#hell even getting some ginger ale was so hard for me...i have to keep reminding myself that theres nobody who is trying to brainwash me

[sk3l3t0n444]

i left my room to piss and get a drink and im am shaking like im being hunted for sport wtf

[mandoalorian]

Agent whisky (Teacher) x New agent (student). As you’re both fighting, you both get hot and bothered and reader throws him against a wall and the rest in folds. (Fem reader)

After Class [Jack Daniels x Reader] SMUT

Word count: 2.4k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, creampie, choking, teacher x student, exhibitionist kink, implied age difference

Masterlist

He was insufferable. He was your teacher — and oh, you hated him. You hated how he'd come into class smelling like sweet, honeyed cologne, causing all the girls to swoon at the mere sight of him. It was laughable, really. He wasn't anything special. He was attractive, sure. He had the charm of a king and the politeness of a saint. But it didn't matter because you hated him, and you wanted him to know that you hated him. So you'd talk during his lectures and you'd roll your eyes whenever he tried addressing you directly. He had this know-it-all attitude, he had these deep, chocolate brown eyes that were so easy to get lost in. The Statesman Academy shouldn't have even hired him. It was so easy to get lost in those damn eyes.

His eyes were just a few shades darker than his hair, which he kept hidden under a cringe-worthy cowboy hat. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't dreamt of wearing it while you ride him. The dirty fantasies about Mr Daniels (though he'd have you call him 'sir') didn't become regular until a few months ago. Now it was every single class where you became hypnotised by his attractive looks.

You hated his perfectly groomed mustache and how the thought of it brushing against your cunt haunted you during his seminars. You hated the perfect curve in his nose and how you imagined it nudging against your clit as he performed the most life changing oral on you. If only he knew about the things that went on in that filthy little mind of yours.

You practically gasped out loud when Mr Daniels dropped your assignment on the desk in front of you, a circle with a big red 'F' marked on. He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at you, before moving on to hand out the rest of the essays. No way— there was no way that your essay has been marked fairly. You might have been slacking just a little this semester (due to Mr Daniels obnoxious handsome looks), but not to the extent of getting an F in your finals!

"Well done class, we all performed exceptionally well this term. There is however one person I need to see after class, she knows who she is," Mr Daniels glanced briefly at you and you narrowed your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. "But have an excellent vacation and remember don't party too hard." He winked cheekily before dismissing the class. Once the students filed out of the room, and the bell rang, signifying the end of the day, Mr Daniels stalked back into the classroom. He said nothing, didn't even spare you a look. He padded over to his desk, sunk into his chair and began to go through paperwork.

You waited for something— anything. The silence was deafening, and you began to tap your feet against the floor impatiently. Why the hell was he holding you hostage in his stuffy classroom on the last day of term? You assumed it was due to your abysmal grade on your essay, but he hadn't even mentioned it. He was ignoring you and once again, you hated him for it.

You were staring him out with absolutely no shame, taking in all his features. You admired his broad shoulders and watched his bicep flex as he wrote comments on the work he was checking through.

He'd noticed your staring too. He always had. He tried to contain the blush that crept up on his cheeks as your eyes burned into his body, watching his every move. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife. If he was going to speak to you about your essay result, he'd need to have a drink first. After a few more minutes of silence, he excused himself and left the classroom. Each professor at the academy had their own affinity for alcohol, Mr Daniels' beverage of choice being a glass of warm whiskey. He poured it into a small tumbler, admiring the amber liquid as he dropped a few cubes of ice in, letting it clink against the glass. The mere thought of you in his classroom, waiting for you, was enough to make his cock stir. He sighed, gulping down the liquid and made his way back to the classroom. It was the first time you and Mr Daniels had some one on one alone time. He hadn't drank enough to get intoxicated, but it was enough for him to lower his inhibitions.

He walked into the classroom and locked the door behind him, before turning to face you.

"Why am I here?" you asked with an unamused frown.

"You went from being a straight A student to getting an F in your most important exam of the year," Mr Daniels huffed with a disappointed shake of his head. You didn't care— no, you couldn't let yourself care about your professor. But seeing the despondency written across his face was enough to make your heart yearn with guilt for letting him down. "What happened?" he quizzed you eventually.

You considered his question. You weren't a dishonest person, and you knew exactly what had happened. You had been so distracted by your professor's ravenous demeanor, that you'd become too overcome with sexual desire to even focus the slightest in his lectures.

"You happened." you said, regretting the words as soon as they left your lips. Your voice broke slightly— you sounded pathetic.

"Excuse me?" he asked, raising both of his eyebrows in disingenuous surprise. You wanted to wipe the smirk that you saw creeping up on his lips. Your education wasn't a joke.

"I was doing fine in Agent Tequila's class," you acknowledged. "Maybe it's your teaching." you shrugged.

"My teaching?" Mr Daniels gasped incredulously.

"Oh quit playing dumb," you said, suddenly rising to your feet. Your chair scraped against the floor as you stalked over to your teacher. "I know my worth Mr Daniels, and it's not an F."

"Please, call me Jack." He hummed, reaching out and caressing your cheek. You subconsciously leaned into his smooth hand as his thumb rubbed gentle circles into your jaw. You hadn't even realised how close he had gotten to you as he admired your face, and the intimacy began to take effect down below.

"Oh, first name basis?" you spat sarcastically, pressing the palm of your hand against his chest, threading your fingers through the buttons of his white shirt so you could gently graze the skin of his tan chest. "How polite."

"Manners maketh man," he smirked, quoting the Statesman mantra, and you wanted to wack that dumb cowboy hat off his head. "Let me translate that for you," he pouted condescendingly, letting his hands fall to your own chest.

He squeezed your tits through your blouse, drawing a few wanton moans from you. "Wh- what makes you think I need that translated?" you asked your professor, trying to keep your cool. This is exactly what you had dreamt about for the past three months. His thumb rolled over your hardening nipples, pinching them now and again so he could watch you squirm underneath his touch.

"The F on your paper?" he shot back. Your eyes widened and you pushed him into the wall, his back slamming against the concrete as he groaned from the pressure you'd placed on him. He would be lying if he said it didn't feel good though. It was rare he'd have a lady take charge — especially not one as young and bright eyed as yourself.

"I hate you," you snarled as his fingers dipped under the hem of your short, pleated skirt. He chuckled darkly, sending a frenzy of butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"Oh sugar," he drawled, the smell of scotch lacing his breath as he pressed a soft kiss into your jaw. You couldn't contain the small whimper that escaped your lips. He smirked, knowing exactly what he could do to you— how he could make you feel. "Look at you… got me pressed against the wall. I'm your teacher." he reminded you with a small tut.

"You drive me crazy," you admitted in a fluster, your hand falling down his button up shirt and resting at his oversized belt buckle. The coolness of the metal stung your skin as you parted your legs slightly, rubbing what you could on his jean clad thigh. "When you stand up there, in front of the class, talking all that shit about, about-" you couldn't even get your words out as his fingers graced your cunt, feeling out your clit under the material of your dampening panties.

"What?" Jack murmured, his teeth grazing your jaw as he sucked softly against your skin. "What is it?" he urged you to continue, your breathing jumping as he continued to softly press his thick fingers along your aching core. You tried to answer but nothing except lewd moan came out, and you felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. "You joined the academy. You wanted to train as an agent. Maybe you'd prefer it if I transferred your classes to, let's say, Agent Champ? Or the sweet Ginger Ale?"

You curled your fingers around his leather belt. "N-no," you growled. "I want you," you revealed as you unclipped it and tossed it to one side. You groaned wantonly as you felt his erection press up against your thigh. It was clear that your professor wanted you too. "You know if- if Principal Champ finds out about this…" you moaned, working your fingers at Jack's zipper.

"He's not going to find out about this," Jack snapped, his harsh tone causing your eyes to snap open.

"O-okay cowboy," you bit your lip seductively, finally pulling his zipper down and freeing his hard, aching cock. You immediately wrapped your hand around him, smearing his precum down his length and started to pump at his erection, satisfied with the string of curses falling from his tongue.

"Fuck- so good," Jack praised as you worked his cock with your hands. "But I want more… I want to bury my cock in the warmth of your pussy. Would you like that baby girl?" he hummed, both his hands grabbing on your shoulders as he turned around and pushed you into the wall. You gasped as he ripped open your blouse in one swift manouver, the buttons popping and falling everywhere. His hungry lips pressed against yours as he slid his tongue into your mouth, kissing you roughly and with passion.

"Someone could just walk in." you gasped as Jack yanked your skirt down, letting it pool around your ankles.

He groaned longingly as he played with the waistband of your panties. "Lace? For school? I knew you were a dirty girl." he chuckled darkly before pulling them down. He wasted no time, pressed two fingers into your weeping cunt and rubbing between your folds. He stroked tight and precise circles into your clit, desperate to pump an orgasm out of you before he even entered. Your eyes snapped shut as you pressed your fingernails into his still clothed back. "Oh, you like that don't you?"

"Mm don't stop," you begged, rolling your hips against his fingers.

"Is this what you think about during my lectures?" Jack cooed. "Or do you imagine my cock?" He pressed his blunt tip against the inside of your thigh, pushing himself in between your legs. "So fucking wet and all for me." your professor shook his head in slight awe. You pushed the hat off his head and tangled your fingers in his dark brown hair, tugging teasingly in attempt to gain a reaction out of him.

Without warning, two of his fingers pushed inside of you and began to scissor you open. "If you want my cock I gotta make sure you're able to take it," he whispered huskily.

His fingers worked like magic and it wasn't long before your walls tightened around him and you reached your climax. "Greedy pussy." Jack sighed, removing his fingers and sucking them clean.

"Please sir, fuck me," you begged, your hands cupping his face as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"I told you, call me Jack," he growled before pushing himself deep into your quivering hole.

"Fuck Jack," you whined once he was fully seated. He was bigger than you had ever taken before, and he set a brutal pace. The classroom filled with obscene wet sounds as every single thrust became harder and sloppier as his balls slapped against your dripping cunt.

Jack kept up his pace, not halting once. "You always- you always fucking answer back," he whispered, digging one hand into your hip and bringing the other to your neck, squeezing it just enough for your eyes to widen slightly.

"Mm you always give me a reason too," you shot back and Jack's grip around you tightened as he fucked you senselessly.

"Shit, gonna cum. Gonna cum inside you and you're going to take it— understood?" he asked breathlessly. You nodded in affirmation and it only took a few more messy thrusts before he spilled his salty seed inside you.

He carefully sat you down on the edge of his desk as you came down from your own high. "Are you okay?" he asked you as he tucked himself back in his pants and adjusted his tie.

"That better have earned me an A," you muttered, biting your lip and shooting a seductive glance towards your teacher.

"Fair is fair," Jack shrugged. "You can leave when you're ready. Have a nice vacation." he smiled, back to his usual polite professor self. It made you sick— the way he could just fuck you with no remorse against the wall of his classroom and then pretend like nothing happened.

You stood up, taking your clothes from the ground and lazily sliding back into your skirt. "I don't have a fucking blouse," you mumbled, your eyes following the abundance of buttons that trailed across the floor. "You ruined it."

Mr Daniels took his suit jacket and wrapped it around your naked torso, buttoning it up gently so you were all covered up. "Do you need a lift home?" he asked.

You bit your lip, remembering your parents weren't home and smiled. "Actually, yeah please." you told him, wondering if he'd be interested in a round two.

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[flyawayrachel]

Sometimes when I'm having a particularly hard day excepting my lot I go back and read this little thing I wrote a few months after leaving my family to remind me that I made the right decision. Idk why I am choosing to post this today but I've never posted it anywhere before. I've never been quiet about who I am and what I came from and sometimes it's nice to just get the feelings put there.

My whole life I had never been allowed to make decisions for myself, so why now, was it up to me to make the biggest decision of my life?

What school I could attend, what major I could study, what clothes I could wear, what teachers I could take, what jobs I could have, who I could speak to, who I could be friends with, what bank I used, what hair style I had, what nickname I could go by, what music I could listen to...all these things were policed since I was born, and the first decision I got to make solo was the most world defining decision I'll ever make.

Since then I've made a lot of decisions about myself, some little and some huge, but each one comes with a hill to climb. Through this series of decisions I've come to discover a little more about myself and who I am, a long painful process of deciding for myself.

The first decision.

It was a Sunday. I was expected to attend three morning protests and church at 11:30am, my father would be giving the weekly sermon. This Sunday, however, was different. For the first time in my life, I had a separate obligation. I chose, or tried to choose, to skip church that week.

This was not my first decision as it was reviewed by my parents and shut down.

It was 7am that Sunday morning, and I jumped out of bed, got dressed, and headed to work. I had discussed the days events with my parents two nights prior, today we had a fundraiser. A local family had just lost their daughter to brain cancer, and for once in my life I felt I had the power to do good, instead of spread hate. This was a huge deal to everyone there, and the community surrounding us. I was excited. As a new business, this would be great for us. We'd learn how to handle big crowds of people, we'd all bond over the stress of the situation, we'd have a great time, and we'd be doing good. I got to the restaurant around 7:45, and jumped into work. We had a LOT to do. I was anxious, I knew I was doing something I shouldn't...or at least something my parents don't approve of. It wasn't until 9:21 I heard from them

"Are you planning to miss church today?" My father text me.

"I'm planning to make it back, but if we get people in at 11, I probably won't be able to." I replied

"OK this doesn't really work for me. You aren't at a spot in life where this should be getting asked of you and this was supposedly made clear when you joined. If they cannot respect your need to be in the Lords house you need to find other employment. We need to talk about this"

Fear. Fear was all I could feel. I cried. Knowing exactly what "We need to talk about this meant" it wouldn't be a conversation with just me and him. Or me him and my mother, it would be everyone. Every adult member of our church would sit me down, accuse me of all manner of wrong doing, scream, yell, and refuse to acknowledge anything I said and brush it off as if I was a liar. A decision they had made for me when I was not even a teenager yet. At 11 years old I had been pegged as a liar and forced into seclusion by the church all because my mother, forgetful as ever, had forgotten a conversation I had with her a few weeks prior to it all coming to light. "If they're too scared to talk to me(referring to my older brother as I) then they can't speak to anyone" an aunt of mine had said, and her word was regarded as law at that point. Months of silence on my part followed. I became solemn and bitter after that. My social skills had been destroyed and I would never get over what they'd done to me. The happy little girl was gone, and in their eyes, she never existed. I was ridiculed for years because of this change in demeanor.

I received several phone calls from my parents that morning. I answered none of them. So my mother chimed in...it was 9:57:

"It is not ok for you to miss Church today. We need to have a serious discussion today about what's going on with you."

Again the threat of intervention.

I had to go home. My boss rolled his eyes, dispite his knowledge of my situation he couldn't help but be annoyed that his second hand was leaving, right before open, on what would be our busiest day ever. When I left, there was already a line at the door. I later learned they filled the restaurant within seven minutes of opening the doors. It didn't stop until we closed that night.

My dad gave the sermon that day. It was long. Nearly double the normal length of our weekly meeting. I couldn't tell you if it was purposefully, knowing him it probably wasn't, but that didn't help my view of the situation. Once church was over, I spead down the highway back to work, it was nearly 2pm by the time I got back. It was chaos. People everywhere, we were running out of things, and the dishwashers they'd pulled to prep just couldn't keep up. I was put in charge of running prep and we prepped and prepped and prepped. Ticket times were awful and I don't think we ever got out of the weeds, even now I feel the effects of that day on our staff. I remember at one point I was apologizing to one of our cooks, who we affectionately refer to as "Mom".

"I don't know if I can stay there any more" I'd said. For the first time in my life, I'd admitted to someone that I didn't see a future for me in the church. I'd been toiling with the feeling for years, but it wasn't until early February that I'd realized that I couldn't stay. "Get through school" I'd tell myself. With two years of school left, and my whole life crumbling, I knew I wouldn't last.

"If you need a place to go, I have a spare bedroom. You're welcome there" she replied.

I was floored. Being told your whole like that the world is against you, you learn to accept that, but this woman, this mother of three, had just offered to open her door to me, no questions asked.

We closed at 8.

Once it died down I sat at the bar with my chef. The foh manager behind the bar, pouring them both drinks. I can't tell you the exact words that were spoken, what, if any, words of encouragement were given to me, but while sitting there, I made my first decision. It was time to go. I remember thinking that I needed permission from someone, anyone, to do this, but it never came. My chef never told me I should, our foh manager never told me I should, no one told me to do it. I had to decide, and decide I did.

Once I got home late that night I told my sister. I didn't tell her I would leave immediately. I just told her I couldn't stay and she was always welcome to join me when she got older. I remember telling her there are other ways and places that we can serve the Lord without being subjected to the cruel glares and sneers of those around us. We had discussed often the wrong doings of the "Elders" of our church. I thought she'd understand and maybe she did, but she was hesitant. She was only a child after all, 13 years old, but had already been through hell and back with these people.

The next day I packed. I used the pretence that I was cleaning out my room and giving a bunch of my clothes to Goodwill, an instruction my father had given me a few days prior. This came only months after my mom had my siblings strip my room of much of my belongings and furniture while I was in class one evening. Many garbage bags full of clothes with other items hidden within made their way to the car. It was hard. Making the decision on what to keep and what to leave behind. I had collected many things from many different fan bases I considered myself a part of, while much had been taken from me I still had decisions to make. A lot got left behind. It was now Monday. I didn't work Mondays so I had all day to work. At 8pm we all sat down for our evening reading. I remember choking back tears realizing this would be the last time I sat in a room along side all six of my siblings and my parents in an amicable manner, still, the looming threat of these "talks" overtook me with fear. Once we were done and we'd said our evening prayer I went up to my room. I cried. I cried for the hurt I would do my dad, it was a common joke in the house that I was his favorite. His first little girl. The years I'd miss watching my baby brother grow up. The betrayal my sister would feel when she woke up the next morning. Knowing that in the following weeks every inkling of my existence would be stripped from the house, I still wonder what became of my old bedroom. Did my sister take it like she'd joked about when I would tell her I was dying from a migraine or dealing with a particularly hard day at work? Would my mom take it and use it as an office or spare bedroom for when my dad snored too loud as she often did when I would sleep over at my cousin Vicky's house?

My mom left the house at 4:30am. I was awake before she left. Silently selecting the last few items I would take with me. I wrote two notes. One of apology to my sister for leaving her here in a cave full of wolves. One to my dad, asking to be left alone and explaining that there had been irreparable damage done by other members of the church and that I did not believe their doctrine. I wrap my house key, pink and bedazzled with fake diamonds because my dad picked it out and never really got who I was back then, and copy of their credit card in it and stuck it in his cubby before walking out the door, tears still wet on the paper from when I wrote it. I only had one chance, as all windows and doors on our house sent chimes throughout the 10 bedroom, 6 bathroom, three kitchen home when opened. I got in my car, contemplated my decision one last time, and I left.

I sat at my job for hours alone, drinking ginger ale and eating sourdough bread. Wishing the nausea would go away. Not long after getting there I received a message from my dad. He would not ask me to come home, but extended the invitation to talk if I thought it would solve the problem and I could continue living under their rule. Reiterating the fact that they would not be changing for me. If I left I was going to be on my own. I spent the morning crying as I went about directing prep work for the week, we had a lot to recover from and my personal turmoil couldn't distract me from my work. Hours later my mom showed up. It was on the way home from the early morning yoga class she had taught, which is why she left the house so early. I couldn't recount the exact words said because I was to distracted by the way she was speaking to me. I was a stranger now. She's a lawyer and treated me like a client, taking notes as we spoke with no regard to my emotions or well being. She'd always counted the days to my 18th birthday, the only hope she'd rid me from her life forever. This was her chance.

The months following were hard. I had a lot of decisions to make and no one to guide me. The people who swore to make it easier only made it harder, but I bonded with the least expected people, some of which continue to be my greatest friends even to today. It was a decision that I don't regret, not even on the hardest days, the days I mourn the time lost with my loved ones and the very real possibility they'll never come back to me. The nights I sit up scrounging the internet for any glimpse into their current lives, or when I read people's"hot takes" about who they think they are, often getting it wrong and seeing my family as a one dimensional group of haters. I've made the decision to me myself and it's a decision I'll stand by until the day I die, eternity be damned.

[planetsam]

S2 prompt if you ever feel so inspired: Michael Sanders AU. Walt spends the time between asking to adopt Michael and when Michael returns to Roswell getting his life cleaned up. Not being able to help Michael was the shake up he needed. When Michael returns to Roswell Walt is able to become a foster parent. Gruff!Dad Walt is able to eventually adopt Michael. Michael learns about his mom from Walt much earlier and when Caulfield comes around they are more prepared and get Nora out safely.

Michael’s perched on the bed and all Walt can think about is how he looks like a bird about to take flight.

He’s been told a messed up story about the kid and though he’s grateful for him to be out of those hell places, there’s a difference between knowing a thing’s going to be hard and having it sitting perched on a makeshift bed in a makeshift bedroom clocking the exits. Michael’s eyes are focused on him even before he knocks on the wall to ask for entry. Michael says nothing and Walt fights the urge to smack his head against the wall. He’s lost his damn mind doing this.

“You gonna let me come in or should I try again later?” He asks and Michael flinches.

“It’s your house,” he says.

“And it’s your room,” Walt reminds him. Michael looks down and mumbles something along the lines of thank you and it makes Walt want to build a time machine, go back and kick his own ass until he gets his shit together a lot sooner, “you don’t gotta thank me.”

“Sorry,” Michael mutters.

“You don’t gotta apologize either!” He winces at the own exasperation in his voice. This kid needs professional help and neither of them is in a position to do that. Michael seems to curl in on himself, his eyes squeezing shut and his fingers clenching on the bed sheet, “be careful of your—“

“I need to get some air,” Michael says and scrambles to his feet.

“Don’t—“

“Excuse me.”

Michael doesn’t make it an option as he barrels past him and scrambles out. Walt hears something thud and fights the urge to reach for the bottle. He can tell why someone would think the things that are in Michael’s too thick file. Demons are a easier sell pretty much anywhere that isn’t here.  Walt scrubs his face and looks over at the shape watching from the couch. The damn dog is more judgmental than the people of the town but she helps.

“Well don’t get up and help or anything,” he says and goes after him.

Michael’s standing a few feet away breathing hard. Walt walks past him and looks at the other side of the car, the one that was facing the house. He sighs at the massive dent in it and looks back at Michael who looks like he’s going to be sick. At first Walt thinks it’s with fear, but then he doubles over and spews the contents of his stomach. No-one’s puked here since he went through withdrawal but he supposes that’s as good a run as he’ll ever get. He waits for Michael to be done and collect himself before he straightens up.

“Can you pop it back out?” He asks. Michael goes pale, “the dent, can you pop it back out?” He asks.

“I didn’t do that,” Michael blurts out.

“I’m not deaf,” Walt snaps, “or as stupid as your other fosters,” Michael looks stunned and it’s an odd look for such a young kid, “and I’m not going to hurt you.”

It’s clear Michael doesn’t believe him and Walt can’t say he blames him. The world’s a messed up place, he figures he knows that better than most people. He was probably younger than Michael when he learned it, but Walt’s not one to compare. No-one should be in that fucked up contest. Walt sighs and scrubs his face and pushes the itch for a bottle out of his head.

“I can help you fix the car,” Michael says abruptly, “I’m good with my hands.”

Briefly Walt wonders if the feeling of ‘this is never going to work’ is ever going to go away. Maybe it’s just part of being a parent. Walt remembers that he never wanted kids for a damn good reason. But one’s here and he’s gonna have to deal with it.

“Let’s go inside,” he says.

“You don’t have to call them,” Michael volunteers abruptly, “I didn’t mean to lie—“ he freezes as the sound of groaning metal echoes, “that’s not me!”

“Would you stop lying long enough to catch your breath? I know damn well it’s you,” Walt says, “why the hell else do you think we’re in a junkyard?”

Michael’s so surprised that whatever he’s doing cuts off and Walt hears something snap. He looks over to see one of the racks has cracked and watches one of the cars slide off and land on it’s roof. It looks almost comically like a bug that’s been turned over. Walt’s known for a long time he wasn’t cut out to be a parent to a regular kid. He’s got no idea what he’s going to do with a god damn alien. He figured this was a good place to start but he wasn’t expecting it to involve so many broken cars from the onset.

“How—“

“I knew your mother,” Walt says, figuring it’s best to rip the bandaids off in one go. Michael sways on his feet, “you gonna be sick again?”

Michael manages a nod before he hurls this time.

It might be the first honest thing he’s said.

Walt supposes it’s as good a start as any.

He steers the boy back inside and gets him into the chair. Nora hops off the couch and trots over, laying her head on his lap. Walt doesn’t have ginger ale but he’s got ginger beer which he guesses will have to do. He sets the can in front of Michael who looks ill at the sight of it.

“What do you need?” Walt asks. 
“Acetone,” Michael says.

“You better not be killing yourself in this house,” Walt mutters, getting the bottle out, “what’s this do for you?” 
“It makes things hurt less,” Michael says.

“Don’t drink too much then,” Walt tells him. Michael takes a few mouthfuls under his watchful gaze and then sets the bottle down. Some of the color has returned to his face. Walt takes the acetone and reminds himself he’s gonna have to lock it up and hope the kid respects him enough to listen, “well you don’t look half dead.”

“Is my mom dead?” Michael asks abruptly. Walt winces at the swerve but Michael’s apparently not done, “when did you see her? Do I look like her? Did she talk about me? Who was she with? Was my dad there? Could she move things with her mind too or did she read thoughts or channel electricity?”
 He cuts himself off breathing hard. It’s the most desperate Walt’s seen the kid since he’s been back. He’s got no business dealing with a desperate kid like this. He can picture his own old man’s reaction. Michael keeps look at him like a starving man and Walt has to remind himself he’s a kid who just found out someone knew his mother.

“I don’t know is the answer to most of that,” Walt says, “I saw her when I was about your age. She wasn’t the worst last thing to see with two eyes,” Michael looks surprised, “she mentioned you. Said you had her whole heart. You do look damn like her,” he leans back, “she said her name was Nora.”

“Did she say what my name was?” Michael asks. Walt shakes his head and Michael looks down, disappointed.

“Michael’s a good name,” he says.

“What about her powers? What could she do?”

“Well I saw her make fields grow,” Walt says. Michael perks up, “and some other things but that was the most impressive,” he looks at the boy, “can you do that?”

“Kinda,” Michael says, “I’m not good at it though, I usually make the planters explode.”

Walt blows out a breath and tries not to think about how this is going south faster than he could have thought.

But they’re here and they’re just going to have to deal with it.

** “This is ridiculous.”

Walt keeps his mouth shut as Jesse Manes checks his watch again. He guesses it was inevitable that the two would go at it eventually. He just prays to every God he knows that Michael didn’t do any of that alien shit. It’s going to be hard enough to explain this to the social worker as it is.

“Have we been called in yet?” Jim Valenti asks as he joins them.

“No,” Jesse says.

Jim nods.

Walt wonders what the hell he’s doing sitting with two people who represent the government. He’s been in trouble with the law enough to not want to be here. He’s also been in trouble enough in his school days to not want to be in there either. But he’ll take the slap on the wrist over the cuffs. When they are motioned in he’s the first up. Michael twists the second he walks in and gives him the barest head-shake. Walt lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. No alien shit then.

“What happened?” He asks.

“Your foster son fought with one student and attacked another,” the principal says.

“Why?”

Michael doesn’t answer.

“I told you—“ Kyle Valenti starts up in a tone that makes Walt want to plug his ears.

“The question wasn’t directed at you,” the principal cuts in, “Mr. Guerin, would you care to explain?”

Michael flinches like he’s the one whose been hit and Walt wishes things were different but he can’t be Michael Sanders if the paperwork doesn’t go through. Kyle looks smug. Alex whose been silent the whole time shifts in his seat. The look his father gives him is eerily familiar to Walt, the urge to grab Michael and get the hell out of there is a strong one. Alex wavers and then looks at the principal.

“His name’s Sanders,” Alex Manes pipes up.

“Not yet,” Kyle says.

“I started the fight,” Alex continues, “I was teasing him because he doesn’t have parents. Kyle got involved because he can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“No, I got involved because I don’t want to be in the locker room with someone who likes boys.”

The air vanishes.

Walt’s surprised to see Michael look equal parts devastated and furious. Alex looks angry as well, but anyone can see how hard his father is gripping his shoulder. It’s only Jim Valenti who looks ashamed.

“So it’s Kyle’s fault,” he says.

“Huh?” Kyle whips around.

“It’s his fault, clearly. You going to suspend him?” The principal looks surprised, “I think being off the team for the rest of the year sounds appropriate too.”

“Dad!”

The principal nods slowly. Jim hauls his devastated looking boy out. Alex lets out a sharp breath that Walt might mistake for relief until he sees Jesse’s hand hasn’t moved. Michael has seen it too and though Walt wants to tell him to mind his own business he knows that’s not what’s about to happen.

“I think that’s a fair resolution,” he says and sticks his hand out to Jesse in a sign of friendship. The main claims to be full of honor but it takes him a moment to pry his fingers off, “you boys want to apologize to each other?”

They both mutter sorry and Alex seems hard pressed not to rub his shoulder.

They’re all sent home. In the front seat Michael looks straight ahead. Walt gives him a moment, then a few more. When it’s clear he’s not going to be speaking up, he finally looses whatever patience he has left.

“I’m waiting for a explanation,” he says.

“His family killed my mom,” Michael snaps.

“We don’t know that!” Walt shoots back, “do you think she wants you getting yourself locked up or worse?” Michael looks down, “that wasn’t a rhetorical question!”

“No,” Michael says finally.

“How did Valenti get involved?”

“I was fighting Alex and he tried to back me up. He said because Alex likes boys.”

Walt would normally say that you need backup in life, that Michael shouldn’t let his stubbornness get in the way of that. But he can see how this doesn’t fall under that. He doesn’t like the Manes family on principal, not after the shit they’ve done, but even he’s not stubborn enough to see that Alex is like them. He might one day be, but right now he’s the same kind of prepubescent nightmare Michael is. Walt wonders if that’s a nightmare across all universes or if being in earth has just made things like that for Michael.

“It sounds like you did the right thing,” Walt says, finally catching onto Michael hanging on his every breath.

“You don’t think it’s wrong Alex likes boys?” Michael asks quietly. Walt cringes and Michael’s face falls, “got it.”

“No, you don’t,” Walt says, “I don’t care who you like, I just don’t want to be called into school for you pulling anyone into the bleachers or wherever you kids are making out these days. We have your hearing in a few weeks and we’re on thin ice with the noise complaints as it is.”

It’s nauseating how fast Michael whips to look at him. And how quickly he dives forward to hug him. Walt claps his shoulder as Michael jumps back into his seat. Sure maybe he never counted on raising a kid liking other boys, but he didn’t count on a kid period. And in the face of being an alien, well, Walt’s seen what Max is doing with his blackouts. Michael’s in trouble no matter who he wants to make out with. At least Walt can console himself there’s no risk of a cross species baby. He’s not sure he’s ready to add being a grandpa to his list of jobs.

“How long’ve you known?” Walt asks.

“Always I guess,” Michael says, “it’s like being a—“

“Not on school property,” Walt cuts in sharply.

That’s the last thing they needed added to this mess. There’s only one thing that could make it worse. 
Thankfully he and the Manes boy hate each other.

** Michael staggers in and Walt sighs deeply.

He’s done his best to keep liquor out of the house, for one he’s not strong enough to deal with that and two Michael’s got enough reason to drink. He doesn’t need to throw temptation in his face. Michael’s grown up into a good man, a man Walt’s damn proud of. He hasn’t done any of the stupid shit the other seniors are doing. Walt knows he’s a good man, he also knows how one drunken night can lead to a lifetime of regrets.

“You know I’ve got half a mind to keep you from that and let you feel the hangover,” he says finding Michael fumbling with the medicine cabinet.

“M’not drunk,” Michael slurs out.

“Sure you’re not,” Walt says sarcastically, “come on,” he says, “let me—“

“No!” Michael gasps and Walt suddenly finds he can’t move. Michael doubles over with a sound that goes straight through him, “just gimme a minute.”

“Okay, okay,” Walt says, “take your time. Breathe.”

Michael sucks in air and sobs on the exhale. Something in Walt aches to comfort him but he’s being held back. It’s been a damn long time since Michael lost control of his powers like this. Walt waits and after a long time he finds he can move. He forces himself to approach carefully, though he doesn’t think Michael will hurt him. He just doesn’t want him to stop him either. He crouches down on Michael’s level where he can see he’s shining with sweat, snot and tears. Like the first night he came. Walt doesn’t ask anything stupid like what’s wrong, he can see the way Michael’s got his hand clenched to his chest.

“Jesus,” he says and Michael pulls it closer with a whimper, “easy, easy,” Walt says. Comforting hasn’t ever been his forte. He settles his hand on Michael’s shoulder and eases him down to sit on the floor. He crouches in front of him, “let me see,” Michael shakes his head, “come on, give it here.”

Michael sobs as he supports his hand and eases it away from his chest. Walt pulls back the makeshift bandage. His hand is a mess of torn and twisted skin and misshapen bones. It looks bad. Walt can’t imagine how it must feel. Michael hasn’t offered any bullshit like it’s an accident. So Walt has nothing to go on but that it isn’t.

“We need to call your brother,” he says. 
“No,” Michael tells him.

“Why the hell not?” Walt questions.

“This can’t just vanish,” he says, dragging in a lungful of air, “they’ll know.”

“I don’t give a damn—“

“Jesse Manes did it,” Michael says and Walt finds he can’t breathe, “he did it because I got between him and Alex.”

“Why would you do a stupid thing like that?” Walt demands, “Manes boys are trouble, you know that. I thought you and Alex hated each other.”

Michael’s throat bobs.

There’s a frantic knock on the door. Michael tries to push himself up so fast he nearly falls over. Walt stops him from trying to scramble up and helps him brace his hand on his other one. He gets to his feet and gives Michael a warning look before he goes to the door. For a moment he lets himself be stupid and say that it’s going to be Max here or Isobel, someone who can actually help. But the stupidity only lasts as long as it takes him to look through the peephole.

“What do you want?” He questions sharply.

Despite having been frantically knocking on his door a moment earlier, Alex jumps. Walt can’t say he likes Alex, the boy seems to put sticking out like a sore thumb above everything else. Like survival. But he can’t say he hates him either and there are definitely teenagers he hates. Alex sneaking around with his son though, that’s a big mark against him. The worry on his face lessens that mark only slightly.

“Sorry to bother you so late, is Michael home?”

“He’s home alright, you wanna tell me what happened to his hand before I press charges?”

Alex pales but his jaw clenches and he meets Walt’s eye. Which is more than Walt would’ve expected from the boy whose been sneaking around with his son.

“I can tell you but pressing charges isn’t going to do any good,” Alex says, “Sheriff Valenti won’t do it.”

“He will if he knows what’s good for him,” Walt snaps.

“He doesn’t,” Alex replies. He looks anxiously over Walt’s shoulder and even under the mess on his face, he fucking lights up.

“I told you to stay put,” Walt says, turning around to see Michael leaning against the wall. He looks back at Alex who looks maybe five seconds from charging through his front door if he doesn’t move aside, “oh now you two don’t want to sneak around?” He looks between the two of them, “well does Romeo or Juliet want to answer me?”

“I didn’t want my father finding out,” Alex says. He looks at Michael’s hand, “I told him not to tell you.”

“Jesus,” Walt repeats.

He’s not a praying man but he’s going to need all the strength he can get if these two are planning on continuously sacrificing themselves for each other. One of them is going to do something stupid if he doesn’t move and he’d rather not deal with the telekinesis part of that. So he steps aside and nods Alex in. Alex scrambles forward so fast they nearly add another injury to the growing tally. Michael sinks down with a pained sound as Alex falls to his knees, his hands fluttering over Michael like he doesn’t know where to touch him. Michael tries to smile up at him but winds up folding over his hand. Alex pulls him close and even though it’s his own damn house, Walt turns away to give them a moment.

Thankfully he hears the car.

He shuts the door.

“You boys better get upstairs,” he says, “I think your dad’s here.” It’s hard to say who goes paler, “upstairs,” he repeats.

“I should—“ Alex starts.

“I wasn’t asking,” Walt says, “be glad I’m letting in you in his room at all after this,” he adds, helping get Michael to his feet, “and keep the door open.”

He takes the eye patch off. When he opens the door and Jesse goes a shade paler at the sight of that mess, he’s glad he did. It takes him a moment to recover and Walt wonders if he knows how involved his family is. He supposes that’s a question for another day. 
“Is my son here?” Jesse asks.

“Why would your son be here?” Walt counters, “did something happen?”

Jesse’s got some major balls on him to stand there.

“My son is involved with your—“ he begins

“Let me help you out, my son,” Walt says. Jesse presses his lips together, “don’t tell me you have as big a problem with adoption as you do with your son liking boys,” he says.

“You’re noble looking after him,” Jesse says.

“I’m not,” Walt shoots back, “I’m keeping a promise to a friend,” Jesse’s eyes narrow. Walt figures if he’s in for a penny, he’s in for a pound, “you’re damn lucky my boy’s a better man than the ones they produce here.”

“I’d watch your tone,” Jesse starts.

“I’d get the hell off my property,” Walt says.

Jesse holds his gaze for a moment longer but Walt’s faced down worse than some insane army man on a power trip. He’s sure as hell not folding. Not once Michael’s been hurt. Jesse at least seems to have enough sense to know Walt’s insane enough to take him on. Hell Walt’ll be insane if that’s what it takes. Jesse glances up and Walt ignores it. Michael’s barely standing and he sure as hell ain’t stupid enough to be by the window.

“If he comes by tell him I’m looking for him.”

“Do I look like a damn answering machine?”

It’s not easy to turn his back on a man he knows would shoot him, but for Michael he does and gets back into the house, making sure to slam the door behind him. He can’t tell if his heart is racing because of that, because Michael is hurt or because Michael’s got the boy he’s been sneaking around with in his room. He figures one thing at a time and goes for the first aide kit. Only to find it’s gone.

The door’s not closed all the way—because Michael has yet to meet a rule he doesn’t like to skirt. But it’s closed enough that he can peer inside quietly. Alex is splinting Michael’s hand. Michael barley lets him see him cry but both of them are snot nosed and teary, though Alex seems to have his wits about him. It’s not the worst splinting Walt’s ever seen. It’s on his lips to announce that Alex is sleeping in there over his dead body, but Michael’s laying his head on Alex’s lap and Alex’s fingers are moving through his curls.

He’s sleeping there for one night and one night only.

** “Is Michael here?”

Walt turns to look at Alex. It’s almost normal now to see him without his makeup and piercings, though Walt’s not sure he’ll ever get the image of him shipping off and looking out the window for a boy who wasn’t there out of his head. He’d ripped into Michael so badly that the boy had stopped whatever spiral he was on. College hadn’t been his favorite time but at least he could say he got his boy through that. Even if he’d continued to live at home. Walt’s not about to take that from him.

“No,” he says, “can I help you with something?”

Alex stares at him long and hard like he’s trying to read Walt’s mind or find out his secrets. He looks like he’s in shock, not an easy thing for someone whose been through the shit that Alex has been through. Walt sighs.

“Let me guess: you know.”

Alex looks so relieved that Walt knows his guess was right. Michael’s an adult. Hell Liz knows already. So it’s not like this is the first person to find out. But Alex is a Manes who looks uncomfortably like his father when he’s in his uniform. But Walt knows that a part of him still loves his boy. The fact that he’s not here with a team of scientists is proof enough of that.

“Do you—“

“Of course I know,” Walt says, “he’s my boy,” he drops his tools, “I knew his mom too,” Alex’s brow furrows, “oh you don’t know about that?” He shakes his head, “your family goes way back with his.”

“We do?”

“Yeah,” Walt looks over as Michael pulls into the driveway. He gets out of the car and stops dead when he sees Alex standing there staring at him, “you’d better come over here,” Walt says.

“I thought we were avoiding each other,” he says. Alex’s throat bobs before he straightens up.

They’re both adults, entitled to make their own mistakes. But Walt’s not sure he’s got it in him to watch them act like fools for another second. It’s been ten years of this pining, dancing around each other bullshit. Even now that they’re in the same place, neither seems to be able to get out of each other’s way long enough to do something productive. Even just standing next to each other they’re both struggling to be taller, though they damn well know Alex has an extra inch on Michael.

“Can we stop the dick swinging contest,” Walt says, “you both are ridiculous,” he looks between them, “well?” He prods Alex.

“I know,” Alex says.

“Know what?” Michael jabs. Walt swears he raised a smarter child. Alex looks annoyed, “what do you know?”

“He knows you’re an alien,” Walt says. Both whip to look at him, “I’m not standing here watching you two be idiots,” he says.

“Could you go inside then?” Michael asks. Walt raises his eyebrows, “please?”

He figures he can give them a moment before they need anything filled in. But if they start making out in his yard he’s going to ground them both. How that will work, he doesn’t know, but he figures it’s a start. There’s no making out, there’s just some arguing and a lot of gesturing from Michael. Alex eventually sits down because he’s still getting used to his missing leg. Michael paces like a wild animal. Walt watches and wonders if parents of straight human children have to go through shit like this. When they come inside neither of them is moving slowly or has shut up. What he isn’t expecting is for Alex to stay in the doorway and Michael to go upstairs and return with a bag.

“There’s an alien prison we’re going on a rescue mission,” Michael says.

“Bye Mr. Sanders.”

They’re both gone just like that.

It’s a full day before they pull up and Walt has decided he’s going to murder both of them so it’s a moot point. But he wants an explanation first. Just so he doesn’t have to have any guilt on his conscience when it comes to it. He’s fully ready for the murder too when Kyle ‘no longer an asshole’ Valenti gets out and jogs around to the passenger side. He’s not ready to see Michael helping out an old woman. She’s old and bald and wearing rags, but he’d know her anywhere. When she looks at him, she’s so surprised she nearly faints. But Michael keeps her upright.

“Walt Sanders,” she rasps, “you’ve gotten tall.”

Funny because he doesn’t feel tall.

Especially when she takes his hand.

“Hi Miss Nora,” he says.

“I guess I have two dance partners now.”

Walt looks over his shoulder as Alex gets out of the car. Even though he’s holding his mom’s hand, Michael is already watching him. Miss Nora sees it too. She squeezes his hand to get his attention and Walt looks at her. He has no idea if this is a thing where she comes from, but there’s nothing but soft pride in her eyes when she looks at Alex and Michael. And nothing but sharp humor when she looks at him.

“Well maybe just the one,” she says, “but I think you’ll do.”

[galli-writes]

(Click here to read on Ao3!)

fandom: Teen Titans

pairing: BBRae

genre/warnings: AU - Canon Divergence; Implied/Referenced Abuse, Abusive Parents, Childhood Trauma, Graphic Depictions of Violence

additional tags: Angst, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions

summary:

There are a few things that Beast Boy knows for certain:

He’s 21….and a total lightweight. He’s a vegan (but not like…a pretentious vegan). He’s not going to be single forever.

And the Teen Titans are the only family he’ll ever need.

a/n: Hello! I am bad at updating. Please forgive my sins.

Chapter 6: The Invitation (words 5,129)

The TV buzzed in the background, images flashing against the rising sun. Beast Boy stared at the screen without really looking at it as he poured some orange juice into a glass at the kitchen counter. His hand shook ever so slightly as he took a sip, and he tried to convince himself it was purely from a lack of sleep. But he knew that was only part of the problem at best. As he looked around the room, he locked eyes with the eerie monkey statue, still on display, and put his glass down with a hard swallow.

Beast Boy never brought up Galtry. Raven hadn’t mentioned him either, though that was probably less intentional. Even so, with each day that passed, his conviction only grew stronger. It had to have been Galtry. It just made sense. Didn’t it?

Beast Boy set his glass back down on the counter--and it was a good thing too, because if he had still been holding onto it when the doorbell rang, it definitely would have shattered on the floor.

Everything in the room went still for a moment. At the other end of the counter, Robin suddenly looked up from his phone, finishing off a bite of french toast. Cyborg had turned away from the TV, looking toward the door and then down at a screen on his arm in mild confusion.

“Uh...Well damn.”

“What is it?” Robin asked, already starting to get up to answer the door.

“I’m looking at the cam now,” Cyborg continued. “Whoever that was, they sure left in a hell of a hurry.”

Beast Boy tried to turn his attention to the TV again, and was able to do so with some effort. Above him, men and women wearing either red or blue aprons dashed around a kitchen at full speed. Pumpkins and fall leaves decorated the scene. A smiling scarecrow was pegged in the corner next to one woman’s prep station. At that moment, the host was asking a contestant about her pumpkin spice cinnamon rolls, which were already in the oven. It wasn’t the most creative approach to the challenge, but it was only the first round. So playing it safe was still acceptable.

Then the screen cut to commercial. Beast Boy looked back down at the counter, suddenly shoved back into reality. A reality that became all the more treacherous when he heard Robin returning--and heading his direction.

“Who was it?” Cyborg asked casually, turning back to the TV.

“I’m...not sure,” Robin said slowly. “But they left this. Beast Boy--”

“Huh?” Beast Boy nearly jumped, feeling Robin next to him now.

“It’s...for you.”

“Me? ”

Robin handed him a small card, which he took willingly despite himself. His name was unmistakably clear on the front flap. Well, not his name, but the name of someone he knew was supposed to be him. Galtry’s name wasn’t present, but it was clearly his handwriting--an elegant cursive Beast Boy had regrettably memorized by now. Even so, he had to squint to make out the words on the front of the card. He flipped it over. In slightly more legible text, there was a time and address. The lack of a date could only imply today.

“Any idea what it is?” Robin asked.

Beast Boy knew his curiosity was well warranted, but he froze under Robin’s expectant gaze.

“I mean....it kinda looks like an invitation or something,” Beast Boy said, trying to avoid eye contact. “But I’m not sure how we’re supposed to RSVP.” He managed a small, unconvincing laugh.

“Do you know who it’s from?” Robin continued, in the same awfully unassuming tone.

“No.” Beast Boy shrugged, pocketing the card. “I don’t.”

And that wasn’t technically a lie.

***

The forecast for the night showed more rain—this time enough to warrant a flood watch. Residents of certain parts of the city were advised to stay inside and avoid driving altogether.  Unfortunately, this didn’t apply to the restaurant they were to meet Galtry at. Of course it had been decided that Beast Boy wouldn’t be going alone, and for that he was grateful. In truth, he didn’t really want to go at all. But given the circumstances, Robin had decided the matter was ‘probably worth looking into.’ And Beast Boy knew better than to disagree.

In his room, Beast Boy knelt before a pile of clothes, rummaging through them without a clear goal. He didn’t know what he was going to wear--what he was supposed to wear for something like this. Probably something pretty nice if he was going off of Galtry’s handwriting alone.

Eventually, he came to the decision that the clothes on the floor were too wrinkled anyway. And when he couldn’t find anything reasonable in the closet, he turned to the dresser in desperation. He barely kept any clothes in there, but there had to be something . He yanked open the bottom drawer with some effort, finding nothing but a collection of mismatched socks, useless knick knacks--and a picture frame he’d intended to keep buried.

The picture was of course the same as it had been the last time he’d seen it. His own dark, disheveled hair contrasting with his mother’s blond waves. His father’s tight smile and focused gaze. When he was younger, people had always told him he ‘had his father’s eyes’. So dark they were nearly black. Beast Boy caught a flash of his reflection in the glass frame. His eyes were still quite dark, but in the light they betrayed a subtle green glint.

He frowned. With a new sense of purpose, Beast Boy got up, the frame tight in his grip as he turned his back on the mess surrounding him.

In the common room, he quickly found a small box of trinkets with ample space to house the frame. Using some discarded bubble wrap, he neatly repacked the picture, tucking it away next to some old books. Beast Boy glanced around the room, searching for something he could use to seal the box up for good. With a few carelessly ripped off pieces of packing tape, he folded the box shut and shoved it back with the rest of them.

And immediately afterward, a stream of guilt flooded over him.

One curse at a time, he ripped off more and more tape to finish off the rest of the packages before he changed his mind. With some effort, he pushed them into a neat pile at one end of the room. He would have to ask Dr. Galtry—whoever he was—to come have them picked up as soon as possible.

“What’re you doing?”

Beast Boy jumped slightly, taken off guard by the sound of someone’s voice. He took a breath to steady himself and turned around.

It was only Raven.

“Oh, uh, nothing,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “Just...cleaning.”

Raven simply raised an eyebrow in uninterested disbelief. She was standing next to the fridge with a can of ginger ale in one hand and a hefty book in the other. Neither of those things were particularly remarkable for Raven.

But what was strange was the way she was dressed. Opposed to her usual baggy sweaters and leggings, she was wearing jeans and a cardigan over a blouse he’d never seen before. It even looked like she might be wearing makeup. Real makeup that had clearly taken more effort than her everyday eyeliner.

“So I guess you heard about dinner tonight, right?” he asked only now realizing he was staring.  

“Yeah. Sucks for you guys,” Raven said plainly, taking a sip of her soda.

“What do you mean?” Beast Boy said, genuinely puzzled for a moment. “You ’re not coming with us?”

“I have...plans.”  

Beast Boy eyed the book in her hand. “Sitting in your room reading doesn’t count as plans.”

“ Real plans,” she said defiantly, tossing the now empty can in the recycling.

“Well you’ll have to reschedule,” another voice said suddenly, short and stern.

Beast Boy and Raven both turned around to find the rest of their friends approaching from the nearest hallway, Robin at the lead.

“I can’t,” Raven replied, her tone just as sharp and uncompromising.

But Robin didn’t budge. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, arms crossed against his chest. “But this is official Titans business, and you know what takes precedence. That’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

Raven frowned, but she didn’t put her book down. She merely stuffed it into her purse, which was much too small to properly contain it.

“Uh...car’s all ready out back,” Cyborg said, gesturing to the garage with some hesitation.

Raven sulked past them without a word, not even bothering to try and call shotgun.

The drive was awkward and uncomfortable. At least for Beast Boy.

At some point he realized Starfire was talking to him about the latest Netflix series she’d been binging. It was a clear effort to distract from the all consuming depressive aura of the back row. Beast Boy nodded at the appropriate moments, but couldn’t even remember the name of the show two minutes into the conversation.  

Raven didn’t look up from her book once during the entire trip. But it was obvious she was only pretending. Beast Boy couldn’t help but notice that she never once turned the page--and Raven was a fast reader. He didn’t mean to notice the slip of paper tucked between the pages--didn’t mean to see what was scribbled on it. The messy, half-cursive script was almost illegible, but it was clearly a reminder of some sort. A date, a place, a time--the last of which was circled aggressively in dark ink.  Beast Boy made a conscious effort to try and stare straight ahead. He didn’t want to be caught staring again. But of course, it was hard not to notice things like that when you were sitting right next to someone.

What plans did Raven have? ...Not that it mattered to him, of course. Whatever Raven did in her free time wasn’t any of his business, really. Even still, it was hard not to wonder what could be important enough to pull the world’s biggest introvert out of her room. In an actual put-together outfit no less. Then, for a brief moment, a disarming thought flitted through his mind. Hypothetically, in a world where Raven actually dated people, it would probably be safe to assume that she would never tell any of them about it. And why should she? But more importantly why should any of them care ? He didn’t.

Of course, the thought was utter nonsense to begin with. Raven had always made it abundantly clear that she had no interest in being in a relationship. Unless of course she’s been lying.  

Beast Boy began to feel a pit forming in his stomach for the millionth time that week. Just letting his mind wander as far as it had made him feel guilty--like he was prying into things that were none of his business. He tried to shift his train of thought to something-- anything --else beyond the uncomfortable terrain he’d stumbled into. And he didn’t know why it was so uncomfortable. Maybe it was because now he couldn’t stop thinking about the state of his own love life. At least Raven had the angsty brooding down pat. Any time he felt bad for himself--which was a little too often for his liking--he imagined he looked less like the lead singer of a pop punk band and more like a toddler who’d spilled their cheerios in the backseat of mom’s minivan. Right now he would have leaned up against the window and stared into the coming downpour like someone in an early 2000s music video...had he not been stuck in the middle seat again.

As they drove, Robin talked briefly of a ‘plan’ he’d been constructing in the event that things went south. Starfire and Cyborg seemed engaged enough, hyping themselves up for what they’d decided was going to either be a five star meal or an equally satisfying smackdown. But Beast Boy couldn’t find it in him to join them. Outside, the rain was picking up fast. The gray clouds above had brought on the night of their own accord, and even the thousands of city lights couldn’t entirely pierce through the darkness. Beast Boy slunk down further in his seat, sticking his hands deep in his pockets. In doing so, he realized abruptly that he had never actually changed clothes, and a familiar card was still tucked away in his pocket. Unfortunately, no amount of fiddling would make it disappear.

It was easy to recognize when they’d arrived at their destination. The traffic came to a complete stop, as cars—and even a limo or two—fought for a spot on the narrow strip of asphalt in front of the shimmering building before them. People poured out of the vehicles like liquid gold, as men in suits and women with designer handbags scrambled for the attention of the underpaid valet workers.

“Well this looks like...fun,” Cyborg said, hands gripping the wheel tighter, despite the utter standstill.

“I think we might be a little under dressed,” Robin said, peeking out the window and then down at his jeans and flannel. He sounded much less like a boy about to embarrass his family at the yacht club and much more like a detective who was going to blow his cover.

“Well I guess it’s too late for that now,” Cyborg said, automatically pulling up in line next to a man dressed in valet attire weilding a crisp black umbrella.

“Good evening, sir. May I have the name of your party?”

“Uh...” Cyborg hesitated.

Without thinking, Beast Boy reached for the card in his pocket. In a matter of seconds it had acquired some impressively deep folds and a slight tear in one corner, but it was still easily readable and recognizable. He leaned forward and silently passed it to the man like he’d been rehearsing the action for months.

The man’s eyes widened instantly. “Oh, of course. Dr. Galtry has been expecting you.”

A brief moment of silence hung in the air between them as Cyborg continued to grip the wheel.

Beast Boy stared straight ahead. The tension was palpable. For everyone else, the sound of Galtry’s name must have conjured some form of excitement. Good or bad. Some sense of progress in unearthing a mystery. For Beast Boy it only stirred up the guilt surrounding how much he’d withheld.

“If you would—“ the man said, clearing his throat slightly. He nodded toward the driver’s seat as he spoke. “I would be happy to take care of your vehicle.”

“I...uh,” Cyborg hesitated again, his hands gripping the steering wheel even tighter.

“That would be great, thanks,” Robin interjected from the other side. Cyborg shot him a quick look of doubt, but it was quickly followed by a sigh of resignation as he let go of the wheel.

From the safety of the covered curb, Beast Boy watched with his friends as the man stepped into the driver’s seat and fumbled for a moment with the controls.

“Be safe, baby,” Cyborg half whispered as the car disappeared into the fray. And despite all of the nerves clouding his mind, Beast Boy couldn’t help holding back a smile, patting his friend on the shoulder in consolation.

The inside of the restaurant was just as extravagant as the exterior suggested, even more so as the former had certainly been dulled by the weather. Immediately upon entering through the crystal double doors, Beast Boy found himself brushing shoulders with men and women who looked like attendees of a red carpet after party. The entire building—which was completely packed beyond any sense of personal space—was littered with dark wooden tables, velvet curtains, and chandeliers. Light bounced around the room off silver plates and platters carried around by elegantly dressed waitstaff. Even from the distance of the foyer, the scene was simultaneously beautiful and nauseating.

“The party for Dr. Galtry?” A young woman’s voice rang out from behind a tall podium in the corner of the entryway. “We have you in our private dining--” the woman started, pausing as she looked up to meet the group before her. Her eyes grew wide and a clearly unscripted smile came across her face. She had to be in her late teens or early twenties--and was one of the youngest people in the room.

“Sorry,” she said, the smile still on her face. Her brilliant emerald jewelry sparkled as she began to move. “Um...If you’ll just follow me right this way.”

Weaving through the tables turned out to be even more dizzying than just looking at them. And with every step, Beast Boy felt more and more like he was walking straight back into the cave of a hungry beast hoarding its jewels. When they finally came to a halt, it was in front of a large wooden door at the back end of the restaurant. Like the den of a sleeping dragon, this area of the restaurant boasted an even greater number of precious gems and wrinkle lines.

“Dr. Galtry will be waiting for you all inside,” the young woman said, nodding her head slightly.

An awkward beat of silence passed as she continued to stand there without turning to leave, her eyes darting down to her feet.

“Sorry, I know this is like, super unprofessional, and I know you guys are busy, but I was just wondering...if I could maybe get an autograph?” she said quietly, the words spilling out a million miles an hour. She was looking up now, and despite referring to the entire group, it was clear her attention rested on Starfire.

“Certainly!” Starfire smiled.

As if by magic, a small receipt notepad and chewed up pen had already appeared in the young woman’s hands.

“I love your bracelet by the way,” Starfire beamed, taking the pad of paper and beginning to doodle on it.

“Oh, this?” the girl laughed nervously. “Thanks. I mean, it’s nothing really.”

Starfire handed the paper back with a smile, the pad now feverishly adorned with hearts and stars surrounding her signature.

The young woman seemed to be beside herself with joy. She managed another clumsy string of thank yous before disappearing into the crowd again.

There was another long silence.

“I hate it here,” Raven said abruptly, shattering any lingering sentiments of the preceding interaction.

The look on Starfire’s face was more than enough of a response.

“I’m not talking about the girl,” Raven huffed.

Beast Boy looked around. It was true. The suspicious glares were more than enough to tell that the rest of the diners weren’t fans. Maybe coming here had been a mistake.

“Is it really--? Oh, yes, finally!”

Beast Boy blinked hard, a smooth but animated voice bringing him back into the room.

“I’m so glad that you all agreed to meet me here,” a man said, approaching them eagerly.

Suddenly everything seemed to blur. The motion of the restaurant became nothing more than a swirling backdrop of light. For the third time that night, Beast Boy caught himself staring. He looked just like his picture. Too perfect to be real--and yet there he was. Black hair, dark eyes, perfect smiling complexion. The only indicator of his age was the shadow of graying stubble around his chin--and even that looked somehow manicured and intentional. But he walked and talked and was standing right before them just like any other human being. It felt like being in a dream. Or a nightmare.  

“I’m so sorry. I had to step outside to make a phone call,” the man continued. “Galtry. Dr. Nicholas Galtry,” he said, proceeding to shake each of their hands with an unprecedented force. “Really, it is an honor meeting the rest of you.”

“The...rest of us?” Robin asked, wiping his palm on his pant leg.

The man stopped short, a look of pure bewilderment washing over his face. “Oh...don’t tell me you didn’t get my letter?” As he spoke, he turned to look at Beast Boy directly.

“So you’re the letter guy?” Cyborg said, with a somewhat forced laugh.

“I had hoped Garfield might at least mention my name,” Galtry said, slowly.

For a moment, Beast Boy felt the same sense of crippling guilt returning, coupled with the discomfort of hearing his ‘name’ spoken aloud by someone he didn’t know. Or didn’t know well . He was still deciding.

“Well, I’m sure you all must be tired, called out like this on such short notice,” Galtry continued. “Again, all of my apologies, but I just couldn’t wait any longer to speak to you. Here, let’s go inside, shall we?”

The private dining room certainly was private. Almost to the point of being soundproof, which Beast Boy found to be more of a concern than a comfort. Robin automatically sat the closest to Galtry, which was unsurprising but still a relief. Beat Boy opted for a spot in the middle of the long table, where he reasoned he would be least likely to garner extra attention from their host.

Just then, the door swung open again, and another member of the wait staff entered to pour water into the intricate crystal glasses before them. He then proceeded to take drink orders—a cherry coke for Beast Boy and pinot grigio for Dr. Galtry.

“So,” Galtry said, swirling his wine like he was on the cover of a food magazine. “I understand you all have been on Arsenal’s trail for some time now.”

The room went still. Until, of course, Robin eventually broke the silence.

“Arsenal?”

The question would have sounded redundant on anyone else’s lips. But Robin said it with such confidence that it was Galtry who looked embarrassed.

“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry. I had assumed you were familiar with them.”

As one waiter exited, two more replaced him, setting various cutting boards piled high with expensive cheeses and sausages down the center of the table. Galtry sliced a piece of smooth white cheese off the cutting board, spreading it on a piece of toast without even looking down. “They’ve been causing me trouble ever since I first got here.”

“You sound like you know ‘em,” Cyborg said, his eyes resting on Galtry as he skewered his own kebab of sausage rounds.

“Unfortunately,” Galtry grumbled, mostly to himself. “They’ve been after some research of mine for some time now. I don’t pretend to know why. I’m not sure they would even know what to do with it if they were to get a hold of it.”

“What exactly are you researching?” Robin asked tentatively.

Galtry looked up at him suddenly, an expression akin to embarrassment flashing once more across his face. He was clearly not the type of man accustomed to having to introduce himself.

“I’m sorry. I’m getting a bit ahead of myself, aren’t I?” he cleared his throat. “I haven’t even properly introduced myself. That’s what happens when you frequent limited social circles your entire adult life,” he said with a short laugh. “Right now I hold a position as Research Chair for the department of Genomics at the University of Pretoria. I primarily conduct research regarding the development of new gene therapy technologies.”

“Why would the genes need therapy?” Starfire asked, already on her second round of charcuterie.  

Galtry fought back a bemused smile. “It’s not literal. Though that would be something, wouldn’t it? It’s a type of medical procedure,” he explained. “The sort of thing that would help us treat genetic disorders like cystic fibrosis or even reverse the production of cancer cells. The details are a bit...complicated,” he said thoughtfully, looking into his glass.

“As for my being here in Jump City, I admit it’s a bit of a surprise even to me. The U.S. Northeastern Scientific Board regularly invites me to present my work at their annual symposium, which is usually held in Gotham. But I understand there’s been somewhat of a crime spike there recently. And criminals do love the smell of science they don’t understand,” he said with a sardonic smile.

“You’ll have to excuse me for being so blunt,” Robin interjected. “But what does this have to do with us exactly?”

“Well that's a simple question with a rather complicated answer,” Galtry said, a slight frown coming across his face. “The less complicated aspect has to do with Arsenal themself. When I learned that they had found some opposition after following me to the states, I knew I would have to meet with whoever was tracking them. Lucky for me it turns out you all are pretty famous around here.”

“Well I wouldn’t say famous ,” Cyborg said, barely pulling off airs of humility.  

The doors swung open a third time as if on cue, this time letting loose a small string of waiters, each steering a cart laden with different shapes and sizes of covered plates. One was placed in front of each person at the table with expert precision and lifted dramatically to reveal the contents. Beast Boy was more than surprised to find that his dish was completely different than everyone else’s—stuffed mushrooms that looked like they’d been specially prepared. He didn’t remember mentioning that he was a vegan, and had the harrowing thought that maybe he had reached a stage where people knew without asking.

“So how do you know Beast Boy?” Starfire asked, head tilting slightly to one side like a puppy.

It was the question Beast Boy had been dying to hear the answer to--though he knew he would have been incapable of asking it.

“Of course. That’s the other half of the matter. And a bit more complicated,” Galtry said, rubbing his hands together meditatively. “The simple answer is that I was a friend of his parents’. Back during their tenure at the University of Pretoria.” There was a soft smile on his face, but it didn’t seem to exude any kind of joy. “Small world, isn’t it?”

“But all of those artifacts...all of their belongings--you sent those?” Robin tried to clarify.

Galtry nodded. “After their unfortunate passing, I was designated Garfield’s legal guardian by the court that sorted their affairs. They were always very private people, and I was the closest acquaintance they had. Their son was supposed to inherit their entire fortune--the only problem being...well...no one knew where you were,” he said, looking directly at Beast Boy now. “Seeing as you had still been under close medical watch at the time of your disappearance, it was the general belief that you had died somewhere in the jungle shortly afterward. But because there was never any actual proof of that being the case, the money was never dispersed by the government or anyone else. Instead it’s in a bit of a state of limbo held by those same officials—where it’s been utterly useless given the circumstances.”

Galtry looked down at the table, shaking his head. “I had just about given up hopes of ever finding Garfield—you wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to find someone once they’ve essentially erased their given name from their identity. Even through legal means. Surprisingly, the small detail of him being green didn’t help very much either,” Galtry said with a small laugh. “I only recently learned it was even an aspect of his...condition. The side effect hadn’t quite developed completely before he disappeared.”

Galtry spoke to his friends as if this was knowledge Beast Boy had always possessed and merely neglected to share with them, which, as far as he knew, was not the case. Though the historic tirade made him wonder just how much of his life he had forced himself to forget.  

Galtry shook his head once more. “There were always flitting rumors of what had really happened to the Logans’ son, but I was always too stubborn to believe them.” A small ironic smile crept over his face as he looked directly at Beast Boy. “You have to understand. I’ve dedicated my entire life to the sciences. And, quite frankly, your very existence seems to defy its most basic principles.”

The silence that followed was unlike any other that had filled the air that night. There was a certain quality to it that went beyond discomfort. Beast Boy felt himself instinctively clench the sides of his chair as he struggled to keep his expression neutral. Galtry’s words felt eerily like a compliment, and somehow that made things worse.

Robin cleared his throat suddenly, making a point to stand from his seat. “Thanks for the meal, it was really delicious. But this is all a lot to take in. We’ll need a little more time as a team to consider whether or not we can help you.”

“I completely understand,” Galtry said with a smile. “Especially considering we’ve only just met.” He folded his hands in front of him, like a compassionate leader about to make a compromise with some of his disheveled citizens. “If you all would like to know more about what it is I do, I would be more than happy to show you around my lab this weekend. Perhaps a better understanding of my work would convince you?”

“We’ll have to think about it,” Robin repeated in the same definitive tone.

“Of course,” Galtry said automatically. As if this were a dance he’d done many times before. “Here,” he rose from his seat. “For now the least I can do is see you off.”

The man known to them as Nicholas Galtry made his way through the door, exiting the restaurant the way they’d come in. But this time, Beast Boy noticed that it wasn’t the green skin and glowing eyes or robotic arms and legs that captured everyone’s attention. It was Galtry. The doors were opened for them as if on cue, valets and restaurant staff trailing behind them without Galtry so much as lifting a finger. When they got to the outside of the restaurant, Cyborg’s car was already there, running and ready to go.

“I could really use your help,” Galtry said, passing the keys from the valet’s hand to Cyborg’s. “I hope I’ll be hearing from you soon.”  

The second they were in the car, the doors shut tight behind them and a quiet voice broke the heavy silence.

“Did I mention I hate it here?” Raven mumbled, the first words she’d said since they’d met Galtry. The only words she’d said all night.

Beast Boy didn’t say it, but he had been thinking the same thing. Though maybe hate wasn’t the right word. Not exactly.

He turned to look out the back seat window, and watched as Galtry watched them drive away.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 37 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Things looked up for Violet as she finally settled into the new normal of working in design.

This Chapter: One of New York’s most illustrious editors-in-chief turns 40--in style.

***

Shit.

It had been an absolute hell week, Courtney being run ragged all day, everyday. She’d missed more meals than not, barely slept, had gotten used to only using the bathroom when Fame was occupied.

It was really the first time that she and Miss Fame had to interact directly for more than a few words, and if Courtney thought she was high-maintenance before, she had no idea how weird it would get.

On Tuesday, Courtney had been torn a new one for ringing the doorbell when she had dropped off a package at Fame’s house, Fame looking at her like she was absolute vermin.

How was Courtney supposed to have known that it was a deathsin not to just let herself into her boss’ house, Fame explaining to her like she was a retarded toddler that she valued her family life and private time too much to be interrupted, not at all catching the irony of the fact that she was imposing on Courtney’s private time by forcing her to come to her house at 10 pm.

And now, a casual text from Adore that she’d be there around 7:30 reminded her about Bianca’s party and she was absolutely panicking. She had less than an hour to make herself presentable with literally nothing to wear.

She’d meant to ask Ivy about a dress, days ago, and then again yesterday when she was arranging the delivery of Miss Fame’s present to the Marie Claire offices, but it had slipped her mind amongst all the other things she had to remember.  

She jumped up and raced into Raja’s suite, a cramp in her side, relieved to find the redhead still at her desk.

“Courtney? Are you okay?” Ivy rose from her seat, a concerned look on her face, ever the empath.

“I just...I forgot…” Courtney tried to catch her breath.

“Okay, take a breath. Whatever it is, it’s fixable. I promise.”

Courtney gulped. “I forgot that I’m supposed to go to this party tonight at the Guggenheim and it’s super fancy and my ride will be here in 40 minutes and I don’t have anything to wear and I don’t even know what the dress code means and I was just wondering if I could borrow something and I promise I’ll have it cleaned and returned by Monday but-”

“Courtney, breathe. Okay?” Ivy took her hand, inhaling deeply and then blowing out dramatically.

Had this job really killed so many of her brain cells that she needed assistance breathing now? Regardless, Courtney followed Ivy’s lead, taking a few deep breaths to slow her racing heart.

“Now,” Ivy began. “What does the dress code say?”

“Creative black tie?”

“Ah. Okay. Follow me.”

Courtney nearly cried with gratitude as Ivy led her into the wardrobe closet.

“Luckily, you’re a sample size, so this shouldn’t be too much of a challenge,” Ivy said. “It’s Bianca Del Rio’s party, right?”

“Yeah,” Courtney said, watching her paw expertly through the racks.

“Are you going for anything in particular?”

“I guess I wanna look…” Courtney racked her brain, unsure of what to say, when the word, “older” slipped from her lips.

Ivy paused, clearly not expecting that answer, and gave Courtney a curious look before nodding.

“I can work with that. Now, Bianca likes bold colors and dramatic silhouettes with clean lines, so I think something like this…” Ivy pulled a stunning, beaded blue cocktail dress out off the rack. “This will look good on you.”

Ivy was truly a gift from god. Not only did they find a dress that fit perfectly (they settled on a short, fire-engine red silk number with a plunging neckline), along with shoes, accessories, and a glamorous faux-fur wrap, but she even stayed to help Courtney with her hair and makeup, giving her a chic updo and dramatic winged liner.

“Ivy, honestly, if you ever need anything. Someone to cover your desk...a kidney...whatever...you know who to ask.”

“Good to know.” Ivy laughed, checking her makeup one more time, adding a little more glimmering highlighter to her cheekbones, and then proclaiming, “Alright, I think you’re done.”

“Thank you so much,” Courtney said again, pulling out her phone. She hadn’t heard from Adore in awhile, and wondered if she was stuck in traffic or something. She seriously hoped that she hadn’t rushed like crazy, inconveniencing Ivy and nearly giving herself an ulcer worrying, just to sit around waiting for an hour.

COURTNEY: ETA?

ADORE: Soon, I think. I’m on my way to Pearl’s, then we’ll pick you up. Do you want a gyro?

COURTNEY: I’M A VEGAN

ADORE: Oh yeah. Gross. I’ll text you when we’re close.

***

“Bianca! Darling!” Fame reached out her arms to pull Bianca in for a tight embrace.  “Happy Birthday!”

She and Patrick had just arrived at the stunning event space a few minutes earlier, and were immediately whisked off to a VIP area with a private bar, where Raja and Raven were already relaxing on sofas, Sutan and Violet standing at the bar chatting with Detox and Jujubee.

It was perfect, removed enough from the chaos of the dance floor, but with a perfect view over the railing. And the speed with which Bianca had arrived to greet her told her that she’s given special instructions for the staff to alert her to Fame’s presence--exactly the kind of preferential treatment that Fame expected.

“Thanks, blondie,” Bianca grinned, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Fame smiled widely, fluttering her lashes. “So do you. I love this dress!”

“Yeah, your tits look great!” Raja chimed in.

Bianca was wearing a sinfully tight black bandage dress, the neckline showing off her breasts and glowing skin, the hem just above her knees, her legs one of Bianca’s best assets.

“You can barely see that you’re turning 40.” Fame grinned, which earned her a pinch from Bianca, the other still keeping her in her arms.

“Shush.”

“Please,” Fame squeezed Bianca’s forearm, “So, tell me the truth, do you like the ring?”

Bianca held up her hand, where it glittered on her index finger.

Yesterday, Fame had had Bianca’s birthday present delivered to her office at the exact time of her birth, 3:57 pm. Fame knew Bianca liked her statement pieces, so she had custom ordered a cocktail ring, but not just any cocktail ring. Instead of the usual single band, a stone in the middle, Fame had gone for a three part twist in gold, sparkling garnets adorning it.

“It’s perfect, I love it,” Bianca said.

“Wonderful!” Fame clasped her hands together. “You’re impossible to shop for.”

“No I’m not! I love stuff,” Bianca countered. “Plus, you know...I’ll never say no to a present that’s unavailable in stores…”

She grinned wickedly, dimples deep, hand drifting down to Fame’s ass. Fame swatted it away with a scolding look.

“Really, Bianca.”

“What, it’s my birthday!” Bianca said. “You gotta give me something.”

“Fine, a tiny something,” Fame laughed, leaning in and giving her a sweet kiss on the lips, then following up with a light smack to her cheek.

“That’s not where I like being spanked,” Bianca said.

“Oh my god, you’re impossible!” Fame exclaimed, breaking away and stepping over to the bar while Bianca laughed gleefully behind her. “Now come on, tell me about your presents.”

***

“And a drink for the lady.” Sutan smiled as he handed Violet a glass, his date taking it with a sweet smile and a thank you, Sutan putting his arm back around her waist as they walked around.

He had picked Violet up at her apartment, his heart almost skipping a beat as she had pushed the double doors open and walked down the steps, her dress of the night absolutely stunning, the back open and taunting with it’s promise of bare impossibly soft skin.

“So,” Sutan rubbed his thumb up and down, gently caressing Violet’s back, “are you having fun?”

Sutan was happy that she was there, enjoyed spending time with her, but as he got to know her more and more, he slowly realized how little she actually enjoyed big crowds.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Sutan bit his lip, hiding a smile at Violet’s quick but short reply.

***

Alaska giggled delightedly, letting Jinkx twirl her on the dance floor. If you’d told Alaska a few years ago that she’d have a friend who she could have this much fun with sober, she’d have laughed in your face. But, even though Jinkx didn’t mind it, Alaska really didn’t enjoy drinking around her. So when they were together, Alaska felt like it was the least she could do to hold off on the booze. What she did enjoy was being with her, sober or not, looking into her sparkling brown eyes as they tripped all over their feet.

“For a Broadway star, you’re really uncoordinated,” Alaska laughed, and Jinkx pretended to be offended, then giggled.

“It’s hard to be mad when you call me a Broadway star.”

“Well, you are!” Alaska said, wrapping her arms around Jinkx’s neck and gazing at her happily. She loved these moments, just the two of them having the time of their lives, dancing and laughing and ignoring every other person in the room. They always had fun, but tonight, Jinkx seemed to have an extra bounce in her step, radiating a kind of joy, and it made Alaska feel so grateful to be around her.

“Thanks Lasky...you’re the best.”

They whirled and stumbled around the dance floor some more, until they were both breathless and needed a break.

“What are we feeling like tonight? Ginger ale? Cranberry and soda?” Alaska asked.

“You choose,” Jinkx said, clinging to her arm.

Alaska ordered a couple of drinks for them and then turned back to Jinkx, who was looking at her with the cutest little dreamy half-smile. She couldn’t help the tingling rush that went down her spine as she lowered her eyes and asked, “So...what’s going on with you tonight?”

“What do you mean?” Jinkx asked, eyes widening innocently.

“I mean...you’re just very...I don’t know...” A smile tugged at Alaska’s lips. “...twinkly tonight.”

“Well...I wasn’t gonna say anything because...it’s kind of silly, but,” she lowered her voice, eyes shining. “I ran into her again. Ivy.”

Alaska felt her whole chest deflate, forcing a smile as Jinkx continued.

“At Zabar’s! It’s like the universe is just conspiring to help us get together, you know?” Jinkx giggled happily.

A lump rose in Alaska’s throat and she nodded, using all her willpower to keep the smile painted across her face. “Oh, wow. That’s...that’s cool. Did you talk?”

“Yes. You’d be so proud of me, I even got her number!”

“Wow. Awesome!” Alaska felt like she was going to throw up, shifting her gaze to the bartender, grateful for the distraction as he slid two ginger ales across the bar. She couldn’t help wishing that half the glass was Jack Daniels. She handed one of them to Jinkx and took her own. It tasted just dust.

“Yeah, but she was still a bit formal, you know? I think I need to see her in a more relaxed setting. Do you think she likes opera? Maybe I can ask her to Madame Butterfly?” Jinkx chattered, away, oblivious to Alaska’s shift in mood.

“You really think the Met is a relaxed setting?”

Jinkx threw back her head and laughed, squeezing Alaska’s arm. “Omigod, you’re right. I’m such a dingbat. What would I do without you, Lasky?”

“I don’t know…” Alaska stirred her drink.

“What do you think she likes?”

“Uh, I’m really not sure,” Alaska said. And it was true. She knew that Ivy was sweet, and professional, and did her job with a kind of calm efficiency. But she didn’t know her very well on a personal level, their professional paths rarely crossing directly.

“Hmm, maybe you can ask around? If that wouldn’t be too weird?” Jinkx looked so hopeful and earnest that Alaska couldn’t help but smile for real in spite of herself, immediately agreeing to help her on this quest to capture Ivy’s heart.

“Of course. I’ll ask around.”

Jinkx sighed happily, leaning on Alaska’s shoulder, eyes falling closed for a moment. “You really are my favorite person, Lask.”

“Back atcha, Jinxky.”

***

Adore walked into Bianca’s party, feeling like a million bucks. Everyone that was anyone and even some who were nothing were there, and Adore knew she looked better than all of them with her purple hair, her pouty red lips, her short black leather dress, fishnets, and best of all… Pearl, the sexiest fucking goddess she’d ever seen in her life at her side.

She hung on Pearl’s arm, enjoying the jealous looks she got; knowing that everyone at the party wanted to be in her place. She even got a nasty look from some models, who were clearly all in love with her girl, but Adore didn’t care.

Pearl was here with her and only her. Pearl glanced at her every few seconds with a smug grin on her face, like the cat that just ate the canary. Well, if the canary was Adore’s pussy. Which would mean the cat was… Well whatever, Adore wasn’t an English scholar. She was in love.

The only thing that sucked was that Courtney looked so fucking miserable. They’d been a little late picking her up, due to getting, well, sidetracked for a while at Pearl’s, and then stopping for food. She thought that Courtney would be a bit more understanding, but she’d barely spoken two words in the car, even Pearl picking up on her obvious anger.

And now, even though she was at the coolest party in Manhattan, she didn’t look happy at all. Adore caught her eye, offering a hopeful smile, but received only a resigned nod in return. She reached out to touch her hand.

“Have I told you how gorgeous you look?” Adore asked, hoping that a compliment and a charming grin would be enough to lighten her mood.

“You think?” Courtney asked, adjusting one of her straps nervously. “I don’t look out of place?”

“Bitch, you put all these other girls to shame,” Adore promised, and was rewarded, finally, with a pleased smile from Courtney.

“Thanks.”

“Pearl!”

Adore looked over at the group of giggling socialites who were approaching them, only slightly annoyed when they swept her girlfriend up. She pouted as Pearl dropped her hand, but smiled again when she doubled back to whisper into her ear, “I’m gonna try and squeeze some gossip out of these hoes, and then I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Okay, but don’t be too long!” Adore pulled her in, branding her cheek with a dark red kiss before taking Courtney’s arm and sauntering away, pleased with herself. She scanned the party, looking for her sister and finally spotting her holding court near the bar. She cupped her hands over her mouth to shout through the crowd. “Bianca! Happy birthday, you ancient whore!”

*

Bianca turned towards her sister’s voice, barking out, “You’re late!”

“Whaddaya mean, we’re right on time for a grand entrance!” Adore countered, laughing.

“Well-” Bianca stopped, completely losing her train of thought when her eyes landed on Courtney. She was wearing a short red dress, the first time Bianca has seen her in a color other than pastels, and she looked absolutely fucking stunning--legs a mile long, one blonde curl falling into her eyes. Damn.

“You look cute, B. Very boobalicious,” Adore said, giving her a hug. “Not bad for an old lady.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Bianca said, eyes still locked on Courtney. “Hi, Courtney.”

“Hi. Happy birthday,” Courtney said, giving her a sweet smile. “Sorry we’re late.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Bianca told her. “But here, uh...this’ll help you catch up.”

She took a couple of the signature drinks from a passing tray and handed them over. Adore immediately began to suck hers down, but Courtney hesitated.

“Um, what’s in this?”

“Courtney’s afraid of tequila. It makes her messy, right bae?” Adore bumped her hip.

“Something like that.”

“It’s called a Madras. Vodka, orange juice and cranberry. No tequila, but it will fuck you up. Be warned,” Bianca said with a wink.

“Well...cheers,” Courtney said, giving an adorable little laugh.

“Cheers.” Bianca took a sip of her own drink, then leaned in closer. “You look amazing, by the way.”

“Yeah?” Courtney’s eyes shone, her fingers twirling that stray lock of hair.

“Yeah.” Bianca tried unsuccessfully to wipe the stupid grin off her face, and instead broke the tension with, “I’m shocked that someone who’s friends with my sister has such good taste.”

“Hey!” Adore exclaimed.

“Don’t be too impressed. It’s a loaner,” Courtney replied drily, causing Bianca to throw back her head and laugh.

“Fair enough.” She downed the rest of her drink, waving off a couple of acquaintances who were trying to get her attention.

“Be right back,” Adore said, scampering away towards Pearl, of course jumping the second the blonde so much as crooked a little finger.

Courtney reached out for her, but she was already gone. She sighed slightly, looking a little bit dejected, and Bianca cleared her throat.

“So listen, I heard through the grapevine that you’re looking for a way to avoid your, uh, Galactica employers while you’re here?”

Courtney looked up, startled. She seemed shocked that Bianca was still talking to her, and she stammered uncomfortably. “Oh. Yeah, no, I just-”

“Listen, it’s understandable, you wanna have a good time. Can’t do that while your boss is breathing down your neck, right?” Bianca flashed her dimples.

“Well...yeah,” Courtney admitted, laughing a little.

Bianca stepped closer, slipping an arm around her shoulders and lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Fame and Raja are well contained, don’t worry. I made a VIP section since those two need a velvet rope to feel like they’re having a good time.”

Courtney giggled. “Like a rich person playpen?”

“It’s a prison of their own making,” Bianca affirmed,  giving her a wink. “Trust me, they’re looking down on everyone the way they prefer, and they ain’t leaving.”

“Well...thank you.” Courtney bit her lip. It was hard to tell in this light, but it looked like a slight blush had crept into her cheeks, and Bianca found herself even more enamored.

“Anytime.”

A second later, she felt someone tap on her arm: one of the Marie-Claire board members, who she sadly couldn’t ignore.

“Sorry, I have go...do hostess shit,” Bianca said, regret flooding her chest, and Courtney nodded.

“Of course.”

She turned towards the middle-aged man and his young wife, saying her cursory hellos and giving air kisses, making small talk with them both. As soon as she could manage, though, she spared a glance back at Courtney.

The plan, from the moment Adore told her that Courtney was coming, had been to seduce this smoking hot friend of her sister’s. And she figured that the “rough break-up” that Adore’d reported would make it a sure thing. An easy and fun little fling--a birthday present to herself.

But now, something about the wistful, faraway expression on her delicate face as she smoothed down her skirt made her look vulnerable, in a way that gave Bianca pause. As stunning as she was--and fuck, she was an absolute knock-out--it didn’t make Bianca want to seduce her. Instead, it made her want to protect her. Ugh, why did her fucking conscience have rear its ugly head tonight, on her birthday of all nights?

“Thank you so much. Be sure to check out the raw bar!” she said, finally escaping and ready to head back to Courtney--but Adore beat her to it.

She watched as her sister came bounding up, Pearl in tow, and grabbed Courtney’s hands to pull her onto the dance floor.

Well, good. She should have a good time. Lord knows, anyone who worked for Fame deserved to blow off some steam. Bianca snatched another drink from a passing tray, trying to redirect her attention to the Welsh model who’d been giving her bedroom eyes all night.

***

Violet was having a surprisingly good time, taking small sips of her champagne. She had hurried home from work, almost ready when Sutan had texted that he was downstairs, the smile on Sutan’s face when he had seen her dress almost, almost, almost worth it’s price tag.

She had never been to an event of this size without having to worry if catering ran out of ice, or if she’d need to get taxis for whoever got way too drunk. It was nice to just stand by Sutan’s side, nice to be allowed to just be, without having to entertain or constantly think about everything that could go wrong.

“Ah, yes, of course.” Sutan smiled, his thumb rubbing up and down the small of Violet’s back. He was talking to one of the models from Elite, Violet vaguely recognizing her from some of the headshots she had presented to Fame for the fall collection. “I’ll be sure to tell Marcel about that.”

“Excuse me,” Violet turned, her eyes falling on a man with a camera, the card around his neck instantly telling her that he was from OK! magazine. “I was wondering if I could take a few pictures?”

“Oh,” Violet didn’t know what to do, her stomach instantly tightening.

“Sure,” Sutan grinned, turning towards the camera. “Right girls?”

“I-” Violet didn’t want to be in the picture, didn’t want someone she didn’t know documenting where she was, didn’t want to risk it ending up online. “I don’t-”

“Oh of course,” Sutan took her glass, handing it off to someone. “There we go.”

“Sutan”

“Come here,” Sutan put an arm around the model, posing both of them.

“Please-” Violet could feel Sutan’s hand on her hip, holding her tight, keeping her trapped, her throat closing up.

“Should we smile?”

“No,” The photographer looked out from behind his camera, “just be natural.”

Violet pushed away, forcing Sutan to let her go as the camera went off. She didn’t hear Sutan say her name, a quick flicker of a question on his face, didn’t see him smile apologetically to the photographer and pose with the model, didn’t notice any of it as she made her way outside, escaping the only thing she could think of.

***

Juju strolled through the crowd with Raven. She appreciated the whole VIP setup as much as anyone, but this was a massive party, and they’d decided to come spend a little time where the action was, maybe dance a bit -at least as much as her poor pregnant body would allow. They were stopped by a group of models, Raven proudly showing off her engagement ring and letting the other girls fawn all over her.

Juju put up with the schmoozing for a couple of minutes--after all, those girls were potential clients, until she spotted Bianca nearby and politely excused herself from the group, knowing that Raven would be perfectly content with her little fan club.

Bianca was chatting up some sweet young thing (typical), and Juju couldn’t resist messing with her a little. She wrapped her arms around Bianca’s waist from behind, asking in a low, husky voice, “Tell me I’m your favorite, Daddy.”

It was a joke between the two of them, something that had started years ago when Juju and Detox were first dating. They’d shown up at brunch one morning in the middle of a heated argument about whether it was appropriate for her to call him “Daddy” during sex--ironically, only a few months before she got preganant with their first child. It wasn’t a kink thing, exactly, it was just that she thought it was funny, and especially so when she saw his freaked out reaction. The group agreed that right or wrong, if it bothered him then she probably shouldn’t say it. But Bianca, ever the good sport, had pulled the smaller woman into her lap and declared that if she really needed to call someone Daddy, she was ‘willing to take one for the team.’

Juju accompanied her breathy greeting by biting gently on Bianca’s ear, adding, “Pwease?”

Bianca burst out laughing, pulling her close and introducing her to a very confused looking girl. “Tayce, you must know my friend Juju Sanderson. The brilliant hairstylist who owns Jujubee’s downtown?”

“Oh, yeah! It’s an honor!” Tayce said, her brown eyes lighting up as a dazzling smile spread across her face. “I’ve been trying to get an appointment with you, but you’re booked up for months!”

Juju had to bite back her laugh when she heard Tayce speak--Bianca always was a sucker for an accent.

“Well, play your luck with Daddy here, and you might jump the queue,” Juju said with a wink.

“Among other benefits,” Bianca cackled. “You know you’re the only one who I’d let get away with that Daddy shit, right?”

“Yes, thank you. You’re a lot more fun than my husband.”

“In so many ways,” Bianca said, turning to Tayce and giving her a playful smirk.

***

Violet took a deep breath, letting it out through her teeth as she could finally feel her heart slow down, though the knot in her stomach wasn’t going away.

She knew she couldn’t help it, but it was impossible not to feel an inkling of shame travel up her spine, the feeling that she was being ridiculous impossible to push down.

Sutan hadn’t meant anything by it, taking photos a part of his life, being in the public eye something that simply came natural for him.

Violet took a last breath, pushing away from the wall she had been leaning against to go back to the party, hoping that Sutan hadn’t noticed how strange she was acting.

It wasn’t that Violet liked acting this way, that she wanted to feel the panic rising in her body whenever she saw a camera in a stranger's hand, but she couldn’t help it.

She was an adult now, she had her own life, her own money and even her own job and her own apartment, but it was hard not to hide, impossible not to react to the instinctive fear that welled up in her at the risk of being found.

Violet walked back inside, the noise and the amount of people feeling so much more overwhelming when she wasn’t at Sutan’s side. She made her way through the crowd, easily spotting both Fame and Pearl, avoiding both of them.

She was starting to think Sutan had left, Raja nowhere to be found either, when she saw him sitting at a table, surrounded by models. He was laughing loudly, his arm around one of the girls, several of the models’ phones taking pictures of everything that was happening.

Violet’s stomach did a flip, the panic from earlier rushing through her body. She couldn’t go over there, couldn’t be a part of that part of Sutan’s world, so instead, Violet did what she always did.

Turned around, and walked away.

***

[Raja?] Sutan put a hand on Raja’s hip, turning her around. Sutan had been sitting with a group of models, doing shots and having fun right up until one of them had touched his legs under the table, and he had abandoned ship instantly.

[Have you seen Violet?]

He hadn’t seen her in over an hour, and while Sutan was more than sure that Violet could take care of herself, he had started to worry.

[Sutan!] Raja grinned, stepping into his space, looping her arms around his neck. [Hello brother dear.]

[Hello.] Sutan smiled, once again reminded of how much he truly loved Raja. She was tipsy, her eyes swimming slightly, which was probably why she hadn’t responded to his question. [Have you seen Violet?]

[Violet?] Raja tilted her head, her hand fiddling with the hairs at the nape of his neck. [No?]

[Shit.] Sutan bit his lip, his hands resting on Raja’s hips.

[Maybe she just left?] Raja smiled, running her fingers through his hair. [There’s no need to worry.]

[Maybe...]

[She can handle herself.]

[Mmmh.] Sutan knew that Raja was probably right, but it still felt weird that VIolet hadn’t said goodbye, and if he was honest, he was disappointed that they wouldn’t be going home together at the end of the night. [I’ll send her a text.]

Sutan was just about to reach into his pocket, was just about to get his phone out, when he saw a photographer to his left, just outside the VIP section. The paparazzi always loved to get photos of him and Raja together, and while he was sure Raja hadn’t noticed, he made sure to twist her slightly to the left, getting her good side as he smiled at the camera.

***

“Every guy here is drooling over you, bae,” Adore giggled, spinning Courtney on the dance floor before accepting another drink from Pearl.

“Not just the guys,” Pearl added with a wink.

Courtney laughed. In spite of her hesitation in tagging along, she’d been having a pretty good time. The attention was fun, of course, but Courtney’d barely noticed the alleged guys drooling over her. She couldn’t help thinking about the way she’d felt when Bianca put that arm around her, the way her brown eyes had sparkled in the dim light. The way goosebumps prickled her skin as Bianca’s fingers grazed her shoulder.

Her gaze kept being pulled in Bianca’s direction. Eyes drifting over her enticing curves in that tight dress. And occasionally, to her absolute thrill, Bianca would be looking back at her. Every time their eyes met, her stomach flipped around like crazy.

It was silly, she knew that. She knew that Bianca was only being nice to her because she was Adore’s friend. A nice kid. That it didn’t mean anything deep. This was, after all, a woman who dated supermodels and Oscar winners. Like the gorgeous girl by her side most of the evening, who had a face that Courtney instantly recognized from last month’s British Vogue cover.

Still.

The reality of the situation didn’t stop her from pretending, even just to herself, even just for the night, that maybe there was something there, that warranted all these confusing feelings swirling around inside her like a tornado.

And later, when they were saying goodbye, she allowed herself to enjoy the way Bianca’s palm pressed to the small of her back. She even let her lips linger for a few moments on Bianca’s warm cheek, kissing her goodnight.

***

SUTAN: Did you leave?

[MISSED CALL]

SUTAN: The party is still going.

SUTAN: Did you get home safe?

[MISSED CALL]

SUTAN: I can’t find you.

[MISSED CALL]

SUTAN: Violet??

VIOLET: I’m fine.

[blackcatkita]

The Consequence of Secrets- Chapter 28

The Queen and the Babysitter

Word Count- 4578. Special thanks to @darley1101​ for describing what morphine feels like since I’ve never had to take any pain meds myself. I hope you like Jennifer and Drake’s time in the hospital and if you do, please like, comment, or reblog! I appreciate every single note!

The last thing Jennifer remembers is the morphine slipping through her veins like warm honey when she wakes to the smell of something… delicious. Something that reminds her of cook-outs in the summer and roadside diners and taking the first salty bite of a piping hot French fry. She opens one eye.

“Yo,” Drake greets her from where he sits on the couch, legs all spread out like he owns the place as he pops a fry into his mouth.

“Creep. I hope you realize it’s weird to stare at people while they sleep.”

“I wasn’t. Don’t flatter yourself. Until you started moaning and smacking your lips anyway,” Drake replies. “Thought you were about to puke or something but no, you just want my food.” Eyebrow raised, he taunts her by eating another fry.

She narrows her eyes. “If you brought Seraphim’s in here again without bringing me some, I’m busting out the guillotine. You’ve seen the storage areas in the palace. They never get rid of anything. Bet I can find one.”

“Are you going to be dramatic the whole time I’m here?”

“Are you going to give me food?”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest as he shakes his head and stands with the bag from the diner.

“Yay!” There’s a slightly uncomfortable pull as she rolls from her side to her back too quickly, but no pain, and she feels way less loopy than she had with the full doses of morphine she was on before. This, she really can handle. “What did you bring me?” she asks with a little bounce as she raises the bed to a sitting position.

Drake wheels the tray over her lap and digs into the bag, naming off the items as he places them down in front of her. “Fries, a fruit salad so I can at least argue I brought something healthy, and a cheeseburger just the way you like it; ketchup, mustard, and pickles.”

She squeals in delight as she snatches up the burger and quickly peels away half of the paper wrapper before taking a big bite. “Oh my god…” she moans, chewing slowly to savor the greasy deliciousness. It’s better than chocolate. It’s better than sex. Ok, perhaps it’s not better than sex, but at this moment it’s everything she’s ever wanted and oh so satisfying. As she swallows, she looks at the table in front of the couch, then up at Drake. “No chocolate milkshake?”

“Two days ago you couldn’t keep anything down. I think we’re pushing it enough with the burger and fries, don’t you?”

She shrugs and takes another bite.

Drake places a handful of ketchup packets and some napkins on the tray, then checks her cup of water. It’s still full, and he sets it back down. “Need anything else?”

Ripping off part of the fry bag to squirt some ketchup onto it, she shakes her head. “This is perfect. Thank you, Drake.”

“No problem.” He strides back to the couch and sits, taking another burger out of the bag for himself. “I should have brought you a Sprite. Or a ginger ale! Doesn’t that help settle the stomach?” Leaving his food behind, he stands abruptly and starts heading to the door. “I’ll go find the kitchenette thing Liam mentioned. They probably have stuff in there. Or I can ask the nurse for…”

“Drake,” Jennifer laughs. “Sit. Relax. Eat your food. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Right,” he nods. “That’s good. That’s really good.” Scrubbing a hand across his beard, he lets out a breath and returns to his spot on the couch again.

Several minutes of silence pass as they eat, during which Jennifer catches Drake stealing glances out of the corner of her eye. Liam had been the same the first day or so after her surgery. If he wasn’t actively doing things to help her feel better or make her more comfortable, he was asking questions about how he could help her feel better or make her more comfortable. And if he wasn’t asking questions, he was constantly looking at her to make sure she didn’t suddenly need anything since the last time he asked. It was sweet, but if he was still acting like that, she would have lost her damn mind. Drake won’t go to the extreme Liam did, but it’s still best to nip this in the bud before the marshmallow comes out in full force.

Finishing her burger, she wipes the corners of her mouth with a napkin, crumples it up, then places it in the center of the used burger wrapper, right next to the extra bits of the bun she tore off. Next, she calmly gathers the items, squishes them into a tight ball, cocks her arm back, and lets her projectile fly. Her aim is true, and it bounces off the middle of Drake’s forehead to land in his puddle of ketchup with a splat.

“Ow!” Mouth hanging open in shock, he clamps his palm over the point of impact. “What the hell was that for?!”

“Stop being weird.”

“How am I being weird?” he asks, hand still pressed to his forehead. “You’re the one throwing shit.”

“Because you’re being weird. You keep looking at me like you think I’m going to keel over or something. Stop.”

“You’re paranoid!”

“You’re transparent!” she bites back.

They glare at each other for a beat, then burst into laughter.

“Ok, fine,” Drake laughs. “I’ll try to leave you alone. Lord knows you’re getting enough over-protectiveness from Liam. But you have to promise to tell me if you don’t feel right, if you need anything, whatever. Anything happens to you on my watch and he might actually kill me this time.”

Jennifer rolls her eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen but fine, I promise.” Her phone pings, and she picks it up off the tray to read a text from Liam. “Liam will be on in twenty minutes,” she tells Drake as she types out a response to her husband; assuring him she’s fine and will watch every second. She sets the phone down as she turns to Drake. “Plenty of time to talk about feelings and stuff.” She gives him a cheesy smile and wiggles her eyebrows.

“Hard pass.”

“Come on, Drake, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“You saw me yesterday.”

“That doesn’t count and you know it,” she grumbles. “When’s the last time we got to talk, just the two of us?”

“Like a week ago, in the stables in Lythikos.” He pops the last of his burger in his mouth, chews, and swallows before adding, “Where I’ll remind you we did talk about ‘feelings and stuff’.”

“Um, excuse me, so much has happened since then and apparently it worked because here you are. Go ahead, tell me how much of a genius I am. Say it. Say I was right, I’ll wait.”

“You’re going to be waiting for a long time.”

Jennifer laughs and picks up her Styrofoam cup of water. “You’re lucky I’m thirsty or I’d throw this at you next.” She takes a few long pulls from the straw and sets it back down. “What’s it like being back?” She hesitates, torn between being scared to bring it up and dying to find out if Liam was sugar-coating things for her peace of mind. “Is it weird? You and Liam after… the incident that must not be discussed?”

His brow furrows, and he avoids her gaze by gathering up his trash and placing it in the paper diner bag. “Not really?” he shrugs. “I mean, it was awkward at first but it’s a hell of a lot better than I thought it’d be.” He glances up with a soft smile on his face. “Mostly he’s just been worried about you and the baby, so we haven’t really had a chance to talk yet. We will though, don’t worry.”

“Good. Our baby will need their Uncle Drake in their life.” she grins, watching as his face falls. He looks away and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Wringing his hands together, he stares blankly at the table in front of him and nervousness prickles across her skin. After everything she went through the last several days; the pain, the fear, the uncertainty, she had the thought that as horrible as it was, at least it brought them back together. But it still isn’t enough. “You don’t want to talk to him.” It isn’t a question, it’s an observation. To be smacked in the face with the realization your life can change in an instant, that you never know when you might lose someone important to you and you’ll never get the chance to tell them how you really feel… How can it not be enough for them to at least try to fix things?

“No, no, I do.” He waves her off. “Of course I do.” Groaning, he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes before raking both hands through his long hair. He leans back with a sigh and rests his head on the back of the couch, taking a moment before he speaks again. “Olivia’s pregnant.”

Oh. That. She had almost forgotten about that. “…whaaat? That’s crazy.” Her feigned shock sounds pitiful even to her own ears and his eyes snap open as he sits up, rigid like his body has turned to stone. Real smooth, Jennifer. Way to convince him this is the first you’re hearing about it.

Drake looks positively scandalized. “You knew!”

She grimaces. “Yeah… I gave her a pregnancy test during the picnic.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she shouts back. “I was a little preoccupied with trying not to die!”

He cringes at her words, and when their eyes meet again, he has the decency to look apologetic. “I still wish you would have told me. I could have prepared myself a little, at least.”

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads up. Liam was leaving for Switzerland the next day and that night we were… um… a little busy and…”

Drake shakes his head, “Yeah, I don’t need to hear about it.”

“Right. Anyway, we were busy. Then the next day I had a bunch of Queenly stuff to do, and that night I got sick. Next thing I knew I was here, so… I never got the chance. Besides, it wasn’t my place to tell you, Drake. It was Olivia’s right to tell you when she was ready.”

He slumps against the couch again, knowing she’s right even if he will never admit it. “I suppose Liam knows?”

“Actually, he doesn’t. I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Yeah, right,” Drake scoffs, raising his eyebrow in disbelief. “You tell him everything.”

“I do not.” Not wanting to miss Liam’s statement, she turns on the tv and flips through the local channels. All of them have ‘Breaking News’ framing the screen while the newsmen and women speculate on her condition; the worst of which being she lost the baby. Her throat tightens, and she places a protective hand on her stomach, gently rubbing to remind herself their little bean is still there. A kick bumps against her palm, and she gives them a little pat in response. “I totally did mean to tell him though.” Shrugging, she lowers the volume until she can barely hear what’s being said. She doesn’t need that kind of negativity in her life. “Slipped my mind, I guess.”

“It slipped your mind,” he speaks in a dry tone. “Me and Olivia having a kid slipped your mind. Wow.”

Jennifer rolls her eyes, “I didn’t forget you were having a baby, I just forgot to tell Liam. Because as I said,” With a sweep of her arms, she gestures at herself in the hospital bed. “I’ve been a little busy.” Rather than commenting on the pout on Drake’s face, she picks up her cup and enjoys the satisfaction of winning this round as she drinks the rest of her water. “So… what are you going to do? Do you think you guys will get married or…?”

“All I know is I’m going to be a dad and part of my kid’s life,” he shrugs. “Other than that I have no fucking clue.” His cheeks puff as he forces a breath through his lips. “Can we talk about something else? How are you doing?”

“Great,” she answers. “Bored as hell, though.”

“When are you getting out of here?”

“I’m not sure. My labs look awesome but they’re still worried about sepsis so they’re pumping antibiotics into my I.V. three times a day. Tomorrow it drops to twice a day for a few days, then oral antibiotics for a few weeks, but I won’t need to be here for that. And they said I had to poop before I could be discharged but I did that this morning so… don’t know.”

“Why…?” Raising his hand to stop her, he shakes his head and closes his eyes like the image is too much. “I don’t want to hear about your bowel movements.”

“You’re the one who asked! Everybody poops, Drake. You need to get over it.” Pushing her tray out of the way, she sits up and sweeps the blanket off her legs.

Drake is on his feet in a flash and shouts, “What the hell are you doing?” One second he was sprawled out on the couch and the next he’s at the side of her bed wearing a manic expression. He might have jumped over the coffee table. She can’t be sure.

Startled and ready to fight to the death, Jennifer raises her fists to her fluttering chest and leans away from the large mountain-man towering over her. “Back off, weirdo! I’m just going to refill my water. Relax.”

“I’ll do it.” He snatches the cup off the tray. “Liam said you’re not supposed to be getting up all the time.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” She rolls her eyes. All the time. Like shuffling to the bathroom every few hours is ‘all the time’. Blood flow is important, she’ll have her dear husband know. Though the last time she used that argument, it didn’t work. Instead, he massaged her legs, which was nice, but she still wants to move around a bit. She’ll try again later, and maybe Liam will even let her walk into the hall like a big girl. You never know, miracles happen every day. “Where are you going?” she asks Drake as he heads toward the door. “Just use the faucet in the bathroom.”

He whirls around, looking highly affronted. “I’m not giving you tap water. Are you insane?” His lip curls as he shoots her a dirty look and turns on his heel.

“Excuse me,” she shouts at his retreating back. “Our water is immaculate, thank you very much!”

In the hall, Drake frantically shouts for water like the room is on fire. It isn’t hard to picture the sight of him, eyes wild while he chases down any poor soul who crosses his path. Jennifer shakes her head, looking up toward the heavens for strength. All the men in her life have lost their minds. Every. Last. One of them.

Several guards taking position between the crowd and the podium draws her attention to the tv, and she turns up the volume as Drake comes back in with a cup in each hand.

He hands her one without meeting her eyes and rubs the back of his neck. “I uh… I might have scared some nurses.”

“You think?” She takes a drink and tips her chin at the tv. “You’re just in time. Looks like Liam is about to go on.” As Drake settles into the chair beside her bed, Jennifer watches her husband exit the glass doors of the hospital with Bastien following behind. Liam wears his usual calm and stoic expression when in the public eye, but his lips show the barest hint of a smile to put the people at ease. “Aww, man. He shaved. I liked that beard.”

“I’m sure he’ll grow it again if you ask him to.”

She flaps her hand and hisses, “Shh!”

Drake shifts in the chair, making the cheap vinyl and worn out springs creak as he twists to set his cup on the cabinet behind him.

“Dude.” She looks at him, lifting her brows in exasperation. “Seriously.”

“Sorry.” He raises his palms and speaks his next word under his breath. “Geez.”

Stepping up to the microphone, Liam rests his palms on the podium and begins to speak. “Thank you all for coming. I would like to take this opportunity to provide you, our people, with facts, and dispel any rumors surrounding the health of Queen Jennifer and our child. Early Wednesday morning, The Queen underwent an emergency appendectomy. The surgery was successful and did not adversely affect the pregnancy.” His eyes flash and even though she can’t see it on the small tv screen, Jennifer knows him well enough to know his jaw is clenched for a split second before he speaks again. “There was no miscarriage.” He says the words deliberately, forcefully, in a firm tone to ensure there is no confusion. “Her recovery is going well and she is eager to get back to work for the Cordonian people but for the time being, she is resting comfortably at the insistence of her doctors.” He pauses and huffs out a laugh, looking out at the crowd in front of him with an easy grin. “I am sure you can all imagine how that went.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jennifer crosses her arms and wrinkles her nose at the tv as the crowd laughs softly, nodding their heads like they know exactly what he’s talking about.

“That you’re stubborn, have no regard for your own safety, hate the idea of being stuck in bed while there’s work to do, refuse to listen to people who only have your health in mind and want what’s best for you…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Jennifer cuts Drake off with a wave of her hand. “And I am not stubborn.”

“I beg your pardon?” Drake looks at her like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “You’re the queen of stubborn.”

“I’m the Queen of Cordonia and don’t you forget it.” She shoots him a smug smirk. “Also, I prefer determined, not stubborn, and you act like that’s a bad thing. It’s not. Now hush, you’re making me miss what my man is saying with your nonsense.” She can practically hear Drake’s eyes rolling in his head as she turns her attention back to the rest of Liam’s statement.

“…Jennifer and I wish to extend our heartfelt gratitude to the impeccable staff here at Apple Grove General Hospital. Every person we have encountered from aides, to nurses, to doctors, we have been met with professionalism and a level of care that is second to none; reminding us how important quality health care is to both our family and our people. Also, to those who have sent well-wishes, thoughts, and prayers, we cannot thank you enough. It warms our hearts to know we have the support of the Cordonian people and we will continue to do everything in our power to ensure your support is not misplaced. I’m afraid that is all the time I have for today, but I assure you; The Queen is safe. Our child is safe. The Monarchy is safe.” Liam pauses, looking out at the crowd with a resolute expression to allow his words to sink in. “Good day to you all and thank you again for coming.”

“He’s good,” Drake admits as the camera pans out to show the reporter Donnie Brine with his microphone in his hand. In the background, Madeleine can be seen meeting Liam halfway to the doors, and he turns his head the slightest bit to listen to what she’s saying as they walk, followed by Bastien and a handful of other guards back into the hospital.

“Isn’t he though?” Jennifer clasps her hands to her chest and sighs dramatically. “I love him.”

“Huh. Never would have guessed.” Drake stands and stretches his arms over his head. “God, how does Liam sit here all day and night?”

“You know him, he doesn’t want to leave me here alone.” Jennifer shrugs. “He reads, we play games, watch tv, blah blah blah. And he’s still working, he just does what he can from here.” She listens to the reporters analyze Liam’s statement, talking about how relieved they are she’s doing well and impressed King Liam came out to speak to them personally. Because if he’s outside speaking with them, then her hospital stay must not be as serious as they’d first feared. If only they knew. “At least you guys can leave whenever you want. I can’t even walk around. I’m about to tie a bunch of sheets together and repel out the window.” A doctor she’s never seen or been examined by in her life comes on the screen and starts discussing the statistics of appendicitis in pregnant women and how dangerous it can be. She turns off the tv. “I don’t need a babysitter, you know. You don’t have to stay.”

“Says the woman who’s about to jump out of the window,” Drake grumbles, moving to examine the whiteboard on the wall. There’s nothing listed. She only has two nurses: Ashley during the day and Lucy at night.

“Still threatening that, are we?” Liam asks as he enters the room. Grinning, he nods at Drake as he walks over to the bed. Jennifer lifts her head for a kiss and Liam places one on her cheek. “How are you doing, love? Everything okay?”

“The tv’s in this joint are way too small,” she complains. “That thing’s so tiny you can barely even see what’s going on. Would it kill them to have something you don’t need binoculars to look at? Seems like a good investment for patient morale.”

Liam checks his watch, then swipes the hospital’s food menu off the counter and hands it to her without a word.

“I’m not hungry. My babysitter already fed me,” she tells him. Liam doesn’t respond, just stands there blinking at her until she takes the menu with a roll of her eyes.

“Everything went well?” Liam asks Drake.

“He tried to give me tap water,” Jennifer answers as she reads over the menu. Everything looks good. Fantastic, even. Ok, fine, she might be a little hungry.

“What? I did not!” Drake exclaims. “She’s the one who told me to use tap water. I used bottled water I got from the nurse.”

Laughing, Jennifer flips the menu while Liam waits with his phone in his hand to text security her order. “I’ll have a garden salad with ranch, grilled chicken sandwich, mashed potatoes and gravy, a side of broccoli, chocolate ice cream and some pickles. Like, a bowl of pickles. Oh! And some fries to dip into the ice cream. Strawberries sound good too… No, a slice of apple pie. Or cherry, but apples my first choice. That should do it, I think.”

“Got it,” Liam answers as he types. “Drake, you want anything?”

Drake watches them with wide eyes. He looks scared and a little nauseous. “No, man. I’m good. I’m gonna take off, actually.” He walks over, extending his hand to shake Liam’s. “Maxwell said he needed my help with ‘the best idea ever’ and I want to be there to stop him from blowing something up.”

“I appreciate it,” Liam laughs, pulling Drake into what Jennifer assumes is supposed to be a bro-hug. It’s a little awkward, but a definite improvement.

Spirits lifted by the promise of food and Liam’s friendly gesture, Jennifer waves at Drake with a bright smile on her face. “Bye, Drake. Thanks for watching me!”

Drake huffs out a silent laugh and shakes his head as he leaves the room.

Liam slips his phone into his pocket and sits on the edge of the bed, gently taking her hand. “Bastien and I met with your doctors earlier today.”

“Okay… is something wrong?”

Liam’s lips curl into a soft smile and he shakes his head while gently running his thumb across the back of her hand. “No, nothing is wrong. We were discussing the possibility of you recovering at home in the palace, instead of here.”

“No,” she gasps, gripping his hand tightly.

“Yes,” Liam chuckles. “I would have included you in the meeting but I didn’t want you to get your hopes up should they have been opposed to the idea. We came up with a plan, and Ashley and Lucy have agreed to stay at the palace for the week you would have spent here. They will continue to monitor your progress and administer your medication, and Dr’s Colle and Patel will be on call should anything happen. At the end of the week, your doctors will re-evaluate, but barring any complications, they believe the need for at-home care will have passed by that time.”

Jennifer draws in a shuddering breath, unsuccessfully trying to stop herself from crying. “But… how can they do that? Won’t they be needed here?”

“As Queen, you’re the only patient assigned to them, Jennifer, whether they care for you here or at the palace. Your medical team wasn’t immediately sold on the idea, but once I started speaking in my ‘King voice’ as you call it and explained my concerns with security, they were much more amenable to my request.” Liam shrugs and huffs out a laugh. “I also made a sizable donation to the hospital, though I intended to do so, regardless.”

“When…” Her breath hitches as her tears spill over and she swipes them away. “When do I get to go home?”

“Tomorrow,” Liam answers, wiping away the moisture she missed with the pad of his thumb. “But Jennifer, you are still under the care of an infectious disease specialist and you have to follow the rules your nurses give you. There will be no running around the palace, no work aside from what you can do remotely from our quarters, no jumping on the bed, no scrubbing out the tub, no rolling around the floor with Chance and Tori. You will listen to what they say and take your medicine without complaint.” As she opens her mouth to argue, Liam holds up his hand. “I’m not referring to the morphine. I understand you don’t want to take it and they’ve already begun to wean you off. With everything else I’ve said, do you promise to behave yourself?”

“Yes,” she nods vehemently. “Absolutely.”

“I am not joking, Jennifer. I will not hesitate to tie you to our bed myself if you’re being stubborn or pushing yourself more than you should be.”

“I’m not joking either, Liam. I promise to be the best patient they’ve ever seen. I just want to go home.” She gazes out the window. It’s all out there. Fresh air and flowers and birds singing and the smell of the sea. Freedom is out there. And hallelujah tomorrow she’ll be free too, relatively speaking. “Although…” She turns to him with a mischievous grin. “We should totally revisit the tying up thing. Once I’ve recovered, obviously.”

[wall-maria-fritz]

The Wingman (Erwin Smith x Marie)

Chapter 5: The Territory

Reposting this because I am officially overhauling my @levi-lives blog, in lieu of this one because SOMEONE Tumblr won't let my posts show up from there anymore! grrrr.

@levi-lives blog is still up tho, if you would like still see my original posts

The Wingman MASTERLIST

A/N: HELLO! YES I STILL PLAN ON FINISHING THIS BABY So much has happened these past 5 months that’s cost me my peace of mind and caused me so much heartbreak (haha i hate boys but what’s new? lol) But hey! At this point, I’m just choosing to see all this as new material to source my inspirations from now on  :P This chapter was written while listening to Pretty Please by Dua Lipa, Laisse-moi t'aimer by Laurie Darmon , and There You Are by WHAT THE DUCK. I actually made a playlist for all the songs I use, and ya’ll can find them HERE! I’ve written you lovelies a looong one for the looong wait! (4K words wtf XD) Enjoy!

Chapter 5: The Territory

Dearest Marie,

The moment you walked in the room, all blazing curls and bright hazel eyes, I knew you had me wrapped around your finger. And what is a man to do, when the most gorgeous woman he’s ever laid eyes upon, makes his heart stop the second she blesses him with her tinkling laugh and charming wit?

Truly Marie, you may very well be the death of me. But if that’s what it takes to keep your heart, then what a wonderful death it would be!

And I do swear, by my soldier’s honor, to offer up my heart to you, for you to do with as you wish. Break it or take it, I am at your whim’s mercy. But I do trust that a woman as gentle as she is beautiful, would never deny a dying man’s wish.

Forever Yours,

Nile

~

The Titan Territory was at the peak of its happy hour. Chock full of drunkards, lechers, soldiers, and the occasional vagabond. Most nights like these, Marie would be at the tips of her toes. Keeping alert, and focused on getting her work done without attracting trouble. She was a woman in a room full of inebriated men, after all. And it wouldn’t be uncommon for a few of these men to get… more handsy than usual. And it certainly isn‘t new to Marie either

But tonight, the barmaid did not seem to mind all the boisterous men nor the stench of ale. In fact, she looked rather flushed and chipper as she placed another mug of ale in front of a bucked-tooth man. She even smiled sarcastically when yet another man old enough to be her father used yet another recycled pick-up line at her. As opposed to straight up telling the old bloke that the age must be getting to him if his eyes couldn’t tell that she was no angel, but a person who definitely knows how to call the MP’s for harassment.

“Who is he?”

Marie paused pouring a mug to glance at Elena, confused by the sudden question. “Huh? Oh, I don‘t know, another dirty old man clearly.”

“Nooo,” Elena looked pointedly at Marie, her ruby red lips plumping into a tight ‘o.’ “Who’s got you daydreaming and out of it like that? I haven’t heard you give some poor drunk a good smack talk all night.” Marie pursed her lips. Elena immediately pointed a long, equally ruby red fingernail at her. “And that! You keep pursing your lips like that!” Elena’s amber eyes widened exaggeratedly. “Who did you kiss?”

Funny you would ask that, Marie thought sardonically. For the hundredth time that night, her mind reels back to the taste of strawberries and cigarettes, and carefree eyes so blue, she could drown in them. All at once, she is once again engulfed by strong, sure arms, and the heady smell of sandalwood.

And the lovely sight of the woman in front of her pressed against the very man she can’t seem to shake off her system.

Then Marie remembers the letter she received just that morning. Nile’s remarkably careful handwriting, and his smitten words resurfaced in her mind’s eye. Despite the cheesy—not to mention incessant—flirting. Marie certainly never thought Nile had such profound emotions for her. She’d be lying if she said that his confession wasn’t affecting her opinion of him.

Marie smiled, conniving. “I have an admirer.”

Elena was extremely intrigued. “Well? Spill! Who is it?”

The ginger girl smirked. “Guess.”

Before Elena could even speak the name, Marie went ahead and sashayed away from the ravenette, a tray of ale on hand. She knew what name Elena would answer. And she’d be right.

But she didn’t want to think about Nile, nor his tall friend’s irresistible dimpled smile.

So the barmaid bent down to serve mugs of ale and beer at a particularly loud table of drunk garrison soldiers—clearly drinking on duty if the presence of their uniforms were anything to go by– when she was startled out of her reverie by the bawdy laughter of drunks and the hard smack of a man’s hand against her rump. “Is this ass on the menu, girly?”

Marie whirled around, flinging an enraged hand to slap against the wretched bastard’s head, when the surly red-faced soldier caught her hands. They were unbelievably small and weak against his bruising grip. Marie gritted her teeth against the man’s sour ale-breath, and her own pounding heart. She could feel the lecherous eyes of the drunk’s buddies, laughing like predators baring their teeth. It was a busy night, and no one would bat an eye at a barmaid getting harassed in a tavern. She felt like a trapped deer, surrounded by lions in their very lair.

The soldier leaned dangerously close, almost like he’s sniffing her fear out. He tutted at Marie’s stricken face. “Tsk. Tsk. Good little girls don‘t hit their betters.”

Marie, very much a woman of spunk and grit, steeled her resolve.

She was going to give this motherfucker a nasty head-butt.

But she was never able to. Many things happened all at once– a sudden, strong force pushed the man back, making him crash against his group’s heavy wooden table.

He stumbled back, shocked and winded. Her harasser’s friends all shot up from their seats at the commotion, barstools clattering to the ground from the sudden movement.

Marie was pulled back into a solid chest, a firm arm anchoring her there; safe.

“The sign was right. This is Titan territory. This place stinks of one.”

The ginger girl strained her neck up to gape at the tall, imposing form of the very man who’s been haunting her thoughts all night. Erwin’s blue eyes barely even acknowledged the woman nestled against his chest. They were solely trained on the bastard coughing on the floor. Marie shivered. Erwin Smith looked cold and wicked.

Like the Devil passing judgement.

The drunk man whipped his head up, a menacing snarl distorting his red face as he clambered up off his ass.

“What was that, boy?”

“Just an observation.” Erwin sounded almost like he couldn’t care less if he was talking to a drunk gang of trained Garrison soldiers. Much less that he just shoved one.

The soldier guffawed. “Ho ho! You got some wit to ‘ya, pretty boy! But didn’t your momma teach you to never mess with a Titan’s territory?!” He moved to reach for a disgusted Marie, when his hand was abruptly grabbed and halted by an unshakeable grip.

Nile Dawk’s face was painted with a scowl. His dark eyes shooting daggers at the drunkard.

“Well she ain’t yours, Sergeant Kemper.”

Kemper spluttered, and tore his hand away. “Did we guess that right, sir?” Nile taunted, his eyes alight with the adrenaline in his system pumping for a fight.  His gaze briefly caught Marie’s wide-eyed stare, and winked. Marie’s cheeks went hot.

“And?! I’m a known soldier! What’s a couple of backwater punks gonna do, huh?” Kemper and his friends were just about ready to start a brawl, when Mike stepped in—knuckles cracking, nose sniffing out blood, his massive bulk intimidating. One look at the giant told them that he could sweep them all out, no problem.

Mike just grunted. “A hell of a whole lot, actually.”

Kemper very nearly whimpered like a kicked dog.

“I’m sure Captain Brezenska* wouldn’t like to hear reports of his men gallivanting around with barmaids, while drunk on duty and in uniform, yes?’’ It was Erwin who dealt that final blow. And just like that, the men trudged up and out The Territory, a slew of empty threats trailing in their wake.

Marie sighed. Relieved that what would have been a messy fight, was diffused.

Then Marie broke out of the arm holding her, and turned on Erwin. “Are you out of your mind?! You could’ve caused those men to seriously hurt you! Those are full-fledged soldiers. What if a brawl broke out? We’d all be banned from here!”

Erwin was taken aback. He certainly didn’t expect this response from a girl he just saved.

Nile immediately stepped in, holding his hands up. “Relax, Marie! My wingman here was just making sure those bastards knew not to mess with my girl!” Nile had an arm hooked around Erwin, and was grinning flirtatiously at her when Mike joked lowly.

“You better pee around her then, if you don’t want the wolves scenting your territory!”

Erwin and Nile froze, wide eyes boring into Mike’s careless, smirking, stupid face.

Marie straightened up, like a feline rearing her claws. A single perfect eyebrow arched high on her forehead.

Mike immediately choked on the booming laughter bubbling up in his throat, and stuttered out a cough and an apology– clearly forgetting that he was in the presence of a lady.

Although Nile and Erwin didn’t miss how Marie—this feisty, pretty little thing—singlehandedly brought a man who just threatened a group of drunks with just the sight of him, to a sheepish stutter. Marie decided then to let the comment slide. The man did just drive her harassers away.

Then like a cruel reminder, Elena’s full voice rang out. “Looks like my favorite customer decided to pay a visit!”

As is usually the case where Erwin and Elena are involved, Marie resisted the urge to roll her eyes back into her skull. The voluptuous brunette sashayed over to Erwin, who had one of his cheeky smiles playing around his lips. His dark blue eyes sending a naughty promise.

Mike brotherly clapped Erwin’s back. “Guess that’s my cue too.” He asks Elena, “Is that cutie Charley around? I heard I’m her favorite customer,” Mike smirked. Elena laughed, and pointed to where the tiny blond barmaid Mike was fooling around with last time was. When Mike left, Elena turned to Marie with a knowing look in her eye. “Let Erwin and I leave you two alone,” her red lips purred.

Marie was beginning to loathe that shade of red lipstick.

And was it just Marie, or was her perfume more nauseating than usual?

Nile stepped towards Marie, and nodded at his friend. “Go ahead man, knock yourself out, I got her.”

Erwin chuckled at the heart eyes his poor friend was making at the girl beside him, who was none the wiser.

None the wiser, because Erwin knew that longing look on  Marie’s face only meant that her mind was back at that charming apartment of hers too.

His calloused hands around her waist, her moans in his mouth.

Bright hazel eyes met deep blue ones. For a flicker of a moment, neither Marie nor Erwin wanted the other to go.

But just for a flicker.

“We’re not carrying you home again if you get shit-faced, Nile!” Erwin called to his friend, before he left with his hand against Elena’s back.

And like a bad omen, Marie watched Erwin’s broad back go.

~

“Again?”

Marie turned to Nile, her arms crossed, and one hip jutted out in amusement. She was smiling prettily at the man, whose rugged looks blushed crimson under her bright hazel eyes’ scrutiny. Nile rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, “Smith doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Marie laughed; a carefree, happy sound.

It absolutely captured Nile’s heart.

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow, walking back to the bar to settle more orders. Nile followed her, leaning against the countertop as he watched the pretty barmaid go about her work. “Heck yeah,” Nile flashed her a megawatt smile. “That bastard doesn’t even get back to the barracks until after sunrise whenever he makes a go for one of his chicks.” Marie’s heart sank. “Is he always chasing after girls?” she huffed.

Nile blinked, then looked to where Erwin was. Marie followed his gaze, and found Elena all but giving the handsome blonde a lap dance.

Erwin seemed to be enjoying himself.

Marie’s eyes went to slits again. Nile saw this, and took it as another case of girls being so oddly protective of their girlfriends. The ravenette shook his head, “Erwin is a good man. He’s like a brother to me. He likes to play around sure, but I’ve never met a man with more honor. He’s much too gentlemanly to fuck your friend like a common whore.” Nile chuckled, “And besides, it’s the girls who chase after Erwin…”

Nile trailed off, his lips setting into a line when he saw the warmth that came over the look in Marie’s eyes.

Nile’s long fingers held Marie’s chin and moved her gaze back to him.

“But I’m not here to talk about Erwin.”

Tender hazel eyes became playful.

Meanwhile, Nile’s silver ones crinkled at the edges at the sound of Marie’s sweet voice saying, “What then, Cadet Dawk?”  Marie hadn’t realized how close Nile was. And just like the last time she was this close to the man, she could see the thick dark lashes framing the Nile’s light eyes. Except that now Marie saw how those eyes, paired with his high cheekbones, made Nile look like a dark elven sprite come to cause mischief upon mortals.

Marie recalled the letter he sent her, and thought it fitting that this dark sprite would write such enchanting words.  She still didn’t know what sorcery came over her that she was half-bewitched by this man’s one letter.

Nile carded his hands through his unruly dark locks, willing his beating heart to calm down. Sweet Sina she’s adorable, he thought.

There was so much Nile wanted to tell Marie. How he woke up every single day looking forward to the next time he’ll see her, thinking of all the little details of himself he wanted to let her know…

As much as he’d like to know all the little details she could ever offer him.

Yet, the poor guy could only splutter out a shaky and ineloquent “I-I… uhh, did you get my letter?”

Marie’s lips quirked up to a girlish giggle. If his letter was anything to go by, Marie knew Nile’s intentions had far more depth than that. Marie grinned while a lingering thought remained in her mind—this is a far cry from the Nile she read in that letter.

Perhaps Nile Dawk is more of a poet than a Romeo, Marie mused.

“I did. And you really are too sweet, Nile. I don‘t know what to say. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Nile immediately sucked in a breath, gasping out, “Of course I do!  I—I couldn’t get my mind off of you. ” He winced. He sounded like an idiot. Like a desperate schoolboy talking to his first crush.

Not at all like the charming and suave man those letters made him out to be. It got Nile thinking that maybe he overestimated Erwin’s way with words a tad bit too much. But instead of making him feel like an absolute fool for it, Marie laughed good naturedly at his response.

“Cat got your tongue?” Marie teased, grinning at his antics. There was something Marie found really quirky about a man being so bold in writing, but so tongue-tied in person.

He’s kinda…cute, Marie realizes.

And like the fates deciding a destiny sealed shut and done, Nile felt his heart give a finalizing beat that this woman would be the woman he’d spend the rest of his days with.

Nile gave a relaxed, even relieved smile, and took Marie’s soft hand.

He brought it to his lips, and kissed the delicate, milky flesh.

Marie bit her lip as her cheeks burned red at the feel of his stubble grazing her hand. Nile’s silver eyes flashed up at her, and grinned boyishly, “I‘m more of a man of action.”

~

I got her.

The words echoed in Erwin’s head like a threat.

I got her.

The Territory’s lowlighting only accentuated the sharp planes of Erwin’s scowling face. Elena had left to get him his fourth glass of whiskey—on the rocks, just the way he liked it—after the very welcome distraction the minx gave him. If it weren’t for the woman draping herself all over his lap, her luscious dark hair entangled around his fingers, he would’ve probably not have stopped himself from moping longingly—not unlike what he was doing now– at the sight of his best friend making his Marie giggle.

His Marie?

Erwin dragged a hand over his face. His thick eyebrows scrunched together, as he felt a dull throb slowly form in his head. He needed a cigarette.

She isn’t MY Marie, Erwin scolded himself. He took out a joint, lit it up, and held it to his lips like muscle memory. He took in a deep drag, and watched Marie throw back her wild ginger curls in a fit of laughter, her freckled cheeks blooming almost as crimson as her hair.  She’s been amusing herself with Nile’s puppy dog flirtation for a good hour now.

“Go ahead man, knock yourself out, I got her,” Nile’s voice intruded his thoughts like a restless conscience.

No, Marie was never his. Erwin narrowed his eyes at the indulgent smile on Marie’s lips, as if she were cooing at his friend like a child, and wondered—

Perhaps Marie did not belong to anyone.

Erwin’s mind reels back to when he and Nile were just writing that first letter he left in Marie’s doorjamb….

~

It was an ungodly hour to still be awake in the barracks, but Nile took it upon himself to invade Erwin’s bunk with a pen and paper and a candle enough to last an hour. So now Erwin found himself with his copy of the Blue Book* against his thigh, the piece of paper atop it, and Nile practically moaning to him all the sappy little details of his love for a certain freckled ginger in the candlelight.

Mike was in his own bunk above Erwin‘s, pretending to have fallen asleep.

There was no way in hell he was gonna volunteer his ears for Nile’s emotional masturbation.

Erwin groaned, “Nile, do you know how physically painful it is to listen to you right now?”

“Why can’t I just tell her how much I wanna kiss her? How much I wanna give her the moon and the stars? How she’s literally my dream girl and how I swear to Sina, I’m gonna marry her?” Erwin rolled his eyes at that; Nile wants to marry every girl he ‘falls in love’ with.

“…Isn’t that the sort of thing girls want to hear?” Nile was truly perplexed, the poor bastard.

Erwin winced at his friend.

Mike couldn’t help it. “Sure, if she’s a goddamn fifteen year old virgin!” he called down from his bunk.

“Oi! I thought you were asleep!” Nile hissed, prompting Mike to start fake snoring again.

Erwin gave an exhausted sigh. It was late, he wanted to sleep.  “Didn’t I tell you? Marie’s a full grown woman. That sort of flattery isn’t going to work on her anymore. She isn’t going to entertain just because you tell her how much you want her, you gotta make her realize how much she wants you.”

Nile looked skeptical. “Alright then, Eyebrows. How would you do it?”

Blue eyes looked into the dancing flame of the candle at his trunk, his pen poised upon the paper.

“I would tell her how I notice all her little details—her curls, her eyes, the way she throws her head back when she laughs—and how they made me feel like a fool the first moment I saw them.” Erwin’s lips quirked up as he continued to look into the flame, “But most of all, I’d talk about her mind, her heart…”

Nile felt his teeth grind, and the muscles in his jaw twitch.

Mike stopped snoring; wide awake now.

They waited. Erwin continued, a glazed look still in his eyes.

“…How a woman like her makes me want to devote my very life to her.”

~

“Woah, don’t lose your cool, Wingman.”

Mike’s gruff voice pulled Erwin out of his reverie, as his friend joined him where he was leaning against the bar top.

He probably already got bored of his girl, Erwin thought.

Mike was already holding his own glass of bourbon in one hand, cigarette in the other. The larger man nudged the hand holding the joint at Erwin for the lighter.  Erwin wordlessly held out the light, and Mike placed the stick against the flame.

It’s always been like this with Mike. The two moved together with a wordless sense of trust and understanding; as seamlessly as a well-oiled machine.

“What happened to ‘Tomcat’?” Erwin chuckled, as he smoked with his friend. Mike just smirked, “Nah, you’re the Wingman now. Derek’s the Tomcat, more like. Müller certainly thinks so. Besides,” his green eyes slid over to Erwin’s hunched over form. “I think you’re losing your mojo.”

Erwin laughed out loud at that, a few curious heads turning to the handsome man throwing his blonde head back. Erwin’s broad shoulders straightened into their usual confident set. “You’re full of absolute bullshit Zacharias, that’s what I think.” He cocked a thick eyebrow at Mike’s scoffing, shaking head, “And it’s Müller’s daughter who thinks that. Müller thinks Derek’s a rodent he has to kill.” Erwin inhales a drag, “And like most pests, he’s a bitch to get rid of.”

Mike just hummed observantly, taking a sip of his bourbon. “Well, can you blame him? Your brother’s fighting for the woman he loves. That’s more than you seem to have the balls for.”

Erwin was silent.

The two men continued to watch their friend try to make Marie take a break, and sit down for a drink with him. She only just deflected him for the fifth time that night.

Mike sighed and placed a firm hand on Erwin’s shoulder. “Look, a bastard like me is in no place to tell you how to love– that just isn’t my thing. And Marie’s a special girl, I can tell.”

Erwin glanced sharply at the taller man.

Mike rolls his eyes, “Don’t worry!” Then hastily adds with clear exasperation, “She ain’t my type! But writing those letters?” Mike motions his head to Nile and Marie across the room.

“It’s going to hurt you, brother.”

Mike started swirling the bourbon in his glass, contemplating. “I understand that you do it out of love for our friend, but this can hurt Nile just as much. You had better pick a side, Smith. This woman, or your friend?” Mike threw back his drink in one swift gulp.

“But either way, it’s going to break your heart.”

Erwin blinked at Mike.

Then he chuckles warmly, a hand flicking away his blonde hair.

He’s always known that Mike was as keen as they come, but…

“Since when were you so wise, Bloodhound?

A/N:  AND THIS IS THE PART WHERE I RAMBLE AND DON’T HAVE TO WRITE PROPERLY LMAO

Captain Brezenska - I always had this headcanon that Rico comes from a military family, considering how seriously she takes her job as a Garrison soldier compared to her peers. Not to mention how she seems to have risen through the ranks as Captain despite looking quite young. I imagine, unlike the Survey Corps, you’ll need YEARS of experience to become an Elite Squad captain in the Garrison, since well… a third of the regiment doesn’t die every three months lol. So the Captain Brezenska mentioned here is Rico’s father!

The Blue Book- Another headcanon! The US Army calls their official guide to military training and maneuvers as “The Blue Book.” I think it made sense for the Cadet Corps to make use of a ‘Blue Book’ for its trainees as well.

That’s all for now! I’m working on a shit ton of other projects rn (I’m a commissioning artist hihihuhuhu) Not to mention c o l l e g e (ugh.) So Chapter 6 might take a while huhu.

In the meantime, I would love love love to interact with you lovelies, since I missed ya’ll sooo much! You can go hit me up here anytime! Or even at my ig: @artexmaria where I post a lot of my art, AND where I may or may not post my Derek Smith art if anyone’s wondering about Erwin’s hot old brother *winkwink.*  Y’all can also find me on AO3 as RosemaryTumbleweed <3

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: Smut (male masturbation)

A/N: The block that’s been sitting on me for this story is easing back and I feel pretty good about it!  Think we’re gonna top out around 7 or 8 parts, which is killing me y’all, cause this was suppose to be a smutty one shot.  Lordy gee.

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]

Part 4 

Small Steps Towards New Beginnings

The mid-afternoon sun brightened Evie’s office, giving her a bit of an energy bump as she sat hunched in her chair, eyes focused on the computer screen in front of her.  She was lost in her work until her phone buzzed.  Again.  For the fifth time in half an hour.  

She sighed but remained focused on the accounting chart in front of her.  If these damn numbers didn’t add up. . .  As she wrote down some questions and numbers, her desk phone rang.  She grabbed it and Sarah, her assistant, was on the other line.

“You have a call on line one.” Sarah’s monotone voice came through the receiver.

“I said to hold calls for the next three hours, Sarah.”  Evie’s voice was calm, but mentally she was pounding her head into a desk.  This was too important to be interrupted by a phone call.  Her request had been a simple one and yet here she was.

“Call on line one.”  Sarah hung up and Evie closed her eyes and sighed deeply.  Five minutes, whoever it was is getting five minutes.  And then they better leave her the hell alone.

“Do you ever answer your phone?”  The rich timber of Maxwell’s voice sent a shiver up her spine, but she didn’t miss what sounded like a petulant tone to his voice.

“Not when I’m in the middle of reviewing accounts.  Are you the one blowing up my phone?”

“I’m hardly blowing up anything.”  Oh, yeah, he was sounding petulant.  Evie’s mouth lifted into a lopsided grin as she reached for her phone and unlocked it.

“That’s funny because it says I have received five rather lengthy messages from one Maxwell Lord in the last thirty minutes.  Are you not Maxwell Lord?  Or has another Maxwell Lord invaded my world without me knowing?”  His grunt on the other end of the line made her smile a little wickedly.  If he wanted to childish, then she’d treat him like one.

“If you’d just answer your messages. . .”  Evie put down her cell and went back to her columns, letting Maxwell’s voice drone in the background.  She was only half listening when he said the word tonight.

“Wait, what?  Tonight what?”

“You’re not even listening to me.” He sounded disappointed.

“Not really.  I told you I’m reviewing accounts.  And now you can’t accuse me of not being honest with you.”

“I said, there is a gala tonight, I want you to come with me.”

“I can’t.”  On his end of the line Maxwell looked shocked, he fully expected her to say yes.

“What do you mean?  Of course, you can.”  The look of incredulousness on Evie’s face would have made anyone watching her bust out in hearty laughter.  Was the man serious?  He was serious.  She bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Max.”  Her voice was soft, and he unconsciously leaned into the phone as if to be caressed by it. “I will be pulling long hours today and for at least the next day or so.  The financial reporting protocols put in after Don came on board are super detailed. It’s a lot of work and I must be the one reviewing it all.

“Plus, I don’t have a gown for a gala, and I don’t have the time to go get one, plus the time to get ready.  It’s already three and the train takes almost two hours to get down to the city, plus the drive to the venue.  It just isn’t feasible.”

“Complete your reports on the train, I’ll have a gown waiting for you when you arrive, and you can get ready in the car.  You’ve done it before.”  He wasn’t begging he told himself, he wasn’t.  She sighed.

“That’s true, but that’s not the point.  I just can’t.”

“Evie.”  His tone had an undercurrent of want that he tried to hide, but she knew.  She wanted him, too, and a small part of her wished she lived closer so she could see him whenever she wanted.  But life wasn’t a romance novel and she was a working girl determined to keep the company she loved alive and thriving.

“I’m sorry Max.  I really am. But I have got to get back to these numbers.  I’ll call you tonight if it’s not too late.”

“I don’t care if its late.  I want to hear your voice.”  She smiled softly.

“If it’s not too late.  Good-bye Max.”  He grunted on the other end and hung up.  It wasn’t as if Maxwell had expected her to come running every time he called, but he supposed he did since he was so used to getting his way.  He wanted to see her whenever he wanted to, and a small part of his brain kept insisting that wasn’t realistic.  The rest of his brain, however, seemed to have taken up residence in his pants, becoming more demanding as each day passed.

---***---

The morning after they slept together, Maxwell woke up feeling better than he had in a long time and was nearly giddy when he rolled over and saw Evie sleeping peacefully next to him.  She was curled under the covers, a hand under her cheek and lips open slightly. He could see her hair spread across the pillow and his fingers itched to touch it.  He was surprised how her lying next to him felt so natural.

Most women he bedded left not long after they were done and the few that made it to morning were quickly ushered out of the house.  He had only dated a handful of times over the last few years and each one fizzled out as soon as he lost interest, or they got tired of being one more thing in his life that he controlled.

Evie shuffled around in her sleep, mumbling a bit, before she felt herself bump up against Maxwell.  She settled in and her breathing continued to be even and deep.  Taking a chance, he slid his arm under her head and pulled her closer. He was rewarded when she laid her hand on his chest.  He brushed the top of her head with his lips in a soft kiss and laid his cheek down.  

Mornings were a practical affair for him – getting up, preparing for the day, grabbing whatever breakfast his cook made for him, and then out the door into the office.  He glanced at the clock and saw that it was after eight and he smiled.  He never stayed in bed after five during the week and yet he felt no hurry to get up and chase the day.  Maybe he should take an early start to the weekend and spend it in bed with Evie.

He found himself wondering, again, what it was about her that had him in such knots.  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t encountered women like her before – happy-go-lucky women with an easy laugh on their lips and a twinkle in their eye.  And yet the very thought of her turned him on and he felt like a horny teenager again – a simple brush of her skin on his, the smell of her hair, or even just listening to her honeyed voice made him hard as hell.

Stop questioning it, idiot, this small voice inside him cried out. You’ve got something good, go with it.

---***---

Evie groaned as she flopped onto her bed.  What should have taken two days took five and the long hours that went with it were killing her.  She lost her whole weekend to the mess that was still their finances and now she felt like she was going to die of exhaustion.  She thought they were done with the nonsense and yet here she was, once again sprinting a marathon.  Adding this on top of everything else for the last year and Evie buried her face into the blanket and screamed until her voice gave out.

Feeling marginally better, she kicked off her shoes and curled up with a pillow.  The Catskills twilight blanketed her room as she drew her phone out of her pocket and pulled up her messages.  Maxwell had texted her earlier, hoping she was getting better sleep now that everything was done and that he missed her.  Her heart constricted in her chest at the message.  This man.

It had been almost a month since their date in the city and while she hadn’t had a chance to see him again nor him her, they had been in near constant communication with texts, calls, and even a few video chats.  He worked long hours and on occasion, so did she, but they made it work for now.  Her body craved his and she found herself waking to dreams of him, left wanting so terribly that she had to touch herself to find relief.  

He hadn’t been necessarily pushy, but sometimes he got unrealistic in his requests or chats.  But, after their conversation about the gala, Maxwell seemed to step back and throughout the week he sent supportive texts during the day, nothing that required an immediate response but gave her the little boosts she needed as things went from tough to worse.  

She also came to work to find fresh flowers on her desk and lunch delivered to her daily from her favorite café near the office.  He didn’t stop there, he also made sure dinner was delivered and she had to admit that if he hadn’t sent anything, she’d probably would have spent the last five days living off ginger ale and antacids as she had in past accounting binges.  She though wryly of the thirty pounds she stress-lost after Grant bounced out of the company, taking his stolen funds with him.

She had heard rumors that Maxwell liked to buy the affections of women he was attracted to, but she was certain what he had done this week was not the same.  It’s not that she thought she was particularly different than other women he dated (were they dating, her brain asked), but something about the behavior seemed genuine and she felt as if she could become lost in him if he kept this all up.  

Her thumb hovered over the call button as she yawned.  She was tired, but she really needed to hear his voice. That deep cadence that always sent shivers to the most intimate parts of her and wove throughout her dreams.  She still hadn’t figured out why she was so attracted to him so viscerally, but she was mollified with the idea that he seemed just as deep.  

She hit the button.  He picked up on the second ring.

“Evie.”  She could see his smile in her head, it matched the one growing on her own face.

“Max.”

“You know, no one ever calls me that.”

“Would you prefer Maxwell?”

“Only when you come for me.”  His voice deepened even more, and she shivered at the thought. 

“You are a bad man.”

“Of course, how do you think I got where I’m at?”

“Your parents.”  She deadpanned her comment and he barked out a harsh laugh.  She wasn’t wrong.  She giggled as his laughs got harder.  They were both a little slap-happy and it was showing in their conversation.

“Touché, Evie.”  The laughter died down and his toned changed.  “How are you holding up?  It’s been a long week for you.”

“It has.”  She sighed as she rubbed her eyes.  She wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to be able to stay awake.  “Thank you for everything.  It made the week go by that much faster.”

“Good.  I’m glad. You sound terrible, almost like you’ve been screaming.”

“I was earlier.”  She paused and dropped her voice, a tone of uncertainty lacing through it.  “Was your invitation to come for a visit real?  I’m due for some time off and I could really use it.”

“Yes.”  She barely got the words out when he answered her.  She breathed a sigh of relief and they continued to talk a little longer about her coming to visit as soon as she could before she became so drowsy that she was forced to hang up.  As she stumbled through her evening routine, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of excitement about a week in the city with Maxwell all to herself.

As she hit the covers and fell into a dreamless sleep, hours south of her, Maxwell sat in his study, cell phone resting against his chin while lost in thought. He had been staring of into space, thinking about Evie and his blood hummed at the idea that he would soon have a whole week of her to himself.  

Finally, he thought. He set down his phone on the desk preparing to get up, but as he kept thinking about her, his cock began to stir.  He remained sitting in his chair as his thoughts wandered to the first night they slept together, and he could feel himself start to harden at the memory of her sighs and moans as he pleasured her.  

He loosened his tie and took it off, undoing the top buttons of his shirt, hoping for relief from the sudden heat that coursed through him.  A couple of times their conversations over the last few weeks delved into more intimate territory and he recalled one of those chats where he could hear how wet she was over the phone.  It was a beautiful sound and his mouth watered at the memory, his tongue wanting so badly to dip into her core and taste her.

His breath began to quicken as he unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeves and rolled them up.  He just couldn’t seem to cool down any, it was as if he was under the unrelenting blaze of a desert sun.  Then his mind took another turn and he was inundated with the memory of her riding atop him and Maxwell was as hard a rock instantaneously, almost painful in its swiftness.

He never had a lover demand so much of him in bed and he was surprised to find he liked it.  It wasn’t as if he gave up control, it was as Evie said – they were equals.  And something about that ignited a fire in his blood and again he found himself in awe at the woman who was doing what no other lover had done before her.  He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and yanked his undershirt from the waistband of his pants.  He was so damn hot.

He shifted in his chair to relieve the pressure in his pants and accidentally brushed his hand across the bulge there.  He hissed at the pleasure that unfurled in his gut and he shuttered. He tried to gain control again, but the specter of Evie Blaker was wrapping itself around him and her ghostly lips whispered carnal things in his ear.  

He groaned as he could feel her ghostly hands draw their fingers down his neck, to his chest, and across his erection.  His whole body felt like it was on fire, the pleasure so overwhelming he could feel the sweat beading along his hairline.

As if possessed, Maxwell’s hand dropped back to his crotch and he rubbed his hand over himself, groaning loudly. The soft cotton of his boxers touched the most sensitive parts of his cock and he gritted his teeth as he legs began to shake. He unconsciously shifted his hips forward into his palm, chasing the pleasure he wanted.  

He felt hard and hot under his own hand and for a moment he imagined that hand to be Evie’s.  To stop the shakiness of his legs, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, forcing his body to shift forward and slightly recline.  His eyes dropped to his bulge, his precum creating a dark stain.  He knew it was his, but his carnal brain imagined it was Evie who left it on him, soaking him as she came in his hand like she did that first night.

He threw his head back, and a flush of pleasure crept up his chest and into his face, making his eyes sparkle darker in the soft light of his desk lamp. Evie’s voice sounded in his ear again, a soft, whispery moan of his name.  No one ever called him Max, only her and through the haze of his lust, he felt as if her use of the nickname was a brand on him – marking him as hers.

His hair fell into his eyes as his head lolled forward and he brushed it away absentmindedly.  He couldn’t handle the fabric rubbing against him anymore and he unzipped his pants to draw out his cock.  It was hard and covered in precum.  

He ran a finger up the length of his erection, and he hissed at the sensation.  Spitting into his hand, he fully grabbed himself and began to jerk his hand, gripping himself harder at the head as Evie had done when she rode him.  His body shook harder and his left leg bounced without stopping as he got closer to his orgasm.

Maxwell grabbed the arm of his chair with his free hand as he began to work faster.  He was so close and yet he didn’t want it to end so soon, hoping to draw out the fantasy before it was gone.  But the ghostly Evie wrapped its fingers around his heart and his hand, whispering for him to let go.  The orgasm that tore through him ripped a primal yell from his throat that almost hurt, and he could feel his toes curl.  He dropped back in his chair, covered in his own cum and his cock pulsing with the aftershocks of his climax.  His chest heaved at the exertion and he was certain he looked a mess.  But, after a beat he began to laugh.  This woman of his.

[owlsoldwritingcorner]

Honey and Oats (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Agent Whisky x Reader

Warnings/Troupes: Not much rn except Age gap relationship for future. + Enemies to lovers. lotsa angry words.

A/N: This is my second fic with any of Pedro’s characters! I’m still rewatching the movies to get a better hold of their personalities,,,

Reader Warnings (Will not be repeated onwards): Reader has set clothes like armors and masks, but not a set appearance underneath (No physical descriptions other than clothes). Had Cambodian Reader in mind. Reader is a city kid from Chicago. And some people who use gendered pronouns (only pronouns) will change but some gendered names like “Princess” and such will stay.

AO3 Link

{First} {Next} {Masterlist}

As usual, Tequila’s the rough ‘em up and rough ‘em up even more kinda guy. The two crashers were two Brits saying something about being invited. Of course, them hacking through the biometric system and putting a hole in the older whiskey reserves wasn't the nicest way of coming in, but, knocking them out before they could fully explain themselves wasn’t either. (Also, you had to admit though. The younger one of the two was pretty cute.) That reminds you, maybe they’re with the other Brit that Ginger and Tequila helped a couple weeks prior… Is that racist?

You and Ginger headed to the Doomsday locker. Ginger said something about the two mentioning Kingsman and how it’s the branch to Statesman and so on. But you just had one question on your mind.

“So, why can’t we go with their story again? They looked pretty desperate, Ging’. Desperate people don’t usually lie when trying to find help.” You leaned back in the chair you sat, legs crossed and right on the table top. You watched Ginger fumble around a bit as she placed the small emblem in her hands into the similarly shaped socket.

“Rum. You can never be too sure. For all we know, they could be using stolen clothes and identities.” She reminded you as she started opening the lock. You just pouted, not to toot your own horn but, in situations like these you had a pretty good gut on who to trust. And anyway, fancy lookin’ men like that don’t come to the farmy south unless they were looking to buy land.

Finally, Ginger opened the doomsday lock, turning around, she revealed a very fancy looking umbrella. On the handle revealed the familiar name of… 

Kingsman, London.

“Fuckin’ hell.” You and Ginger ran out of that chamber as fast as you two could. At this point, Tequila’s probably gonna show them his favorite magic trick of turning balls into ash.

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

Ginger opened the door just as you heard Tequila’s baritone voice counted up to three.

“Stop!” You and Ginger moved between the tall cowboy and the strapped down men. “Their story checked out.” The woman quickly grabbed some towels to pat down the sitting men’s laps. You leaned against the nearby desk while watching everything unfold.

“We opened our Doomsday scenario locker and that umbrella was in it,” You tossed the agent the umbrella in question before stepping out of the sitting men’s view. “Kingsman. It’s got our logo on it.” You gave the two a bit of a smug look as if to tell them ‘I told you so’. Ginger subtly rolled her eyes at your winning smirk before apologizing to the two men. On the other hand, Tequila just laughed the situation off as if he wasn’t planning on shooting their friend dead center in the head a few seconds prior. The ‘no hard feelings but it was just my job’ kinda talk.

“Welcome to statesman. Independent Intelligence agency. Just like y’all I reckon. But our founders went into the booze business. Thank the sweet lord above.” The cowboy looked up to the ceiling as if to thank Jesus himself for that plan before pointing to Ginger with the umbrella.

“This is Ginger Ale. She’s our strategy Executive.” She gave them a short nod and a polite ‘hello’ just before Tequila pointed to you.

“This here’s Agent Rum. Sh-- They. They’re not the most talkative with most folks, but they sure as hell know how to get the job done.” You gave the men an awkward wave.

“And I’m Agent Tequila.” And with an award winning smile, he sticks the landing. Unfortunately for him, the crowd still remembers the fact they almost got their balls turned to ash by this cowboy so they’re just gonna pass on the whole innocent smile situation. The cuter one of the two already looks exasperated, relieved that the introductions are finally over.

“This is the part where you untie us.”

The moment the two men were freed from their ziptied hell and whisky stained pants, they zoomed past the three of you to reach their one eyed friend. The three of you sat down as you watched the reintroduction quickly turn bittersweet.

“So these fellas right here are our Doomsday protocol?”

“Turns out, our founder’s tailor was Kingsman.”

“Why couldn’t we have gotten those fancy suits?” Tequila looked at you in utter betrayal.

“Hey, these clothes are nice an’ all but I dunno. Those suits are real nice lookin--”

 “What the fuck have you done to him?”The men returned to the room with angered faces.

Ginger explained to the two that the Statesman only have been trying to help the poor man. But since they couldn’t jog his memory with the amnesia and all, there’s not much that can be done. All that the agency knew was that mister butterfly collector was part of intelligence but not whose. Honestly the three of them were lucky Ginger was as quick as she was otherwise he would’ve counted as another one of the casualties in that damned church.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------You and Tequila escorted the younger man that introduced himself as Eggsy, otherwise known as Agent Galahad, to Champ. The moment the three of you entered the room, Champ was already scolding Tequila about his interrogation skills before introducing himself. To apologize for the inconvenience Tequila caused the two men, Champ placed the Statesman’s larger resources at their disposal just before looking at ole’ ‘reliable’ Whiskey with an amused smile.

“Could you imagine us in the clothing business?” You rolled your eyes at the other man’s chuckle. It’s been ten seconds and you were already tired of lookin’ at Whisky dick. Tequila could already see your annoyance with the other man and quickly thought of something to distract you with.

“Hey, real quick, Rum? Could you play bartender?” 

“Sure,” Anything to keep you from looking at the man more than you already have to. You turned towards the little drink making station where all the mixers and some bottles were already set up.

“Got a drink in mind?”

“Bartender’s choice.” A Sour Henry cocktail it is. A Whisky sour with more than a little bitters would be too on the nose.

Eggsy thanked the bossman senior and explained whoever attacked the Kingsman agents was most likely planning for something bigger and that a former trainee of theirs is working with those part of the Golden circle. Said trainee’s ex is still in contact with him and just so happens to be attending a concert. 

You listened closely to what Eggsy was saying, trying to figure out why the golden circle sounded so familiar, as you finally poured the drink in Tequila’s cup. However, your thought process was cut through by something you noticed on the statesman agent. Just as Tequila thanked you and took a swing of his drink, your eyes caught a glimpse of the growing blue veins protruding from his neck.

“Ay Tequila, you feelin’ alright?”

“Yeah, a bit tired, but fine, thanks.” At this point, Champ could see the blue veins on the man too.

“Your face…You got… ” Tequila finally looked at himself through the cup’s reflection.

“What the fuck?” Champ ordered him to head to the med bay before whatever it was got any worse but not before having Tequila give Eggsy his glasses. It would be a bit awkward to converse with someone and not see them in this situation.

Champ let out a hefty sigh before giving you and Whisky a sorry look.

“Now, Agent Rum. I know you and Whisky sure as hell aren’t peas in a pod--” You already knew where this dumb talk was going.

“You cannot be serious with me, Champ.” If looks could kill, that old man would have croaked a month prior.

“You’re a talented agent. But you’re reckless. Whiskey is going to watch over the two of you--”

“I don’t need no fuckin’ babysitter, Champ!” You slammed your fist on the tabletop out of anger, toppling over a few of the cups. Eggsy was surprised at the tonal shift from you. Well, he’s even more surprised you talk to your superior that way and he doesn’t even blink an eye. 

“He’s the only other agent with enough experience for the case. One job together ain’t gonna kill the two of you.”

“I’ve got enough experience on my hands, I can handle it!”

“Agent Whisky is going to join the two of you and that’s final.” You opened your mouth but quickly shut it. Even you can’t say anything when Champ’s got the final word in. You could only glare as Whisky gave you the most smug smirk known to man.

“Agent Galahad, our finest senior agent will be joining the two of you. Right now he’s in our New York office.” Mister Boss points at Whisky’s hologram once Eggsy puts on the glasses. 

“Galahad, meet Agent Whisky.” God. You just want to strangle that stupid cowboy with his own fuckin’ moustache. 

“Kid, looks like we’re hookin’ up with a chick at a rock concert.” He gives Eggsy one of his dumb signature smiles. “My favorite kind of mission.” You could only roll your eyes at the flirtatious man’s comment.

“I’m sending my jet to pick you two up.” 

“The old man’s gonna croak before he could get his whisky dick into anything.” You muttered right before Champ gave you an incredulous look.

“Rum, there ain’t no need to hit a man’s pride like that.”

“It’s fine, Champ. Little Miss spitfire over here is just envious--”

“Of what? Da women who are with ya’ for under ten minutes in bed while I’m stuck with ya’ here fer hours? ‘Course I am.” And with the small twitch of that moustached lip, that was enough to tell  you even a little bit of his pride was hurt.

“Rum!”

“Watch it lil’ city girl, your Chicago’s comin’ out. That place was never the best about its manners.” Nothin’ but smirk from this old man, as if you didn’t just insult his libido. He really just had to insult your home. You took a deep breath.

“Unlike you, I was raised properly.” You gave Whisky a final haunting stare. “You,” Standing on the opposite end of where Whisky sat, you got right up in his stoic, holographic space. “Were dragged through a whore house.” You turned your back on the man, mentally patting yourself on the back for getting the final word. Just as you got to the doorway, you turned to the British agent.

“Galahad? Let’s get a move on.” 

“Oh--Oh! Right.” Eggsy quickly got up and followed you out the door. Leaving Champ very exhausted at his decision. He only hopes the two of you don’t kill each other first before they could figure this situation out.

[imagine-lcorp]

A Nice Fit (One Shot)

Request

How about R has contacts and like no one knows except Lena (but she's never seen her with them on) so one day R runs out of contacts cause she forgot to order some more so she has to wear her glasses to game night and all the superfriends are like freaking out cause no one knew she wore contacts or glasses and Lena is just like a blushing mess cause R looks really cute with them on?

A/N: Heeeeeeey my beautiful beans, quick update, I’m still alive, still struggling a bit, but seems like things are getting better, I hope I will get a new computer soon but in the meantime here’s another long overdue request for you my dears. As always, thanks to the dear anon that requested it and let me know what you think!!!!! Also, it seems like I need to catch up with the s4 of the show...Enjoy! 

Lena Luthor x Fem!R w/glasses//Word Count: 1,355

It was barely nine o'clock when you stumbled on the stairs of Kara's building trying to reach for her door. You grunted annoyed that you had to wear your regular glasses to see where you were stepping. You even had to waste another hour in your house trying to remember where you had left them, tossing around shelves and boxes, until you found them, realizing it was late and then rushing to meet your friends.

But once you reached Kara's door you sighed relieved, contented with the fact you hadn't fall all the way down to the main door, and as you knocked a couple times a familiar face opened up.

"Hi." You said smiling.

"Uh, hi?" Kara responded trying to match your smile, looking confused as who you were until her face really lighted up. "(Y/N)? I didn't know you wore glasses!"

"I know." You groaned slyly and pointed at your face. "These make look a bit weird. Sorry for making you wait, guys." You responded as you walked inside. "Did I miss something?"

She chuckled. "Oh, nothing yet. We were waiting for you."

You tried to apologize again until Kara assured you the games were just about to start. I wouldn't have been fun anyway, she had said, if one of the Superfriends was missing.  

"Guys, guess who arrived?" She said taking you by the shoulders.

Gathered on the couches, your friends turned to look at you both. There was a short moment of confusion before the rest realized Kara was walking with you, their missing friend from the party, wearing a pair of glasses.

They were more than amused with your new look and the comments were quick to come your way. "Kara! You brought a new friend?" "Uh, who's the cutie with the glasses, Danvers?" "Wait, isn't that (Y/N)'s evil twin?"

Children, you rolled your eyes and thought to yourself. "Now I know if I try to escape somewhere these will help a lot with my new secret identity."

"Oh, you have no idea." Winn said with a cheeky grin. "Also, nice specs, (Y/N)."

"Thanks, Winn." You chuckled and started to take your coat off.

"(Y/N)?" Lena's voice came a second later, she was coming out of the bathroom and once you turned around to see her you could tell by her face she was truly surprised. "Wow, I-I barely recognized you."  

You chuckled. "Well, now I'm definitely keeping these in case I have to hide."

"Quick question." Alex said, making you turn your attention to her. "Since when do you use them?"

"Like, since I was in high school, actually, but I prefer contacts." You smiled sheepishly, a little embarrassed at your forgetfulness. "I didn't realize I had run out of them. So, I'm stuck with these for the night."

"I have to say you look..." Lena seemed to struggle a little with her words. "Nice, they are a nice fit."

"A nice fit?" James raised an eyebrow playfully at her. "Okay, that's probably the best compliment she has received so far."

"No, no- I mean, you look great with them." You noticed her cheeks turning slightly red and smiled at her.

"Thank you." It was strangely sweet to watch Lena Luthor like this and never in your wildest dreams could you have thought that a pair of glasses would do the trick. In fact, it did more than just that.

There was an unusual, or rather obvious, shift in her demeanor once the games started. The space between the two of you seemed to shrink little by little once you took a seat on the nearby couch. You ended teaming up for the rest of the night and there wasn't much your friends could do against you two, except for Alex and Kara, of course. Half through the second game, you also started to notice some lingering looks going your way every time you turned to look at Lena and the little smiles that became more frequent, especially when you tried, and failed miserably, to make some puns.

It may have been an exaggeration but it still made everyone notice, maybe for the first time, how Lena actually looked at you. You didn't believe it at first but as the night progressed you realized Lena's attention was on you. The idea made your heart flutter and, in all honesty, it wasn't the first time you ever thought of something like this happening.

Since you met Lena, a few years back when she moved to National City, she struck you as the incarnation of a goddess on Earth. Hell, you had to remind yourself to breath after Kara introduced you for the first time and even thought there was something wrong with your eyes, because she was pretty much a vision from the heavens. You had a little crush on her from moment one, true, but you never acted on it. She was your friend and you didn't want to spoil what you already had.

However, tonight it started to feel that maybe the feeling was a bit mutual.

After winning you third game and hear Winn complain, for the millionth time, about how the Danvers and you had an unfair advantage, you decided to leave the game for a while hoping he would take his chances having less competitors.

"Make it count, Winn, 'cause when I'm back, I won't be playing nice." You said as you walked towards the kitchen without noticing Lena following suit.

"Are you enjoining our little victories, (Y/N)?" Lena said catching up with you in the kitchen counter as you opened the fridge and grabbed a can of ginger ale.

"Oh, definitely. But it seems the Danvers sisters will try to take back the crown." You smiled shaking the cant towards them. The rest of your friends were already ignoring you as a new game started. "Do you want some?"

"No, I think I'm will get some water but thank you." She said returning the smile.

"Alright." You said opening the can and jumping back instantly as it exploded. The soda ended on the floor, on your shirt and on your face, staining your glasses. "Oh, crap."  

You left the can on the kitchen counter as Lena grabbed a dish towel and helped you clean yourself.

"Sorry, I'm a mess." You felt your cheeks warming up as she passed the cloth through your wet clothes. "I didn't get to you, did it?"

"No, I'm fine, don't worry." She assured you and you took your glasses off for a moment, not being able to see clearly anymore with the soda stains. It was a little reminder of why you didn't like using glasses, they got dirty in seconds and it was hard to clean them without making them foggy or scratching them.

"Ugh, I hate this." You struggled with your vision for a second, trying to find a napkin or another towel to clean them up until Lena took them from your hands.

"Here, let me help."

She seemed to be cleaning them with the hem of her blouse and then took a step closer to you to place the glasses gently back on you. When her blurred face came to focus, it was like looking at her for the first time ever again.

"Thank you." You said feeling your chest light up a bit.

"You should wear these more often." She said not looking anywhere else. "They look really good on you."

"If you say so, I guess I can try."

"Good." She said with a little smile and you looked at each other for a while, almost ignoring the whole world around you.

"Hey, uh," you started before the moment vanished, "then maybe you could help me look for another pair, a nice fit, now that I know you like me more with them?" You finished with a playful smirk.

She seemed a bit at your statement and looked down for a second before returning her gaze at you. "Well, just for the record, with or without glasses...I think you look cute, (Y/N)."

Wearing your regular glasses didn't seem so bad after hearing that.

[melodiouswhite]

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten - Ch. 34

34. The memorable habits of Miss Donovan (and bar fights)

(A/N: here there be violence and dismemberment)

The physical injuries had healed well.

And now that both Jekyll and Hyde knew, that they had something like a family for the first time in their life, the wounds on their soul were beginning to heal as well.

But Hyde didn't feel strong enough to come out and go around to pursue his hobbies for a while.

Jekyll therefore had the pleasure of staying in control for almost a month, before Hyde got fidgety again.

“Are you sure you want to go back to that?”, he asked one evening, when Hyde demanded to be let out again. “Perhaps that scum will be back-”

“If he knows what's good for him, he won't”, his alter ego snarled in response.

“Hyde, I really don't think this is a good idea.”

“I need this, Jekyll”, the younger pointed out. “And so do you. Do you think I haven't noticed how you've gone back to your old self-repression? You want to be free again. And so do I.”

The Doctor didn't argue anymore.

He did laugh, though. “You're truly incorrigible.”

“Look who's talking!”, Hyde retorted.

Jekyll finished his work for the day and left his office.

Poole frowned, when he told him that he would go out tonight.

“Are you sure, Doctor?”, the elderly servant questioned. “Only a month after you-know-what?”

“It's alright”, Jekyll assured him. “We will be more careful this time. Don't worry, Arthur.”

Poole shook his head. “You're truly incorrigible, Henry.”

The blond chuckled. “I know.”

Only Poole got away with that cheek towards him.

“Mister Hyde! So good to see you again!”, the cash carrier* cried eagerly and approached the small brunette, when he entered the bar.

Hyde hid his scorn behind his creepy smile and told him that tonight he was just here to get drunk.

When he looked around, he recognised some men, he had bested on other occasions.

Some of them saw him and glowered, but Hyde didn't worry about them.

They wouldn't have the guts to do anything, he knew.

He jumped onto the counter and threw a Sovereign onto the table.

“Long time no see! The usual?”, the barkeeper inquired and Hyde nodded affirmatively.

“The usual. And pour it, where I can see it!”, he added scowling, when the barkeeper turned his back on him to pour the drink.

The man gulped. “Alright, alright!”

He stepped to the side, so the smaller man could see everything, poured the ale and handed him his pint.

“Thank you”, Hyde purred with false sweetness and strode over to his accustomed seat in the corner.

To his surprise, someone was already sitting at the table.

And it was none other than-

“No way!”, he exclaimed, “Miss Donovan! Fancy meeting you here!”

She turned her head, recognised him and grinned like a bedlam girl. “Likewise!”, she responded, “Been a while, hasn't it? Come and sit with me, Mr. Hyde!”

He did so.

This time she wasn't cross-dressing. Instead she was sporting a black and red dress. Her flame red curls were in a ponytail and she wore dark red lipstick and rouge.

Probably to lure men in.

Hyde knew a trap, when he saw one.

“How've you been?”, she asked cheerily.

“I'm getting better.”

“I can tell. Up to your debauchery again, eh?”

“Well, what can I say? I am and always will be a depraved man.”

“It's fine. Just don't go forcing yourself on people ever again. Now that you know what that feels like.”

Hyde frowned. “Oh, don't worry. I learned my lesson in that regard.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“Sooo”, Hyde drawled, “What are you doing here in a bar?”

The ginger shrugged. “Eh, ya know. Getting up the pole and looking for girls.”

Oh. So she's a queer too …

“Well, this is a brothel, so-”

“I'm not here to dab it up”, Miss Donovan revealed, “I want to find a lady-friend. Kinda hard for me to keep one.”

He looked at her in confusion.

It was hard for him to imagine.

Alma Donovan was an attractive girl, in almost every way. Even the piercing, feral look in her eyes – so much like his own – could be enticing. He certainly knew that a lot of men had a thing for wild, temperamental beauties.

She explained: “I'm mad. Maybe Luise told you, but I like to stab and mutilate blokes. They just 'ave to look at me funny and then they can say bye-bye to their crown jewels.”

Hyde cringed.

“Do I have to worry about losing mine?”, he queried.

She shook her head. “Unless you ever hurt a woman again, nah. Besides, you already got a taste of your medicine and promised to never do it again. So you're safe.”

Oh thank Heavens …

“And I have quite a few other quirks”, the ginger continued, “So every time I actually manage to get meself a girlfriend, it doesn't last long. I'm looking for a lady, who can put up with me madness.”

Oh.

Well, he knew a few tough girls. Tough enough for him, at least. And he was a madman himself, after all. So in theory, they would be able to handle that madwoman here too. But …

“Just out of curiosity, how do you treat your lady-friends?”

Suddenly, Miss Donovan grinned like a Chesire cat.

“Oh, I spoil them rotten!”, she cried excitedly, “Luise gives me a handsome allowance and I make quite a lot of money by placing bets! I'd give them the best I can afford, take them out for dates, protect them from perverts, teach them how to defend themselves and how to read and write, take care of them, be there when they need me-”

The plural form got his attention. “Them?”

Miss Donovan scratched her head awkwardly. “That's the other problem. Monogamy isn't me thing. That and the fact that I get into trouble so often … well, you get the idea. Have been jailed several times too. Luise cuts me allowance every time she has to bail me out.”

One of these girls, eh?

Hyde laughed: “Miss Donovan, I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

“Call me Alma”, she requested, “Miss Donovan was me mother.”

The brunette grinned. “Call me Edward then.”

They shook hands and proceeded to chat about this and that.

Unfortunately their conversation was interrupted, when Hyde felt a presence behind himself.

Alma frowned. “Uhh, Edward?”

“I know”, he muttered and turned around to come face to face with a huge bloke, who was glaring down at him. He reminded Hyde of a gorilla Jekyll had once seen at the zoo.

“Can I help you, Sir?”, he asked coolly and with an unaffected expression.

“You sick in the head?”, the taller man snarled.

He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Ye heard me!”, the gorilla growled.

Hyde looked past him and caught sight of some men he remembered roughing up. They were whispering and staring at the gorilla, like he was off his head. Which he certainly was.

“I have a score to settle with ya!”

“No, you don't”, Hyde responded languidly. “If we'd brawled before, I'd remember you.”

One of the workers in the background stood up and put a hand on the moron's shoulder.

“Are you off your rocker?!”, the man hissed, “That gremlin looks small, but he holds a candle to the devil.”*

A gremlin?!

He heard Jekyll snort in his head and almost laughed too. But Hyde was in a good mood, so the other man was off the hook. Besides, that was one of the more harmless things he'd been called so far.

“Well, you would know, wouldn't you?”, Hyde remarked, smirking.

“See, Sir”, he turned back to the gorilla, “That man would have a score to settle with me. And so do those three gentlemen in the back.”

He pointed at three other men, who were sitting at one of the other tables. The worker returned to his chair at their table.

“They're just wise enough not to”, Hyde continued. “And you should be too. Or you can just tell me what you actually want.”

“Ye must be that Hyde-fella”, the giant growled.

“'Sup?”

“I heard things about ya!”

“Really now?” Hyde's eyes narrowed. He was starting to feel extremely agitated. Why couldn't that twit just leave them alone? Normally he would have punched him in the gut by now, but he didn't feel like getting himself another house ban.

“Ye start brawls and beat people up for kicks”, the bigger man growled.

And you don't? Hypocrite.

“Even if they're over twice yer size-”

And what does that tell you?! Sod off!

“-Almost killed some old geezer for no reason-”

How the hell did that bastard know that?! Sir Danvers Carew hadn't pressed charges or given his name! The only witness had been a maid and Lady Summers had bought her silence. No one knew that it had been him!

Hyde feigned ignorance: “Some old geezer? Rumours! I can't think of one!”

Jekyll snorted: “Fibbing, Hyde? That's not like you.”

Shut up, Jekyll. Besides, it's easy to deny, when he doesn't say who he means.

Well, at least the fib had the desired effect. It threw the other off. Good. So he had only heard rumours about it. He couldn't prove anything. He didn't even know, if it was true.

The brunette scoffed: “Telling stories with no basis on reality? Pathetic! Now, for the last time, who are you and what do you want?”

I swear, if I have to ask one more time-

“I'm Bob Smith”, the gorilla told him.

“And I'm Queen Victoria”, Hyde responded, mimicking a falsetto and batting his eyelashes. “Guess who I am!”

Some people cackled in the background. Alma chortled and even Jekyll laughed in his head.

The gorilla's scowl intensified. “I'm tryin' to talk to ye, little shit!”

“As am I. And I'm currently failing. And I'm sorry for that. But I'm just so irritated! Because a plastered gorilla just strolled up to me and my friend, interrupted our conversation and is trying to intimidate me, like I'm one of the underage attendants!”

Hyde stared him right into the eyes. He could tell that, if he stood up, he still wouldn't even reach up to the giant's chest, so he didn't bother. Also, he'd bested men of that size before, some of them being professional brawlers. And he was in the perfect position to-

Suddenly the gorilla grabbed him by the collar, which made him gasp in surprise.

“Don't give me that sass, ye brat!”, he snarled. “I'll tear ye to pieces an'-”

Before he could continue, Hyde decided that he had enough and kicked him in the nuts with all his strength.

The gorilla let go and wailed like a little girl. Then he dropped onto the floor, clutching his crown jewels and cursed up a storm.

Priceless.

Utterly priceless.

The brunette scoffed: “Look at you! Acting tough, but a simple knock in the nuts is enough to knock you off your feet. Pathetic.”

“Oi!”, Alma suddenly piped up and stood up. She came around the table and grabbed the man by the hair. “I remember you!”

Her ice blue ice narrowed to slits.

“I saw you 'ere a fortnight ago! You're that piece of shit, who walked off with one of the underage attendants! That ten-year-old gal, if I remember correctly.”

So that gorilla is one of those blokes, huh?

“Ew! Gross!”, Jekyll groaned in disgust. “And you call me a dirty old man, Hyde! At least I don't use children to satisfy my carnal desires!”**

Yes, that's one of your redeeming qualities, Hyde thought drily.

Meanwhile Alma was grinning maniacally. “Why, there's only one appropriate way to 'andle blokes like you!”

To the brunette's surprise, she charmed a knife from her glove. “Now”, she purred darkly, “You will find out, why they call me 'Unmanning Alma'!”

Ohhhh, this is going to be good!

“Hyde, no.”

Hyde, yes!

Hyde was quite convinced, that the knife was blunt. Which made this whole thing even better!

But before more could happen, someone new entered the brothel.

He couldn't believe his eyes. “Lucy!”

She turned to face him. “Oh, Mr. Hyde! Good evening!”

He frowned. “What are you doing here? I thought I told you to leave this place!”

The black-haired woman smiled. “Don't worry, I'm just here to get my clothes. It took me a while to find a room somewhere, but now I finally have a nice one.”

Hyde composed himself. Finding a nice and affordable place to live was extremely hard here in London, he knew that.

Lucy went up to the pimp and they began a talk, which quickly turned into an argument.

His eyes narrowed.

Oh no, that snake was not going to take Lucy's things for himself!

“Is there a problem?”, he asked the pimp icily.

The snake began to talk some gibberish about Lucy having debts.

“I see”, Hyde replied coolly and turned to Lucy: “When you moved out, how much did he charge you?”

“Sixty Pounds”, Lucy huffed. “And I paid! Now he wants another twenty!”

“Sixty? Her possessions are worth less than forty – which I know, because I calculated it. But since you're so eager to rob an ex-prostitute, let's settle this business once and for all.”

Hyde turned around, rummaged in his bag and then turned to them, his hands behind the back. “Alright”, he began darkly. “In one hand I'm holding my bag, that contains medical equipment, as well as all the money you could ever dream of. In the other, I have a walking cane stable enough to bash someone's skull in. Of course”, he added with a sneer, “The other option would be that you land behind bars for hiring underage prostitutes. Just a brief reminder, the age of consent was raised up to sixteen last summer. But then again, when has that ever stopped people from lusting for little brats, eh?”

The pimp stared at him for a full minute.

“Her debts are more than settled”, he finally uttered weakly. Then he backed off and let Lucy get her last things. When she returned downstairs, the snake was waiting for her and shoved a bag of money into her hands. “Here you have twenty pounds, just keep your mouth shut!”

Hyde snorted. The things people did to avoid getting apprehended!

“Oh shut up!”, Jekyll scoffed in his head, “You turn into me, when you get into trouble with the police!”

You shut up, Jekyll!

“No, you!”

Just for the record, I haven't got into trouble with the police since that Carew affair! Now shut up and let me enjoy the show!

“What show? This one or Miss Donovan castrating that paedophile?”

Oh, right. He had forgot about that bugger.

When he turned to the red-head, she had knocked the gorilla out cold and was staring at Lucy, like she was the most gorgeous thing in the world.

To be fair, the black-haired woman was the most beautiful girl he knew.

An idea popped into Hyde's head.

He took the surprised Lucy by the hand and guided her to his new friend (who quickly hid her knife).

“Let me introduce you to Lucy Harris, a woman who's too good for this sinful world – don't you dare deny it, Lucy”, he added, when she wanted to object. “And this is Alma Donovan, a friend of mine, who is just as mad as I am.”

“Charmed!”, Alma cried enthusiastically and shook the blushing woman's hand. “It's an honour to meet a remarkable lady such as yourself!”

“Uhm … likewise …”, Lucy mumbled shyly, obviously not knowing how to deal with this.

Jekyll laughed in Hyde's head.

“I didn't pin you to be a match-maker!”, he teased. If he had been corporeal, Hyde would've stuck his tongue at him.

Oh shut up, if these two hook up, it might give me an advantage!

“Sure, Hyde. Whatever helps you sleep at night! There is no way you could be doing this, because you want two people who helped you to be happy!”

I would strike you, if I could.

“But you cahaaan't!”, Jekyll taunted him. “Come on, Edward! You know that I'm right!”

The brunette puffed his cheeks in annoyance.

Better half, his arse! Also, how old was that man again? Oh yeah, fifty! He was a dirty, fifty-year-old bastard!

A groan got their attention. Oh, the gorilla was waking up.

The two mad people excused themselves and dragged the half-conscious man outside and into an alley. Hyde kicked him in the solar plexus for good measure, to render him defenceless.

But when Donovan had her blunt knife out, Hyde laughed and took a scalpel out of his bag. “That knife is too blunt. Use this, that'll be quicker.”

Alma took the medical tool and made short work of the man's nether regions.

She and Hyde cackled maniacally as the child-molesting bastard screamed, then left him to writhe in agony.

“I need to go back”, Hyde told her, “I still have to pay for my drink.”

She grinned. “Maybe Miss Harris hasn't left yet”, she hoped.

I'm sure one of her ex-colleagues is keeping her back for a few minutes to chat, he assumed.

And sure enough, he was right.

Lucy was leaning outside, next to the door and chatting with one of her colleagues, who had crept outside for some fresh air.

Hyde recognised the other woman. That French girl … what was her name … oh right, Marianne.

Alma went up to them and joined in their conversation, while he went back inside to pay.

Everyone was obviously glad, when he paid up and left the place.

Then he had a short talk with the three women (Lucy inquired how he was doing), before turning to go home. “Goodbye, ladies! It was fun to pass time with you!”

“Likewise!”, Alma laughed and waved back.

Then they all went their separate ways.

Hyde was still elated, when he arrived at his flat.

Sure, he hadn't got up the pole tonight, but damn! He had found himself one sister in arms!

“This was the best evening in ages!”, he exclaimed happily.

“I can imagine it was”, Jekyll deadpanned and appeared in the mirror.

“This is my nightmare!”, the blond groaned and shook his head. “You found a partner in crime, who's just as deranged as you are!”

The brunette cackled and revelled in the other's exasperation.

Meanwhile Lady Summers was doing paper work, when her telephone rang and she jumped.

With a frustrated sigh, she took the receiver. “Hello, Lady Summers speaking?”

In the next moment she winced and held the receiver away from her ear.

“You, Luise! I just had the best evening ever!”

Why did Alma have to shout into the phone like that?!

“Let me guess, you castrated someone?”, the Lady sighed in annoyance.

“That too, but I met some really interesting people!”

“Did you now?”

“Yes! First off, I stumbled upon Hyde in a brothel-”

“What were you doing there?!”

“I'm coming to that – and we chatted about this and that, when this huge gorilla of a man interrupted our conversation and started to annoy Edward-”

Oh, so it's first name basis now?

“-and you won't believe this! It was the same guy, who screwed that little girl the other day! The one I didn't get to punish, because I had to leave early!”

“Aha.”

“And just as I wanted to give him, what he deserved, this absolutely gorgeous woman walked in! She was so cute and beautiful, damn! It's true love, I know it! And Edward introduced me to her! Her name is Lucy Harris! She's so adorable! I asked for her address and get this! She just moved into the house where I live! Isn't that amazing?! Maybe I'll finally have a lasting relationship! And I also got to know a Frenchwoman, who is apparently a former colleague of Lucy's. A really bricky**** lady, I tell you!”

The Prussian needed a minute to process all of this.

Then she recovered her spirit.

“That's nice, Alma. But you still haven't told me what you were doing in a run-down brothel bar in Soho.”

“I was looking for a potential girlfriend! You know how hard it is for me to keep one! And every woman in Whitechapel knows me. They don't want anything to do with me. I don't even know why! I'm doing them a favour with what I do! Anyway, I hoped that maybe I'd be luckier in one of the other districts. And I thought prostitutes would be a good thing to start with, because they're tougher than others.”

That's in the eye of the beholder, the Lady thought drily.

“Have you told Mr. Hyde about your favourite pastime?”, she asked curiously.

“Yeah. But he was calm about it, after I told him that he has nothing to fear. He even helped me castrate that child-molesting gorilla! I think I found myself a brother in arms!”

Lady Summers groaned: “This is my nightmare! You found a partner in crime, who's just as deranged as you are!”

---

*cash carrier - Victorian Slang for: a pimp

**Hold a candle to the devil - Victorian Slang for: to be evil

***My version of Jekyll is anti pedo. Anything younger than eighteen is too young for him. Hyde likes them twenty (like himself) and older.

****bricky - Victorian Slang for: brave, fearless

[katlyn1948]

An Unexpected Journey: Part 8

The vast amounts of wine that Arya had consumed was beginning to take effect. In all her years, she’s never had more than two goblets. She’s never really like the feeling that the wine would make one feel. She wanted to keep her wits about her; keep her mind focus for anything that may be thrown her way. Even on her travels west, she never drank more than what she felt comfortable with. She had a crew to keep and maintain. If she wasn’t at her top performance, she could have endangered everyone on her ship.

Tonight was a different story. Between the judging crowd and the looks from the high Lords and Ladies of the Stormlands, Arya threw caution right over her shoulder. She was four goblets in and pouring her fifth after that encounter with Lady Jeyne Swann. She hadn’t been this relaxed for a long time and it was an invigorating feeling. She was chatting and laughing and truly did not care what the people of the Stomrlands were saying about her.

Lady Rena was even enjoying herself. She did not have to worry about her children for a night and it was liberating. She loved her children, Gods knew that, but being a mother, wife, and a new lady was beginning to take a toll on the young woman. Having one night to enjoy the company around her was an escaping feeling. And making a new friend was a nice perk.

Arya was observing the young lady. She reminded her of her sister, Sansa. The auburn hair, the blue eyes, even the way she held herself as a woman. It was a comfort to Arya, for she never really had friends before; at least not friends that were women.

“So Lady Rena, when will you be leaving tonight? It is getting late and the roads are no safe place, even if your keep is a short rides away from here.” Arya asked her.

Rena’s gaze tore from that of her husbands and landed on Arya. Truth be told, she had not heard a single word Arya had said. She was preoccupied ogling her husband from the other side of the high table.

“I do apologize, but I seemed to not have heard you. What was it you wanted.” Rena asked her. Her eyes going back and forth between Arya and her husband.

Arya noticed Rena’s averting gaze and smiled. “I have a feeling you and your husband will be staying here at Storm’s End tonight.”

Rena waved her hand dismissively, “Nonsense. Beside Ser Davos did not tell the maids to set up rooms for us.”

“I’m sure Lord Baratheon can acquire some rooms for you and your family, Lady Rena.” Arya reassured her.

Rena nodded; a slight blush rising to her cheeks.

“There is no need to be embarrassed. He’s your husband. If you want to bed him, then bed him.” Arya told her as she took yet another sip from her goblet.

Rena’s cheeks grew an even darker shade of crimson. “I cannot bed my husband here! Not with the Lord Paramount under the same roof.”

Arya shrugged, “I’m sure what Gendry doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Rena looked passed Arya and noticed that Gendry’s seat was empty.

“Where is the Lord? I did not noticed he left.” She asked Arya.

“Aye, he went to check on Lyra and Ginger. It is late, so they are more than not, sleeping. I do have to ask, where is your son?” Arya asked.

“He’s back at home at our keep with my brother. They rode before supper. He was getting fussy and my brother offered to look after the babe.” She gave a small chuckle “Gods bless him. He had expected that we would not return home tonight.”

“And he is capable of caring for the babe?” Arya asked.

Rena nodded, “Aye. Sometimes I think he can care for the babe better than I can. He has always loved the children. Preferred their company over gents and lasses here at the castle.”

Arya tore a piece of bread and stuffed in her mouth, “He works in the stables? The new stables master, am I right? After your father passed away?”

Rena raised her eyebrows, surprise covered her face, “You know more than you let on.”

Arya smiled, “Gendry and I talked for a bit before supper. He may have said a few things.”

“Well yes, he is the new stables master, but he does not want to be. Our father taught us everything and after he passed, naturally it went to my brother.” Rena’s face fell.

Arya could tell that Rena was disappointed. “And you wanted to be the new stables master.”

Rena nodded her head. She wanted to be stables master more than anything, even more than being a lady, but it was deemed not proper. Her father had taught her and her brother everything he knew, but it was Rena who applied his teachings. She was the one that knew how to care for the animals while her brother just sat and watched.

“Every time we come to the castle, I make sure to check on the bloody beasts. I check their shoes and change their feed. I even brush them. My brother does none of that. If it weren’t for me, the Lord would not have any horses.”

“Well, just ask Gendry that you want to be the knew stables master.” Arya said as if it was truly no problem.

Rena gave a curt laugh, “I cannot just ask the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands to make me his new stables master. Things may have changed since you’ve been gone, Lady Arya. But some things remain the same.”

Arya reaches for Rena. She placed a small hand onto of hers, “You leave Gendry to me. You’ll be the new stables master yet. Now, go and bed your husband.”

Rena lets out a laugh, “The last time I bedded my husband at a celebration like this, I ended up with his babe in my belly.” Rena looked over to her husband once more. She got up from her seat beside Arya and made her way to her husband.

Arya saw the couple depart the depleting crowd. Most everyone had left to sleep off the wine in their bellies or to fuck the seven hells out of their lovers. The only ones that remained were the few that were too drunk to move or too tired to care.

Arya herself was ready to leave the great hall and find a soft bed to lay her head, for the wine had truly taken its toll. She was lifting from her seat when she realized the great hall was swimming. Her balance was off and she gripped the table for support, but it wasn’t enough. Before she realized, she was toppling over her chair. But before she slammed back into her chair a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind.

“Too much wine?” His soft voice tickled her ear.

She turned in his grasp to face him. “Just a bit.”

“How about we get you to bed? Come, the maids have set up a room for you.” He grasped her waist and lead her from the great hall.

“Where are you taking me?” She asks as the walk the corridors of the castle.

Gendry chuckles, “I am taking you to your room so you can sleep off the wine.”

Arya abruptly stopped. She turned to face Gendry and grabbed his hands.

“I don’t want to go to my room.”

Grendry’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “And where would you like to go? I am not taking you to the archery, you are far to drunk to shoot an arrow.”

Arya shakes her head, “You really are a stupid bull, you know that? No, Gendry, I want you to take me to your bed.”

Gendry’s eyes widen. He begins to protest when Arya crashes her lips to his. This time it was her turn to steal a kiss and perhaps more. He tasted of ale and smokiness and she deepened the kiss. She wanted to taste more of him. To devour every inch of him. She broke away from him, just for a moment to say one word. “Please.”

It was the confirmation that Gendry needed. He lifted her up and began walking towards his solar. He slammed her against his chamber door, fiddling with the latch. He couldn’t see where the bloody handle was, for he was too busy kissing the love of his life.

“Oh let me!” Arya gasped as she escaped his mouth to open the door.

They tumbled inside chuckling as they began to rip at each other’s clothes. Arya pulled her small clothes off while Gendry helped. It had been so long since she had been intimate with anyone, especially him.

Their first time had been due to the fact there was impending death beating at their back door. It was clumsy and painful, but still enjoyable. Since then she had been with one other man and woman, but neither could satisfy her the way Gendry had that night in the forge.

Gendry had only been with one woman after Arya. On a stupid drunken night in King’s Landing. It had been a moon since she had left for her voyage and Gendry was in a bad place. He hadn’t been back to Storm’s End and he just wanted to forget about everything that had happened in his life. After the incident he swore he would never lay with another woman again, and he didn’t, not even with his wife.

They explored each other’s bodies, basking in each other’s scent. It was familiar but also foreign, for it had been years since they touched each other.

Arya didn’t know where she ended and he began. It was like they were two parts of a missing puzzle that needed to be put back together. This is home, she thought. This is where I want to be.

*****

Arya was spent. They had ravaged each other’s bodies for what seemed like hours. The smell of sex and wine filled the air of the high lord’s bedroom. Arya was sticky with sweat, but she couldn’t bring herself to untangle her limbs from Gendry’s.

“So How was it?” She asked him after sometime.

Gendry looked down at her. She was nuzzled perfectly into him. “It was amazing. Truly! I haven’t felt anything in a long time and then you came back and all of those thoughts and emotions hit me so hard.” Arya nuzzled closer to him. “I just hate that I took advantage of a drunk woman.”

Arya lightly punched his shoulder, “You did not take advantage of me! If anything, I took advantage of you. I was the one who kissed you, remember?”

“Hmm, maybe I need a reminder.” He said to her as he drew her closer. He pressed his lips to her, taking her all in. They were getting entangled with one another once more when the handle of his bed chambers began to shake.

Arya pulled away, bringing the furs close to her body. “Who could that be? Lyra, perhaps.” She asked.

Gendry shook his head, “No, Lyra only comes to my chambers when the sun rises. That’s Jeyne Swann.” His voice was cold when he said her name.

Arya looked at him with questioning eyes. “And how would you know?”

Gendry gets off the bed, pulling on his trousers, “Because this is not the first time she’s tried to come to my chambers in the dead of night. Every time we have some sort of celebration, she tries to make her way in here, hoping for something. It’s a blessing by the Gods that I remember to lock the door.”

He makes his way towards the door, getting ready to open it when Arya stops him.

“Wait!” She climbs off his feather bed and makes her way towards the door, she doesn’t attempt to cover up. She unlatches the lock and pulls it open.

There standing in the archway was Jeyne Swann. Her face was pale; the only color coming from the blush of her cheeks.

“Good evening, Lady Jeyne, May I help you with something?” Arya asks. The cool breeze that came from the corridor behind Lady Jeyne made her nipples harden.

“I-I was not aware the lord had company.” Her words faltered, but she remained her composure.

“I am not company, Lady Jeyne. I am Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon is my betrothed. If you ever try to come into our chambers again, I can promise you that will never be able to set foot in Storm’s End again. Do I make myself understood?” Arya’s voice was dripping with venom. She wasn’t the jealous type, but Jeyne Swann had pushed Arya a little to far.

Jeyne’s face grew with terror. She quickly shook her head, gave a curtsy and turned from the chamber door. Arya slammed the door behind her, turning to look at Gendry.

“I hope that’s alright. Me being your betrothed?” She placed a hand onto his bare chest.

Gendry took Arya’s face into his hands. “I love you. You know that?”

“Good, because I love you too.” She told him as she grabbed one of his hands and made their way back to the bed.

*****

Arya was sound asleep when she felt a small body climb on top of her. She opened her eyes to see a pair of brown ones look down at her.

Lyra was staring at Arya, glancing between her and Gendry.

Arya couldn’t tell what the 3 year old was thinking. She had remember that Gendry said Lyra liked to come into his chambers once the sun broke the horizon, so she didn’t latch the door. They had been mindful and had clothed before falling asleep, afraid that Lyra might find them in a precarious situation.

“Lyra, good morrow.” Arya whispered. Gendry was softly snoring at her side, she didn’t want to wake him.

“Good morrow. There is mud outside. Can we play?” She asked Arya.

A smile grew on Arya’s face. “Of course, but shhh, let us not wake your father.”

Lyra climbed off of Arya and went to sit at the table across the room. Arya lifted from the bed and pulled her jerkin on over her small clothes fastening the laces. She pulled on her boots and walked towards Lyra, reaching her hand out for her to grasp.

Lyra instantly took Arya’s hand and they made their way to the courtyard below.

[bellsybuilds]

[Part 2 of the Truck Stops and Tribulations series (link)] 

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The way home - chapter 3 (T rating and warnings will change)

Din Djarin, Paz Viz(s)la, Baby Yoda, Jack “Agent Whiskey” Daniels, Agent Ginger Ale (modern AU, all human, road trips, found family, family reunions)

That sick feeling turns over in Jack’s stomach, hardening cold and certain as Ginger reaches for her datapad.

“Show me,” Jack says.

The playlist of storms proves soothing for more than the kid and Din has settled back against the bed when he hears the door click and slide open again. Wasn’t that supposed to be locked?

“Paz, I alr—“ he starts, turning to find his visitor is not Paz at all.

Jack cocks an eyebrow beneath the brim of his hat and locks the door behind him.

… Shit.

“Nope. Not ‘your ride’.” A smirk plays at the corner of his brother’s mouth and Din rolls his eyes.

“Really, Jack?”

“Well and truly.”

“Why are you even here?” Din grumbles. Jack warned he would return, but Din’s tired. It’s been a long week. The prospect of finally getting a real night’s rest behind safe walls is too attractive. He’d like nothing more than to lay his head down once he’s confident they’re still off the radar.

“You know we still need to talk.” Jack says, drawing Din’s attention away from his phone once more. He doesn’t make an effort to advance any further into the room, leaning a shoulder up by the door, arms crossing loose before his chest.

Din raises an eyebrow at the distance still yawning between them. “From over there?”

“Need I remind you the terms we left on weren’t so auspicious.” The ones that left Din with split knuckles and Jack himself with a broken jaw.

Jack rubs the side of his face, absent minded, as though the memory makes his nerves twinge. It was too much to hope Jack would have simply loaned his assistance without asking something in return. It’s not unreasonable. Din had just hoped Jack might have claimed some other compensation than… talking.

It’s not their strong suit.

He is grateful (though a little guilty) when the nest of pillows shifts beside him and the kid’s head emerges, rubbing his eyes with a small fist.

“Eh?” He blurts, peering blearily between the two brothers.

“Hey, kiddo.” Jack spares him a smile. “Looks like we’ll have to be on our best behaviors now, won’t we?”

Din decidedly ignores his pointed look. “Don’t patronize me.”

Jack raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just making a point.”

“Yeah, you have a habit of doing that,” Din bites back. He’s already had two rounds of Jack tonight and that’s two rounds too many.

“Look.” Jack sighs, relenting. “I didn’t come here to argue.” He shifts and hesitates. Din’s eyes narrow when he approaches the bed and stops, reaching across Din to offer the kid a hand. Tiny fingers wrap around his pinky, pulling and pushing in a gentle swaying motion.

It’s very tempting to smack that arm down.

“I’m trying to put him to bed.” Din tries in a last ditch effort. His brother is nothing, if not persistent.

Glancing from Din to the child, Jack hums under his breath with a thoughtful frown. It almost feels like an apology when he gently guides the child back to its nest of blankets.

“So,” Jack says, tucking one of the child’s arms under the blanket’s edge. “Tell me about this guy.”

A muscle in Din’s jaw tics. What more can he say about Paz that he hasn’t already? But before he can complain further Jack continues, “The one you had to kill.”

Din’s breath catches in his throat.

Oh.

Bowing his head, Jack’s stetson slides into his hands and he rests the hat’s wide brim over the child’s eyes. A curious coo echoes from beneath the leather, but no whines of distress follow. Jack folds his hands over his thigh and meets his brother’s gaze.

“That was your first? Since we got back?”

“Yeah.” Din’s voice is hoarse. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and has to focus hard on the shape of the child shifting under the blanket instead.

If he doesn’t, he’ll instead see those eyes that find him every night when he turns out the lights: wild, bloodshot and impossibly wide. The man’s skin had glowed with a sickly pallor, veins stark like fissures of indigo rising from his neck to his hairline. He’d spoken nonsense, but his gun hand was steady.

There had been no other choice.

Jack snorts a quiet laugh. “Still can’t believe you made it all these years as a bounty hunter without killing anyone.”

Din stares at him, but his brother just smiles back. He’s being serious.

“It might shock you, but the rest of us have to abide by the law.” His clients definitely wouldn’t appreciate the heat from association to a murder charge.

Jack shrugs light-heartedly, cocking an eyebrow. “Look, sometimes… people resist.”

Din mirrors the gesture, head tilting. “Never been a problem for me.” The bounties didn’t have to be conscious, just whole and healthier than not. Most of them were bail-jumpers and too scared to resist the moment they were found. It rarely got violent.

But this bounty with the kid… he had never worked so hard in his life. His ribs ache and he’s still knitting together in places.

“I’ve heard,” Jack’s smile is wide. “You’ve made something of a name for yourself East-side. What’s that line? ‘I can bring you in warm or--’”

“You keeping tabs on me?” Din growls.

Jack’s face tells him that’s a stupid question. “I’m your big brother. Wasn’t any other way I was going to learn what’s going on in your life. Was there?”

("It's been too long. You don't call, you don't write.")

Din scowls deeply. His heart pounds in his chest. He’d just wanted space. And time. Was Jack always going to be looking over his shoulder?

“Did you know we were coming?”

“No. I have my own life, you know. Wasn’t aware of this casualty. You kicking up a fuss on your old turf. Making off with your own target. And that guy?” Jack jerks a thumb at the wall separating them from Paz. He rolls his eyes in an impressive show of disgust. “I thought you hated teamwork.”

“I hated the team.”

From the look in Jack’s eye, he catches the reference. His gaze drops, wry smile tugging at his mouth. With a rueful laugh under his breath, Jack glances heavenward as though he might find the stock and balance of their lives in the ceiling’s grooves. His voice is very quiet. “At least when we cleaned house, we had back-up.”

His sobriety changes something in the air and Din stares at his hands. Swallowing feels difficult. “I… I don’t think I left a trace, but… if they do… if they find me… I need to find a safe place for the kid before that happens.”

“Is that why you killed this guy?”

“He was after the kid. Not me. He had a fob.”

Jack nods. “Yeah, I gave it to Ginger. It’s good you held on to it. She can study it.”

“Do you really think she’ll be able to help?”

Jack is drumming fingers against his knee, studying the tall chair in the far corner of the room. “Blood trackers are rare even in our line of work. Ginger may be a whitecoat, but she’s a good one. She’ll turn up something.”

“You trust her to keep it off the books?”

“I’ve worked with her for years. But this Vizsla--”

Not this again. Din rolls his eyes, rising from the bed to seek out a drink from the mini-fridge.

Jack continues, undeterred. “--You known him a week?”

Din cracks open the can of soda with as much vindictiveness as he can muster and gets spray on his collar for the trouble.

“‘The hell are you doing telling him our history?”

Din’s face twists, drink stalled halfway to his lips. “I didn’t--”

“You don’t know him,” his brother argues, voice rising again. “You can’t trust him.”

“Jack,” Din snaps, throwing a significant look at the… well at the stetson hiding the snoozing kid, but his brother understands his intention well enough. Lips to the can’s rim, Din starts chugging.

Jack is quieter, tight and annoyed. “You know what he said to me? ‘The only one Din has to worry about is you’ -- the fuck have you been saying to him?”

Half the can is already gone and, not for the first time, Din wishes he drank alcohol. His lip curls in a scowl. “I told him you’re a pain in the ass and last time I saw you, I almost broke my hand on your face!”

Jack points at him like Din has walked into a trap. “Which you still ain’t apologised for.”

Din spreads his arms in invitation. “I’m sorry your damn head is so hard it gets us both in trouble.”

“Hey, who ran to who for help today?”

“And have you cleaned up?” Din crushes the empty can and throws it to the trash beneath the desk with a satisfying thunk; a clean shot. “I know twelve step programs. Shouldn’t you be apologising to me first?”

Jack rises to stand, expression dark. “What I do to grieve my own goddamn family… so I can support us?” His voice is low and trembling with rare fury. “That’s my business.”

Din knew it. He shakes his head in disgust, leaning back to appraise his brother. “You never went to rehab. I bet you’re not even clean.”

“But it doesn’t matter, does it?” Jack leans his weight on a hip, arms crossing. “You’re still here. Asking for my help to clear the way, like always.”

Weariness falls over Din, heavier than before. He shakes his head, wishing he could shut Jack and all the noise he brings out of his head. He releases a long breath.

“I’m done for the night. I need to rest,” he says.

Jack watches him for a few seconds, and eventually relents, nodding. “Okay. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

Din really doesn’t want to pick this up tomorrow, but he doesn’t argue the point because it allows Jack to reclaim his stetson, revealing the child softly snoring beneath it. He follows his brother to the door and frowns when Jack stops, fingers on the handle.

Jack turns back. He hesitates.

“Din.”

Din frowns with suspicion, waiting.

Jack meets his eyes. His searching gaze feels heavy. “Did you steal that kid from his family?”

A high pitch static whines in Din’s ears. He stares at his brother, disbelieving.

“... What?”

Jack turns, facing him squarely. “I’m sorry, but I need to ask. If there’s a report for him, we’ll find it. But if you took him from a bad situation, we can--”

“How the fuck can you ask me that?” Din hisses.

Jack raises his hands in placation, but it’s insulting. “I know, okay?” He leans in, searching Din’s face. “ We know .” Not we, Statesman, but Din and Jack. “It’s not always cut and dry.”

“He was a bounty , Jack. I took him as I was told!”

Jack holds his gaze. “And these people you took him from. They weren’t his family?”

Din feels his expression twist into something ugly remembering the remote warehouse, dark and empty. The child’s bassinet revealed beneath a heavy rag in the corner, stowed like some common piece of trash.

Or maybe, hidden in the vain hope of benevolent salvage.

“There was nobody,” Din says, chest tight at the memory of those dark eyes blinking up at him in the dim light of his flashlight. The sudden urge to see the child tugs at something within him, and he glances back to the bed. His chest loosens at the sight of the child’s face relaxed in sleep. “He was alone.”

Jack doesn’t miss a beat. “You stealing him back for his family?”

Din looks at him, incredulous. “Those people? There’s no way they’re his.”

“Family, you know... it can be fucked up.”

Not those people. “Impossible.”

“He got a name?”

Din’s hands curl at his sides. “Not one I know.” He feels ashamed he can’t give the kid that much.

“You found him without a name? Damn. You are good.” In a rare turn, Jack sounds genuine.

“He’s ten months old,” Din says. That and his last known location were all they gave him.

“... I'll have Ginger run him against missing persons. If anyone's looking for him, we'll find out. And if they’re decent, we’ll hand him over.”

Din’s exhale leaves him in a rush. He nods, turning back to his brother. “Thank you.”

Jack shrugs, expression thoughtful. “You’re looking for a safe place for him. But for now that's probably with you.”

Din’s heart skips a beat, drumming hard. “With my job?” No. There has to be someone -- somewhere better. “It's no life for a child.”

“As I hear it, you're unemployed,” Jack winks at him, tugging the door open with a click. “Might be room for options?”

Din just glares at the wall and huffs out a tired breath of frustration.

“There’s a cafeteria down the hall when you’re hungry in the morning. I’ll send Ginger round to get you.”

Din nods and even that feels like effort. “Sure. Thanks.” His voice is rough with exhaustion. It’s annoying to think his brother could mistake it for emotion.

Jack tips his hat. It’s hard to translate the look in his eyes, like he’s waiting for something, judging his options. “Hey. We’re going to keep him safe. I got you.”

Not wanting to encourage any further discussion, Din just nods again and shuts the door behind Jack when he steps off. He checks the locks twice. Burying his face in his hands, his shoulders drop with a sigh so deep it feels like it will never end.

Enough for tonight.

He looks back at the kid, ear straining for its soft breaths. He shakes his head.

Enough.

///

Statesman’s night shift is halfway through their rotation but, in Jack’s opinion, some occasions are worth pulling a few extra hours.

A stream of faceless names speed by on Ginger’s large, wall-set monitor as their systems sift through each state’s missing persons databases. Ginger set the scan for children under two years old of African-American descent. Although Din lifted the kid from somewhere in the Eastern states, they can’t dismiss the possibility he came from elsewhere first.

Toddler after toddler flickers by, each smiling soft, beguiling and bright-eyed. They number in the thousands and as the tally climbs, Jack’s heart grows heavier, sick to his stomach.

So many missing children. So many broken families.

Across the lab, one of the computers beeps.

Jack straightens from his lean against the console. Ginger looks up from her desk where she had been studying a read-out of the kid’s general blood test results. Low on iron, but all things considered he was remarkably healthy.

That sick feeling turns over in Jack’s stomach, hardening cold and certain as Ginger reaches for her datapad.

“Show me,” Jack says.

On a second monitor, a new image appears: a cell structure, biosynthetic in nature. Below it, an affirmative green message displays the familiar make and model of the kid’s tracker.

Ginger’s lips part with a soft ‘oh’ of shock. Jack is more vocal: whirling with a curse, he smacks the side of Ginger’s console for lack of anything else to hit.

Ginger looks from him to the monitor and back again. “But--”

“God-- damn it--”

What were the odds. What were the fucking odds.

Pretty damn good when he could count the number of competitive patents on one hand.

Ginger stutters and points to the monitor accusingly. “But how did it get in a kid? We only use them for sanctioned targets, high risks to… to the country--”

Jack sags against the console, dragging a hand across his mouth. He stares at the indisputable evidence of their tech’s misuse and considers the implications. None of them are good.

Ginger grips her datapad tightly. “We have to tell Champagne.”

Champagne. The boss. Fuck.

It was Jack who sold him on the pitch of these blood trackers in the first place. Their panel of scientists may have vetted the proposal, but he was the senior agent who signed off on Statesman’s joint development of this particular iteration. Now to find it in a kid brought to him by his brother ?

Champagne would have his hide. If they launched an investigation, he could kiss that promotion to New York goodbye.

“If someone’s leaking our patent… or if our partner’s been selling it--” Ginger cuts off at his raised hand.

One thing at a time.

He holds her eye and points to the diagram on the monitor. “Back this up on an external drive and clear all record of these scans. This stays between us. I’ll deal with Champagne. You just focus on getting it out of the kid tomorrow when he wakes up.”

“Can we even do that?” Ginger’s expression is incredulous. Her wide eyes dart around the lab. “Jack, that means I need to bring him in here! We can’t bring in non-personnel.”

“If he’s got our tech in him, we can.”

Ginger clutches the datapad to her stomach. “I don’t think those two will let us take him away.”

She’s not wrong. Even if his brother’s attitude wasn’t deterrent enough, the obnoxious walking wall of muscle would have something to say about it.

“I’ve got a plan for that.”

///

“Only one of you can be chosen.”

Din hasn’t dreamed of this in years.

But it’s as clear as the day he lived it, the moment he and his brother exchanged a cold look of realisation and he watched Jack’s face contort in anger.

“Don’t--” Jack began.

But Din was always a faster shot than his brother.

There were only three of them standing in that room when Statesman put a gun in their hands and left them to decide who among them would become the newest recruit. The assessment had persevered for days. Physically, Din could have gone for many days more. But mentally, he knew he had to end it.

The third among them dropped like a puppet released from its strings when Din shot him in the shoulder, and immediately laid down his weapon. Weaving his hands behind his head, he ignored the furious look in his brother’s eyes as he kneeled, addressing the cameras.

“That’s it!” he called to their unseen spectators. He jerked his chin at his brother. “There’s your agent. It’s over!”

Jack may have dreamed of them joining Statesman together, but it was only his dream. Everywhere, always; together. Just thinking of it again makes the air feel stifled.

“Din,” Jack growls, trembling. His gun is pointed at the downed man. “What have you done?”

Din shakes his head, voice quiet enough hopefully the surveillance won’t hear him. “I’ve had enough, Jack.”

But Jack doesn’t seem to hear him. Towering over his kneeled position, Jack’s voice is thunderous. “What the hell did you do?”

He looks to their third and this time, Din follows his gaze.

His heart almost stops in his chest.

Because it’s not a man, but a gently squirming tangle of blankets on the floor. A small, dark arm emerges from the bundle, reaching weakly. A sworn oath dies in his throat as he throws himself across the tile, but the motion beneath the blankets is already slowing. The thick pool of blood grows.

“--No, it’s not possible… kid?” Din scrambles to gather him up, but the blankets are empty. Oh no. No, he didn’t mean to. How did this happen? He was so careful. He was… no….

His eyes burn with tears and he crumples the barren blankets in his hands. “Kid?”

Jack’s roar fills him, “What did you do?”

He gasps awake, heart pounding in his chest, the accusation still ringing in his ears. Darkness greets and engulfs him. Gulping in shallow, greedy breaths of air, he scrambles at his side for light. His hand closes round the sharp corner of a table. The lead of something. A lamp.

He flinches at the warm flood of light but it’s an instant relief when he’s able to make out his surroundings.

Statesman. He brought them back here. What was he thinking?

Safe , another lifelong voice in him counters. Jack is safe.

Except when he’s not.

He startles at the touch on his knuckles in the bedspread and looks down to find the kid on all fours, crawling from his blankets.

The kid?

“Aaah,” the little one squeals, pushing himself up on Din’s forearm in an attempt to stand, legs wobbly. His smile is wide and cheeky, maybe delighted at the unexpected opportunity to play when he should be sleeping.

The guilty panic of the dream is still tight in Din’s chest. The touch on his arm feels unreal and with the child’s very tangible weight leaning into him, the kid has barely straightened before Din’s face has twisted, mouth wrenching in a silent gasp for air. He scoops the child up and buries his face in his tiny shoulder, shaking. The relief is overwhelming.

His tears are silent. He doesn’t say anything. The child wouldn’t understand him anyway.

I promise. I promise.

Maybe the rocking is more for his own benefit than the child’s, judging by the kid’s annoyed noises and squirming in his arms. When he finally relents and loosens his hold, the child pulls himself higher up Din’s chest with hands that will probably stretch his collar.

Din sniffs and the kid stares at him, expression unreadable. How did people ever tell what was going on with kids anyway?

“Sorry,” he sighs, wiping his nose apologetically on the back of his sleeve. He shouldn’t cry in front of a kid. He’s pretty sure the comfort was supposed to flow the other way.

The child bounces in his lap, those small hands push at his chest. “Ehhn!” He sounds scolding.

Din sighs again. “Don’t beat me up, man. I’ve had a long day.”

“Aaaaah.” The kid seems to scoff, leaning into him, mouth agape and Din has to lean away to avoid the kid latching onto his chin and slobbering all over his neck. Again. Drool drips down onto his shirt instead.

Din pulls a face. “Do you think you could not drool on all my clothes?”

The kid laughs giddily, hands tight in his shirt as it bounces on his thighs, unfairly energetic for their mutual lack of sleep. Din startles when the kid throws itself against his front in an unmistakable hug, arms wrapping around his neck. The babble in his ear is more questioning this time.

Warmth blooms in his chest. Carefully, he wraps both arms around the child in return. As if by magic, the tension begins to ease from his chest to his shoulders, and on. Air comes easier.

He checks the time on his phone. 3:40am. Nothing to do but sleep. Might as well try it this way.

“Okay,” he concedes, a hand on the child’s back to hold him steady when he leans over to flick off the lamp. “Just this time.”

The kid barely weighs a thing and is a surprisingly comforting weight on his breastbone as he lays down, tucking the blankets in around them. The kid squirms gently against his chest, getting comfortable and cooing nonsense.

“Stop moving,” Din murmurs, patting his back through the blanket.

Another coo comes, a simple, sweet note of question.

“Shh,” Din rubs his back, other hand closed around the shape of the kid’s foot under the blanket. “Shh.”

With the kid’s soft noises fading, Din finds himself also drifting and the last thing he registers before sleep takes him is the unmistakable damp of drool seeping into his shirt. He’s too tired to care.

<< previous chapter | next chapter >>

[agustdef]

Here & Now - Chapter 2

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: Fluff; Chill romance

Word Count: 1,963

Warning: None.

Banner Marker: @dee-ehn​

A week of me constantly working felt like a month. I was physically and mentally drained, but I had to keep going. The light at the end of the tunnel was so close and I could just imagine the rest that I'd get as if it were happening.

"Kendall!"

The screaming of my name sent me jolting forward and out of the daydream, I'd slipped into. Blinking a few times I regained my bearings and stared at Marcus with wide eyes. He just frowned, his eyes holding what felt like disappointment.

"How much sleep did you get on the plane?'

"Three hours."

"And when you got home?"

"Three hours?"

He sighed and I guessed he wasn't appeased with my answers. "How much sleep did you get while in New York?"

For a moment I paused, thinking about it. After a few seconds too long he slapped the table, calling on my attention again.

"Actually, I slept every night for at least seven hours. The most consistent it's been for about a month. I'm just using too much of myself. Working my brain to meet all deadlines and also trying to get everything that I want to out of me. Too much creative output methinks."

Shrugging I grabbed the piece of Belgian waffle I'd been eating, dipped it into syrup and shoved it into my face.

Marcus released another sigh, his face softening. He was entering one of his big brother modes, I could feel it. I always did my best to not worry him that much, but sometimes it just couldn't be helped.

"You're taking a break from all work after this. You look dead most of the time, even with that sparkle of joy in your eyes. Plus your skin looks dull. Where is that radiant brown skin that you've honed with your sixty different skincare products."

A laugh escaped me and I almost choked on the waffle. He was a freaking dork.

"My skin looks just fine, thank you very much. Never come for it again. And I promise I will be taking a break. I'm going to be sleeping, eating and seeing several movies. Also catching up on music."

The last words had him narrowing his eyes and opening his mouth to say something.

"Not for inspo nor for work. I'm behind on some releases and need to catch up and expand my library. We both know that I'd be driven mad if I couldn't at the very least listen to music."

Marcus' lips pursed and then he nodded. He knew that I was right. I couldn't fully promise to control my impulse to get work of some kind done, but I would at the very least try for my sake, his and my literary agent, Ara.

"Okay. Even though I want to just ban you from work now we're having a brunch meeting for a reason." He paused and took a sip of his nasty earl grey tea.

Clearing his throat he turned his attention back to me. "You know the projects you have coming up, it's not a lot and you've worked with at least one person on all of them before. So obviously I'm not too worried about that. You have meetings with the producers for Halsey's album and then the ones for Bruno on Tuesday. Thankfully, they're hours apart so you have time to sprint to the other side of the city."

As he spoke I scrolled through my phone's planner, making sure that I had all those things noted somewhere. I'd have reminders, but I preferred to have it on me at all times. I'd end up cross-checking them with the things in my paper planner.

"Got it."

He nodded and scanned his own phone, then something in the air shifted. Marcus glanced up at me with this serious expression that had me prepared to shit myself.

"And then there's the meeting with Suga in a week."

His grave expression only lasted for a second and then he was smirking at me. Wiggling his eyebrows he did this weird dance that I never wanted to see again. I felt very embarrassed and also wanted to launch something at him because he was teasing me.

"Stop."

"Stop what? I'm just saying you have a meeting next week. A meeting with someone you fangirl over. Someone you've said some very interesting things about." He sounded so smug.

"And? I've fangirled about most of the people I've gotten to work with. Full on thirsted. Brendon Urie, Hayley Kiyoko, Tinashe, Halsey, Trey Songz, Rihanna. Hell, I'm in post-production with Hanbin. And everyone knows how deep that thirst ran." I rolled my eyes and sipped my iced green tea.

"True. But come on, we both know your composure can suck sometimes. Even you, woman with the resting bitch, sad and/or tired face slips up. And I'm more than sure that he will catch you slipping." He enunciated every word, growing more pleased with himself every second.

My cheeks were burning, from embarrassment and annoyance. I flipped him off and stared into his eyes. "Keep fucking with me and I will shave your head. All the hard work for those waves will go out the window."

And as usual, it shut him down. He knew I'd never go that far, but I was not above some form of retaliation that he wouldn't see coming. We'd known each other for well over six years, and even though we spent 2 years, not on speaking terms friendship wise his work as my agent kept him in the loop of my behavior.

Silence reigned as we finished off our food and waved down the waiter to order the burger we'd been eyeing. Once that was taken care of I felt this sort of shyness overtake me. It wasn't foreign, because I was naturally shy, but with a close friend, it felt misplaced.

Clearing my throat I felt my cheeks burning again. "So... um, any particular reason that they asked me? Like the email said that he wanted to work with me, but even then I have no clue why. I asked Hals and she denies having any part in it."

Marcus failed to keep the smirk from making its way back onto his face. He tried hard, the corners of his mouth quirking up and down. Eventually, he just gave up.

"Oh. Well, it's not like you're some unknown producer. You've made a name for yourself with how consistently good your work is. Plus people know that you dabble in a little of everything and are willing to experiment. Plus if you've forgotten you've done a fair amount of work in the world of k-pop. Stray Kids, Jackson Wang, Loco, Mamamoo. You just finished working with B.I., someone who is arguably one of the best producers and writers out there."

"But..."

Reaching across the table he used his hand to cover my mouth, "No buts. You've created a rep for being good at your job and great to work with, it's not surprising that he or anyone else might want to work with you. Stop it."

Swatting his hand away I glared at him, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

"Fine. What time is the meeting?" I asked.

Just before he could speak the massive burger was sat in front of us with a mountain of fries. My stomach felt tight after the waffles and bacon, but upon seeing the beauty made some room. I ordered ginger ale for burping purposes and then grabbed the knife, cutting the burger in half.

"It's going to be on Wednesday at two. You're free that whole day, including deadlines for Ara because those edits are obviously due tomorrow. So you can relax all day until that and perhaps prepare some stuff to show him to get the vibe he's going for."

I took a huge bite of the cheeseburger as I mulled over what he said. One thing dawned on me as I swallowed.

"What is this for exactly. You cut off all my access to the emails and I'd like not to be in the dark about it."

"Oh, he's releasing more Agust D music," he said nonchalantly.

My eyes widened and I felt like my eyes would roll out of their sockets because of it. I'd assumed it was a BTS thing or some other BigHit artists situation, not his solo stuff.

"I want to fire you so bad," I said once I regained my composure.

"Nah, you can't and you won't. You know I do my job too well and this is the only time I've withheld information for my own amusement."

"I hate you a little bit. Not gonna lie." I shoved several fries into my mouth and chomp as I glared at him.

Marcus just winked at me and continued stuff his face with food. No more talk of work happened, we just sat and eat our food occasionally making conversation of some random topic like the character I named after him and then murdered. It had been over a year since that book was written, but with the last of the edits being due his salt levels had risen again.

He ranted and raved about how rude it was, killing a dear friend. One would think I'd actually done the deed and somehow brought him back to life. I had to admit it was funny how riled he was about it though.

Right before he started listing the reasons why I should change the character name my phone vibrated on the table. An image of Hals flashed onto the screen and I thanked Zeus for the interruption.

Picking up the phone I wasn't given the chance to speak because she was whispering with someone in the background. When she stopped I interjected.

"Hello?"

"Ken! Hi, where are you?" She got right to the point.

"I'm out wrapping up a meeting with Marcus. Is there something you needed?" As I spoke to her Marcus waved down our waiter and requested the check.

"Yes, but depends on how you answer the next question. Which is are you busy for the rest of the day?"

She sounded too happy like she was up to something and I didn't like it one bit.

"Besides doing a read through no. Why?"

A laugh could be heard on the other end, which was very much so hers though she'd moved away. Another voice said something, but I couldn't quite make out what it was.

"I could hang up."

"Wait, no. I wanted to see if you wanted to hang out and work on some stuff. Nothing serious, just run a few things by you and we spend time together. You can even do your read through." She's pulled it together and sounded normal, but I was still suspect.

Glancing down at my watch I saw it was only almost one and I had all the time in the world to get shit down. That and I only had half the book left and that wouldn't take me much.

"Fine. I'll be there in half an hour."

"Good. You know how to get in. Love you. Bye."

She hung up quick, leaving me no chance to respond to her. Shrugging I pushed the phone into my pocket and looked up in time to see the waiter hand Marcus his receipt. When he got up so did I and we headed out of the restaurant.

"Need me to drop you off?" he asked.

"Nah. I can just Uber there, we're going different directions," I said.

The sun was so bright that my glasses weren't transitioning fast enough to save me and I couldn't really see him.

"Okay. Be safe." He reached over and ruffled my hair, sending the curls I'd worked hard to keep intact going everywhere.

Before I regained sight he was gone, knowing I'd hurt him. Rolling my eyes I ordered and uber and used the window the restaurant to reset my fro. By the time it was sitting how it once was the car pulled up and I eagerly fled to the safety of air conditioning.

It only took fifteen minutes to get to her place because for the first time ever traffic in LA was being kind to me. I hopped out of the car with a nod to the driver and made a beeline to her placed. Once there I knocked and was met with her smiling face. As usual her smile made me smile and she pulled me in for a tight hug.

"Thank you for coming."

"It's no problem, love."

She pulled away and let me in. I kicked off my shoes and was several steps in before I noticed the person standing across the living room. His back was to me and then he turned around, making my eyes widen a fraction before I got it together.

Halsey smiled and I could see the mischief in it. "I forgot to tell you I had a visitor. Kendall this is Yoongi, Yoongi this is Kendall. You'd be more familiar with the name Sailor V. You're working together soon, right?'

"Hi," I said still processing.

He also appeared surprised. "Hello."

[lickstynine]

Misadventures of Kit: Chapter Twenty-Seven

written with @ocsickficsideblog

Kit and Siofra couldn’t have had more different methods of getting ready for a party. Back at her own flat, Siofra was wrapped in a towel, blow-drying her curls and digging through bathroom drawers in search of her red lipstick. Meanwhile, Kit was in his bathrobe, neurotically running a lint roller over his pressed suit for the tenth time.

He had showered this morning, spending nearly two hours washing, conditioning, and drying his own hair. Now it was carefully pinned up, safe and out of the way while he buttoned up his dress shirt. Along with the collar pins, he’d found rose gold cufflinks, clicking them onto his wrists and adding a sleek red vest and tie over his shirt.

“Al, are my pins even?” Kit asked, as if he hadn’t meticulously eyed each side of the collar, checking ten times before daring to poke through the fabric.

“Yes. For the millionth time,” Alistair said. He was the calmest of the lot, lounging back on the bed in his suit, jacket open, tie hanging loose. He’d never actually learned how to tie them properly, which was strange since he’d gone to a boarding school for six years where a tie was part of the uniform. He’d actually brushed his hair behind his ears for Kit’s sake, but it was already starting to wisp out around his face and stick upright again.

Once his own suit and tie were in place, Kit gestured for Alistair to come over, grabbing a dollop of pomade on his fingers to slick down the flyaways in Alistair’s messy mane. “Why don’t you just use product to keep it in place normally?” He asked, letting down his own hair to brush it again.

“Gross, don’t use that shit in my hair! Ugh, I hate pomade! And who even uses pomade anymore? Except octogenarians,” Alistair cried, his nose curling with disgust. He pulled a face at his reflection in the mirror. “I don’t even look like Alistair Renfrew anymore.”

“No, you look like an actual civilized human.” Kit replied, “And I would’ve had to wet your hair for gel to work well.” He just shook his head dismissively, sweeping his hair back to put in all his earrings.

“I hate hair gel. It’s sticky and cold and feels disgusting.”

Kit groaned in frustration. “I cannot deal with this today. Just shower as soon as we get back, if you hate it so much.” He leaned in closer to the mirror, dabbing concealer under his eyes, since they seemed to be perpetually shadowed these days. “I got a new burgundy mascara, but I’m a bit nervous to try it. Do you think it would look alright?”

“Of course it will. I’ll put it on you if you want. You’re shaking, Kit.”

“I'm not trying to!” Kit groaned. He handed the mascara tube to Alistair.

“I know, I wasn’t getting at you.” Alistair paused, going over to his cousin and wrapping his arms around him. “It’ll be okay.”

“Or it won't. What if Siofra and Father don't get along? What if I piss off both of them?” Kit fussed, twisting each ring as he put them on.

“Well, Siofra probably won’t get on with your father, but she knows from you not to stir up trouble. Siofra seems to like you, and besides, I’ve pissed her off and she forgave me. And your dad...just stay out of his way as much as possible,” Alistair said.

Kit nodded. “I want to go home. I like being home. I just… I can't be home when he's there, and it's stupid and I'm stupid and I hate it.” He continued to shake as he brushed over his hair one last time, spraying it in place. “Okay, we…We need to go. We have to pick up Siofra.”

Alistair sighed, wrapping an arm around Kit. “Come on then. I’ll look after you.”

Kit nodded, allowing Alistair to layer his coats over his suit before they left. He still shivered in the stairwell, pressing against the heated leather seats as soon as they got in Taddy's car.

“Evening, sirs.”

“Hey, Taddy,” Alistair said, not at all formal. He’d given up on telling Taddy not to call him sir - it was just a habit - but he was going to make it clear he didn’t have any airs and graces.

“We're off to pick up Miss Siofra now, yes?”

“Yeah.” Kit mumbled, though he didn't sound excited. As the car took off, he swallowed nervously, clutching Alistair's hand. Alistair squeezed Kit’s back, sitting close beside him protectively. When they pulled up outside, Kit texted Siofra, and she bustled out looking like a buff ginger Cinderella.

The dress really did look splendid on her, and she and Kit had found some red opera-length gloves, as well as a red and rose gold Louboutin clutch. The outfit was impeccable, head to toe, and her curls were smoother and glossier than ever, with an elaborate braid woven into some of the upper strands, collecting in a rose-shaped bun. Kit forced a smile as she climbed into the car.

“You look stunning.”

“You look terrified.” She replied. “You gonna be okay?”

Kit nodded, swallowing nervously. “I'll be fine after a glass or two of wine.”

“Didja eat at least?” Siofra eyed him worriedly. She didn't want to him drinking on an empty stomach.

Kit just nodded, deliberately leaving out the information that he puked his nervous guts up in the shower.

“You scrub up pretty nice, Siofra,” Alistair said, raising his eyebrows.

“And you figured out how to use a hairbrush.” She grinned.

“Kit did my hair.”

“That explains it.” Siofra laughed. “You actually look like an adult, it's fuckin’ weird.”

“So what do I normally look like?” Alistair asked.

“A high schooler that writes depressing poetry in a black notebook.”

“That’s more Jasper’s thing. I sketched depressing things in my black notebook.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “Congratulations, you're special.” Taddy snickered from up front.

“That’s what they called the special needs kids,” Alistair said. “I used to have to go once a week to work on my shitty spelling. They all seemed baffled when I didn’t score very highly on the dyslexia test. Guess I just can’t fucking spell.”

Siofra snorted. “You're literally a professional idiot.”

“Then I should be as rich as Kit, because I’m doing an amazing fucking job of it.”

That actually got a weak laugh out of the older boy, and Siofra grinned. “Hey! You woke the dead.”

Alistair smiled a bit, wrapping his arm around Kit. “Help me protect him tonight, Siofra. He won’t be able to dance much without rests in between, but the girls love him.”

“He's got a fuckin’ date, they can dance with someone else!” Siofra huffed dramatically.

“It’s not really like that, you generally dance with lots of people. You just dance with the girl you brought the most,” Alistair said. “It’s like fucking Pride and Prejudice, trust me.”

Siofra scrunched her nose. “I'm not dancing with any skeevy older blokes.”

“There’ll be lots. I used to try to get Kit to join in counting the inappropriate ass-pats but he never did.”

“I'll break their fuckin’ fingers. Or just step on their feet. These heels are metal.” Siofra smirked.

Alistair grinned too. “Please do. That’ll provide the entertainment.”

Kit sighed. “If you could both not start a riot tonight, that'd be delightful.”

“I said I’d be good,” Alistair said.

“Mm.” Kit didn't seem reassured, and as the houses outside the window started getting nicer, he shifted nervously. Alistair wrapped an arm around him.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Mm.” Kit nodded, but when the car stopped, he didn't move to get out. Meanwhile, Siofra had climbed out, and she was gawking at the towering red-brick building, every floor glittering with Christmas lights.

“Fuckin’ hell! You said you lived in a manor, not a bleedin’ castle!”

“It's a manor.” Kit mumbled, still sunken into the leather seat.

“Castles are older,” Alistair said. “It’s just a big ass house.”

“Jaysus…” Siofra shook her head, then turned to tug on Kit's arm. “Oi. If we go in without you, we're gonna get booted right back out.”

Kit sighed, allowing her to pull him out of the car. His legs wobbled as he walked up the drive, and he hesitated to knock. Siofra banged on the door before he could run, and a servant girl let them in with a warm smile.

“Evening, Master Kit. It's good to see you.”

“You, too.” Kit mumbled. He shed his coats and handed them to her; Siofra did the same with her shimmery gold shawl. Alistair sighed but handed her his coat too, pulling a face. She smiled and carried their coats away. Kit shifted nervously on his feet, afraid to enter the ballroom. Alistair pressed close to his side protectively.

“Come on, no point hovering here getting more and more worried.”

Kit nodded, but his shoes dragged on the rug as he shuffled along. He again hesitated at the doors, but Siofra yanked them open. The ballroom was grand as ever, with a towering tree nearly touching the vaulted ceiling. There were lights and garlands on the walls, as well as live music and a massive spread of refreshments.

Alistair glanced around disdainfully. “Look at all this, Siofra. Do you think Reggie gives anything to any sort of charity?”

“Don't all rich old wankers donate? Just to look good or whatever?” she asked.

“Not the ones who were born into money. They don’t need public opinion on their side. My parents have to donate, because they want to sell their shit.”

“Slimy old cunts.” Siofra mumbled. Kit tried to slip away to the bar, but she grabbed his arm. “Come on, don't we have someone to see?”

“Don't remind me.” Kit groaned. He only had to look around for a moment to spot his father. Even in a room full of big heels and elaborate updos, Reggie towered over most of the crowd. He was standing by the snacks, chatting with a man about the same age who Kit recognized but couldn't have named to save his life. “Well, he's busy right now. We can see him later.”

“Oh, stuff it. You're going to say that all night.” Siofra tugged Kit through the crowd, towards the party's host. Alistair trailed along behind them, trying not to look like he loathed his uncle and everything he stood for. It was hard to ignore the beacon of red and gold that was Siofra, and Reggie turned to look at her before even noticing who she was with.

“Christian.” Reginald quickly smoothed out his face, trying to act like he hadn’t been staring at his son’s date’s cleavage. “Who is this with you?”

Kit was shaking where he stood, but he managed to keep his voice even when he spoke. “This is Siofra. I’ve been seeing her for about a month now.”

She lifted her skirt in a slight curtsey. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Reggie nodded, the gears in his brain turning in slow motion. “Siofra… what is that, Irish?”

“Yes, sir.” Siofra nodded. “Born and raised. I moved here for university.”

“Oh, you’re educated?” Reggie seemed surprised, as if it were 1953 and not 2018.

“Yes, sir. I have a bachelor’s in Music Theory and Composition.”

“You play any instruments?” Reggie asked.

“Violin, mostly, but I can do basics on piano and guitar.” Siofra said. Unlike Kit, she wasn’t at all intimidated, and she talked easily, answering more of Reginald’s questions and telling him about the orchestra her father played in. “They came through London recently, you might have seen them?”

Reggie nodded, though he had no idea whether he’d actually gone. “Yes, I think I did. Have you gotten anything to drink?”

“Not yet, we just came in.”

“Go find something you like. We have quite the selection.” Reggie told her. Siofra didn’t hesitate - free booze was great, free expensive booze was even better. Kit spun around to follow after her, but before he could take a step, a powerful hand latched onto his shoulder. “Not so fast, boy.”

Kit felt his heart stop in his chest. He took a shuddering breath, slowly turning to face Reggie again. To his shock and confusion, the older man was grinning.

“That’s a nice broad you’ve found there. Smart, cultured, great tits. I doubt you’ll be able to, but try to keep this one. She’s worlds better than the peasant faggot you had before.”

It was all Kit could do to nod, and he bolted for the drink table as soon as Reginald let go of him. A thousand confused thoughts were clamoring in his head, and he didn’t feel like listening to any of them. He nearly ran into a waiter, apologizing profusely and snatching a glass of champagne from the man’s tray. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sir.” The waiter walked off, and Kit emptied the flute in a single gulp, shuffling over to see Siofra, who was sipping a glass of whiskey and stacking hors d'oeuvres on a plate.

Alistair had been completely ignored, as usual. He was desperate to comment and start an argument with his uncle - but he’d promised Kit he’d behave. He contented himself with scowling as fiercely as he could at Reggie instead. Siofra patted Kit’s shoulder, offering him a snack cake.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Kit just shook his head, nudging the plate away and begging a waiter for more champagne. Alistair stomped over to them, still glowering. “God, I wish I could smack him one.”

“Did you talk to him?” Kit asked, gesturing for the waiter to stay.

“No. I wanted to tell him off. It was actually a real struggle to keep quiet and not start a row. I may have a problem.”

“May?” Siofra smirked.

“Shut up. You made a good impression. He liked your tits. Welcome to the family,” Alistair said dryly.

Siofra snorted. “Yeah, right charming bastard he is.”

“Isn’t he just? I didn’t even get a hello.”

“I don’t think he even saw you. He was too busy staring at Siofra’s chest.” Kit mumbled.

“Gross… She’s young enough to be his daughter.” Alistair paused. “I think…”

“How old d’you think I am?” Siofra cried.

“I dunno. Older than Kit.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “Truly a professional idiot.”

Kit chuckled into his champagne, holding his flute out yet again for the waiter.

“Kit, slow down,” Alistair said. “Eat some bread or something.”

“I don't want to eat. I want to be drunk.” Kit argued, swiftly emptying his glass again.

“That won’t go down well.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing shots, it’s bloody champagne. I’ll be lucky if I’m buzzed before midnight.”

“Midnight? We're stayin’ that late?” Siofra asked.

“They’ll want Kit to stay for the long haul,” Alistair said. “Once when we were really little, nobody actually took us to bed. Kit’s mum found us at two in the morning asleep behind the curtains.”

“Oh… shit.” Siofra pulled out her clutch to check the time on her phone.

Kit frowned. “Are you that ready to leave?”

“No, I don’t hate it here. I just… I have to leave tonight.”

“Well, it might be late, but we won’t spend the night here.” Kit reassured her.

Siofra shook her head. “No, not leave the party. Leave the country. It’s an eight hour drive to Dublin, and I have to be at my gran’s for Christmas. Normally, we’d’ve left by now, but the lads agreed to wait for me.”

Kit looked horrified. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I’d known you were busy!”

“I coulda said no.” Siofra replied, struggling to type through her gloves. “I wanted to come, I just didn’t schedule it that well. Just lemme shoot my brothers a text.”

“You can go early. I’ll look after Kit,” Alistair said.

“I feel bad leavin’ ya here…” Siofra sighed. “Especially when your family is such a gaggle’o wankers.”

Alistair snorted at the phrasing. “We’re used to that.” Kit nodded in concession, though he didn’t look very happy. Siofra glanced back at her phone, seeming surprised by the answer on the screen.

“You two wanna come with me?”

Kit went from reluctant to baffled in the blink of an eye. “Excuse me?”

Siofra sipped nonchalantly at her drink. “I texted the family groupchat, told ‘em I’d be leavin’ late since I’m out with a guy I’m seein’. Dad said ‘Bring ‘im with, if he’s so important.’ So I’m askin’. You lads wanna come to Christmas with me?”

Alistair glanced at Kit. “Jules is going to that crazy grandma’s house with his family. He wouldn’t mind if I went with you.”

Kit looked completely stunned by the idea. “I've never been to a family Christmas before.” He obviously didn't consider the ball a family event, even if the Raycraft name was plastered on every invitation in gold leaf. “Do you want me to go?” He asked Siofra.

“Obviously, stupid.” She nudged his shoulder. “I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't.”

Kit turned back to his cousin, trying to pawn the decision off on literally anyone else. “Al? Do you want to go?”

“Maybe she didn’t mean I could come too,” Alistair said, glancing at her.

“No, I said you lads. Plural. I know your clingy arse is gonna follow Kit if he comes long.” Siofra smirked.

Alistair poked his tongue out at her. “Okay then. We’ll come.”

“I'll tell Riagán to make sure there's room in the car.” Siofra picked up her phone again.

Kit fished in his pockets for his own phone. “If you're going to be kind enough to have us, I can at least have Taddy drive us.”

“Is there room for all of us in his bougie little sedan?” Siofra asked.

“We have other vehicles.” Kit shrugged. “I'll send Taddy to get Al's and my things from the flat, then he can go help your brothers pack their things.”

“Damn… and suddenly I'm back to not feelin’ like the generous one.” Siofra mumbled.

“Please allow it. It's my only good quality.” Kit said, not looking up from his phone.

“You’ve got plenty of good qualities,” Alistair argued.

“My looks don't count.” Kit deadpanned.

“You're a pretty good shag.” Siofra offered.

“You’re no help, Siofra,” Alistair said.

She huffed and took a bite of a tiny cake. “I listed an example. What did you do?”

“I could list a hundred things.”

“You can count to a hundred?” Siofra feigned surprise.

Kit tried not to snicker. “Please bicker later. I need you two to protect me. Proper dancing will start any minute now.” He sucked down another flute of champagne in preparation.

“Then it’d be better if you could stand upright, you lush. Stop drinking,” Alistair said.

Kit rolled his eyes. “Way to make a boring party worse.”

“Hey, you’ll thank me when you don’t puke down the front of some poor girl’s dress.”

“That's more your wheelhouse, isn't it?”

Kit didn't get his question answered, as that was the moment the music picked up and guests swarmed the dancefloor. Siofra practically carried him along, doing her best to dance the girl's part while both holding Kit's weight and towering over him in her heels. Alistair paired up with some little sister who didn’t want to dance seriously either, and they twirled about on their own in the corner.

Kit rolled his eyes when he caught sight of his cousin. “He's always been like that.”

“An idiot?” Siofra asked.

“Well, yes, but I was going to say unique. He does what he wants no matter what, and he's proud of it. I've never had the courage to be like that.” Kit sighed.

Siofra shrugged. “Everybody has their faults. You're still the smart one. And the pretty one. And the charming one. And the rich one.”

Now Kit couldn't help smiling. “You really know how to stroke my ego.”

“And I can flatter ya, too.” Siofra grinned.

Kit scoffed, but he was grinning too. “You're filthy.”

“And you like it.”

Kit didn't argue with that, chuckling and pulling closer to Siofra as they drifted across the dance floor. As the song drew to a close, though, he felt a flutter of dread. Siofra gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as she let him go. “I'll be back for ya.” She promised, spinning around to find a swarm of older men vying eagerly for her hand.

Alistair wanted to go rescue Kit, but in the flurry of partner-swapping he was pushed towards a girl about his own age with a very long nose that she looked down in disgust. She clearly knew who Alistair was, because she scowled fiercely as she was prodded into asking him for the next dance, and took his hands gingerly, as if she thought he had fleas. Alistair caught Kit’s eye over his shoulder and pulled a hideous face.

Kit made a distressed face back. Not because his girl was hideous, but because she was athletic, and unlike Siofra, this stranger expected him to hold his own, spinning and sashaying in time with the upbeat music.

Alistair tried to watch him as they danced, not paying attention properly to his own partner. When he’d learned to ballroom dance at boarding school, there’d been no girls, and Alistair was usually paired with a tall boy to dance the female part. If he didn’t focus properly he was liable to start letting his partner lead him, and he soon stepped wrong and collided with the girl, both of them stumbling.

The girl fell on her hands and knees, scowling at him. “Oaf! What are you doing?”

“I haven’t done this in a while, okay?” Alistair hissed, blushing. He’d been about to help her up but now he just folded his arms.

“Clearly. This is why people talk about you.” She grumbled, climbing to her feet and smoothing her dress.

“Yeah, not really. You’re fine anyway.��

“No thanks to you.” She scowled. The music died down and she hurried away, while Kit and Siofra once again fought off a swarm of new partners.

The little sister came back to Alistair, dragging him off to a corner again. “Nice one.”

“Shut up,” Alistair said, grinning and peering through the crowd to make sure Kit wasn’t about to collapse. The older boy was too far away to see, save for the occasional flicker of red hair. He was surviving for now, but starting to get winded. Alistair couldn’t exactly yell for him across the hall - not when he’d promised Kit he’d behave - so he just sighed and hoped Siofra was taking care of him.

The next dance was a slow one, which gave Kit a chance to breathe, but three minutes’ reprieve was quickly wasted when the music picked back up. He started stumbling later in the dance, and the girl with him looked annoyed.

“Sorry. Sorry. I'm just a bit tired,” he mumbled, “Getting over a cold.”

The girl's face softened a bit, and she slowed her pace. Kit smiled gratefully, and they spun across the floor. His next partner wasn't quite as gentle, and within a few songs, he was stumbling and wheezing again. Siofra watched with worried eyes, trying to break through the crowd of thirsty men to rejoin him. When she tried to get close, another girl was reaching for Kit, but she shamelessly hip-checked the stranger away.

“Oi! That's my date. Get your own.”

Alistair snorted from behind her, and the crowd of children he was goofing around with all giggled too. Kit mouthed an apology to the girl, but he was secretly quite grateful, nearly collapsing in Siofra's arms. She caught him easily, but looked quite worried. “Jeez. You really need a lie-down.”

“This is exhausting.” Kit groaned.

“I know. Would ya get in trouble for sittin’ down a few minutes?”

Kit sucked his teeth. “Maybe?”

“Sit down, Kit. Fainting will get you in more trouble,” Alistair said.

“I suppose you’re right.” Kit sighed, letting Siofra drag him over to an empty chair. He sunk down at once, his legs limp as overcooked pasta and his lungs burning. “Oh, god, I don’t know how I survived this long. I feel like I’m dying.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “Easy there, drama queen. Have some water, maybe actually eat somethin’. You’ll be alright.” She fanned him with her clutch, half to match his dramatic nature, and half because he actually looked close to fainting.

“Just have some bread or something. Even you can’t throw that up,” Alistair said.

Kit just nodded, looking at Alistair hopefully. “Can you bring some?”

“I guess,” he said grudgingly, weaving his way through the crowds to the food. It was mostly occupied by bored, hungry kids and those too old to dance. A tiny lady who looked old enough to be his great-grandmother gave him a crinkly smile, croaking at him about how handsome he was. Alistair was pretty confused, but it made a change from everyone saying he was a disappointment, so he smiled back. She patted his arm, sticking a cupcake on his plate and shuffling away.

Alistair took some of the fancy bread rolls to Kit, still looking confused. “Who’s that old woman, Kit?” He pointed her out through the crowd.

Kit squinted across the room, mumbling about needing new glasses. “Why are you asking me for someone’s name? I know she’s the wife of a Lord, so just look for Moses’ older brother and that’s probably who she’s here with.” He picked apart a roll, taking a tiny bite of one of the flakey corners. Siofra offered him a water she’d snatched from a passing waiter, and he sipped gratefully.

“Well she was actually nice to me. It was weird. Maybe she’s looking for healthy young organs.”

“Probably just senile.” Siofra shrugged. Kit chuckled into his water.

“Thanks a bunch,” Alistair said. “She said I look handsome.” He stuck his tongue out at Siofra.

“Definitely senile.” She grinned.

“Funny. You’ve done well tonight. Plenty of guys buzzing round you.”

“I wish most’o those creepy old bastards would piss off. I ain’t had my arse grabbed that many times in a skeevy pub.” Siofra grumbled.

“Told you,” Alistair mumbled.

“Sorry.” Kit sighed, picking at his bread.

Siofra rolled her eyes. “I ain’t really bothered. Just wish I could slap the fuckers like I do at the pub.”

“I’ll tell you from experience that it doesn’t go down too well if you do that,” Alistair said.

“Yeah, I figured.” Siofra scowled. She could see guys drifting towards her as the song playing drew to an end, and she made a point to sit down next to Kit with her back to them.

Alistair smirked. “God, his face was priceless then, Siofra.”

She grinned back. “Good, it can be priceless somewhere else. I gotta take care’o my princess.” She reached over and stole a piece of Kit’s roll, since he was tearing it apart more than eating it.

“Kit, eat some of that. Don’t let Miss Gannet eat it.”

“Oi! I’m not the one whose fat arse left for bread and came back with cake.” Siofra huffed.

Kit picked up one of the tiny morsels of roll, chewing slowly as if he needed to make it last.

“The woman gave me cake,” Alistair retorted.

“Probably cause your fat arse looked hungry.”

“Well I am. I’m eating one cupcake, Mother.”

“Don’t call me that unless ya want me to whoop your arse.” Siofra smirked.

“We can provide the entertainment.”

Siofra just rolled her eyes, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and sucking it down. “Come on, lads, we can’t hide at the table all night.” She stood back up and offered a hand to Kit. He sighed, not excited to dance again, but knowing she was right.

“Be careful with him,” Alistair said.

“I will. I’m keepin’ ‘im to myself this time. Those other whores had their chance.” Siofra scooped Kit up as easily as a child would lift a doll, twirling back onto the dance floor.

The rest of the night passed in relative peace, though Kit was nearly comatose with exhaustion by the time the clock struck midnight. Guests toasted and cheered, and he stumbled around on Siofra’s arm wishing everyone merry Christmas and farewell. They didn’t have to bother saying goodbye to Reggie - by now, he was so plastered, the Queen herself could’ve sung him a carol and he wouldn’t have remembered in the morning.

Though she’d had more to drink than her beau, Siofra was still quite steady on her feet, practically carrying the tired and tipsy Kit back to the front door. Alistair had only sipped one glass, so he held Kit by his other arm. The servant girl from earlier came bustling out with their coats, and Siofra made sure to bundle Kit up before they stepped outside. Taddy was loyally waiting in the drive, but today, he was sitting in the driver’s seat of a sleek black Volvo rather than his usual Bentley. The SUV had been packed to the brim with luggage (mostly Kit’s, along with a bag or two from everyone else), and the middle row seats were occupied by Riagán, Cillian, and Finny.

“Oi! Master Scrooge! Ready to attend the Cratchit family Christmas?” Riagán yelled out the window, grinning. Cillian was half asleep beside him, but Finny leaned out the window as well, barking happily.

Kit forced a weak laugh, but he just wanted to get into the car and fall asleep. The brothers scrambled out, allowing Siofra to climb into the back and trade her dress for a t-shirt and pyjama pants. She looked at Kit, “You gonna change before we get on the road?”

“Hm?” Kit had been dozing off on Alistair’s shoulder. Siofra just pulled him inside, deciding it would be easier to strip and redress him herself. Once he was bundled into pyjamas and a robe, Siofra buckled him into the middle row and climbed back out to gather her dog.

Alistair managed to dress himself, tugging Kit’s robe tighter around his shoulders. “Are you warm enough?”

Kit nodded, already nestling down in his heated seat. Now that he was back in the car, Finny was practically tackling Alistair, barking and wagging his tail. Siofra chuckled. “Sorry, he’s gonna be in the back with Cilli.”

Alistair squealed and embraced Finny’s furry neck. “Hello, Finny!” The dog licked his face, climbing into Alistair’s lap. Riagán had settled into the front seat (seeing as he was 5+ inches taller than everyone else, it was only fair), and Cillian in the far back. Siofra plopped down on the other side of Kit, rolling her eyes.

“I guess Fin can just sit at our feet.”

“Just as a warning, I haven’t got any travel tablets so I’m gonna puke at some point,” Alistair said, his voice muffled under a ton of dog. Siofra groaned in exasperation.

“You underestimate me, sir.” Taddy winked at the pile of fur covering Alistair. “Check the console.”

“God bless.” Siofra sighed in relief.

“Thanks, Taddy,” Alistair called. He knew Taddy had mopped his puke off the seats enough times to come prepared.

“Of course, sir. There should be water bottles in the cooler in the back.”

By the time they had left London, Kit was snoring away. Siofra had pulled out a spiral notebook, where she was scribbling notes and lyrics as they came to mind. Finny had settled on the floor of the middle row, his head on Alistair’s feet and his ass on Siofra’s; Kit would’ve complained about being a dog footrest, but he was too asleep to care. Despite his older brother belting along to the radio, Cillian was starting to doze off as well. Alistair doodled idly in his notebook, mostly little cartoons; he couldn’t focus on detailed art in the car, the looking down would make him queasy even with the pills.

Siofra leaned over Kit to peer at Alistair’s doodles. “Whatcha drawin’?”

“You’ll think it’s weird.”

She scoffed. “I always think you’re weird, just show me.”

He’d done a little doodle of Kit and Siofra in their party outfits, but their arms and legs and hair dripped with honey, while the old guys and women around them had little round wings and fuzzy bumblebee bodies. Siofra snorted.

“That’s great. You should make t-shirts or comics or somethin’.”

“I’d like to make comics. Never thought of t-shirts. That’d be even better.”

“Definitely make more money with shirts.” Siofra sat back in her own seat as she remembered she was squashing Kit. “You gonna nap soon?” She asked, stretching and yawning.

“Probably. I’m knackered.” He sighed. “Thanks for taking care of Kit tonight.”

Siofra shrugged. “I don’t mind. Besides, ‘e shelled out a couple thousand quid for my outfit. I’d be a bit’o a bitch if I didn’t at least defend ‘im from thirsty hags.”

“Money like that isn’t important to him. What he needs is someone who really cares. Besides me, ‘cause I’m always on the border of pissing him off.”

“Oh, I know. Don’t think I forgot the mall.” Siofra smirked.

Alistair grimaced. “I hate fighting with him.”

“I mean, he’s pretty fussy. It’s bound to happen, ain’t it?” She asked.

“Still. I can’t stand it.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “That’s how family is. Ya love ‘em all the time, but ya don’t like ‘em all the time. If ya get along with somebody every minute’o every day, one or both o’ ya are fuckin’ mental.”

Alistair snorted. “Fair enough. I don’t know, I think I’m just sensitive to fights after growing up in our family.”

I think you’re both sensitive to everything, Siofra wanted to say. Instead she just nodded, reaching up to smack Riagán with her notebook. “Oi! X Factor! Stuff it! I wanna sleep.” He flipped her off, but quieted down nonetheless. Alistair stuffed his own notebook in his pocket, leaning on the window to sleep.