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star-lemonade · 3 years

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School reunion (2/3)

A.C.E Junhee x Reader

Cw: kinda angsty?, fluff

Rating: R

Word count: 2.5 k

Summary: You hire someone to accompany you to your school reunion.

He had cut his hair but it was definitely him. Junhee said hi and your colleague greeted him back. You did not know how you should react so you just nodded in his direction.

“This is our newest addition. Fresh from university…”

You were not listening to John anymore because you watched Junhee. He was standing the farthest away from you, several people stood between you and him. He was listening intently and did not look at you. Junhee wore silver earrings that gave him a more soft look.

“... know each other.”

Everyone was suddenly looking at you. John smiled and gestured at you while your colleagues' eyes were on you. Your glance met Junhee who smiled softly.

“..uhm.”

The elevator chime saved you from answering. The door opened and everyone spilled into the lobby.

You sat as far away from John as possible today. What would he think if you said how you had met Junhee? No. It was not a good idea to tell the truth. But what should you say? What had Junhee said about how you knew each other? You stayed quiet and let others speak, trying to not draw attention to yourself.

After lunch you usually got a coffee from the shop next door and went to the roof of the company building to relax for a few minutes in peace. So after you had finished your plate in record time, you stood up and left. You had to sort your thoughts and come up with some story to tell people if the topic of Junhee came up again. If he really stayed with John’s company it was bound to happen.

You got in line at the coffee shop. It was a cozy place where you also liked to go in the morning before work. There was not much sitting space because the shop seemed to have been built in the gap between two buildings. When it was your turn you ordered your usual.

The barista told you the price and as you were about to pull out your card a shadow appeared in your peripheral vision.

“I will pay for that and can I get an iced americano?”

You looked up to see Junhee give the barista his best smile. The woman looked at you for guidance. Her cheeks were a bit flushed.

“Junhee…”

It felt odd to say his name. The day you had spent with him all that time ago felt like a dream. Not a good dream but also not a nightmare. More like a dream that left you confused when you woke up.

“Please, let me buy you a coffee.”

He smiled. It was not the same one he had given the barista. This was more subtle and more familiar somehow. You nodded, still stunned.

“So you got the job with John. Congrats.”

It felt awkward to talk to him again. He reminded you of a bad time without any fault of his own. Junhee had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Yes, thanks again for the number.”

He sipped his coffee as you walked back to the office building.

“How have you been?”

Well, how had you been? Your steps bounced off the wall of the building. The glass facade like a mirror showed you and him walking.

“I have been okay.”

It was true. After the school reunion you had not felt very good for some time, but the further it was away from you, the better you felt. You had distracted yourself with work and let other things fill your life. It was not like you did not care about what the bullies thought anymore, just that it was not as important as before. What is done is done. You could not take that day back, so you had to live with it. The automatic door opened and you entered the lobby.

It was time to say goodbye to Junhee.

“See you around.”

Over the next few weeks Junhee insisted on buying you your post lunch coffee and people started to notice.

“Maybe he has a crush on you,” one of your colleagues speculated.

You shot them down. That was absurd. Why would he be interested in you? No, it was just gratitude, you said. You had brought him and John together. In fact Junhee and John seemed to be a dream team.

When you went out for dinner with John and some others, he could not stress enough how much he valued Junhee’s work. You found yourself talking to Junhee a lot more as time went by. You talked about your favourite artists and ended up texting each other until late into the night. More than anyone else's, the chat with Junhee was on top in your messaging service when you opened the app. But of course this did not mean anything. He was not interested and neither were you.

It was Friday night and you were hungry. It was past your usual time for dinner, but eating before the company dinner seemed inappropriate. ”Company dinner” was not the right phrase. It was more like a gettogether of colleagues. You had these from time to time. On this day John and his employees would be there too.

The restaurant had a more nostalgic feel to it. There were no chairs, just benches on either side of the worn tables. The ceiling was naked concrete and pipes ran from one to the other.

You sat down in the middle of the bench and greeted the two guys from John’s company. The others trickled in over the next 20 minutes.

“Hi.”

A familiar voice came from behind you. When you looked up, you were greeted by Junhee’s bright smile. He sat down next to you. Your colleague gave him a dirty look, when he squeezed himself between her and you. A warmth speared in your face. He looked gorgeous as always. The pullover he was wearing was just the right mix of casual and business for this event. You would have a hard time not staring at him. Maybe it was good that he sat next to you and not across. Although you had not minded looking at him all evening.

“I’m telling you I can do it!”

Minsu slurred his words a bit and some of his colleagues smiled. It was always amusing to see the innocent hubris of drunk people. He really thought he could beat anyone at arm wrestling.

“So who wants to try against me?”

He flexed his thin arms for show and now some people giggled. No one volunteered so he looked up and down the table. He pointed.

“Hey you, new guy! Will you wrestle me?”

Junhee smiled shyly at him. The pullover he had worn earlier was gone and he only wore a t-shirt now. A thin necklace disappeared under the collar. Only now you noticed how big his arms were.

“Sure.”

Junhee changed seats so he and the guy sat opposite each other. His arms looked even larger now that you had a comparison. They got into position. Elbows on the table and hands locked. One of their colleagues held their hand in the middle and counted down.

“Three, two, one!”

They began. Junhee strained against Minsu’s arm and bared his teeth, but it was no use. Minsu pushed his hand to the table and stood on the bench a moment later to let himself be showered in shouts. Junhee smiled slightly embarrassed.

When someone asked how he could have lost with his big arms, he laughed, “The muscles are just for show. Fashion muscle.”

He sat back down next to you and showed you a shy smile.

“Are you ready? Rock, paper, scissors!”

Rock was a mistake. The others left you standing in front of the restaurant with a very tipsy Minsu. You waved for a taxi and thankfully there was one just down the street that drove towards you. The old man stopped in front of you and rolled down the window. You could have just dumped Minsu in the taxi but you felt bad for him and got in the back seat next to him. Minsu looked like he was about to fall asleep and you were okay with that until you arrived at his apartment complex. You heaved him out of the taxi and dragged him to the door.

“Thanks. Your so nice”

He smiled in the “head empty” sort of way that only drunk people had. You still appreciated his thanks. Minsu was one of the only people who were still nice even while being this drunk. The door frame was his support.

“Sure. No problem.”

He leaned forward and you got a face full of his alcohol breath.

“I will tell you a secret.”

You raised an eyebrow and waited. He gave you a conspiratory look and said: “Newbie, let me win.”

Minsu giggled and started to fumble for his keys. You trusted that he would find the way to his apartment and made your way home.

A heat wave brought sunny blue skies. Maybe for the last time that year. You stood in front of your closet and made a decision. Today you wanted to wear a dress. This was not something that happened often but today felt like wearing one.

You did not like it, when people at work commented on this. Sadly, it happened every time you wore a dress. It felt like they were looking down on your usual clothes, because they were not feminine enough. You tried to ignore the feeling the comments induced and concentrated on your work.

Lunch came and went. You got in line for coffee as always.

“Hi.”

Junhee had appeared next to you. He wore his nerdy glasses and a bright smile. You were not sure, if he needed the glasses or not. Sometimes he wore glasses, but not always, and often they were just frames. He smiled the soft smile that he always had for you. The barista had seen you next in line and asked:

“The usual?”

“Yes!”

You and Junhee answered in unison. You giggled at this spontaneous synchronization. Junhee paid and you waited for your drinks. The barista set two cups down and put lids on.

“The dress suits you.”

She smiled at you and handed Junhee his coffee with a “there you go”.

“And the one for the girlfriend.”

She offered you the second cup while beaming like a neon sign in the darkness.

“Ehm..”

Junhee wrapped an arm around your shoulders and thanked the barista. You were a bit confused as he led you out. It felt kind of nice to be this close to him. The thought of how it had felt to hold his hand popped into your mind. You had not paid much attention to it at the time. Now you wished you could remember it better.

“Why didn’t you correct her?”

His arm loosened but he did not let go. You stared at him as you slowly walked towards the company building. A blush creeped up his cheeks.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Lighting had struck out of a blue sky. You sank down on your chair, still trying to process. Junhee had asked you out. Kind, funny, lovable, gorgeous Junhee. And you had said yes. What had you been thinking? You were going on a date with him.

The water glittered in the evening sun as you walked along the river bank. Junhee had suggested meeting here for dinner. You thought it was a bit unusual, but seeing all the people sitting on benches made you rethink. There were a lot of couples here. Couple. Like me and … You licked you lips and shook your head as if you could simply shake off the thought. This is just a date, don’t get ahead of yourself.

You went to the cafe which Junhee had sent you. It was on the river bank with a bunch of tables outside. You were a bit early but when you came closer you saw Junhee sitting at one of the tables already.

“Hi.”

He dropped his phone and shot up from his chair, eyes wide open in shock. You waved and suppressed a laugh.

“It’s just me.”

Junhee calmed down and soon his smile returned. A waiter came over and both ordered something to drink. The evening sun warmed you and you were glad to have opted for a dress.

“That dress looks good on you.”

You looked up at Junhee whose cheeks had a light blush. He had cut his hair and it made him look even more handsome than before. Around his neck hung a delicate necklace, but the pendant was hidden under his shirt.

“Thanks.”

You felt very shy today, much more than at any point before. Now it actually mattered what Junhee thought about you. The way he smiled made your heart flutter. The waiter came with your drinks and you took a sip. Junhee had gone for a tea.

“No coffee today?”

Usually he ordered coffee so you had to ask. There was nothing else you could talk about right now.

“No. If i drink one now, I will not be able to sleep tonight.”

He took out the tea bag, even though it was probably too early and added: “Unless you want me to have a sleepless night.”

He looked up sheepishly.

“Why..? OH.”

Your face burned. Instead of an answer you sipped your drink.

“Oh! No! I mean, we could go to karaoke or party all night.”

Junhee’s attempt at saving the situation did not go down as he had planned, but you smiled at the prospect of him singing. There was no way he could sing. You did not want to leaving him hanging so you suggested:

“Or we could go to the cinema.”

His nervous laugh was adorable. You felt bold and took his hand to reassure him. Junhee froze and stared at your linked hands on the table. You hoped he would not pull back immediately, because the warm touch of his hand was so comforting. When he had got over his initial shock, his thumb began to rub over the back of your hands. The gesture made you warm from inside out and the fears you had had earlier melted away.

You spend the evening talking and walking around town, hand in hand. When the sun had set, Junhee accompanied you to the subway station.

“I guess this is it. Text me, when you get home.”

Junhee raised his hand as if to touch you but did not. The subway would come soon, you could feel the wind coming from the tunnel.

“I will.”

You were a bit embarrassed and looked at the band on the necklace around Junhee‘s neck as you added: “It was a nice evening.”

“Yes, it was.”

The subway arrived and the doors opened. You and Junhee shared a short hug before you sprinted for the door. As the platform disappeared out of view you regretted not having given Junhee a kiss on the cheek. You should have asked.

#wkcnet #noonasinnetwork #Junhee x reader #Junhee smut #A.C.E smut #a.c.e x reader #kpop x reader #a.c.e fanfic #A.C.E fics #kpop fanfic #non idol au #star writing #queue for the lemonade stand

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strawberryaziraphale · 3 years

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reddie + practice date

These were the best nights, when it was just the two of them, Richie and Eddie, snuggled together under a large blanket watching their favourite childhood movies together. It was rare they got to do this anymore, what with Richie being busy with his comedy and Eddie meeting with lawyers finalising his divorce; they made a pact to always set aside at least one day for each other, like the old days. Best of friends.

They were halfway through The Princess Bride when Eddie began to get rather fidgety, occasionally glancing up at his friend. Richie was engrossed in the classic, shoving popcorn into his mouth every now and again. After a little while, Eddie cleared his throat nonchalantly.

“Hey, Rich?” Almost instantly, Richie sat forward and paused the movie, focusing his full attention onto Eddie. The other man was sidetracked by the action, frowning in confusion, “what did you do that for?”

"Eds, I’ve known you for years. I know you wouldn’t interrupt this unless it was something legit,” he smiled at the look on Eddie’s face when he mentioned his hated childhood nickname. He ruffled his hair playfully, “remember when we were fifteen and I said Westley was hot and you threatened to cut my dick off?”

"Oh, yeah,” Eddie mumbled, flushing slightly at the memory; he’d neglected to mention it had more to do with jealousy than anything else. Nevertheless, he continued somewhat nervously, “I just wondered, do you think it’s too soon for me to start...dating again?”

Richie had been dreading this conversation. Of course Eddie would want to start dating the second he was out and proud and free of his ex-wife. He wanted to say ‘no’, tell Eddie that he was wasting his time and he’d never fin anyone worthy of him, but even he knew that was selfish. Eddie was his oldest and dearest friend, he deserved the truth.

“that’s not my say, dude. Only you can say when you’re ready.”

“I think I’m ready,” Eddie contemplated, chewing his bottom lip. Richie had to look away, he was just too damn cute, “the thing is, I’ve never dated a guy before.”

“You’ll be fine,” Richie smiled tightly, trying not imagine Eddie on a date with some other man. He shook his head, “I can’t imagine there’s anyone out there who wouldn’t want to date you.”

Eddie looked up at him, his big eyes wide and hopeful, “would you go on a date with me?” Richie stared down at him in shock, his mouth agape. Before he could open his mouth, however, Eddie was speaking again, practically begging his stunned friend, “please, just so I know what to expect. I haven’t been on a date in years. I don’t know what I’m doing. Please, Richie.”

Jesus, he was so fucked. Richie wasn’t sure his heart could handle helping Eddie prepare to woo other men. But he couldn’t say no to him. Rolling his eyes, he shrugged, “sure, I’ll bro date you. I’ll sweep you off your feet with bromance, man.”

“Really?” At Richie’s affirming nod, Eddie flung himself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck, “thank you, Richie. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he pulled away, smiling, “you don’t have to go overboard, though.”

“No, no, you want a run through of what a real date will be like, you’re getting one,” if this was his only chance, Richie wasn’t about to ruin it. He held his hand out and Eddie took it, the two of them shaking on their agreement, “never let it be said Richie Tozier doesn’t know know how to treat a guy. I’m gonna spoil you like any dude worthy of you should.”

“Wow, I’m already a little wooed,” Eddie chuckled and settled back into his seat to resume the movie, cuddling up to Richie. Oh I haven’t started yet, Richie thought with a smirk as he pressed play.

They set a date for the weekend. Eddie had expected to be nervous but as the week drew to a close, he was more excited than anything. Richie told him he’d booked a fancy-ish restaurant and to wear ‘something pretty’. He rolled his eyes at the text but he couldn’t help but smile as he found his favourite suit - the smart blue ensemble he’d worn to Ben and Bev’s wedding reception (Richie had made one or two drunken comments about how good he’d looked that night).

Saturday night came quicker than he’d expected and Eddie found himself pacing frantically in front of his mirror, checking his watch. Richie had gone out hours ago, refusing to tell him where he was going only that he expected Eddie to be ready when he got back. He almost sprinted to the front door when he heard the doorbell chime. Eddie skidded to a halt and tugged on his jacket, taking a deep breath as he opened the door. He greeted by the largest bouquet of flowers he’d ever seen.

“Eddie Spaghetti,” a voice said from behind the flowers, “special delivery.”

“I said not to go overboard,” Eddie took the flowers, unable to stop smiling as he thought about Richie purchasing them, just to make him smile, “but thank you, they’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t get used to it. Most guys won’t make the effort,” Richie adjusted his glasses nervously, watching as Eddie placed the flowers on the kitchen table. And he was wearing the suit that had nearly made him confess everything all those months ago. He didn’t think he’d be lucky enough to get away with it again. He’d been so distracted by staring at Eddie he hadn’t noticed the other man staring at him intently. When Eddie didn’t say anything for a moment or two, Richie glanced down at his own floral-patterned red suit self-consciously, “what?”

Eddie shook his head, blushing, “nothing, sorry, you look amazing.”

Richie blushed, too, lost for words. He offered his arm to Eddie and led him outside towards the car that was waiting for them. Eddie recognised the driver as Steve, Richie manager, who’d clearly been bribed into doing Richie this favour. He mumbled a greeting and set off for the restaurant. Their conversation was casual and pleasant and Eddie found himself relaxing, enjoying himself. By the time they reached their destination, Eddie was holding Richie’s hand like they’d been doing it for years.

“A risk analyst?” Richie said enthusiastically, leaning over to swipe another fry from Eddie’s plate, “that sounds so interesting. What does that involve?”

Eddie smiled, “nice try but I’ve been informed my job’s rather boring. I’m more keen to hear about you being a comedian. I just can’t picture it.”

“Eds, baby, you wound me,” Richie playfully clutched at his heart, pouring himself another glass of wine as Eddie chuckled cutely. He didn’t expect to be enjoying himself as much as he was. He didn’t want the night to end, “if you must know, I’m very famous and hilarious. Not to mention modest.”

“I’ll have to look out for your stuff,” Eddie said with a smirk; he was starting to have fun with their little game. Something in the back of his mind was telling him it wasn’t going to be like this with anyone else but he ignored it. Instead, he watched Richie peruse the dessert menu, “if I can remember your name.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure you remember my name,” he said with a wink, snapping the menu shut. Eddie swallowed, taking an urgent sip of his wine. Richie seemed oblivious to his predicament, offering him the dessert menu, “I’m gonna get the chocolate cake.”

Eddie nodded, opting for the banana split. They always shared desserts anyway. The conversation turned casual again as they pretended to ask about each other’s family, hobbies and interests. Eddie ‘learned’ that Richie liked doing impressions and voices, even if he wasn’t that good at them. Their desserts arrived and they naturally halved portions, sharing without asking.

“Okay, real talk,” Richie said, waving a forkful of chocolate cake around as he spoke, “if this was a legit date-date, like not practice or anything, would you let me smash?”

Eddie paused, his own chocolate cake sitting forgotten at the end of his own spoon, “what?”

“I’m just saying, what are my chances here?” Richie said with a shrug, leaning back in his chair confidently. Eddie folded his arms, preparing to lie through his teeth.

“Well, you’ll have to work a little harder than this,” he gestured at their table, “I’m not easy,” he watched as a smile spread across Richie’s face. He waited until Richie was tucking into his dessert again before deciding to torture him a little bit, “but you’re cute, I’ll give you that.”

“You think I’m cute?”

Eddie gave a minute shrug, nonchalantly scooping a helping of banana split onto his spoon before popping it into his mouth, “I wouldn’t kick you out of bed.”

The sight of Richie’s dumbstruck gaping expression was incredibly satisfying and Eddie was going to carry it with him forever.

The walk home was nice. The night air was light and gentle but Eddie was too busy concentrating on how big Richie’s hand felt in his. He’d been the perfect date, offering him his coat as they began their walk back to the flat. They’d been walking in silence for a little while, just enjoying each other’s company. But Richie was never one for being quiet for too long.

“so, how did I do?”

“Very well,” Eddie said honestly, squeezing Richie’s hand in reassurance, “I had a great time. I don’t remember the last time I went out and just had fun. Thank you,” he looked up at Richie, smiling warmly, “I really needed this.”

He nodded once, turning away. They were almost home when Richie spoke again, “did you wish I was anyone else?”

“No,” Eddie said honestly, smiling almost sadly, “I don’t think I’d have a good time with anyone else. Which was kind of the whole point really,” they reached their apartment building and Eddie followed Richie to their front door. He was deep in thought, his fears coming back as they reached their home, “it will be different with someone else. I just hope it’s...good different.”

“Yep,” was all Richie said. He immediately headed for the fridge, grabbing the bottle of wine and downing several gulps. Eddie just stood in the doorway, ringing his hands nervously. He wanted to tell Richie he didn’t want anyone else, that everything he’d ever wanted was standing right in front of him trying to drink himself to death. Richie suddenly span around, a desperate look on his face, “hey, you know what would be funny?”

Eddie blinked, confused at the sudden change in Richie’s attitude, “what?”

“If you, like, never meet anyone for real and we keep doing this? Just going out on dates all casual and shit. Wouldn’t that be nuts?”

“What, nothing changes?” Eddie questioned incredulously, moving towards Richie. The other man nodded frantically, replacing the wine bottle on the kitchen side. Eddie folded his arms, “we just keep going on these ‘bro dates’?”

“I’d love that,” thankfully Richie was slightly drunk and Eddie always knew when he was lying if he’d had a drink. He raised an eyebrow, smiling at the cute flush in Richie’s cheeks, “for totally non-selfish reasons, I’d love that.”

Eddie nodded, stepping that little bit closer, “I’d change one thing, though.”

“Yeah, like, like what?”

And Eddie kissed him. Richie, shocked as he was, kissed back with all the enthusiasm of a drunk guy reciprocating his feelings, his hands fumbling to hold Eddie close. The separated when it became apparent that Richie was crying.

“S-sorry,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his suit. Eddie batted his hands away, gently wiping Richie’s eyes himself...which just made him cry even more, “I just- I legit thought you...you wanted someone better.”

“I think I’d die single if that was the case,” Eddie smiled, his own tears beginning to escape. He pulled Richie into a hug, leaning up to kiss his forehead, “I love you.”

Richie mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘I love you too’ into his shirt. They stayed there in the kitchen, holding each other and swaying slightly as Eddie hummed a calming tune. They were going to be okay.

#I didn't mean for this to get so emotional. but richie cries when it gets A Lot #richie x eddie #reddie #eddie x richie #reddie fanfic #my writing

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copias-thrall · 3 years

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Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

#mary goore #longfic #gender neutral insert #aurelio voltaire

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icy-warden · 3 years

Text

Whispers

For @cdhurricane °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° [read on ao3]

It’s late when they stumble upon the village on the outskirts of Brecilian. Zevran didn’t want to hear about camping in the wilds third night in a row and pushed for a place with a roof over their heads. The tiny tavern is as clean as Ferelden standards go - old wood that by some miracle still holds the beams and walls that years ago were probably white. It’s hard to say with so little light in the room, but for them the lack of candles isn’t really a problem. They can see just fine, contrary to the people inside that squint at them. Few lone patrons stare at them from their tables, conversations hushing.

Zevran saunters straight to the counter, relaxed smile on his lips. He trusts Frey to have his back as he nonchalantly leans on both elbows over the bar top. The one at the counter eyes them suspiciously and he can see what she’s thinking as she spots the tip of Zevran’s ear poking from his hair. The way her face closes off is rather telling. Some things never change. He holds in a weary sigh.

“Good evening, are you the owner of this fine establishment? We’d like to rent a room.”

The woman’s eyebrows furrow at Zevran’s pleasant tone, like she isn’t sure if she was just insulted while flattered. She glances at him down her nose.

“Owners are asleep.”

She skims her eyes over Frey’s face when he lets his hood fall down from his head. Looks away as soon as she sees the lines of his vallaslin, her fingers tightening on the rag she’s holding. He senses others' attention on them spiking and he shifts his stance.

“We don’t do business with Dalish.”

It shouldn’t sting, not after everything he went through. And yet something in his stomach stirs unpleasantly at the grumble. He doesn’t let it out, expression as neutral as usual.

“Ah, but I’m sure we’ll agree on something. We’re paying clients, after all.”

Any further comments die on her lips as Zevran gently places the pouch with their money on the counter, the strings subtly tied around one of his fingers if he’d have to snatch it away quickly. The greedy glint in the woman's dark eyes tells him enough.

She’s sold.

Frey looks around as Zevran chats her up, catching a few stray words about meal and washbasins.

The place is clean but in disrepair. They must be desperate for any money then, even from them. No coin stinks when you need it.

The men watching them seem to lose their interest and go back to their talks, though he’s still feeling as being watched. Frey crosses his arms and rests his hip on a nearby table, the lapel of his coat opening, the pommel of a short sword strapped at his waist poking out. He lets his eyes roam slowly over the room, just to be sure no one tries anything funny when they retire. One or two patrons shrink into themselves when they meet his icy glare. Desperate times have desperate people and not every corner of Ferelden is as flourishing after Blight as it was before.

He wonders if it’ll ever be. If his people will have the chance to flourish again.

/////

The sound of a wooden spoon scraping at the bottom of the bowl mixes with faint noises of the tavern under them. The meal wasn’t the best he’s had but it was warm. He glances at Zevran, finishing washing himself with what little water they got from the woman. Few droplets cling to his face as he slowly combs his hair. One honey gold eye takes over his form.

“There’s still some left if you wish to bathe.”

“Later,” he murmurs standing up.

Zevran hums, “Suit yourself.”

Frey looks at their possessions spread out on the narrow cot, because the straw mattress and few moth eaten blankets can’t really be called a bed. He’s silently sorting the contents of his pack as Zevran pulls on fresh clothes, shuddering a little. Still not used to the chill in the air. Probably will never be.

A small smile threatens to lift up the corners of his mouth when memories of last nights resurface. All of them with Zevran’s body nearly clinging to his, seeking warmth as soon as he lay down after he was sure the area was secure to let himself sleep. To let both of them sleep. Zevran has a way of worming himself into his blanket while being wrapped in his own and still whines about being cold, thus the necessity of plastering himself to his back and holding on tight.

He doesn’t mind, not really. The feel of the other so close isn’t keeping him awake and alert anymore. In the dark and serenity of the night, the chance to hold the other, to feel the warmth of his skin and the gentle pulse of his heart is grounding.

The void in his chest isn’t so vast anymore.

He puts away the pieces of his armor and washes himself quickly with what’s left in the bucket as Zevran eats his share of the food they bought downstairs. Muttering softly after he chews, foreign words spilling as easily as he breathes. Frey doesn’t understand what he’s saying, but he has an idea. Ferelden food isn't to his taste. Dalish meals though, they’re another story.

They play cards to pass the time when it’s obvious Frey isn’t able to simply unwind and go to sleep. Tiredness pushes on his shoulders and the aches of journey wear down on him. But the whirlwind of thoughts isn’t as easy to shut down tonight.

Zevran must have noticed.

And now he keeps him company, never going easy on him when it comes to their card game. The stack of tokens keeps growing on his side - last thing Frey had to part with lying on top of other items. Leather arm bracer, small vial of deathroot extract, a ribbon, dagger sheath, one dirty sock he just hurled at Zevran in playful anger after he lost again. He’ll get all his things back after they’re finished anyway. If there were coins and someone other than him, Zevran would rob them blind with a charming grin and they wouldn’t be very mad at him. Frey saw that happen once or twice.

Now, as they play Zevran fills in the silence with stories. In a rare moment when both of them seem to focus on their strategy Frey catches him looking as he sees something that isn’t there, his thoughts far away. He knows that look intimately and it pulls at his gut, but at the same time he’s glad.

That Zevran feels safe enough in his presence to let himself be distracted, absentmindedly twirling the lock of his hair as he stares at his cards. The movement makes him pay attention to the bracelet on his wrist, simple leather strands braided tightly together with one silvery bead made of ironbark. The rune for protection on it is small enough to be unnoticed, but it works as intended. He was taught that intent is a key part while he’s working with his hands and whatever he crafts should be full of his focus and heart to work as it was supposed to. A constant echo of the teachings of his old mentor from another life, still fresh at the back of his mind when he’d set to work on something.

“If you’re not giving your all to the tool you’re making, how will it serve you the same later?”

“Ready to admit defeat?”

He blinks, caught staring. Zevran’s eyes are soft when he tilts his head, long blond strands framing his face. He drinks from the cup he’s been casually holding all their game. Frey closely follows the way his tongue licks his lips.

“And go to bed? I’ll keep it warm this time if you want.” The teasing is light, the invitation in Zevran’s smile open. The mood shifts and Frey bites the inside of his cheek, silent, but not outright rejecting the idea.

He watches Zevran getting up and stepping around the small table, “With a massage to your stiff shoulders.”

“You’re tired as I am.” Frey doesn't leave his seat but reaches for him as soon as he’s close to put his hands on Zevran’s waist. Smooth feel of the fabric of his clothes under his touch is a contrast to the sturdier surface of his leathers.

“Still have it in me for a little bit of fun before we both collapse.”

Standing between his spread legs he runs his hands over Frey’s head, fingers catching on the auburn hair. The gentle scrape of his nails has him pushing into the touch, the pleasant tingle of being slowly caressed sneaking upon him. Making him drowsy.

“It’s grown.”

Frey hums and closes his eyes, arms crossing over Zevran’s back. Holding him tighter.

“You’re leaving it like that?” His question is a little above murmur but he hears it resonate in his chest with the ear so close to it.

“You’re letting it go?” It’s what he hears, in a voice long gone and such a simple question shouldn’t bring so many confusing emotions, should it? Grief is a trickster and never really goes away, does it.

Frey squeezes his eyes, pushing out a breath that is a bit heavier. Swallows the straight out “No, never,” that’s at the back of his throat, ignoring the “maybe,” he’s not so fond of, before he settles on-

“I don’t know.” It sounds loud even if it’s whispered, the raw tone of his voice catching him off guard for a second.

Zevran leans away and Frey’s hold on him slackens. His gaze is searching as he lets him tilt his chin up. Frey doesn’t look away. His eyes are half lidded when Zevran shifts his hands to cup the sides of his face, the warmth of his mouth over his forehead like a seal of a promise.

He doesn’t say anything, his touch speaking for him and Frey lets himself be distracted by it until his breath slows down with sleep.

#Frey Mahariel #Zevran Arainai #Frey x Zevran #cdhurricane #°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°#WardenTxt

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bangtan-madi · 5 years

Note

Hi dear! Could a request some fluff with Jumin Han? Existence is being overwhelming right now (Anxiety and sensory overload) and I really would love to retreat from the world. Jumin's side feels like a great place to hide from everything.

I love this prompt!! Sorry for taking so long to get it written, and thank you everyone for your patience! Work has been super busy lately, and I’ve been sick. Barely had time to write, but never fear, I am slowly working through my Askbox! Hope you enjoy, my loves!

_______________________________________________

It’s past four in the morning, and you’re lying awake, insomnia taking hold once again. No matter how much you toss and turn, you just can’t seem to fall asleep. You’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the stress of your job. Maybe it’s the fact that your boyfriend Jumin is several thousand miles away on another long business trip.

You pick up your phone and dial his number, praying and hoping that he hasn’t gone to sleep yet. He picks up after a few rings. “MC? Why are you up at this hour?”

You smile, glad to hear his soothingly deep voice in your ear. “Can’t sleep.”

You hear a door close on the other line, then Jumin speaks again. “You’re in luck, my darling, I just finished for the day.”

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything in America.”

He chuckles, “Not at all. Please, don’t make me socialize with Elon after hours. That man is a handful.”

You give a soft chuckle, pulling the blankets tightly around you to keep warm. “Tell me about your day?”

Jumin lets out a soft sigh, almost as if he collapsed on his bed. “Well, the Americans were very happy to tell me I’ve been overdressing the entire trip.”

You try to hold in a laugh. “What on earth does that mean?”

“Evidently, It is not too common to constantly wear a three-piece suit here, even amongst professionals. I assumed that my attire would be appropriate for what they title ‘business casual.’ Most of them showed up without jackets or ties. Seems no one thought to point it out until today. America is strange, MC.”

You laugh at his unusually playful tone, and for the first time, you start to feel your eyes start to close. “Well, I like the suits you wear.”

“Really? You don’t think I over-dress?”

“Absolutely not,” you scoff at the idea. “They make you look…dashing.”

“Does anyone even use that word anymore?”

A small yawn slips out as you retort, “You can’t say anything, you always use old words like 'dashing.’”

It doesn’t take long for him to catch you yawning again. “You should get some sleep, my love. Get some rest. Jaehee has told me our departure time is early in the morning, so we should be back in Korea by midnight, local time.”

“I’ve tried,” you breathe, picking at the spot on the bed where he normally sleeps. “It’s just not the same without you. My anxiety…not great today.”

Jumin sighs heavily, his frustration showing through his tone. “I wish I could be there, darling. I really do. It pains me to be away. But I will be home soon, very soon, and I will not leave for a long time.”

“You promise?”

“I do.”

A sleepy smile makes its way onto your face. “Okay, twist my arm. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport, okay?”

“Good night, MC. Sweet dreams.”

_______________________________________________________

While it’s only been two weeks since Jumin and Jaehee left for America, you swear it’s been longer than that. You’ve counted every day since he left. Somehow, fourteen seems too conservative a number.

Now he’s on C&R’s private jet, heading home to you. You’ve been waiting at the front gate, on the other side of security, for over an hour, unable to do anything except for pace in place. You knew his flight would be landing at an ungodly hour past midnight, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter that you had already pulled a fourteen-hour shift at your job, or that you’d been up for almost twenty-four hours at this point. You didn’t care that you were makeup-less and an exhausted mess.

Nothing was going to keep you away from him.

A text lights up your phone. You quickly glance down at it, a grin spreading across your face when you see it’s from the RFA chat room contact labeled “Crazy Cat Man

“Look up, my love.”

Your wide eyes fly from the screen to the empty exit hallway ahead of you. Jumin turns the corner and pushes through the glass door separating the runways from the airport interior. As soon as he’s through, coming out of the darkness of night, you run at him at full-speed. Jumin drops his luggage to the floor and catches you as you crash into him, nearly knocking him over. The dark-haired man lets out a laugh as you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.

“I never thought you’d land!” you exclaim, holding him tightly to you.

Jumin tightens his arms around you, burying his face into your shoulder. “Neither did I,” he chuckles.

After holding onto each other a little longer, you put your feet back on the ground and look up at him. He’s just as tired and messy as you are, his jacket traded for a more comfortable coat over his pin-striped shirt. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his black hair is unruly, but he’s never smiled wider. Facetime, RFA chat rooms, and texting can only make up so much for lost time. From his eyes and his smile and the way he grips your waist, you know for certain that he’s just as glad to be home with you again.

Jumin pulls you back in and kisses you, both of you sighing in relief to be able to do it once again. “I missed you,” he breathes.

You wrap him in a hug once again. “I missed you, too. No more international business trips anytime soon, okay?”

Jumin cups your face in his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead with a soft chuckle. “Deal.”

_______________________________________________

“I’m going to sleep for a week,” Jumin groans.

“Tell me about it,” you yawn, crawling up the steps to the front door of your apartment. “I’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours already.”

The brunet gives you a sympathetic glance as you unlock the door and push into the dark. “You didn’t have to meet me at the airport,” he sighs, feeling a little guilty. “You could have just slept.”

You shake your head, take his bags from his hands, and lean up to kiss him. “I couldn’t sleep knowing you’d be home again.

Jumin grins and kisses you again. "I need a shower. I smell like the airport and recycled air. Care to join me?”

You roll your eyes and turn towards the bedroom, duffel bags in tow. “Too tired, Jumin. Nice try, though.”

Your boyfriend looks mildly amused at your response and heads for the bathroom.

You throw the bags onto the chair in the bedroom, sighing heavily as you change into a tank top and pajama shorts. You let the air move out of your lungs as you fall face-first onto the mattress, closing your eyes as you snuggle into the fluffy, white duvet.

A few minutes later, you hear the bathroom door creak open. Jumin tip-toes over to the bed in the darkness, slipping under the covers behind you. He carefully slides his arms around your middle and pulls you back into his chest. You feel his slow breathing on the back of your neck and in your hair.

“I really, really love you,” he mumbles softly, so softly you almost don’t hear it. “And I know you’re probably asleep right now, but I just wanted to say that again. That, and your hair smells really good.”

The last part of his confession causes you to suppress a giggle, and Jumin tightens his grip around you. “I knew you were awake, you little mouse.”

You turn around in his grasp, tangling your legs with his as you press a kiss to his lips. “I tried,” you chuckle, burying your face into his shoulder. “I really tried. For what it’s worth, I really love you, too. And your hair always smells nice.”

Jumin runs a hand through his dark, wet hair, moving it out of his face as he grins at you. Then he tightens his grip and pulls you into his chest, using another hand to pull the covers over you both.

“Get some sleep, MC,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “I’m home.”

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southsidestory · 4 years

Text

Caged

RATING: Explicit

FANDOM: Hunger Games

SHIP: Odesta

WARNINGS: Rape/non-con, drug use, forced sex work

SUMMARY: Annie’s Victory Tour brings her to the Capitol, with Finnick at her side. He did his job as her mentor when he got her out of the arena, but he can’t look after her anymore. All he can do is play the part Snow has given him. It’s almost simple now, posing for the cameras and obeying his patrons, all with a smile on his face. Pretending is so easy that he can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore. But Annie might be able to remind him.

Read on AO3

With his lips closed, Dionysus looks plain by Capitol standards. Pasty skin, undyed and free of tattoos. Short brown hair, black shoes, dark suit. Colorless, except for the trio of yellow tablets in his palm. My throat itches to swallow down the promise they hold, but I have two questions that need answering.

First: “Will I be able to fuck?”

The dealer laughs, revealing a mouth full of gold and gems. “Like a damn rabbit,” Dionysus says.

Second: “I want to feel nothing, but a good nothing. Can this do that?”

Sapphires flash on his eye teeth. “You’ll see nirvana,” he promises.

I don’t know what that is, or where it might be, but any place would be better than this one.

Red. That’s all I see, at first. Waves and folds of the color spilling down the length of Annie’s skirt. Six feet of fabric fans out behind her, but the top of the dress is spare, sheer wisps that cling to her breasts and shoulders and throat.

“Inspired,” says Sabina. “Her stylist has an eye for drama.”

Her stylist will be lucky to have eyes at all when I’m done with him.

I take a flute of turquoise champagne from a passing Avox’s tray. It tastes like turpentine and sugar, the medicine that District Four mothers force down their children’s sore throats. I drink three glasses in ten minutes. Red still bleeds along the edges of my vision, and no matter where I turn, there’s Annie. Trussed up for Capitol appetites, tribute all over again. When I reach for another glass Sabina touches her too-long nails to my wrist. Tap, tap: bad dog. She kisses me, tongue sour blue slick, and I imagine what a senator’s wife might look like if three weeping mouths opened in the middle of her chest.

Something tugs at my shirt sleeve, jealous but gentle. Annie, drowning in all that District One silk.

“I need you,” she says. Splattered droplets dot her left cheek, a constellation of freckles that shine crimson-wet in the low light.

“Everyone needs me tonight.”

Sabina laughs and Annie pulls away, so I know I've said the wrong thing. That’s what happens when I put pills in my mouth; nothing but mistakes come out.

I say, “Teenage girls,” and give my date a knowing smile. Let her read what she wants into that.

Sabina twines her fingers around my arm and leans in close, smug and conspiratorial. “My daughter’s at that age now. It’s all me, me, me! And they want everything immediately. Nothing pleases them…”

How this is any different from the rest of the Capitol I can’t guess, but I let her go on, nodding and humming my sympathy where appropriate. Oh yes, they’re selfish little brats. Ungrateful, never satisfied. When Sabina pauses to sample a canapé I say how much I hate to leave her for even a moment, but I am Annie’s mentor. Duty calls and all that.

Sabina frowns prettily. “I hope you're this dedicated in all of your pursuits.”

She should know the answer to that already. This isn’t our first date. Still, I feed her a stock innuendo about finishing the things I start.

“Go on then, but be back soon!”

I find my tribute talking to the light crew. A woman with tattooed vines climbing the side of her shaved head shows Annie how to hold a sheet of foil. It’s a clever way to hide from the cameras and I wish I’d thought of it first. Too late for that, because Annie turns her silver shield, and then there’s a lens blinking closer to my well-lit face.

“Perfect,” says Vines. “You’re a natural.”

Annie shakes her head. “No. He’s just an easy target.”

I duck into the bright circle of the light crew’s equipment before the cameras can focus. The heat feels artificial, claustrophobic, like the solar beds my stylist makes me visit. Annie returns the foil to Vines and thanks her for the lesson. I can’t breathe again until there’s ten feet between me and the clicking insect sound of mechanical eyes.

“I thought you were busy,” Annie says. Her voice is so light and casual that, if I didn’t know her, I’d have no idea that she’s annoyed.

“I shouldn't have said that. I didn’t mean it.”

Annie shrugs. “You never mean anything you say in the Capitol.”

Sometimes I forget how much she sees, this girl who’s turned my world upside down in six months. “Where are your tokens?”

Annie grasps at the place over her heart where two sea glass pendants always rest. She looks mildly surprised to catch only empty air between her fingers. “Vibius wouldn’t let me wear them. Said the colors...” She shakes her head, the way you would to get water out of your ears after swimming. “I’m hungry.”

But when I follow her to a banquet table she doesn’t eat a bite. Instead, she stacks gingerbread cubes around a pink chocolate fountain.

“Who’s your date?” she asks.

“Senator Wexler’s wife,” I say.

Annie never looks up, too busy skewering blueberries on toothpicks. She sticks them in the topmost layer of her curtain wall, like heads on neighboring spikes. Two by two by two. Then she says, “Doesn’t the senator mind?”

“Only that he couldn’t come with us.”

Annie tips over the fountain, and chocolate bursts through her gingerbread dam. It creeps along the aisle of white cloth and drips onto the floor. Part of me wants to scold her, because some Avox will have to clean all this up after the party. I don’t, though, because I know how everything shifts after the Games. You might leave the arena, but it comes with you all the same. Alliances replace friendships. Sleep never really comes easy again, because too many things are still awake in the dark. Survival is tangled up with fighting, hurting, killing, and sometimes you need small destructions just to breathe.

“Dance with me,” Annie says.

The train on that fucking dress is longer than she is. “How could I, with you in that?”

I laugh. Everything and nothing seems funny at the same time. Annie jumps a little when I finger one of the slivers of silk covering her chest. Vibius didn’t leave much to the imagination, so I can see the shape of her. Small teardrop breasts, narrow shoulders, long waist. Her nipples peak beneath the fabric.

Somewhere in my periphery a camera flashes.

“Stop,” Annie says, and I want to shake her. That word doesn’t mean anything in this city. A victor should understand the rules by now.

I trace her collarbone. We’re too far away for Sabina to see us, but even if she does it won’t matter. This is what they want me to be.

The preps painted Annie’s lips too, and it makes her look like a working girl. Ripe apple mouth ready to be plucked. If I could I’d spit on a napkin and wipe it all away, same as my mother used to do to get dirt off my face.

She leans into my touch and asks, “Why are you with that woman?”

“Because she can afford my company.”

Annie’s red, red mouth frowns, but I simply smile and step away, tell her to eat something and enjoy the party.

Sabina welcomes me with a soft hello peck to my cheek. I turn it into more, the kind of wet, deep kiss that decent folk back home wouldn’t dream of doing in public. But that’s how I like it, even if I can hear the cameras snapping behind and beside and in front of me. Pretending is so easy that I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.

These sounds are almost lost beneath the snap of handcuffs closing: footsteps, a full skirt whispering across the floor, the creak of hinges.

The manacles lock around my wrists, pulling my arms taut, stretching until my shoulders lift from the bed and I can feel the blades angling outward. Like clipped wings opening, Sabina said, the first time she bought me. A caged bird poised to take flight. Now she leans forward and bites my neck, just hard enough to mark. It’s always hard enough to mark with Sabina, whether she uses teeth or nails or the back of her hand.

I hear feather-light fabric brushing the carpet, then see something in the gap between door and frame. The briefest flash of red silk. There, then gone.

Sabina strikes me hard on the cheek. Pain vibrates through my jaw and up the side of my face. Stars burst behind my eyes, then in front of them, but I don’t feel distant or dizzy. Everything becomes sharper, brighter. Needles made of sunlight prick my vision, highlighting it all with stinging intensity. If I ever come down I’m going to kill Dionysus for selling me those three little pills the color of daffodils. He promised oblivion but gave me this instead. With every blow the room grows brighter, until all I see is Sabina, haloed in white.

Her mouth closes over me, warm and soft, drawing out all the things I don’t want to give. Then she’s straddling my lap, hands clutching my shoulders, nails digging into my skin. Ten welts spring beneath her touch, bright as pink ribbons down my chest. It’s winter everywhere but between her legs, and there she’s fever hot. Cold snakes down my throat, chokes and burrows inside me until it’s snowing under my skin.

“Finnick,” she hisses. I grip the bedposts and snap my hips up to meet her. I’m shaking from the chill air, the pleasure where a warm body takes mine in and the pain everywhere else. I don’t stop, not until she arches and trembles, mouth open on a whiny cry.

One beat, two, and she climbs off. Leaves me aching, tied up, and filthy while she saunters to the bathroom to refresh herself.

The haze clears, unfreezes, and I remember where I’ve seen red silk tonight.

I scrub until the scratch marks on my chest reopen and the water blushes down the drain, washing away smudged makeup and sweat, fresh blood and Sabina’s come. Not mine, and even though I’m half-hard, I’m mostly thankful. Dates are always worse when a client makes me finish. Steam fills the shower stall, wet and suffocating. Flash-bulbs go off behind my closed eyelids and all I can hear is the endless snapping of camera shutters. I sit on the tile floor, head between my knees, until the water grows cold.

After I get out of the shower and dry off, I pull on the tight blue pants from my date with Sabina and go to Annie’s room. I don’t knock, and when I step inside she jumps. Her dress is curled up in the corner, wilting. All those red folds remind me of a rose, so I turn away. Free of make-up, Annie’s face shines brown and clean. Dark waves fall limply around her cheeks, weighted and damp. By the way she holds the robe over her breasts I can tell she’s not wearing much underneath.

Good. I hope she feels naked. Exposed and vulnerable, like I do.

“You watched us.”

Annie sits on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up close to her body. She whispers an apology I can’t stand to hear.

“Don’t,” I say. She flinches and grasps the sea glass tokens around her neck. Her eyes dart away, focusing on some point along the baseboard.

“Look at me.” I kneel on the floor before her, too close to be ignored. “You didn’t have any trouble looking before.”

The only small mercy I can find is that Annie left before Sabina actually fucked me. But she saw me handcuffed to the bed, and that’s bad enough.

Annie bites her bottom lip, and for a moment all I can see is this same skittish girl, more innocent and less broken, on a different train, blushing under my hands.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “When I saw you leaving with that woman—I didn’t really think, I just wanted to know what was so special about her. So I followed you.”

I thought she wanted to see me, and I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. It’s a good thing that she didn’t want a peep show, that she ran off before she saw the main event. A good thing—but it still pisses me off.

I wrap my hands around her calves and slide down, thumbs grazing the soft skin of her inner ankles.

“Finnick?” Her lips linger on the sound, not quite closing over the question she’s made of my name.

“Open your legs,” I tell her. Because whatever she’s asking, this is the only answer I have to give.

Annie’s breath hitches. She trembles all the way down to her toes, but she’s warm, my girl. I brought her home and that makes Annie mine. She belongs to me in the same way I belong to my sponsors.

When she doesn’t move, I kiss the inside of her right knee, flicking my tongue over a new scar there—a pretty pink thing that’s cropped up since her Games—until her legs shake and unlock. Just as she falls open and willing below the waist, Annie clutches the collar of her robe even more tightly, keeping it closed to me.

Eighteen isn’t so young, I remind myself. Not here, not in this place.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and that’s all I need.

Beads of moisture cling to the dark curls between her legs. She smells like the Capitol, flowers and spun sugar, but when I put my mouth there all I taste is salt and wet and girl. Her hands scramble for purchase, first on the covers, then in my hair, and she pulls with more strength than I expected. Not as sharply as Sabina, but enough to smart. That’s been done to me so many times that I know it means more and now and harder—though by the way Annie’s thumb brushes over my cheek, I think it might also mean please.

No, eighteen isn’t too young for this, but I might be.

I can feel her looking: eyes on me, on my body, on the things I’m doing. Just like before, when she peeked into that bedroom and watched Sabina getting her money’s worth, and it stirs something ugly and angry in the pit of my stomach. So I pull away, let my mouth part from her with a goodbye kiss cruel enough to make her whine and tug on my hair, to say my name again. No question this time, just a soft plea.

I’m sick of being on my knees, and really, there’s no reason I can’t do what I want. No reason at all. When I stand, Annie’s eyes go to my chest, flickering across the stripes Sabina’s fingernails left behind. I strip off my pants, and her gaze lowers, lingers.

Beneath the robe I find her pliant and panting. Skin damp, nipples hard, breath coming fast and shallow. Greedy, grasping, her touch falls with selfish hunger, and in this Annie isn’t unlike my other lovers. Long legs wrap around my waist, anchoring me to her. She’s warm and wet, whimpering in a way that might sound pitiful if it wasn’t making me so hard. I press against her, teasing. Those little mewling noises grow stronger, tighten together into a full-throated moan.

“Have you ever done this before?” I ask.

Annie shakes her head, then says, “Almost, once, but…”

Her eyes go distant, and she’s about to slip away from me. Retreat to some inner place where her district partner still lives and loves, but I’m not going to let her mind wander, not now when our bodies are tangled up together. I kiss her, our first, and that’s so backwards that I almost laugh.

Beneath my mouth Annie takes a deep, gasping breath. Then she peppers kisses everywhere she can reach. My brow, both cheeks, the tip of my nose. My lips, again and again. The curve from shoulder to neck and the hollow between my collarbones. When her quick tongue darts out to trace the shell of my ear, I shudder. The drugs must have finally worn off, because I feel myself warming for the first time tonight. “Finnick,” she whispers. “I love you—”

I can’t stand to hear that, not from Annie. So I kiss her quiet, slip a hand between her thighs, and slide two fingers inside of her.

“You’re wetter than home,” I say, and it’s true. More so when I curl my fingers, beckoning her forward—closer to me, closer to coming. “Were you like this in the ballroom, when I touched you?”

“Yes?” It comes out a question, eager but unsure. Annie’s not fluent in pillow talk, and something about that sends a jolt through me. All at once I want her, need to fuck her like I’ll die if I don’t. Under me she’s subtle curves and rocking warmth. Open legs, cradling my hips as I push inside—and then I feel her. Tight, slick heat, stretched around my cock, gripping me, pulling me in.

Annie whimpers, but whether that sound is pained or pleased I’m not sure, can’t tell and barely care. “Yes,” she says, even though I never asked. Why didn’t I ask?

In the beginning I go gentle and steady. Then I slow our rhythm, stretch out the slide of skin on skin, and tell her to beg. Love me becomes have me, you can have me becomes fuck me.

For a moment all I can feel are handcuffs snapping closed, grabbing fingers and greedy cunt. I’m angry all over again but still aching, and Annie knows, because her hands untangle from my hair and dart down to cover her ears. But I catch her wrists, drag them over her head and let my weight do the rest.

I spread her arms apart, wide as they’ll go. Pinned, she’s a butterfly behind glass, pretty and splayed. Annie must like being caged better than I do, because soon she shivers beneath me, coming and crying at once. Back arched, small breasts thrust forward, toes curled and legs taut; she’s lovely like this and so tight it almost hurts.

On the low tide of our touch she says those three unwanted words, passes them from her mouth to mine like a hard candy secret.

“Don’t,” I say.

The camera loves me too. I’m sick to death of love.

But then my climax creeps up on me, sharp and sweet, and I can’t think anymore. There’s nothing but Annie beneath me, her body tight and wet around mine.

In the soft moment right after, I feel something new. A warmth, quiet and gentle, as Annie looks up at me with heavy-lidded green eyes. That love she promised is raw and open as a wound.

It’s terrifying. And tempting, which is the scariest part of all.

The knot around her throat unties easily, and I take a green sea glass token with me when I go. It’s all she has left of the boy who loved her, who died at her side. Stealing it is cruel, but I don’t do it out of spite or jealousy. The reason is simple: my patrons always pay, and Annie is no exception.

#odesta #odesta fanfiction #odesta fic #odesta fanfic #finnick odair #annie cresta #thg #hunger games #the hunger games #thg fic

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schattenjagd · 4 years

Text

Hold on

A/N: This Oneshot/Songfic is my contribution to @xxwritemeastoryxx 1K Celebration Writing Challenge. Congratulations again ! I’m so happy for you :) So this has really turned out differently than I thought at first and maybe the length got a little out of hand, but I hope you like it. So, two weeks of work, two root canal treatments and a jaw abscess later we are finally here and you don't believe how happy I am. Oh, and I just have to say that english isn’t my native language. So sorry for any spelling or grammatical mistakes.

Prompt : “Please...stay.” (I will make it bold)

Word Count : 10.6K - Yeah, like I said : It maybe got a little teeny tiny bit out of hand.

Warnings : Angst, major character death, deadly disease Okay, this Fic is like the saddest I have ever written. If you are offended or triggered by any of these warnings, please read at your own risks.

Pairing : Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

This was inspired Chord Overstreet’s beautiful yet so sad song “Hold on”

youtube

Loving and Fighting

An icy cold went through Elijah when quietly opened the door to the intensive care unit and entered the room. It almost seemed as if a black veil was suddenly covering him.

His hands were shaking. It was a long time ago since they had last done it, but now they didn't want to stop. His whole body trembled at the thought of what awaited him.

Her quiet and weak heartbeat was drowned out by the shrill, constant beeping of the heart rate monitor and Elijah swallowed hard. Her heart had always been so strong, always so loud. Its tone had given him strength. But now that he heard it only so weakly, it seemed to have drained his strength.

She was no longer wearing the colorful dress she wore in the afternoon. In the shock room, it had been taken off and exchanged for a drab hospital gown. He could hear the rustling of her blood and his eyes fell on the pronule that she had on her left arm and with which she was given strong pain relievers.

He hadn't noticed that he had stopped. He looked at her closely and when he saw her like this, he felt like he had really failed for the first time in his life.

Slowly, he took a few steps across the room and quickly blinked the tears in his eyes away. He had to be strong now; strong for her.

He sat carefully on the edge of the bed and looked at her. Her face looked cramped and sunken. Her otherwise red lips were dry and pale, as was her skin. The sight frightened him. She looked so weak so ... lifeless.

He cautiously reached for her hand and stroked gentle circles on the back of it hand with his thumb. He timidly heard her heart beating faster and saw her move a little.

"Hey," he said softly as he watched her eyelids start to flicker. It seemed to be an act of strength for her and yet he felt her gently squeeze his hand.

,,You are here."

Her mouth was dry and it was difficult for her to even say a few words at all, but she smiled when she could feel his presence and forced herself to open her eyes slowly. Slowly she turned her head and finally looked at him from cloudy, y/e/c eyes.

"Yes," he replied, and the corners of his mouth also rose a little. ,,I wont leave you."

I can‘t imagine a world with you gone

The music was loud. Way too loud.

The courtyard was illuminated by cool blue and purple lamps. People strolled through the courtyard in extravagant robes, waving their overpriced champagne in their hand and chatting with other important people.

The short version was that Y/N wished to be anywhere else, just not here. Parties had never been her thing and never would be. The only reason she was here was her old student friend Cami, whom she had met during her semester abroad in New York. And now that Y/N had recently moved to New Orleans, Cami hadn't missed the opportunity to let her know about its nightlife. However, she didn’t expect that with “nightlife” she meant such an extravagant party for the super rich.

,, Ow, don’t make that face. Come on, have a drink. "

"I don't make a face," denied Y/N and let her friend give her a glass of champagne. "I just should have known where you were going to take me when I saw the dress."

Y/N looked demonstratively down at herself and looked briefly at the long, burgundy and tight-fitting dress with the slit on the side that flattered her figure. She brushed a strand of her y/ h/c hair from her face, which had loosened itself from the elaborate up-do, and sipped on the expensive but extremely bitter champagne.

"I hope this Klaus is worth it," she grumbled and Cami gave her a warning look.

"It's not because of him," she said a little too quickly and Y/N grinned to herself.

"Of course not," she murmured instead and was left shortly afterwards when her friend had spotted said acquaintance and disappeared.

"No, of course it's not because of him," Y/N said to herself as she looked after her friend and sighed. Looked like she was the one to fil the gap for the time when Klaus wasn't there to keep Cami busy.

Instead, Y/N went looking for the bar and was happy that free drinks appeared to be a high priority for the rich.

"Whiskey on ice, please," she ordered from the bartender, put her half-full champagne glass on the bar and smoothed her dress.

"The same for me, please."

She squinted at what she was doing when she heard a deep male voice only a few yards away. He looked good, even she had to admit that. He was wearing a suit, had one hand casually in his pocket, and was leaning against the bar with the other.

"The champagne does not seem strong enough for you", he noted,, looking over at her.

Y/N looked back and sipped the drink she had just received. "Unfortunately not nearly."

"You don't seem to enjoy the celebrations as much as many others here," he said and now turned completely to her, leaning his side against the counter.

"No, you're right," she agreed, taking another sip of her drink. "I'm afraid I'm playing in a different league than yours."

Y/N had already noticed because of his suit and how it flattered his well-built body that he must be one of those super rich who attended such a party every week.

"You accommodated yourself very well for that," he replied, and Y/N could see the slight twitch of the corners of his mouth as he eyed her from top to bottom and let his eyes slide over her dress. She blushed.

"Thank you, then I did everything right, I guess," she laughed softly and took another sip.

"I'm sure of that," he smiled, taking a quick look around the crowd. ,, But I am curious: Others would commit murders for an invitation. Why don't you ? "

,, I ? Murdering for something like this ? Certainly not,” waved Y/N off. ,, So, the music. It is much too loud and ... inappropriate ? I don’t know. And the champagne. A bottle probably costs as much as my car, and yet it tastes just like the cheap one from the gas station, which always makes me sick.”

In her heated list she didn’t notice how he listened to her attentively, not taking his eyes off of her and the corners of his mouth rising further with each of her words.

"To be honest, I'd much rather sit in front of my TV in my pajamas and watch some junk. Excuse my directness, but it’s just exactly like that. "

When she finally looked back at him after all, she misinterpreted his grin. ,, Oh my god, I didn't mean to offend you. That was totally rude, that ... "

"It's alright," he calmed her down and took a sip of his whiskey. ,,Everyone has their own opinion. I am not a friend of big celebrations myself, my brother sees it differently. But from time to time those are necessary. "

Y/N nodded, she understood. In today's world, splendid parties weren’t only there for fun, but also to make new contacts or maybe find and convince trading partners.

"I am Elijah."

Her eyes darted back to him and he could see the y/e/c flashing briefly. She gave him a bright smile and took his hand. "Y/N, it’s nice to meet you, Elijah."

"The pleasure is mine."

He also smiled sincerely at her and Y/N actually got a little dizzy. Well, the man in front of her was handsome, charming, nice ... What more could a woman want ?

"Mister Mikaelson ?"

And he was the organizer of this party.

Y/N's smile slipped from her face and she couldn't put it back there when she saw another man in a suit approaching Elijah.

Her eyes widened in shock and she looked at him in panic as he turned back to her. ,, It was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. And thank you for your honesty, ” he replied charmingly and by no means unkindly. As if in a trance, she watched him blow a kiss on the back of her hand and then disappear into the crowd. Frozen, she looked after him.

"I see, you got to know Klaus’ brother. "

"Yes, after telling him that I think his party is shit."

Cami laughed next to her and sipped her champagne glass. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut. I should’ve known," she laughed.

,, He’s one of them. But he doesn’t look like them. "

"Like an Original vampire ?"

Y/N shook her head and watched Elijah talk seriously to the man who had just interrupted their conversation. "Not in the slightest."

Cami just shrugged and emptied the rest of her glass. ,,What can I say ? You are a witch. Nothing should really surprise you anymore. "

Y/N just swallowed and looked at her friend with a frown, turned back to the bar. "Okay, now I need something really strong."

The joy and the chaos, the demons we‘re made of

That evening was a long time ago. When Y/N woke up that morning, she was awakened by the jazz music that flew through the open window from the streets into the bedroom. She blinked a few times and looked around briefly as she opened her eyes fully.

She was lying in a big bed, wrapped in a soft duvet with an even softer pillow.

When she tried to turn on her back, she became aware of the strong arms that were wrapped around her waist and which pressed her tightly against him.

Y/N smiled and turned carefully in his arms.

Elijah was still sleeping, but he didn't seem to want to let her go even in his sleep. Carefully, she raised a hand to brush a strand of hair from his face and looked at the brunette. They had danced around each other for a long time now, had never come closer; the family had always been a higher priority for Elijah. It was a chaos of feelings. Until Esther captured him. She didn't know what she had let him see, but he had been different when he returned yesterday.

Y/N smiled slightly at the feel of his skin on hers and drawed gentle patterns on his chest with her fingers, closing her eyes.

She opened her eyes when she felt him quickly grabbing her hand and stopping her by planting a kiss on her fingertips.

Slowly, she raised her head and smiled. "How long have you been awake ?"

"Long enough to know how you looked at me."

He also opened his eyes at his words, gently looked down at her, which only made her smile wider. She raised her head and squinted at the old clock between the windows. Y/N groaned in agony.

,,What ?"

"My shift in the hospital starts in two hours," she sighed, dropping her head back onto his chest. "I have to go."

,,I do not think so."

Her eyes fell back to Elijah while he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards him. Y/N laughed when he let his fingertips dance across her waist and breathed gentle kisses on her neck. "Elijah, I'm serious, as much as I would like to stay here in this bed, I have to go to work."

"Hmh," he just agreed and put his lips on hers and caught her in a hot and steaming kiss. Y/N involuntarily groaned when she let his tongue in and when she could feel something pressing against her stomach.

Half an hour later, Y/N groped barefoot through the old halls of the Mikaelson estate. She had slipped pn Elijah's white shirt from the night before and was looking for her top that she had lost on the way to his bedroom last night.

"So, you're the woman my brother gave his heart to."

Y/N paused at the unmistakable accent. The door next to her was open and she could see Klaus standing in front of an easel with a painting brush in his hand. She swallowed briefly when she remembered that she was actually only wearing panties and Elijah's shirt, but remained confident in the doorframe.

“Seems so. Any problems with that ?"

"Actually, yes."

Y/N involuntarily took a breath and frowned as the hybrid slowly walked towards her. "And that would be ?" She asked bravely.

He just gave her a mild smile. “Even if you witches are very good at nighttime activities - and you are, judged by the sounds you and my brother made last night and just now - you're a pain in the ass. "

Y/N smiled mildly. She knew about Klaus' Mikaelson's aversion to witches and had already been prepared for something like that. From the moment that Cami introduced her to him and he learned what she was, he had been against her. Klaus Mikaelson hated witches even though he his daughter was one.

"I know you aren't particularly addicted to witches," she replied carefully. "But I have no bad intentions towards your family, believe me."

"Yes, if Celeste DuBois had told me, I would have believed her, too."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. She knew who this witch was, had helped to kill her herself, and yet Klaus didn't trust her in the least. She turned to walk away, but his voice stopped her.

"You don't know about the red door, do you?"

Y/N paused. Slowly, she took a step back and looked again from the door frame to Klaus, who smiled contentedly. "The red door," he continued when he saw her look. ,, All my brother's demons; all the people he killed. The victims, all the suffering he has done. "

Y/N opened her mouth and closed it again. She knew what this was going to be. Klaus wanted to unsettle and intimidate her. But Y /N had known who she was dealing with from the start and the man she had fallen in love with.

"I know about all of this," she lied, proudly raising her chin. ,,I know what you're trying and it won't work, Klaus. I'm not one of those gullible, weak, little witches."

When her tone got a little too sharp, he took another few steps towards her. "Is that supposed to be a threat, love ?"

Y/N swallowed and looked up at him. She concentrated, looked him straight in the eye. Satisfied, she noticed how beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. Klaus gasped, his eyes widening slightly as his blood started to boil.

,,No of course not. For such a pain in the ass like me, it's really foolish to threaten the Original Hybrid, isn't it? "

He struggled for words and the two were only interrupted when Y/N heard the footsteps behind them.

,,That's enough now. Niklaus, Y/N. "

Klaus gasped abruptly as he got cool again and Y/N broke eye contact when she looked behind her at Elijah.

The relationship between her and Klaus Mikaelson had always been ... special.

Elijah held the top she was looking for in her hand and she quickly took it from him and disappeared back towards his bedroom. She didn't hear Elijah's words to his brother: "If she gets hurt, she dies, if she catches a fever, if she gets bitten, she gets hit by lightning, anything - anything happens to her, brother, you will pay for it. "

I‘d be so lost if you left me alone

Many months later, Y/N left the hospital where she worked at exhausted and overtired. Her feet ached and killed her. An emergency heart operation had given her a 36-hour shift and she just wanted to sleep.

Exhausted, she climbed up the stairs to her apartment, kicked the now uncomfortable sneakers off her feet after she closed the apartment door behind her and threw her handbag into the next corner. When Y/N took off her jacket and hung it on the coat hook, she paused. It smelled of ... food.

She raised her eyebrows in confusion and groped across the hall into the living room. On the dining table were two plates of pasta that seemed to be still hot. A slight smile crept onto her lips when she recognized Elijah. He was standing with his back to her leaning over the kitchen counter. But when he turned to her, her heart skipped a beat and the smile disappeared. She swallowed hard.

There was pain in his eyes. She could see it, see how hurt and disappointed he was. He lifted the package insert of the pills on the kitchen counter and pointed to it. "I found these when I was looking for matches."

Y/N glanced for a split second to the candles that were on the table and then back to Elijah. Her heart contracted painfully at the sight of him and she could feel the tears coming up.

"When did you want to tell me ?"

Y/N swallowed and took a few steps towards him. She reached for his hands, but he pulled back. A stab in her heart. She could hear the pain in his voice and hated herself for being the source of it. She took a deep breath and didn't know what to say. She wanted to scream and cry at the same time.

She carefully arranged her words. "I got the diagnosis shortly after I met you at the party."

Elijah swallowed, looked at the half-empty pills pack on the kitchen shelf. He kept his eyes down, but he could see the tears that had formed in her eyes.

She licked her dry lips. ,, My mother has already died because of it. Actually, it skips a generation in our family but ... "

"How much time do you have left ?"

Y/N fell silent. She hadn't been prepared for this question and when she became aware of the answer, she pressed her lips together in a thin line. A telltale tear rolled down her cheeks and more followed. She bit her lower lip to keep herself from sobbing and the only thing she could do was shrug her shoulders. "I - I don't know ...", she brought out with difficulty and more tears followed. "It was recognized too late and the only thing that keeps me on my feet are these," she pointed to the pills. ,, There is no cure and ... I don't know, Elijah. I - I have no idea. I don’t know."

"Hush," he said reassuringly, pulling her close as her body began to shake and tears ran down her cheeks uncontrollably. Her fingers reach for his vest for help and she closed her eyes. He could hear her sobbing and every further one was another stab in his heart.

"I didn't want to tell you anything because ...", she started and was interrupted by another sob. "I - I didn't want you to only see this disease in me then."

Y/N looked up when she felt him brush a strand of hair from her face and behind her ear. "I could never do that."

Y/N smiled sadly, but she could see the pain that had cast a dark shadow on his face.

Elijah closed his eyes when he hugged her tightly. He breathed in her smell, that fine scent of lavender and vanilla and he put a hand comfortingly on the back of her head, placed a loving kiss on her head.

The prospect of not being able to do all this anytime soon frightened him. He would never be able to smell her smell again, never again would he feel her soft skin or lips on his, never again could he hold her. He felt that someone had torn his heart out and for the first time in his life he thought he knew what all the victims he had done this to had felt. The woman in his arms would die. He didn't know when yet, but she would and he thought he was cursed. Tatia, Katerina, Celeste ... All the women he loved died. Loving him was a death sentence. And now, the first woman he saw at his side in eternity was doomed to die. With all the dangers like werewolves, Mikael, Esther, Dhalia, the Strix ... A deadly disease seemed almost ridiculously primitive, and yet it reminded Elijah of the incredible vulnerability of humans.

"I'll find a way," he said as he buried his face in her y/ h/c hair, so Y/N couldn't see the tear that escaped one of his eyes.

She smiled at his confidence. ,, There is no way, Elijah. No vampire blood, no back door, no loophole."

"You won't die," he replied firmly. "And if I can't move heaven ..."

"... I will raise hell."

You locked yourself in the bathroom Lying on the floor when I break through

The mood in the past few weeks had been tense. A new force and new enemies of the Mikaelson had risen from the darkness and were now chasing the family.

Y/N had been living in the Mikaelson estate for a long time now, Elijah had insisted that he could "protect" her better this way. But Y/N was sure that there were other advantages that he derived from the fact that they now lived together. She always successfully repressed the thought that it was because they had already been allowed too much time together and instead put it down to the fact that she could help them with her witch skills.

While Elijah and Klaus were out, she was sitting with Freya in the fireplace room over a stack of old grimoires when the two heard a rumble in the courtyard. Both women looked up in alarm and Y/N's eyebrows raised suspiciously. "I thought you’d cast a boundary spell."

"I did."

Y/N swallowed hard and got up - just like her friend -, following her out of the room into the gallery. She walked quietly after the blonde, careful not to make a sound.

,,Find them ! Now !"

Y/N's blood froze in her veins when she heard a man's deep voice and then the steps of the vampires hurrying up the stairs to the first floor.

"Damn it," Freya swore, immediately turned and pushed Y/N in front of her, towards the nursery, in which little Hope had already started to cry.

Silently, Y/N let the blonde allow, pushed open the door to the nursery and Freya locked it behind them.

Y/M immediately turned to the little girl, carefully lifting her out of bed and rocking her to and fro in her arms. "It’s alright, hush," she said reassuringly and gave Freya a troubled look. "How did they break the spell ?"

"I have no idea, but now we have other problems," Freya replied and looked around the room.

"What do you think, how many are down there ?"

Freya shrugged. ,, Maybe a dozen. I couldn't see much. "

,,And what do we do now ?"

"We won't let ourselves be killed until my brothers arrive."

Y/N frowned. ,,You gotta be kidding me."

"We have to get Hope out of here safely. I distract them, you take her and hide. Protect my niece."

Y/N looked suspiciously at her friend. She didn't like her plan and she had a bad gut ffeling, apart from the dizziness that has haunted her since the vampires surfaced and her body was on alert.

Y/N had no way to say anything against the other witch's plan, because in the same second the first vampire burst through the door, that shattered under its weight.

"Now !" Freya called, dodging the attacking vampire and ramming a wooden pole through his back into his heart.

Y/N looked wide-eyed at her for a moment, then took off running when she realized that she had a small, helpless child in her arms.

She disappeared through the side door into Klaus' adjoining bedroom. The rest of the vampires, spurred on by Freya, rushed into Hope's nursery while Y/N ran through the hallways of the property, trying to calm the little girl on her arm and find a safe hiding place.

And then she heard footsteps in the hallway. She cast a panicked look over her shoulder, couldn't see the vampire who was apparently on her heels, and with luck, she hadn't been spotted. Nevertheless, Y/N quickly opened the next best door and found herself in one of the old guest rooms. Looking around in panic, she saw the door to the adjoining bathroom and disappeared into it.

The bathroom was small and old, but at first it seemed safe. Y/N carefully placed the toddler on the floor. She closed her eyes in submission when she heard the door to the bedroom open again.

She was afraid of what was to come and briefly rubbed Hope's cheeks. The little one had become calm now and was looking at Y/N with big gesture eyes, almost as if she understood what was going on.

Y/N took a deep breath, crouched, and left the bathroom.

"I think you took the wrong room."

Y/N looked around. A pencil lay on the old, dusty desk. Maybe it could help her.

The vampire in front of her grinned broadly and slightly shook his head. ,,I don’t think so."

At the same time, his eyes grew darker and the veins under them became visible. Y/N had just enough time to took a step away when he rushed towards her - but he caught her anyway. She flew in a high arc through the room and landed on the desk that gave in under her weight. A sharp pain went through her spine when she painfully hit the floor and the splinters of wood pierced her back uncomfortably. Desperately, Y/N tried to drive the blackness out of her field of vision and gasped. Hope had started to cry again.

Dazed, Y/N had to watch the vampire straighten up and walk slowly towards the bathroom door.

She clumsily raised one arm and made a sweeping, swift gesture, whereupon the vase on the old wooden chest hit the vampire's head with a muffled sound.

Y/N struggled to her feet. "Don't you dare touch her."

The vampire grunted deeply and angrily while the laceration on the back of his head slowly healed and he turned to face her. "That was your death sentence, witch."

Y/N pressed her lips together, could barely raise one hand when the vampire started to attack her again. He cringed painfully when this throbbing pain in his head became unbearable and one aneurysm after another burst.

Y/N quickly took a few steps back, looking around. She would have to get past him to get to Hope's and into the bathroom and to be able to entrench them there. Her eyes fell to the broken desk and the large pieces of wood. But before she even put foot in that direction, she felt a hand wrapping around her ankle and yanking her off her feet. Again, she hit the ground hard and this time it wasn’t so easy to get the blackness out of her sight.

She screamed angrily, turned to her back, but the vampire was already over her. His fist whipped down on her jaw and Y/N’s sight went black again. She gasped as a throbbing pain spread through her jaw.

"A real waste," said the vampire, pulling her into a sitting position, causing Y/N to groan in pain. She could see how he was looking at her, how the pulsating veins were slowly visible under his eyes and she widened her eyes.

"No," she pleaded weakly, and immediately cried out in pain when she felt his sharp teeth pierce the delicate skin on her neck. Her skin burned like fire and she could feel the pressure in her carotid artery as the vampire slowly sucked the life out of her. No, she definitely won’t get killed by a vampire now, certainly not.

Resolutely, she drove the dancing asterisks out of sight, hit the vampire wildly with one hand, and groped for a piece of the desk with the other. And her heart skipped a joyful beat when she actually felt a long piece of wood in her hand. She gripped it tightly, raised it and shortly thereafter the wood pierced the heart of the vampire, who was only gurgling now. His eyes widened, his skin slowly turning gray.

Y/N gasped, pressed her hand onto the bleeding wound on her neck, and tried to control her pulse. Her heart pumped her blood through her body at three times the speed of panic, and it was a miracle that her already weakened body hadn’t given up yet.

Hope. She abruptly stood up, staggered helplessly for a few moments until she regained her balance, and then staggered toward the bathroom door. With a shaky finger, she opened the door and pushed it shut behind her shortly thereafter.

She instantly took the little girl in her arms again. ,, Hush, everything is fine. It’s alright, ”calmed Y/N/N Hope and then turned to the door. While she held the girl with one hand, she directed the other towards the door. "Apné sà mene," she casted the room isolation spell, which was supposed to protect her and the child from the rest of the vampires. ,, Apné sà mene. Apné sà mene. "

Y/N swallowed at the returning dizziness. The spell had worked, she knew that. If their enemies have no witch on their side, she and Hope would be safe in here. She anxiously blinked several times to drive the blackness out of her sight. That wasn’t good, definitely not. This excitement, the fight with the vampire, the loss of blood, now the exertion by this spell. It was too much for her weakened body.

"We sit down, okay ?" Y/N spoke lazily to Hope in her arms, held her tightly and then went down to the floor, leaning lazily with her back against the bathtub. Suddenly she was incredibly tired. There was nothing she could do about it when her hand, which she had pressed on the bite wound on her neck, fell down to her side. She was just glad that she was holding Hope tightly and that she was safe.

Already when Klaus and Elijah saw the main door, which was wide open, they sprinted into the courtyard. About a dozen vampires lay motionless on the cold ground. Someone must have broken their necks. The two brothers could hear fighting noises from the second floor.

,,For God's sake."

Elijah looked at the lifeless vampires at his feet with his eyes wide open before he heard the sounds of the fight.

"They’re in Hope’s nursery," the brunette stated, when his brother had already let out a deep growl and was gone. Elijah quickly followed him, repressing the panic fear that threatened to spread inside him. Nothing should have happened to her.

When Elijah arrived in the door frame, Klaus was already holding the heart of a vampire, whose head was rolling over the wooden floor, in his hand.

"It's great that you finished your Sunday stroll," the blood-soaked blonde said when she saw her two brothers.

,,Where’s my daughter ?"

,, Y/N fled with her. I don’t know where they are."

Elijah's heart skipped a beat and he and his brother exchanged a look before Klaus burst out of the devastated children's room.

"Y/N !" He screamed so that it echoed through the old walls of the building and trudged off, Elijah was close on his heels.

Elijah swallowed hard, looked around in search. She couldn't have run down the stairs to the main portal, that would have been too dangerous. He knew Y/N, knew that she wouldn't do anything that would endanger Hope’s welfare. No, she must still be in the property, looking for somewhere safe to hide with his niece. And for the first time in his life, he prayed. He prayed that they were alright.

"Y/N !" Klaus called again and was forced by his brother to stop. He glowed at him.

"What is it, Elijah ? ..."

Just when the hybrid wanted to add something, Elijah held up a hand and Klaus fell silent. Now he was listening carefully, too.

A whimper was carried to them quietly, very quietly. Elijah swallowed. It was his niece who made this sound and he closed his eyes for a moment.

,,Here."

Klaus started to move with vampire speed, Elijah followed his brother through the several corridors to the open door of an old guest room.

Perplexed, the brunette stopped in the door frame. The room was completely devastated. The shards of an old vase were scattered all over the floor, the old desk was now just wood splinters and a dead vampire was lying in the middle with a piece of said wood in his heart. There was an unpleasantly penetrating smell of blood in the air and Elijah's heart contracted painfully. He inflated his nostrils. It was her blood, no doubt. He saw the drops of blood that led to the bathroom like breadcrumbs and clenched his hands into fists.

Klaus wasn’t in the slightest interested, his thoughts were all about his daughter, whose whimper was dampened by the locked door of the bathroom.

"Y/N ?!" He called and wanted to bang on the door, but barely touching it, he flew across the room and landed between the remains of the desk. "Tell your girlfriend to break her barrier spell," Klaus growled angrily.

Elijah hurried to the door too, but didn't touch it. "Y/N ?" He asked carefully, listening intently. ,,It’s alright, it’s me."

"Freya !" Niklaus meanwhile called his sister in the background ,whose hasty steps Elijah could already hear.

"Y/N ?" Asked the brunette once again, but he didn't get an answer. His fingernails pierced painfully in the heel of his hand as he continued to clench his hands into fists. If anything had happened to her, she would have been ... He swallowed hard.

"Y/N, I beg you, open the door," he continued to plead and briefly closed his eyes. Something worried him so that he fell silent. Klaus, who misinterpreted his brother's behavior, narrowed his eyes and came up to him, looking at him questioningly.

Suddenly, Elijah's heart pumped his blood through his veins at three times the speed and his chest rose and fell rapidly. No, it couldn't be. Not her, not ...

"I only hear one heartbeat."

Klaus' pushed the pent up air out of his lungs and looked at his brother with wide eyes. He added up one and one. His daughter was crying and alive on the other side of the door, but Y/N’s blood led the brothers straight to the bathroom. That meant ... He closed his eyes, devotedly.

"Freya !" Elijah for the first time cried. He was desperate. He had no way to get to her as long as the barrier spell was working. He wasn’t be able to help her. "Freya !"

"I'm here, I'm here," the blonde hurried into the room.

"I ... I can't hear her heartbeat. She spoke a barrier spell. I have to get to her. "

Freya gave her brother a brief look with wide eyes, but then nodded, carefully pushing him to the side and raising her hands to the door, closing her eyes.

Elijah nervously watched his sister's lips moving, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. His thoughts only revolved around Y/N and this panicked fear of having lost her now. He couldn't think clearly anymore, he could ...

,,Broken."

As soon as Freya had taken a step back, Elijah shot forward, but the door was still locked. He took a few steps back and then threw his entire body weight against the door, whereupon the lock gave way and he stumbled into the room, followed by Niklaus.

When he saw her, he held his breath. Blood kept flowing from the bite on her neck. One of her hands, covered in blood, lay on the floor beside her. She had slid to the side, lay motionless in the corner, but one of her arms were wrapped tightly around little Hope, as if she still wanted to protect her by all means.

Her jaw was swollen and her lip had split open. Her skin was pale and her eyes closed. She didn't move.

I pull you in to feel your heartbeat Can you hear me screaming „Please don‘t leave me“ ?

,,No no no no."

Elijah dropped to his knees, while Klaus picked up his daughter and soothingly stroked her head. Meanwhile, Elijah pushed up the sleeve of his shirt, bit his wrist without another thought. His blood quickly flowed out of the wound and ran down his wrist, dripping onto the cold tiled floor.

He carefully lifted a hand and placed it on the back of her head, pressing his wrist against her pale, full lips.

"Please," he pleaded softly and briefly closed his eyes. He could feel his blood running down her throat, but she didn't swallow. "Please don't leave me."

Quietly, very quietly, he heard her blood roaring in her veins and ... a single heartbeat. Elijah suddenly looked up, looked at her. He carefully brushed a y/h/c strand of hair from her face and hopefully looked at her. He watched how the wound on her lip slowly closed. The swelling of her jaw faded and the bite became smaller and smaller with every second until it completely disappeared.

Hold on I still want you Come back I still need you

,,Please..."

He kept stroking his thumb over her cheek, waiting, praying, pleading. But nothing happened. She didn't move. He could hear her quiet heartbeat, but the silence in between them was still too long.

"The vampire blood is working, why doesn't she wake up ?" Freya asked, also concerned, and Klaus gave her a quick look. He comfortingly weighed his daughter in his arms, gave her a kiss on top of her head, but he had a dark guess. He would never admit it, but his heart ached when he saw his brother on the floor, in front of him, the woman he loved. Elijah had his head down, his eyes closed.

Klaus swallowed. "It healed all the injuries it was able to heal."

Elijah slowly opened his eyes when his brother's words came to him. Niklaus was right. Vampire blood did not heal all injuries. If he was actually right, then ...

Elijah's head immediately went up. He got up, wrapped an arm around Y/N's waist and lifted her into his arms. "We have to take her to the hospital."

"I'll get the car," Klaus nodded, handed Hope to his sister, and then left the room with vampire speed.

When Elijah stepped out of the courtyard with Y/N in his arms, Klaus braked the big off-road vehicle in front of the entrance portal, got out and opened the car door to the back seat for his brother so that he could get in with Y/N. No sooner he had closed the door than his brother depressed the accelerator pedal.

A long endless highway, you‘re silent beside Drivin‘ a nightmare I can‘t escape from

Elijah held her tightly in her arms. None of this was allowed to happen. It was like an inevitable nightmare from which seemed to be no escape and Elijah wanted to wake up. He wanted it so much.

He didn’t hear Niklaus swearing loudly when a small Fiat 500 twitched down the road ahead of them, taking all time in the world, and he did not hear him honking loudly and then overtaking it - to the disapproval of the oncoming traffic.

None of this was allowed to happen yet. The time was not ripe, they hadn't had enough. She was the woman he wanted spend eternity with and now she was going to die ? That was a bad joke. It had to be. Even their enemies couldn’t have imagined anything more cruel than the terrible reality did.

Helplessly praying, the light isn't fadin' Hiding the shock and the chill in my bones

He gently stroked a strand of hair out of her face and examined her face closely. Everything had to be fine. He couldn't lose her, he couldn't.

The two brothers had been flashed at least twice on the way to the hospital, but they didn't care when Klaus braked hard in front of the emergency room and several paramedics looked up in alarm.

Niklaus got out, opened the door to the back seat and Elijah climbed out of the car with Y/N in his arms.

"We need help !" He shouted as loud as he could and some of the paramedics were already hurrying towards them.

"Everything is going to be fine," he whispered softly as he looked down at Y/N, who was still motionless in his arms. The sight made him terrified. He had never seen her so weak, so lifeless, as if the vampire had sucked all life out of her, despite the vampire blood that had healed the most serious injuries.

They took you away on a table I pace back and forth as you lay still

Meanwhile, Elijah hurried straight to the emergency room. Some nurses met him with a table.

"Put her here."

He did as he was told. He carefully her on it and swallowed hard when he saw her lying there. He was caught up in his personal nightmare from which was no escape. His hands had started to shake and he clenched them into fists to stop them. Y/N was immediately surrounded by several nurses and a doctor.

"What happened ?" the doctor asked. That was the question of all questions.

,, She has a serious disease. Dr. Pace is responsible for her,” Elijah just replied. "I found her like this."

They pull you in to feel your heartbeat Can you hear me screaming, "Please don't leave me"

"Weak pulse," another nurse noted. Elijah's eyes suddenly flew to her and the doctor also turned to the nurse. The brunette didn't notice how his brother pulled the doctor to the side. He only had eyes for the woman he loved.

"Listen," Klaus said meanwhile and his pupils dilated when he made eye contact with the doctor. ,, I want you to do everything possible to keep this woman alive. Everything. No matter how much the drugs cost, you give them to her. "

The doctor swallowed and then nodded quickly. “Of course."

Meanwhile, like in a trance, Elijah watched them push Y/N away. He wanted to go after her, but two nurses stopped him. He didn't have the strength to manipulate them, and frankly, he didn't know if it would be that good. Her life was in the hands of the doctors now.

The large double door closed and the corridor in which they had followed the doctor's staff had become quiet. It was dead silent.

He just stared at the door, tried to hear something, but the doors didn't let a single sound pass.

He weakly dropped into one of the hard chairs at the wall, just staring straight ahead at the gray hospital floor. Only now did he notice the blood on his hands - her blood. His hands trembled uncontrollably and he could only stare at them.

Almost startled, he winced when he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder.

"Elijah ?" It was rare for Klaus' voice to sound so careful and gentle, but his brother didn't respond. His mind was a mess that he was no longer able to organize.

"She is strong," the blonde continued and dropped onto the chair next to his brother. ,, Stronger than most people ... and witches. She won't give up without a fight. "

Elijah just nodded absently and Klaus swallowed hard. He felt a sting in his heart when he saw his brother sitting there; like a heap of ashes and only because the woman he loved was in mortal danger. He was almost surprised, when he heard his voice after some minutes of silence.

"I can't lose her, Niklaus," he said in a rough voice and when he looked at his brother for the first time, his eyes were red. ,, Not her. Just ... not her. "

"You won’t lose her," Klaus assured him, but he also knew that he could not promise anything.

Hold on I still want you Come back I still need you

It took full two hours. Two hours during which the entire corridor in front of the intensive care unit had been occupied by the Mikaelson clan.

After walking uneasily up and down the corridor for an hour, Rebekah had persuaded him and he finally sat down on a chair again, holding his head down and supporting it with his hands. Hayley was sitting opposite him with Freya, Klaus was leaning against the wall next to them with his arms crossed and Rebekah had leaned her head back against the wall beside Elijah and was staring at the white concrete wall.

When the door to the intensive care unit opened again that day, everyone present hopefully looked up. And this time, Elijah's heart beat a little faster when he recognized Y/N's doctor, who was now approaching them.

,,How is she ?"

Elijah immediately got up and expectantly looked at her. He still hoped that anything, any luck, could save her. His siblings had also expectantly sat up and listened intently.

Dr. Pace, however, wiped her dry lips and glanced at Elijah's siblings before turning back to him. She was looking for the right words. "She's not stable, but she's in no pain," she started slowly. ,,Mr Mikaelson, I don't want to lie to you. Her vital signs are miserable and her body is very weak. I am afraid that your fiance will not make it ... "

Elijah inhaled sharply, abruptly looked away from the doctor and swallowed hard. There was nothing he could do about the tears that drove into his eyes by themselves and made his field of vision glaze over. He ran a shaky hand over his face. He felt Rebekah's hand dull on his shoulder and heard the doctor's further words as if through cotton wool, but he no longer listened. His heart was squeezed in the most brutal way he could imagine at that moment and all he wanted was to see her. He wanted to be with her.

Until the very end.

Let me take your hand, I'll make it right I swear to love you all my life

,,How do you feel ?"

Y/N studied Elijah for a moment while he sat on the edge of her bed. She made a face at his words. ,,My head hurts."

,, You lost a lot of blood. My blood couldn't heal everything, ” he wistfully said and Y/N encouragingly and lightly squeezed his hand. Both ignored where the headache really came from.

She turned a little further in his direction. It seemed her whole body was on fire and with every movement she did she felt like every muscle was torning and every bone was breaking.

Elijah forced a smile, but Y/N could see what was really going on with him; of course she could.

She watched him for a while, watching him keep looking at her two hands and not stopping to run his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Hey," she finally said, forcing herself to smile, even if it hurt her heart. "We knew that it has to end at some point. We have already been given more time than it should have been. ”

He swallowed hard at her words. She spoke the truth, but it had never hurt as much as it did at that moment.

She saw it in his eyes, saw it in the way he looked at her and it broke her heart, over and over again, every single second. This broken man had stumbled into her life and had ended with his own centuries before at the same time. Only she had managed to make it back to something worth sacrificing.

,, I have no regrets, Elijah. Just that we didn't make more. "

At that moment it occurred to him. So much had crossed his mind that he hadn't thought about where he was with his brother in the morning before it all started.

With his hand that didn’t hold hers, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the little box from the jeweler. He forced himself to smile as he opened it and looked at the silver wedding rings that were inside. The Mikaelsons emblem engraved on them. His eyes wandered between her and the rings. "There’s no pastor and this is neither a church, but .."

"It's perfect," she interrupted him, and this time the pressure in her hand was a little stronger.

He smiled at her again, and still struggled to hold back the tears that started to form in his eyes every second. But her smile, her happy smile, made him strong. It gave him strength.

One of her hands vaguely moved to the remote control of the bed, blindly groping for it until she finally found the button that would push the head of the bed a little up so she was sitting upright. Meanwhile, Elijah slid a little further onto the edge of the bed and then took her two hands.

Y/N sniffed once and then smiled again as she started to speak. "I hereby take you, Elijah Mikaelson, wholeheartedly to my husband, accepting your weaknesses and your strengths as you accept mine. I promise to trust you and support you in everything, and always make the happiness of our love and our family my number one priority. I will be your partner in wealth and poverty, in sickness and health, in success and failure and in life and death. I always promise to stand by your side, no matter what life has in store for us. I believe in you, in the person you will be and the couple we would have been together. You are my love, my life, my today and the rest of my life."

At her words, a single tear ran down his cheek. A single tear that represented what could have been and what could have become of them; but they were denied it.

He took a deep breath, looked at their hands, whereupon another tear dripped onto the white bed sheet below. He swallowed, then looked up at her, who was also struggling with tears.

"I hereby take you, Y/N Y/L/N, to my wife from this day on. I promise to love and honor you. I promise to give you my infinite love and affection, to always be sincere, to appreciate you and to share my thoughts, hopes and dreams with you. It is an honor for me to be able to spend the rest of my life with you. I hereby promise to love you. Always and forever."

But now it was Y/N, who had to sniff at his last words. Always and forever. That was what it meant to the Mikaelsons. An always and forever was of the utmost importance to her and she knew that Elijah in particular would do anything to keep that promise. She was part of his family now. She had already been a long time ago.

She gave him a sad, yet so happy smile as she reached with a trembling hand for the ring in the box, carefully removed it, and then took his hand to slide it over his finger.

Elijah did the same with her ring, took her dainty hand and pushed the ring down her ring finger.

She happily looked at the piece of jewelry on her finger. This may be the last minutes of her life, but it were also the most beautiful. Nothing could have been nicer for her.

Now, the tears ran down her cheeks and she looked at Elijah, looked deep into his eyes, as he did. In a shaky voice she said: "You may kiss the bride."

Elijah carefully leaned forward, careful not to pull any of the many hoses or cables while she clumsily raised a hand and finally put it on his neck as his lips carefully touched hers.

It almost seemed as if he was afraid that she would break if he touched her and yet, for Y/N, it was the most beautiful kiss out of all. She could feel the love he put in it, the pain, and the salty taste of tears on her tongue. But she didn't care; it had always been what she longed for in life, he had always been the missing piece of the puzzle in her life that she didn't even know she needed. At that moment she had lost everything and had had everything at the same time.

He leaned his forehead against hers, one of his hands on the back of her head supported her a little. She closed his eyes like he did, could feel his hot breath on her face and the tears he was desperately trying to hold back.

,,I love you so much."

A smile formed on her lips and she tried desperately not to scream and break into tears.

,, I love you too, Elijah. Always and forever."

At those words, he kissed her again and her heart contracted painfully. It had long been clear to her that this would be her last moments and with every passing second the pain grew.

,,Do you lie down with me ?"

There was so much hope and despair in her voice that Elijah felt like someone was zealously tearing his heart out of his chest.

The tears on his cheeks were dry, he had made an effort that no more would flee from the corners of his eyes, yet his eyes had a steady, moist shine.

He cleared his throat, swallowed the lump in his throat. He had taken off his jacket some time ago, the tie was right next to it over the back of the chair. He had rolled up the sleeves of the white shirt and opened the first two buttons of it.

Elijah slowly nodded when Y/N gave him a little space and slid aside so that he could lie down with her.

He carefully lifted the tube of the infusion, lay down next to her and immediately felt her seal up to him and put her head and left hand on his chest and listen to his heartbeat.

He closed his eyes for a moment after putting his arms around her and pulling her closer. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and rested his chin on top of her head. He looked at the heart monitor which recorded her steady and now slowing heartbeat, with mixed feelings.

He carefully grabbed one of her ice-cold hands, gripped it tightly with his, and closed his eyes just like she did.

Hold on, I still need you

Y / n woke up to the sound of the rushing waves and the screeching of a few seagulls. She blinked in confusion, turning to her side.

When she opened her eyes, she was blinded for a moment by some sun ray, but found out that she was lying in a very comfortable bed. Slowly, she recognized the outline of the open bedroom and looked through the opened wooden sliding door to the deserted, untouched beach.

She raised her eyebrows in confusion and looked beside her, but the space was empty. She glanced down at herself, found out that she was wearing one of Elijah's dress shirts and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Now, she could hear the soft piano music, which was very quietly carried to her through the open door.

She barefooted tapped over the wooden floor, gazing at the sea and the waves outside and only following the music.

She smiled when she saw him, stroked the y/h/c hair on one side and tapped to him. She finally wrapped her arms around him from behind and watched his fingers continue to dance elegantly over the black and white piano keys. She kissed his neck and shoulder and briefly closed her eyes until the music stopped. But she knew what this was. And she knew this little, cute hut on the island off Brazil too well.

"You proposed to me here," she stated and slightly smiled at the memory.

"The best weekend of my life."

"And that only happened because we fled from your brother," Y/N laughed quietly, remembering how Klaus had barely given them privacy in the New Orleans estate.

"His ego wasn’t too hurt," Elijah replied, pulling Y/N onto his lap so that she leaned back against the piano and could wrap her feet around his waist. She did the same with her arms and his neck. She closely watched the man in her arms and gently ran her index finger down his temple to his jawline.

"I loved it here," she admitted. ,, No one had ever done that for me before. And that just made me love you more. "

Elijah smiled slightly and yet Y/N noticed the dark shadow in his eyes that he was trying to hide from her. But he had never been able to completely hide everything from her.

I don't wanna let go I know I'm not that strong

For a moment, he just closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of her neck. "I can't do this without you."

Y/N forced a smile and stroked her fingers soothingly through his hair as she felt him take a deep breath. ,, Yes, you will. I know you, Elijah. When you are about to lose your footing, think about how much I love you, whatever you do. "

"Please ... stay."

Y/N devotedly closed her eyes and pressed her lips together in a thin line. She tilted her head back, but couldn't stop the tears. "I can't," she said and her heart contracted painfully at the thought.

Elijah listened to her voice and the sound of the waves. A seagull was screaming a little away from their little hut.

“I should have found a way. It's my fault."

"Hey," Y/N immediately said in a firm voice and leaned back a little to look him straight in the eyes as she grabbed his face with both hands. ,, It's not your fault, Elijah. If you dare to think that, I'm gonna haunt you as a ghost and kick your ass. It's not your fault. Vampire blood doesn’t cure all diseases. "

But he shook his head slowly, trying to blink the tears away. "There has to be another way."

"It doesn't exist," she denied, forcing an encouraging smile. “Stop doing that. You did everything you could do, okay ? When I got the diagnosis ... it was already over for me - until I met you again. Thanks to you, I have weighed my entire life within a few years. You made it worth living and if it should be over now, then it’s okay. "

She gently stroked an escaped tear from his face and gave him another of her smiles before she finally got up and reached a hand out to him. The piano started to play the melody Elijah played before when she pulled him to his feet.

"Am I gonna get my wedding dance ?" She asked with a happy smile on her lips as she led Elijah a little into the room. He also smiled as he took her hand, pulling her by his waist and pressing her against him. She carefully laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes as they slowly began to move to the delicate piano music. Suddenly, she had become incredibly tired and Elijah had been ignoring the slowing, dull beeping that came from far far away and that only he could hear.

He gave her a gentle kiss on her hairline and led her over the old wooden floor.

I just wanna hear you Saying baby, let's go home Yeah, I just wanna take you home

Slowly, very slowly and lazily, she finally raised her head again and looked at him with tired eyes. Still, she smiled.

,,I love you."

The beeping grew louder. And it slowed down.

Elijah closed her eyes and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He gently stroked a strand of hair behind her ear and examined her face closely. Y/N had always loved it when he did that, but now there was a whole different reason: he was afraid to forget her.

He pressed his forehead against hers, closed his eyes. ,,I love you, too."

Y/N smiled happily. ,,Always and forever."

She pulled him down for a last kiss, felt his soft lips against hers, and smiled into it. She could taste the salt of her tears and pressed Elijah tightly against her. She didn't want to go, but she had no choice.

A shrill, continuous beep tore the moment and Elijah's heart at the same time when he realized what it meant. The scenery in the open hut on the beautiful island was gone, faded like fog in the morning sun.

No, no, no, he desperately thought and his eyes widened, the tears now unstoppable. An incredible anger over his inability came over him, but the grief was greater and he didn’t want to believe it.

His breath was faltering and frantic, he almost didn't dare to do it when he propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her.

The tears ran down his cheeks. Her eyes were closed, a satisfied, little smile was on her lips and one could almost think she was sleeping. And in a way she did; she had fallen asleep peacefully and happily.

"No," he whispered as one of his tears dripped onto her shoulder, making the fabric darker there. He carefully raised a trembling hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. She didn't move.

The other Mikaelsons had also gathered in front of the window to the hospital room. They too had noticed what had happened. They all had tears in their eyes. Tears to see therr brother there and tears because a part of her family had left them.

"No ...", he sobbed and put a hand on her cheek, but it was clear that she would no longer feel it; she wouldn't feel anything anymore.

And then he broke. He could feel his heart shattering and leaping in a thousand pieces, his tears falling down his cheeks in the event of falls, and he carefully lifted her up and buried his face in her chest. He didn't want to let her go, he couldn't let her go. She was gone and something in him refused to accept it.

He sobbed and cried desperately, still smelling the light hint of her perfume as he buried his face deeper in her chest.

She was gone and he was alone now. He was completely alone. He had no one left.

Hold on, I still want you Come back, I still need you

#doms1kchallenge #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #theoriginals #to #angst #fluff #death #klaus mikaelson #freya mikaelson #challengesubmission

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ohallthecrushes · 4 years

Text

Wherever you go I’ll find you // Joker x Reader // Part 1

A/N: Thank you, @call-me-harley-quinn for this idea, it turns out it’s gonna have at least 3 chapters, because there’s so much to discover in Arthur’s transformation and how it affects his life and mind, and I really like the idea of Joker realizing how much he loves his S/O and goes after her to win her back. <3 I had two ideas how this is gonna be and I chose this one, I hope this is what you wanted. <3

Summary: Arthur is so ingrained in his Joker persona, he forgets that his S/O has only seen Arthur. Not knowing him anymore, she runs. When Joker realizes this, he is devastated and does everything he can to find her. After days of searching, he finds her and takes her back. She is scared out of her mind, but it ends up being a beautiful reconciliation.

Cointains: mention of murder, rough sex, dark jokes

Word count: 4378

It was a crazy week. Crazy in every sense, good and bad. So many things had happened that had changed everything. So many accidents, coincidences, opportunities... Every single thing in his goddamn miserable life had changed. It was all unexpected and Arthur didn’t want this much complication in his life, but he couldn’t changed what he’d done and therefor he wasn’t surprised that his action had serious consequences. He couldn’t change it or erase it, so he went with the flow.

After killing Murray, he expected to be caught and escorted to jail. He laughed at this. What possibly could they do to him to humiliate and hurt him again? Nothing new. Nothing that he wasn’t already used to.

He didn’t fight when two men jumped on him. He laughed. And he didn’t fight when they were a little rough on him, giving him a few unnecessary punches to his face and kicking him when he was lying on the floor. He didn’t fight, no, he laughed.

It was happening all very fast. Handcuffs, police car, a short ride through burning Gotham, the accident, blank page, and the crowd chanting his name, encourage him to dance. Somehow he suddenly became noticed.

Oh, what a wonderful feeling it was to be finally noticed and wanted.

He heard the crowd screaming his name, he heard police sirens coming his way. He saw happy faces all over the place, he put on one too. Even though he felt tears filling up his eyes, he didn’t let himself to be bothered with them right now. He swirled around one more time with a grace that had always been in him. All that mattered to him in that moment was the eyes that was watching him. Mesmerized. He was mesmerized.

He wanted to pause this moment forever, only if he could. So he paused it in his mind and kept it as a good memory - one of very few that didn’t have you in it.

Joker wasn’t sure anymore how and when did he end up back in his old apartment, he somehow got away from police and his tired legs just led him back here. Back home. But it didn’t feel like home anymore. Even though everything was exactly how he’d left it (well, beside the splash of blood on the wall and floor, a new modern decoration that gave a quite nice and fresh touch to this place), it wasn’t the same place anymore. He wondered if this was because of the blood, or something else.

He smirked as he walked over to the couch. He sat down with his hands rested on the back of the couch. Suddenly he felt extremely tired. Completely jiggered. He let his eyelids droop closed and let his mind wander freely.

Images started appearing before his eyes, one after another - images of people dancing in fire, red and blue colors, police sirens, fire and blood, chanting crowds, bullets flying through the air, Murray spread across his chair. Oh how tired Murray looked, even more tired than Joker was. One could say that Murray must had been dead on his feet...

Joker laughed and changed his position a bit. His hands rested on his thighs as he laid his head on the back of the couch.

Imagines were still flowing in to his mind. He was watching them as if he was watching a movie. Dancing feet on a police car, people laughing at his jokes, guns appearing in a thin smoke, you smiling...

You?

Oh, the only thing that had been missing in the crowd of people watching him.

You were supposed to be there. If you only hadn’t gone out of town for a business trip.

He focused on your image, on your smiling face, on your beautiful eyes looking at him. He missed you, he missed you so much it hurt. But you were expected to come back soon. He had been counting days... no, hours even until you came back to him. But things had started to happen and he’d lost his count. He wasn’t sure what day it was today and how soon it was to see you again. All he was was sure however is that he was going to hug you and kiss you and make love to you until he felt like you two made up for the time you hadn’t been together. And after that he was going to keep you in his arms and never gonna let you leave him for so long ever again.

***

You were walking fast, passing by people in a zigzag course, almost running on your tiptoe, and tripping every once in a while. You were back in Gotham and you were heading to Arthur’s apartment to finally have a talk with him.

He hadn’t talk to you for over three days and you couldn’t reach him by phone until yesterday when he’d called you, just like that, asking when you were going to be back home. He’d asked his question so casual, like he hadn’t goneout of radar for three days! You wondered what had happened to him and if you did something wrong that could cause him to act so strange, making you go crazy with assumptions and worries, but the only thing that you could think of was having to travel to another city due to your job’s obligations. He hadn’t taken that information very good...

The first few days with you being out of town had been really hard for him, making you got seriously worried about his mental state. He’d sounded depressed and exhausted, like he’d never been before. You’d asked him if there’d been something else that had been happening, but he hadn’t answered. He hadn’t lied to you, he’d just started talk less and less... Until he’d stopped answering your calls all of the sudden.

And then you’d picked up the phone and it’d been him at the other side of the line sounding all joyful and excited. He’d said that he’d been fine and everything had been taken care of. You’d tried to put your worries aside and believe him, but you knew that something had been going on and at least one thing hadn’t been alright despite of what he had told you.

Your feet led you to the stairs once you got inside the building, since you couldn’t afford more time to waste on waiting for an elevator, and you soon found yourself standing before apartment 8J, panting heavily. You hadn’t felt so worried, rushed and excited at once for a long time. It was a bittersweet feeling being back here. Being excited to see him again and worried as hell. Butterflies were flying inside your entire body, reaching through your throat to your head, making you dizzy and weak at the knees.

You lifted up your shaking fist and knock on the door two times.

Waiting for the door to open was almost unbearable. It was only seconds, but they were stretched out in your mind, feeling like the longest seconds in your life. You tried to keep your brave face on and acted normal, but you shifted the weight from your right leg to left, impatient and full of worries.

You heard as Arthur opened all the locks, your eyes were tracing his hands, even though you couldn’t see them, and the door finally opened wide. You saw him standing in front of you wearing a red suit that you hadn’t seen before. His hair was dyed green and his face was painted in Carnival make up, though it was more sloppy and messy. He looked at you and smiled widely, his whole face lit up with happiness, and he took you into his arms and hugged you firmly, pulling you into the apartment, his arms wrapped tightly around you, and his face buried into your neck.

- Oh, Artie... - you couldn’t help but feel tears forming in your eyes.

- Hey, sweetheart, welcome home - his voice came out as soft and sweet as always.

You breathed in his scent and cologne as you hugged him back. You could feel his body shaking a bit.

- You’re alright? - you asked against his chest.

- I’ve m-missed you - his voice shaky too, filled with strong emotions.

It was such a wonderful feeling to be back in his arms, he felt like home and you were so overwhelmed by love, that you almost forgot that you were upset a moment ago.You were home and you had to feel him first.

You sank your fingers into his hair and played with his green curls. Your other hand caressed his back in soothe motions. You could feel his body relaxed under your touch. You could tell that he felt it too, this lovely feeling of being home.

Having you in his arms was the only thing that he had been thinking about for the last days. Now that his imagination reached the reality, he finally could rest his mind and body, and have a moment of piece. You on the other hand could worries less about him as he was clearly alive and seemed to be alright.

He smiled against your neck and slightly leaned you back. His chest pressed against you and he made you both swaying right and left, left and right.

- Ooh, my pretty Doll is finally here, I’ve missed you so, so much, my love - he tilted his head and started peppering your neck and face with kisses - so, so, so, so much...

You couldn’t help but giggle despite you being upset at him and you tried to capture his lips with yours, but he didn’t let you, moving to the other side of your face, putting kisses wherever he could.

- I... missed you... too - you said between the giggles.

When his mouth ended pressed on yours you closed your eyes and kissed him back, parting your lips and putting out your tongue. He welcomed it by deepening the kiss. His tongue found yours, beginning dance a slow tango.

You were locked in lovers’ embrace for a long while, kissing hungrily as if it was the end of the world and you had the last chance to kiss each other.

A need for a break to catch your breath came to you eventually, and you stood with your foreheads abutted, panting and smiling. You looked at his face and down at his red suit. This was new, you didn’t remember him wearing those clothes, except for a yellow vest.

- Is that your new Carnival outfit?

- No, honey, it’s my new self, new me, I’m reborn.

You slightly knitted your eyebrows and looked up at his green hair. The color looked good on him, you had to admit. And the new outfit gave him a sexy, kinda intimidating look. It wasn’t exactly a clown outfit, it was too elegant, but his choice of colors was crazy and made him look very noticeable, which was probably his point you guessed.

- That’s a very nice looking, sexy suit - you said as you ran your hands over his red jacket.

- I know - he agreed, the smile on his face was a mix of self-proud and enjoyment - I’m glad you like it.

- Have you performed already with your new self, darling? - you asked as your eyes were admiring his clothes and his new little messy make up. You wondered if he’d gotten a new gig he hadn’t told you about yet. Since Hoyt fired him, which wasn’t fair in your opinion, cause Arthur was harmless even with a gun, you felt sorry for Arthur for being fired like that. Maybe he’d found a new job and telling you about it was a surprise he had for you? Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t talked to you, cause he hadn’t had time?

- Yes, I did - he swayed his body, a little tiptoe dance - At Murray’s show.

Your eyes widened and you looked at him with incredulity.

- What? Murray’s show? - you asked surprised - you’re kidding?

He shook his head and smiled.

- I’m not kidding, Murray invited me on his show and I was at a sta-

- W-why... - you interrupted him still surprised and a little disappointed - why you didn’t tell me? I could have watched you and-

This time he interrupted you, shaking his head.

- No, no, sweet thing. It wasn’t something you’d like to watch.

- Why? Did it go that bad? - you could feel your heart beating faster again with worries. This was important, this was a big topic for Arthur. You’d been talking about it several times in the past, how it would have been like if he was invited on the show. This had been his big dream for years. He’d shared that with you, so why he hadn’t told you that he’d been invited?

- It was just... something unexpected - he started to explain - something that changed my life, but it wouldn’t do any good if you watched it, believe me.

- What? I don’t understand, Arthur, please explain that to me.

He sighed and reached his hand behind you to close the door. He locked it and turned around to you with a smirk. He leaned down, putting one hand under your knees and the other around your waist. He lifted you with an ease and took you to the couch, before putting you gently on the floor. He sat down and as you were about to do the same, he took you by your wrist and led you onto his lap. You got comfortable there right away, it was your favorite place to sit after all. He wrapped his hands around your waist and kissed your neck, nibbling gently on your skin.

- You smell so good, Kitten, I want to take you now on that couch.

You gasped at his directness as you stretched your neck for him. You hadn’t given a thought to that before, but he was less shy than usual, more energetic and the confidence that beamed from him was as strange as appealing. You didn’t quite understand where it came from, but you thought that maybe it was the time apart and homesick that temporarily changed his behavior. Maybe something good had finally happened to him?

- Arthur, a-are you gonna expl-ain... - you tried to get back to the subject that needed to be discussed, but it was hard to form words now that his lips were kissing your collarbone with his hand slipping under your shirt to caress your skin. You’d been feeling too untouched and underloved that past week so now your senses just got crazy with a simple touch and wet kisses. You decided to let go for now, you could go back to it later after all, after you reunited with him. You missed your boyfriend and it had been too long since you hadn’t seen and touched each other.

You caught his lips with yours and shifted, putting your legs on both sides of his hips. While your mouth was busy tasting his lips, his hands slid down to your lower back and pulled you closer to him. You were pressed against his hard cock and he definitely could feel your panties getting soaked, thanks to your decision to wear a skirt today. You rubbed against his crotch eliciting a moan from his mouth. You pulled away and started to kiss the line of his jaw heading to his neck. You tasted greasepaint and you could swear it tasted real good, though not as good as his bare skin that you nibbled on.

His grip on your hips tightened as he made you rub against him again. He was hard as stone and you couldn’t wait any longer, you wanted to feel him in your hand. You reached to the waistband of his red trousers as you unzipped his pants and freed his cock. You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, your thumb rubbed circles around the moist head. He was hot and unbelievable hard. Pre-cum already leaking from him as he pressed you against his crotch, his teeth dug into the crook of your neck a little bit too hard, but you didn’t mind, you were too aroused to feel anything but pleasure.

You moved your hand a few times up and down, feeling every veins on his member, making him groan against your skin. As were you about to attack his neck with kisses, he pulled you away from his lap and laid you on the coach.

- You have no idea how painfully hard it was to wait for you - he said as he slid his hands under your skirt, grabbed your panties and took them off of you - How much I needed you to come back.

He crawled on top of you, his green curls hanging loosely as he pinned you down, his stare full of desire and hidden pain. Dominance and arrogance. A mix of happiness and sadness that you could see in his eyes, but you couldn’t figure out where it all came from. And there was something more also, something more complex, a bunch of emotions from the previous week and whatever had happened back then that you didn’t know about. His intense gaze intimidated you.

- You’re still mine, right? - he asked, lowering his voice.

- Yes, of course, pumpkin - you placed an open palm onto his cheek, trying to stay cool - I’ll always be yours.

He searched your face for a second, maybe looking for any sign of a lie, before he smiled when he of course didn’t find any and pressed a sloppy kiss on your mouth. His disbelief always sent a little pain into your heart, but you knew it was the result of his insecurities and it wasn’t something easily to control. You knew he didn’t doubt your love to him, he always doubted his mind.

He placed himself between your legs, moving his hips, his shaft started rubbing against your clit, giving you friction you needed. You could feel goosebumps all over your body and all the butterflies already gathered in your lower stomach, flicking their wings in anticipation.

- Come inside, I need to feel you - you whispered as you wrapped your legs around him.

He didn’t need an invitation, nor an encourage anymore, but it was always arousing to hear your pleading voice begging for him and anything that he could do to you.

And oh, the things he could do to you now as Joker. All those positions and scenarios that he could see in his mind. He thought about them often when he was alone in his bedroom, tormented with his insomnia. The things that would make Arthur so embarrassed, the things that would never cross Arthur’s mind due to his shy and timid nature. All of those things that Joker wanted to do and gonna get from you eventually. He felt like he could finally be a lover that you deserved. Not clumsy or too shy to ask for things, but confident and dominant, ready to explore new things with you. Now that his mind was finally unchained, he could wandered to corners of his imagination that was always too dark and too perverted for Arthur to look at.

He slipped into your warm and wet walls and moaned into your ear. That was the best feeling in the entire world, to be inside you. To be as one. He wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

He started moving in a steady pace, supporting himself with one hand, while the other were gripping your thigh. His tongue lick up a trace on your neck, stopping right under your ear. He took your earlobe between his lips and sucked on it. Your hand caressed the back of his head and he pushed deeper into you a few times, forcing you to grip his hair into a fist. He smirked and fastened his pace, tilted his head to look at your pretty face.

- Do you like it? - he asked with a little raspy voice as he caught your eyes with his - Do you like my cock stretching your walls, filling you up to the brink?

You parted your lips in slightly surprise, knowing that he hadn’t been the one, initiating a dirty talk before and not with that much confidence in him.

- Y-yea, I- Love it, i-it feels so good - you answered looking into his deep, dark eyes. You wondered if he was alright. The look he was giving you was different, his eyes were different. You’d seen that gaze before, but only when he was very angry. Was he angry right now? He seemed quite relaxed.

- Mmmm - he hummed as he pushed against you, his cock reached your cervix and you rolled your head back, moaning his name.

- Arthur...

No, no Arthur, dollface, it’s Joker that’s fucking you.

His eyes glanced at your hand resting on a pillow, your palm formed into a fist, your wrist so delicate and thin, waiting to be grabbed... With a boosted confidence that arose a new side of him, he quickly wrapped your wrist, pinning it against the pillow. He didn’t know why but if felt like a good idea to show you his dominance you’d never seen before. He hoped you’d like it... no, he knew you’d like it, he remembered all the times when you’d asked him to be a little bit more rough and he just couldn’t do it for you.

Artie couldn’t do it.

Joker dived his face into the crook of your neck and bit your skin, sucked on it, leaving a very visible mark. You made a sweet sound at that, that turned him on and encouraged him to keep going with his teeth, leaving a few more marks on your skin. Your hand that was pinned by him tensed, he could feel you trying to release yourself from his grip, but he didn’t let go. He focused on your moaning and his own pleasure, as he was pounding into you faster and deeper, hitting your cervix every time. He loved how responsive you were to him, how your perfectly shaped body wriggled underneath him, and how he was the cause of it.

You left out a sound that was something between a loud moan and a suppressed scream and he captured your lips, sliding his tongue inside your mouth, finding yours to dance with. He loved how you pulled his hair while he lowered his body to weight you down.

You were lacking of air that Arthur took from you with his passionate and demanding sex, taking you like he owned you and forcing you to be submissive.

To say that you were in shocked, was an understatement. You and Arthur always made love to each other. It wasn’t a vanilla boring sex, no, there was a lot of passion and playfulness in it, but he never went rough on you, he’d never fucked you. He could fasten his pace or go harder when you asked him, but he wouldn’t do things that could make you any harm and he definitely wouldn’t hurt you on purpose.

And he always asked when he wanted to try to do something.

Always.

Except this time.

You didn’t mind him being a little rough, sometimes you’d even imagined Arthur taking you like that, being a bit more demanding and dominant. Being pinned down by him right now was like one of your dreams came true and at first it turned you on very much - being under his body, not able to move your hand, him pounding into you like a hungry animal... His confidence made you squirm and pleading for more. But eventually your wrist started to hurt and your cervix apparently didn’t like being hit so often with so much force, so you had to ask him to slow down.

But it wasn’t easy to say something with his tongue inside your mouth.

You were silenced, so you tried to free your hand on your own, but he was holding you down very firmly and every attempt to free your hand would only hurt your wrist. So you tried with your other hand as you pulled his hair up, in hope that he pulled away from you for a moment.

It worked after a few more thrusts.

He slowed down and looked at you, his eyebrows slightly knitted in surprise.

- What is it, doll?

- Can you... It’s... A little bit too... much - you answered feeling a little bit guilty all of a sudden, you didn’t want him to stop, but the uncomfortable pain started destroying your pleasure.

- Oh... - he stopped moving completely and the grip on your wrist loosened. He looked surprised and more guilty than you.

- I’m so sorry, Kitten, I didn’t... I didn’t mean to... - he brought your hand to his mouth and started kissing your wrist, quickly to ease any pain he’d caused you - I’m sorry. Feels better now?

- It’s alright, don’t worry, love, I’m fine - you smiled at him slightly, observing his face, it was hard to see Arthur underneath his greasepaint - Can we just... talk for a while?

He furrowed his brows concerned, but nodded and slowly pulled out of you, giving you a hand to help you sit up.

You both fixed yourself up and sat in front of each other. As you looked at his face you started to realize you were facing someone that wasn’t quite your boyfriend and it disturbed you and made you wanna scream.

But you suppressed your emotions somehow and decided to ask for explanation. Demand it if you had to.

And just as you were about to ask him about his strange behavior, you saw something in the corner of your eye. Something on the wall that attracted your attention. Something you hadn’t seen before. Something red.

#arthur fleck #joker #arthur fleck x reader #joker arthur fleck #joker x reader #joker imagine #joker fanfiction #arthur fleck imagine #joker reader #arthur fleck imagines #joker you

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lynne-monstr · 4 years

Text

fic (leverage, eliot/quinn)

title: (don’t think i can take anymore) wasted days and sleepless nights

summary: Sleeping together is easy. Quinn trusts Eliot with his body while he's awake and aware. He draws the line at actually falling asleep with Eliot.

contains: mentions of violence/torture, mild sex, banter

ao3 link

In the past thirty-six hours, Quinn had been shot at, stabbed, drugged, locked in the trunk of his own car, and nearly run over twice while making his escape. Every muscle in his body blazed like an inferno as he ran.

Running on empty, the coolly rational part of his brain chimed in. Quinn ignored it. He couldn’t stop; if he stopped, he was dead, and if he was going to die he’d do it on his feet. So he kept going, the soles of his uncomfortable dress shoes pounding along the pavement in the dead of night, every sense straining for the slightest rustle of an approaching attack.

When no one jumped him sliding down a fire escape to street level, he risked taking a quick breather. On silent feet, he ducked behind a dumpster in the narrow alley. His singed leg ached, and he made a note to add ‘near escape from a burning office’ as part of the litany of reasons he was never working for Hungarian arms dealers again. Unfortunately, that same burning building also meant the police were too busy investigating the arson downtown to notice the small war being waged in the otherwise silent streets. There’d be no interruptions or distractions that he could use to slip away.

He was quickly running out of options. And worse, ammunition.

When his lungs felt a little less like they were about to burn their way out of his chest, he took a last sweep of the darkened alley and got ready to move out. Unfolding from his crouch, he sprinted for the exit, keeping close to the wall as he rounded the corner.

And ran full speed into the man waiting for him on the other side.

There was no time to curse his bad luck as they hit the ground. Instead, he bit his lip to muffle the scream as his injured shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Not daring to stop and assess the damage, he rolled, coming up on top of his assailant, pinning him to the ground with his body weight as he brought his sidearm to bear one-handed. And froze.

Staring down the sights of his gun was the last person he expected. Long hair. Casual clothes. Keen eyes narrowed in an expression of imminent violence that would send a lesser man running for cover. Despite the job gone belly up, Quinn couldn’t help the pleasure unfurling in his gut. If he played his cards right, maybe he wasn’t completely fucked after all.

Quinn slowly withdrew his gun, careful to telegraph non-aggression as he put it back into the holster at his shoulder.

Eliot Spencer eyed him for a long moment. Until finally, with a twitch of lips, he pulled back the knife poised to strike Quinn in a very private and painful place. Quinn’s eyes widened when he saw the blade was his own, pulled from his ankle sheath without him feeling a damn thing. And here he thought Eliot Spencer was the type to fight fair. The man was just full of surprises. The warmth in Quinn’s gut flared and spread at the thought.

The hint of a smile curled around Eliot’s lips, and just like that the moment snapped, disappearing as quickly as it came. Quinn stood and offered a hand.

Eliot took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. “Quinn,” he greeted.

“Eliot.”

“Bad day?”

“Getting better.”

The merriment faded as Eliot gave him a more thorough onceover. He twirled the knife once, offering it hilt first. “Looks like you need this more than me.”

Quinn tucked the weapon away, happy to have the familiar weight back where it belonged. His eyes scanned the tops of the nearby buildings for movement before refocusing on Eliot. He was running out of time. “I didn’t realize you were coming to my party.”

“My invitation must’ve got lost in the mail.” Eliot eyed the angry red slash at the shoulder of Quinn’s suit jacket. A misstep he was still paying for. “Your friends don’t seem very nice, though.”

Quinn’s response was cut off by the sound of heavy footfalls.

Between the both of them, it didn’t take long to clean house. Soon they were the only ones standing amidst a sea of unconscious hitmen. Quinn would have preferred them dead—dead men couldn’t get back up and come after you again, or report to their boss about your unexpected new ally—but Eliot had knocked his hand askew when he’d lined up the first headshot, growling something about no killing. Quinn fell into line. If that was the price to pay for Eliot Spencer’s assistance, so be it. What the two of them had done in forty-five minutes would’ve taken him all night to do alone, and he might not have finished before getting himself killed.

Besides, Quinn could always kill the hired guns later if they made the mistake of coming after him again.

It had been good, working with another professional. At times like this, Quinn could maybe see why Eliot settled down with a team. Not that he had any intention of doing so himself. It had been pretty clear on the Dubenich job that Eliot trusted his people unconditionally; Quinn didn’t have anyone like that in his life. It was better that way.

For now, he was happy to hole up in a dingy motel under one of his more obscure aliases. Whoever set him up was still out there, no doubt hiring more people at this very moment, and until Quinn’s contacts came back with more information, he was happy to wait it out in relative safety. His next move was going to depend on whether this was an independent hit or if his employer had double-crossed him. He suspected the latter.

After double checking the room’s only door and window, he shrugged out of his jacket, hissing through his teeth as the motion reopened the wound in his shoulder. He fumbled at his tie one-handed. His shirt followed shortly after, landing in a heap on the bed beside the rest. The slight chill in the room prickled at his skin, one more item on the list of discomforts he was ignoring.

“Still here, huh?” he asked the silent figure by the window.

Once all the hired guns were too busy napping to run amok in the city streets, he half-expected Eliot to bail. Instead, he’d stuck close, watching Quinn’s back as he picked up shell casings, rifled through his assailants’ pockets, and finally holed up for the night. He couldn’t quite decipher if the other hitter was being friendly, weirdly protective of Quinn’s injured state, or if he figured out that Quinn had half a mind to break into the local police station and make sure all the hired thugs they’d taken down reached a more permanent end.

Whatever the reason, Eliot was still here, peering steadily through a crack in the window curtains. Quinn wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed. Instead he asked, “You staying all night?”

Eliot spared Quinn a glance before going back to his vigil of the street. “Got nowhere else to be.”

Quinn rubbed at his bare arms and settled for mildly grateful but cautious. “Thought your team would be waiting for you or something.”

“We ain’t all joined at the hip, you know,” Eliot answered, a thread of affection buried under the gruffness. “I like to head on out every once in a while. Wasn’t expecting to run into a street war on my time off.”

“Looks like I owe you the favor, then.” Normally, Quinn resisted the idea of being in debt, but he couldn’t deny the flush of warmth at the thought of Eliot Spencer calling on him sometime down the line. Quinn had always been a little bit of an idiot for a pretty face.

He was halfway through a shrug before thinking better of it. His shoulder was a raw mass of pain now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Every breath felt like a red-hot lance through the wound.

“Want me to take a look at that?” Eliot asked, correctly reading the pinched lines of his face.

Quinn paused, already halfway to the tiny bathroom. It was barely more than a toilet and a shower, both of which had seen better days, but it had running water and that was enough. “I’ve got it.”

“Gonna be a bitch to stitch that up one handed.”

“Yet somehow I always manage.”

Eliot shrugged, not turning away from his post. “Suit yourself, man. Give a holler if you change your mind.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. Twenty minutes later, sitting hunched on the dirty toilet seat and trying to tie off a knot with one hand and his teeth, he was maybe beginning to regret not taking Eliot up on his offer. Pausing to catch his breath, he cursed the wound, this job, his (probably) turncoat of an employer, and everything in between. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heart, which almost stopped as a silhouette suddenly filled the tiny bathroom doorframe. His hand was at his hip for a gun he wasn’t carrying before he recognized it as Eliot.

Quinn frowned. “Who’s watching the street?”

“If they haven’t showed by now they aren't coming.”

“Or they’re waiting for us to get complacent.”

“Then stop screwing around and get out here. You can watch the street while I fix this mess you call stitches.”

“They’re functional,” Quinn protested. “Doesn’t have to win any knitting awards.”

“Functional, huh? If that’s what you’re calling that mess, I’m gonna have to seriously reevaluate what I think of your skillset.” Eliot huffed and shook his head, then swiped an errant strand of hair from his eyes. “I won’t even count how that’s so far from pretty, it makes ugly look good. Come on, Huckleberry, let me patch you up.”

Using the dumb nickname Quinn had thrown out in a moment of adrenaline-fueled weakness wasn’t playing fair. But he was too tired to keep arguing, and so he let Eliot lead him back to the pair of armchairs by the room’s only window, perfectly angled as to be out of sight from any outside observers.

He kept his eyes trained on the crack in the window while Eliot hovered over him and fixed up his stitches in the dim light filtering in from the street lamps. The scratchy fabric of the chair itched against his bare back, and he focused on that rather than the unpleasant pinch and pull of his shoulder being mended. Eliot’s hands were hot on his skin and despite the pain, Quinn found himself relaxing.

When it was done, Eliot cleaned the blood from Quinn’s shoulder with a scratchy hotel towel and went to wash his hands while Quinn redressed in his soiled shirt and jacket. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch,” he offered when he was done, settling back into the hideously ugly chair by the edge of the window.

Quinn laughed. “Real cute.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Eliot to guard them both. Hell, he had no problem with Eliot keeping guard while he’d been cleaning up in the bathroom. But there was a world of difference between letting someone have your back while you were all there, and trusting someone to watch over you while you were slow and heavy with sleep.

The only person Quinn trusted like that was himself. He didn’t need to say it out loud, though. The look in Eliot’s eyes said he understood just fine.

What was left of the night passed in mutual silence, both of them on guard against the world.

Their patience paid off. Right before sunup, they both jerked to attention, noticing the same movement in the orange rays of early morning light. If whoever was creeping towards their room was expecting them to be caught off guard, they were in for a nasty surprise.

Quinn grinned like a shark and reached for his gun.

When none of their assailants were left standing (shot in the knee, courtesy of Quinn, and handed over to the federal authorities, courtesy of Eliot over Quinn’s fervent objections) all that adrenaline building since the previous night only had one place to go.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure who made the first move, him or Eliot. But it ended up with them back at Eliot’s place, their hands in each other’s hair and their mouths crushed together as they fell into bed. Casual touches and play-fighting quickly turned into something more heated and deliberate. Soon enough, Quinn found himself without his clothes and his weapons, Eliot’s teeth grazing his throat and his rough hands pinching along his inner thighs. Blunt nails raked down his stomach and Quinn arched up into it for more. And how delightful to discover firsthand that Eliot’s gravel-rough voice got ever rougher when Quinn held him down and kept him writhing on the edge.

When it was all over, they were tangled together across the dark blue sheets of Eliot’s safe house, struggling to catch their breath. Quinn felt his eyes grow heavy as the past couple days finally caught up with him. And that’s where he drew the line. Sleeping with Eliot was one thing; actual sleeping was a line he wasn’t willing to cross.

Not with Eliot, not with anyone. He’d learned that one the hard way.

“You leaving?”

Quinn paused with one leg in his suit pants and bit down the sarcastic reply about Eliot’s keen observation skills. He was almost surprised to find that his smile was genuine. “Thanks for the good time.”

Eliot nodded and Quinn finished redressing. He headed for the door, but Eliot’s voice stopped him as he was about to walk out.

“I’m too wired to sleep. Thought I’d make some coffee. Maybe check on the tomatoes in the garden. You’re welcome to stay for a cup.” Not bothering to wait for answer, he rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the large wooden dresser in the corner. He didn’t bother with a shirt and Quinn allowed himself a moment to appreciate the view.

He could picture the scene as clear as day. Lounging on the couch in borrowed sweatpants that weren’t quite long enough to reach his ankles. Sipping coffee and watching Eliot work shirtless on the back patio, the late afternoon sun washing warm across the naked skin of his back and highlighting his hair with gold. Pulling Eliot down on top of him afterwards until they were both sweaty and sated all over again. Falling asleep in his bed.

He should go. That much was obvious. Working with Eliot on business, indulging in sex with Eliot—that was all standard fare. Practically a perk of the job. But this? An invitation to stay in each other’s company like they were anything other than sort-of colleagues and occasional allies.

Now that was dangerous.

For all the dark rumors of his past, Eliot was a bonafide good guy now. How long until he remembered that Quinn was still taking the kinds of jobs he’d long since washed his hands of. As much as he liked the guy and could rely on him to have his back on a job or against a mutual enemy, Quinn could never fully trust him. He would be an idiot to forget that.

So, he shook his head and locked away the sliver of regret that slipped past his defenses. “Maybe next time,” he lied, straightening his tie so he wouldn’t have to look Eliot in the eye.

(The next several times they fell into bed—a combination of planned meets and one uncomfortable instance when they’d both been trailing the same mark—Eliot never repeated his offer to stay afterwards.

Quinn was grateful for it.)

Quinn liked working the occasional job for Eliot and his strange team. There were several reasons, but it all boiled down to three main things.

The first being that it was a nice change not to worry about being double-crossed when it came time to collect his fee. Not that he couldn’t handle that kind of trouble when it happened (“The perils of being a freelancer,” he’d told the last person to try that on him, right before putting a bullet in his head), or that he didn’t still plan for it, but it was like a little vacation to be able to wrap up a job without any dramatics. Quinn liked clean and tiny.

Second was that Eliot never asked for more than Quinn was physically capable of delivering. He was good at what he did, but even he’d go down if someone threw enough armed men his way. It worried him sometimes just how well Eliot knew his strength and his limits, but he consoled himself with the fact that his knowledge of Eliot ran just as deep.

Last and most fun was what Quinn considered his personal bonus of a job well done. Namely, that Eliot was great in bed.

They were at the safe house Quinn had procured for the week, celebrating the successful completion of doing bad things for a good cause. Quinn, his bank account newly full and wearing nothing but a smile, dangled the cuffs Eliot had pretended to slap onto him earlier as part of the con they’d run. “Looks like it’s finally my turn to put these to good use.”

“Nice try,” Eliot said, grabbing the cuffs and casually dropping them over the side of the bed. “Not gonna happen.”

Quinn pouted. He didn’t think Eliot was going to go for it but it was worth a try. With a dirty smile, he shifted his hips where he straddled Eliot’s lap on the bed. The friction made them both groan, so Quinn did it again, watching the tension slide from Eliot’s face as pleasure took its place.

“I let you put them on me,” Quinn countered, hands sliding along the sweat-slick skin of Eliot’s chest.

Eliot caught his hands. “And I didn’t lock them tight enough to keep you from slipping free.” His fingers clamped down on Quinn’s wrists. Like the cuffs from earlier, they weren’t nearly tight enough to keep him contained if he chose otherwise.

He didn’t choose otherwise. He did, however, concede the point.

Eliot slid his hands up Quinn’s arms, lacing his fingers together behind Quinn’s neck to pull him down. It was easy to let himself be reeled in, to let Eliot flip their positions in a move that was telegraphed slowly enough that Quinn could have countered it any time he wanted.

(Again, he didn’t.)

There was a fine line between fantasy and accidentally triggering the defensive actions Quinn had spent the better part of his life honing. Eliot rode that line with the same skill he did everything else, pinning Quinn with enough force to be real but not enough to make him feel trapped. It was nice, the weight of Eliot pressing heavy on his limbs. There weren’t very many people capable of keeping him down if he didn’t want to be down but Eliot had more than a passing shot of making it happen. He’d done it before, back when they weren’t anything more than two hitters on opposite ends of a job.

A rush of heat raced down Quinn’s spine and he grabbed a fistful of Eliot’s loose hair, arching his hips up until they were pressed together from head to toe. Eliot slipped a leg between Quinn’s, fanning the spark of heat into a raging fire until it was all he could think about.

Six hours later, in a business class seat somewhere over the Pacific, Quinn set aside the last lingering thoughts of Eliot Spencer and got his head back in the game.

There was someone in his hotel room.

Quinn had a fair idea who it was (he practically sent an engraved invitation, after all) but that was no reason to be stupid. All hitters came to end in an some kind of ugly fashion and Quinn had made his peace with that, but when it happened to him it wasn’t going to be because he was stupid.

Silently, he pulled his backup gun from the small of his back. Taking a last look down the hall to ensure he was alone, he opened the door with the electronic keycard, ducked, and burst into the room gun first.

The precaution was unnecessary.

“No word from you in months and this is the greeting I get? I’m beginning to think you don’t like me anymore.” Eliot detached himself from where he was pressed up against the far corner, partially hidden by the faux cherry wood armoire holding the room’s entertainment center. He gestured towards Quinn and the gun, the muzzle now pointing at the floor.

“Worried I don’t like you anymore? Do I need to check a box for yes or no and pass the note back?”

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Were you always this juvenile or is it a recent development?”

“You bring out the best in me.”

Setting aside the handgun on the nearest bedside table, Quinn carefully shrugged out of his worn leather jacket. It felt a little strange to not be wearing the suit around Eliot, but he wasn’t here for a job so there was no need to dress the part. He winced as the movement pulled at his back, quickly hiding it behind a lazy grin.

Narrowed eyes appraised him from head to toe and Quinn stilled. It was instinctive. Never let anyone know where the weak spots were. Any known injury could be used against you in a fight. It was a dumb thing to stick to in front of a guy he planned on getting naked with pretty soon, but Quinn never claimed not to be a creature of habit.

Eliot straightened, gaze turning leering and playful as he shook his hair out of his face. “I like the new outfit. Not a bad look on you.”

It was a safe topic, and as a close to an outright declaration that Eliot wasn’t going to press for details.

The knot between Quinn’s shoulder blades eased and he let his arms relax at his sides. Pushing the dark thoughts from his mind, he started unbuttoning his shirt. “I didn’t come here for fashion tips.”

“Well then,” Eliot drawled, stepping into his space and brushing Quinn’s hands aside to finish the job himself. “That’s good ‘cause I didn’t come here to give them.”

He never could figure out how much of Eliot’s midwestern charm was affectation verses actual upbringing. But as those rough hands swept over his chest with each opened button, he decided that he didn’t much care either way. Taking full advantage of his hands being unoccupied, he quickly fumbled Eliot’s belt open, popping every damn button on his inconvenient button fly jeans on his way downward.

They moved to the bed by unspoken agreement, hands scrabbling to cast aside the last of their clothes, mouths hot on each other’s skin. Fuck, he’d missed this. Well, he’d missed a lot of things these past several months, but he’d really missed this.

He’d missed Eliot’s broad hands pressing into the dip of his hips to hold him down, and the taste of his skin when Quinn traced lines into the muscles of Eliot’s stomach with his tongue. He’d almost forgot how It felt to press Eliot’s legs apart and take him into his mouth, watching beneath his lashes as Eliot fisted one hand into the sheets and the other into Quinn’s ponytail. He missed coming apart under someone’s hands in a way that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with heat and desire.

Eliot didn’t say anything about the new marks on Quinn’s skin save for how he meticulously avoided digging his fingers into those particular spots. There was nothing to say; they both knew the risks of their occupation. Not every fight was a win.

Losing a fight was the last thing on Quinn’s mind as he finally pressed inside the heat of Eliot’s body. Beneath him, Eliot’s breath hitched and his legs wrapped tighter around Quinn’s waist, drawing him in further.

“Come on,” Eliot growled, pushing himself forward to bite at Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn licked his lips and obliged, happy to lose himself in this for the time being.

Once they’d cleaned up and got comfortable under the duvet, Quinn trailed a lazy hand down Eliot’s arm. “How’d you know I’d be passing through here?” Not that he needed to ask, but he wanted to hear the answer anyway.

Eliot laughed, a low amused rumble. “You practically left me a calling card, man. How could I turn down an invitation like that?”

Quinn smiled, something warm uncurling in his belly. There was no job, no enemy, no reason for Eliot to be here. Except that Quinn asked him to come.

Eliot’s gravely voice broke him out of his thoughts. “So, should I be worried about identity theft, here? First you grow your hair long after I kick your ass. Then you—”

“Hell of an ego you got there, pal,” Quinn cut in. “My hair has nothing to do with you.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Eliot shot back with a smile. “Anyway, you entered the freaking country under my favorite alias. Did you expect me not to notice?”

He’d counted on it.

Quinn rolled to his side and slung an arm across Eliot’s chest. “Thought all that hair might’ve finally rotted your brain,” he mumbled. “And anyway, it wasn’t your name.”

“Just ‘cause you rearranged the letters don’t mean it ain’t still mine.”

“It’s a real alias. And it got your attention didn’t it.”

Instead of answering, Eliot reached over to grab Quinn’s leg and hitch it over his hip to tangle with his own. “Damn, you’re heavy,” he teased as they resettled.

“I work out,” Quinn agreed with a lazy smile, letting himself be maneuvered.

It was pleasant to be sprawled across Eliot like this, to feel the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart. He’d debated for weeks about using that particular alias after the job in Jakarta. It felt too much like running to safety for his liking, and so when the thought had first crossed his mind, he hightailed it to the most dirty, corrupt corner of the world he could find instead. Took every job that came his way until they all blurred together.

When the dust settled and he’d still wanted to see Eliot, he let himself use the identity that would no doubt raise every red flag in the Leverage team’s playbook. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that leaving a trail for Eliot to follow was the right move, but the sex was great and the company wasn’t awful so he was calling it a win.

One of Eliot’s fingers stroked a steady back and forth along the patch of skin just under Quinn’s shoulder blade, skirting the edge of what had been one of the deeper wounds on his back. Serrated knife, he remembered. He’d screamed—he remembered that, too—screamed until his voice had gone hoarse.

He felt the intake of breath a split second before Eliot’s voice broke the silence.

“They dead?” The words were growled in a way Quinn had only ever heard in an empty airport hangar, when he was the one standing between Eliot and his team.

Raising his head from its place on Eliot’s chest, Quinn looked him in the eye. “Yes.” He paused, remembering how Eliot almost knocked the gun from his hand the last time he tried to kill someone. “If you have a problem with that, you can see yourself out.”

But Eliot didn’t leave. Or ask who they were or how long they had him or what they’d wanted. Hell, Eliot had gotten his hands dirty enough back before he’d turned white-hat that could fill in the details on his own.

After a moment, Eliot gave him a tight smile and nodded.

Quinn didn’t know what to do with that, so he just laid his head back on Eliot’s chest and closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time he wanted to throw out all his old rules and let himself drift off to sleep. Against all odds and good sense, Eliot had somehow wormed his way under his skin.

This is why he shouldn’t have used the alias.

Nothing between them had changed; Quinn was still a bad guy and Eliot wasn’t. There was no silencing the voice in the back of his head shouting how it was only a matter of time before Eliot remembered what kind of person Quinn really was. Maybe he’d decide Quinn was better off in jail, or thrown to rot in some deep dark government hole, rather than be allowed to roam free and do what he did. Lulled into complacency by sleep and trust, Quinn would be a pathetically easy target.

In the end, caution won out.

It didn’t escape his notice that although Eliot’s eyes were closed, he hadn’t let himself fall into sleep either.

Taking a job in Portland had the potential to go all kinds of wrong, but wasn't that half the fun? But the money was good, and he wasn’t one to turn down a sizable fee. Predictably, it got him tangled up in one of Eliot’s cons. Not so predictably, the whole thing went off relatively smoothly. Before he knew it, he was invited to a post-victory dinner with Eliot’s team and not long after that found the two of them tangled up in Eliot’s bedsheets.

Once they caught their breath, Eliot propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at him. “Would you tell me if you were gonna take a hit on me or my team?”

“If this is your idea of sweet nothings, it’s no wonder all those women you’re rumored to sleep with only do it once.”

“Hey, I never had any complaints.” Eliot flicked at Quinn’s nose, but his wrist was caught before it could connect. His other hand shot out and Quinn caught that too. Eliot didn’t resist as Quinn rolled them until he was looking at Eliot spread out beneath him.

The playful spark faded from Eliot’s pretty blue eyes. “I’m serious, Quinn. Would you tell me?”

Most people couldn’t pull off an intimidating scowl while naked and pinned by the wrists to their own bed. Then again, Eliot wasn’t most people.

Quinn considered. It was a fair question. The truth was, he wouldn’t accept a hit on Eliot, at any price. And anyone who came to him with one wouldn’t stay breathing much longer. He couldn’t say the same for Eliot’s team, however. He liked them, they were smart, deadly competent, and occasionally funny, but they weren’t Eliot. But they were important to Eliot and, when he stopped to think about it, that was apparently enough for Quinn.

“I’m not taking any hits on you or your people. Not now and not ever.”

All it earned him was a nod.

Quinn put the pieces together. “You already knew. So, why’d you ask?”

“Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it.” In one smooth motion, Eliot extricated his arms and rolled out from under Quinn. “That’s a long timeframe for that kind of promise."

“If I change my mind, I’ll be sure to give you fair warning.” In an echo of their first meeting as allies rather than adversaries, Quinn held out his hand. “Deal?”

Eliot grinned, clearly remembering the same dirty warehouse in Kiev. “Deal,” he said, and they shook.

Quinn braced for the inevitable sneak attack in retaliation for his earlier move, but Eliot seemed satisfied to let it lie. Resting back against the pillows, he resembled a large jungle cat, content and sated with the world. His hair was loose around his face, disheveled from their slight tussle.

Taking his cue, Quinn settled back against his pillows too, feeling like he’d accomplished something but not sure exactly what. He spun the thought around in his mind, poking at it over and over before giving it up as a lost cause. It would come eventually, it always did. Didn’t mean he liked waiting for it though.

It wasn’t until he heard the breathing beside him even out that he realized Eliot was asleep.

For a moment, he just froze in surprise. If Eliot was awake, he’d probably make some dumbass comment about catching flies. Or maybe a dirty joke about what else Quinn could do with his mouth. He did neither.

In his sleep, he was as restless and grouchy as he was while awake, forehead scrunching and nose twitching every once in a while. One hand was balled in a fist where it rested on top of the covers against Quinn’s leg. There was something comfortable in that, in knowing that Eliot didn’t turn into something drastically different just because he was asleep. Which brought Quinn to his current problem. If there was one thing he hated, it was a puzzle whose pieces didn’t fit. Aside from his fists and his guns, information was the other stock in trade that kept him alive and ahead of his enemies.

Was that all it took for Eliot to trust him? A promise that he wouldn’t go after Eliot or his team. Quinn had specified nothing about not going after him for any non-job-related reasons. Eliot was smart enough to know the distinction. The more he thought about it the more it didn’t make sense. Eliot knew exactly what kind of man Quinn was. Right now he could do anything, anything, to a sleeping Eliot and without that split second of reaction time consciousness gave him, he could inflict serious damage.

Before he knew what he was doing, he shook Eliot by the shoulder.

Eliot snapped awake in an instant, eyes scanning the room. That bright gaze fixed on Quinn when no threat popped out of the shadows, and the tension bled out of him. “The hell? What is it, Quinn?”

“I didn’t stop doing my job when I started sleeping with you.” It wasn’t what he meant to say but fuck if he knew what that was. He’d reacted and now he was running on instinct. And the jarring feeling of something poking at the inside of his chest, desperately clawing its way out into the open air.

Eliot blinked and squinted at Quinn. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Do you? Do you really? And you expect me to believe it’s not a problem for you?”

“Won’t say I like it. But until you do something that crosses my path, then I can live with it. Besides, I got it on good authority that most of the people you go after are scumbags in their own right.”

Most, but not all.

Quinn looked him in the eye. “And when they aren’t?” Because he needed to say it, to see Eliot’s reaction.

“What you said earlier. About fair warning.” Eliot put a hand on his leg. “It goes both ways, you know. If we have a problem, we’ll deal with it. I’m not coming after you in the middle of the night.”

Quinn tilted his head, studying Eliot. He had on his serious face, mouth set in a tight line and a little crease right between his eyebrows. He stared at Quinn like he half expected him to bolt and half expected him to fight.

Truth was, Quinn didn’t want to do either of those things. Eliot’s bed was comfortable and Quinn was tired. This was usually the part of the night where he put his clothes on and slipped back into his life. The pull of that was strong, but there was a part deep inside him that felt hollow at the thought of giving up whatever this thing with Eliot was.

In the end, he could either trust Eliot or he couldn’t.

It sent a cold chill racing down his spine. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to give that kind of trust anymore, against all the instincts that kept him alive. But he wanted. Wanted so badly he could taste it in the back of his throat. He glanced up at the ceiling as if the answers were somewhere in the expanse of dim white. As expected, they weren’t. Just a few streaks of plaster covering what must have been the remnants of old cracks. Quinn let his eyes trace over them, mind following not far behind, circling an answer he knew was inevitable but wasn’t sure he was ready to admit.

He sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist.

“You asked me a question, now it’s my turn.” Quinn didn’t bother to wait for Eliot’s nod. “Why’d you let me go?” He wasn’t exactly sure why he was asking, other than the fact that it had been burning a hole in his mind for years.

The corners of Eliot’s mouth pulled down. He propped himself up on his elbows, head cocked. “What’re you talking about?”

“When we met that first time. The hangar. You had me down. Why’d you let me go?”

Eliot snorted, like Quinn was asking an easy question, like he should have been able to work it out himself. He always was a bit of an asshole, which was part of why Quinn liked him. “Sterling wouldn’t have told you anything about his plans for us. He’s a pain in the ass but he’s a smart pain in the ass.” Eliot paused, his expression pinched. “Don’t you ever tell him I said that.”

Quinn nodded solemnly despite the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “On my word.”

Eliot smiled back before turning serious again. “Even if you had the information I needed, I was on a tight schedule. You’re too much of a pro to break easy and I didn’t have that kind of time to burn.”

Quinn nodded at the assessment but couldn’t help pressing. “I wasn’t just referring to information, you know.”

“You mean, why didn’t I torture you for getting the jump on me. For that payback you were so sure I was looking for in Kiev?”

Quinn trailed a finger along Eliot’s chest in an idle, invisible pattern. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Eliot looked up at him. “You know, your pillow talk really sucks, man.”

“Never had any complaints before. Then again, usually I just get up and leave.” He ran a hand down Eliot’s side to take the sting out of the words.

“Don’t I know it.”

For a moment Eliot just looked at him. Quinn stared back. They were both comfortable in silence, and Quinn wondered if they might spend the rest of the evening like this. There were worse ways to spend the night, he figured.

Finally, Eliot sighed, running a hand across his face. “I had more important things on my mind.”

“Ah yes, saving the team. They were family even back then, weren’t they?”

Eliot nodded once before settling on his back. After a moment, Quinn did the same, their shoulders brushing. They stared at the ceiling for a moment before Eliot spoke again. “It ain’t just them, you know. If some punk upstart hitter was between me and you, I’d drop him in a heartbeat..”

Quinn rolled, straddling Eliot’s hips in one swift motion. Leaning in, he placed his hands on the bed so they bracketed Eliot’s head. “A punk upstart hitter?”

He could feel Eliot’s chest vibrate with laughter, rich and low. “Quinn, man, your hair was gelled. And I’m pretty sure you had frosted tips like some boy band wannabe.”

“Since when are you the expert in boy bands? And what the hell are frosted tips? I don’t even know what that means.”

“I dated a hairdresser once.” Eliot gave a playful tug to the loose strands around Quinn’s face, down from their usual ponytail. “And it means I like it better long.”

With that, Eliot swept Quinn’s arms from under him. Quinn let him, not bothering to catch himself as he fell against Eliot’s bare chest.

To his surprise, settling back down at Eliot's side wasn’t nearly as difficult as expected this time around.

Eliot followed him, clicking the bedside lamp off and shifting to throw an arm over Quinn’s chest. “Now, we done here, or do you wanna keep talking all night? Maybe braid each other’s hair while we’re at it.” The words were barely audible, muttered into Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn rested his free hand against the dip of Eliot’s back and let his eyes fall closed.

#leverage #eliot spencer #mr. quinn #leverage fanfic #eliot x quinn #lynne writes fic #can't believe i started this fic five years ago and finally finished it #better late than never right?#anyway i love this ship

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datawyrms · 4 years

Text

More Than Lost (2/2)

Dannymay day 9, Glow. A continuation of this, but you can get the gist without if needbe :v

Danny’s hazmat suit wasn’t simply misplaced, it was missing. Despite checking every reasonable place in the lab, and several nonsensical places, the suit did not turn up. Danny never used it, he had almost seemed embarrassed about it, much like Jazz was. How had it just up and vanished? It wasn’t even a reasonable thing to steal, not many scrawny fourteen year olds were in the market for hazmat. Even if a ghost had decided to try and steal some Fenton tech, taking Danny’s suit and ONLY Danny’s really wouldn’t help. Though ghosts could be completely erratic it still didn’t feel like the correct answer. Surely if a ghost had stolen it, they would have flaunted their ‘win’ over the ghost hunting couple, much like how Phantom casually used a stolen thermos with zero remorse daily, to going as far as stealing the Ecto-Skeleton and defacing it with it’s own ghostly attributes.

A human wouldn’t bother stealing it, and if a ghost had, they would know by now. So why was it missing? Her eyes rested on the Boooomerang, the choking weight of concern setting back on her chest. She couldn’t be certain if the ghost had meant it to be a small taunt or credible threat. At the bare minimum it showed the specter was back in the human would, and didn’t care if the ghost hunters knew it. Was it so cocky to think they were no threat to it? Or was it a reminder that it knew exactly where their children lived if they angered the beast again?

Thankfully Jack could always be trusted to drive such concerns away with loud bravado and strong embraces, even if he might be a tad too optimistic in this case.

“Don’t worry Mads, that ectoplasmic punk’s got another thing coming if it thinks it can threaten the Fentons! The house will know if it sets one slimy foot inside!”

“I know Jack, something just doesn’t feel right. What if it already did something?” her hands fiddled with a pen, unable to write down any reasonable actions the ghost might have taken, or relate anything to the missing hazmat.

“Oooh! I can take the Fenton Environmental Ectoplasmic Entity Detector for a spin! I think I’ve managed to have it filter out the standard amount in our house. All thanks to your calculations!” his grin was infectious.

“Aww, I know implementing them was all you sweetheart.” Still, having Jack do a quick sweep of the house would be comforting. Knowing the pesky pretend ‘hero’ ghost had not approached their children might quiet the strange dread she couldn’t shake from last night.

Jack accepted a peck on the cheek before racing off to finish re-assembling the device while she busied herself with going over the ghost shield schematics. Phantom had a nasty habit of appearing inside areas protected by the green domes, and the sooner she figured out what flaw the terror was using to get through, the better. If she could tune it to reject any quantity of ectoplasm, she would. Unfortunately with the portal, and that whole little problem with the entire town getting dragged into the ghost zone almost everyone in Amity had some level of contamination. Nothing worrisome, but enough that it could harm humans if she wasn’t careful in accounting for that. Maybe a mode for full deflection at night?

The paper was soon filled with calculations and tiny sketches so that Jack could have a helpful visual, completely losing track of time.

“Maddie?” Jack’s lack of joviality was more worrisome than anything else, her attention towards her work gone in an instant.

“The scan wasn’t good?” she asked, privately hoping he simply had failed to get the invention working completely.

“Er well. It definitely tracked a ghost leaving the portal.” he rubbed the back of his neck, showing his wife the glowing trail the ghostly intruder left highlighted on the small screen of the device. “The problem is it completely loses it after it goes upstairs-”

“Into Danny’s room?” she finishes, heart in her throat. If that thing had done anything to their son…

Jack nods, managing to keep his voice steady. “It can’t still be in there, but it doesn’t pick up anymore shed ectoplasm after that. Maybe I over compensated and the ghost was just moving too fast to shed enough ambient ectoplasm?”

“Or that monster has a way to suppress expelling ectoplasm for brief periods. It is in our world far more often than most ghosts manage.” She tried to focus on the possible solution instead of the horror of where the ghost had been. At least it had not gone after Jazz as well, it had likely planned to but ran out of time. “We’ll just have to give the kids a good check after school.”

“And some spector deflectors! You think they might complain less about wearing them if they look like a watch?” Jack was pacing, hands moving as if he was already planning on cobbling the idea together. “Is the belt too ‘uncool’ for the kids?”

“When it comes to their safety, we don’t care how uncool it is. It’s a good idea though, Jazz might prefer it.”

“Alright! Operation: Hands off My Kids, Ghost Scum! Is underway!” Jack seemed a bit more at ease with an actual plan of attack, sprinting off to the lab without barely a second glance. They’d just have a big dinner to make up for all the meal skipping, it was fine.

She knew Danny had always been a bit leery of their inventions, and had expected some pushback from the boy, but she hadn’t expected Jazz to be so vocally opposed.

“Mom this is the fifth time you’ve accused me of being a ghost! Your obsession with them is making you see symptoms that don’t exist!” she pointed an accusing finger at the both of them before grabbing her brother by the shoulders. “Come on Danny, we don’t have time for this.”

“It’s not like that Jazzy-pants! We know you aren’t a ghost, but one of those putrid piles of protoplasm might have done something to you two.” Jack insisted, blocking the exit to the room, barely managing to weather the teenager’s glare.

“We’re much better at detecting ghosts now sweetie. No blasts or goop, no invasive checks. It’ll only take a few moments, then you two can get going, okay?”

“Absolutely not! We are not indulging in your paranoia, I know I’m fine, and I know Danny’s fine, and that should be enough for you.” she almost seemed to be shielding her little brother as she went on. “Your inventions fail all the time, and you’re trusting that over us?”

Danny was remaining strangely silent throughout the argument, as if he was hoping he could become invisible if he scrunched in on himself enough. He was rather timid, but he’d usually have some sort of complaint by this point.

“Well, okay. I guess you’d know if your brother was possessed.” Jack admitted. “Just to make sure you two stay that way, I got you some Fenton Watches! It tells the ghosts that it’s never time to try to touch you!” He held the green and silver timepieces proudly, not noticing how Danny visibly recoiled more firmly into his sister’s grip.

“Oh and become complete social pariahs? Danny has enough trouble connecting with his peers and you’re going to try and force that on him? Honestly.”

That finally got a reaction from her son, the boy glaring at his sister. “Hey! I have friends!”

Jazz gave him the patented sibling ‘Shut Up’ look before going back to glaring at their parents. “I’ll let you know if we start acting out parts of the Exorcist. Until then, all of this? Paranoia, and we’re not indulging it.” With that the redhead forced her way past her father, brother in tow.

“Maybe the ghost did get to Jazz.” Jack muttered, glancing at the stairs the two went up.

“It might have. That’s okay, we can use the EctoIlluminator at dinner. When she understands ghosts are a real threat she might stop protesting so much.” Maddie clutched the flashlight-looking device firmly, trying to keep calm. Something was definitely up with the two of them, now that she was looking more closely. Has this ghost problem been a long term one? They had tried to stop assuming any oddness was ghost related after the incidents Jazz mentioned, but perhaps they had been wrong to do so.

Jazz was still putting up the defensive front, eyeing their served meal before touching it. “If this has any sort of magic ‘ghost detector sauce’ I’m tossing it and ordering something.”

“It’s just food dear.” Maddie started eating her own meal, feigning casualness as she watched the two picked at their food, Jazz eyeing every bite as if it was going to jump up and do something, while Danny just looked too tired to eat with any speed.

“So how was school?” Jack prompted, apparently bothered by the silence.

“Long.” Danny muttered, still chasing a pea with his fork instead of using his knife to help pick the vegetable up.

“Maybe he’d have more to say if you asked about his interests. Or anything that wasn’t school and ghosts.”

“Jazz.”

“What? It’s true! If they actually wanted to have some family time they could at least try to be interested in us as people.” Jazz crossed her arms, apparently satisfied by the wince Jack made.

“Jazz.” Danny repeated, a frustrated edge in his tone.

“You’re right Jazz. We’ve been so busy with the portal and all the ghosts that we may have been a little more distant than you would like.” Maddie felt a pang of guilt, Jazz’s accusation mirroring her own worries. If they had paid more attention, would they have caught that something was wrong sooner?

“When I was a teenager I never wanted to see my folks! Thought you guys might be the same as your old man.” Jack apologized, and Jazz actually smiled at him.

“No, I take after dad. Can I go now?” Danny asked, already half pushing out of his chair.

“We haven’t even had dessert, hold your horses kiddo.”

The boy slumped back into his seat, glaring at Jazz. “Whatever.”

Jazz ignored it, going off on a tangent about her day and future plans, Jack nodding and adding comments about his time in high school as Danny continued to do his best to melt into the chair. Other than a few glances at each exit of the room, the teenager seemed to be incredibly bored.

Everyone seemed distracted enough to run the quick test, slipping the EctoIlluminator out of the cupboard along with the box of cookies that was being used to hide it from view.

The beam of light passed over Jazz with no reaction other than her own, a furious “MOM, we JUST talked about this!” as she got to her feet and moved surprisingly quickly in the direction of her brother, but Maddie’s wrist was faster.

The half awake teenager grunted at the bright light, eyes narrowing to block the worst of it. Yet the glowing green that replaced his normal blue hue and shined back at her confirmed their worst fears.

The ghost using Danny as a meat puppet didn’t seem to notice the change, shielding himself with an arm. It was strange, as if there was an entire separate layer hiding under his skin, almost like a glove. Had their son been possessed so long that the ghost was everywhere, not just in his mind?

“Can you not flash light in my eyes mom?” the ghost asked, blind to their reactions.

“I knew it.” Maddie nearly growled, weapon out in seconds as Jack got to his feet.

Danny’s body swallowed, trying to look at both of them at once. “Knew what? You’re kinda freaking me out here.”

“You think we didn’t notice your threat last night?”

“I haven’t threatened anyone?” the fake insisted, looking to Jazz for support. “Did mom and dad get overshadowed or am I missing something?”

“You’re hopeless.” Jazz said as she stood protectively between her parents and the thing she thought was her brother. “Your gadgets always pick Danny up, stop threatening my brother.”

“Overshadowed, huh? Is that the word you used when you threatened my son?” she ignored Jazz’s outburst, it was for the best that it was solved now. “Sounded nicer than possessing him?”

The ghost frowned, confusion clear on Danny’s face. “Mom, I’m not overshadowed.”

“Humans don’t have glowing green eyes. I don’t know what you did to Jazz to make her defend you, but you’ll pay for it.”

That got it’s attention. He froze for a moment before actively hiding more behind Jazz. “I swear I’m not overshadowed, I can explain-” he was struggling to find words,

“He’s not. Danny is still Danny, green eyes or not.” Jazz insisted, still keeping her position between them and the sputtering ghost.

“Jazz, I know he seems normal, but it’s a ghost impersonating him. Just let us save your brother, okay? Jack lowered his weapon slightly as he tried to appeal to Jazz.

Their daughter just continued to look furious. “I’m doing enough of that, seeing as you’d be shooting at him!” She only spared a moment to glance back at her brother. “You need to tell them.”

“I can’t, look how bad they’re taking it already!” he hissed back

“Either you do or I do.”

“It’s not like they’ll believe me!”

Their argument only made Maddie’s heart hurt. Somehow this ghost had been around long enough to convince Jazz having some ghostly bodysnatcher around was a good thing?

“Mom. Danny isn’t overshadowed, or possessed, or anything else. Put the weapon down.” she squared her shoulders, showing the famous family stubbornness. “He’s just more ecto-contaminated than other people, you know that. He sets everything off.”

“I know you mean well, but the ghost hiding behind you is not your brother.”

“Yes, he is! Listen to me! He’s no different today than from last week! It’s not my fault you can’t see that!” she only had eyes for her mother, not noticing how her large father could be surprisingly quiet when he had to be.

“It might be a very good mimic, Jazz, but ectocontamination wouldn’t make his eyes glow like a cat’s. We know what we’re talking about.” This was agonizing, her own daughter being tricked into defending some filthy ghost so strongly.

Jack managed to hit the thing squarely in the shoulder, knocking it away from Jazz as it yelped and clutched at Danny’s arm, trembling slightly as he got back to his feet. No ghost emerged from the boy, but she spotted as his eyes flared green again, if only for a second.

“Can I go to my room now?” the ghost asked through gritted teeth.

Jack instantly looked apologetic, looking as if he’d run to the boy’s side to bandage any wound he may have gotten.

“Don’t fall for it Jack, it just has a strong grip on Danny. I saw it.”

“No you didn’t! You just shot Danny, no ghost, and you’re still going there’s a ghost? You need to stop this, right now Mom.” Jazz was in her mother’s face, trying to snatch the weapon away. “You need help. You’re seeing things.”

“Fine.” Maddie let Jazz fumble the gun away, keeping a sharp eye on the ghost pretending to be her child. “You said you could explain, so do it.”

Danny swallowed, apparently hoping that she would have forgotten that stammered excuse. “Um. Well. You know that ghost flu everyone had? I’m like that but all the time? Kinda?” he kept rubbing at his arm. “And not sick! I’m fine, really.”

That was quite some time ago now, and a terrible excuse. It almost pained her to address this ghost as her son, but she had to play along with Jazz long enough to get something stronger to cure Danny with. “Danny, the amount of ectoplasm created by that illness would have killed any human exposed to it for more than two weeks.”

“Well I’m not sick! I just...glow sometimes, okay? I knew you guys would freak out, but Jazz saw it and well-” he cut himself off, noting how Maddie’s face didn’t shift an inch. “You don’t believe me, do you.”

“No, I don’t.”

He seemed to be struggling to say something, needing to glance at Jazz before finally sputtering out, “I’ve been like this since the accident, okay?”

Suddenly her boy being possessed didn’t seem like such a bad thing. If he had been ‘like this’ since the accident, could it possibly mean that- “I’m listening.” she managed to force out, hoping she didn’t sound faint.

“After that I uh. Could do weird things. Like the eye glowing thing. I’ve pretty much figured it out, but I was scared to tell you so...I didn’t.” he was mumbling, looking down at his shoes.

Maddie managed to catch Jack’s eye, able to tell he had the same thought, and it broke her heart. How had they completely failed to notice? She crouched down a little, trying to be a little less intimidating. “I’m sorry we scared you sweetie.” she could barely hold the tears back, struggling how to even ask for forgiveness properly. How did you ask your child to forgive you for causing their death and not even noticing?

Jack seemed to have similar problems. “You died in the accident?” the horror in his voice might have been funny if it wasn’t a true statement.

“What? No! I’m fine, heartbeat and everything.” Danny insisted, grabbing at both of their hands so they could feel the slow yet steady pulse. “I’m just a bit. Weird now.”

He didn’t even know he was dead. He must put all his time and energy into looking human, not to fool the world but to fool himself. It would explain why he seemed so tired all the time, burning so much energy to fake a pulse and warmth while barely getting any back from the surrounding air, seeing as how he likely never stepped foot in the ghost zone to replenish himself.

“We’re very proud you haven’t misused that weirdness.” she said, trying to think of a way to ease her son into realizing the truth of the matter.

“Mom! That’s just rude.” Jazz still had a bunch of opinions, apparently buying that Danny wasn’t dead. Of course she would, she wouldn’t want her little brother to be dead.

Jack looked at her oddly, but didn’t argue, deciding she must have a plan. If Danny was a ghost now, that didn’t mean they didn’t love him, but he couldn’t go on pretending to be something he wasn’t.

“...Yeah. Okay, now you know, I have homework so-” he fidgeted.

“Danny, can you just answer something for me before you go?”

“Sure?” his anxiety was contagious, it practically wanted to make her start pacing around the room.

“Did you wear your hazmat suit on the day of the accident?”

“I did. Why?”

“Do you know where it is now?” It would be easier to lead him to the truth by making him realize it himself. “It’s not in the lab.” His mouth slammed shut again, apparently that was going to be his answer.

He continued to struggle over what he wanted to say before finally sighing. “Not really.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this Danny,” she pushed her goggles up so she could look him in the eyes. “The suit is on your body. You lost it when you died.”

“I’m not dead!” his insistence was confident, not the silent acceptance she had hoped for. “I didn’t lose it. It’s just gone.”

Jazz elbowed her dead brother, who gave a bit of a scowl.

“Danny, hazmat suits don’t just vanish. We still love you, even if you’re a ghost.” Jack added his approval and love of his son, but the ghost still seemed obstinate on this point.

“Okay, fine! I know where it is.” he groaned, shooting Jazz another look. “I’m not dead. It just looks a bit different.”

The Fenton parents weren’t expecting that, wondering if Danny had made himself a very long and complicated reason to keep denying his death. “Where is it then?”

“You saw it. Last night. Actually you see it a lot.” the boy rocked on his heels, still looking unsure about something.

“Just spit it out Danny, before they start planning your funeral.” Jazz snorted.

“I’m trying okay! It’s still kind of hard to ignore the being torn apart threats okay?” he said with a huff.

No wonder he’d denied it so long, he must have been scared senseless that they would have treated him like one of those ghost blobs instead of as their son. “We haven’t seen it anywhere.”

Danny let out a long sigh, resting his forehead on his knuckles for a second. “Yes you have. You promise not to shoot?”

“Of course we won’t!” she wasn’t sure what he was planning on showing them, but that was an easy enough promise to make.

“No, he’s totally right to make you promise first.” Jazz muttered, glaring pointedly at her brother’s singed shoulder.

“Yeeeah about that…” Danny looked at them for a while longer before apparently deciding they were genuine. A bright flash, brighter than the flashlight had been summoned two rings of light at around the boy’s midsection before sweeping over him.

He changed from a very human looking boy to what was unmistakably a ghost. A ghost they knew and had fought countless times.

“I guess the ghost zone thought I looked better inverted?” Phantom said, a weak grin accompanying the ghostly green eyes and stark white hair, his frosty glow making the whole room feel frigid. “I really was lost last night.”

All they could do was hold Danny close in a choking hug, tears falling as they struggled to let their poor boy know how sorry they were without words, as their minds couldn’t even begin to think of where to start.

#dannymay2020 #Danny Phantom #Maddie Fenton #Jack Fenton #jazz fenton #my stuff #this got too long #my goodness #also it's super obvious but w/e #i had fun

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let-me-perish · 5 years

Text

We've got some dreams

For @mindfulmagics who came up with a tangled themed AU.

No idea where this would fit in, probably after whatever angst anyone else writes, but I choose to believe this started off as a joke when Marinette meets Red Hood while at another low point and asks him to take her somewhere where she won't have to worry thinking about her class.

I choose to believe he had no idea how much of a lightweight she was going to be when he egged her on into trying alcohol for the first time. Anyone else has full authority to mess with how it happened any way they would like, I just like the idea of angry, petty, but still shockingly oblivious and accepting Marinette. Like, your tie's not on wright or you bring up HW or Lila and the gloves are off. Anything else though and she's all 'hello there~ I love your hair, where did you get it?'

Enjoy

Somehow, at some point, through some dramatic twist of fate, Marinette Dupen-Chang made it into the iceberg lounge. Not only did she make it into the reasonably decorated(it could be better) villain hot spot, but she did it with the one and only Red Hood next to her. Not only was he with her, he had gotten her to try alcohol too.

And if the thought of a slightly drunk heroine in a fancy bar full of villains and people with questionable backgrounds wasn't horrifying enough, she had heard the owners name, took one look at his outfit as he stepped outside of his office and scoffed.

"Is that really what he's wearing?"

It had been in French since her mouth had been moving but her brain had not. Regardless of that fact heads swiveled as the room went silent. Red Hood had gone still beside her.

Marinette had gotten up off of her stool and headed towards him with the expression only a determined, drunk teenage girl can have.

"You don't even have a real Penguin motif, " she complained as she gestured at his outfit. "You're just black and white."

Either he knew French or she was slipping between French and English enough that he could understand.

The Penguins voice was cold and laced with fake amusement. "And what changes would you suggest I make?"

"More than a tuxedo for one, " she snapped "add some feather embroidery or put a penguin head on your cane. You have a theme so stick with it, " she stressed. "Even a silver penguin pin would add more to this."

Red hood placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back "alright then, we'll just be going now and-"

"I think you'll be staying here actually." Red hood was blocked from going any further back by a large muscled chest of one of the many mercenaries that attended the lounge. Villains that had previously been sitting and quietly watching the pair were now standing and circling around them.

"I've heard there's a nice little prize on your head thanks to the Joker."

Red Hood pulled Marinette closer to him as he frowned inside his helmet. "And you think he'll actually pay any of you?"

There was a shrug "maybe not but at least we're down one of the bats."

Marietta was frowning. She opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by her own squeak of surprise as someone threw the first punch. It quickly turned into a fight and Red Hood lost his hold on the young girl and she was shoved and pushed to the outer edges.

Marinette turned to try and get back to Red Hood "wait- no! Stop it! Give my guy back!" Her tipsy and drunk mind was racing and with no thought for what would happen afterward her eyes landed on the Penguins cane.

She had stolen the cane from the lager mans hands a moments later and slammed it onto the shoulder of the nearest villain "give him back!"

The cane snapped and the lounge went quiet for the second time as all eyes turned towards her. "What is wrong with all of you? Can you be civil and act like adults for once! Dear Kiwami, I am so tired of dealing with children! For once, just once, I want people to actually use their brains and act like adults. I have been dealing with idiots who believe some lying fox over me for years and he is one of the first people to believe me outside of Paris! I was hoping you would all be different! I had dreamed for weeks about an escape from the glares and the hate and none of you can give me even five minutes of that!?"

There was a moment of perfect silence in the lounge as masked and unmasked faces stared at her in a mix of shock and surprise. Someone sat Red Hood down in a chair and a bartender snapped a set of handcuffs on him while staring at the girl.

Penguin was the one to break the silence as he picked up the broken half of his cane off of the floor. Marinette stood her ground as he walked up to face her, looking at the head of the cane as walked.

"I had a dream once, " he mused aloud before dropping the cane to the floor. "I'm malicious, mean and scary, some say my near could curdle dairy. I'll admit my hands are not the cleanest. But despite my evil business, and my temper and my goons, " he snapped his fingers and the Iceberg Lounges pianist finally began playing again "I've always yearned to be a ballroom dancer."

He grabbed Marinette by the wrist and pulled her closer. He had a grin on his face like he dared her to make and kind of comment as he pulled her alone is clumsy and staggered steps, in part to his limp and normal walking pattern.

"Can you see me on the floor dancing a flawless tango? Listening to all the people who mocked me can cry and scream. And yes, I love to be called deadly, and have everyone respect me!" The last part was a hiss in her face but Marinette was smiling back.

There was no animosity, just genuine encouragement, and kindness from this random girl who had walked in with a vigilante, gotten drunk, insulted his fashion sense by saying it wasn't enough, and then broken his cane while going off at a room full of criminals.

He found himself grinning wider. "But I can still accomplish that and have a dream." He spun her clumsily under his arm and she had to bend to fit under(but not by much since they're both fairly short). "Yes, I've got a dream." The next bit was whispered but it felt like an announcement "but I'm just as cruel and vicious as I seem."

"I order my goons to break some femurs, but I can be counted with the dreamers. Like everybody else I've got a dream." He let her break away as he spun her once more and she ended up in the arms of Two-Face.

He started off by stating possibly the most obvious thing in the room. "I've got scars and burns and bruises, and maybe something else that oozes, and let's not even go any further. But despite the bits of hair-"

"And your two-tone fashion sense." Was this girl going to insult all of their suits?

Two-Face continued with a chilling grin in the face of her teasing smile "and the bone, I really want to make this city better. Can you imagine all the corrupt political officials having their fates decided while their secrets are let out for the world to see? While I'm one disgusting bugger, I'd still rather be a lawyer, not a fighter. And right here and right now I've got a dream!"

Red Hood watched in stunned silence as almost all of the criminals we're somehow pulled into this. Baring bits of their soul to each other and this girl but still not letting weakness show for more than a second, reminding themselves and each other what they had done, and still could do every few verses.

Everyone except for the shockingly uncaring and happy Marinette.

Two-Face kept going as he grabbed Marinette and twirled her in his arms "I know one day my kind of justice will reign supreme! Though my face leaves people screaming, there's a lawyer inside me screaming. Like everybody else I'm working on my dream."

Marinette was turned to face Poison Ivy. Red Hood wasn't sure who was chiming in anymore.

"Ivy would like to quit and be a florist-" the redhead ran a hand over the rim of one of the large decorative vases and smiled as it was filled with simple white flowers to match the decore.

"Riddler wants to write a riddle book for kids-" the green-clad man gave a bow as a way to avoid the critical look his bright green suit got. That was just to much bright green of the wrong shade in one spot to look good.

"Harley's into zoos-" there was something yelled about 'those poor animals' before Ivy shut her up so things could keep going.

"Deathstroke's cocktails are divine-" the assassin had stayed near the edge of the encounter the entire time but didn't seem to mind having the attention momentarily shift to him for this.

"Catwoman sings, Freeze makes carvings-" now where was the casual threat?

"Firefly likes to burn abusive parents to a crisp-" there it was.

The group of criminals had somehow gathered around Red Hood again. "What about you?"

Red hood stared at the shorter man "I'm sorry me?"

The Penguin made a gesture and he was unhandcuffed. "What's your dream?"

The vigilante scoffed "I don't think so. I don't sing." That was a lie, he wasn't above singing along to a musical at top volume while driving just to annoy Bruce and the demon spawn.

The sheer mass of lasers, guns, knives, and other assorted weapons pointed at his face had him standing on the bar top as he continued this absolute insanity.

"I have dreams like you, no really, they're not all touchy-feely, " there were amused looks of doubt. "They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny." There were some scoffs and chuckles at his awkward motions but Red Hood was quickly gaining confidence.

"On an Island that I own, " he snagged a bottle of expensive alcohol "well tanned, rested and alone, " the bartender snagged it back just as he went to drink it. Red Hood gave a small shrug but was grinning under his helmet now. "Surrounded by enormous piles of money!"

There was a cheer after that. This kind of mood was somehow infectious. There was no way he could not go along with this with a smile on his face. Especially when he thought about demon-spawns face if he ever found out about hid beloveds effect of Gotham's criminal population.

Marinette was tossed up onto the bar with him "I've got a dream! I've got a dream! I just want to hear that filthy liar scream! And with every passing hour, I'm so glad they left me in that hotel! Like all you lovely folks I've got a dream."

Red Hood laughed along with the villains, and here they had though little miss Marinette Dupen-Chang was an innocent cinnamon roll. If only Demon Spawn could see her now.

Part of him was worried her class was going to be 'accidentally' running into more villain activity than normal.

Regardless he sung on with this button of a girl and hoard of criminals.

"She's got a dream! We've got a dream! Our differences don't seem all that extreme! We've got a dream!"

Red Hood was pulled from the bar as Marinette danced on her own. Nothing they did actually hurt him but this was a clear display of control as they pushed, shoved, and teased him. A sharp reminder that he was alone in the territory of a man that may not have a deep-rooted personal vendetta yet but some of the patrons certainly did. And the only thing keeping any of them from violence was a drunk preteen from Paris dancing by herself on top of the bar.

"Call us brutal, sadistic, and grotesquely optimistic, but way deep down we've got a dream!"

One of Penguins goons had picked up Marinette as they were skilfully taken towards an exit(in Red Hoods case, shoved, lightly kicked, and otherwise moved) as they chorused one after another 'I've got a dream' until it reached Marinette.

Red Hood was shoved out of the back doors and the girl dropped into his arms to the sound of their laughter.

"It's time for you to leave, " the Penguin told him with a wide smile that offered no negotiation. "But, if the girl would ever like to come back she is welcome to. As long as she comes with an actual argument for why I should change a look that has served me so well through my years."

"She might just make you a new one, " Red Hood muttered, "she is a designer."

The smile grew "then I guess I'll have to look into her work to see if her advice is even worth listening too."

Red Hood chose then to leave while he could still do so semi-gracefully. Not that the laughter of the villains and criminals behind him made it easier.

The possibility of her class having a criminal run-in was almost a certainty now. But this was probably his own fault for taking her to the ice burg lounge as a joke instead of literally any other bar.

#maribat #tangled au #song fic #batman villains #red hood #marinette dupen chang #batman #miraculous ladybug

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k-kristal · 4 years

Text

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Brief mention of danger.

Masterlist Next Chapter->

When Namjoon told you he was organizing your birthday party you would have never expected the gala he managed to come up with in a few days. You were never a fan of this, attention was something you definitely didn't like but saying that straight to his face would never end well. Namjoon could get really angry and you could end up being punished, which in the worst case meant getting killed.

He was your friend. The beginning of your friendship went back to the days where you and Jungkook wander around the streets without a home. Once the two of you had escaped that orphanage, luck had been the only thing in your pocket and by that time, and being taken in by Namjoon's family had been like hitting the jackpot. However, Namjoon was also your boss, which meant respecting every single decision he took. Saying otherwise would be disrespectful, some had died as traitors for similar reasons.

He wanted to organize your party? Cool.

Namjoon wanted you to wear a dress? Awesome.

Namjoon wanted a big gala? You loved the idea.

That's how things worked around him. You never rejected something from him, it was your duty to accept whatever he gave you and death would be your fate if you ever rejected.

Some people would find this frightening, almost the entire country feared his name but it wasn't that bad once you got used to it. Working for Namjoon had some privileges, being his friend meant being safe and fortunately, he had always considered you one of his crew.

All of the reasons listed above would explain why you, somebody who detested being the center of attention, were standing by yourself in a room full of people, holding a glass of champagne and smiling to whoever glanced your way. You were supposed to be happy after all, Namjoon had gone out of his way to organize this huge party for you, everyone probably considered you the luckiest girl in the world.

Despite being your birthday party, it was kind of funny how you didn't know most of the people that had been invited. Your guess was that they were Namjoon's business partners and like you, they couldn't care less about tonight's celebration. The people surrounding you had assisted to the celebration for two different reasons, business and reputation. Not everyone was invited to his reunions, only the best of the best came around since get togethers like this one were the best opportunities to strike the deal of your life.

The people invited tonight were trust-worthy enough to be in Namjoon's house, they were all in his friendly list. It was not surprising though, the mafia simply worked like that. Every meeting counted, every conversation or gesture was important and it would all define your fate.

Kill or be killed, it was that simple.

"(Y/N)" His deep voice brought you out of your little trance, eyes blinking and being dragged towards the direction the sound came from. When your body turned, you were face to face with your boss and the one that had organized everything. "I see you and my choice of champagne for tonight get along" The corners of his mouth tilted upwards and you could simply smile in return. Namjoon was hard to read, you never knew when he was being utterly honest or sarcastic.

"Well, I don't get to drink this every day". You replied with a small smile in return, acting slightly bashful "But don't worry, I'm not planning to get wasted tonight" You assured him, knowing that was probably his only worry.

"Good, we wouldn't want to cause any bad impressions, would we?" He said satisfied with your answer, fixing the buttons on the sleeves of his jacket "Got any presents tonight?" The way his body relaxed a bit more gave away that now it was your friend you were talking to, and not your boss.

"You mean you haven't seen the pyramid of presents in the entrance? I'll be opening boxes until next year" He chuckled, amused by your answer and you decided to take a sip from your glass.

“I guess out of all those presents your favorite might be the one Jungkook gave you, am I wrong?” Namjoon casually asked, pointing at Jungkook who was sitting by a table that wasn't his while he talked with some of your friends, more people from the mafia. All of them laughed at something he said and you couldn't help but smile, he was such a social person.

Namjoon was right though, Jungkook knew you too well, guess that was one of the perks of growing up together. Getting along since the first time the two of you saw each other, Jungkook and you could be considered childhood friends, you could say he sometimes knew you better than you knew yourself.

In one of your random conversations late at night, you once asked Jungkook what flower would you be, the one that suited you the most and he answered sunflowers right away. His explanation, rather simple, stole a smile from your lips whenever you remember it.

"Despite us being in such a dark place like the mafia, you always manage to find the bright side of everything. You just follow happiness naturally, like sunflowers follow the sun".

Although he used some jokes to cover up the seriousness of those sweet words that night, Jungkook's sincerity marked you and since then sunflowers had been your favorite flowers. He, apparently, knew how much you've loved those flowers since then and used his knowledge about this to give you an amazing bucket of beautiful sunflowers as a birthday gift.

A present he liked to call a symbol of your friendship.

Jungkook must have sensed your gaze on him because his eyes found yours and after excusing himself from his current conversation, your best friend started making his way towards both of you.

“Such a nice birthday party, Namjoon” He said looking at you with a playful smile. He perfectly knew you never liked being in crowded places and hated it even more when you had all eyes on you. Jungkook's favorite hobby was getting on your nerves, he never wasted a chance to tease you. All Namjoon did was smile while muttering a quiet 'thank you' and walked away, leaving the two of you alone.

"Such a nice birthday party, Namjoon" You repeated annoyed, scoffing as you rolled your eyes "You and I both know we're here because of the free food and drinks".

Jungkook's smile got bigger, you definitely were right "I mean, who are we to deny such a good celebration? Who would have thought we would end up here?" He asked glancing at you, his smile turning softer “How many years has it been? 20, already?” Jungkook said jokingly.

“Yeah, I’m surprised I was able to handle your annoying ass for this long” You replied laughing.

Time flew when you were with him, it had always been like that since the two of you met. Jungkook could mute the entire world when he was in the same room as you, his influence in your life was huge. Jungkook and you against the world, it had always been like that since the day you met.

Flashback

Standing in front of a big staircase, you looked around yourself and observed the entry of your new orphanage. This was the third in eight months but you were so used to the constant changes that the idea of having a new home, new friends, didn't excite you anymore. What was the point if you would end up leaving anyways? Being the quiet and new girl was always easier than saying goodbye later, it was less painful.

Fate seemed to push you in a different direction this time, placing a big obstacle named Jungkook on your way. Chubby cheeks, curious eyes and bunny teeth that you would find cute for a few years. His hand was up, waiting for you to shake it as a greeting as he waited patiently. Seeing you had no reaction he ended up taking your hand himself and shaking it to start with his introductions.

“Hi! I’m Jungkook! What’s your name? We can be friends!” He said in a cheerful tone, full of energy. You didn't know this back then, but Jungkook was exactly the colors you needed to paint your boring and colorless life.

You smiled at him, feeling a bit nervous, you were never good at this kind of interactions but he didn't seem to mind that. “Hey… I’m (Y/N)...” You said quietly.

“Oh! Such a pretty name! I like you already!” He smiled even bigger, if that was possible and for once, you felt like you had found somebody to lean on.

It finally felt as if you had found somebody to share your happiness and worries with. Someone that would go on the adventure that life is with you and 20 years later and a bunch of memories together, here you were, celebrating another birthday with that happy, goofy boy that greeted you that day.

END OF FLASHBACK.

As the two of you laughed, Jungkook looked around him, scanning the room.

“In any case, this birthday party seems kind of…” He hesitated for a moment making sure no one was close enough to hear him

“Boring?” You finished his sentence while letting out another giggle. “And here I thought that listening to classical music while dressed in a tuxedo would hype you up” you said sarcastically.

“Suuure… I think I’m gonna have to get some of that champagne to not fall asleep” He smirked while taking a step away, pointing at a solitary table that already had your names on it “Go get us a seat and I’ll be back before you notice”.

As you nodded, he was already on his way to the room where the drinks and some appetizers were being served. You could already tell he’d be going back and forth from that room more than a few times during the rest of the night. If Jungkook didn't eat his weight in appetizers tonight then coming to the party wouldn't have been worth it for him.

You sat on the chair that had your name on it, written on a plaque made from what seemed to be silver. Just by looking at how everything was so meticulously placed in the table, you could tell how Namjoon had put a lot of money on this event. It was comforting to think he took the time to plan this day so thoroughly.

“Hell, it seems like this day is more important to him than to me” you thought to yourself sarcastically, smiling. “I guess it really is a big day, huh.”

You didn’t get much time to think about it, as the chilling sound of a microphone turning on screeched throughout the room, catching everyone’s attention. You looked up to see Jimin, one of the high-ranking mafia members and Namjoon’s right hand, standing in a fancy podium that had been set up in a small wooden platform at the back of the room.

“Good evening to all of you. As you already know, today we are celebrating one of our elite member’s birthday, (Y/N).” Like he had memorized every single seat in the room, he quickly found you among the rest of the guests and smiled slightly at you, before resuming his talk “Before the banquet starts, our boss Mr. Kim has prepared a few words for her, so please take a seat.”

You tilted your head a bit. You knew Namjoon liked to show off sometimes like this, but it was unexpected that he would also prepare a speech. While you were deep in your thoughts wondering about what was he going to say, the guests had already sat down and Namjoon was on his way up to the podium. You turned your back searching for Jungkook, but he still hadn’t appeared. Knowing him, he could’ve gotten distracted with anything on the way. Turning back again, you saw Namjoon was already prepared to start.

“(Y/N),” He started, with a decisive voice “We have known each other for such a long time, yet it seems like it was yesterday when you joined our family. For all these years, we have both worked and grown together and I consider myself lucky to have such a loyal and trustful friend by my side" You could feel everyone's eyes on you and despite your anxiety kicking it, you tried your best to crack a small smile and keep your eyes on Namjoon, focusing on him.

Jungkook better hurry or you would surely beat his ass for leaving you alone as soon as the party was over.

"I've wondered for days what I could give you as a present" He kept talking, your lips twitched tired because of all the tension on your face right now "I wanted something meaningful, something that you would remember and that's when I thought nothing materialistic could ever meet my expectations" You didn't know where Namjoon was heading with this conversation but an uncomfortable feeling settled down in the pit of your stomach "But what if I gave you something we, humans, crave the most? What if I gave you love?"

Your body turned rigid and your eyes froze on Namjoon's smile. People started whispering around you, obviously excited about knowing what the Kim Namjoon had prepared for you, one of his beloved friends. You couldn't be less excited though, in fact, you would straight out run away from this room if you could.

Jungkook, whose attention had been on the plate of appetizers, lost all of his hunger immediately when he heard his boss's voice. His eyes scanned the room, searching desperately for your figure.

But there was nothing he could do. It was already too late.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Namjoon spoke again, catching everybody's attention again, the voices around you stopping to hear attentively "I am happy to announce that for the sake of one of my best friends and our family, Kim Yugyeom from Got7 and our beloved (Y/N) will unify our families with a beautiful and significant marriage".

Namjoon's eyes found yours right when your heart stopped beating. You couldn't believe what you just heard, you were so shocked that you couldn't even hear people clapping around you, celebrating the news.

"Congratulations, (Y/N)" He finished smiling, motioning with his champagne glass towards you.

However, when you scanned the room and Jungkook's eyes met yours, you knew you weren't dreaming.

This was a nightmare you couldn't get out of.

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17mounteens · 5 years

Text

CEO (Seungcheol)

— papi, let’s go, cuz i kinda like it —

Smut.

» The company CEO with whom you’ve been flirting a lot continues teasing you, knowing exactly what kind of an effect he has on you. You’ve had enough, and he won’t let you off easily.

“I want to hear you say it.”

—

» If you’re using the tumblr app and can’t see the scenario, which is under a “keep reading”, please try opening the post in your phone’s internet browser (or a computer)! 💕

» 3,988 words

It had been two months since you were promoted to work directly under the CEO of your company, and in your case it meant that you were moved a few floors up to work in his floor. That, in turn, meant you would see him every day, and you hadn’t realized what a problem that would be until your first day when you were met with the charming man, dressed in a fitted black suit and with his whole demeanor screaming confidence.

And when your gazes had met for the first time and you had seen his lips form the most charming grin you’d ever seen, you had masked the fluttering of your heart with a polite smile and let out the most calm and collected “Good morning, Mr. Choi.”

And the CEO, Choi Seungcheol, had given you a wide smile. “Good morning. So, you’re my new secretary?”

You had nodded, and he had given you a quick scan, after which his smile grew warmer.

“I think we’ll get along well.”

He hadn’t been wrong. Your chemistry was perfect. You were good at your job and were generally one step ahead of him, which never ceased to amaze him.

Underneath your perfect teamwork, however, were a lot of flirty gazes and, in your case, a lot of appreciative glances at your boss’s figure and doing your hardest not to let it show just how turned on you were almost daily.

There was simply something about him. Something about how attractive you found his body that he was so proud to show with fitted, neat suits. Something about his plump lips he’d lick while looking into your eyes too often for it to be coincidence. Something about his confidence, his low voice and the blatant flirting did wonders on you.

And at the latest after the two of you had gone on a business trip and he had given you a rather lengthy shoulder massage during which his hands tended to slide just low enough to touch sensitive spots without being inappropriate, which had turned you on to the point where you had to masturbate as soon as he’d left your room, you simply couldn’t look at him the same anymore.

And to make matters worse, Seungcheol knew he was attractive and he knew you were weak for him. And – being the tease that he was – he found great enjoyment in occasionally being the slightest bit suggestive around you, only to go back to normal two seconds later after getting the reaction he had wanted from you, whether it was you dropping your pen or averting your gaze quickly.

After occasions like that the smirk was impossible to erase from his face, and much to his contentment he successfully continued hiding his own desires towards you all the way until the day it would all come to an end.

That day you were in Seungcheol’s office, half sitting on his large mahogany desk with a report in your hands. Seungcheol was sitting on his big, black leather chair with his legs open, his elbows on the armrests of the chair and his fingers connected as he tapped them against each other while you read out loud some of the key points of the most recent report regarding the state of the company.

“And so…” you continued as you moved on to the next page, and from the corner of your eye you could see Seungcheol loosen his tie. You breathed almost shakily and crossed your legs instinctively, at the back of your mind cursing at how attractive such a simple action could be.

“Yes?” Seungcheol asked, his voice low, and looked at you intently when you turned to look at him, too.

“Yes, so…” you began, but were left speechless at the sight of him with the top few buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned and his tie now loose around his neck. To make matters worse, Seungcheol pushed his hair back slowly, all the while looking right into your eyes. “So…”

He smirked and moved his gaze elsewhere, leaning better into his chair as he decided to let you continue again without purposefully mess with you any more, although he did continue fiddling with his tie.

Biting down on your lower lip, you moved your gaze back to the report in your hands and swallowed hard. “Can you stop?”

Seungcheol let go of his tie and leaned better against his chair, looking at you with a quirked eyebrow and one of the corners of his mouth tugging into a cocky smirk. “Stop what?”

You turned to look at him again to speak up, but as soon as your eyes met his – dark and full of what you could only identify as mischief and lust – the words got stuck in your throat.

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing and how it was affecting you.

You took a deep breath and kept your eyes tightly on the report you were holding, although none of the text registered in your brain. Your cheeks were heating up due to the way Seungcheol was blatantly staring at you, and it made you all the more nervous and frustrated. “You’re teasing me and it’s distracting. I can’t be professional if all I can think about is–”

Seungcheol’s cocky smirk only got more prominent at your words, and he moved closer to you with his chair. “All you can think about is..?”

You moved his gaze from your boss’s eyes, taking in just how tightly his suit pants were hugging his legs, and you swallowed as your gaze moved to the crotch. Licking your lips, by now fully certain that you weren’t the only one feeling things, you moved your eyes back to Seungcheol’s, which were staring back at you darkly. “I think you know.”

“I want to hear you say it,” Seungcheol said blatantly, and you hated the cocky smirk on his face that only got more playful when you lost your composure for half a second.

You were unable to get a word out, and your heart began beating faster when Seungcheol stood up and got closer to you. The tension could’ve been cut with a knife, and you could feel tingles all over your body when he placed his hand on your thigh, slowly sliding under the hem of your skirt, and it all had blood rushing between your legs.

To make matters worse, he leaned to your ear, and his hot breath hitting your sensitive skin had you biting down on your lower lip.

“Come on. Say it, maybe I can help you,” he murmured, moving his hand higher on your leg slowly, until you could feel his fingertips slide down to your inner thigh, almost brushing against your panties. “You do know that employee satisfaction is important to me, don’t you?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you nodded. “Yeah, you do take pride in that, Mr. Choi.”

“So, tell me what I can do to increase your satisfaction level,” Seungcheol whispered to your ear before leaning down to your neck, placing a kiss on a spot that he wasn’t aware was a particularly sensitive one for you, although he figured it out when you let out a quiet, involuntary whimper.

You put the report down from your hands and got your fingers into Seungcheol’s hair instead as you moved your lips to his ear, and as you began telling your boss about what your mind was full of and just how he could make you a much more satisfied employee, his eyes widened with each word.

As cocky as he was, Seungcheol listened to you with his cheeks heating up and his pants growing tighter than they were already.

When you stopped, he straightened his back and cleared his throat. “I see.”

Without a word he walked away from you, and for a moment you thought you’d gone overboard – it couldn’t be appropriate to tell your boss just how badly you wanted to be dicked down by him, could it?

“Listen, Mr. Choi, I’m sor–”

You heard the lock of his door click, and you turned to look there in surprise. Swallowing hard, you watched Seungcheol walk over the windows to the hallway, closing all the blinds, all the while appearing casual, his free hand in his pocket and everything. The only thing giving away how he was really feeling was the very obvious hard-on.

He walked back up to you while you looked at him in awe, unable to utter another word.

“I should be the one saying sorry,” he mumbled and took your chin between his thumb and forefinger when he was standing in front of you, lifting your face a little. “But I think we both want the same thing… Am I wrong?”

You could only stare him in the eye, and something about the dark look in them had you all kinds of weak.

“You’re not,” you breathed and licked your lips slowly, uncrossing your legs and opening them a little, which Seungcheol took as a sign to come closer.

His lips spread into a smug smirk, and your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his free hand on your thigh, gradually sliding higher, while he leaned closer to you.

“Good.”

With that he closed the distance between your lips and slowly moved his hand from your chin to your neck. You melted into the kiss and wrapped your arms around Seungcheol’s neck, pulling him closer.

Kissing Seungcheol was everything you could’ve imagined and more. He was passionate and playful, and you loved how you could feel him losing himself in it by the way his kisses began feeling more urgent, how his breathing got heavier and how his hands were starting to move all over your body like he didn’t know what he wanted to touch the most.

Your heart beat fast in your chest as you kissed him passionately, and amidst the heated kisses you began unbuttoning his dress shirt while he touched you over your clothes, giving your breasts some appreciative caresses as well as squeezing your thighs.

“Mr. Choi,” you mumbled into the kisses and swallowed when he pulled back, almost panting, his pants much too tight by then. You looked into his eyes and, taking his tie in your hand, grinned. “I’m wearing too much clothing.”

He grinned and leaned to your ear while moving his hands to your side to begin unzipping your skirt. “Better fix that, huh.”

You smirked and he let you get off the desk so that you could get out of your skirt, after which you sat back on the mahogany surface. Seungcheol got his tie off his neck before leaning back for another set of heated kisses during which he began unbuttoning your dress shirt impatiently.

Leaning your chest into his touch, you reached for his thick belt and opened it, soon followed by the button and zipper of his suit pants that he pushed lower on his thighs absent-mindedly, only able to focus on how much he wanted you, needed you, and how badly he had to have your shirt open.

As soon as your shirt was open enough, Seungcheol leaned down to pepper light, open-mouthed kisses all over your chest, lowering the cups of your bra enough to give attention to the sensitive skin of your breasts, too. You moaned and got one of your hands into his hair while reaching for his crotch with the other, only to moan again at how thick and hard he was in your hand.

“You like the feel of that?” Seungcheol asked with a low voice and you hummed as a positive answer, and as he kissed his way up to one of your ears, he slid one of his hands down your body, all the way until his fingers could slide under your lace thong. You angled your hips so that he had better access to your wetness, and whimpered when his fingers teasingly slid over your clit and one of them dipped into your wet entrance. He grunted, and your breath hitched when he sucked on the skin of your neck, as though channeling his needs into it. “Holy shit you’re wet.”

Licking your lips, you hummed and held onto Seungcheol when he pushed the first finger into your wetness, curling it in a way that had you gasping. He soon returned to kiss you hungrily on the lips, fingering you languidly while you slid your hand into his boxers and began stroking him slowly, spreading the bits of pre-cum from his tip to his shaft.

It was both heaven and hell – you felt heavenly because you were finally getting the touch you needed yet it felt like torture because you only wanted more – and when Seungcheol had driven you crazy enough with two of his thick fingers moving in your pussy, you let go of his cock and broke away from the kiss.

He looked at you expectantly, and something about the almost demanding look in his eyes had your core clenching around his fingers, which he slowly slid out of you.

“I need you,” you said as steadily as you could, and tilted your head towards his chair. “Can you sit there?”

Seungcheol’s lips curved into a smile, and he nodded before taking a seat on his big chair, sucking his fingers clean of your juices while reaching for one of his drawers with his other hand to get a condom.

Knowing better than to ask any questions, you took the condom from your boss and smirked when he looked at you dumbfoundedly.

“Let me, Mr. Choi,” you said sweetly and knelt down in front of him before opening the wrapping carefully. Seungcheol watched intently as you unrolled the condom a little, put the tip into your mouth and positioned the opening on your lips.

“Is this supposed to look this hot?” he asked with a grin, his dick twitching at the sight, and you smiled at him.

You simply nodded, feeling fairly proud and smug after his comment, before taking his cock into your hand and bringing the tip to the opening of the condom, after which you slowly and carefully lowered your head on his shaft, making sure your lips pushed the condom down on him.

Seungcheol threw his head back, loving every second of your lips moving down on him so tightly, and grunted quietly when you put the rest of the rubber on him with your hand and lifted your head just as slowly, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on his cock.

You hadn’t planned on doing more than just putting the condom on him, but there was something insanely hot about seeing him like that, so euphoric, and having him in your mouth was turning you on to no end, too, and so you continued bobbing your head up and down for a while, alternating between slow and fast, and not forgetting to suck on his tip.

“Okay, enough,” Seungcheol grunted after a while, breathing heavily, and guided your head off him. “If you keep doing that, I—”

“Won’t last long?” you asked teasingly and stood up to sensually slide your thong lower on yourself until you were able to step out of it. Seungcheol nodded, his jaw tight as he looked at you up and down appreciatively. “I know.”

Turning so that your back was facing him, you stepped closer to Seungcheol until you could practically sit in front of him, your ass pressed against his cock, and while you wanted to tease him, you could no longer hold yourself back – and neither could he.

With firm hands he urged you to lift your hips, and once you’d done that, you felt him move his cock, dragging his tip up and down your wet slit until he aligned it with your entrance. Seungcheol licked his lips and let go of you. “Move.”

Your eyes could’ve rolled into your head when you sunk down on him, and you let out a satisfied moan when he was all the way in, feeling much better than you had dared to hope. “Oh my god.”

Seungcheol breathed heavily and moved his hands up and down your hips until sliding down your thighs to touch your sensitive inner thighs, too, while sucking lightly on the skin on the back of your shoulder. “You feel so good.”

Humming contently, you began rocking your hips slowly, and the sensation had your breath hitching in your throat as immense waves of pleasure started coursing through you already. Seungcheol’s hands remained steady on your hips as you rode his cock, knowing exactly what you needed to reach the highest levels of ecstasy, and moaned as his thick length hit all the right spots inside of you.

While you moved on him, Seungcheol slid your shirt down your arms and dragged your bra straps down, too, to be able to move your bra lower on you. Sucking lightly on your shoulder, he cupped both of your breasts with your hardened nipples between his fingers, and you whimpered as your pussy clenched around him.

“Ah,” you moaned and held tightly onto the edge of Seungcheol’s desk when you felt your knees feel weak from the pleasure.

He grinned to himself and continued stimulating your nipples, taking note of just how much it seemed to turn you on as you began riding him harder, with more need and desperation present in your moves. Seungcheol closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of being encased in your warm heat, and just how soft your breasts were in his hands and just how amazing you sounded as the noises of pleasure slipped from your lips one after another.

Soon Seungcheol clicked his tongue and let go of you, and soon you could feel his hands tight on your hips, keeping you in place.

You turned to look at him, and the fucked-out look you had all over your face made Seungcheol swallow hard. He spent half a second reconsidering what he was about to say, but upon realizing that you were sitting on his cock, practically begging him to fuck you, he decided that nothing was out of line at that point. “I want to fuck you against the window.”

The comment had a twinkle flash in your eyes, and your lips curved into a small smile. “Then what are you waiting for? You usually do just as you please, Mr. Choi.”

He smirked and let you get up, only to pin you against the window with your breasts pressing into the cold, thick glass as soon as he’d slid your shirt off your arms. You let out a contented hum at that, and instinctively spread your legs a little when you felt the tip of his cock moving up and down your wet slit.

“It gives me a thrill to know we could be seen,” Seungcheol murmured to your ear and, having aligned his dick with your entrance as well brought one hand to your hip and one to one of your breasts, “and trust me, we will be.”

It was only when he pushed into you that you took a proper look out of the window, taking in the city lights contrasting with how dark it was getting and, probably what he had referred to – the building across the street that wasn’t quite as high as the company building yet that reached just high enough that you could easily be seen.

The thrill really did it for both of you, and you felt yourself clenching around Seungcheol when he began thrusting into you almost desperately, his lips on your shoulder as he sucked on the skin while his eyes were alternating between looking out of the window and looking at you through it. Seeing your face contort in pleasure made his thrusts sharper and deeper, which in turn had your fingers curling against the cool window.

“F-fuck, more,” you whimpered, leaning your forehead on the window and closing your eyes. You pushed your hips against Seungcheol’s and moaned when he hit new sweet spots inside of you with each thrust, and the immense waves of pleasure had you gasping for air and your knees quivering.

“I knew you’d like this,” Seungcheol mumbled against your skin, sliding one of his hands down to your clit while continuing to play with your breast with the other. With his arms around you like that you felt like you were all his, and you loved it. He grunted when he felt your pussy hugging his cock tighter. “If I only had known how good this would be—”

You grinned at his words, but it quickly disappeared from your face as you could feel your orgasm building up hard and fast as he massaged your sensitive bundle of nerves gently while delivering thrusts that were everything but gentle.

Seungcheol was close to his climax, too, and you could feel it in the way he nibbled on your skin, the way he played with your breasts almost mindlessly and, most importantly, in the way he fucked you, fast and desperate and accompanied by what sounded like quiet growls.

It was with a groan that he came into the condom, and when his hips stopped moving, you began moving yours instead, too desperate for your own orgasm. He smiled against the skin on the back of your shoulder and moved to kiss the sensitive part in the junction of your neck and shoulder, all the while breathing heavily, trying to cope with the intense waves of pleasure that were washing over him.

You let out appreciative moans as Seungcheol made it his mission to make you come, which he soon accomplished by stimulating your sensitive nipples in ways that had your mind blanking as well as rubbing your clit so deliciously fast that you were soon convulsing in his arms, releasing around his cock.

Smirking, Seungcheol then pulled out of you and let go of you, disposing the condom before returning to you. You were leaning against the window with your upper body, your legs weak and shaky, and you turned to smile weakly at your boss when you felt his hand squeeze your ass.

“You’ve wanted to do this since that one massage, haven’t you?” you asked meaningfully and licked your lips when you saw Seungcheol’s lips turn into a smirk.

He got closer to you and pressed against you, his lips brushing by your ear. “Y/N, it was dangerously close that this didn’t happen then.”

Smirking, you turned around and looked him challengingly in the eye. “It could’ve. I had to make up for it not happening after you had left.”

While his eyes were dark and still portrayed plenty of lust, Seungcheol then gave you the cutest pout. “How dare you leave me out like that?”

“It wouldn’t have been appropriate,” you whispered with a small raise of your eyebrows.

He snorted. “And this was?”

“Back then we were just flirting, Mr. Choi,” you reminded him and leaned in to kiss him on his jawline. “Now we were already practically testing each other, trying to see who’d give in first.”

“And you lost,” Seungcheol pointed out smugly, and there was something almost annoyingly attractive in the smug smile that took over his face.

“Whatever,” you sighed and pulled him into a lazy kiss.

A part of you had thought that after getting a taste of the CEO, you could’ve gotten over him.

And yet that part of you was proven terribly wrong as the flirting between the two of you continued, just like you continued finding yourself spending an awful lot of time with him – on top of him, under him, in front of him – and loving, needing every bit of it.

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