd just write Mike's death off as a necessary sacrifice.

He takes his hand off Hange. The shadow retreats a few steps back.

"Sorry, Mike," Hange shrugs with a small, apologizing smile. "I showed that play to Levi a few weeks ago. I had my fill of religious propaganda for now. But if you're looking for someone to accompany you," she winks and turns around. Mike's heart sinks. "Levi really liked going to the theatre! He'll be happy to tag along, right, Levi?"

Mike meets Levi's eyes, and sees nothing but desire for murder inside.

Mike quickly scrambles to his feet. "You know, I'll just ask Gelgar to go with me. I'm sure he doesn't have anything better to do."

And they can get wasted afterwards. Mike really needs that after this conversation.

Just as he retreats, Levi takes his place, sitting down next to Hange, also just a little too close.

The mission had failed spectacularly, but, Mike consoles himself, at least he learned that Hange and Levi went to theatre together. And sometimes intel is more important than the victory, right?

Ah, if only Erwin would share his opinion on that.

***

Erwin's second attempt is even worse than the first one, but, at least, this time it doesn't directly involve Mike. Still, he's an unwilling spectator to it, and, just as the last time, he doesn't like where all of this is going.

He already feels bad for the poor guy Erwin hired to hit on Hange during the annual military ball. Where did Erwin get the money - did he take them from the Corps' funds or his own allowance, Mike doesn't know, and, frankly, he isn't sure which option is more disturbing.

At least, the actor is handsome, Mike doesn't know if Hange would like him, he doesn't know if she has a type, and if she does, he hopes it's not annoying midgets, but the guy is handsome, there is no denying that.

Hange has cleaned up fairly well too, the white suit looks excellent on her, bringing out all of her best assets, demonstrating her wide hips and lean, long legs. The hair, gathered in a neat bun, shows her long, gorgeous neck, and the light make-up make her even more gorgeous than usual.

When she and Erwin walked through the front door - him in his blue suit and Hange in her white, symbolising their Wings of Freedom, everyone had their breath taken away.

Even Mike was a little shocked to see Hange dressed up like this, and Levi, who stood right next to him, was completely blown away, staring at Hange with wide-eyed, lovestruck look.

Thanks to Levi's ridiculous expression, Mike now understands why Erwin goes to such length to bring their resident weirdos together. It is delightful to watch Levi behave like that, and Mike longs to see more of this side of him.

Soon after Hange and Erwin make their grand entrance, their guy makes the first move.

He approaches Hange, his eyes bright and smile so charming it makes Mike envious that Hange is at the receiving end of it. He kisses her hand, whispers something in her ear.

"He praises her recent experiment. I thought it was a good place to start," Erwin explains quietly to him.

"Ah," Mike nods. So Erwin thought every detail through? Not surprising at all. "Think this would have an effect on Levi?"

"It already does," Erwin says, pointing to a furious cloud of black hair and suit that is approaching them at a rapid speed.

"Has four-eyes lost all shame?" Levi practically growls, his eyes throwing flames. "Is she seriously flirting with a fucker from the MP?"

"He's not a soldier," Mike answers, reciting a legend Erwin created. "He's actually a wealthy merchant from the South. Heard he sells apples to the King himself."

"And since when Hange is interested in someone like him," Levi crosses hands on his chest, his glare turning even darker, as Erwin's actor takes Hange by the hand and leads her to the dance floor.

"You know, you can ask Hange to a dance," Erwin advices with a pleased smile. "Then she won't be able to flirt with others."

Levi scoffs. "I would rather fight a horde of titans than dance with stinky four-eyes."

Maria, Rose and Sina, Mike thinks. They're worse than children.

"Hange has taken a bath before coming here," he tells Levi.

Levi rolls his eyes. "And now she looks even more awful than usual."

Mike shares a look with Erwin. Does Levi prefer usual Hange, when she doesn't bath for days and her eyes water from the lack of sleep? It almost sounds cute.

"This is the last time I'm attending this shitty ball," Levi swears to Erwin. "Even wine here is shitty."

He marches away immediately after that, heading to the table with wine. Mike can barely stop his laughter, as he watches Levi take a glass of wine, drink a few large gulps of it, and then wince, his mouth moving as he probably murmurs violent curses. He doesn't take his eyes off Hange and her dance partner, and relaxes only when the song ends.

Both Mike and Erwin watch intently as the actor kisses Hange's hand once again. Hange blushes, and Mike almost coos. Levi grabs another glass of wine.

When the actor starts leading Hange away, in the direction of the balcony, Levi starts moving too. He intercepts them just at the edge of the ballroom.

Mike knows he should have expected something like that, knows that Levi doesn't exactly possess the best of manners, but pouring wine over someone? Over his own colleague and friend? Mike certainly didn't expect that.

He's delighted to see what happens next, though.

What happens is that Hange's gorgeous white suit is ruined and Levi wraps his hand around her wrist and drags her to the bathroom. He sports a unusually pleased expression and Hange is laughing herself silly.

Not a bad ending to this endeavor, Mike thinks.

"Another disaster," Erwin sighs.

***

Third time is a charm, or so Mike hopes.

This time Erwin decides to take matter in his hands, and that another sign that this plan will succeed.

The plan is simple, yet, hopefully, effective. Erwin is to whisk Hange away to some remote location, create a scene that would look like a moment between lovers, and Mike is to call Levi there and make sure he witnesses it all.

Erwin is a brave man, Mike thinks, as his Commander explains the plan to him. He would never dare to do something like that to humanity's strongest. To awaken his jealous streak... Mike is glad he's not in Erwin's place.

One sunny afternoon, the plan is set in motion. Erwin takes Hange, and Mike goes to find Levi.

He finds him fairly quickly, in the middle of cleaning Hange's room. Man, he could at least try to make his crush be less discreet. But that's beside the point now, because Levi is cleaning Hange's room and not watching Erwin and Hange. Mike confidently strides up to him.

"Levi! I've just been looking for you."

"What do you need?" he asks boringly. "And have you seen four-eyes? I can't find her all day."

Erwin prepared some legend, a reason why Mike needs Levi, but in the heat of the moment, Mike can't remember a single word. So he just yells "Come with me!" and hope that Levi follows.

Thankfully, he does.

Mike leads him to the stables, where Erwin is already at it. His palm is on the wall, next to Hange's head, and from Mike's point of view, it certainly looks like they're in the middle of... something naughty.

Next to him, Levi tenses, and Mike can practically hear his teeth grinding.

Mike prepares for something very ugly, but then...

"I- I didn't know that Erwin and four-eyes-" oh, fuck, it sounds like Levi is genuinely sad, like he's heartbroken or something. Mike feels a strange desire to hug the little guy and pat his head. But then he remembers that he and Erwin are the reason for Levi's distress right now, and... remorse starts kicking in.

"Levi, listen, it's not-"

"Levi!"

As always, Hange is the one to save the day.

She breaks free from Erwin and sprints to Levi, a wide smile on her face. "You won't believe what Erwin had just told me! He gave me permission to go in the town's library and bring back all the books I want! I'm in dire need of your muscles, humanity's strongest, you'll go with me, right?"

Levi still seems grouchy, but under Hange's sunny grin, his angry facade crumbles. "I don't know if Commander will allow it..."

He doesn't even try to hide his bitterness and irration. Mike disguises his chuckle as a coughing fit.

"Erwin!" Hange turns to him, eyes pleading. "Can Levi go with me?"

"Sure," Erwin nods. "Take all the time you need."

Hange yells in triumph, loud enough to make Mike wince. She grabs Levi by the hand and drags him away. Erwin watches them with a wistful smile.

"I don't think we should get involved in their relationships," Mike says, as he approaches Erwin. He stands close to his Commander, their shoulders pressing against each other. "We should let them figure it out themselves."

"Agreed," Erwin says. "I'm sure they'll manage well enough even without us."

Mike watches Hange wrap her arm around Levi, and is inclined to agree. They will certainly manage without them both.

Or, at least, Hange is able to manage.

And that should be enough.

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Accidentally Perfect

It all started with a bet.

And Tony hates how much of a cliche even that is. A bet. He's let himself get dragged into a bet by a fresh-faced eighteen year old who has a walkman ironically and brings a dictaphone into every lecture.

Goddamn, he hates Peter Parker. He seethes furiously at him from across the quad, the hot summer sun beating down on his shoulders. His blank tank top is helping keep the heat off, but it's still almost unbearably warm. Sticky with the promise of the summer holidays only a few weeks away.

"Do you actually think you can stare him out of existence?" Rhodey asks, a cool, amused voice from back in the shade of their stand. Tony turns and glowers, pulling his sunglasses off.

"He's such a little shit."

"He's eighteen, Tony. All eighteen year olds are little shits. We were, remember?"

Tony doesn't remember them ever being as unbearable as Peter. His face must say as much, because Rhodey sighs.

"We're twenty-seven." He says gently. "We're getting a little too old to keep blaming college wars on the freshman."

He barely resists the urge to stomp his foot. "He started it!"

It's true, Tony thinks. He can't really remember how it all started. He remembers the beginning of the semester, deciding to take a break from the all-consuming robotics thesis of his doctorate and go and drop in on a lecture. He remembers a bright-eyed boy with fluffy hair stumbling through a presentation in front of his peers. He very vaguely remembers calling out one or two inconsistencies with Peter's presentation. He remembers the bright red flush that had spread across Peter's cheeks, and the way he'd stumbled quietly over his words, and- okay- in Tony's defence, he was sleep deprived- trying to think up his proposal, still trying to get his second phD started and-

It had turned into all out war pretty quickly.

Turns out, Peter didn't respond well to being picked on.

Not that Tony had picked on him, just-

"Gluing all my furniture to the ceiling? Selling my text books? Hiring someone to fire a paintball at me every hour for four days?!" Tony runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head. "He's evil!"

Rhodey barely blinks, eyes on his phone. "But..."

Tony's shoulders droop. "...But I started it." He mumbles under his breath.

"What? I didn't quite catch that."

"I started it, alright? Jeez," he winces, "I said sorry."

"No. You didn't."

Okay fine, he's not big on apologies.

Whatever. It doesn't matter anyway. They're where they are now. The bet. Whoever raises the most money for the oil spill just off of Mexico's coast wins. Their two stands sit opposite each other on the quad, six hours to raise money, loser has to get down on their knees in front of the entire student body and declare the other their superior in every single way.

That's why Tony's here. In a tight black tank top, muscles on display, sunglasses on, hair messy, grinning at everyone who passes.

"How much have we got, Rhode-aroo?"

There's a gentle clatter as Rhodey checks the basket. "Uh, $12?"

Tony winces. That's not great. "Whatever. It's gotta be more than Parker has anyway."

Rhodey hums.

***

As the third hour ticks by, Tony slinks back into the shade of their stall and dozes off a little. It can't be more than fifteen minutes, but when he opens his eyes, there's a trickle of students leaving their classes and walking through the quad.

For some bewildering reason, they're all walking to Peter's stand.

Tony frowns, tiptoeing over to enemy lines.

The first thing he sees is that Peter's money basket is full. Not just one money basket, but four money baskets. At least $100 in change, loose bills and Starbucks vouchers.

What the fuck?

And then- then he sees why.

MJ, the equally annoying friend, is manning the booth. She's concise and thoughtful and armed with scary statistics as she neatly collects money and scares more into baskets.

But Peter, Peter is all cream silk shirt and tight blue shorts, and big eyes and enthusiasm.

"I just keep thinking of the baby seals," Peter whines, rocking on the heels of his feet, pink converse scraping against the grass. "Those poor animals, all covered in oil..." he bites his lip, bats those eyelashes, and the tall jock who's leaning over him, nods, already fumbling for his wallet.

"Yeah totally, the-the seals."

"Right? Oh, thank you," Peter sighs, voice a little wanton moan, touching the guy's elbow, leaning in. "You're a hero."

The guy tosses in another twenty.

Jesus Christ. Tony can't help his grin of disbelief, even as irritated as he is that he didn't come up with it first.

Devious little shit.

***

When the crowd has dispersed a little bit, and the dynamic duo have bled most everyone dry, Tony makes himself known, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

"Wow, Parker. We're more alike than I thought."

Peter turns, looking up at him, eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh yeah? How's that? Did you actually start caring about the oil spill?"

Tony hums, feigning nonchalance. "I just mean, I thought your standards were a little higher."

The boy frowns, little face scrunched up in confusion. It's annoyingly endearing. "Huh?"

"C'mon, no need to hide now. Playing dumb and pretty to get donations? Way to care about the animals."

The outrage that flits across that expressive face is way too believable. "Pretty anddumb? Screw you, Tony. You're just jealous I'm winning." Peter humphs, crossing his arms. "Is surly know-it-all not enticing the crowds the way you thought it would?"

Tony shrugs. "Maybe. Because I won't reduce myself."

"What are you talking about?!"

"Come on, Peter. You know what you're doing to people." Here, Tony raises his voice. Hopefully, he'll be able to steer people away from here and over to his own stand. Though, Rhodey's death glare from across the quad is making him think maybe that's not an excellent idea- why, he's not sure. He barrels on, attention on him. "You're doing that thing- with the big sparkly brown Disney eyes and the scandalously short shorts and the elbow-touching. You're fake laughing at bad jokes and fluttering your eyelashes and selling your torturous mix of princess and bombshell that none of us can resist to trick people into giving you their money, admit it!"

Peter gapes, mouth in a delicious 'o'. "I am not!" He shrieks: scandalised.

Tony scoffs. "You expect me to believe that you're thisfucking irresistible on purpose?"

The boy doesn't seem to know what to do with that. He scrambles, blushing under the stare of the passers-by. "I'm...I don't...um...thank you?"

Tony stares. No way. No fucking way is this not an act, it can't be or-

"Yeah." MJ sighs, the sigh of the long-wearied, as she unfolds another dollar bill into the pile. "Join the club."

***

Tony's pacing back stage, still trying to understand everything in his head.

The entire student body is waiting on the other side of that curtain, mostly drunk, hopefully too drunk to remember this in the morning- to see his apology act.

"Big sparkly Disney eyes," Rhodes hums, re-watching the video on twitter. "I'm surprised you went with that one, you're always going on about his Bambi eyes. What's the difference?"

"I swear to god, if you keep talking-"

"I think my favourite bit is where you basically announced to the world that your kink is sexy princess."

"Oh my god-"

"Uh- T-Tony?"

Tony whirls around to see Peter standing at the curtain, and Tony can't help the groan of embarrassment.

"Look, Pete, I'll do it, alright? Just give me a second to shed the last of my dignity."

"No, it's not..." Peter blushes, and Rhodey lifts his hands, shuffling away to give them some privacy. Peter edges closer, stupidly gorgeous with all of his freckles, a fucking dandelion crown perched on his chestnut curls, like he's just trying to press all of Tony's buttons and- "Look, Tony," Peter murmurs, all sweetness and loveliness, "I was thinking, you don't need to- you don't need to go out there and say anything." He wrings his lily-white hands, silvery bracelets hanging at the wrist, "Really. I feel like- the fact that video from the quad went viral was- that's more than enough."

Tony doesn't know what to say, but it doesn't stop him from trying. "Pete, about what I said..."

"I really wasn't doing any of that stuff- I-, I wasn't trying to play dumb, or- I mean, maybe I was? I didn't- I didn't mean to, I just wanted to help the seals, and I've already bought my ticket to volunteer for seal cleaning over summer break and-"

Tony laughs, shaking his head. Because he knows. He sighs, meeting those lovely brown eyes. "I know you weren't. You're not- I was just- I'm sorry, Pete. For all of it. For the day we met."

Peter looks shy, but pleased. "You were an ass." He agrees amiably.

"I was. Am. Trying not to be."

Peter chews on his bottom lip, accidentally embodying Tony's every wet dream. "You could buy a ticket for the summer seal cleaning task." Peter shrugs, eyes darting away. "If you like."

"With you?" Tony wonders aloud, "with you being so...unintentionally you? Not sure I could cope."

"True," Peter whispers coyly, "imagine if I was actively trying to seduce you. You wouldn't last a minute."

At that, Tony laughs again. Loud and delighted. Head tipped back, unaware to how Peter drinks in the sight. "Is that a bet, kid?"

Peter beams.

[secret-rendezvous1d]

What if like Harry was rude to YN (they aren't dating) and she just feels really sad and stops hanging out with him and then he feels bad

YN’s a hard person to upset.

She’s very independent and strong-willed, she’s tough and doesn’t show any weaknesses, she’s very level-headed with situations and she doesn’t let things bother her like they would other people so, to upset her and for her to take any action in proving that she was sad by what was said, Harry would have had to have said something that was very personal to her.

He’s not shallow so I don’t think he’d go for her looks and he’s not ignorant to be rude about her ways of life or what she chooses to support and protest so it really would have to be something that she feels strongly about, something that she sees as important, something that he used against her to try and entice a laugh out of their friends.

The day it happens, her day had gone from bad to terrible. 

She woke up late and missed the breakfast times at her local bakery, she had a short but sweet argument with her agent over something work-related that she could get round to in her own time, her parents demanded she travelled back to home so they could spend time with her at the weekend, she was an hour late for a meeting at lunch with a potential (and rather important) client who wanted her to use her platform to recommend their company and she’d forgotten her keys and locked herself out of her flat and had to walk, in the pouring rain, to her landlord’s home that was just down the block from her complex so she could take her spare key and give it back straight after.

When she walks into the local pub on the corner of a street in Hammersmith, dressed in a cream knit-jumper, some black jeans and ankle-high boots, and sees her friends already sharing a round and filling the pub with  raucous laughter, she doesn’t expect anything to happen and she doesn’t even bat an eye to the knowledge that the night could (and would) end so poorly because it already felt like it was going to be a good stress reliever for her. She orders for herself - a vodka and cranberry juice - and mingles her way through the tipsy drinkers to get to her friends.

She hugs her girlfriends, shares an inside greeting with her boyfriends and she receives a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze to her shoulders from Harry as he takes her coat, drapes it over his and lets her have the seat he was sitting in so she could perch next to one of her friends. 

Nothing wrong about it.

He kept an arm resting on the back of her chair as he took swigs from his beer bottle, fingers brushing over her upper arm as she tried to stay in her deep conversation, clueless to how he kept taking secret glances at her and how he smiled every time she bellowed out a laugh at something that someone had done. Knees knocking under the table. They were friendly touches, the caring kind that showed friends looking out for one another, and that’s what they hoped they looked like to everyone around them. 

Still nothing wrong about it.

The night passes and the number of friends decreases by two or three every hour that passed by until it was just the two of them, in an almost empty pub, finishing the last of their drinks and finished up their conversation... more abrupt and sudden than Harry had thought.

They were only talking about work when things took a turn.

He was on a break from a world tour, the first of many to come, and all she needed was a night away from talking about work so she wasn’t best pleased to talk when he brought the subject up but she wasn’t rude enough to turn the conversation away when they hadn’t seen each other in a while; catching up like old friends do, that’s what they were doing. 

But the more sips he took, the drunker he seemed to get and his words slurred much deeper and longer than normal, with eyes so distant and watery that this definitely had to be his last beer and she would have him in a taxi and on his way home before the pub became vacant. So when he accidentally slipped that her job sounded pointless, that he couldn’t understand why anyone would ever venture into it, that he didn’t understand why it was ever a career and that she can’t be getting any money to care for herself and that she must have been getting financial aid from somewhere, she’s out of her chair with a frown and a ‘goodbye’ before he could put her beer down.

Eyes following her as she yanked the door open and let it bang behind her. The foggy glasses distorting her figure as she walked passed where they were sat and disappeared from the windowpane before he could blink. Guilt sitting in his veins, overtaking the alcohol that seemed to build inside him, bottom lip between his teeth as he stood to his feet and scuffed across the sticky floor to put his half-finished beer bottle on the side. 

“Bye, mate!” being the last thing he heard, from the bartender who was drying glasses behind the bar, before he took the stumbling walk home.

They both sleep the night off; Saturday morning was mere hours away and the apology could wait until he had a clear head and a solid argument as to why he said what he said.

Except all he could think about was how she left without their usual goodbye; they didn’t hug, they didn’t share drunken kisses to the cheek, they didn’t agree to call each other in the morning or organise a breakfast or brunch date so they could feast their hungover stomachs together. She didn’t promise to call him when she got home; and by god, he hoped she got home okay. She went home and, as much as it hurt him to think about, cried. He know she did. He knew that’s was why she left so quickly. He knew that that he upset her and he felt like an arsehole.

*

“Hey, love. It’s Harry. A very apologetic, guilt-ridden Harry. Although, I probably came up on your screen, I forget you have my number. At least, I hope you do after last night which I’m incredibly sorry for. I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know why I said it and I know it’s lousy to blame it on the alcohol but you know I don’t drink like that very often and- and I’m making excuses. Poor effort on my end. I’m really sorry. Like, incredibly and terribly sorry... hope to see you soon. I really hope last night didn’t ruin anything between us. Bye, love.”

*

“Hi, love. So, you either didn’t get my last voicemail or you chose to ignore it... I wouldn’t blame you if you ignored it, to be honest. Grovelling for forgiveness. I would ignore it, too. It was a bad apology. I don’t know what came over me and I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about you, the strongest person I know, being so down and upset over something I, the biggest prick I know, said. Something that I said when I was drunk and didn’t know what I was saying. I’ve sent you a small something in the post; I don’t know when you’ll get it but I made sure it was first class... first class post for a first class girl, I guess. See you soon? Bye.”

*

“Hey, so, this will be the last voicemail I send and then you can have all the time in the world to be alone, to think about what you want to do, to moan about me to your friends so they can hate me too or you can slate me online. I deserve it. I rather you than a friend; as much as I like your mates, they’re tough and you deserve someone like them to fight with you. I hope you liked the flowers and the doughnuts I sent you. From your local bakery since I know you love them a whole lot. Went there for lunch yesterday and it may just be my favourite place too... hopefully we can go together one day? Maybe, for a date? Or something. If you wanted to. I’m not saying you should because of what I said but- and I’m waffling. Oh, they do good waffles, too. Anyway, I miss you. I’m still incredibly sorry for how I handled the situation and I hope this can be resolved again soon. See you, love.”

*

When it’s still radio silence, he lets her be.

Until one Monday evening, two weeks later, when they both stumbled into one another in her local bakery; YN being there to grab something small for dinner and Harry being there to grab a coffee on his way back to the tube station after being on his feet all day. 

“Harry-”

“YN-”

He laughs softly and he’s surprised to hear a soft giggle escape her mouth. Her bag slipping from her shoulder and a white paper bag, smelling strongly of a warm ham and cheese panini (and, knowing her, a blueberry muffin in there for her dessert). His cheeks flushing pink when she looks at him.

“New favourite place,” he nods slowly before his eyes widen, “not because you live around her or anything. I’m not stalking you or anything. You keep telling me to try it and I did a couple of weeks ago and-”

“I know,” she interrupts, reaching forward to squeeze his forearm, “it’s good to see you.”

He sighs with relief.

“Listen, about what I said, I’m still incredibly sorry. I think I will be for the rest of my life,” he says gently, guiding the both of them out of the way so they weren’t in the way of the queue to the till, “I don’t want you to think that that’s what I think about your career or anything. It was stupidity and ignorance all coming out at once... my ego needs a knock back and I think you did that. Right with a baseball bat.”

She smiles softly, tugging the corner of her lips.

“It’s okay. I think I’ve let you suffer a lot more than intended,” she admits a little sheepishly, “I’ve brought two blueberry muffins if you want to have one? I know you like them so you can’t fool me. We can go back to mine?”

“Can I grab something to eat then?”

“I’ll meet you there? You know where I live,” she grins, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “still best friends so don’t worry.”

She walks away from him and he watches her disappear around the corner of her complex, hair blowing in the wind and her hands tugging on her coat to sit a little tighter and warmer around her body, eyes squinting in the wind. A huge weight being lifted from his shoulders as he queued behind a little old lady who couldn’t help but admit that the two of them would make such a sweet couple one day... xx

[wylanvnneck]

Rating: G for Giganotosaurus

Summary: Based on a TFOTA headcanon which I posted on Tumblr about Cardan and Jude visiting the Mortal world and Cardan getting introduced to pick-up lines. That he uses. Frequently. Which, of course completely irritates Jude.

Originally posted on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Masterlist

Chapter 2

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning Jude wakes to the late morning sunlight streaming through the window onto the bed where Cardan still slept. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, she untangles herself from his grasp and heads to the bathroom to freshen up, having fallen asleep in her traveling clothes from earlier in the morning.

Cardan is sitting up with a lazy grin curving his lips when she comes back, his eyes trained on her.

“Good morning, wife.”

“Husband,” she returns.

He looks around the room in the daylight and his expression turns thoughtful, dark eyes deepening. “Did you...think of me when you were here?” He asks her, sounding uncharacteristically cautious

She looks straight at his face, remembering the pain she’d been in during her first days here, all those months ago. She’d spent her first few days in exile moping around and not thinking about her treacherous husband. With a little help from Vivi and many tubs of mint and chocolate chip ice cream she’d finally gotten out of her pajamas and returned to her training routines, all the more vicious as she thought up ways to get her revenge on the High King of Faerie.

“I did. I used to stay up late into the night with Vivi once Oak was asleep and we would plot ways to kill you.”

Cardan smiles a wry smile at her admission, “I’d expect nothing less from you, my sweet nemesis.”

“I know you thought of me, you’ve told me about your letters.” Letters that she would never get to see, thanks to Lady Asha.

He shifts in the bed, tail swishing in the air. “I did. I thought of you incessantly. My anger at you over Balekin didn’t last long and soon I found myself wondering why you hadn’t returned yet. I worried that you’d found the Mortal world more pleasurable than Elfhame. That you preferred your life here. In my darkest moments I’d imagine you with another. I’d imagine never seeing you again.”

His voice is racked with pain and sincerity, the anguish he’d felt written clearly on his features. “So many times, I thought of coming here. To see you, even if just from a distance. But I couldn’t leave our Kingdom, I couldn’t forsake the duties you’d entrusted  me with when you crowned me, even if you were meant to be by my side always. That throne that you’d worked so hard to save, I couldn’t risk leaving it when the threat of Madoc loomed so near. Jude, believe me when I say that my thoughts were always, always of you, my brave villain.”

His confession touches her very soul. She takes in the sight of him, broken and exposed and her heart quickens. The High King of Elfhame, her husband, who would only ever be this open and unguarded in front of her, his queen. She comes closer to him on the bed and bends down, stroking his messy black curls away from his face as she gently lowers her lips to his.

* * *

They’ve arrived on a Saturday so Oak is scarfing down a bowl of sugary cereal when she and Cardan enter the kitchen. He looks up with excitement and rushes to give his sister a bear hug, squeezing her as tightly as his 8 year old hands can. “Jude you’re finally here, I missed you!”

She playfully ruffles his nut brown hair and squeezes him back, pulling away to give him a once over, “I missed you too, Oak.”

He goes to hug Cardan while Jude finally spots Heather, Vivi’s pink-haired girlfriend who was currently by the kitchen table, making her way over to say Hi. “Good to see you again, Jude. Vivi’s just popped off to grab some groceries. Hopefully she uses actual money this time,” she rolls her eyes, smiling.

“Nice to see you too, Heather,” Jude smiles in response.

Once they’re all sat around the dining room table and Cardan and Jude are equipped with their own bowls of cereal, the multi-coloured loops of which had captured Cardan’s initial fascination and Jude now watches out of the corner of her eye as he sits stirring his breakfast, entranced, as the colours slowly bleed into the milk, turning it slightly muddy. She finds him quite adorable with that expression on his face. Maybe even charming. Not that she’d ever say it out loud.

She tunes in to what Heather is saying at the moment, “So, what do you guys wanna do today?” She looks expectantly at them and Jude tries to think of an answer but is thankfully interrupted by her brother.

“Ooh ooh, can we go to the mall today? And have pizza for lunch?” he jumps in his seat.

“Tell me, what is a ‘maul’? And what type of a food is this, ‘Pizza’?” Cardan interjects. Oak slowly turns to him with a look of horror on his face.

“You’ve never had pizza??” He turns to Heather, “We have to have pizza, Heather, we have to.” He faces Cardan once again and starts telling him all about pizza and all the different toppings and which combos worked and which didn’t and how eating pineapple on pizza was an unforgivable sin.

Heather laughs a little as she looks at Jude, “Well, I guess we’re having pizza today.”

“I guess we are,” Jude laughs back, watching her little brother excitedly explaining mortal customs to her husband.

They head out to the nearest shopping mall once Vivi’s back and they travel by bus which leads to another shock for Cardan who is in awe at the fact that this metal box was able to move on it’s own. Truly, mortals did have some funny ideas, he’d remarked, astonished.

His eyes are locked on the view outside the whole time, taking in the concrete and cement, in stark contrast to the raw natural surroundings of Faerie.  He is dressed in better fitting mortal clothes than last night which Vivi had gotten for him. A dark shirt and dark fitted jeans, with space for him to tuck his tail in. He glamours his face to appear more mortal, with rounded ears, accentuated by his usual gold studs and he is still inordinately attractive for a mortal and Jude knows he’ll be receiving lots of stares. Especially appreciative ones from girls. She is suddenly conscious of her concealed dagger.

Once they arrive Oak immediately drags them to the gaming zone, introducing Cardan to the wonders of playstations. He teaches  them how to play Mario Kart and the little character on the screen whose movements you could control was indeed, quite entertaining.

He is less enthusiastic when Heather and Vivi drag them to Sephora, the makeup store. Nevertheless, he tries his hardest to stay still and is justly rewarded with an achingly sweet candy floss that he graciously shares with everyone.

Cardan, for his part, is not only entranced by the fluffy pink treat but also by the cosmetics surrounding him, letting Heather draw Kohl on him with liquid black eyeliner and applying shiny silver highlighter on his high cheekbones. Vivi even forces Jude to try on a dark shade of red lipstick that Cardan later attempts to kiss off of her when they are alone in between the secluded store aisles.

Finally, they emerge from the store, shopping bags in tow as they head to the food court for lunch. The place is buzzing, with a multitude of smells permeating the air. Oak immediately makes a beeline for the blue and red themed food stall with a sign that reads ‘Domino’s’ in large lettering. The scent of pizza being baked is enticing and they quickly order a personal pizza each plus coca cola.

Thankfully their orders arrive quickly and Jude impatiently blows on the first slice of her barbeque chicken pizza. Next to her Cardan is considering his slice of pepperoni and cheese covered crust, no doubt fascinated by its odd composition. He seems to enjoy it after his first bite though, once it was explained that the pepperoni was not, indeed, supposed to be plucked off and eaten separately and soon they are all done.

Jude heads to the washroom to pee and whilst she’s walking back she sees Cardan being approached by a slim girl with blue streaks in her hair. He is alone, Heather and Vivi having gone somewhere with Oak and Jude quickens her stride.

She is just within earshot to hear the girl’s voice say, “Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”

Jude’s eyes narrow as her husband smiles a sly grin and answers with an arrogant tilt of his head, “Rule the Kingdom of the Fae.”

He is being completely honest, after all he cannot tell a lie. But of course the girl does not know that and she looks confused and then lets out a giggle and lightly swats his arm, obviously thinking he is joking.

Jude has had enough of this and finally reaches her husband’s side and smiles at the girl, making sure that her ruby ring is on display as she takes Cardan’s arm. She immediately backs off, while Jude secretly pinches Cardan, hard, for messing with the girl.

“What was that about?”

“She asked a question. I answered it.” While his words were innocent, his grinning face gave away that he knew he’d been slightly wicked.

“Mhmm. You are incorrigible,” she rolls her eyes, finally letting her harsh grip on him go.

“You love it. Tell me Jude, did her question make you jealous?”

“Please, the females at court eye you on a daily basis back at home. It’s no surprise that they find you handsome here as well,” she responds truthfully. “I was more annoyed by your response. What happened to staying inconspicuous?”

He just smiles guiltily back at her. Shaking her head, she’s about to threaten him with a reduction of his beloved alcohol supply back home when she spots Vivi, Heather and Oak coming their way.

They spend the rest of the day at the mall in a similar fashion, introducing Cardan to the wonders of retail shopping and toy stores.  The day passes quickly and the exhausted party head home by early evening, satisfied with the day’s events.

A worn out Oak heads off to bed after extracting a promise from Jude that the two of them could play at the park alone together the next day.

It’s still too early for the adults to go to sleep and thanks to their sleeping in today they are all still wide awake.

“So, now that the little terror is asleep, what should we do?” Vivi questions, tucking a stray lock of her umber hair behind her furry pointed ears.

“Jude mentioned that there were places where mortals had night time revels, I should like to see them,” Cardan suggests.

Vivi trains her cat eyes on Jude, a feline smile on her face, “You told your husband about night clubs? Excellent. The High King of revelry in a mortal club is definitely something I need to see.”

The gleeful look in her eyes set Jude on edge. After all, she’s never been to one of these clubs herself, but surely they were not half as wild as Fae celebrations. How much trouble could Cardan get into?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey, so we've approached pick up line territory (yayy, finally) but the real intro happens in the next chapter. So stay tuned🦕

Also, please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for further installations of this fic :))

[teamhook]

The song in your heart... Burlesque :|:CSMM

This is my second submission for the @captainswanmoviemarathon

Thanks to everyone in the Discord for letting me bounce ideas and for all the help.

Thanks to @ultraluckycatnd for Beta services :)

The story is loosely inspired by Burlesque, it will not be a retell of the movie. I hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Art by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713

Summary: Small town girl Emma Swan moves to L.A. to follow her dreams. The best view on the Sunset Strip becomes her home. But is she bound to find true love in a dashing bartender? 

AO3

FFN

The bright sunlight is the first thing the blonde sees as she exits the bus station. This is what she had saved for. Hours of tedious work at that hole in the wall diner. Sure she didn't plan beyond the trip, but she couldn't help the smile that engulfed her face. This was her first step in making her dreams come true.

She secures her duffel bag after checking her money stash. First, she needs to find a place to sleep.

She really should have done some research before leaving Storybrooke. She pulls out her phone and does a quick search for cheap hotels. The thought of being in such a big city for a small-town girl should be scary, but there was no time for fear. I am not nothing, I was never nothing.

She can't believe she is riding in a taxi. Sure, she's from Maine, but even they've heard of Uber. The car stops suddenly. "Miss, we've arrived."

She looks out the window and smiles at the man. She hands him his fare. "Thank you." She grabs her bag and leaps out.

The hotel is the least expensive one she can find, and she pays for a week in advance. She's tired, so tomorrow her search for a job will start.

The next day, the blonde, Emma, is full of energy. She has been applying online but decides the old way can still work. First, she needs to get something to eat. She enters a small diner that reminds her of home and circles a few printed ads while she has her lunch.

She walks the Sunset Strip, trying her luck at a few bars looking for new talent with no luck. She sighs and makes her way to the next one. The day ended quickly as her feet clicked on the pavement.

The darkened street is lit by a lounge's marquee with inviting lights. On the balcony, a woman smiles. The blonde crosses the street hurriedly and her eyes fall onto the enticing poster calling for her to enter the lounge. The entrance walls are filled with images of old-timey beauties of the past along with great singers and dancers, and the music caught her attention, drawing her further in.

"We don't have windows but we do have the best view on the Sunset Strip. Twenty dollars, come on honey. Help a man out."

"Excuse me?" she replies as she was taken out of the enchantment of the music.

"Fill out this fine establishment," he smiles hopefully.

She looks around the jammed room and asks, "Is this a stripper club?"

"No, no. Darling, I should wash your mouth. You haven't seen anything like this before. You won't find a pole inside unless you count the waitress. Come on." He extended his hand out for the fee.

Emma bites her bottom lip. She digs into her jeans pocket, pulls out a twenty-dollar bill, and hesitantly hands it to him.

He smiles brightly and invitingly points to the lounge. "Enjoy!"

She's hesitant as she makes her way through the tables to the bar. The smile was instant; she loves music, it's her escape. She finds a stage with a group of beautiful women dancing and singing.

Show a little more

Show a little less

Add a little smoke

Welcome to Burlesque

The bar is full but what she really needs is a drink.

"Lass, can I get you something to drink?" an accented voice calls for her attention. Her green eyes meet dazzling blue ones surrounded by kohl that enhance the color; the auburn-highlighted, dark-haired scruff unable to hide the square jaw surrounding luscious lips.

She smiles. "Only if you're buying."

"Welcome to L.A. and the Burlesque Lounge." He smiles brightly as he hands her the drink.

"Uhm, thanks." She smiles and turns her eyes back to the stage.

"So where are you from?"

"Oh, from a small town in Maine. How about you?"

"Ah, from Boston."

"Boston, you don't sound like you're from there."

He laughs, "Aye, originally from London but moved to Boston years ago. I still can't rid myself of my accent, I'm afraid. Killian Jones, at your service."

"Emma Swan. So tell me, who do I have to flirt with to get up there?" she says as she points to the stage.

Killian scratches behind his ear as his attention is turned temporarily towards the waitress. "Sweetheart, how about doing your job?"

The girl giggles. "Yes, Captain," turning to go to the nearest table.

"Sorry about that, Emma Swan, and if that's you flirting, you are in dire need of lessons," he smirks.

"I'm sorry. I'm not about to waste my talents on someone who wears more eyeliner than me," she smirks back.

He laughs. "Fair enough. Through that door over there, flirt away, Swan. Ask for Cora."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and Swan? Use my name." Killian smiles and starts pouring some liquor into a glass.

"Thank you." She follows his directions.

Behind the doors, it's complete chaos; girls running around half-dressed, rushing to get ready for the next act, all talking at once.

"We're on in five minutes, five minutes, ladies. Come on..." a deep voice comes through the speakers.

"I'm almost done!" one of the girls yells.

"Ladies, tick-tock, time is almost up," Henry says.

"Does anyone know where Zee is?" Cora asks, annoyed.

"All spotlights are supposed to pull in!" Henry screams.

"Ashley, your boyfriend is so hot!" another dancer says.

Cora sighs. "Tonight, Netflix and Chinese?" she asks Henry.

"Yes, I wouldn't miss it." Henry smiles fondly.

"Cora, I lost a contact lens on stage," Rory says.

"Alright, if you fall off the stage just remember you're still a princess," Cora says.

"You're a goddess," Henry reminds her.

"Thank you, Henryyyy!" Rory says with a bright smile, while Cora rolls her eyes.

"Jonathan, the sink is broken, again."

"I'm not calling a plumber, Tiana," Jonathan declares. "Cora, we need to talk about this letter."

Cora sighs dramatically. "Jonathan, how many times do I have to say it? I don't want to discuss this while I'm working."

"Cora, Graham Humbert is coming tonight."

"And what do you want me to do?" Cora asks.

"This isn't going away, Cora. You never want to discuss this. You avoid me like the plague," Jonathan says, holding a paper.

"I didn't divorce you so I could spend more time with you."

"I still own half of this place," he says and walks away.

Emma timidly walks up to the woman she saw on stage earlier. She is sitting regally in front of her mirror putting make-up on.

"Why are you in my mirror?" Cora asks with a raised brow.

"Excuse me, are you Cora? I'm looking for her. I'm friends with Killian and I'm looking for work."

Cora continues to refresh her make-up. "Where have you danced?"

"In front of my mirror at home, but I can dance."

Cora sighs. "Leave your information with Henry. He will let you know when we're having our next audition." Cora points to Henry.

"Uhm, do you know when I should expect the call?" Emma asks.

"Henry?" Cora calls out.

"Where the hell is Zee? She is really late!" Henry says, annoyed.

Emma quickly says, "I'm never late."

"That's good to know," Henry says. "Sweetheart, leave your details with Killian, your friend, and we'll be in touch. We are currently trying to run a show here."

Emma smiles. "I have never seen anything like that before. I need a job and I really want to work here."

"Sweetheart, I love the enthusiasm, but it's really bad timing. We'll be in touch. Promise," Henry says with a warm smile.

"Let's move, ladies!" Henry turns to the dancers, finally in their costumes.

Emma starts to walk out deflated when the door bursts open and a fiery red-head enters.

Cora and Henry both turn to her, matching mock smiles on their faces. "We are so happy you could make it. You missed the opening act and we were saying how amazing it would be if you made it to the next one."

"Sorry, I'm late, but beauty like mine takes time," she smirked as she started getting ready for her number.

"You know what else takes time, Zee? Finding a new job," Cora says with a deadly glare.

Zee laughed. "Yeah, right! You wouldn't have a show without me and you know it." Looking towards Emma, she orders, "Hey you, waitress. Get me a sour-apple martini A.S.A.P." She snaps her fingers as if by magic the drink would appear in her hand.

"Zee, she doesn't work here," Ashley said, smiling.

"Then she isn't busy, is she?" The redhead turns her attention to her mirror.

Emma stares back at the rude woman.

"Didn't your mama teach you it wasn't polite to stare?" Zee said mockingly.

Emma gasps, "I just can't help myself. You are so breathtaking."

Zee laughs, "Well, at least you have good taste. Stare away."

"You know, no one would ever guess." Emma smiles.

"Guess what?" Zee glares.

"That you're a man. Not that there's something wrong with that." Emma shrugs as she walks away.

Zee shrieks. "You little-"

Henry and Cora interrupt, "Zee, the show must go on."

Emma's on her way back to the bar as she notices the waitress from earlier flirting with a customer and ignoring the other patrons calling for her.

After a few stops, Emma finds her way to the bar. "I'll have a vodka and a cosmo for the big guy over there."

"Swan, what are you doing?" Killian asks.

"Killian, give me a chance and I'll show you I'm way better than her. She is too busy flirting to do her job. If I'm not better, you don't have to pay me," Emma pleads.

Killian sighs, "Alright. Let's see what you've got."

The next day, as Ashley starts the routine to 'Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend', Cora and Henry look on. The lounge is busy and the patrons are enthralled by the act on stage.

A kiss on the hand

may be quite continental

But diamonds are a girl's best friend

"Henry, isn't that girl the one that was backstage yesterday?"

Henry smiles, "I believe so."

Cora turns her attention to Killian. "Why is she tending to the customers?"

"She really needed the job and now she is our new waitress," Killian says.

Cora looks at the bartender. "Killian, darling. When did I make you, head of Personnel?"

"She just picked up a tray and started taking orders," he says as he scratches behind his ear.

Henry mutters, amazed. "Really?"

"Her name is Emma," Killian says with a hint of a smile.

Cora calls out, "Emma, hey Emma." She waves the young girl over.

Emma walks with purpose as if she's ready to fight to keep her newfound job.

Cora stands up and looks Emma up and down. She sighs. "You need to maximize your assets; you got them, show them. Work them to your advantage. Oh, and Emma, don't ever go behind my back again." The warning was evident in the older woman's voice.

Emma smiled, "Yes, ma'am."

"Emma, don't ever call me ma'am again," Cora hissed.

A flustered Emma replies, "Yes, sir. No, I mean your Highness. Cora."

Cora shakes her head. "Get on the floor, and remember to work it."

Tiffany's!

Cartier!

Black, Starr, Frost Gorham!

"Excuse me," a masculine voice calls to Emma.

Emma smiles. "Yeah, what can I get you?"

"Dewar's 18 on the rocks and a bottle of Dom for the table, and keep them coming. Oh, and will you let Zee know I'm here?"

"I'm sorry and you are…?" Emma asks.

"A Platinum member, Graham Humbert. And you are?"

"Emma," she replies.

"Emma," he repeats as she walks away.

Zee rushes backstage as she struggles to finish getting into her costume. She finds Henry looking on. "I know I'm late, but better late than never. What is that waitress doing here? I want her gone!"

"What did she ever do to you?" Henry asks.

"She said I looked like a man!" she scoffs.

Henry smiles. "Well, that can't be the first time you've heard that. Zee, go get dressed for the next act. Ashley had to go on in your place."

Zee shrieks, "Merlin, my spotlight!" She goes on stage and once there, pushes Ashley out of the way as she dances and lip-syncs.

"Damn it, Zelena!" Henry yells, frustrated. That girl is going to give him a heart attack.

I've heard of affairs that are strictly platonic

But diamonds are a girl's best friend…

"Emma!" Killian calls out. "Swan, what do you need?"

Emma snaps out of her singing daydream. "Dewar's 18 on the rocks and a bottle of Dom-"

"And keep them coming?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, so he is a regular then," Emma confirms.

"Graham Humbert, real estate tycoon and currently dating Zee," Killian says.

Emma sighs as her attention lands on the stage, "I wanna be up there."

He smiles as he finishes getting the order ready. "And do you have the talent?"

She nods, "Yes, I do."

"Good, you're up." He pushes the tray to her.

She rolls her eyes as she takes the tray.

He simply laughs.

Meanwhile, inside Cora's office in the back, Jonathan, Cora, and Graham are in conversation.

"Cora, the way I see it is simple. I assume all your financial obligations, and I pay you each five hundred thousand."

"Where is the partnership in that?" Cora turns to Jonathan.

"How about a partnership?" Jonathan asks Graham.

"Sorry, I'm not partner material. The deal is very generous. I leave with my final offer."

"Graham, tell me why is it that you want my club so badly?" Cora asks.

Graham shrugs. "I just like it, and when I see something I like, I have to have it."

"That must have made you very popular growing up as a kid," Cora snarks.

"I did okay."

"Cora, just think of what you could do with that money!" Jonathan says.

"You know what you can do with that money, Jonathan?"

"The way I see it is simple, you're in trouble and I'm in the position to help. We can all come out winners. Remember, you got that balloon payment due at the beginning of next month."

Cora turns angrily to Jonathan. "Seriously? Did you also tell him about the queen-of-hearts tattoo on my ass?"

"Of course not. This is just business."

"I don't think you will get another offer. At least not as generous as this one," Graham insists.

"Graham, I'm not interested. My club is not for sale," Cora says with finality.

"Think about it, the offer is on the table," Graham states before he leaves.

Zee has just returned backstage to get ready for the next number. as Emma arrives with drinks. "Ladies, here are your drinks!"

The girls stampede to get their drinks.

Cora makes her way through. "Wait one-second girls, which one of the drinks is Zee's?"

"Tom Collins and the shot," Emma replies.

Zee tries to grab the drink, but Cora beats her to it and drinks it with a smile on her face. "Here's mud in your eye, Zee.

Now I got a buzz, and you gotta change, you're on," Cora says.

"Just because you're my mother doesn't mean you can tell me what to do." Zee crosses her arms.

"Zee just go get ready," Cora demands with a look that could stop a beating heart.

Zee leaves in a huff.

Henry approaches Cora. "Honey, I don't know if you noticed, but was Jonathan talking to Graham Humbert?"

Cora sighs. "That would be because Graham wants to buy my club."

"Are you serious?" Henry replies.

Meanwhile, Emma hesitantly approaches the duo after hyping herself by the door.

"Cora, I was hoping I could run an idea by you," she stammers, "on how to make the show better. I know you are really busy but-"

"Speaking of the show, have you talked to Dave about the new vocals?" Henry asked Cora as he looked over the costumes.

"Vocals, that's exactly what I was trying to talk to you about." Emma smiles. "None of the girls sing, they lip-sync."

"Except for Cora," Henry states as he turns all his attention to Emma.

Emma lets out a nervous laugh. "Right, except for Cora. I just think the audience would really love it if the girls would sing and dance."

Cora stands in front of Emma. "No, they wouldn't."

"Honey, the people come here to watch the dancers dance and lip-sync to the greats." Henry grabs Emma and guides her to the door.

Emma tries for one last attempt to make her case. "I just think this would work, I don't understand why we can't try something new."

"Because it's above your paygrade," Cora says. "Henry, please remove her."

"Emma, honey, I think your friend Killian needs you back," Henry says as he gives her the final push outside the door.

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713  @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes @demisexualemmaswan​ @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @bethacaciakay​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @jonirobinson64​ @klynn-stormz​ @mariakov81​

[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

Draco’s Wish [Pt 1/14]

> | >>

WORD COUNT: 4411

PAIRING: Drarry

TAGS:

hidden identity

Down and Out Draco Malfoy

Pretty Draco Malfoy

Talented Draco Malfoy

Auror Harry Potter

Smitten Harry Potter

Harry Potter Being an Asshole (just for a while)

Angst

Fluff

Angst with a Happy Ending

Falling In Love

Torture

SUMMARY: Draco does a good deed and is granted a wish - 12 days of anonymity in a world that hates him

COMMENTS: This was supposed to be my take on a Christmas romcom, but I missed Christmas so now it's just my take on a romcom. This chapter is very angst, but it will get much more fluffy later on I promise

I tried new things with my writing this story. Hopefully it works out well.

CW: Sexual Assault

on FF.net

on AO3

STORY:

December 4th, 2007

Draco wakes up to a day like any other in the dull mundanity that is his life. He opens his eyes to a barren ceiling with cracks and spots in the plaster and sun shining in through the holes in his tatty curtains. His tiny apartment is freezing, containing neither a fireplace nor a built-in heating charm. Winter is Draco’s least favourite time of the year, the cold seeping into his bones and threatening to freeze them still for eternity.

There is no desire to curl up under his cover – his single blanket is too threadbare to offer any meaningful warmth, and the two minutes of warmth that his shower can manage is a much better option. Draco gets out of bed quickly and goes about his morning routine of a quick shower, his bath a race against the limited hot water. He gets out, dries off as quickly as he can before the water on his body freezes in he cold air of the apartment, and pulls on his baggy oversized clothes. He dresses fully, fingers shaking as he does up his ragged winter coat and slips on his holey gloves. Only once he’s dressed does he go back to brush his teeth, carefully avoiding getting anything on his clothes.

He glances over at his ‘kitchen’ – a battered old stove that only works half the time, a tiny ice box, with a folding table as a counter – but the only food he has left is a half-frozen loaf of bread. He weighs the effort of toasting some on the stove, but there’s no guarantee that it will turn on and he’s has limited time before he is due at work. Besides, he’d had breakfast yesterday – eating again so soon would be wasteful.

Draco slips his money pouch into his boot and gives his apartment a quick once over to double-check that he hasn’t left anything behind, then slips out into the dank hallway. He pulls his door closed firmly, jamming it as much as he can to assuage the fact that it doesn’t lock. It’s expected that the resident will use a locking charm, but Draco doesn’t have a wand. His had been lost to Potter and there was no-one willing to sell him another. When his mother died, he’d been too caught up in grief to consider asking to keep her wand, and it had been buried with her. So now he’s here, unable to lock his door or heat his apartment.

Draco shakes his head, forcibly banishing the thought. There’s no use dwelling on things that he cannot change. He tugs his hood up over his head and turns, making his way downstairs into the lobby and out into the street. It’s a cold day, and blustering, and Draco fights the wind as he makes his way down the street. It stings at the skin it finds through the holes in his gloves and lifts the ends of his coat. Draco sticks his hands into his pockets with a huff, lowering his head against the stinging snow blasting against his face in tiny pinpricks.

Then the wind catches his hood and whips it away from his head. Draco panics, grabbing at the fabric to pull it back over his head but it’s too late. From behind, he hears a snarl of “Filth!”, and then hands are suddenly shoving him roughly from behind. Draco yelps, flinging out his hands to catch himself and he lands hard against the cold cobblestones.

He feels his gloves tearing more, palms scraping against harsh stone. Draco can’t help his yelp of pain, looking wildly over his shoulder, but nobody is looking at him. With an inhaled hiss, he pulls himself to his feet, double checking that his hood is back up before bringing his hands up for inspection. As he’d suspected, the gloves have ripped and the scrape against the ground has broken through the skin and drawn bloody scratches across his palms.

He flexes them, and bites back a whimper at the pain it brings. There’s nothing he can do about it now, though, so he steels himself and braces against the wind, leaving his hands to get blasted so that he can hold on to his hood and prevent it from being blown off again.

Thankfully, it is not too much further to his job, and he’s soon slipping into the back door of Forsythe’s Potions and Apothecary. He releases a relieved breath as a wave of warm air hits him, and just takes a moment to stand and relish the feeling of comfort it brings. The sting in his palm makes itself known again after another moment, and spurs Draco to action.

He slips off his coat and gloves and hangs them on a hook on the back wall. He takes a moment to lean his head against the wall, exhausted already though the day has just begun, then turns and goes up to the door separating the backroom from the front of store. He pauses there and draws a deep, fortifying breath, steeling himself – facing his boss is never a pleasant process – and raises a hand to rap sharply on the door.

There’s a moment of waiting, then the door is yanked open and Draco is face to face with his boss, Edgar Forsythe Charles, a short, squat, beady-eyed man with a pencil thin moustache and oil-slicked black hair. “Malfoy,” he barks. “What have I told you about disturbing me?”

“My apologies Mr. Forsythe,” Draco says, making a tone to keep his tone deferent. He holds up his hand, displaying his bloodied palm. “I don’t want to handle the ingredients with bloodied hands, so I was hoping you could heal them?”

Forsythe scowls deeply. “Do you think this is St-bloody-Mungoes?” He rages. “I’m not your personal servant Malfoy. You can bloody well deal with this shit yourself!” Draco stares into his reddened face and swallows down his frustration.

“If I have to go out and buy a healing potion it will take up time. Surely it would be better to just –“

“Don’t tell me what’s best!” Bellows Forsythe. He steps forward menacingly, and Draco can’t help his own step back. “Your inability to cast a simple healing charm is not my problem Malfoy. Deal with this.” His face twists into a mean sneer. “And don’t think I’m going to pay you for any time you miss,” he hisses.

“Yes sir,” Draco grits out, vividly imagining hexing Forsythe to bits.

Forsythe gives an oily smirk. “Get to it then,” he says, “and don’t think of shirking out. If you’re not back by noon you’re fired.” Then he sweeps off back into the front room, leaving Draco standing there trembling with anger.

How he wishes he could just tell Forsythe what for and leave this ignominious job behind, but the truth is that he’s lucky to had it. When he’d been released from Azkaban, he’d found a world that had no place for him – he was hated from both sides, both for being a Death Eater and not being a committed enough one. He’d been at wits end, on the brink of starvation, when he’d found Forsythe who had been thankfully more enticed by the idea of exploitable labour than he was turned off by who Draco was. He may hate Draco, treat him like shit, underpay him – but he’d given him the job, and that was more than Draco can say of anyone else.

So, he swallows his anger and turns with a sigh to return to the chilly street. With the requirement to return by noon, there is no time to go to St. Mungo’s, and neither is there a guarantee that he’ll be seen there. It depends on who’s in front when he goes in, and which Healer he ends up with.

No, there is only once place that he can go – the only shop that will sell to him at only moderately extorted prices. It’s also Draco’s least favourite place to be.

The trudge to the shop is long, as it’s all the way at the other end of Knockturn right on the corner of Diagon. Draco spends the whole walk with his head down, hands thankfully tucked in his pockets as the wind is to his back, steeling himself.

The shop is not very large – tall and narrow and unassuming. A faded sign above the entrance declares it Ugbert’s Emporium. Draco pushes inside, the bells above the door tinkling to announce his arrival. The dark room is empty of another human presence, but a shout of “I’ll be right with you!” echoes from the back room.

Draco takes a steadying breath and walks up to the counter as the curtain to the back room is pushed aside and the shop’s proprietor enters. He is a long, spindly man with rich, thick chestnut hair and a well-groomed beard. His dark, sunken eyes dart to meet Draco’s, and a greasy smile crosses his face, revealing several gold teeth.

“Little Malfoy,” he says in an unctuous voice. “What a pleasure to see you.”

“Ugbert.” returns Draco, keeping his voice as bland as possible. “I require a healing potion.”

Ugbert steps closer, around the counter so that he can see Draco fully. “Aww, you poor thing. Are you hurt?” He asks.

Draco digs his nails into his own bloodied palm and forces down his disgust. “It is just a scratch. Nothing to worry about,” he answers shortly.

Ugbert is not dissuaded by his aloofness. “Good, good,” he says instead, running his knuckles down Draco’s cheek. Draco twitches, but resists pulling away. He’s learnt that lesson, knows what is expected of him here if he is to get anything he’s looking for.

Ugbert pulls him in closer, a hand sliding down Draco’s torso and hip to cup his behind. Draco raises his chin, fighting to keep his expression neutral. “The potion, Ugbert,” he reminds him. Ugbert leers at him.

“I will need to see the injuries, so I may determine which potion will be best,” he says. His hands are now massaging at Draco’s ass, and he shudders in revulsion.

“If you show me your stock, I can pick out what I need,” he tries.

Ugbert chuckles. “I don’t think so,” he says right against Draco’s ear, grinding his hips forward. Draco feels his erection pressing against him and shudders. He quickly brings his hands up and turns his palms to Ugbert.

“Here. It’s just scratches, as I’ve said,” he says. Ugbert pulls back, looking down at his palms. He looks almost disappointed.

“Very well, let me check my inventory,” he says, stepping around the counter. Draco waits impatiently as he ducks down and inspects the wears in the lower shelves. “I can sell you a Minor Wiggenweld for twelve Galleons,” he eventually offers, straightening up with the bottle of potion in hand.

Draco stares at him in disbelief. “A Minor Wiggenweld? That’s overkill Ugbert. Don’t you have just a Healing Potion?”

“I might have one at home,” Ugbert leers, and Draco grimaces in disgust. It’s way too much, a huge chunk of his salary that will leave his food budget for the foreseeable future considerably lowered, but –

“I’ll take it,” he says hurriedly, pulling his coin pouch from his boot. He counts out twelve Galleons, inwardly wincing at the amount as he places them onto the counter.

Ugbert slides over the potion bottle and collects his Galleons. “A pleasure doing business with you,” he says with his sleazy smile.

“Likewise,” Draco answers stiffly, collecting his potion and money pouch to his coat pocket. He tugs his hood over his head and hurries back out into the street, relieved to be away from the old pervert.

He makes it back to work with no incident, and just a single sip of the potion is enough to heal his scraped palms. He looks at the expensive and mostly full bottle dejectedly. What a waste of money. He tries to look at the bright side – at the very least he will have a stock of healing potion at home now. It doesn’t make him feel much better.

With a sigh, Draco puts away the potion and goes to wash his hands in the little sink in the corner. He stops by the door to the front room, rapping on it sharply once to alert Forsythe that he’s back. He waits for the answering thump – signalling Forsythe’s annoyance that he’s being disturbed, but now he can’t pretend he doesn’t know that Draco’s back and withhold pay – before making his way over to his desk beside which a pile of boxes sits waiting. It’s a new shipment of ingredients for him to sort and package, and with a put-upon sigh Draco pulls on his Nugskin gloves and gets to work.

The work requires practically no mental input, and Draco finds his mind wondering as he counts and packs ingredients. In the front room, Forsythe has the wireless playing as he often does, and Draco hums along to the muffled melodies he can hear through the door. Customers come in sometimes, but they rarely provide interesting conversation.

Draco does listen to their questions though, mentally criticizing where Forsythe’s answers could be improved, either with the potions he suggested for their issues or – more rarely – the brewing instructions he gave them for potions.

By late afternoon, Draco has finished sorting through the new shipment and moves on to preparing the ingredients Forsythe with need for the list of potions he’d left on Draco’s desk. There is a lull from the front of house, no customers having come in for the past forty or so minutes. The wireless fills the silence, now into a newscast about the case that Potter and Granger have presented to the Wizengamot.

The case has been on the wireless often in the past few months. The pair have been championing house-elf rights or some such, and the case has now apparently been presented and the Wizengamot is in discussion. The witch briefly recaps Potter and Granger’s journey on this objective this far, and then Potter is brought on. His voice is rich and warm, and still sends shivers down Draco’s spine as he talks about how he is confident that the Wizengamot will make the right decision.

Then a customer comes in and demands that Forsythe change the channel. She and Forsythe begin wanking each other off about how very insulted they are about Saintly Potter trying to take away their servants. Draco rolls his eyes, but he can’t help feeling a little relieved that they’ve changed the channel. It’s hard for him to hear Potter’s voice – the feeling it brings up is mostly shame at how low he’s fallen while Potter is a shining beacon for the wizarding world, but there’s also the lingering feeling of lust that thoughts of Potter always arise.

The new channel is recapping this weeks Quidditch scores, and Draco half listens as he ferries ingredients over to the cauldrons, each with their own long table on which Draco sets the ingredients for the night’s potions in the order they’re needed. It seems it’s been a good week for the Falcons and, predictably, Forsythe soon starts gloating.

“I always knew the Falcons had potential!” He proclaims loudly. “They just needed the right push. Good job that new bird joined and whipped them into shape.” Draco rolls his eyes. The ‘new bird’ – Ginny Weasley – has been with the team for over three years now. The customer opines that the Magpies are going to take back the title, and Draco tunes out the conversation as light bickering ensues.

Finished with the ingredient prep, he tidies the work area, sweeps and mops the floors and locks up the ingredient cases. As he’s finishing up, he hears the customer leave and Forsythe locking up behind him. He pokes his head into the front room and calls “I’ll be off then Mr. Forsythe!”.

Forsythe glares at him and snaps “Just go, how many times have I got to tell you not to stick your pointy little nose into my store?”

Draco pulls his head back and closes the door, rolling his eyes. It’s not like anyone will see him now that the store’s closed, so he doesn’t bother heeding Forsythe’s request. It’s in his best interest to ensure that Forsythe can’t pretend that Draco’s ducked out early.

It’s warmed up a little, so he takes his time walking back to his apartment, enjoying the fresh crisp air. He takes a little too long, because by the time he gets to his apartment Mrs. Doxley, his next-door, has also arrived home and is standing in her doorway arguing with her husband as she does every day.

Draco groans inwardly as he sees her, his steps faltering a moment before picking back up in resignation. Mrs. Doxely looks up and sees him, her face twisting in disgust. “If It isn’t Lucius’ boy,” she spits. “It’s your father’s fault I’m living in this shithole you know!”

So she’d told him every time she saw him, although he had yet to learn what exactly his father had done to cause her predicament. He likely wasn’t going to learn it this time either. “I’m sorry Mrs. Doxley,” is all he says, not wanting to antagonize her further. She leans close and spits at his face in response, and Draco doesn’t quite duck out of the way in time.

He does avoid the kick though, and she glowers at him before storming into her apartment. Grimacing in disgust, Draco lets himself into his own apartment and tiredly goes to the bathroom and scrubs his face clean. Then he returns to the main room to slump onto the bed, feeling properly downtrodden.

His life really has gone to shite, and it’s not as though he doesn’t deserve it but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. He thinks about his past self, that carefree spoilt child that he’d been, and mourns for him. He wishes he could go back to that time and stay there, suspended in cruel ignorance forever. Some days, he wishes he’d died at the Battle of Hogwarts, gotten caught up in the Fiendfyre after all or perhaps caught by a stray curse on the battlefield, or sentenced to death by the Ministry. Surely it would be preferable to struggling to eke out the miserable existence he had now.

But he hadn’t died, he was here, and so live he would. Draco forces himself to his feet, putting his potion and money pouch on his bedside crate before changing into his pyjamas and washing his clothes for the next day.

December 8th, 2007

“I’ll be heading out now Mr. Forsythe,” Draco calls, poking his head out into the front of the store.

Forsythe whips around. “No, you won’t,” he snaps. Draco stiffens, half expecting a reprimand, but Forsythe just says “I’ve got an appointment to make. You’ll have to close up front too.” He starts to leave, then pauses and turns to glare at Draco. “Don’t mess anything up or it’s coming out of your salary.” He barks, and then he’s gone.

Draco sighs but obligingly steps into the front room. He’s not allowed here often – Forsythe doesn’t want customers seeing him and doesn’t half trust him besides. But the man had always been self-serving first, so if it was in his best interest to let Draco close the front he would do so, trust or not. Draco locks up the cases here too, sweeps and mops the floor, and wipes down the windows, door, and case-fronts. He knows that Forsythe doesn’t do all of this daily, but it’s expected when Draco’s the one closing the front. He doesn’t mind, and he works languidly – he has nowhere to be after all, and the shop is warm.

He locks the front door then returns to the front counter to count the till and put the money into the safe under the counter. This is the special Draco-safe of course, here for the specific case of Draco closing the front. He isn’t to know the combination of the actual safe, or even it’s location. He isn’t complaining though – the less he knows, the less Forsythe can blame him for if there ever is a robbery.

That done, he turns to his final task of wiping down the counter, humming a tune that had been playing on the wireless earlier as he works. He picks up a crumpled-up bag that Forsythe had left on the corner, expecting it to be garbage, but to his surprise he finds that there is some weight to it. Confused, he peers inside and finds that Forsythe has discarded a pair of bagels.

Draco can’t believe his luck. Fresh bagels? All he has to look forward to at home is frozen bread – he could jump for excitement at this find. He carries them to the back room and tucks them carefully into his back pocket before returning to the front and double-checking that everything is in order. Finally, he shuts off the lamps and returns to the back, donning his coat and gloves and stepping out into the Alley, locking the door firmly behind him.

It’ s a cold evening, but not windy. Draco briefly considers the thought of going back to his apartment, but quickly discards it. He’s tired of looking at those four cracked walls, and it’s not like the apartment will be any warmer than out here. He’s been trying to learn wandless heating charms, but he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of them yet.

Instead, he sticks his hand in his pockets and walks down to the dead end of Knockturn, pushing on the slightly off-colour brick near his left kneecap to open the portal to Muggle London.

The Knockturn entrance is not quite as nice as the Diagon entrance. This way opens out to a rundown little street with cracks in the road, small houses with chain-linked fences, a brightly lit little corner shop, and a small park that was scarcely more than some grass and three trees. Nevertheless, Draco makes a beeline for the park, enjoying spending some time in the outdoors. It’s peaceful and serene here, the world blanketed by a layer of snow that seemed to insulate him, making it feel like he’s the only person in the world.

In moments like this, Draco can forget who he is and just exist.

He opens his eyes after a moment, sighing into the calm of the night as his stomach rumbles restlessly. He smiles slightly. He’ll have something better than stale toast tonight at least.

Turning, Draco makes his way to the only bench in the park so he can sit and eat his supper. When he gets there, however, he finds that it is not empty for the first time in the years he’s been coming to this park. There on the bench are a woman and a little girl, shivering, huddled together under a blanket for warmth. They are gaunt in a way that Draco recognizes, that he’s seen in the mirror during the bad months, and they’re clearly no more equipped for winter than Draco in his threadbare coat.

The woman looks up and catches sight of Draco. “Excuse me,” she says. “do you have any money for food? Please, we haven’t eaten in days!”

Draco hesitates. He has no muggle money on him, only the bag of bagels in his pocket, and he doesn’t want to give that over – he rarely gets much to eat and something so fresh is a treat. He has the last of his frozen bread at home, yes, but with the expensive purchase of the potion earlier he wasn’t going to have to reduce his food spending for the next little while. He has so little – surely the plight of these people shouldn’t be his to reduce?

He opens his mouth, about to tell her “No, sorry,” when something in her eyes stops him. It’s the desperation, something he has experienced so often in his own life – how often had he wished somebody would just give him a helping hand? Now it appears that he’s in the position to give the helping hand. He has little, but he has enough to help.

Draco curses quietly but stops and turns to her. “Here,” he says brusquely, shoving the bag of bagels at her. He doesn’t wait for her thanks – he doesn’t want it, not really. She calls it after his back anyway, and the sincere gratitude in it gives him pause. Somehow, he doesn’t feel too bad as he goes home and toasts the last of his frozen bread.

The night is still thankfully not too cold as he tucks himself in for bed, and he has a deep, uninterrupted sleep. The dream that comes to him is strange – he’s alone in a black place, or at least seems to be alone. His instincts ping though, with the feeling that he’s not alone.

“Hello?” He calls out, turning in a circle. “Is someone there?”

Before him, a figure blinks into existence. It at once looks human and not, bright and glowing with a shifting iridescence. Draco startles and stumbles backward.

“Who are you?” He asks.

The presence answers, but not verbally. Its answer seems to reverberate all around them, and within Draco’s own head. “I am a wish,” it says, “made by a child in her hour of need. You have fulfilled that wish. We thank your generosity Draco Malfoy.”

Draco blinks. A wish made manifest – a child’s tale from his bedtime stories. Merlin, he’d done one good deed and now his subconscious was dragging up a fairy-tale reward for his dreams. He rolls his eyes at himself.

“Great,” he says, not wanting to entertain this but also not wanting to waste time arguing with dreamt-up wish magic. “What are you here for then?”

“A wish granted is a wish given,” answers the light. It floats closer. “And your wish, Draco Malfoy, shall be anonymity. Twelve days, I grant you. During this time, you shall be recognized not, even by those looking plain upon your face. After this time, memories made of you shall not be connected to you unless the recaller lays eyes upon you. This you are given.”

Then the light grows, bright and brighter still, until Draco is surrounded by white.

[redstainedsocks]

The Pet Store Pet

I’ve been perfectly content being a reader of all the Box Boy Universe content – first posted by @sweetwhumpandhellacomf and then @shameless-whumper – happily just enjoying the fics people have been tirelessly putting out (though I’m sure I’ve missed a few out there, you’ve all been busy!). Partly because I’m new around these parts and partly because I had no ideas of my own.

And then yesterday this one ask and reply from @ashintheairlikesnow pretty much slapped me across the brain with a fully formed idea… so now I have this fic, and several character ideas and a plot. So I guess this is me adding my hat to the ring?

TW: dehumanization, modern slavery, memory loss, loss of identity

Kit watched the clock hands turn and listened to the radio, ignored the quiet shuffles of the products on the shop floor and went through his mental checklist for the day.

Cleaning was done. Restocking done. The cash box was out — ready for the money from the till to be transferred in — as were the account books. The front window display had been straightened and the front step swept clear of leaves and rubbish.

The products had had their midday water and the evening “meals” were ladled out in the back, ready for them once they were put to bed. The back entrance was clear for the late-night shipment that was due.

Had he missed anything else? He looked down at his hands and saw how grubby they were and a thrill of panic shot through him. Was there time to clean them before the owner — his owner — came back? Hopefully, maybe. He had to try. He rushed to the back room and scrubbed until his hands were red, heard the tinkle of the bell on the shop door at the same time his owners footsteps clunked down the stairs. He scurried as quickly as he could on quiet bare feet but his owner reached the front of the shop first.

The customer only wanted a new leash and the transaction was done and over in minutes as he stood and cursed his slowness in the dim doorway that led to the back of the shop.

“Kit!” His owner sounded impatient, a layer of fury underneath the one syllable name. He closed his eyes in a moment of weakness, taking a second to enjoy the calm behind his eyelids, before slinking from the backroom and around the counter.

His owner pulled him close by the ring on the front of his collar. “Were you slacking off?”

“No sir, just checking on something in the back, sir.”

His owner made a disgruntled noise and surveyed him up and down. “Well. Everything seems to be in order. Close up, will you? Brandon’s coming round ready for that new shipment and I wanna set up for a card game.”

Kit nodded. The restriction of the collar tugged on his neck, the ring still hooked on his owner’s finger.

“You just need to do the money sir, I can’t.”

“I know, don’t tell me how to run my own store.” He was shoved sideways and the corner of the counter dug into his hip.

His owner grumbled through the process of sorting the money, locking away the credit card reader and putting everything into the safe upstairs. Kit busied himself tending to the other pets, the unsold ones, the litters his owner liked to call them.

Turn around was always slow and they were usually here for a few weeks before being sold. Every day he would bring them from the crates out back and put them on display, pretty them up in the hopes a sale would be made. Putting them away again was harder. Crueler. He felt dirty with it, closing them up in cages — crates — every night, cramped and squashed on rusty bars in a too-cool room.

At least on the shop floor they had cushions and gilded cages to lounge in, were given soft collars and pretty accessories to wear to entice customers. Out back was bleak, void of colour and comfort.

Most of them went without a fight now, the punishment — corrections, he reminded himself — received for fighting back enough of a deterrent. He unleashed them one by one and supported them to the back. Some with limbs gone numb from hours in the same position, some muddled after the doe eyed reverie of staring at nothing all day. He let them stretch, use the bathroom, held their hands as he guided them into their crates. Some looked at him pitifully, mournful, pleading. He tried to reassure them.

“Any day now, someone will come in and want you. Any day, keep being good. Look there’s food, you can sleep. Nothing else to worry about, hmm?”

He was their keeper, and their charge, and their comfort and he envied them. They’d be gone soon, he would not. Not that this was a bad life for a pet, there was stability in the sameness of the shop, the customers and the constant new products that they advertised.

But… but that was the hard thing. He watched pets come and go, never knowing if the life they were going to was a good one, or a safe one; if they’d be hurt or touched or loved or loathed or or or, his mind always throwing up new nightmarish possibilities. He’d look at the customers and try to imagine them in their homes with a pet at their feet and see if he could glean any insight into what kind of owner they would be.

He had no idea whether he was ever right. He didn’t understand humans at all, couldn’t fathom why they wanted pets, why there was any status in it or anything to like about it. His only real knowledge of people were his owner, owners friends, and the customers. He never spent enough time with the latter to really get what people were like outside of the interactions between buyer and seller, and the former… they just seemed to tolerate him for his usefulness and be constantly irritated by his failings.

And he hated them for it. He wasn’t supposed to, probably. And he didn’t ever do anything about it, but it festered inside him. Soured him. He wondered why anybody would bother with such an ungrateful, wilfully obstinate being living in their house.

And then there were the others. The Box Boys (and Babes, and Buddies) the proper pets, the ones with real shine and promise. He saw the adverts on T.V or heard talk of them on the radio, how revered they were, how plush and sophisticated their lives were. With their pristine delivery boxes and high end accessories, tailored training, stunning looks. The way the company had the best reputation, the highest honours, everyone knew they were offering the best quality of product and the most thorough training.

It was infuriating, to be on the wrong side of the divide between the products. To be less. To be messier. To be brutalised more regularly because his training didn’t cover the things his owner expected of him. He remembered very little of his initial training, just dark rooms and beatings and the sharp-bright sting of electricity that obliterated everything so they could start from the ground up. Start with kneel, and obey without question, and be afraid and really… not a lot else.

His owner could pretend to his middle class clients that everything was above board, everything sourced reliably and safely, but he knew it was all a lie because the leaflets they pushed on people with spiel about good facilities and happy pets… he printed those off himself on the printer upstairs and he knew he’d never been anywhere like that.

But the private trainers they could recommend to people — for a hefty price—  they were all too real and all too good at their jobs. He knew that from experience, his Owner had used their services enough times to get him in line that he shuddered at the mere thought.

“Kit, are you done yet? Get your ass up here.”

The shout startled him and he soothed the last pet into her crate and clanged the door shut too loudly, made her jump and he apologised under his breath.

He took the stairs two at a time and slowed down just as he pushed open the door to the office space above the shop.

“Brandon will be here soon, but I think there’s time for your daily meditation before he gets here.”

“Yessir,” he bowed his head and sucked in a lungful of air. His meditation, as his Owner liked to call it, was just a time each day that he was supposed to kneel, leashed, and ruminate on his place — so that he wouldn’t forget, even when he walked around on two legs with his head held high and his manners neatly presented for the customers — where he really belonged.

“Any problems today?” His owner asked from the small kitchen counter.

“No, sir. Everything was quiet.” Two pets had fallen asleep in the store front, but there hadn’t been any customers in the shop who’d noticed, and they’d woken without fuss a couple of hours later so he didn’t feel the need to mention it.

“Good, good. Shirt off, you won’t be needing it.”

He took off the tight fitting tank top that was his “uniform” and folded into the small wicker basket that contained all his belongings. Or, more accurately, all the belongings that his owner set aside for him to use. He kneeled in place at the foot of the large floor bed that served as his space in the building, and clasped the metal rod into place between his collar and the hook embedded in the wall. It was a short restraint, he almost had to press his nose to the wall to not strangle himself and he had to stay kneeling with a straight back to be remotely comfortable.

He placed his hands behind his back and tried to slip into the mindset his owner wanted him in. Cool hands circled his wrists, left smooth worn leather behind and locked the cuffs together.

“Sir?” He said, voice higher than usual with surprise. Usually the short leash was all that was expected of him during mediation.

“Just want you lookin’ good for Brandon, you know how he admires you.” His Owner ran a rough hand over his head and scratched at his short hair, and then knocked him aside, playfully. He choked briefly before he could right himself. “Did you eat yet?”

No? Of course, no. He hadn’t had time, he’d been run off his feet. “Na-huh. Sir.”

“Well, either you’re gonna go very hungry or we’ll have to feed you later if we remember,” his owner chuckled. “Could make you eat right off the floor, that’d be a show for Brandon wouldn’t it?”

Kit had no idea why his owner wanted to impress Brandon so much, he was only the body-mod guy they used for tattoos and alterations. He was only coming over to put barcodes on the new shipment. But his owner was always desperate to make a good impression when Brandon was around; laughed too loud, drank too much, let Brandon touch whatever he wanted…

He shook his head and realised he hadn’t answered the question. “Sorry, umm, yes?”

Owner laughed again, “Look at you, already getting deeper into your meditation. Carry on little Kitty, I need you on best behaviour tonight.”

[Part Two]

[lalainajanes]

As One Wishes To Live (AKA Genie!Klaus). Read Part One here!

His new mistress – Caroline - had excused herself. Klaus hasn’t yet relaxed.

It’s a survival instinct.

Only two of his keepers had been awful from their first meeting. The rest feigned kindness only to grow into their cruelty once they realized just how much power they wield.

He expects Caroline will be the same. Oh, she seems sweet. Earnest. Stubborn too, enough to hold on to her principles for awhile. She’ll bend, like they all do. First, it’ll be little things, simple requests to save her time and effort. A “Klaus, could you mend this?’ followed by a please and a thank you.  

The requests never stay simple.

He’ll look for what weaknesses while he still has the freedom to.

He cannot hurt the one he belongs to, but he’s learned that rule is bendable. He can manipulate an owner into hurting themselves. He can do it with words, a hint here, an innocent observation there. Occasionally, the universe provides a lovely set of coincidences that Klaus merely can neatly steer a captor into. He’d once orchestrated a nasty carriage accident by keeping a whiskey glass full and producing a few coins to entice a barmaid into distracting a stable boy. Poor lad had rushed through his tasks, hadn’t noticed the wheel in desperate need of repair.

He’ll explore Caroline’s home over the next few days. Just in case. As long as he’s been locked in his lamp, all the objects he can’t name. It’s only logical that he be curious.

Caroline’s fairly young and obviously baffled by his presence in her home. She doesn’t seem stupid, which is a pity. The unintelligent are more demanding than the cunning but easier to manipulate.  She’d been flustered as she’d departed, her cheeks stained a bright pink. She’d promised she’d be right back, after she found him some clothes.

Klaus could have told her that if she wanted him clothed, he could conjure whatever she fancied. He’d served those who liked him to remain bare and accessible but most liked to dress him up. Some in clothing that marked him as a servant, others in finery that made him look like a prize. Klaus has long since stopped caring about what does, or doesn’t, cover his body.

He’d let her babble and flee. He’d wanted privacy to study his new home and he’d sensed Caroline had needed to collect herself. He could have denied her that, pressed his advantage, perhaps dropped the covering she’d insisted he don.

She’d fought it, kept her eyes on his, but she clearly finds his body appealing.  

He may have to use that but, for now, she hasn’t truly earned his ire.

Once she’d left Klaus had held still and listened carefully as she’d made her way up a single set of stairs. She’s rummaging now, still talking to herself. Exceptional senses are one of the perks of his curse. To cater to a master’s every whim he needs to hear calls when they are mere whispers.

Caroline’s home seems quite small and Klaus imagines he’ll be able to track Caroline’s movements easily. It’s nice enough, very clean and warm. There are an alarming number of objects that Klaus has never seen before, odd hums and beeps that he’s trying to ignore.

Much has changed in the ninety or so years he’d been dormant.

The chair she’d bid him to sit in had been plush and the fabric hadn’t scratched at his skin at all. A relief because he’s always more sensitive when he’s been stuck in his lamp, his skin feels thin and new each time he emerges.

Klaus eyes the window, squinting against the sun that’s streaming in. His head aches a bit. He takes a few steps, glancing behind him even as he reaches for the curtain.

Caroline had wanted him to be comfortable, hadn’t she? Shutting out the light will help.

If she complains, well, that will be a clue that perhaps she’s not as generous as she’s seemed.

Caroline’s got a stack of various pieces of men’s clothing – things stolen from exes or friends, even a random leather jacket that a disaster of a one-night stand had left behind. She knows exactly where the pile is, but she spends a solid ten minutes pushing things around in her closet, tidying and refolding to keep her hands busy while her mind whirls.

It’s useless because she’s not going to solve the issue of the genie she now apparently owns with a little stress cleaning.

It makes her feel better. Calmer.

Sort of.

When her hands have stopped shaking (and she’s done enough deep breathing that her face should be a normal color) she crouches and yanks out the plastic tote she needs. It’s been awhile since she’s had to add anything to it. Her extended period of singledom is the main reason Kat had so thoughtfully gifted Caroline the lamp (and Klaus, technically) but she’s reasonably sure she’ll find something that will fit her guest.

Whether he’ll like the clothes she’ll provide Caroline can’t guess. He’s been impressively inscrutable so far, not that Caroline can blame him.

It sounds like he’s known a lot of terrible people. The kind that won’t hesitate to pounce on a weakness and use it for their own gain.

She figures comfort is the way to go, digs a pair of grey sweats that had been Tyler’s from the very bottom of the tote. Klaus might be a bit taller but he’s leaner so hopefully that will make up the difference.   She grabs one of Stefan’s t-shirts that she hadn’t bothered to return (since he had about eight million, all identical and black) plus a blue hoodie Enzo has given up asking her to return.

She throws it all over her shoulder then snags a pair of the socks she uses for working out from her dresser. She makes a quick detour to the kitchen to grab her laptop and her phone off the charger before she returns to find Klaus where she’d left him. He’s pulled the curtains and he’s wandered over to the wall of shelves where she keeps her books and DVDs. He’s looking at one of the framed photographs that she’s got up, an old one.

“That’s the last family photo we took,” Caroline tells him. “I really hated that dress.” Black velvet, enormous lace collar. It had been a gift from Granny Forbes and Caroline had worn it exactly twice.

Klaus gently sets the frame back down turning to face her. His expression is just as smooth as it had been when he’d first greeted her, giving away nothing of his feelings. His eyes are on her though, not the floor. He’s sizing her up and Caroline can’t say she blames him.

She smiles, hopes he can’t tell that ten minutes away wasn’t nearly enough time for Caroline to stop freaking out internally.

None of the giant pile of what the fuckery they’re currently dealing with is Klaus’ fault. She doesn’t want him to feel like he’s unwelcome. It’s just good manners.

She sets her laptop down then holds out the clothing, “I dug these up for you. I know they’re not ideal but once your dressed we’ll look online and get you something a little more your style.”

“My style,” he repeats slowly.

“Yeah. I mean, if you’re a label snob like my friend Kat you’re going to need to embrace knock offs because my credit card can only take so much.”

He appears a bit mystified and Caroline wants to slap herself. “Oh, wait, sorry. How long have you been in…” she waves her hand towards the coffee table, his gold lamp. It’s entirely possible Klaus doesn’t know about the internet. Or even credit cards. Caroline has no idea when they became a thing.

His eyes follow her gesture and he takes a step back, so he’s nearly pressed against the bookcase.

She looks away, pretends not to notice. She studies the lamp, realizing that she’s only managed to polish a quarter sized spot on one side. That’s totally going to bother her.

Klaus doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t move much either. Caroline’s about to remind him that he doesn’t have to when he reaches for the bundle she holds. He pinches the fabric between his fingertips, tugging experimentally. “I can’t tell you exactly. It was… 1926, maybe. When my last mistress died. She called for me infrequently in the end. Her daughter thought to own me next. She was not happy to learn I cannot be inherited.”

“Is that the one who made her final wish on her death bed?”

“Yes.”

She’s really trying not to pry – he hasn’t had the chance to set his own boundaries for a freaking millennium so obviously she needs to reel in her curiosity – but it’s hard. What had the woman wished for? Could she have wished to not die? Can Klaus make people immortal? Would…

“Revenge,” Klaus murmurs, interrupting Caroline’s train of thought. “She had three daughters and her husband divorced her to get his male heir. He lied to get it, painted her as the adulterer then left her with barely enough money to live on. She wished that he would live to know his name would die with his son.”

That’s… wow.” Caroline’s a little impressed with the spite level. “Was she… good to you?”

“Better than most.”

With the switch back to vague answers, Caroline decides it’s best to change the subject. “Well, there’s going to be a lot of things we need to get you up to speed on. We’ll start with the practical.” She sits down, taps the top of her laptop. “This is a computer; it connects to the internet. The internet does a lot of things, some of them great, some of them super creepy. But it will allow us to get you a 21st century wardrobe delivered before the weekend.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

She shakes her head, tucking her legs underneath her as she boots up her laptop. “Look, I’m not going to make you go anywhere you don’t want to but I’m pretty sure eventually you’re going to get bored enough to want to go outside. And if you do it like that…” she wiggles her fingers in his direction, carefully not looking directly at the subtle ridge of muscle at his hips, “…questions will be asked. Cops might be called. We can’t rixk that until we’ve got a solid backstory and some supporting documents.”

She types “Casual Men’s Clothes” into google, figuring she’ll let him browse the images to see what he likes. Klaus clears his throat but it’s a theatrical kind of noise, an ‘ahem’ sound that’s never an accident.

Caroline holds in a sigh and looks up, mentally preparing herself to ignore all the distractingly bare skin, only to have her mouth drop open for an entirely different reason. Klaus is holding the clothes she’d given him but, on his body, he’s wearing something very similar. He’s switched up the colors – black sweats, dark red tee, grey hoodie – and everything fits like it was made for him.

Well. That’s handy.

“Oh,” she says dumbly. “You…”

“Am perfectly capable of clothing myself without assistance, yes.”

He’s smug about it and Caroline should find it annoying but, as it’s the first real hint of personality he’s shown, she’ll let it slide. “You weren’t kidding about the magic, huh?”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Are you a believer now, love?”

The dimples are just as distracting as the hipbones, damn it.

Caroline focuses back on her laptop, tapping a few keys for no real reason. It’s not like he’ll know she’s typing nonsense. “I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

Klaus hums in acknowledgement, “Is this what men wear nowadays? I’ll admit it’s very comfortable.”

When she glances up she finds he’s adjusting the sleeves of the hoodie, pushing them up his forearms. “It’s a super casual example but yeah, you won’t get arrested if you walk outside like that. You’d get some looks if you tried to walk into a nice restaurant though.”

“I see. Can you show me?” he points at her laptop. “For when we venture out.”

“Sure. Internet window shopping is one of my very favorite things. Come sit.”

Caroline tips her head to the side and this time Klaus doesn’t need to be prompted further, settling down next to her. He jumps a little when she sets her computer on his lap and Caroline figures he hadn’t anticipated it would be warm. She points to the screen, “What do you like?”

He blinks at the twenty or so images for a long moment. He then leans closer. Caroline reaches over runs her finger over the trackpad. “Here, see that little white hand? If you want to see something close up just tap. Like this.”

He’s a quick study, his fingertip bumping into hers as he tries it for himself. She shows him how to scroll down and he mutters about how many choices there are. He glances at her every once in awhile, but Caroline makes it a point not to react.

Even if she had been paying for the clothes she wouldn’t have wanted to pick for him. Earlier, one oh his comments had made her feel a little sick to her stomach. His body, he’d said, so casually, was at her disposal. Caroline’s not naïve enough to think that had only meant he’d been treated like a life size Ken doll but she’s certain he’d been dressed up according to the whims of others for the bulk of his existence.

That’s over, Caroline’s decided. If he wants to wear cargo shorts and lumberjack flannel for the rest of his life that’s totally his call.

She touches his arm to get his attention. Klaus tenses, his body locking up so tightly that she can feel in even though a few inches of space separate them. She withdraws gingerly, easing over to give him more space.

She’s kind of a toucher. She’ll have to remember to curb the instinct with Klaus.

“I’ll just be in the kitchen, okay? I’ll order dinner.” And send a couple texts, plus an email to her boss. She’s so going to need a couple days to get acclimated but Klaus doesn’t need to know the details. “Come get me if you need anything.”

It’s a useless offer because Klaus won’t ask for a single thing. He doesn’t trust her even a little bit.

Convincing him that he can won’t be easy. Good thing Caroline’s always liked a challenge.

Klaus had risen as soon as he’d heard Caroline stir. He hadn’t rested well.

The bed Caroline had offered him is very comfortable. Too comfortable.

He’d tossed and turned, tried both sides. He’d quickly given up on sleeping, had risen once he’d heard Caroline’s breathing deepen enough to indicate that she wouldn’t wake easily. He’s slipped out of the room and downstairs, paced the rooms and the halls, going over all that he’s learned to far.

Last night Caroline had chattered away while she’d changed the sheets for him, told him that her mother was the one who most often stayed in the room but that it always took a great deal of cajoling for Caroline to convince her to visit. She’d grabbed him a toothbrush and towels. Had pointed out that red on the taps meant hot water and then asked if he had any questions about the shower. He’d just managed to avoid rolling his eyes because he has seen one before. Caroline had sensed his annoyance and cheerfully confessed that she’d done a quick bout of research on the history of indoor plumbing while they’d sat together after dinner but that she’d just wanted to make sure. She’d said that a hot shower always made her feel better after a rough day.

Klaus had thought about that statement once she’d left him alone. He wouldn’t have classified his day as rough, exactly. Bewildering perhaps, but the first day with a new master always is. He’s yet to sense any sort of sinister intent under Caroline’s solicitousness so either she’s a fantastically skilled actress or she’s genuine in her disgust for the curse he lives with.

The shower had been fantastic though.

He’s waiting in the kitchen when Caroline wanders in. Her hair’s half up and half down and she’s wrapped in a pink robe that’s far too large for her. She’s rather lovely, sleep mussed and stumbling. She gives him a little wave, “Morning. I need coffee.”

She yelps when the cup appears in her hand, drops it immediately. The glass shatters against the tile floor, hot coffee splattering her bare legs.

“Ow, ow, hot!”

Klaus is at her side in a blink, stilling her when she makes to step back. “You’ll cut yourself,” he scolds and then concentrates, clearing the mess away just as quickly as he’d created it.

Her eyes are wide, fully awake now as she pulls away. Klaus bends so he can sweep his hands over the reddened skin on her shins and ankles, taking away the mild burn. “What the hell was that?” she exclaims, her arms flapping wildly.

“You needed coffee.” He’s not going to explain the rest. Caroline’s sharp enough to make the necessary connections.

Her fingers twist the ends of the belt that wraps around her waist. Her outrage quiets slightly, “And if I need something you have to get it for me?”

Klaus conjures another cup, this time a sturdier vessel. He offers it instead of answering. Caroline glares, refusing to take it. “It’s just an expression! I don’t need coffee I just want it. And I am perfectly capable of making my own.”

He’s not about to confess that his curse means he must fulfill her wants too. Caroline had claimed decent people existed but no one – mortal or immortal - is immune to temptation. To know that every whim can be satisfied? Awfully enticing.

She spins away from him, stomping across the kitchen. She yanks a slim canister out of a cupboard, tucking it under her arm when she looks over at him, “Just so we’re clear, if I say ‘I need’ followed by a thing you’ll just poof it into my hands?”

Klaus nods in confirmation. He has no desire to explain that if he doesn’t provide for her he’ll feel a small twinge. That the twinge will grow into aches and stabs and bone grinding, suffocating pressure. That it will build and build and build until he gives in. Or until he collapses and then gives in.

It’s been a long time since he’s fought a master’s will but he’d done it often in the beginning, before he’d realized that open rebellion is pointless. The pain isn’t something he’ll ever forget.

Caroline’s got her back to him, her hands busy, and she’s quiet. Contemplative, he’ll say, because her eyes keep flitting his way. “I think we’re going to need to set some ground rules.”

Ah. Finally, something familiar.

How disappointing.

He doesn’t move, is sure his expression remains carefully pleasant. Caroline, somehow, manages to sense the downturn in his mood. She sighs, shoving the cup he’d made across the table towards him as she sits down. “Not like that,” she insists. “We’re not even going to call them rules. We need to agree on a few things.”

Klaus stays silent, wary. The worst people often had a gift for spinning pretty words to cover their worst actions.

“You do have a say, here. I wished that, remember?”

She’s wished for his honesty, his true thoughts and feelings. Klaus isn’t yet sure if she deserves them.

Drink…” her teeth come together with a snap and she shakes her head. “Sorry, I think I almost did it again. If you happen to like coffee, please feel free to drink the one you made.” Her brow wrinkles in concentration, her mouth moving and forming the same words she’d just spoken. She nods briskly, satisfied. “Was that okay? Didn’t trigger any bad genie mojo?”

He can risk a taste of honesty. To test her.

Klaus grasps the mug, lifts it to his lips. He sniffs experimentally, “I don’t remember if I like it or not.” He’d drunk it often centuries ago. He’d lived in Hamburg with a scientist who feared failure more than he desired rest. Klaus had spent hours upon hours transcribing notes, drinking coffee when prompted because his master, like most scientific types of the time, had thought magic preposterous. He hadn’t understood that Klaus didn’t need to fight sleep with stimulants.

She watches him, a pleased smile curling her lips. “Good?” she asks, as if she’s genuinely interested.

“I think so,” Klaus replies. He tries another mouthful.

It tastes better than he remembers but perhaps that’s because each sip is a choice.

Caroline panics when she hears keys in the door. She's been taking advantage of the pile of banked sick days she has, to deal with the whole genie situation. She'd sent her boss an email with a sob story about a killer bout of stomach flu. She's never done it before, feels a little bad about lying, but her excuse hasn’t been questioned.

One of the perks of being a kickass employee.

The truth would have gotten her locked up on a twenty-four-hour psych hold, and Caroline does not want to deal with that. Even if Klaus could probably break her out with his freaky magic stuff.

She’s sprawled out on the floor, catching up on her YouTube subscriptions. Klaus is on the couch – so far he’s yet to let his posture be less than flawless in her presence – reading a book. He’s not a fan of the television but he’s yet to object to having music on.

She shoves herself up onto her knees when she hears the door open, her eyes sweeping the room for anything that might invite questions. There’s nothing, thank god.

"Care?" Bonnie calls, "are you okay? I brought crackers and Gatorade!"

Ugh. She hadn't counted on her friends, and their keys to her place, screwing with her plans.

"Hide!" she hisses at Klaus. His eyes widen, face going blank. He nods once, harsh and jerky, before he immediately does his wispy smoky thing, dissipating before her eyes (and seriously, that’s never not going to be weird) leaving his lamp rattling.

She feels a stab of guilt, because she'd meant for him to go upstairs, having picked up on the revulsion and wariness he seemed to feel for the little metal vessel that had been his home and prison. It still sits on her coffee table; he makes a point not to touch it.  She'd been asking questions for the last few days, carefully teasing out his story.

Sometimes Klaus grows cold, his answers becoming monosyllabic. He's never refused to answer her inquiries, but she’s quick to change the subject when his words become slow and reluctant. She’s told him he doesn’t have to do anything; she suspects he doesn’t believe her. That he’s waiting for her to flip and start making demands.

Once she’d worked out that he was forced to follow her orders she’d asked what happened if he didn’t. He'd gone stiff when he'd imparted that knowledge, the words clipped as he refused to meet her eyes. She imagines he's tested the limits of the magic that traps him thoroughly, as stubborn and prideful as he seems to be. That whatever the punishment doled out is unbearable if he dreads it so deeply.

She’s vowed he’ll never hurt that way again but pain isn’t always physical.

She’ll have an apology to make.

Thinking quickly Caroline ruffles her hair, wraps herself in her afghan and slumps down on the couch. She tries to look miserable and queasy, planning on getting Bonnie to leave as soon as possible.

She's under no illusions that her friends won't have to meet Klaus eventually. She's just planning on easing them into it. Maybe mention that she's looking for a roommate, interview a couple candidates for show.

It'll give her time to make up a reasonable background story. Plus, Caroline needs a little more time for Klaus to get acclimated to the world, so he won't make her friends suspicious. So far things from the twenty-first century are hit and miss. He'd turned his nose up at the coffee she made, has continued to conjure his own. Caroline has to admit his is way better then what he machine drips out. Klaus does seem to like the internet. After he’d thoroughly investigated men’s clothing she’d taught him how to google things and he seems to enjoy that he can find information for himself instead of having to pester her when he there’s something he doesn’t understand.

She's going to need to prepare Klaus for Kat. She’s sure he can hold his own, has seen steel nerves and an implacable will under the deference he’s trained himself to exude, but she can't help feeling protective. Caroline has seen Kat cheerfully crush weak men under her stilettos, with merely biting words and a toss of her hair, not exerting the slightest effort. Kat will actually try if she thinks she's vetting a potential roommate of Caroline's.

The least she can do is spare Klaus the worst of that. Since she'd unwittingly made herself his mistress.

Yep, that’s still creepy. And a tiny bit hot in a way that makes Caroline want to fidget in shame.

She makes a show of struggling to sit up as Bonnie approaches, really makes it seem like it’s an effort to lift her head.

Apparently she’s pretty good at the fake sick thing, something that might have been useful back in high school. Bonnie doesn’t stay long, insists Caroline rest as she goes. Part of that might be how distracted she is, her mind too focused on Klaus. She's not even sure how she can get him out of the lamp, knows she’ll have to coax and grovel, that she can’t demand.

She'd read the little flash of betrayal in his eyes clearly, even though he'd masked it expertly. She doesn't want to see it again.

Klaus has no form inside his lamp.

Caroline had shown him a few episodes of a silly television show. He’d found it offensive, had glowered through parts of it – did humans really think such incompetence would be allowed? Klaus is quite sure the magic that punished him for disobedience would have torn the tiny blonde woman apart for her antics. Afterwards he’d admitted that he could understand Caroline’s initial reactions to his presence. He wonders if she thinks his lamp is like the television genie’s, bright and comfortable and strewn with cushions.

In truth, there’s nothing inside. He’s nothing inside. He’s only thoughts and emotions. His senses leave him, except for his hearing, and it’s dark. The longer he spends inside the harder it is to keep from drifting. Only the call of his owner can pull him back.

Inside, he’s not aware of time passing. He’s completely subject to another’s whims and he hates it.

He can hear Caroline, one of her friends outside. He listens eagerly, clings to the knowledge that if they’re talking he’s losing only minutes, not years.

The friend seems concerned. He learns that Caroline’s been faking an illness. Had she not trusted him enough to leave him to his own devices in her home?

Had she not known that she could banish him, as she’d just done?

Caroline whispers his name. He can’t tune her out.

If he’s honest he doesn’t want to. He’d preferred his cruelest master to the nothingness of his lamp and even if Caroline’s a liar he doubts she’ll take that title.

“I don’t know if you can hear me.”

She must touch the lamp because he gets a brief impression of warmth.

Too brief.

“I’m sorry.”

No one’s thought him worthy of an apology since he’d been human. Even then they’d been rare.

He listens to her breathing, quick and anxious. “I didn’t mean to make you go away. I’ve been trying so hard to choose my words carefully. And trust me, I suck at that. I just panicked.”

He thinks of how she’d looked in the moment she’d told him to hide. Her eyes had been round, her body tense. Usually graceful she’s moved in fits and starts.

Perhaps she’s not a liar.

“I haven’t told my friends about you because… well, they’d think I’d gone nuts. Elena would tell her mom and her mom would call my mom and the whole town would be whispering about me within the week. People from high school I don’t even like would start sending me faux concerned messages on Facebook hoping for more dirt.”

She pauses.

Klaus hopes she hasn’t gone.

Only because he hates the lamp, of course. The lack of awareness, the inability to exert even the smallest bit of his will. Having to depend on another to tether him. Never knowing when, even if, they’d release him.

“I meant hide literally. Like, hide upstairs in your room or even in the laundry room. Just out of sight. Not out of the house. Well, I guess you’re still in the house. Which I’m really glad about, by the way. Even though I know you’re pissed at me. Which is totally okay.”

He hears her groan and then her next words are muffled. “God, I sound like a moron.”

“I get it if you don’t want to talk to me. And if you come out you don’t have to talk to me. I can go out for awhile if you really want some you time. And you don’t have to come out. But, if you want to… Well, I’d appreciate it.”

Klaus concentrates, presses against the boundaries of the lamp. Leaving always burns a little but the relief of having a physical body again is greater than the discomfort. He rolls his shoulders once he’s upright and solid, waiting for Caroline to notice him. She’s got her eyes closed, her head in her hands.

His fingers twitch.

He cannot remember the last time he’d felt the desire to touch another person but Caroline tempts him.

Klaus reaches out, looping one of her blonde curls around his index finger. She gasps when he tugs, her hand grabbing at his. She’s quick to stutter an apology, to pull away.

This time Klaus chooses not to let her. He wraps her hand around her wrist, tugs until she stands. “Thank you,” he says. “For apologizing.”

Her throat moves, a nervous swallow that he easily hears. She seems to be having trouble looking at him, her blue eyes flitting away, landing on the lamp. “What if… can you destroy it?”

Oh, how he’s tried. Klaus shakes his head, “No, I can’t. It’s immune to my powers.”

Caroline’s eyes narrow, her head tipping to the side, “What if I wish for it?”

Klaus can only laugh, too startled to bother hiding his derision. “You’d waste another wish?”

He can’t see how she could possibly want to.

“Would getting rid of it hurt you?”

Not weaken him or take away his power. She’s worried about him hurting.

“Caroline. I think you fundamentally misunderstand the concept of wishes.”

She glares at him, “I’m going to ignore the fact that you kind of just called me stupid.”

“I didn’t phrase it quite that way.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of annoying?”

It’s not a condemnation. She might even be teasing him.

“Not for a very long time.” His siblings had once expressed such sentiments. Rebekah sually in a pitched shriek of outrage, Kol with a shove that generally led to a scuffle.

“That’s a no, then? Destroying the lamp won’t hurt you?”

“Not if you wish it.”

“Good.” Caroline steps away, shaking off the light hold he’s maintained on her wrist. Klaus finds that he’s not overly fond of the distance between them now.

She’s still in a bit of a temper, carefully straightening her clothing and enunciates carefully, “I wish for this lamp,” she pauses then, reaching out to pick it up, cradling it in both hands, “to be destroyed, for it to never be remade or repaired, and for it’s whatever magic it holds to die.”

“Thorough,” Klaus murmurs. He hadn’t been wrong; his Caroline is clever.

She bends her knees, dipping into a brief curtsey, “I’ve been researching.”

“Are you sure this is your wish? Once made…”

“A wish cannot be unmade. Blah blah blah. Just freaking do it.”

He takes it from her, the first time he’s willingly touched it. He grips it tightly, until it burns his hands. It fights him, he shakes, but a master’s will cannot be subverted.

He’s panting when he’s done but the lamp is gone.

He’ll never lose himself inside it again.

He laughs again, this time with genuine joy.

Caroline fusses over him, drags him into the kitchen and turns on the cold water. She holds her hands under the stream.

He doesn’t tell her it’s useless, that he’ll heal well enough on his own.

He remembers wanting things once. A toy sword, bread his mother had just baked. Pigments from a travelling merchant. The heart of a girl who couldn’t decide if who deserved her love most.

Klaus had thought he’d forgotten how to want.

He hasn’t.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 31

The Check-In

Character(s): dark!Bucky, dark!Steve, too

Masterlist

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

In this chapter: naughty talk and a quickie.

Summary: Steve checks in with the reader.

Notes: Chapter 31! Wow, I really am in disbelief still that we’ve gotten this far. Stuffs moving now and we’re getting close here! I’m so excited y’all. Here we get some dark!Steve after a bit of a drought in the last few chapters.

And I always appreciate if you reblog and or reply with your thoughts!! or even inbox me! I’m friendly. <3 I love you all.

Bucky left that day as promised. You were further relieved to not run into the other super soldier either. It was almost like your life had gone back to normal. Until you were due to go home and recalled that you weren’t really going home. Your phone rang as you were driving and you answered on your hands-free as you saw ‘Private’ flash across the console. You weren’t taking any chances tonight. You needed the time alone.

“Hello?” You called to the windshield.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice came from the speaker, “What are you doing?”

“Driving,” You answered evenly.

“Mmm,” He grumbled from the other end, “Were you late this morning?”

“No…” You squinted at the cars ahead of you, “Why?”

“Just wondering.” He replied, “I’m still on the jet. Some hours to go till landing.”

“O..kay…” You said awkwardly. Wondering at this odd small talk. The man wasn’t much for unnecessary conversation.

“Just thought I’d call and check in,” He said casually. A silence followed and you didn’t know what to say. “Well, I’ll let you get home and, um...I miss you.” You blinked, speechless, trying to concentrate on steering. “Uh, bye….shit.” The curse was whispered as the line went dead and you felt your heart racing. You had almost said you missed him too. Almost. But you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t feel anything for him but resent.

You pulled into his lot and lingered in your car. You couldn’t go on like this. Fighting him and yourself. The longer you stayed as you were, the lower the odds of your ever being free. Your leg shook in anxiety and you dug around in your purse, pulling out the burner phone. You dialed the only number in the directory and waited until your mother’s voice sounded from the speaker.

“Sweetie?” She greeted. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry it’s been like this, mom. I’m sorry I can’t tell you,” Your throat constricted as you were tempted to dissemble into tears and tell her everything. But you couldn’t, not yet. “One day, I promise I will but just not now.”

“Okay,” She accepted and you could hear the worry in her voice. “So, what do you need, dear?”

“You. Safe.” You replied cryptically. “I need you to do everything I tell you. When I text you the safe word, you go. Right away. Don’t hesitate.” You sniffed, trying not to give into the tears. “Mom, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. All I want is for you to be safe, dear. You shouldn’t be worried about me. I’m your mother.” Her confusion was overshadowed by her concern.

You nodded and mustered your strength. “I’m going to send you money for a plane ticket. I’ll send you the destination when I’m ready. We’ll meet there.”

“Okay, sweetie,” She said gently, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You couldn’t hold back anymore as the tears began to fall, gliding along your nose, “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I know. Just be safe,” Her own voice cracked tellingly. “I’ll be waiting. Ready.”

You hung up and folded the phone, replacing it in its hiding spot in the lining of your purse. You looked up at the upscale building which had become your new prison. Not all your guards were unbreakable.

The next morning, your nerves were buzzing like crazy. You had picked out your clothing carefully; a blouse which showed enough of your cleavage to be enticing, but not so much that it was unprofessional. A little extra mascara to highlight your eyes, the highest heels you had, no panties. You were tired of being the one controlled; you were going to take some of that back. And a little more than that.

Your whole night had been spent mulling over your impending meeting with Steve. The only thing you couldn’t plan was whether or not he showed up. Bucky said he’d be checking in but not when. It could be at the Tower or it could be at the condo. Wherever it was, you couldn’t let yourself be caught off-guard. You tried to seem calm, talking yourself down as you drove to the Tower. In the parking garage, you counted your breaths and checked yourself in the car mirror. You could do this. You had to do this.

At your desk, all seemed normal. You booted the desktop, opened emails, greeted visitors and directed them to where they needed to be. And then he appeared. It was just after noon and his eyes caught yours as you peeked over your monitor. You rolled your chair so that he could see you fully and flashed him a winning smile. He approached the other side, leaning as he usually did on the desk.

“Hey,” His eyes swiftly noticed the cut of your blouse, “How are you today?”

“I’m okay,” You answered thinly, pouting, “How are you?”

His brows rose as if he wondered at your friendly demeanour but it wasn’t far off to think you had become fond of him. He had fucked you into unconsciousness. You batted your lashes as you waited for an answer. 

“Good. I heard Bucky’s out of town.”

“Yeah,” You sighed, “He is. Not that it makes much of a difference.” You leaned back in your chair, you chest rising just a little. He tilted his head and his eyes sparked.

He glanced around the empty office and leaned closer. “What do you mean?” You could see the mischief blaring in his dilated pupils. “Is he not--”

“He’s been so busy,” You sat up and turned to your monitor as if guilty. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be complaining to you about this.”

“No, it’s okay. He sat with one leg on your desk, getting closer, “You can tell me. He told me to make sure you were taken care of while he was gone.” His gaze explored the curves of your sitting form, “Are you getting lonely?”

You bit your tongue and the gesture had him squeezing his thigh. “I’ve been lonely for a while.” You kept your voice low, “So lonely that…” You looked around and bit your lip, “Can I confess something to you?” The smirk on his face was eager, almost dopey, as he nodded. You let your eyes wander over his shoulders blatantly before focusing on his face, “I was so lonely last night that I…” You breathed as if the words were difficult to say, “I touched myself.”

Steve’s blue eyes flared and his lips parted slightly. He forced his mouth closed and feigned sympathy. “Really?” He asked, “Well, that’s just not right. Bucky shouldn’t be leaving you high and dry like that.”

“I didn’t know how to say it,” You shifted in your chair, wiggling your hips just so, “He hasn’t touched me since, well, since that last night with you.”

“Oh,” His eyes narrowed as he thought. A triumphant smirk spreading across his face. “Well, I could...help you out. If you want? But you can’t tell Bucky, you know that right?”

“Help me?” Your mouth formed an ‘o’ and his tongue ran over his lips as he watched your expression bloom. “I...I promised him I’d be a good girl.”

“I won’t tell him if you don’t. I’ll tell him you’ve been a very good girl,” His hand ran up his thigh, edging along the bulge growing in his pants. “I mean, good girls shouldn’t touch themselves.”

You pretended to think, faking an internal dialogue as you looked around the office. “Now?” You asked hopefully, “I...I just, I can’t wait any longer.”

“Here?” His eyes widened in delighted shock.

“Not out here,” You said sweetly with a giggle. “I’ll take my lunch and we can, um, go to...” Again you feigned spontaneous thought, “The file room. No one ever goes in there.”

He grinned and nodded. “I’ll wait for you there,” He stood, “Two minutes?”

“Two minutes.” You confirmed and he slowly backed away.

You pulled out the sign which denoted you would return in thirty minutes and keyed out your time card on the computer. You rose, surprised by the genuine warmth which had gathered in your pelvis. You went down the back hall where the file room was hidden. You had only seen Pepper venture in there once and she bemoaned the venture, swearing off the experience. Steve was waiting, his hand on the wall as he leaned coolly, watching you near him.

“Come on,” You whispered, “I only got half-an-hour.”

“And we’ll need every minute,” He gleamed and turned to punch in the code on the pinpad.

You got closer to him, clinging to his free arm and running your hand down his torso, toying with the belt of his pants, hiding your attention glued to his finger. You memorized the code as he typed it, reciting it in your head as the door buzzed and he slid it open. He pulled you inside and swiftly closed it, pushing you up against the wall in an instant. You gasped and giggled, keeping the act up as best you could.

You fumbled with the buckle of his belt and he watched with amusement. You quickly unbuttoned his fly, zipped it down and eagerly pushed down his pants as you shoved a hand in his briefs and stroked his already hardened cock. You tugged the elastic down, freeing him, and continued to play with him as his hands settled on the wall beside your head and he shuddered. “You’re so big,” You marveled and he groaned.

“And you’re so fucking hot,” His hands fell and he rough pulled on your skirt, bunching it up around your waist to reveal your lack of panties. He hummed in approval. “Damn.” His leaned down and scooped you up, his hands on your ass as he positioned you against the wall. You pressed your thighs around him as he reached down and lined himself up to your entrance. “We gotta be quiet,” He warned and you nodded before he thrust into you sharply.

You reached up, steadying yourself as your fingers dug into the muscles along his shoulder. “Oooh,” The moan escaped against your will as he surprised you. His hand came up and clasped over your mouth as he pressed you closer to the wall. He held you aloft as he began to fuck you, your pussy thrumming as he impaled you again and again.

“Fuck, even after all this you’re still tight,” He rasped, “You fucking slut. You’re just made to be used.”

He grunted as he continued to slam into you and your orgasm was smothered by his hand as the tremors shook you. Your pussy squeezed his cock and he sped up. “I’m going to cum in you.” He whispered, “Ah, fuck.” He burst inside of you and you could hear it as he continued to fuck you. “Mmm,” He shivered as he came to a halt. “I’ll make sure Bucky knows you’ve been a very good girl.” He slowly pulled out of you and lowered you back to your feet, holding the base of his wet cock. “Now go on and clean me off.”

tags: @they-call-me-le @holylulusworld  @petit-funsize @ladyofmyst @kellyn1604 @thelostallycat @grayxswan @collette04 @butteryoptimisticpeanut @buckycaptspideypool @blackpantherimagines @lilithhellfire @captainfreecandyvan @spaghettirogers @phoenix21love @sathlens @iheartsebastianstan @bethanyzed @breezy1415 @alexakeyloveloki @beautiful-and-strange @momc95 @luvmeijii @biasedtittes @thosecikinnn @justballoonfishthings @thepettyavenger @tuyetnhivo@bbyspiiice

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

A Girl’s Best Friend (Peter Parker x OC) - Part 10

Synopsis: Diamonds are man’s best friend- or dogs are girls’ best friends, wait… how does the saying go again?

Warnings: Family issues; Peter has a crush and it’s complicated; mention of assault; good dogs; College AU; aged up! characters; TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WE ALL LIVE IN A HAPPY PLACE CALLED DENIAL

A/N: This is a BIG STEP for Peter and Em, but ooooh boy you guys are in for a long ride. I just finished writing chapter 18 and let me tell you, this slow burn is getting out of hand. Leave feedback for quicker updates!

Word count: 3.2k

Part 9 <<< >>> Part 11

MASTERLIST

                Last time he had such a bad case of nerves, he was on another planet, fighting for humanity and the fate of all living things. Well, that and the time he overslept and nearly missed the final exam of this first semester, almost not passing.

                What was it with this girl that made him want to do good all the time? The crushing need to impress her made him lose his cool and overdo everything. He had caught himself considering truly unreasonable plans for tonight’s date as she hadn’t told him she wanted to do anything specific. It ranged from a classic dinner at a high-end restaurant to a full-blown private helicopter tour of the city (made possible by one supportive Tony Stark who was definitely trying to hitch Peter up).

                He came twenty minutes early for no other reason than he was pumped to see her, and he was making Tessa nervous with his constant pacing around his room. It didn’t matter, he didn’t mind waiting for her, besides, she was freakishly punctual. One second she was nowhere in sight, the next she stood next to him.

                A bit like right now.

“You look a bit lost, have you never been to Central Park at all?” she chuckled from behind him, making Peter spin on his heels to face her.

                He opened his mouth to answer, but he got distracted as soon as he saw her. It happened more often than he would care to admit, but luckily for him, he pulled himself together quickly.

“I was looking for you, but I never see you coming,” he told her. “You’re very sneaky for someone who wears heels all the time.”

                As if to illustrate what he said, Emmeline clicked her heels together, Dorothy style.

“Is it too late to become a ninja or a spy?” she wondered out loud, already reaching for his arm, gesturing him to go ahead and lead the way.

“A ninja with a master’s in biophysics then. I don’t know, you’d have to ask the guidance counselor what kind of degree you need for that. Do you think it pays well?”

                She tilted her head a little, eyes drifting upwards: a sure sign that she was actually, seriously thinking about the answer.

“I don’t know. But if being sneaky was my superpower, I suppose I could send my resume to the Avengers, what do you think? We’d work at the same place then. I’m sure it pays well there at least.”

                Peter’s tense laugh didn’t fool her, but she didn’t call him out on it. Mentioning his Stark internship unfailingly turned him into a blubbering mess. It reached the point where she considered he might not actually have an internship there; maybe he was Tony Stark’s secret love child? This theory would have worked if he didn’t confide in her that his parents had both died when he was still a kid.

“You would get so sick of me if you saw me all day long,” Peter finally told her, having recovered his good mood.

                They were walking down 5th avenue, linked at the arm, walking slightly closer than they normally would, and Emmeline never really looked away from Peter, despite wearing heels and having to navigate between people. Once again, it made him wonder if she wasn’t secretly a classically trained dancer to whom grace was second nature and who could read his own movements to follow his steps.

                This girl truly prompted the most ridiculous wonderings, but it was what made it all so thrilling, so very enticing. She let him closer than anyone else in years, yet he still felt he discovered a new Emmeline every day. And despite all of the mystery surrounding her, he thought he really did know her, who she was deep down – a brilliant, lively young woman who was frustrated not to be able to shine as bright as she wanted to.

                Behind every sentence, every glance, he saw the looming shadow of the pressure she endured from her family, it weighted her down like a chain around the ankle. If they were in a movie, he would ask her to elope with him, start a new life elsewhere.

                A small, timid part of him wanted that too, but it was a parasite thought. Being Spider-Man fulfilled him in a way nothing else could, and it was a pleasure as much as a duty and a responsibility to save people. The part of him that wished for someone else to have gained those powers was immature and impulsive.

“Is it a challenge?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

                Peter had already forgotten what he had said, but it came back when she gave him a pointed look.

“Uh, it was not, but feel free to take it as such,” he replied before making a fool of himself and staying silent as she watched on. “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted, I can’t get over the fact you agreed to go out.”

                There, better. Not the smoothest approach, but honesty was always preferable to whatever he had been doing up until now. She probably thinks I’m a dimwit at this point.

                Emmeline seemed a bit taken aback by his last comment; her smile was replaced by a thin line, lips pinched together.

“Why?”

                He could tell she wasn’t playing oblivious and was genuinely surprised that he would think she would refuse.

Hadn’t she been flirting enough with him? Last time she ate lunch with Peter and Ned, the latter had given her a thumbs up when she put a hand a Peter’s arm to get his attention and show him something.

“I just- I thought- Maybe-“ Great. Back to stuttering and blushing. If she hadn’t been holding his arm, he might have fled.

“Let me make this easy for you,” she cut him off before he could further embarrass himself. Emmeline had magical timing. “Whatever nonsense you were about to say, forget it. I like you a lot, and that’s why I’m here. If you hadn’t asked me to go out, I would have asked you, sooner than later.”

“Well that’s hard to believe. But it does help to hear it,” Peter said, unable to hold back the goofy smile on his face, nor the stuttering of his heart and the heat in his cheeks. “It’s a relief actually, I was on the verge of a breakdown when I didn’t get an answer after I sent that risky text. Ned can tell you.”

“I don’t need to ask Ned, I know it’s true, you’re the most anxious person I know, and I know me.”

“What?” Peter’s voice came out as more of a squeal than a question. “You’re not anxious, you’re the most confident person I know!”

“More like I’m the best actress you know then, I have to dye my hair because it started growing white in same places in high school, around the time I had to start thinking about my future.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” Peter said, shaking his head. “How can-“ he paused. “I can’t imagine you as a teenager, I don’t have enough imagination to picture you as anything else than the woman I see right now.”

                Emmeline’s heart did a summersault in her chest, but she tried to not let it show that his words affected her so much. She tightened her grip on his arm and stepped even closer when someone bumped into her shoulder.

“I’ll show you a picture if you prove yourself worthy,” she vowed, her free hand placed over her heart. “I burned all but one, for old time’s sake, and it’s horrendous, but I trust you will not run away after seeing me with bangs and braces.”

“Bangs and braces?” Peter winced, hissing under his breath and pretending to shake off her hand. “The date was nice, I’m gonna go now…”

“Hey!” Emmeline called after him when he tried to power-walk away from her, grabbing him by the shirt to make him stay. “You’re not getting out of this, Parker! I came here for a proper date and I shall have it!”

                Peter quit his teasing and returned next to her, assuring her that he was kidding and would make tonight worth her while. Emmeline slipped her hand into his instead of holding his arm. His smile disappeared a little and he gulped down. Hopefully his hands wouldn’t become too clammy.

“Now tell me where we’re going,” she demanded. “Are we still going for coffee?”

“We’re going to this rooftop bar I know. Local bands come and play there, and it has a nice view of the city at night. They serve food too, and I intend to take full advantage of you once you start getting cold and need someone to keep you warm,” Peter shamelessly admitted, having finally recovered some of his self-confidence.

                Part of him wondered if he would ever stop being nervous around her, but she had a way of making his worries disappear and putting him at ease. He couldn’t fathom what it was about her, but he was under a spell.

“Who says I won’t take advantage of you and say I’m cold just to snuggle?” She smirked when Peter scoffed a little, rolling his eyes. “Two of us can play this game.”

“You know, come to think of it, you’d do great at Stark Tower, you’d fit in beautifully,” he changed the subject, feeling like the previous one was too much of a slippery slope.

                She answered him with the brightest of smiles, strands of her black hair falling out of her bun as she laughed and shook her head slightly.

“And to what do I owe the change of mind?”

“You speak a little bit like him.” Peter looked at his feet than up again. Tony. “You’re both blunt to the point of rashness, not to mention that you both talk like nothing’s out of your reach.”

                Emmeline made a funny face that was somewhere between amusement and shame. She knew she tended to consider her own circumstances as a given for everyone, forgetting that some people’s perspectives were limited by money, connections, opportunities.

“I’m working on getting rid of that ugly trait of personality,” she promised. “Though you probably didn’t mean it as a reproach,” she added quickly when Peter opened his mouth to protest. “You speak very highly of him.”

“I’m actually contractually obligated to, so…”

                The flicker of doubt in Emmeline’s eyes told him that she believed him, if only for a split second, and it sent him in a fit of laughter.

“Don’t make fun of me!” she chastised him. “It’s not that far-fetched when you consider who he is.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it…”

*

“Alright,” Ned said, slamming a hand on the table he was sitting at to get Peter’s attention. “Enough is enough.”

                He startled and his elbow slipped off the table, which then caused his desk chair to roll away and Peter fell heavily on the ground, with about as much grace as a beached whale.

                He gave frantic looks about him, finally remembering where he was. Peter shook his head and scrambled back to his feet to save what was left of his dignity if he ever possessed any.

“Earth to Peter Parker,” Ned teased him. “This is ridiculous, you know? Just spit it out so we can actually start to study for our exams.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter shrugged and placed his hands on his hips, somehow achieving the least convincing acting of his life.

“Are you kidding me? I can see you vibrating from where I’m sitting,” Ned accused, throwing him his eraser from across their desks. They sat at the library, on desks facing each other. It was nice to be able to talk here now that it was completely empty. “Tell me how your date went. Give me all the juicy details!”

“It went… it went well.” Peter shrugged again and he cursed himself for doing it. This habit of Emmeline’s really rubbed off on him, and Ned hadn’t missed it.

“Is that all? You’ve been daydreaming for over an hour because your date went well?”

“What else do you want to hear? It’s the truth!” Peter sighed.

                He would usually have told Ned right away, but not this time. It felt… a little wrong. Whatever relationship he had with Emmeline, it was too fragile to be exposed to the world just yet, therefore he kept their moments together to himself, like treasured secrets.

“I don’t know, that you had fun, that you took her somewhere classy, that she was so impressed that she invited you to her penthouse and you took the lord’s name in vain all night long?”

“You’ve been watching too much Netflix again, that’s not real life, that’s a TV show. I don’t know what more to tell you other than it went well!” Okay, maybe that was a lie, but he didn’t feel like sharing. 

                Ned dropped the smile and squinted his eyes at Peter, who braced himself for the worst.

“Did your shoot your web too soon?” Ned asked in all seriousness, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers on his stomach. “Happens to all of us.”

                Peter furrowed his brows, then stared at his best friend with a questioning frown, then made a face of disgust and incomprehension.

“No, oh, my God, no!” he denied, sitting back on his chair and rolling towards the desk again. He put his elbows on the table and buried his face in his open palms. “We just went on a date, nothing more.”

“Oh.” There was a pause that lasted too long for Peter’s taste. “Is that the problem then? Didn’t get the booty?” Now he was using his sympathetic voice. Peter glared at him from between his fingers.

“It’s not about that,” he groaned, finally looking us.

“You can’t even say it,” Ned told him with a self-satisfied smirk. “Just say it, man. It’ll free you.”

“No.”

“Why can’t you say it? It’s simple really, it’s S-E-X. Repeat after me: s-“

“Yes, okay, okay, sex! I’m not doing this just for sex, Ned! And you know that; you know I’ve been waiting for a good occasion to talk to her since day one,” Peter finally shouted in the middle of the library, before remembering it was a public space and lowering his voice, praying that no one had heard that. “I like her. A lot.”

                He half expected Ned to make fun of him for his outburst and the inevitable blush that came with it, but his friend became serious.

“Does she like you back?”

                The pen right in front of him became the most fascinating object all of a sudden, and his eyes were glued to it, noticing for the first time that it was a Metropolitan Museum pencil – he must have snatched it during a school trip one day, he couldn’t remember. Crazy that he still had it.

                Peter didn’t like to speculate on such changing things as were feelings, and he particularly disliked thinking about the possibility of them not being reciprocated. He had been wrong before, and maybe that was why Ned pushed his buttons like that: to make sure he wasn’t running after a mirage once again. Even Spider-Man wasn’t immune to heartbreak.

                Emmeline Gerard was a great many things: she was fluky, secretive, opinionated, strong-willed, demanding, brilliant, lively, dazzling, and so very elusive. It would be wrong to assume he knew how she felt. But still, he could hold on to hope. He could hold onto the memory of her lingering gaze, of the tips of her fingers brushing against his hand, of the way she bid him goodnight.

“I guess we’ll find out soon,” Peter simply said, not telling Ned about the kiss she placed on his cheek when they parted, and whose memory had rendered him completely unable to think about anything else.

*

“You should have seen this, Bella,” Emmeline groaned, throwing herself on the couch next to her dog. Bella raised her head to check on her and pawed her a little. “It was so cringy. I’m still cringing about the cringe of it all. When was the last time I felt so shy and awkward during a date?”

                Bella placed her head back onto the couch and seemed highly disinterested from the conversation but Emmeline continued nonetheless.

“Have I ever been on a proper date? I can’t even remember. I feel so stupid for letting it get to my head, I acted like a total fool. But then again, so did he.” The sheer thought of that evening brought color to her cheeks, which she promptly covered with her hands, even though there was no one around. “All the cringe,” she muttered to herself, rolling to the side and hiding her face into a cushion.

It had been two days since their date. Emmeline hadn’t had a minute to herself between their assignment and the whole getting ready for her father’s annual speech on Christmas Eve. Her mother had sent several outfit options for her to choose from, right down to the shoes and accessories.

Emmeline had thrown them all on her balcony out of rage. Two hours later, when she had calmed down, she went out to grab them again and take a look at what her dear mother thought appropriate to wear for a public speech that would be broadcasted live on television.

There was too much cream and pearl color for her taste. All of these dresses made her look like a conservative babysitter; no heel exceeded two inches; no neckline was below the collarbone; no hemline higher than her knees.

She threw them out again, to be given to Goodwill. Her parents be damned, she wouldn’t let them dress her up like they did a porcelain doll to appeal to the public eye.

There was something she meant to do but hadn’t worked the courage yet. It would have been much easier to do it before Peter asked her out on a date – however marvelously cringy it had been – but she wasn’t going to back out. She needed the emotional support, she wanted to see the look on her parents’ face, and she wanted to see Peter again.

What was he up to these days? He hadn’t given a single sign of being alive since he left her on her doorstep. She could still see the goofy smile on his face when she had kissed him goodnight, and it made her blush and smile to herself.

“Aaarrgh!” she screamed into her pillow, hiding the embarrassment on her face and startling Bella to the point where she jumped off the couch and walked away from her crazy human.

                It all made her dizzy. It made her a little sick too, a good kind of sick, the kind you get when you’re fifteen and your crush looks at you in the hallway. She had never experienced this firsthand, and it was good and refreshing.  It made her feel younger and sillier than she was, a bit giddy too.

                Peter Parker had her wrapped around his finger, and not only was he oblivious to that, but Emmeline also knew for a fact that he would never use it against her if he ever realized.

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[ineffablecolors]

BLUNDERS AND (HAPPY) BEGINNINGS [8/8 - COMPLETE]

Blunders and (happy) Beginnings; CHAPTER 8; ~ 3, 100 words; FF.NET || AO3

Thank you to everyone who went on this ride with me (your feedback and love gave me a huge boost in the completion of this little endeavour) and to everyone who might decide to do so now that it is complete (I know wips are scary af). Hope you like this! ;)

The ceremony is beautiful and far enough from modest to satisfy the groom and the bride’s family but not so far as to aggravate the bride herself. All of Storybrooke is abuzz with news and gossip, genuine happiness and only mild surprise for weeks before and after the wedding. The bride’s dress is brought all the way from Arendelle. The flowers are only in bloom in that particular month. The cakes – oh, Mrs Lucas will talk anyone’s ear off about the cakes for months to come.

Mrs Chillton looks 15 years younger. Mr and Mrs Nolan have been all too eager to lend their superior knowledge and experience. Miss Anna has barely slept for more than 6 hours out of sheer excitement.

And Mrs Elsa Jones would’ve scolded her but she is much too happy and much too busy dissuading her husband from any grandiose and imprudent honeymoon ideas.

Miss Swan and Captain Jones are involved both in the ceremony and in assisting with said imprudent ideas but not quite so busy as not to be able to throw many knowing looks and smug smiles at the bride and groom.

And that would probably be a high note on which to leave our characters to their celebrations. But as it is we have one more story to tell. The story of Miss Emma Swan and her hand much desired in marriage as it turned out.

5 weeks before Captain Liam Jones and Miss Elsa Froster’s wedding

“The audacity!”

She drops the letter on his desk and plunges in the chair across from it with all the grace that Killian has come to expect from Miss Emma Swan in the last week of cohabitation with her.

“Am I to take it that you have taken the liberty of going through my correspondence or that you are requesting that I read yours?”

“You don’t have a correspondence.”

“I assure you Commander Nemo and I are very particular about our annual Christmas cards.”

“How personal. Please do look at this so you can share my outrage.”

Jones picks up the discarded letter, then makes to rise to get his glasses, only to find Emma already thrusting them in his face. Exasperation and fondness – it would make a good title for a memoir about life around Emma Swan.

He takes the glasses and ignores her satisfied little grin as he quickly glides over the lines on the single page. It is not a long letter and it is not a particularly good one, especially if it is supposed to be what it appears to be.

And Captain Jones cannot help but feel a spike of irritation – dare he call it jealousy – at the possessive manner in which another man sees fit to address the woman across from him. For a moment, he wonders if inciting his jealousy is, at least in part, the very purpose of him being shown the letter.

But he finds that the part of him that was conceited enough to believe so once upon a time has grown rather old and wary of making such assumptions. So he makes a point of keeping his expression neutral and his voice even when he finally looks back at Miss Swan.

“It is a proposal, if I am not much too rusty to recognize one.”

The way she rolls her eyes around all the time is definitely not befitting of a lady but it tugs at the corners of his mouth all the same.

“Not the most passionate or well-worded one I can imagine,” he cannot help but add.

“Passionate – as if it can be passionate!” and like that Miss Swan is back on her feet. “I have seen this man all of four times in my life!”

“You must admit people marry on much less.”

“Three times then?”

He does not laugh but it is a near thing and that is just the magic of Emma he has come to realize and grown rather comfortable with that realization.

“That, substantial fortunes and the appropriate positions in society on both sides.”

“Oh. Oh, now that you mentioned it… why, I must accept, mustn’t I? What shall I ever do, if I do not take my ‘appropriate positions in society’? How shall I live?”

Killian does his best to remain unmoved and unamused in the face of her fluttering eyelashes.

“Took it a bit too far at the end there.”

Emma huffs in exasperation and sits back down, snatching the letter from his loose fingers.

“I swear I am never to understand the way men think.”

“Usually it is along the lines of ‘beautiful woman and a sizable income equals marriage’. Not the most sophisticated logic I admit but…”

“Was she rich?”

He looks at her in confusion.

“Your wife.”

“Ah,” Captain Jones strokes a hand down his beard – slightly longer than usual – something should be done about it, perhaps tomorrow, before their walk. “Her family was. But her family did not approve of me very much. At the start. Or at the end, come to think of it.”

“But she was in love.”

“I would like to think so.”

“Of course she was.”

He realizes he has dropped his eyes to where his shirtsleeve hangs around his wrist. Brace and all has proven too much of a hassle for one with a bullet hole inside him. And Emma has been much too insistent on him not leaving the grounds and not needing his whole ‘armour’ on when in his own home.

His stomach is churning painfully for some unidentifiable reason.

But then he looks up and she is all soft, golden curls falling from her braids and ever softer eyes and the kind of smile that he hadn’t really seen on Emma’s face before he came to consciousness to find it hovering over him a week ago.

His insides settle and he tries to shake his head at her but his face has certainly betrayed him twice over by now. Especially given her next words.

“I think you should help me pen my rejection, Captain. Might lend it some diplomacy.”

4 weeks before Captain Liam Jones and Miss Elsa Froster’s wedding

This time is infinitely harder. This time she has known him for years – years ago but she remembers the fondness she had for him in her early teenage years all too well. This time he is in front of her and he is earnest and hopeful and a little nervous. This time she looks inside and tries to move away the brashness and exasperation and find her own diplomacy and understanding tucked somewhere for safekeeping. This time when she says no – because there is simply nothing else she can say, no hope she can possibly give – she can see the way his face falls, the way his eyes dim and flit away from hers, his hands dropping the one he had so ardently asked her for.

“I see. And if I were to ask again in a month or even a year-“

“Mr Humbert.”

“No. I understand… But if time is what you need-”

“It is not a question of time. I… well, given the time, I hope… That is I am to… I don’t think you will be able to ask in a year. I hope.”

Emma squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to curse under her breath the way a lady should not even curse in her head. If people could stop asking her to marry them, it would be of great help. She has some things of her own to think over and execute and ask and hopefully achieve the desired results.

“Oh. I… I was led to believe that you rejected Mr Cassidy. I deeply apologize, if-“

“I did reject Mr Cassidy,” she says it in the mocking tone that she only allows herself in front of Elsa or Killian – much to their consternation. “His offer was preposterous and his assumption that it will be received favourably doubly so.”

“But then perhaps after some time to consider the merits of marriage-“

“Graham, I do wish to be married! Just not...”

“To me.”

She tries not to flinch.

“It’s not that. It’s not… it’s just… someone else.”

The gentleman’s brows draw together and for a fleeting moment his lips twitch and Emma knows with perfect certainty that he thinks she is playing a joke on him.

Neal Cassidy is one thing. Neal Cassidy might have money aplenty and his father might be a magistrate but he also has a reputation of caring little for what people say and, what truly matters to Emma, how people feel – even people supposedly close and dear to him.

But Mr Humbert is a man of indisputable character, fine manners, fine fortune and an even finer looks. He is young, pleasant and by all expectations should not want to settle to family life so early on. He is, to put it simply, the most coveted bachelor in Storybrooke, perhaps in the whole county.

And Emma is the ridiculous girl who has apparently seen fit to reject him. For someone else.

  “Stranger things have happened.”

“You should tell Mary Margaret that.”

Instinctively Emma turns her head to the side, to try and catch a glimpse of their gracious host in the beautiful gazebo but her and Captain Jones seem to have walked much too far into the Nolan’s luscious gardens and her vision is obscured by far too many roses red as blood.

She is just about to scold the gentleman beside her – who is not supposed to be walking around at all, her hand tightening around his forearm and her eyes narrowing on his profile when-

“She was quite adamant that I tell her right away, if it is a promise to me that is holding you back from Mr Humbert.”

“Wha-“

“Not to worry, I told her that she should know I have more sense than that.”

Once, when Emma was about 6 years old and skating over their favourite lake with Elsa, she heard the ice crack under her and in the next second she was in the water.

It felt a lot like this.

She pulls her arm away from Killian and steps to the side, there’s noise in her ears and her body feels like it did all those years ago – like she is not giving it enough air. Jones keeps going for another meter or two before he stops and looks back at her in confusion.

“Swan?”

It would probably be better, if her first – or second or at least third – thought was that it was all fine, she could just turn around, go back to the garden party, take Mr Humbert to the side and accept his incredibly enticing proposal.

But Emma doesn’t think of that. She doesn’t think about much of anything other than the fact that she is a complete and utter fool. And, frustratingly enough, that Jones should really get off his feet already. So she focuses on that.

“We should head back. Liam is going to have my head for letting you go this far out.”

“Wait, wait, what-“

“I think we should rejoin the party, Captain Jones.”

She watches him draw back as if she is the one that slapped him in the face.

“Emma, what-“

And she can’t help it. How dare he look at her like that. How dare he.

“And you, being the man of sense that you are, surely must be tired of the company of a silly girl and all her silly problems.”

He opens his mouth to respond but, much to her relief, quickly snaps it shut. Much to her distress, however, he decides to move closer instead, his hand reaching out for her.

“Emma, surely you don’t think- I did not mean-“

“That you were gravely offended at the mere suggestion that you might have expressed an interest in being engaged to me?”

“Of course not!”

Emma takes a step back and watches his hand fall along with his features. She crosses her arms over her chest protectively.

“Then what, pray tell, did you find so offensive to your sensibilities in Mrs Nolan’s remark?”

She says it in a deliberately haughty tone and is almost glad when she sees it achieve the desired effect – the Captain’s eyes blazing and his nostrils flaring as his hand curls into a fist at his side.

“I meant rather the opposite to what the lady has decided to conjecture. I meant that I have more sense than to believe that you would settle so far below your stature, were I to ask such a question.”

And Emma can’t quite help herself, can’t refrain from throwing her arms in the air and almost growling at the damnable man in front of her.

Oh, he was the complete and utter fool.

“We’ve been through this! I already told you that I would very much have you, you insufferable-“

She presses her lips together hard and tries to regain some measure of control over herself. It’s hard when he responds with utter confusion and a painfully pinched brow.

“That was not… That is to say, it was clear that, given the dire circumstances-“

“Yes, because dire circumstances are known to make women partial to matrimony.”

“Are they not?”

“No, Killian, no. Love makes women partial to matrimony.”

“Oh.”

Emma lets her arms unfold and finally does away with the space between them. Her hands settling on his shoulders and sliding down to hold his hands – real and wooden.

“And I don’t mean to sound impatient but given recent events-“ she cuts off and hurries to add. “I don’t mean to sound conceited either but-“

“Miss Swan, are you… propositioning me?”

She tries to keep her expression serious, she truly does, but Killian’s eyes are twinkling and his eyebrow is going up and so are the corners of his mouth and after all she is propositioning him and she does not seem to be in the least bit embarrassed about it.

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Would you- Do I have to ask Liam first?”

“Swan-“

“Would you marry me, Killian?”

She is rather proud of how steady her voice comes out, how she looks him in the eyes – his very wide, very blue eyes. He seems rather proud as well.

“Only you, Emma Swan, would receive multiple offers of marriage in the span of a single week and proceed to make one of your own.”

“I was hoping mine would be a smidge more successful.”

Captain Jones sways closer, now completely in her personal space, her breasts almost brushing the buttons of his vest.

“If I were still a betting man, I’d say it would be an astounding success.”

3 months after Captain Liam Jones and Miss Elsa Froster’s wedding

Perhaps the younger Captain Jones should’ve indeed put money on that bet, he does turn out to be absolutely right.

The ceremony is as unconventional as the mysterious proposal that everyone seems to have a different opinion for – held on a windy beach on an only partially sunny afternoon, it satisfies the sensibilities of no one but the bride and groom. Hardly anyone but the groom’s brother and his wife know of the whole thing before it is already happening. The bride’s dress is picked by the bride alone at a time equally unknown. Flowers are needed only for her bouquet and picked single-handedly by the groom the day before. There is no cake. There is some rum. Mostly to warm up anyone who finds the sea spray and breeze hard to bare.

Mrs Chillton is somewhat put out by the short notice and the inability to invite any of her friends and acquaintances but much placated by the sheer joy on the bride’s face as she waves her into the carriage. Mr and Mrs Nolan are equally baffled but much easier to be prevailed upon – given Mr Nolan’s predisposition to cheerfulness and Mrs Nolan’s penchant for romantic and spontaneous gestures but mostly thanks to the groom’s very persuasive and excited manner, rumoured to have been unseen in years. Miss Anna is taken with the whole idea and beyond delighted to be whisked away to the mysterious ceremony close to sunset.

Miss Emma Swan and Captain Killian Jones are said to have never been in higher spirits and that by the older Captain and Mrs Jones, said to know them best of all.

In the first year of their marriage it is believed that they are rather an unlikely pair and thus unlikely to be much too happy together.

By year two, they are believed to be rather inconsiderate and verging on scandalous with the amount of times that Mrs Jones sees fit to display her affection for her husband in rather public places and gatherings and with the amount of invitations for more such gatherings that Captain Jones feels justified in refusing in order to take his wife to the seaside or to “reorder their library” as he dares put it to some of their closer friends.

By year three Mrs Emma Jones and her husband have surprisingly little time to shower their twin nephews with gifts and affection – a practice much encouraged by the older Captain Jones and for reasons completely unimaginable to the other three labelled as “spoiling” by Mrs Elsa Jones – and this mostly due to the fact that they have provided the other Joneses with a niece of their own to “spoil”.

To this day Mrs Emma Jones is rumoured to have actually put a curse of sorts on a lady who insinuated that she had been extremely foolish to accept Captain Jones when she had much more becoming offers made to her. The legend of exactly how many gentlemen she had refused while waiting for the Captain to propose has taken on a life of its own – from some stating that no such offers had been made at all to other whispering of numbers in the dozens – all this resulting in much undignified eyerolling from the lady in question and quite a bit of amusement and preening from her husband.

To this day Captain Killian Jones is rumoured to propose to his wife anew every year to “reaffirm her willingness” and pledge his own, much to the sighs and flutterings of the young ladies of Storybrooke and the groans and muttering of gentlemen who are being more and more often asked by their wives why they have been proposed to only once.

But Emma, when among their friends and family, takes extraordinary pride and delight in stating that Jones can propose as often as he wishes – she’d accept every time, but he should never forget who did it first.

Captain Jones doesn’t seem to mind his wife’s boasting one bit.

[selenium-drive]

Stay Gold Chapter 2: The Search

Words: 6.8k

Series rating: Explicit

The thrill of the dogfight between the Mandalorian and the unfortunate bounty hunter who tried to cross paths with him, had worn off for The Child. The poor shape of both mutilated engines that were hanging on by a thread didn't make for the smoothest landing. It was very possible that once the engines were shut off this time, it would take much more work to get them started up once again. A simple flick of the emergency power switch would be useless at this point.

The beskar clad bounty hunter collected the now still and sleeping infant before laying it down on the cot. The Mandalorian stepped back slowly, eyeing The Child while it stirred peacefully in its sleep. It stilled once more, somehow nestling comfortably in the haggard, poor excuse of a cushioned mattress. The hunter quietly made his exit down the ship's ramp, setting off to find someone who would be able to provide adequate maintenance to the Razor Crest.

Three small approaching shadow figures caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He instinctively drew his blaster from his side and fired off warning shots in the direction he heard the multiple sets of footsteps emitting from. The electronic shrieks and metal feet pit pats of scattering pit droids hitting the desert floor caused the Mandalorian to cease fire. It was a bit of an overreaction on his part, but with his profession and newly acclaimed wanted status, it was more of an instinctual response. The screech of an angry woman sending threatening shouts his way however, was an illicit reaction well deserved.

"You damage one of my droids, you pay for it!" A slim figured, curly hair woman sauntered out of her office, hands balled into fists at her side. The large dusty windows looking into the landing bay made it easy for someone watching, to know full well it was a Mandalorian that was causing all the ruckus. Most people would cower in fear or scramble in the other direction at the sight of one of the legendary warriors. The fact that a tiny woman such as herself, bravely stomped over to the towering offender while chastising him loudly, caught him off guard.

"Just keep them away from my ship," Mando warned monotonously. The woman pushed past him, obnoxiously banging on every metal panel of the ship that looked out of the ordinary. She reluctantly agreed to making the repairs, but Mando knew her price was too steep and his pockets too empty. There was no other choice but to settle down for a bit on Tattooine and add finding work to his list of tasks to complete while he was there. He would wander from cantina to cantina if it meant finding a decent paying job. That would even give him the opportunity to ask around about the woman he was searching for. If things went smoothly, which they typically haven't been lately, he would succeeded in killing two birds with one stone.

"I'll get you your money," the bounty hunter promised. A Mandalorian's word was true. They abided by their promises and it was in their nature, no, culture to be dependable. Peli Motto, on the other hand, wasn't having it. Mandalorian or not, she was too no nonsense of a woman to give a damn about who or what you said you were. She frowned and rolled her eyes.

"I've heard that before." With a flick of her hand, she waved the other man off dismissively.

"Wait," his deep voice radiating through his helmets modulator stopped her from beginning her repairs. "I need to ask you a few questions. I'm...looking for someone."

Peli scoffed. "Why does that not surprise me? You know you're being a little demanding here, Mando. Depending on what you ask is gonna cost you more if you're not careful."

Mando suppressed a exasperated sigh. Instead, he turned his gaze back towards the battered Crest. "I'm looking for a woman."

"Well good luck finding one who will put up with you," Peli snorted.

"No," Mando corrected himself sternly, "that's not what I meant. I was told she would be on Tattooine. I don't know where and I don't have much to go by." Peli stared hard at him, waiting for him to further elaborate on who exactly he needed to find. "All I know is that she has black hair. She hides her face. Her eyes are-"

"Golden," Peli interrupted. Mando's head jerked back into her direction. His helmet tilted a bit to the side out of surpise that she possibly knew who he spoke of. "Yeah, I know who she is. Well, kinda. Don't know her name, don't think anyone does..." Peli trailed off, looking down at the pale desert floor with her eyebrows creased together. It was her turn now to stew over her words before she continued talking. Mando waited, surprisingly patient while she continued muttering softly to herself. Eventually, Peli lifted her hands up to him apologeticly after ending her long-winded, self-discussion. "Yeah, I've heard of her! Last I heard she's in Mos Entha. Not horribly far from here but it'll be a pain of a walk. That, or I can let you rent something for a price."

Once more, Mando kept his irritated groan strictly internal. Having a bit more actually reliable information to go by was a breathe of fresh air, something that didn't come too often. Still, he didn't care for the fact that Peli was trying to milk him for every credit he didn't yet have.

_________

It was much harder for Mando to keep a lower profile amongst the more populated city of Mos Entha. Portions if the street were bustling with commotion coming from the various spaced out marketplaces and traders. He could barely hear himself think over the aggressively bartering Jawas looking for their next high paying trade deal with merchandise that was more than likely not theirs. His fist involuntary clenched at the recollection of finding his ship torn apart and stripped by the pack of tiny annoying thieves, just days ago. They had the audacity to make him bargain for his own parts of the Crest. Luckily, Kuiil came through and helped him restore his ship to its state of normalcy and then some.

Mando got somewhat of a break from the overwhelming, deafening chatter erupting from the dense clusters of people. Every corner he turned, people would catch a glimpse of his shining armor and part out of his way quietly and effortlessly. Once he was out if sight, the echo of numerous voices picked right up back where it left off. Being around this many people in a more densely populated area than he currently liked, put the bounty hunter on edge. If he was to find this person, it had to be soon.

He wormed his way through the streets of Mos Entha and into one of the less crowded nearby cantinas. Once again, one by one everyone in the room fell silent once they turned to see who joined them. A few left, leaving their already paid for drinks behind, not even taking one last sip before slipping out the door once the Mandalorian passed them by. A few shrank defensively in their seats, praying to miraculously go unnoticed by the life form scanner embedded in Mando's visor. The bartender froze completely when he realized he was the unfortunate prey locked onto by the hunter's stoic, unreadable gaze.

Mando meant no harm, but of course no one else knew that. He effortlessly slid himself onto one of the barstools, slipping a hand into one of his pockets. The bartender's breath hitched and he let out a small tremor of fear. His posture relaxed some when Mando placed his hand on top of the counter then slowly removed it, leaving a what few handful of credits he did still have, in its place.

"I'm looking for someone," he began softly. His voice was just above a whisper, the modulator barely able to pick it up. It was just loud enough for the bartender to hear thanks to the stillness of the cantina. "I've heard she's here, in Mos Entha. A woman with black hair and golden eyes." Mando finished his sentence by pushing the credits in the other man's direction in attempt to entice him to speak.

The cantina employee didn't dare take the currency quite yet out of fear of angering the Mandalorian seated at his bar. "Y-yes. I know who you speak of," he croaked. "She's a-a mechanic at a hanger not f-f-far from here. B-but that's all I k-know. Promise." The man's voice cracked at the word "promise". Mando knew he was telling the truth. There was so much fear lacing those last two syllables that it was pitiful. He placed another credit on the table with the others, still maintaining eye contact with the poor soul who was subjected to his interrogation.

"Do you know her name?" He asked firmly. The bartender remained quiet. Mando doubted he knew seeing how no one else did around here. The bartender shook a bit more violently this time out of fear for telling the bounty hunter what he didn't want to hear: the word "no". Sensing his hesitation and out of a signal that it was okay to continue, Mando slipped one more credit on the countertop for the compliant man.

"N-not her real n-name. Around here, w-we all just call her...T-Tajana." Mando stared wordlessly in the direction of the bartender. He wasn't even necessarily watching him, rather just starting off while he pieced all the information together. After a few seconds for the hunter but what felt like an eternity to his prey, Mando said thank you and walked out of the cantina.

He looked around at the surrounding buildings, trying to see which one was the closest spaceport. From behind the protection of his cold, steel helmet, his eyes locked onto a massive, dome shaped tower.

He quickly strode towards the gigantic structure, pushing past anyone who dared stand in his way. It was still light outside but the end of the day would be drawing near shortly. Although his mind was set on finding the person Kuiil spoke of, he didn't dare forget the small green infant who was, hopefully, still sleeping peacefully on the Crest. He couldn't risk going back to check on The Child and then returning the next day to continue his search. Word would travel fast of a Mandalorian snooping around on Tattooine. That, and there must be some reason why this person doesn't show their face, some reason why they don't reveal their name. If there is by some chance a bounty on her, Mando didn't want to risk her catching wind that he was looking for her. He had come so far and couldn't mess it all up now. For all that it's worth, he hoped listening to Kuiil would be worth it. He had a strong trust in the man's intuition even though they had only known each other for a short while. The faith Mando had in the moisture farmer and the desperate need for another crew member, fueled the Mandalorian to keep at his search.

_________

The streets of Tattooine seemed especially loud today. The various market stands drew in large crowds of people, and a certain golden eyed female could hear the roar of the bustling crowd from the landing bay of which she worked. Clusters of sparks and heat blossomed from the burning metal situated in her delicate hands, glowing bright red and white under her touch. Wisps of smoke bounced off her aviator like goggles that protected her honey amber eyes, and tried to snake its way through the fibers of a black scarf that obscured the lower half of her face.

She set town her tools and dusted off her gloved fingertips on the baggy thighs of her maintenance uniform. Peeling off the gloves one by one, she set them in her back pocket and sighed. Although it seemed busy beyond the walls of her work station, it was a rather slow day today with not much work to be done. It was a bit of a cooler day today on Tattooine, which isn't saying much, but that still didn't stop a few beads of sweat from forming on her golden, caramel skin. She lifted her goggles back to their usual resting spot on the top of her head, then reached back to tighten her long, black ponytail. Her work for the day was almost complete; just a few wires to be arranged and pieced back together with a bit of soldering here and there. She was knowledgeable in the field of spacecraft maintenance, something she picked up on during her stay on Arvala-7.

The girl approached her workbench casually and began to stuff some of her unused tools into a small duffle bag. Her movements slowed when it dawned on her that it seemed...quiet. Rather uncomfortably quiet for how loud it was just a second ago. It was if all the chatter of the patrons outside had stopped all at once. She was just about to poke her head around the entrance to her landing bay when the she was interrupted by the rapid thumping noise of hasty footsteps rounding the corner.

The man in charge of the entire ship docking station appeared before her, crouched over and out of breath. "It looks like a bounty hunter heading is here," her employer whispered harshly. "A Mandalorian. Stay out of his way. I'll tell the others." He scampered off, making his way to the surrounding docks warning them of the same approaching threat. It's not that he cared about the wellbeing of his employees, not by a long shot. Some of his hires had questionable histories but their labor was cheap and fruitful. It would be a pain to replace them with how much business was brought in. He was mearly giving a fair warning to anyone who needed to bolt if they had to. Best to lose an employee for a day or two while they hid than lose them forever in custody.

There was no use in finishing the final repairs to the ship she was assigned to fix today. The amount of work left to be done was minimal. She didn't know for sure if she was wanted or who the Mandalorian was actually after. The fear of the repercussions of certain occurrences in the past leading up to her settling down in Mos Espa, made her realize it was best to hide. There was a reason why she hid her name and face from the public.

A few of her fellow workers had the same idea of fleeing. She followed the sound of their bounding footsteps that raced out into the streets. Some ran so fast that the air was thick in some spots from the amount of powdery dirt their boots had kicked up. She herself was quick, but the second of hesitation she had in the bay on whether or not to leave proved to be one second too long in her escape.

Her sprint came to a sudden halt. It was as if the air around her grew thick and heavy in a split second. Every muscle in her body told her to keep going, but every ounce of her instinct told her that would be a foolish decision to do so. The looming heaviness in the air caused her breathe to catch in her throat; every hair on her arm stood straight up.

"You there," a heavily modulated baritone broke out from the intense silence, "turn around."

It was a man's voice. It was unfamiliar to her, but also very hard and demanding. She sensed no hostility in his tone but something told her not to push him. She knew very little about Mandalorians, but had heard some impressive stories about their kind over the years. There was a reason why people panicked when one came near.

Every fiber of her being was torn between complying and running. She said nothing. The blood pumped so hard in her ears that it was nearly deafening, yet she could still make out the subtle clattering of beskar shifting behind her. The Mandalorian was growing impatient quickly from her lack of response. Before she could open her mouth to speak, he did so for her.

"An Ugnaught from Arvala-7 sent me. Perhaps you know who I speak of." The girl worriedly jerked her head in the direction of the intruder staring her down.

"Is he okay?" Her voice was strong and clear with a strong hint of concern underlying her words. If she was afraid, she did a damn good job of hiding it. A bit of relief washed over the Mandalorian at the sure confirmation that this is who he was searching for.

"Yes," he said bluntly. "He generously helped me locate a bounty and-"

"So you are a bounty hunter," she spat. She was small in stature, even more so in comparison to the intimidating man standing several feet away from her. "What do you want with me?" Her fingers twitched in the direction of her calf where unbeknownst to Mando, a sheathed dagger rested soundly in her boot. Her sudden aura of hostility and subtle movement dared not go unnoticed by the keen eye of the Mandalorian. His gloved hand instinctively darted a just a hair closer towards to his blaster, hesitating just over the handle resting on his side.

"I'm not here to collect you," he said calmly. "I'm here strictly for business purposes." The tension in the small woman's frame subsided a minuscule amount. She turned around completely to finally stare down the man who dared bring all this chaos to Tattooine. Not like it was the most peaceful planet to begin with, but it was still a bit better than some.

"If you wanted repairs, you should’ve brought your ship to my docking station just like every body else," she said boldly. Her striking honey colored irises scanned the blackened T-shaped visor of Mando's helmet, tinged with annoyance and still brewing with malice from his intrusion.

"I'm not here for your handiwork," he retorted. "There are other duties I'm seeking a crew member for, one of which I would like to address with you in private."

She crossed her arms and mounted her feet sternly in place. "If you have anything to tell me you can say it here. You've already scared the others off. And why me? Why not anyone else or Kuiil himself?"

"He didn't wish to live a life of servitude." Mando said coldly. His patience was running out and this girl was a bit too stubborn for his own liking. He had to return to The Child soon and didn't want to waste time with nonsensical bickering.

"What makes you think I do? I've done my fair share of time and I won't speak more of this," she hissed.

Mando stood still as could be. There was no getting through to her but with his face, or rather helmet, being known all throughout the galaxy as a wanted man, there wasn't a large selection of people he could choose from when it came to who he would trust to watch over The Child and maintain the Razor Crest. He wasn't even sure if he could trust this argumentative girl before him, but Kuiil's word was strong. He gave it one more shot.

"Kuiil said I could trust you but that it would be hard for you to trust in someone else. I'm not exactly asking you to," Mando began calmly. He paused to gauge her reaction and sighed when the scorned expression in her eyes didn't falter. "Listen, I need someone to help pilot my ship on occasion, along with doing any repairs as needed. I also...need someone to watch my foundling when I'm not around."

That seemed to melt the iciness of her stare. "You have a child?" She asked softly.

"Yes. He needs to be protected at all costs. I can even offer you the same." The girl appeared as if she was about to cut him off once more but a raised gloved hand from the bounty hunter silenced her. "I know there's a reason why you hide your face and why no one on this planet, not even Kuiil himself, knows your real name. You panicked when you heard a bounty hunter was here, even if you won't admit it, you did. So again, I'm offering you all of this along with generous pay."

Mando waited a good while for her to answer, but to no avail. Another surge of annoyance bubbled in his chest at him wasting his time on such a stubborn soul. He could have found a job and made the credits needed to pay Peli by now. Instead, he went through the trouble of tracking down this infuriating woman just to be ignored in the end.

Mando clenched his fists. "I need to know your answer soon. Repairs are being done to my ship in Mos Eisley. Once those are completed, I'll be leaving Tattooine." Even as he turned to make his leave, the woman said nothing.

His thin, torn cape made a sharp crack in the air from his sudden movement. He could feel her piercing stare on his back the entire walk out of the docking station, but she still remained quiet.

Mando grudgingly made his way back to Mos Eisley. It was the most unsuccessful day for him a quite a while. He hated leaving empty handed. He didn't even remember the last time he didn't complete a job successfully, even though finding the girl wasn't exactly a "job" per say. In the meantime, he had to find work. Doing something he was good at would make the day that much better, but it was getting late. As much as it pained him to stay stationary in one city for too long, he had no other option.

When he got back to the hanger, Peli was nowhere to be found. The suns on Tattooine were beginning to set, painting the sky in glorious rich hues of red, yellow, orange, and gold.

Gold.

Mando's mind flashed back to the woman that caused him a great deal of annoyance and inconvenience all afternoon. He let out a long, repressed sigh before retiring in the hull of his cherished gunship. He sorted through some of his belongings to look for something edible yet too pathetic to call "a meal". His supplies were running low, his ship was still a wreck, his pockets were empty, and he was just...tired.

Mando collected what bits of food he had, rationing out a tiny amount for himself and most of it for The Child. He opened the sliding door to his cramped sleeping quarters, gazing down at the tiny, sleeping foundling nestled up on the worn down mattress. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but the uneasiness he was feeling was that of feeling overwhelmed. It made him feel sick, weak, and pathetic.

Mandalorians weren't supposed to feel this way. This wasn't the first hardship of his life, nor would it be the last. The negative thoughts swirling in his mind began to dissipate when The Child stirred and glimpsed up at his caretaker. With a small coo and a smile revealing his tiny nubby teeth, Mando felt more at ease. He was doing all of this for the one little creature in front of him. That's all that mattered to him now. A new day meant for a new chance to make things better.

The Mandalorian woke later than usual due to a night of a whining, restless infant waking him up off and on. The Child had worn himself out late into the night and still slept heavily even when Mando prepared to depart the Crest for the day. Walking down the ramp leading outside, Mando caught a glimpse of Peli through the dirt coated office window. He shook his head when he noticed she was busy gambling away with her droids rather than doing anything productive. Already he was starting his day off annoyed again. He was planning on spending his time looking for work to cover the rather generous amount of credits he was to pay Peli for the repairs. The sight of her casually lazing around in return, irritated him so.

Venturing into the streets of Mos Eisley, Mando stepped inside the first open cantina he saw. It wasn't overly crowded, much to his liking. He gathered the same response he always does when he's in public; everyone stares, some flee, everyone's quiet.

"Hey, droid," Mando called out. "I'm a hunter. I'm looking for some work." The animatronic bartender cocked its head towards the bounty hunter.

"Unfortunately, the Bounty Guild no longer operates from Tatooine."

"I'm not looking for Guild work," Mando responded.

"I am afraid that does not improve your situation. At least by my calculation," the droid deadpanned.

Dank Farrik. Looks like his luck wasn't improving much more than from yesterday's.

"Think again, tin can."

The Mandalorian turned around slowly. He made eye contact, as much as he could through his visor, with a younger gentleman dressed in obviously new and unused bounty hunting attire. Both of his feet were resting up on the tabletop in an annoying, self-absorbed manner. His boots were relatively polished and dirt free, giving more of a glowing indication that he was green behind the ears in the world of hunting.

"If you're looking for work, have a seat, my friend. Name's Toro. Toro Calican."

The two men conversed not so quietly about a bounty Mando would be lending his assistance on. Unbeknownst to the pair, lurking several feet away and flush with the cantina wall, was the raven haired girl that so easily got under Mando's skin the day before. She eavesdropped as much as she could, catching bits and pieces of just who the target was and where she might be located.

Calican's ignorance was becoming too much for Mando to take seriously. When the scraping of a chair coming from their table echoed through the barren cantina, Tajana quickly retreated outside. No-one came after her once she slithered outside, the bright mid-day sun shining on her sun-kissed, tan skin. There was a metallic, smash sound coming from just before the doorway that made her jump slightly. Calican was the first to make his way out; the other bounty hunter wouldn't be far behind.

Mando slowly stepped foot out into the streets of Tattooine. His flawless beskar armor radiated the sunlight back into the eyes of anyone who dared look his way. He turned his head to look back in the direction from whence he came, failing to notice the woman he spent all day yesterday searching for.

"So what's our first job, Mando?"

Mando jerked back, his blaster drawn from his side in a few milliseconds. He pointed the weapon in the direction he heard his name come from.

"T-Tajana." He flinched at the way his voice came through the modulator; there was a bit of an uncharacteristic startled undertone that was very much unlike the skilled bounty hunter.

Standing in the shade to the side of the cantina door stood the woman from Mos Entha. Though her expression was mostly hidden, she frowned into her scarf at the disdain for the name the townsfolk gave her. Had it not been for her honey golden eyes and signature black scarf, Mando would barely have recognized her.

Her attire wasn't that of a dirtier maintenance uniform anymore. The only things remotely similar to how he first saw her included her black hair that was now tied into a messy bun with her goggles still resting on the top of her head like before, and she still had on the scarf that covered her neck to just below her eyes.

She eased herself off the cantina's wall, slowing making her way to walk in front of the Mandalorian with her hands up to show she meant no harm. He lowered his blaster some, but paused before putting it back in its holster when his eyes caught a glimpse of what appeared to be two sheathed daggers resting across the small of her back, and a blaster of her own resting on the outside of her thigh. She turned to face him, her piercing eyes staring right into his helmet's solid black visor.

"You can put down the blaster, Mando. I'm not here to hurt you, if that's what your wondering. I'm just here to take you up on your offer, albeit a little late." The bounty hunter stood still as could be, not moving a single muscle. She couldn't even see his chest rising or falling as he waited on baited breath for her to explain her sneaking up on him. Breaking his silence, Mando spoke up with his usual harsh and straightforward tone.

"How did you find me?" he demanded. Tajana scoffed and crossed her arms.

"You do know you aren't the most inconspicuous person walking around here, right? It's quite easy to find a Mandalorian in a haystack around these parts."

Mando bit his tongue once more. She wasn't wrong, which was another reason why he needed to finish his job with Toro quickly and leave Tattooine. She took his silence as a means to continue.

"I overheard your conversation with the novice hunter. I want in."

"Absolutely not," he said a little too quickly. "I can't have you getting in my way or slowing me down. I don't even know how much I can trust you."

Her eyes narrowed, that intense flicker of anger further intensifying the amber speckles in her stare. "You don't trust me, yet you offered to hire me to watch after your child? Can you explain that backwards logic to me?"

Mando slipped his blaster back into its holster. His temper was rising and he was on the verge of shooting something if he wasn't careful. "Kuiil gave me his word that you were a trustworthy option when it came to looking for a crew member. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt because I have much faith in the man's judge of character. What I don't trust, is your strength or decision making when it comes to battle."

Tajana relaxed some, closing her eyes and letting out a soft sigh. When they reopened, the smoldering hostility in her gaze was extinguished and when she spoke, her voice was much softer. "Then let this be my trial run for you. Let me show you I can defend your foundling when you aren't around, and that I can hold my own just fine."

Mando shook his head. "Not with this job. The target is too dangerous."

"I'm aware who you're after," Tajana countered. "It's Fennec Shand. If you're allowing some wanna be Guild member with no experience to join in on your hunt, then why not me? You'll definitely need my help."

He remained silent.

"I would appreciate some feedback here," Tajana remarked.

"I'm thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself, Mando."

Maker this woman knew how to get under his skin. He clenched his fists at his side for the umpteenth time since they crossed paths. "Fine! Fine. But if I feel you're any bit unsuitable for this hunt, if you get in my way at all, my offer for you is off the table."

_________

"Come, this way." Mando and his new partner made their way towards the dusty hanger where the Crest sat dormant. The repairs were coming along nicely, even nearly finished. There were a few fine tunings that Peli had to work on; small tasks that would’ve been completed had it not been for the no droid rule.

With a few touches of the controls on his gauntlet, Mando lowered the hatch leading into the aircraft. He took a few strides up the ramp, finally pausing when he noticed he didn't hear any footsteps following beside him. He whipped his head around, staring impatiently at the slightly younger woman that was supposed to be accompanying him. She stood there at the base of the ramp, glancing around at the newly refurbished exterior of the Razor Crest.

"So this is your ship, huh?" She asked, running a small gloved hand over the sand coated steel.

"Yes," he answered shortly. Tajana removed her hand, following up the steps to join the brooding hunk of beskar that stared her down.

"I've never seen one of these before. Looks like she's still holding up, even after the beating I'm assuming you put her through that landed you here? You should know older things require more care, Mando."

Again, Mando was silent. "Old" is a phrase he's heard numerous times that people used to refer to his ship. Granted, it was still much better than the "piece of junk" or "horribly outdated" he commonly heard. It didn't necessarily hurt his feelings when people degraded his ship, but it was still his home people were talking down on. The Crest was sturdy. Reliable even. It did the job and welcomed him back when he was done with his own. He didn't have the luxury of using a ship just as means to travel. It's where he lived. Mando didn't mind her word of choice to describe the Crest. A lot of memories and feelings of stability tend to come from things that have been around for a while. "Old" was just fine.

"Maintenance is part of what I'm hiring you for," he spoke up after a minute. "The other part is for watching the foundling."

When they made their way around the inside of the Crest, Tajana continued to take in her surroundings. She took note of where everything appeared to be: the entrance to the cockpit, an arsenal cabinet, the carbon freezing chamb-

The heavy thudding of footsteps caught her attention before she could map out the rest of the gunship. The metal flooring vibrated intensely when a charging Mandalorian rushed towards the exit. The smaller female was immensely caught off guard and did her best to step back out of his way. Mando's impenetrable armor slammed into her side, not so graciously knocking her against the hard gunship interior walls. She balanced herself and regained her composure from the bounty hunter's spontaneous freak out. Nursing her shoulder and arm, her attention was directed towards distant shouting back in the direction of the hanger's office.

Tajana pushed herself off the wall and cautiously staggered down the ramp with one hand resting on her blaster. She perked up upon hearing a woman screeching angrily at some poor soul. "You woke it up! Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?"

"Give him to me," Mando growled. The iciness and hard tone in his words made a small shiver travel down Tajana's spine.

Peli saw right through his cold exterior. "Not so fast! You can't just leave a child all alone like that. You know, you've got an awful lot to learn about raising a young one."

"I'm well aware," Mando barked. "That's why I hired her." Without even looking, he jerked his head back towards the entrance of the Crest. Peli, still clutching the Child tightly, stood on her tiptoes to try to catch a glimpse over the Mandalorian's broad shoulders. She locked eyes with the girl making her way towards all the commotion. Turning her attention back to Mando, she grinned.

"Ah okay Mando! I see you finally found the girl you were looking so hard for." The bounty hunter went rigid.

There was a brief silence beginning to settle in the air before Peli began explaining the progress she made as far as repairs goes. Tajana tuned her out and instead, she focused her attention on the tiny creature wrapped in a brown burlap sack that was tucked in Peli's arms. She could make out large green ears, a wrinkly little forehead, and two big black eyes that stared right back at her with all the curiosity in the world.

"...You got a job, didn't you? You know it's costing me a lot of money to keep these droids even powered up." The last part of Peli's one sided conversation snatched her attention back to the adults in the room.

Tajana glared up at the taller man, golden eyes ignited by anger once again. "Did you hire me when you can't even afford the repairs on your ship?"

Mando loomed over her in a threatening fashion, yet the hostile girl didn't back down. "My current financial status is only temporary," he said in a low voice. "This job will pay a hefty sum, and there will be more to follow. I'm a man of my word. Don't doubt me."

There was a subtle annunciation towards the end of his warning. Mandalorians were some of the most dependable people in the galaxy. It always rubbed Mando the wrong way when someone dared to question the honestly of his word. The bounty hunter stared down at her for a few more seconds, just to make sure he got his point across before walking away from the trio.

"Calican should be here by now. Get a move on if you're still coming," he called out.

Tajana still had her feet firmly in place. She cast a glare over her shoulder at the receding figure of the Mandalorian.

"Don't let him boss you around," Peli said sternly. "Underneath all that shiny armor, he's still just a man." With a small nod, Tajana followed after Mando towards the doorway leading into Peli's hanger.

Mando stood silently as always next to two speeder bikes, one that had a younger, relatively handsome man perched on its seat already. He turned his attention to the approaching woman, giving her a not so subtle once over up and down. Tajana's eyes narrowed slightly. When she overheard the conversation between the two men earlier that afternoon, she knew Calican sounded like an arrogant prick from how high and mighty he presented himself. She only got a slight glimpse of him in Mos Eisley. Looking at him up close, she solidified the idea in her head that yes, he really was a tool.

"Well look here Mando, you got a lady friend tagging along?" Tajana bit her tongue and fought back an exasperated eye roll.

Mando circled the two run down speeder bikes, giving them a good look as well. Calican took Mando's lack of response and lackadaisical attitude towards the bikes as an insult. "Whaddya expect? This ain't Corellia."

Peli walked out carrying the Child to catch a glimpse of what the bounty hunter's were planning. Calican acknowledged her presence and nodded towards her before looking back at the Mandalorian.

"In case you didn't notice, we only have two speeders. Either someone has to stay, or your friend has to ride with me." He surveyed Mando's reaction with a sense of haughtiness. Once again, the lack of feedback from the hunter made Calican speak up in his place. "Looks like that settles it," Calican smiled. He scooted forward some and looked back at the golden eyed girl who still was staring daggers at him, if not more-so now. "Hop on and hold tight."

Tajana stood in place defiantly. "What makes you think I'm riding with you?"

Calican shifted in his seat nervously. "Well you can't ride with Mando. His armor weighs the speeder down enough."

Tajana stared him down even harder. "What are you insinuating, boy?"

Calican twitched more under the murderous intent in her gaze. "I just...I didn't mean it that...way." His voice was wavering and he looked over at Mando for help, a bit of fear nestled in his brown eyes.

Mando kept staring ahead at the endless sea of powdery sand dunes. His modulator didn't pick up on the small snort that he made under the heaviness of his helmet and on the outside, he still appeared as stoic as could be.

Tajana proceeded to mount the younger man's speeder, sitting down roughly on the small space behind his back. There was barely any room on the seat for the two of them on the typically one person vehicle. Calican jumped when he felt her arms tightly grip around his waist, more in a threatening fashion than for her safety. The sudden movement made the already slightly unstable speeder wobble under the weight shift.

“If you kill us, I’ll fucking end you,” Tajana warned darkly.

[nathanfryerwoods]

Lucky Stars - Blurb and Introduction - Nathan Fryer-Woods

Comically depressing… Lawrie is trapped in an undisclosed location in southeast Asia. It's undisclosed, as Lawrie is a real life boy, still stuck, still in danger. An illegal alien, through no fault of his own, and now a father for the first time. As a mysterious disease ravages the world outside, Lawrie is trapped on the edge of the jungle and civilization, in the most tribal part of the country with the feral in-laws he now calls family. While trying to teach and help his son to grow, he's constantly battling against the bad habits, tribal practices and the deeply embedded superstitions, passed down over the generations. No matter how futile his attempt would seem, all he can do is try… what could possibly go wrong??

www.gogetfunding.com/luckystars        www.paypal.me/whliteraryagent

Introduction.

I hope you like reading…

They say, it's all about the first line. So now that's over and done with, hi, my name's Nathan. Originally from the UK, but now (and I've always said this as a bit of a joke, but these days it has new meaning), happily trapped in south east Asia. My almost 9 month old Son is doing just great. My wife's family are certifiably crazy, which wasn't a problem till we started living with them. Unfortunately, it's rubbing off on me, and I'm stuck here between a rock, and a bit of a pickle. Not the place I intended to be, whilst raising my first and probably only child.

Thanks to the madness currently possessing the world, my options, just like most people's, are thin on the ground. But as a foreigner in this country, with no government bail out like I'd be getting back home, I expect I'm currently somewhere towards the top end of the world's poverty chart… I've chosen not to openly disclose where I am exactly, as publishers in this country need to exercise a very careful caution, and the laws here regarding slander and defamation of character, mixed up with my legal status, could end up making my situation much worse. I'm not trying to cast a negative light on this place, but it might sometimes seem that way, with how I write about it. I love this place, I just hate this situation and feel so helpless.

I realise I may also at times sound very unappreciative. That's because I am... my body doesn't appreciate white rice every meal of every day. And though I'm used to picking things out of my food, when bugs are a part of the recipe, it feels a bit rude. My lungs don't appreciate the smell of burning bottles every night, and I'm sick of moving the big piles of plastic that mount up outside the room where my son sleeps. I'm also not too keen on the kitchen knife under his pillow, this turned up there, not because of my wife's heavy hands waking him up in tears, but the bad dreams caused by the ghosts. And even though we all know the only way to scare a ghost away is with cutlery, I think I'd prefer a bad dream every once in a while, than one time having a kitchen knife lodged in my neck.

All this being said, I have chosen, for many reasons (and very few alternatives), to ride this out as long as possible for the sake of my Son. The book I am writing explains my situation, and by reading it you should be able to fill in the very odd, small gap. But if not, fire me a message and we'll have a chin-wag.

In a nutshell, I was robbed of the money for my renewal of a very important document by a tour operator. Due to my own naivety, and being busy working in a different city, it was almost 3 months before I realised there was a problem. At the time, my wife was pregnant, and the little money I had was to take care of the hospital bill. After taking some bad advice, I scraped together $500 and paid someone who's family are high up in government and the police, to sort the problem out (at the time, the standard practice was to lock people up waiting for someone back home to cough up). Now, I'm down an extra $500, and the document I need to pass through ports is nowhere to be seen. Which is a bit of a worry. I've been here long enough, seen it all before, and by now have learnt that there's nothing much I can do to sort this, without having the cash to pay the overstay. And going to my embassy wouldn't do any good either, they can't help me out of this, not if I don't have the funds.

The area we now live in is very rural, nothing but farmland for miles around. My skill set is absolutely useless out here. I've spent most of my time in this country working in tourism, mainly managing guesthouses, a skill I'm very thankful for being able to pick up. At the time the world began to fall apart, I was project managing the build of an eco-resort. I wasn't making much, but the potential was there. My manager made the right decision at the time, and cut his losses. A few months later my wife gave up and went back to her parents while I kept trying. But when she told me her and her family (that day there were 5 people not including children), were sharing 2 eggs between them, I decided to come back too. I know what these people are like, and can't let my son grow up like them.

When he was born, I was told it would be 6 weeks before we could get out and back to work. It had been 2 months when I was told the in-laws wanted us to go back to work, leaving my child here. Another month later and they finally got the message. There's no way I'm leaving my boy with a man who gives 3 year olds energy drinks at 8am, while the rest of the family spend their time beating and screaming at him as he's got too much energy, or is crashing from the sugar. This poor boy has all black stumps for teeth on the top row, no pants on all day as he rolls around in the dirt people have been pissing in, and takes worming tablets. This boy, does not need energy drinks. Grandma, loves giving the 22 month old, the dregs of her antihistamine medicine. It tastes nice, so it must be good. Ma can't read the back of packets, instructions or warnings. 

Now, the only real option I have is farm work on the family plot. I did this last time we were here when our son was born, usually earning somewhere between $3.75 & 7.50 every 2 days. This time of year, the farm is out of season. Once this years crop is ready, the total worth of the farm's produce will be around $5.00 every 2 days as the 1st month creeps by. This time around, as it looks like I'll be staying for the foreseeable future, I've got to come up with a real plan, I can't put up with this much longer. I used to be vegetarian, and though we're surrounded by farms, I haven't seen a vegetable in 10 days. Now I eat fish heads.. the cheeks, the brains, their faces. I give the eyes to my wife's brothers…I had to draw the line somewhere.

My only way of making a decent wage out here, is to work online. Ideally I'd like to teach English. But most of the day, we're in a black hole for data connection, and with the lack of a certain document, signing up as a teacher isn't possible anyway.

So what's the plan? Well, I guess I'll carry on clutching at straws, keep writing the book, prepare the land for this years harvest and raise the boy. Plenty to keep me busy, but I need way out of this, before my boy grows up like his feral cousins. I feel like I'm living in a George Orwell book, and I don't mean 1984, that's the outside world. We're still stuck on Animal Farm.

I always thought I'd be somewhere in my 50s/60s, when I finally thought about penning my first book. When I had something to write about, and my fingers couldn't handle playing music any longer... As it turns out, I have plenty to write about, and it's spilling out with ease. I've always written, but a novel seemed a little too daunting to even think about. I wouldn't like to guess just how many songs I've written since my first, 25 years ago (which was terrible, and I hate that I still remember it). But the 2 albums trapped in my head are pretty good, at least I recon so. Hopefully they will see the light of day, at some point in the future.

I started the novel on the night of the 21st December 2020, and as of today - 29th Dec, I'm over the 10,000 word marker (though I've been doing a daily, rough edit as I go, I've been advised to try and avoid this, but I wanted the intro to be somewhat polished for upload). I'm hoping to entice some of you in, with the first few chapters. If it's something you're into, super duper. I'm looking for 'donations', to help my family out of this situation, but all donors will receive a copy of the book when finished, and after it's final edit.

A little can go a long way out here, and anything would be much appreciated as I'm raising my little champ. The link to the funding site can be found below, or by clicking here.

If you're not able to spare anything, no worries, but do keep checking back to my blog as (and don't quote me on this), I'll probably be adding to and updating as I go, up to the point of a ghastly cliffhanger, obviously, nerr... Once I've finished writing and editing, anyone who's helped out will be sent a link to download an e-book copy, and if and when I'm lucky enough to have it published in printed form, each will receive a copy of that in time, a few things depending. All will get a mention in both copies on a dedication page as a huge thank you (unless requested otherwise). And I'd like to offer people the chance to leave an inspirational message/joke/clue to where buried treasure may be hidden, or of course, just absolute nonsense, for the outside world to read alongside their dedication. Heck, use it to promote your auntie's dog wash service, see if I care. Could be quite interesting, and sounds like fun to me.

At the rate that I'm writing, I expect to be in the final editing stage by about mid February.

The novel is written as a fiction, but at the same time, is almost completely autobiographical. Names and places have been changed to help protect our safety here, but the story, and its characters are real. I can promise that, as I'm living it.

And just before I get back to work, I must say… I know that sometimes my use of punctuation, Capitals, and commas, may be a little unorthodox,,, but just so you know, I do know most of what I'm doing wrong, I did fairly well in school (not so bad)… but, I knew better… and still think that I might. And besides, I've got some good friends back home with already published work, who are going to help with the final cut… I've not pestered them so much as of yet, and what's down currently, is me with very little coaching, but with a little help from my friends, in the end, it'll brush up alright. Any questions, comments or advice would be more than welcomed, you can find my email address below.

Oh, and no matter how important the first line of a story must be, I just couldn't help myself… A tongue-in-cheek nod to my future self, hopefully showing how far I've come. I'm sorry, you'll get over it.

Thank you for reading, you're welcome to carry on, and I hope you do.

Nathan Fryer-Woods

[The light that shines from within me, bows to the light that shines within you]

www.gogetfunding.com/luckystars

nathanfryerwoods@protonmail.com

NOTE TO POTENTIAL PUBLISHERS

I know for any publisher, having a plot outline is very important and often essential for most first time authors. Although I am a true 'pantser' in life in general and writing this whilst in the thick of it, day by day. I do have my main outline. The middle marathon (with all potential real life disasters averted), being based on one or more of the many fears I have for the future, and twists in the plot coming from actual past events which have happened to me whilst being here. But as I say, this is all providing nothing major happens as I'm writing, and with all that's happened here already, would be an unexpected, and highly unlikely surprise. I have also been writing daily outlines, more detailed and over a smaller time frame, for the following days work. I will happily provide the main plot outline, and an up-to-date manuscript upon request. Nice one.

N-F-W

[timothykassouni1]

Timothy Kassouni Excellent Ideas About Lead Generation That Are Easy To Understand

Timothy Kassouni Professional tips provider. You've started your own business, and now it's time to generate leads. So where do you get started? It can be hard to keep pressing forward and finding those targeted customers. This article is about to give you and idea as to what can be done about this. Keep reading to find out some helpful tips.

Make sure your landing page is ready for visitors before you generate a lot of promising leads. Your landing page needs to contain all relevant information and options to buy or download. If your landing page is constructed well, you will have a much greater chance of converting your leads into sales.

Try a fax campaign to increase your lead generation. Fax may seem very 1980s in terms of business communication, but most companies still rely on these machines. So many people have ignored the fax machine in the 21st century. But that only means that you have less clutter to battle. Your message will be more likely to hit!

Know going in that lead generation is a time consuming and ongoing process. It's not a set it and forget it situation. You need to work at it. It takes building trust and thought leadership in the markets in which you sell. Be patient and work hard and you'll really reap the rewards.

Do not pre-judge your lead gathering technique. Though you may think you are not going to get great results, or you are overly confident about the success, you cannot be sure. The only way to know if your lead generation is working is to put it into action without preconceived ideas about results.

Timothy Kassouni Skilled tips provider.Consider giving a yearly gift to those who bring you the most referrals. It doesn't have to be something big, even a bottle of nice wine will do, but it shows them you care. Be sure to deliver it by hand and personally so you can tell them how much you appreciate their help.

Generating leads can happen when you talk to your customers. Knowing what drew your customers or what drives them within your niche can be very useful. This can allow you to tailor your lead generation to target that customer niche. This allows you to better separate your leads for each marketing push.

While generating leads is not a complicated matter, there is a precise science to it. Making an irresistible offer, getting it to the right viewers and giving them a good enough reason to act "now" are the three major components of lead generation. Think these over and develop ways to perfect that pitch package, and you should start generating more leads instantly.

Focus on your calls to action to generate leads. This is true of your website, social media posts, email newsletters, or even direct mail. A compelling call to action is what gets people to move from potential to concrete leads. What can you say that they just can't refuse?

Say thank you in your marketing efforts. If someone fills out a form, have an email set up that sends them a thanks. If a person contacts you directly for more information, immediately give them a verbal thanks. Thank you goes a long way to building quick trust, and that means a stronger lead.

Sign up for Google AdWords. These ads target potential customers who visit various websites across the Internet. The beauty of this is that you only have to pay when someone actually clicks on the link that leads to your site. Once you have them on your site, you can convert them to a paying customer.

Don't make your customers have to do too many things in order to reach the lead destination point. One of the main things to keep in mind is that you shouldn't be asking for too much personal information. Keep testing your campaign for how much data you really need and how much you can live without.

It is important to not only generate leads but also develop relationships with your customers. If people feel like you're trying too hard to sell, it can make things harder on you when making leads. People do not like having someone sell to them. In fact, it is your task to show how your service or product can solve a problem. Solving someone's problem will generate interest.

Know what you expect from your leads. If you plan to purchase leads, do you know what you want? Is your promotion targeting certain ages or economic levels? This is important to know before you drop a lot of money on leads. You want to know who your leads are before you send your promotions.

Leads are leads are leads. Understand that just because you may not have a fully qualified lead, it doesn't mean it's a dead lead. Use every lead you can until you know that lead has fallen below your needs. Once a lead shows no prospect, then you can toss it and move on.

Invite your website visitors to sign up for email notifications in return for special discounts and promotions. Everyone wants a bargain. If you make the discounts enticing enough, people will sign up. This is a good way for you to build up your lead database and to advertise your specials.

Timothy Kassouni Proficient tips provider.Make certain that you can deliver on what your advertisements promise. Go through with whatever your ad says. Many business owners fail to do this, and it has a disastrous effect on their business.

Engage your customers. It is not enough to get them to your site. Once you've captured a faint bit of interest, you must nurture it. Responding to questions and concerns in a timely and friendly manner will help you do this. If you don't do this, your leads may disappear as quickly as they came.

Did you come away from reading this thinking that you can use these tips to help you get some leads. Hopefully so, and it's time to get going so that you can draw in those new customers. Remember that once you get new customers, you must also practice customer retention!