#cerci london. / verse. / mafia daughter

[myhiraeth]

@headstrongblake cont' from [ here ] Cerci & Octavia Mafia

She is quick enough to take advantage of the moment, Octavia is, and the moment she moves Cerci scrambles to her feet, her face still a mess of fear and confusion at the sudden outbreak of violence, tears rolling down her face… at least until Octavia moves to the second man and begins bashing his head into the floor loudly. 

Had she thought it would have any effect, she’d tell Octavia to end it, quiet down her fighting lest others be brought by the sounds of violence and struggle. But Octavia’s not in a mental space to be listening to Cerci, and instead Cerci brushes her fingers beneath her eyes to clean her skin of the tears before they settle uncomfortably on her skin, her expression smooth once more, dark eyes focused on Octavia as she finishes the two men. 

It’s interesting though, how something seems to shift, switch, trigger in the girl when the second’s fingers find the delicate skin of her throat. Her entire body language- already so enmeshed in violence in the moment- changes, intensifies. Something about her throat sets her off, that much is clear. 

Interesting little tidbit to tuck away. 

Finally both men are dead and the bloodied girl rises from the floor, Cerci’s nose wrinkling in distaste. “Hardly subtle.” She judges, carefully stepping over the prone bodies to take their keys from their respective pockets, as well as a cell phone from each. “We should go. Your scene probably attracted attention.” It’s not gratitude, to Octavia for handling the dirty work for her, but she can’t let go of the control of the moment even to recognize something as simple as Octavia’s efforts. Were she alone this all would have been handled much more quietly, much less bloody. But she’s stuck with Octavia and this is what she has to work with. 

She’s praying when they open the door they’ll be outside, able to judge where they are, but it’s only dark hallways that greet them. “Well.” She mutters, the word as harsh and annoyed as a curse would be. “Left or right, do you think?” 

[myhiraeth]

@noblehcart​ con’t from [ here ] 

An exasperated huff slips out as the heavy handed men finally unhand her as instructed, feeling the telltale ache of bruising forming on her arms where their fingers had dug into her delicate skin. She doesn’t flinch in the face of his stormy expression, matching it with her own unamused one as she pointedly smoothes her skirt in annoyance. He names her a guest and a brow raises in curiosity.  “ Do you always treat your guests so shamefully? ”   She lilts.  “ I’m quite sure the last time I was a guest at someone’s home I did not arrive with bruises. ”

This is bad. This is arguably the worst case scenario she could imagine. She knows what he means by guest- she’s a prisoner here. The daughter of an underboss in a house god-only-knows-where with god-only-knows how many guards and a dangerously even-toned man in front of her who is far too intoxicating for someone who’s just robbed her of her freedom. She needs to figure out what he wants from her, how far he’s willing to go, and how to get out of this with her life, limbs, and dignity in tact.

She refuses to be swayed by his display of hospitality.   “ Then I would suggest starting with ice. ” her voice is as icy as the ice she asks for,   “ If I must have bruising the least my host can provide is ice to prevent swelling. Your men were hardly treating me with care worthy of my ‘caliber’ as you say. ”  Wheels are spinning in her mind, watching him, listening behind her, trying to take in the office from her peripheral so she wouldn’t have to break eye contact with him. Nothing is safe. Everything is a risk. The wrong word, the wrong move, could end in bloodshed. If she played this properly, she might at least delay the inevitable spill of her blood a while longer.

[myhiraeth]

@headstrongblake​ sent: “if it was down to me to save your life, do you trust me to?” / post betrayal, mafia babes

She considers this for a few long moments, her hands paused mid prep for their dinner tonight. He’s working- or rather had been working- perhaps that’s what prompted the question. They’d talked about his betrayal before, in general, sweeping ways that didn’t force them to touch on the true depths of the wounds it had left behind on both of them. 

And she wasn’t naive enough to think it hadn’t left scars on them both. She wasn’t self-centered enough to think he’d come out of this unscathed. He’d sacrificed much of himself to stay in the family- sacrificed his morals, his goodness, marred his soul with blood and death he’d never clean himself of. And it was because of that she understood why he’d still betrayed her in the end- because he had given too much of himself to not have something to show for it. He’d gone from someone who wanted to serve and protect to a murderer and a con man, all in the name of some faceless, generalize ‘greater good’. He hurt from this, perhaps as much as she did, and she tried to acknowledge that from where she lay sulking in her own pain and the sting of deception. 

But he was asking for trust, and she truly didn’t know if she had any to give him now. 

After too long of a pause that she knew said more than her words would, she went back to chopping vegetables.   “ I trust you would do everything in your power to save me. ”   it wasn’t a yes. It was a carefully constructed “kind of” to allow the possibility that if he weren’t able to save her, he would still keep to whatever plan was going to end in her ruin or death. 

[myhiraeth]

@noblehcart​ sent: kisses steferci mafia (and i’ll generate a number for how / where my muse kisses yours)  5. a kiss on an old scar

Allow me. He’d purred, taking the shoe from her hand and bending down on one knee before she could properly protest. She wondered if he knew what seeing him kneeling in front of her did to her, if he knew the self control it took to stay still as he held her ankle to slip her shoe on, if he knew how much her skin burned as his fingers trailed from her ankle up her calf and to the back of her knee.

But then his hand paused, fingers still wrapped around her knee, but his thumb grazed across the front of her kneecap, over a faded white scar, and deep blue eyes flicked up to her own, a question in them.

“Glass.” She says softly. “A broken table that I tripped into.”

Tripped, was thrown, the details weren’t important. The anger of her father was hardly a secret; his mistreatment of her however, was something she preferred a select few- if any- knowing. She still wasn’t sure how Stefan would react to knowing she was a whipping girl in her own home. He liked her now, liked her strong, liked her spirited. How would he like her if he knew how many nights she spent bleeding, crying, biting back yelps and whimpers both? Somehow she suspected he’d like her less… at the very lest respect her less. Part of her didn’t want to think about that beautiful gaze of his turning derisive or worse- pitying.

But another part… it wanted to know. So she didn’t look away from his probing gaze, letting him study her as his thumb ran across her scar once, twice, three times, almost daring him to press further. His eyes still on hers, he drew her leg closer toward him until he could press his lips against the white mark, lashes finally falling to hide eyes from her. She let her head fall back, reaching to tangle her fingers in his hair, holding his head to her leg for an extra beat before suddenly letting go of him and putting her leg abruptly down, smoothing her dress with a nervous clearing of her throat. “I- apologies, I forgot myself for a moment. Please, we should go.”

[myhiraeth]

@headstrongblake​ sent: “  people like me don’t get to have peace.  ”  oh but like a vulnerable admission? Cerci/nick mafia

Sometimes he speaks in such a way that makes her wonder what he’s doing in this life. Sometimes the self-loathing slips out despite himself and she wonders what led him here, to this life of crime and subterfuge and violence.    “ People like you? ”   She lilts, glancing to the clock on the wall. They’re alone, as they so often are these days, with Carter instructing Nick to do reports and monitor his underlings from the London home so he could keep an eye on Cerci while Carter is off looking important. She doesn’t care- Nicklas is one of the few people she doesn’t mind knowing of her machinations within the family; she can work just as easily with him here and he can with her here, even if they get occasionally… distracted.

They’re sitting apart for now- talking as intimately as though they were entangled in her sheets upstairs, a place she hasn’t lured him quite yet. But at his words she sits up, untucking her legs from beneath her and sitting forward to watch him more closely.   “ Love, peace isn’t something rewarded for good behavior. Plenty of people get peace who may not deserve it, because they take it for themselves. ”   She should know; she’s one of them. She rises and saunters over to him, offering a hand to him once she’s close enough.   “ Take a break for a bit- let me try to show you peace if I can. ”

[myhiraeth]

@noblehcart​ sent: unfortunately, i know exactly how you feel. (steferci mafia) [ mafia - captured!cerci ] 

“ Do you? ” A curt laugh tells him exactly how little she believes that. She was trying to read peacefully- one of the positives of her current prison is the delicious collection of books Stefan Ivanov has curated- and do her best to ignore him in the room, but clearly he had other ideas, so she snaps the book shut and sets her practically black eyes on him.

“ You know how it feels to be captured, imprisoned, used as currency? Do you know how it feels to know death is lurking just around the corner because the person you are to be used as a bargaining chip against isn’t going to pay? ” Her voice has lost it’s steam as she keeps talking, going from indignant to dishearteningly resigned by the time she gets to the last few words, that same resignation reflected in her eyes.    “ Because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but his own reputation and frankly, he’d prefer to be without me in any case. ”   She doesn’t know why she’s choosing to confide this to him of all people- perhaps a part of her truly has resigned herself to death so there’s nothing to lose in telling secrets to Stefan. She reopens her book, feeling the need to hide her eyes from him suddenly.    “ He’ll probably use my death the same way he did my mother’s, to garner sympathy and use it to excuse his reckless behavior. And I’ll die. That’s my end here, Stefan Ivanov. ”   She does force her eyes back up to him.    “ So you mean to tell me you know how it feels to be trapped, or to be marked for inevitable death, or both? Because you seem quite alive from where I’m sitting. ”

[myhiraeth]

@noblehcart con’t from [ here ] 

She’d been expressly forbidden from being here. From being even a hundred meters near the building that held the man who’d intended to kidnap her. Those who didn’t know her relationship with her father might think he was being a doting father, being terribly overprotective. But in reality he just wanted control over a situation he had almost lost control of, wanted control in a game that didn’t even concern him. This game was between her and the man who’d wanted to take her.

And she was curious as to why.

The muscle men at the door didn’t stop her- one because he owed her his silence after a favor, the other because she knew his dirty little closeted skeletons- and instead opened the door for her, one following her in with a hard, plain wooden chair and setting it somewhere behind her before leaving her alone in the bare room with the bloodied man who might have succeeded if he’d had the right information about her. She’d certainly had the right information on his disloyal band of brothers.

There’s a shock down her spine when sharp blue eyes come up to meet her own dark ones, made all the brighter surrounded by blood and bruising. Her fingers tingled with the inexplicable urge to clean the blood from his face. He was too regal to be bound and bled like any foot soldier off the street. He speaks and she mentally shakes herself back to reality, a blithe smile crossing her lips.  “ I do wish I could say the same. ”   Eyes that can appear so dark as to be black are surprisingly brown in this room, almost deceptively soft as she takes in his labored breathing, the resistant creak of the chair as he tries to adjust himself. “ Sadly it seems our meeting was destined to be in violence one way or another. ”

“ Max, ” She says over her shoulder, never turning her back on their captive. The man she calls opens the door and without taking her eyes off calculating blue of the man bound to a chair, “ A rag, and water, thank you. And when you return I’d like the ties loosened. I don’t like blood on the floor. ”

          Miss London, I don’t think that’s smart-

“ Then it’s a good thing you aren’t here to think. Do I need to repeat myself, Maximus? ”

          No, Miss London.

She smiles as Max vanishes, tilting her head at their captive as she continues to take him and his injuries in. “ I’m terribly sorry, I missed your name. ”

[myhiraeth]

@headstrongblake sent: placing kisses on your lovers shoulder and nape as they are bent down, trying to focus on their work though they're very hot and bothered / cerci & nick

“Nicklas…” the word a warning wrapped in affection and lust. 

“Yes?” She can feel the heat of the word against the sensitive skin of her neck as his lips trail up the swan like curve of it. She twists away- however ‘away’ a mere inch can count- and narrows her eyes at him. He won’t believe she’s annoyed, he has the most attractive and aggravating ability to read her like no one else she’s ever met. With a single glance he can read her mood, her thoughts, her worries… her wants. He’ll see craving instead of chagrin. 

“I am working, mon amor.” 

“Work later. Your father will be gone for hours…” His fingers slide her sleeve further and further across her shoulder, his lips following to warm the skin he’s revealing. She resists the urge to purr under his touch, not wanting to give in so soon. 

She sets her papers down- always paper and pen, rarely electronics. She prefers hard copies of her business, copies unavailable for hacking- and turns further to him. “And what shall I work on instead, caporegime?” 

His grin is devlish. It does things to her. Before he can answer, she moves away from him, completely off the couch only to sit back down, straddling his legs and leaning in until he’s leant back against the back of the couch. “What say I work on you, perhaps, instead?” 

[myhiraeth]

"Grab" (mafia steferci)

Steferci - Mafiaverse

Sometimes she wonders if he enjoys her snappishness with him. If he, like her, is bored of being surrounded by yes-men. It’s a necessity, of course- one can’t run an empire and allow disobedience or contrariness. But it’s boring all the same sometimes. 

She brings a new dynamic to his world. It’s one she fell into easily, one of intensity and adversity and attractiveness and rebellion. She toes the line, of course; too much rebellion and attitude will get her killed. But he seems to enjoy pushing her buttons, seems to enjoy that she doesn’t openly fear him despite them both knowing he holds her fate in the twist of his tongue. 

They’re sparring tonight, as they do most nights they aren’t burning with desire across rooms from each other, and he goes to pass her, not so much as brushing her as he does so. 

“Do not walk away from me.” She bites the words off, spinning around as he passes her and snatching his wrist. In a movement too fast to follow, he twists his hand so that he’s the one holding her, pulling her to him, so close she could feel his body heat through his clothes despite the fact they weren’t touching.

Or what? 

She forgets her annoyance in the wake of his closeness, the heat of his breath, the fire in his eyes. She doesn’t fight his grip, but she does step closer, their bodies a milimeter apart. “Don’t.” The word is less bitten this time, but still challenging, still an order. 

Will he oblige her, his plaything in this house, she wonders? 

[myhiraeth]

@noblehcart sent: ❝ you’ve stolen my heart, the least you could do is tell me what you intend to do with it. ❞ (mafia steferci)

She swallowed against the emotion rising in her chest. This wasn’t… this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He had taken her, for all intents and purposes kidnapped her. He was the enemy of her father and what’s more- she was the daughter of his rival. There was nothing in their lives, in their conflicting, competing worlds that would allow them to be together. 

And yet- there was no denying the way her mouth went dry at the sight of him, the way her thoughts scattered when he leaned in close to whisper playful, tempting words to her, the way her skin practically burned at the softest graze of his fingers, wanting them more than a graze, wanting them rougher, clutching, desperate in reflection of her own desperation. 

There was no logical reason they should be allowed to feel anything but contempt and spite for each other, but the things she felt for him were anything but logical. Clearly he feels the same, if the quiet, intense ( desperate ) words were any indication. 

She wanted to smile coquettishly, wanted to ply him with meaningless words and string him along as she should do, as was her duty to do as daughter of his rival. He’d just given her the power to play him, twist him, undo him. 

“ I intend to keep it. ” She responded quietly. Dark eyes, always so intense but never more so than now, hoping he could see that this was no ploy, no game to her. That despite everything, she knew what he felt, and she felt the same. “ Keep it, and tuck it into the spot my heart once occupied, as I seem to have given mine to you, for better or for worse. ” Worry crept into her eyes, wondering what sort of fire they were playing with in admitting these feelings. “ Will it be for worse, Stefan? You are an Ivanov, and I am a London- I doubt we will be allowed ‘for better’… ”  

[myhiraeth]

@noblehcart sent: ❛ you’ve been teasing me for far too long. it’s my turn now. ❜ (mafia or governess steferci) [ this is mafiaverse, though you're getting both au's just to warn you lol]

He’s right, of course. Despite the… unusual circumstances of their first meeting, the dark intoxication of Stefan’s personality, his very being, has drawn her to him like a moth to a flame since that first night in his office where fear for her life battled with the way his deep voice was a purr that sent shivers across her skin and his sense of morality threatened to put her at ease when she needed to be on guard most.

Days passed, days turned to weeks and still her father refused to pay for her ( or so she assumed ) and what was frightening and threatening slowly became a game to be played with him, boundaries to be pushed without the all-encompassing fear that he’d kill her out of impatience or frustration. Once she was sure sudden death wasn’t his style, she found it easier to learn him as a person rather than a figure from a nightmare.

But still, the slightest tinge of fear battled with sheer, unadulterated attracted as he cornered her against the bookshelf she’d been browsing, his large frame towering over her, his chest mere inches from her back, long, muscular arms entrapping her as hands she’s studied far more than is appropriate lay on the shelves on either side of her.

She doesn’t turn back to him, instead lets her eyes flutter closed as his lips lean in close to her ear to whisper the words, stroking her hair back away from her ear and over her shoulder. She audibly swallows against what she wants to say ( do it, then. i beg you, do it ) and instead tries to force her voice even. “Is that so?”

it is… His hand follows a trail across her shoulder, down her arm, to her waist. He doesn’t grab her, not yet, but then before she even has a chance to wonder if it’s wise, she’s leaning back against him, pressing her body against his, tilting her head to the side to glance not yet at his eyes, but at least to his body behind hers.

Now his hand tightens at her hip, holding her against him. She leans her head further back until her cheek can rub against his chest like a cat marking her territory, a soft breath betraying the intensity of their closeness. His head dips once more, his nose brushing a trail from her jaw up and around the shell of her ear, and she takes in a sharp breath.

Her eyes are still closed when suddenly his hand is gone, his touch is gone, his whole body is gone and stepping back away from her with a devilish smile and lust in his eyes at her sudden gasp. fair’s fair.

She turns fully around, her hand bracing herself on the shelf now behind her. “Come back.” Order and plea mix together in her desperate words and she doesn’t care how needy she sounds; maybe he deserves to know how well his tease worked.

[myhiraeth]

@headstrongblake sent: kisses / cerci & nick mafia (and i’ll generate a number for how / where my muse kisses yours)  16. a desperate kiss to your wounded muse

Her father has yet to pick up on the fact that his daughter and one of his Caporegimes use any spare moment they have alone to spend together, so it’s reasonable that he doesn’t know that Nicklas is privvy to the darker details of his treatment of his daughter, that he doesn’t know how familiar Nicklas is with the punishments etched into her skin- that he doesn’t realize how completely he gives himself away when he tells Nicklas to focus on his work this afternoon and not go check on Cerci, that she’s feeling ill and wants no company, to not so much as go near her door.

She’s barely heard her father’s car leave the street when she hears heavy footsteps on the stairs coming up to her room. It’s mere seconds after her father is gone that her door swings open and there he in, concerned and infuriated all at once in her doorway. She holds up a hand to still him- her left, despite being right handed, which will be a clear giveaway that something’s wrong with her right- as she rises from where she’d been waiting for him on her bed to cross the room to him.   “ Calm yourself, love. ”

He doesn’t, of course, he never fully does when he’s worried about her well-being, and instead his hands come up to cup her face just on the side of too tightly, presses his lips to hers almost desperately before pulling back to study her. Are you hurt? What happened?

“ Only slightly, it’s fine. ”

Where?

She knows better than to toy with him in this mood- no amount of deflecting or dismissing will appease him, and she draws him to the bed so they can sit together. She lets her cardigan fall from her shoulders to reveal her right arm, splattered bright red and blistered with varying degrees of first-or-second degree burns from her bicep down to her wrist, creeping just the slightest to her hand. She had been making tea, settled in the window of the kitchen with a book while she waited for it to boil and her father had come into the kitchen for something or other. In the worst collision of bad timing, he had just been passing the stove when the teapot suddenly started whistling it’s loud, shrill shriek of completion, and startled him so badly he’d jumped. She leapt up from the window but hadn’t moved as fury had taken over his features, wondering if she could get to the door quickly enough or if his anger would be expressed solely on the offending item itself.

Wrong on both counts. He had grabbed the teapot in question, but had hurled it at her. He missed- whether by intention of not she may never know- and it had shattered against the wall to her right and rained boiling water down on her. Her arm had come up to protect herself instinctively and had taken the brunt of the water, but it had left it’s mark on her, one that meant she was now a prisoner until her arm was healed enough to hide with makeup since summertime was too hot to justify long sleeves outside the home.

[myhiraeth]

@headstrongblake​ “ you’re mine. you hear me? ” mafia cerci & nick send my muses shippy/jealous things

Her back hits the wall behind her, Nick’s hands grasping her hips to hold her in place, the growling words bitten out between practically desperate crashes of their lips. With her pinned now, he moves only one hand to her face, cupping her jaw and drawing his thumb down her bottom lip, striking blue eyes trapped on the curve of her lips instead of the heat of her eyes.    “ No, ”   the defiant retort is a breath of laughter, her own hand coming up to tangle his dark hair between delicate fingers, twisting until she felt resistance. “ Show me instead. ”

[myhiraeth]

@headstrongblake con’t from [xx] 

Detective. Detective. He's a detective- he's an enemy. You fell in love with the enemy.

The words spin in her mind, mocking and inescapable, and it's making her unravel. Gone is her picture perfect control- her hands visibly shake with the effort not to panic, run, escape, fix. Her whole body shakes, making her hair tremble in her peripheral, making it obvious to the capo- the detective, how badly he's rattled her. She needs out- she can't be here when the other officers break in. She's no doubt the response will be extreme- chances like the one Nicklas has presented don't come often for the men in blue. They'll come in with full force and she cannot be here for that.

Her threat slips out almost without permission- she wants to say it but she doesn't take a beat to think about the intelligence in the threat. He could still be persuaded to protect her if she plays her cards right- but he's shaken her enough that all her cards are on the floor, scattered like her thoughts, like the tattered bits of her future. But her threat does nothing but hurt him. ( good. he deserves to hurt for this. he's destroyed me- he should hurt. ) It doesn't move him, doesn't make him leave, it only draws him closer, right into her space and she hates herself for knowing that the moment his hands touch her the shaking will ease.

He doesn't, though. He's willing to invade her space but not touch her and she can't blame him for that. He's trying to tell her to run but she knows she needs to run. She knows they won't stop no matter who of theirs dies. "I loved you." She whispers. She's become everything she hates- using their feelings against him, using their feelings to hurt him. "And in return, you used me." She had all but convinced herself that her fears were simply borne of years of being hated by her father, tossed aside by Linore- she had almost convinced herself that Nicklas was real, that he cared.

But in the end, she was only a means to an end. A way to burrow further into the London family unforeseen.

In the end, she was a fool for thinking someone could love her.

[myhiraeth]

@headstrongblake gets a drabble things for mafiaverse 

"Louis."

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Language." She chided, nose wrinkled in distaste even as she waves him to sit with her. "I wanted to talk to you about the botched shipment. My father... isn't pleased."

He's practically snarling, but at the mention of her father the anger dissipates, leaving more worry in his eyes than fury. "And? No offense but you're dad's always pissed about something."

It was funny because it was true. But still. "He's blaming Octavia." And Nicklas but there was nothing she could do about that that Nicklas himself wouldn't circumvent. So for now she would focus on the two reasons Nicklas was now at risk of maiming. Octavia had mucked up the shipment, Louis had allowed it to happen and what's more: encouraged it. And now Nicklas was at risk and that was unacceptable. Drugs were replaceable. Nicklas was not.

And she'd be sure to teach Octavia a lesson she'd never forget to insure this never happened again.

"You're not wrong. But this time he's piqued about something you did. Or should I say: something Octavia did." She's got his attention now, he can't leave without knowing what she knows about what's going to happen to Octavia. The girl's his weakness, it's as plain to see as it is in her brother. Both boys wear their hearts too willingly on their sleeves. It's going to get the girl hurt one day. It won't end prettily for her. My father wants blood for the lost drugs, the lost money, the lost trust between himself and his partners. She's going to bleed, the question is will it be enough to kill her?"

He slams up from the table and leans over, directly in her face. If not for the sheer rage radiating off his body, one might think them about to kiss. "So how about I kill you instead? Distract the bastard for a bit."  

She shrugged a single shoulder. "You could, in a literal sense. I'm certainly no match for you," she laughs lightly, a finger coming up to tap beneath his chin. "But it won't distract him as you hope. If anything, it will just make him more unstable and you and your pretty little girlfriend will both die." He's practically quivering in an effort to hold back his anger and she smiles. "But I may have another option, if you can calm your temper long enough to hear it."

He doesn't move but the trembling stops- mostly. "There. Now if you truly want to spare Octavia her fate- you could take responsibility for it." She watches him unblinkingly, watches him debate her words. "You take the blame, and you'll take the punishment. I daresay you can take whatever he'll dish out better than Octavia could. My father's pride is hurt, he'll do it himself. You're a fighter, Louis, I've spoken to your colleague- Iceman, isn't that what they call him in your neck of the woods?"

He's frozen, and Circe laughs again, a thin, haunted sound from a movie- one you watch with the lights on. "I did some digging, Animal. Not quite as original as your counterpart but accurate all the same. And thus proves my point: you can take whatever it is my father can serve. Can Octavia?"

He's considering it, his eyes have fallen from hers to the table, darting back and forth as though reading invisible lines in a book as he weighs his options. She waits, watching him until he drags blue eyes back up to hers. "If I take the blame I won't be able to go with her on runs anymore..."

"What better opportunity for redemption?" She lilts back. "Or at least, that's how I'd frame it to my father, if I were in your place."

He understands what she's saying, nodding slowly as that too processes. "I don't have his number."

Hook, line and sinker. She smiles, plucking a card out of her purse and sliding it across the table. "Now you do. What you do with it is your own choice."

His eyes are as intense as the ocean on a stormy day. "This feels like a trap. Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't." She smirks. "But does that make anything I've said any less true?"

He has no answer and she rises. "Until next time, Louis." She walks away from the table. If her soldier is going to hurt because of Octavia, the least she could do is put Octavia's own soldier in the line of fire. Blood for blood. Let her watch the aftermath of Carter's anger and know it was because of her. Because of her actions and her inability to deliver that the man she so loved was bloodied and bruised. Louis would go to her- why wouldn't he? She's his comfort, his safe place.

Octavia won't just see faded bruises and cleaned skin. She'll see damage. As she should. This life isn't a game, no matter how lightheartedly she and her fighter take it.

Louis is staring at the card. Circe's gone. She gave her little speech and waltzed off like she doesn't have a fucking care in the world, leaving him with the choice that isn't really a choice. He picks up the card as a waitress comes by and sets a beer on the table.

"Courtesy of Miss London."

He can only chuckle. Of fucking course it is. It's his favorite beer- he's only got one he can stomach- and he's not surprised anymore that she knows it. He lifts the glass to his lips and downs half the contents in a single swig before typing the number into his phone.

London residence. 

"This is Louis Warren. I need to speak to Carter."

[myhiraeth]

a kiss on the underside of the jaw. / nicklas

sinday funtimes || still accepting but no promises they get done before sinday is finished

con’t from [ here ]

His hands felt so good, callous and roughened by work she didn’t bother lingering on for too long, such a contrast to the smooth, unmarked skin of her thighs. While she no longer minded Nicklas’ hands on her scars, she’d always privately prefer them on unmarred skin. His hands hold her steady as he presses momentarily against her, his groin against her ass until suddenly he’d backed away and gently- always so gentle with her, her Nicklas- but quickly spun her around to face him.

                                     How about you take a break from worrying for a bit?                            “What say you give me a reason, my darling?”

His hands moved to her waist, lifting her with attractively little effort to set her on the counter and put her at almost even height with him. Fingers brushed her hair back and his lips touched her neck. Only with him in this world of fear and danger would she tilt her head to the side, exposing her neck to him so he could keep trailing his kisses higher, from her jugular to just below her jaw and eventually to her own lips. Her fingers her found his shaggy hair and tightened around the strands, trying in vain to keep his lips at her jaw and neck, wanting the vulnerability that came with such affection.