#she’s gonna come in all tired from the party steal the glass of whiskey and tell them to get out of her sight

[martyfive]

afterparty

[lumosinlove]

PREVIOUSLY ON RELIC KEEL

Dorcas meets up with Marlene at Marlene’s house and Luke is there—we figure out Marlene and Luke are cousins. Luke, as it turns out, has a neglecting mother (as well as a father who has been taken to jail, Marlene’s father doesn’t want her dating Dorcas because she’s from Salazar, and Marlene still hasn’t told Dorcas that she got into college.

Saint goes to wait for Logan at The Carrows in Salazar, where he restocks his Crucio supply.

Lily and James are painting one of the Potter’s old boats together. Lily is confused and frustrated—and in love with James. James, already hurt and trying not to cause himself further harm but also not wanting to lose Lily entirely, lets Lily kiss him but ends it there. They’re both nervous about college.

Instead of Logan, Saint runs into Luke first, who, as a last resort, is going to the Carrows for Crucio. Luke seems to have some surprises up his sleeve—a love for books that Saint shares, perhaps. When Saint does spot Logan, he makes Luke get into his car so as to not alarm him, and steals his dad’s gold watch in the process.

When Saint goes to fetch Logan, they run into Amycus Carrow, who tells Saint that Logan owes them for using their stash of Crucio without paying—but they won’t tell Saint or Logan how much Logan owes.

As a result, Logan gets it into his head that he can pay off his debt if he finds the treasure of The Voldemort, the one that Leo’s dad died looking for. Logan tries to get Saint to help by asking what he wants most, and when that doesn’t work, asking what he hates. Perhaps Saint is one for revenge, rather than need.

Sirius and Dorcas finally get Saint talking about Logan and his time at Saint Clair. Saint reveals that there were harsh punishments for bad behavior in Saint Clair. He also reveals that, for reasons he can only guess at, when kids turn 18, the age at which they could leave the orphanage, they decide to stay. Saint believes Crucio has something to do with it. He has memories of being extremely tired at night, and having vivid dreams—he doesn’t say what these dreams were about. Saint believes that many of the kids, if they arrived young enough, don’t know how to tell the difference between a Crucio-filled mind and a Crucio-free one. The scene ends with them receiving an invitation to a party at James’ house.

Logan finds Leo at his family’s workshop and says he wants to help him find The Voldemort. Leo wants to finish his father’s work, Logan needs the money—Saint shows up, seeming to have found his motivation, too, whatever it may be.

***CW: mentions of taking drugs and being drugged, brief mentions of blood, brief mention of death of a father***

part vi

In his dream, Finn was in a house. There was a woman sitting at the table, a man at the stove, and a boy leaning against the counter. Everything was murky at the edges, even their laughter.

Finn knew what family was. He’d read about it. He’d thought about it. With Logan, he’d felt it.

What he didn’t know, what he could never be sure of, was whether he’d seen it. What it looked like. What his looked like. Every time he thought he did…he’d wake up.

They had begun as pills—vitamins. But pills could be kept on the tongue.

Powder couldn’t be kept from food.

Finn, sweetheart, the woman said in his dream. How was school today? Is Logan still coming over for dinner?

Your boyfriend, the other boy teased, smiling. The man turned from the stove and laughed, reaching over to tussle Finn’s hair.

Yeah, Finn heard himself say. He is.

He looked at the woman—his mother, maybe—and she looked different than she had a moment ago.

We can play pick up, the brother said—but he wasn’t anymore. There was a sister, and now a brother again, now two brothers. And then his mother was at the stove and his father coming in from the yard, and then there was a younger sister sitting on his lap, and then he was the younger brother and his dad was coming home from work, briefcase in hand, closing the front door, giving his mother a kiss—

Finn woke up. His throat was dry and his eyes were, too. He used to wake up crying when he was younger. And Logan had been there, both of them not understanding.

Finn didn’t know if Logan understood now. Finn hadn’t figured it out until after he’d gotten Logan out, not entirely. Not about the Felix. Just about the kids that weren’t leaving. Something was keeping them here, and all he had wanted was to protect Logan and himself from that. Now that he knew that it was Felix that kept them here…Finn couldn’t see why they wanted it so bad. He didn’t want these false glimpses of family. He didn’t want Felix. He wanted Logan. Logan was real. His only comfort was that Logan was free of it. Of this place.

Finn blinked slowly up at the walls of the solitary room. His eyes were heavy. His head, his limbs. He hadn’t eaten anything in almost a week now.

And the dreams still came.

Maybe it wasn’t anything but his own head that was doing the imagining now.

He knew what was real, and this wasn’t it.

~

Luke looked across the deck at his mother in her lounge chair and pinched the Felix, within a small plastic bag within his pocket, to make it sift back and forth. A sound only he could hear. That, and the ice cubes in his mother’s whiskey. The sun was hot on his bare chest, drying the water droplets left from the pool quickly. He couldn’t stop rubbing the place where his father’s watch had been. Just thinking about it, about Saint and his quick fingers, made him snarl.

His mother’s ice cubes rattled.

“I want to start going through your father’s things,” she said airily from beneath her floppy sun hat. “There’s just so much of it. His papers, and all those fat books he has. God, that stupid treasure obsession.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Luke replied as evenly as he could. “And he’s not dead. He’s coming back.”

His mother laughed. “Oh, sweetheart.”

She had cut her hair very short after Luke’s dad had been taken away. Luke couldn’t get the images out of his mind. Her, walking back through the door the next day, with her long blonde hair cut to her chin, curling just beneath her jaw. She had smiled at him and given her head a shake. Like it, mon lumière?

My light, she called him. When he was little she’d kissed him goodnight with that nickname every day, turning on the small nightlight that he kept—he still kept it. He’d tried not to, but every time, every night, the dark was just too dark. He was almost mad at her for giving it to him in the first place. If he had just gotten used to the dark…maybe he would be more prepared now.

Since his father, she’d been moving about the house like nothing had changed. Or, rather, like something had changed, and she was all the better for it.

His father’s leather chairs were gone from the living room, replaced by two baby blue couches that made Luke sick to look at. The pirate ship wheel was gone from the wall, too.

Luke didn’t know this mother.

Not even the island knew this woman. They knew the bake-sale-bringing, strict-rule-making, no-nonsense-grounding mother that Luke had known his entire life. He’d spent so many nights furious in his room after she’d caught him sneaking out or drinking.

And now, here his mother was, offering him a glass of whiskey at eleven in the morning.

Luke pinched the Felix between his fingers more harshly.

“No, thanks,” he said, and squinted back out towards the ocean.

“If you’re sure,” his mother said. “Well, I just said so because I’m tired of looking at it all.”

“Don’t get rid of it,” Luke said, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. “I like his office. Mom, it reminds me of him.”

Luke had spent hours in there, laughing with his father, talking about history and literature, sneaking the rare puff on his cigar.

Then, they had taken him away, and his mother had gotten a hair cut, and suddenly Luke didn’t know anything anymore.

“Excuse me,” Luke mumbled, and left his mother in the sun with her drink and the pills that were no doubt already within. She was getting high more than he ever had now.

Luke could barely see anything inside the house after the bright day outside, but he didn’t need to see. He could have found his father’s study, and everything in it, blind.

He was still damp when he sunk down shakily into his father’s desk chair, the plush leather smelling of cigars, and took the bag of pinkish powder out of his pocket.

Just to see him again.

Just for something else to have happened.

Just not this.

~

Remus met Sirius in James’ kitchen again. The large glass doors were flung wide, opening out onto the porch and the pool beyond where a projector and screen were set up, along with chairs and blankets. Lily had set out the floating lanterns that the Potters put in the pool during their dinner parties and they floated idly back and forth in the evening breeze, giving out a soft yellow glow to mix with the dusky blue that came in from the ocean. The palm trees leaned over the house’s surrounding gate, swaying.

The counter between Remus and Sirius was covered in food. Pizza and nachos from Thomas’ family’s restaurant, chocolate chip cookies, chips and salsa, sodas and liquor.

“If you’re gonna do it, do it in the house,” Mrs. Potter always said.

Sirius looked the same, but fresh out of the ocean. His dark hair was damp, dripping onto the collar of his faded t-shirt. He looked like the ocean had the same effect on him as it did on Remus. Sirius’ eyes looked brighter. His shoulders looked more relaxed. He looked up from where he was pouring some whiskey into a cup and even managed an easier smile than usual.

“Hey,” Remus said, taking a paper plate from the stack. “How’s it going?”

Sirius’ eyes found his, then he looked down, stoppering the bottle. “Pretty good, you?”

“Pretty good,” Remus said, and then took a breath before testing the waters. “Had a nice sail this morning, clocked a shift at the museum, can’t complain.”

Sirius glanced up quickly, and Remus suppressed a smile as he loaded his plate.

“Oh,” Sirius began. “I mean, yeah, I saw.”

“You like sailing?”

Sirius nodded. “Kris lets me take one of his out sometimes.”

“Kris?” Remus questioned.

“Oh,” Sirius cleared his throat. Remus watched some of those ocean washed walls begin to go back up. “Yeah, he runs the boat rental shop over in Rowena. I guess you wouldn’t know given that you have…you know.”

Remus tried to side-step the awkward shift. Sirius seemed to have ideas about him already. Remus wished he had some clue about Sirius, beside his ocean-eyes and guarded expression.

“Well, that’s cool of him,” Remus said.

Sirius nodding from over the brim of his cup. “Yeah, it is.”

“Hey, well—” Remus shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure you do it on your own all the time but…you know if you ever wanted to…”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. Remus hadn’t finished his sentence.

“I mean, if you ever wanted to,” Remus began again, and was suddenly nervous. Sirius didn’t even like him. It looked as though he didn’t like Gods in general. He’d probably think this was charity. He’d probably hate Remus for offering. “Go out.”

Sirius’ eyebrow raised further.

“On my boat,” Remus said, all in a rush. His cheeks were hot. “Go sailing on—my boat.”

Remus didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Sirius to do nothing at all. He stood there, frozen and off guard.

“Only if you want,” Remus said hopelessly. “I get up pretty early.”

“So do I,” Sirius said, and there was the slap of flip flops from behind Remus.

“Look who I found at the kid’s table,” Saint’s voice came, and he leaned on the counter beside Remus in his tank-top and shorts, taking a nacho off of his plate. “Hello, Remus Lupin. You’re looking flushed. Sirius, are you making him blush?”

“Um,” Sirius said.

Remus just shook his head and reached for a soda. He felt idiotic, and now more so, after being interrupted. He could hear the others talking and laughing over the movie and wished he was over there—wished he hadn’t tried to hit on Sirius Black, of all people. He didn’t know if Sirius liked men. He didn't even know Sirius.

“Re, Saint, Black, someone bring me back a drink!” Marlene’s voice came over the chatter. She was tangled with Dorcas on one of the blankets, leaning back into her chest.

“Why do you look like you’ve done something?” Sirius said, drawing Remus’ eyes back to him.

“Well, I haven’t yet,” Saint replied. “But just watch.” He leaned closer to Remus. “Fruit-Loop, I need you to get me into that museum of yours.”

Remus looked at him warily. “How do you know I work at the museum…”

“A friend,” Saint said.

Remus looked at the hand Saint was resting his chin on. He was fairly sure that was Luke’s father’s watch.

“Get you in?” he asked. “Why not just go?”

Saint looked at him like he was entirely put upon, like he couldn’t believe Remus hadn’t caught on yet. “Because I don’t think what I’m looking for is on the floor, as they say.”

“Saint,” Sirius said incredulously. “What…what?”

“Can you help?” Saint looked at Remus. “You know, I could just take it.”

“Let you take something from the museum?” Remus laughed. “No.”

“Fine,” Saint sighed and pushed up from the counter, taking Remus’ plate from him and beginning to walk away. “I was just giving you the option to make this a little easier.”

Remus stared after him, then looked at Sirius, who shook his head before Remus could even ask.

“No idea,” Sirius said.

~

Saint didn’t actually know that many movies.

The movie theater was fine, but old. Grimmauld didn’t have a TV. It definitely didn’t have a large projector screen and James’ laptop. There was dancing on the screen. The actors were some place warm. He didn’t recognize it.

Books, on the other hand. Books, he knew.

He spied Luke resting on his forearms, long legs stretched in front of him on a blanket near that back of their group, and smiled.

“Deveaux,” Saint said as he sat down, placing the plate between them. “Pleasure to see you again.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Oh Jesus, who invited you.”

“The peace keeper named James Potter,” Saint replied. “Not sure what sort of peace he thinks there is to keep. I, for one, think he’s made it all up in his head.”

Luke grabbed Saint’s wrist, the gold of his watch beneath his rough palm.

“This is mine,” Luke said. “You little thief.”

“Is it?”

“Saint,” Luke’s eyes were dark in the dying light and flickering screen. “Give it back to me.”

“What will you give me?” Saint asked, and leaned in.

Luke snarled and let go. “I’m not bargaining for my watch. You stole it.”

“I steal a lot of things. Your mother has good taste, by the way. So does Mrs. Potter. Unlike some of these God mothers. Do you think they know their husbands buy them the fake stuff, and save the goods for their mistresses?”

“Fuck off.”

Saint broke part of a cookie off. “Those are your two favorite words.”

Luke just shook his head, his jaw tight and angry, eyes remaining on the screen. Saint chewed slowly.

“What’s this?” Saint asked, jerking his chin towards the screen.

He felt Luke look at him. “You don’t know?”

“I just asked, didn’t I?”

“What?” Luke scoffed. “It’s Mamma Mia. You’ve never seen this movie? Where the fuck have you been?”

Saint looked at him steadily.

“Right,” Luke nodded. “Fucked childhood, and all that.”

“That’s one way to look at it, thank you, tweedle.”

“What else haven’t you seen?”

Saint flicked the hand with the watch on it. “How the fuck should I know?”

Luke’s eyes followed the gold for a moment, and then he looked back out towards the others. Saint did, too, laughing softly. He could practically feel Luke trying to decide how to get the watch from his wrist.

“Irish wrist watch,” Saint whispered. “Irish wrist watch, Irish wrist watch…”

James was sitting with Lily. Marlene and Dorcas were to the side, dancing along to the music with Thomas. Sirius and Remus had followed him out of the house and were, to Saint’s surprise, sitting awkwardly beside each other. Sirius seemed to be asking about the movie, too, and Remus explaining it to him.

Fucking Gods, Saint thought as he looked around at the glowing pool, the mountain of food in the kitchen. Fucking Gods and all their careless lives.

He wondered if maybe he should have brought Leo along, if his sob story about his dad might have gotten Remus to help.

Remus works at the museum, Leo had said. Me and Logan heard him say, him and Layla—her family owns it. If there’s any chance of seeing another copy of that map, it’s the History Museum.

“I’ve never seen you be quiet for this long,” Luke’s voice interrupted.

“You’re the one who ruined it.”

Luke reached between them for the plate and plucked up the other half of Saint’s cookie. “I was just saying.”

“I’ve never seen you not glower for this long—oh, there it is.”

“Give me my watch back.”

“For what?”

Luke paused, then said, “Books.”

That made Saint look at him. Luke’s eyes were on Saint’s wrist, but Saint remembered him in the car, reading James’ copy of Shelley. Saint felt stormy again, a familiar building in his chest that always simmered.

“Excuse me?”

“Give me my watch and I’ll give you—”

“So, you are bargaining.”

“You seem to like hand-outs,” Luke bit back. “You take books from James, don’t you? Not to mention this,” Luke shifted towards Saint. “You take a lot of things from people you claim to hate.”

“Ouch,” Saint said, and it really had hurt. Waste of space. He smiled.

“I can do you better,” Luke said. “Tell me what you want.”

“You mean your daddy could?”

Luke’s expression went cold all over. Lightning, over the strike of green in his right eye, nestled among the deep brown. “What’s his is mine now.”

Saint wondered if Luke had Crucio in his system right now. He didn’t have the tired look of it. Come to think of it, Luke never had that look, not like Logan did. He must take it at night, Saint thought. To sleep, maybe. Some people used it like that. Some people thought it let them control their dreams.

Saint didn’t think anyone could control their dreams, their wants and wishes—waking or asleep. Even if they wanted to.

“Was this his, too?” Saint looked at the watch face.

“God, just—” Luke broke off, shoulders tense, and rubbed his eyes. “What the fuck do you want? Money? Just tell me and give it back.”

Saint checked the time, then looked back at Luke.

“One-thirty. My bedtime. And I don’t need shit from you,” Saint said breezily, and patted Luke’s thigh before pushing himself up from the blanket.

“Saint,” he heard Sirius say faintly, but nothing from Luke, and he kept walking through the Potter’s house.

~

Sirius was almost angry at Saint. Or, maybe, he was angry at himself for wanting to stay at the Potters. He knew why he had been invited, why James had wrapped an arm around him, told him to help himself to the food, why Remus had talked to him, sat beside him, offered…well, he wasn’t sure what Remus had offered.

Pity.

At least, he thought he knew.

Though talking to Remus had felt far from pity. Remus laughed with his eyes squeezed shut, and it had taken Sirius off guard each and every time. He was angry at Remus Lupin. He was angry at him for his words when they were eleven.

Are you okay? Sirius, right?

As if he didn’t know Sirius’ name, and of course Sirius wasn’t okay.

But now Remus Lupin was talking about his boat, and this movie, whatever it was, that Sirius had never seen, and smiling at him as though he’d done nothing wrong.

Or, at least he had been, before Sirius had followed a blank-faced Saint out of the house.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked Saint’s retreating back as they jogged down the steps to the driveway.

Saint had merely held up something that jingled over his shoulder. The car keys glinted as much as the watch on his wrist which Sirius knew wasn’t his own.

“Taking Luke’s car.”

“Saint, come on,” Sirius sighed. “I mean—that looked pretty fucking civil. Non?”

Saint turned on him. “Oh, yes, and you could hear every word? Non.” Saint kicked one of the tires. “Fuck the Gods, and fuck their shiny cars, too.”

Sirius shook his head. “What’s this—museum stuff? What’s going on? Saint, just talk to me—”

“You took Lupin’s side,” Saint breezed as he chirped Luke’s car. “You don’t get to know.”

That stopped Sirius in his tracks. He took a step back. “Since when do we do that?”

Saint slammed the door, sitting in the driver seat.

“Not tell each other things?” Sirius pushed forward. “Since when?”

Sirius watched him through the rolled down window as he ran his hands over the dark leather of the seats, the shiny black of the dash.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Saint said softly. “There’s a lot I don’t know.”

“What do you want from the museum?” Sirius tried again. “Is this about…Saint Clair? Logan? Ever since he showed up—”

“Orphan!” came from the house just moments before the front door blew open. Luke zeroed in on Saint behind the wheel instantly, sandy hair casting shadows over his forehead and eyes. “What the fuck is up with you and taking my shit?”

“See you at home, sweetheart,” Saint said to Sirius, and started the car. Luke brushed past Sirius and tugged fruitlessly on the locked door.

“Hey,” Luke only just managed to bang on the back window as Saint screeched out of the Potter’s drive. “Saint!”

Sirius watched as Luke stood there in the humid night, watching his own taillights disappear. He cursed again, running a hand through his hair, and then turned.

Luke looked at Sirius. They stayed a few feet apart in the driveway.

“Do you know where he’s going?” Luke asked, breathing heavily.

Sirius did not like Luke Deveaux.

“No,” he said, and turned back into the house to find Remus.

~

Leo looked over at Logan. They were sitting on the curb outside The Lion, waiting for word from Saint, and Logan was quiet. Not that Logan wasn’t usually quiet, but this felt different. He was picking at an old scab on his knee, taking his hat off and putting it back on again.

“Are you okay?” Leo asked, and Logan didn’t look up when he nodded.

“Is it,” Leo hesitated. “Finn?”

That snapped Logan’s head up. “How did you…”

“You said his name to me,” Leo said softly. “The first night we met. You were…” but Leo didn’t really know the word. High? Hallucinating?

“I know what I was,” Logan sighed.

“Do you want to talk about him?” Leo asked. “I mean, you don’t have to I just…I know it helps to talk about my dad sometimes.”

“Finn isn’t dead,” Logan said harshly. He took his hat off, pushing his hair back, and put it back on again.

“I know,” Leo said. “I know, I just meant—never mind.”

Leo, in a way that Logan would probably hate him for, was dying to know more about Saint Clair. Saint had been around long enough that Leo sometimes lost track of the fact that he’d escaped. Others were around the island, doing work and looking normal enough that Leo could forget about them, too.

But he couldn’t forget Logan. Logan, who was tortured and rough and missing someone in a way that Leo could feel, that Leo could recognize.

Beautiful, with his green eyes and rare smiles, that Leo knew he should steer well away from. Because Finn. Finn sounded like—

“He’s my—” Logan began, then shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. Boyfriend sounds—small.” Logan shifted, looking at Leo. “He’s all I have. He’s all I’ve had for a long time. Since I can remember. My entire life.” Logan ran a hand over his face, and when it came away, he looked exhausted. “I’m just repeating myself, but do you get it?”

“Yes,” Leo said. “I get it.”

“And now he’s—and I’m out here, and…”

“And you want to get him out, too,” Leo finished for him. Logan looked stricken.

“He got me out,” he said softly. “When it came down to it, he chose me. But I didn’t have time to choose him. It was all over so fast.”

Leo rubbed the colorful bracelet on his wrist. Boyfriend. “And when you say you’re looking for him…Waiting for him…”

“I know where he is,” Logan said. “And the waiting part was a lie. I’d be stupid to wait. I need to get him. He—“ Logan swallowed. “There’s a courtyard. Where I can usually see him. But he hasn’t been there.”

Leo watched Logan’s throat bob again. He was picking at his nail beds, at the scab. Leo lay his palm over his restless fingers, and Logan looked up, eyes bright.

“He needs my help.”

“Okay,” Leo nodded. “Okay.”

“Lovers on the wharf,” came a voice, accompanied by thumping music. Saint pulled up in a sleek looking car—that definitely wasn’t his own. He leaned out the window, grinning. “Deveaux has terrible taste in music.”

“You stole this car,” Leo said dryly. “Didn’t you.”

“Yes I did, Knut. Yes, I did.”

“Let's go,” Logan said. He sniffed and picked up his backpack.

“Who’s got shot gun?” Saint asked.

~

Remus stopped in front of the gallery heading that read Madness On Hogwarts.

He hadn’t asked his mother about it yet. He wasn’t even sure how to ask. But, there it was. The name Lupin was there. He didn’t have to look far. It was there, telling about the slow demise of the mind.

Part of Remus had always wondered when his own would begin.

Another part of him felt like it already had.

He was, after all, standing beside Sirius Black on the dark museum floor, looking for a rogue orphan from Saint Clair.

“It seems pretty quiet, to me,” Remus said. “You really think he came here tonight?”

“He stole Luke’s car, didn’t he?”

Remus snorted. “Yeah, but…”

“So, that’s very get-away-ish of him. I mean he blamed it on hating Gods but—“

Sirius cut off, swallowing, realizing what he said.

“It’s okay,” Remus said and smiled a little. “I…it’s okay.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “It’s just that ours doesn’t always start up.”

Remus’ tried to ease the tension. “Get-away-ish?”

Sirius just shrugged and ducked his head, but Remus thought he was maybe smiling, too.

“Why didn’t you tell James where we were going?” Sirius asked instead, shining his flashlight over a model of a great merchant ship, its sails molded to seem like they were filled with wind. Remus could practically feel it.

It was Remus’ turn to duck as they walked around the exhibits, listening. “James Potter and sneaking anywhere? I don’t know about that.”

Sirius did laugh this time, and he looked almost surprised with it. “I guess you’re right.”

“Besides, he and Lily looked cozy.”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, that’s been almost happening ever since I can remember.”

“Right,” Remus laughed. For a moment it felt like they did know each other. As though they had been going to school together since they were little. As though Sirius hadn’t left school one day and never returned.

“Can I…ask you something?” Remus said hesitantly.

Sirius made a non-committal sound, and Remus figured that was as good as he was going to get.

“When you left school,” Remus began, then hesitated. “Well, I guess I mean, how? Didn’t your parents…or the police, even…”

“My parents don’t want a son like me,” Sirius replied easily. “As far as the law goes…I’ve never been bothered. I assumed they told the Academy I was being homeschooled. When I say someone like me, I guess I mean they don't want anything to ruin their reputation.” Sirius sighed. “Whatever that may be. Otherwise, I don’t know.”

“But you weren’t homeschooled,” Remus said. “You’re in The Hollow?”

Sirius’ smile was a little challenging. “Surfing every morning. Hanging out with my friends every night. I get work where I can, but I don’t need much.”

Remus nodded. “I guess that doesn’t sound too bad. I guess you’re not going to college, then.”

“That stuff isn’t for everyone,” Sirius replied.

“Oh,” Remus began. “No, I wasn’t, like, judging, I was just—”

That was when they heard a thump and a curse. They jolted, looking at each other.

“The archives,” Remus whispered.

“He did say it wasn’t on the floor.”

Remus took off towards the back rooms, Sirius on his heels. He fumbled with his keys for a moment, then shoved the correct one into the lock and pushed the door open.

“Saint,” Sirius panted.

Remus looked from the pried open window, to the boy peaking his head through the glass—Logan, he remembered—and then, finally, to Saint, crouched on the floor and pulling flat drawers open, one after another.

Saint just looked over his shoulder at them, flashlight between his teeth, then back to the file drawer he was rummaging through.

“If you were hoping to catch me, maybe don’t leave your big flashy car out front, Lupin.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t even thought of the car.

“Look, I can’t let you steal something,” Remus said.

Saint scoffed. “Look, if it means that much to you, I’ll put it right back, we just need to look at it.”

Logan dropped in through the window, then, hissing as he cut his forearm on what looked like a stray nail. He looked up, seemingly mindless of the blood dripping near his fingers.

“We’ll just take a picture,” Logan said. “I promise.”

“Who says I’ll let you?” Remus said.

“Because I’m limber like that,” Saint said. “I can get in and out of here, and I can certainly slip through your sailor hands.”

“Yeah, is that something you worry about?” Sirius said, and Saint’s head snapped towards him. The light fell over Sirius’ face. “Being able to make the escape?”

Remus thought the words sounded menacing, at least he thought Saint thought that, but Sirius’ expression was softer. Worried, even.

“Very funny,” Saint finally replied, and his smile had a bite to it around the light. “Ha, ha.”

Saint Clair, Remus realized. Sirius was talking about Saint Clair. He looked at Logan again. Logan was watching Saint almost eagerly.

“What are you even looking for?” Remus asked.

There was a grunt as a third boy piled in—Leo, from The Lion.

“Leo?” Sirius said, looking between the three of them. “Jesus, Saint, what’s going on?”

“We’re looking for something,” Saint’s words were marred by the metal between his teeth. “Merde, aren’t you listening?”

“I told you no,” Remus said.

Saint pulled open another drawer. “And I told me yes.”

Remus and Sirius looked at each other. Remus shook his head, at a loss, and Sirius sighed.

“At least tell us what it is,” Sirius said, and went to crouch beside Saint.

Remus watched as Sirius put a hand on his back, low and firm. It was a familiar and comfortable gesture, and Remus thought Saint maybe pushed into it a little.

Remus tilted his head, looking at the soft splay of Sirius’ fingers.

“A map,” Leo said, and Saint all but hissed at him. “What? We’re not taking anything. I don’t even know why we broke in, really, we should have just asked—”

Saint took the light from his mouth. “I’m nothing if not a showboat.”

“Anything?” Logan asked, peering closer to what Saint was looking at. Saint had two papers in his hands, but he tossed them down roughly—too roughly for Remus’ liking.

Saint ignored Logan with a long sigh, and turned to Remus, bumping one of the flat drawers closed with a hip. “We are in need of a treasure map, Lupin.”

Remus blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t tell me the mad-house you grew up in didn’t have tales of The Voldemort.”

Remus felt his blood spike, heat draping itself around his neck. “Don’t fucking—”

“What Saint means,” Leo stepped forward, eyes apologetic. “I…my dad was looking for it. He was close and…and he’s—Saint and Logan agreed to help me find it. I didn’t know we’d be doing this. They know how much it means to me—”

“If your dad’s close to finding it, why not just use his map?” Remus asked.

Leo glanced up at him, then down at the drawers. “It went down with him and his boat.”

“Oh,” Remus stuttered out. “I…”

Leo just shook his head. “I remember what it looks like. I’ll know it when I see it.”

Saint waved his hand, and Remus noticed Luke’s watch again. “What’s it going to say, Knut, the ancient treasure lies here?”

“It’s not to The Voldemort,” Leo said. “It’s to a trading post, a stop point just off of Hogwarts. In the Cradle. People thought that it might have been a sort of cover operation, that maybe someone found the gold and was using it as a way to smuggle it out unnoticed—”

“So, it’s not even there?” Logan asked.

Leo splayed his hands helplessly. “I don’t know!”

Remus looked at Sirius when he laughed. “You’re kidding.” Sirius knocked Saint’s shoulder. “You’re looking for the fucking Voldemort? Since when?”

“You’re the one who wants to leave this island,” Saint said lowly. “To do that you’ll need money.”

Sirius’ expression changed in the dim light. The moon was high now, and he looked silver and shadowed—and surprised.

“What?” Sirius said faintly. Saint wouldn’t meet his eye. “But you don’t want—”

Logan stepped forward, eyes still on Remus. “Look. We’re not crazy. Leo wants this for his dad, and I—I need to help someone. I told you when we met, didn’t I?”

“You said you were looking for someone,” Remus replied.

Logan nodded quickly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Saint said and rose, turning to Logan and pointing the light towards his chest like an accusing finger. “Hold every single one of your horses. This is not about Saint Clair, and this is not about Finn. This is about your stupidity and The Carrows.”

“No,” Logan said. “This is about getting Finn out.”

“The Carrows,” Leo repeated, looking at Logan. Logan glanced at him, then rubbed a hand over his face.

“Then help me with Finn,” Logan said, louder this time. “I made a mistake with The Carrows, fine, but are you going to be my next one?”

“No,” Saint all but snarled back.

Logan shoved him, hard, sending Saint crashing back against the files, making them rattle.

“Hey,” Sirius said lowly, and then he had a hand wrapped up in Logan’s shirt, pushing him back.

“Stop,” Remus said, putting his hands out. “Jesus, not here. Maybe you all don’t give a shit, but everything in here is old. It’s precious.” He turned to Leo. “A map, you said a map, just tell me so we can all leave.”

Leo bit his lip, gesturing towards the drawers. “These are labeled?”

Remus nodded and watched them all warily as Leo took the light from Logan and crouched to read the writing on the drawers.

Saint and Logan were still staring at each other. Remus could practically feel some unsaid words between them. Sirius had let Logan go, but Remus didn’t want to keep the three of them in this room together for much longer.

“Here,” Leo said suddenly, and the sound of one of the rattling drawers filled the room. “It’s—oh.”

“What?” Logan asked, shoving around Sirius’ body towards the drawer. Remus followed, glancing back once. Saint and Sirius had their heads close. Sirius had his hand on Saint’s neck, and they were talking softly but quickly to each other.

Remus looked away.

The label read, Cartography. C. 18th. Commerce Port, but in place of anything that the label suggested, was an index card with neat handwriting on it.

On loan: Victor Deveaux

“Deveaux,” Saint said, clucking his tongue. “Deveaux, Deveaux, Deveaux…”

“No,” Remus heard Leo breathe.

“That’s Luke’s dad,” Remus said. He stared at the name. “Oh. That’s…”

“What?” Logan asked. “What do you know?”

Remus shot him a look. He seemed even more on edge than a few moments ago.

“I’d sort of forgotten with everything. Everything that happened to Luke this past year, but,” Remus said. “Luke was always sort of obsessed with the treasure. Only because his dad was, though. When we got older, me and James sort of made fun of him for it, but when we were younger, Mr. Deveaux used to hide little trinkets or candy for us somewhere in the house, and then write out clues for us to work through.” Remus smiled at the memory. It was happy, and it was sad. It seemed like too long ago. “It was fun.”

“So, he has the map,” Logan said. “Can you take us there?”

“Can you relax, speed racer, thanks,” Saint snapped.

“We need the map,” Logan barked back.

“It’s almost three in the morning,” Remus said.

“All the better,” Saint replied and closed the window they had come through before opening the museum door.

“Can’t this wait until morning?”

“Luke won’t just hand it over,” Sirius offered.

Remus turned to him. “What do you care?”

“Saint cares.”

Remus blinked. Sirius was all walled up again, eyes silver.

“Lead the way, Sailor,” Saint said.

~

Luke’s house was large and pristine, but it looked abandoned somehow. Saint stared up at the white walls, the stone chimney that he couldn’t imagine ever got used. He wondered if it was as grand as the Potters’ house inside. It certainly looked that way, manicured and vast. But it lacked the warmth. It seemed to shift in the night wind.

“We can’t just knock,” Remus broke the silence.

“We should wait,” Leo said somewhat nervously.

“I’ve got this,” Saint replied, chin tilted up towards the large house’s windows. “Which one’s his?”

Remus laughed. “You’re not serious.”

“No, that’d be him,” Saint said, clapping Sirius on the back—who rolled his eyes. “Now, tell me.”

“What are you going to do, climb up the drain pipe?”

Saint shucked his flip flops into the grass. “Yes, sir.”

“You could fall,” Sirius warned.

Saint looked at the windows, set deep into the house’s frame. The rough painted sides and stray vine climbing the surface. He looked at the tilted roof. “I won’t. Now which room is his?”

Remus, behind Saint, was quiet for a long time. Saint kept his eyes forward, squeezing his hands into fists, and then letting them out again. His heart beat hard in his chest, as if remembering a memory his mind wouldn’t.

“He keeps a light on,” Remus finally sighed, and pointed. “That window there.”

The metal and stone were cold beneath Saint’s feet. The pipe was sturdy, but every time it creaked he could hear the others whisper from below. The higher Saint climbed, the more the wind picked up. He closed his eyes letting it push his hair off of his forehead. The summer night was humid, and the moon was high.

“Saint?” he heard Sirius whisper from below.

Saint didn’t respond, just kept climbing. That was how climbing worked. Maybe, if you were lucky, you could rest, but the real part was pushing through the aches and the fear.

What do you hate so much that you’re helping us? Logan had asked him in the car on their way to the museum, and Saint had said something silly, as he always did. He’d smiled. Logan hadn’t laughed, but anyone else would have.

Saint thought of Sirius’ hand, low on his back in the archives rooms.

But you don’t want to go, Sirius had been about to say when Saint told him why they needed the gold. But you don’t want to leave.

If they had been alone, Saint might have actually told him the truth.

But you do, he would have said. If there was anything that wouldn’t be wasteful, it was getting Sirius Black off of this island and away from his own, terrified self. Saint might be a waste, but Sirius wasn’t.

Saint reached the roof and crouched, breathing hard. He could see the light from Luke’s room below him, the slates of the slight, pointed arch above the window frame. It was a short drop. He made it soundlessly, glancing down at the dark shape of the others as he swung himself onto the wooden sill. He could see the source of the light now.

It was a small bulb, plugged in low on the wall by the bed. Simple and cheap, with some sort of picture lit up. A sea shell, Saint thought. It didn’t illuminate much, but Saint could see Luke’s face. He was turned towards the window, on his stomach with an arm beginning to fall over the side of the mattress. He was bare to his waist, where the sheets pooled along his lower back.

Saint pushed at the top of the window until it cracked enough for him to curl his fingers beneath the frame. Luke didn’t stir, not even when Saint let the humid night air meet the AC, and set his bare feet softly on the hardwood floor.

Saint still didn’t know if Luke was a snoop, but he certainly knew that he was.

The floor was stacked with books. They were shoved over to the sides of the walls, near the desk beside a tangle of laptop chords and phone chargers. The bedside table was littered with old water glasses and coffee mugs, clothes occupied more of the floor than the open closet. There were small, empty plastic bags littered throughout the room. Saint picked up one, looking at the few grains of remnants.

He let it flutter back to the floor.

Everyone needed to control something, or at least think they did. Saint, for one too many times since Logan arrived, let himself think about Saint Clair. They’d taken clarity from him. He didn’t know how The Voldemort would get him that back—maybe nothing would. It would certainly take Sirius away, the only constant.

But everyone needed to control something. Or at least think they did. If Saint was going to be alone, he wouldn’t let it sneak up on him. Not again.

Saint was as good at tricking himself as he was at tricking others. And he liked gold. Part of him liked Luke, too. Stubborn. Mean. Beautiful. That would never change.

Saint looked down at Luke’s sleeping form. He looked younger in his sleep. He was dreaming. Saint could tell, there was a flicker beneath his eyelids. The bruise on his cheek was slowly fading, but a faint purple still graced his cheek.

“Tricky bastard,” Saint said aloud, and Luke stirred, cracking an eye open.

There it was. The sleepy look of Crucio, the haze. The lack of will, or maybe the abundance of it.

“You,” Luke mumbled. “You’re…”

His eyes flickered over Saint’s shoulder. Saint wondered who he was seeing. Saint crouched beside him and stroked a hand through his hair. Luke leaned into it. A loved one, then.

Luke blinked at him, and his expression shifted. He scrambled backwards, cursing.

“Saint,” Luke said, blinking. Saint laughed. He sort of liked that Luke couldn’t tell if he was really there or not.

“Hello, tweedle,” Saint said, and held up Luke’s father’s watch. “I need something from you.”

[stale-cheezit]

Dog Tags

 Summary: Tony holds a ball, and your boyfriend get’s a little distracted when he sees you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Word Count: 2,427

Warnings: there’s a lot of dialogue in this i’m sorry. swearing. smut. oral (male and female receiving) 

You pop your lips together as you finish applying your red lipstick, Bucky’s favorite shade. Tonight is the ball Tony has been planning for a while. No one really knows why, he just felt the need to throw a party.

You had the perfect dress, a strapless, sparkly navy blue dress with a slit up the left leg. You have on a new red lingerie that you bought just for tonight. A knock at the door brings you out of your thoughts, “Y/N? Can I come in?” It’s Bucky

“One second! I’m still getting my dress on.” You quickly grab the dress off the hanger and slip it on, “You can come in now.” 

Moments later the door opens, Bucky’s jaw drops, “God doll...” He steps closer to you and puts his hands on your hips, “You look absolutely breath taking.” He whispers, kissing you gently. 

“Thank you, my love. You look quite dashing yourself,” You smile, “Mind helping me zip this up?” You turn around and pull your hair out of the way. 

“Of course.” Bucky zips your dress up for you and gives a light tap on your ass. 

“James.” You warn. 

“Oh pulling out the first name are we?” Bucky chuckles, wrapping his arms around you. 

“That I am,” You giggle, “Fuck I still need jewelry.” You go to your dresser and put on your rings, one being the promise ring Bucky gave you for Christmas this past year. While you’re rummaging through your necklaces trying to find one that will match, Bucky slips one around your neck. 

You look down at them, “Buck... Are these-” 

“My dog tags.” 

The metal is cold on your neck, “Bucky are you sure?” 

“They look gorgeous on you, doll. I wouldn’t want anyone else wearing them.” 

“Thank you, love. I love you.” 

“I love you,” Bucky kisses your head, “And you’re lucky we’re already late or I’d be pounding you into that mattress. I’ll save that for tonight.” He whispers.

Your eyes go wide and your breath gets caught in your throat. 

“Now let’s go before we’re any later that we already are.” 

Still in shock, you grab your navy stilettos and slip them on, grabbing Bucky’s hand and following him out of your room. 

The small comment remains in your head the entire way to where the party is being held. 

“Why is Tony doing this again?” Bucky asks, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand. 

“Becuase “I’m Tony fucking Stark and I can do whatever the fuck I want,” as he put it.” You reply. 

After a thirty minute drive you arrive. Bucky holds the door open for you and the two of you walk in hand in hand. Wanda runs up to you as soon as she realizes you’re here. 

“Y/N! Finally!” Wanda hugs you, “You look hot!” 

“You look hotter! If i wasn’t taken I’d defiantly hit you up.” You wink and blow Wanda a kiss. 

“I’m right here.” Bucky sighs. 

“Bucky! Go talk to Stevie! I’m stealing yo girl.” Wanda grabs your hand and drags you to the bar. 

“There’s a lot more people than I expected.” You sigh, sitting on a stool next to Wanda. 

“I know. It’s very loud too.” 

“Who all do you think is here?” 

“All the Avengers, most of S.H.I.E.L.D. and probably random millionaires Tony knows.” 

“I’m already tired and I just got here.” You chuckle, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“Me too girl, me too- OH MY GOD!” Wanda squeals, “Are those Bucky’s tags?” 

“They are. He gave them to me earlier.” You smile, holding the dog tags in your fingers. 

You and Wanda continue talking when two glasses of whiskey are sat in front of you. 

“Um we didn’t order these.” Wanda smiles. 

“They’re from the gentlemen over there.” The bartender motions to our left. 

“Ohh,” Wanda smiles, “Thank you.” 

“Well I’m not gonna turn down a free drink.” You smirk, taking a sip of the alcohol. 

“Me neither,” You and Wanda cheers your drinks, “I’m going to go find Vision. I’ll be right back. You’ll be okay, right? I can send Bucky your way if I see him.” 

“I’ll be fine. Go find your man.” You smile as Wanda walks off. A few moments later one of the men who ordered your drinks comes up to you. 

“Is this seat taken?” He asks. 

“No, go ahead.” You say, having no intention at all of speaking to the man. 

“How’s your night going, beautiful.” He asks, you turn your nose up in disgust. 

“Good, yours?” You say, trying to be polite. 

“Better now that I’m talking to you.” 

You roll your eyes and take a sip of your drink. A loud crash makes you turn your attention to your left, away from the man. You see that the bartender just dropped a bottle. 

What you didn’t see, was the man next to you slipping something in your drink. 

Your fingers wrap around the glass, you start to take a drink when-

“Y/N!” You let go of the glass and turn around to see Steve. 

“Oh hey Steve!” 

“Y/N come with me, I want to show you something.” Steve grabs your arm and pulls you to the dance floor, “Dance with me?” 

“Only if I don’t have to be the man this time.” You smile, wrapping your arms around Steve’s neck, his hands rest on your hips. 

“Bucky’s in the bathroom, there’s a really long line so he asked me to come check on you. Then I saw that guy slip something in your drink.” 

Your eyes widen, “He what?” 

“When you looked away he roofied your drink.” Steve says, glancing back at the man. 

“That mother fucker.” You go to walk towards him to give him a piece of your mind when Steve’s grip on your waist tightens. 

“No. Tony’s taking care of him.” 

“We can’t tell Bucky, he’ll freak.” 

“Tony probably already notified him.” 

The two of you are silent for a minute, “Thank you Steve. You really saved my ass. God knows what would’ve happened.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N.” Steve smiles. 

The two of you continue dancing until Bucky approaches you, “Can I cut in?” 

“Of course. It was a pleasure dancing with you Miss L/N.” Steve kisses your knuckles. 

“Likewise Mr Rodgers.” You laugh and Steve walks away. 

Bucky kisses your knuckles, your arms wrap around his neck and his hands go on your waist. The two of you are much closer than you and Steve were. 

“Tony told me about that man.” 

You sigh, “Why do I have a feeling you did something.” 

“Because I did.” 

“Bucky...” 

“Tony and I just talked to him. And a couple punches. Fury fired him too.” 

“You satisfied?” You roll your eyes and smile. 

“Not really.” Bucky smirks and kisses you. 

The night goes on. You dance mostly with Nat and Wanda, but you steal quiet a few dances with Bucky, another with Steve, and one with Tony. You don’t drink anymore, aside from a few drinks you took from Bucky’s glass. Almost everyone is drunk or at least tipsy. Aside from you, and the two super soldiers as alcohol doesn’t affect them. 

You’ve spent half the night pulling your dress up so it doesn’t fall. Stupid strapless dresses. Bucky’s been eyeing you all night. You’ve made it a point to rub your ass against him as much as possible, as well as swaying your hips a lot more when dancing. 

“Hey baby.” You kiss his jaw. 

“Hey doll.” 

“I love youuuuu.” You smile, kissing his temple. 

“I love you too, babydoll.” Bucky’s grip on his drink tightens. 

You kiss his jaw again, this time biting him gently. 

“I think it’s time to go home, doll.” He says grabbing your hand and leading you outside. You don’t protest, following him. 

“Buck I’m in heels! I’m gonna fall.” You huff. Bucky stops and picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder. 

The car ride to the compound was silent, aside from Bucky tapping his foot, or the occasional kiss. 

When the car stops, Bucky opens the door for you. As soon as you get out of the car he shuts the door, and picks you back up. 

“Buckyyyyy.” You groan. Bucky sits you back down once you’re in the elevator. 

“You’ve been a very bad girl.” He growls, pinning you against the wall. 

“I’m sorryyy,” You drag out the word, “It’s hard not to tease when you were staring at me all night.” 

“It’s hard not to stare when you’re literally the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.” His lips connect to your neck. The elevator dings and the doors open. Bucky grabs your hand and pulls you towards your room. Once the door is shut he attacks your lips and face with kisses. 

You kick off your heels and moan at the feeling of flat ground. Bucky’s hands unzip your dress, the fabric falls off your body and pools around your feet. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything when he sees the red lingerie. 

“Do you like it?” You ask, looking up with big e/c eyes. 

“You look stunning, as always. As much as i love it, I need it off you. Now.” 

You lock eyes with him as one hand reaches behind your back and unclasps the bra, letting it drop to the ground. Bucky’s lips attach to your nipple, his hand kneading the other. You moan as he softly bites your nipple. 

“I was gonna take it slow with you tonight, fuck you slow and gentle until you’re begging me to fuck you rough and fast. But with the way you acted tonight, and the way you looked in that dress...” Bucky leads you to the bed and pushes you down. His lips kiss up your neck and stop at your ear, “I’m going to completely destroy you.” He growls, unbuttoning his shirt and discarding it on the floor. 

You feel butterflies in your core, “Please..” 

Bucky presses a finger to your clothed core, earning a quiet gasp. You open your legs wider. Bucky pulls your panties off. Skilled fingers rubbing your clit. 

“Get on your knees, doll.” 

You quickly get up and sink to your knees. Immediately taking off his belt and sliding his pants and boxers down. His erection springs free. You lick your lips and press a kiss to the tip, a low groan leaves Bucky’s throat. Your eyes meet his as you sink your mouth around all of him. Bucky pushes your hair out of your face and holds it for you. 

You hollow your cheeks and swirl your tongue around his length, bobbing your head up and down. 

“F-Fuck. You’re doing so good babydoll.” 

You fiddle with his balls as you continue to deep throat him, your eyes start to water a bit. You pull your mouth off him and look up to meet his eyes, your lips red and swollen. 

Bucky helps you up and kisses you, “You’re such a good girl for me.” He lays you on the bed and parts your legs, leaving sloppy kisses up your thighs. His eyes meet yours and he stops over your pussy, wanting to make sure you’re still okay with this. You nod, and he licks up your slick. A loud moan leaves your lips as he quickly laps at your folds. 

“Fuck... Bucky as much as I love you and your sinful mouth I need you inside me.” 

Bucky stops his motions, “Hands and knees.” He mutters, grabbing a condom out of the drawer and rolling it onto his cock. You get on your hands and knees, sticking your ass up in the air. Your wetness dripping out of you. “Are you ready?” He asks, lining up with your entrance. 

“Fuck yes.” 

He slowly slides into you, you moan at the feeling of him filling you up, but he slides completely out. As you go to protest he snaps his length back inside you. A small scream leaves your lips. Your face pressed into the mattress as he pounds inside you at an ungodly pace. Low grunts come from Bucky. His cock twitching inside you as he slams his hips to meet yours. 

His thumb reaches down to speedily rub circles on your clit, and his hand places a hard slap on your ass. 

“Bucky!” You moan, the combination of him pounding into you and his fingers stimulating your clit bring you to the edge fast, “I-I’m gonna cum.” 

“Go ahead baby.” He says, quickening his fingers on your clit. You moan loudly into the mattress, your hands gripping the sheets as your orgasm rushes through you. Goosebumps appear on your skin and your legs begin to shake as you come down from the mind blowing orgasm. Bucky slowly slides out of you. 

“Buck wait you didn’t finish.” You say, sitting up on your knees. 

“I know.” He says, sitting at the headboard. He motions for you to sit on his lap. You straddle him, putting your arms around his neck. He brushes his lips against yours as you sink down onto him. You gasp as he fills you up.

Slowly you start to bounce on him, rolling your hips slightly. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you quicken your pace. You reach one hand down to rub your clit again, slamming your lips against Bucky’s. He takes your wrist and pulls it off your clit, you groan against his lips. His fingers replace yours and his hips snap up unintentionally. 

Your second orgasm comes faster than you expected it to. Your motions become sloppy as you get closer and closer to release. Bucky holds your hips and helps you ride out the orgasm. All your movements stop as shockwaves burst through you. Your pussy clenches around Bucky and as you come down from your high he hits his own orgasm. 

Strings of profanities leave his lips as he cums inside the condom. The two of you sit in silence, breathing heavily. 

“You look so good above me, with my dog tags around your neck.” Bucky smirks, looking at the dog tags that sit above your breasts. 

“Guess I’ll have to ride you more often then.” You smirk, kissing him. 

“I guess so.” Bucky mutters, against your lips. 

Your phone goes off, you glance at the nightstand to see a text from Steve. 

Stevie: Let me know when you two are done up there. I don’t want to be anymore traumatized than I was when I got home. Please use protection.

[stardancerluv]

Brother’s Keeper

Part 4

Summary: One has reflect on the past before the present comes crashing in.

Note: none.

Branden, looked around the apartment that Sam supplied. It was decent. It was almost too flashy. He swallowed thinking of what Sam would ask for in return for all this and the help in breaking out. Damn he hated owning people.

At least the boys liked it. After being locked up, it certainly was an oasis. Right on the beach, the ocean wasn’t far off. It was too nice for his liking but he wasn’t about to make waves. Opening the sliding door, he walked out and inhaled the ocean air. It tasted damn good. By just glancing up and down the beach, he soon spotted a pair of bikini clad girls walking along the beach. Sharp whistles broke through the silence. He smirked, the boys had also seen the girls.

Rolling his eyes he went back into his room. They were damn well gorgeous but they were not you. He bit the inside of his cheek. He really shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. He’s known you since you were a kid. All these years you’ve been chasing guys away. They just love you and understandably so. You just had to find the right one. The last thing you needed was some old, ex con like himself who was on the run hankering for you.

He really should go and see you though. The morning after Sam’s party. But first he needed a damn shower. He needed to get the stench of the prison off him. Stripping out of his clothes, he knew he really needed to snap out of this silliness he felt over you. He would try and keep an eye on you the best he could.

Maybe, he’d find himself some chick to have some fun with at the party Sam was throwing.

Turning the knobs he put the water on at full. This would surely clear his head. He sighed, the water already felt better on the outside. He soaped up, and scrubbed away the nine years of his past. Standing there, the water just rained down on him. He just closed his eyes.

It was not long before his mind wandered and he shook it off as he envisioned you once again. Damn. Ever since that dream in the yard.

Sighing, he cut the water and stepped from the shower. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he opened his suitcase and began to get ready for the party.

*****

As you walked through the boutiques, it had taken you longer to find something. You kept on going back to how your letters from Branden were lessening. Maybe he had finally tired of your childish ways. The idea made you feel your heart fill with pain. Should you ask him why? You were not sure. You couldn’t ask your friends. What would you even tell them? That you had the hots for this guy who used to rob banks with your brother. That when you went to sleep at after a long shift at the bar, where you tired to your bones, you’d imagine what you could do to him if you got him alone. Or if it was a particularly bad day, he’d just hold you and protect you from all this shit. They wouldn’t understand.

Finally, you found the perfect dress. Twirling you felt pretty in it. Perhaps at the party, one of the girls could snap a picture or two in it, and you would smile. Maybe then the letters would start up again. He would surely like that.

As for the bikini that didn’t take that long, you found a polka-dotted one that you reminded you of all those old retro actresses in the black and white movies. You would take a picture of you in that too, the idea of sending that to Branden stole your breath. The bikini was very retro, it reminded you of the old black and white movies you would watch on your days off. In them the men were romantic and dashing not the lumbering jerks that you knew.

Once home you took a long hot bath you would be soft and sweet smelling. You brushed out your hair. You made yourself pretty for the pictures you wanted to send Branden, not for the job Sam gave you.

Before leaving the house, you took a shot of some whiskey and at the last minute you made sure to brush your teeth. You really hoped that tonight went alright. This was the first time he wanted you to help entertain anyone. Usually, you served drinks...food..cigars if desired. You mentally prepared.

*****

When you drove up, the party appeared to be already in fully swing. One of the other girls you usually saw giving men dances was there. She told you where you could stash the knapsack you brought that held your bikini. After doing that you decided you would go to Sam’s office to show off how good you looked. You wanted me to see how well you followed his instructions and well to see if there was anything special he wanted you to adhere to.

You stopped just outside his office when you heard him talking to someone.

“So are ya, gonna take the job...or did you get soft while you were away?” You heard Sam ask someone.

“If your gonna be hung for stealing a sheep you might as well fuck it as well...Baaaaa.” Replied a much gruffer and deeper voice. You heard them clinking bottles or glasses, you couldn’t tell.

Your stomach lurched. Not wanting to intrude, especially if someone talked like you backed up and turning decided to go deeper into Lenny’s house. Maybe you could talk with the other girls and find out what was going on.

“Hey..hey you.” A man with short blackish hair said to you, he pointed at you and stood up from leaning against the wall. trying to get your attention. “You look bloody familiar.”

You didn’t recognize him at all. You shrugged politely. “I don’t know you. I’m...I’m...” Backing up, you tucked some hair behind your ear. “I’m needed elsewhere.” And you walked away. You don’t know why nervousness finally grabbed you but it did.

*****

He relieved to see that the party was already kicking it by the time him and the boys showed up.

Searching out Sam, he found him sitting on a balcony talking to someone. “I’ve arrived.” You announced below the man.

The man and Sam looked down, warm smiles were exchanged. He returned the smile and spread out his arms in a welcoming, nonaggressive move. “Go on upstairs to my office, I’ll be right there.”

“Get us some beers.” He told the kid.

“Sterlo, wait for me here.” He sighed, before heading into Sam’s office. “I’ll want to talk with you about whatever he offers; that is if he has any fucking offers.”

“Good call. I’ll just wait here with my beer.” He then thanked the kid.

He walked into the office and he made a point of not sitting down. Though he did make sure to take in all that he saw. Noting anything outstanding, that could possibly be important.

“Brendan, welcome home!” Sam came up behind him and slapped him on the back.

“Wouldn’t be here without you.”

He shrugged and moved his head from side to side. “I needed my best and well he was fucking locked away.”

Brendan kept quiet and let him talk.

“So I have an offer that will be to your liking.”

He had to play it cool. Didn’t want to be too eager. “Are you sure?” His kept his interest cool. “I mean there’s probably a lot of heat from the break out.”

“Nah for this, this is job is easy. It is a cake walk for a man like you.”

Brendan shrugged. That last one with Michael was supposed to be easy. It got him locked up and got Michael dead.

He watched as Lenny, grabbed two glasses and poured some whiskey. Damn, he already knew he’d accept. Was he that eager. Maybe it was the job, the man had the confidence in.

“I can’t tell you what it is unless you agree. The pay is huge,” He met Branden’s eyes. “It is seven fucking figures.”

That caught his attention, he looked right back at him. “Alright, you snagged me. What is it?”

“Gold, from a local smelter. Six bars, pay off in the millions. So can you manage the heat from the cops after something like that?”

He gave a bitter chuckle. He’d be stupid not to, he gave Sam his answer. “If your gonna be hung for stealing a sheep you might as well fuck it as well...Baaaaa.” Replied Brendan then he clinked his glass of whiskey with Sam. He’d go all the way for that kind of money.

“Good. We can talk details in a few days.” Sam finished his whiskey. “Go and have fun. Get laid, I��m sure you missed that.”

Brendan, shrugged nodding, smirking he had. He’d be lying if he hadn’t. “I did.”

“I brought in some good brand new girls just for you and your guys. So go have fun and we will talk soon.”

“How generous.” Sam came back around and slapped him on the back again. “You’re my best. So I treat you as such. Now go! Come back here in three days and we’ll talk about the job.”

“Alright.” He walked out to Sterlo. Maybe he’d have a touch of fun.

Sterlo, looked unusually anxious.

The door opened behind him, Sam walked out and looked at him and then Sterlo. “Brendan, tell your men about the girls. And don’t forget, Friday. Come here, not the bar.”

“I will.” He went over to the table where Sterlo now stood, grabbed the untouched beer that he assumed was his, he twisted off the came and inhaled it. The prospect of what that job held and the whiskey churned in his stomach and did little to calm his racing heart.

“Brendan,” Sterlo finally spoke when Sam disappeared into the crowd. He watched as Sterlo looked around before leaning in close.

“Yeah?” Brendan, grabbed a second beer as a girl just happened to swish by. He winked at her. “Thank you baby.” She returned with a smile and continued to swish on by. Sterlo, still looked on edge. Twisting the cap off, he took a hearty gulp. “Sterlo, what’s the matter.”

He sighed. “Is there any chance that Y/N could be here?”

He almost dropped his beer bottle. “What? Fuck, no! Why?”

He gestured to Sam’s office. “When you were in there, this really pretty girl walked up and waited. She turned went into another part of the house, but I saw her face.”

“And you thought it was her.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you know me and faces.”

“Alright.” His jaw clenched. He excused himself and went to look, even if he was wrong. Damn he hoped for once that Sterlo was wrong.

Moving through the people, his heart beat so hard it hurt. Especially, with what Sam had said. Did that mean you had...he didn’t let himself finish his thought.

As came downstairs, he spotted Sam speaking, with a short girl in a dress. He tried to advert his eyes, not wanting to grab Sam’s attention or tip him off that he was looking for someone but it was too late.

“Branden, come here.” He beckoned to him with his hand. “This is one of those special girls I was talking to you about. I give her to you.” Brendan, felt himself fill with dread. He didn’t want some girl be given to him.

Sam smiled down at the girl. “Turn and say hi to my best man!”

Brendan, gritted his teeth. The girl turned gracefully, he felt as if someone slammed right into his heart. He tried to play it cool. He didn’t bite his tongue fast enough though. “Look at you, all fucking grown up.”

“And you got old.” Hearing your voice hurt.

Sam looked at the two of you, confused. “You two know each other.”

He spoke first. “I used to work with her bloody cousin when I was a kid.” He could see you want to say something but you remained quiet.

“Ahh, well then this is great.” Sam came around to the two of you and put an arm around the both of you. He couldn’t looked at him. “Then you ready know how special she is! Fantastic!” Sam chuckled. “You can have her till Friday unless you get bored.” He chuckled bobbing his head from side to side. “But you won’t, she’s something special. Bring her back when you come on Friday!” He gently pushed the two of you. Now, go you two! Enjoy the night.”

@mrskenobi19 @thebeckyjolene @sithonis @brookisbi @johallzy

[fanfiction-inc]

“But Of Course.”

Title: “But Of Course.”

Verse: Dracula (2020)

Characters/Pairings: Dracula/ Reader

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, alcohol, mentions of blood, blood, body disposal, flirting. Not really that worrisome.

Word Count: 1607

Summary: A request for a friend about the reader meeting Dracula in the bar. Oh, the bonding.

Rating: Mature (for mature themes)

Note: I was requested from a good friend to write a thirst story for her without truly going into smut. So here we are. Thank you to the always lovely @yancy-trash​ on Tumblr for proofing this fic and giving me feedback before I post it.

Link to Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781278

Saturday night, prime time for the clubbers and mingling masses. Lovely chaos of the clubs that spill out into the streets and spread among drunkards and horny bastards. Too much noise, too much glee and happiness. Sickening stench of club-rigged drugs and bathroom sex. Boring, always so boring, and yet those that were unfortunate enough to be dragged along must endure. A tap to the mahogany surface of the clubs bar top, the bartender sending a light nod to the woman sitting alone near the end of the bar away from company of the gathering university masses, spilling drinks here and there and getting into petty squabbles over who fucked who and whom and who called dibs on the next hot piece of ass. Distasteful, this generation had always been so distasteful.

Whisky on the rocks, straightforward with no questions asked, that was what this world needed. No guesswork, just something to numb the pain and drown out the noise that has been so festering at the ear drums. A single sip was taken before the weight of a college lad slammed against the back of the woman sitting alone, drink spilling all over the bar top and coating the mahogany and spilling over the edges onto the bottles below holding various other liquors. She groaned, gaze looking back at the lad who gave a cheeky smile and threw that look that only said selfish prick. “Hiya baby d-” “Don’t even fucking try, mate. If you’re this much of a light weight, stumbling around, I’m rather sure you wouldn’t last two seconds in bed. Scram.” The lad was about to argue before catching sight of a new skinnier and more viable, even drunker than him, option of a woman. Long legs, legs for fucking days. The woman sighed, surprised when a new glass was set before her on the semi-cleaned bar top, napkin beneath holding neat lettering. “Who?” Was all the woman had to ask, a finger pointed to the man at the other end of the bar top, glass raised in greetings with that look that simply said ‘enjoy’. Another glance to the napkin below, note neatly written yet beginning to smear from the remnants of the whiskey that had been spilled before.

“It’s quiet over here. Care to join me?”

It was an invitation from a man far older yet far different from the crowd lingering within the confines of the club. It seemed he held a far more confident air, and he didn’t seem like the drunkard party boy type much like the others standing about trying to catch a new lad or lass for their five second sexcapades in the handicap stall of the club's bathroom. Slowly the half-drenched napkin and glass of newly poured whiskey was moved along to the end where the man sat, the shadow in the back of neon lights and drug induced dancing. He looked near pleased when the woman sits with him, looking on to the was she stretched to straddle the seat before crossing her legs in a far more lady-like manner. “Either this was given to the wrong woman or you have me gravely mistaken.”

A moment where the man smirked against the rim of his glass, stealing a slow, savored sip of the thickened red of a wine that didn’t smell too sweet, nor really smelled much like a wine. But who was to say what it really smelled beyond the scent that clashed within the mass of bodies. “Oh, it was meant for you, I do promise you that. No one as lovely as you should be alone, and for that same token, hit on by boys thinking they’re men.”

“And do you consider yourself the lucky man who will score tonight?” The man shrugged, sending a small chuckle to the woman at his side. “No one is quite able to determine the outcome of the night, not nearly so early into the evening when things are just starting. So, no, I do not consider myself lucky in such regards unless you are to change my mind on such.” A wink that could have been missed with a blink of an eye caught the woman off guard, a soft smile tracing her lips.

“You seemed quite lonesome, my dear. All alone with no party to keep your interest?” He inquired with a raised brow, wondering why someone with such a steady heart and lovely gaze would be alone in the epicenter of drunken and lust induced chaos. “Oh, m’party left a while ago. No fun, those posh bastards. All they want is to dance, drink, and fuck. The same rinse and repeat every weekend. It gets bloody boring, especially when I’m not much for dancing or bein’ pressured to find some sod to bring home.”

“Ah, I believe I understand. I’m rather, how should I say, picky with my preferences in people. Like a fine connoisseur of wines, you have to pick through the crowd to find the right flavor.”

“You’ve got that right.” A glance over the mans features, he grinned at her lingering gaze. “Sometimes the right vintage is in order, though I’m far more a whiskey connoisseur than wine. It’s never done much for my taste.”

“Or is it a matter that it simply doesn’t give you the right numbing buzz?”

She paused at his words, wondering just how the man could figure such. Was she that visible, that see-through? “Of course I mean no offense by such, my dear. You just simply seem tired of the same grind, the same motions like a creek that always floods. You appear prone to it.” A stifle of a saddened chuckle. The woman knew he hit the nail right on the head. “You know, if you’re gonna hit that close to home, you might as well get my name first.” He blinked before placing a hand on his head with a chuckle, his dramatics almost charming in a way. “May I ask the name of such a ravishing creature?” She actually blushed at his words, startled to be called ravishing by such an extraordinary man who could read her like an open book. “(First name). Her hand was extended to shake his own and yet the shadow of a man surprised her when he grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, a delicate kiss given to her knuckles. “I’m Dracula. Count Dracula if you must.” The air around them seemed to shift to a far more comfortable setting, even as the club began to grow tighter and tighter, far more suffocating then one would prefer. The drinks kept coming, the world numbing to a dull buzz and the gentle drone of her mystery man's voice as he spoke of many things. Art, music, the culture of the modern world. It was to the point that a glass of water was taken and sipped before a final invitation arose.

“(First name), would you care to join me before I retire for the night? Perhaps a stroll in the park?” It was truly an innocent offer on his behalf, the crimson liquid that had dwindled to mere drops left behind on the bar top and arm offered for the other. “I don’t know, Drac. I think I should call a cab and make my way back to m’flat. Perhaps a rain check?” He smiled at her words. His dinner plans had been thrown out the window the moment he realized the water was beginning to work its way through her system and she didn’t seem to nearly sway as bad. Oh well, ‘fast food’ was in order for tonight, and she may serve as a sweetened dinner on another night. “Ah, yes, of course.” He offered a hand once more to the woman, a soft peck yet again dropped to her knuckles before a card was tucked against her palm. She turned it over to see the Counts number, a faint smirk meeting her lips. “I’ll make sure to m-” A glance up and the man was gone, leaving the other to wonder just where he could have squeezed his lengthy frame off to in the middle of such a chaotic crowd.

A cab was called as the night grew later, back hitting the worn leather of the interior seat and sigh falling from painted lips.

[You never told me you were a magician, Mr. Count. - (Y/n)]

[I never said I wasn’t, my dear. ;) - D]

The Count smirked as he glanced down to his phone, the odd little device bringing that same excitement as the thrill of the chase when he captures his next meal. Indeed, this one truly had been fast food. He lightly wipes at the crimson that had beaded and rolled from the corner of his mouth down his chin, the cloth tucked away within his suit pocket as the corpse before his feet was nudged off into the water of the Thames. Oh, how lovely London was for its disposal services. Such a body of water provided the loveliest of cover ups.

[Care to meet me for drinks next week? Maybe we could find something a bit more to your selective flavors. - (Y/N)]

[Oh, how that sounds delectable. Consider my schedule free for that night, my dear. -D]

[Always a charmer, aren’t you? - (Y/N)]

A snicker fluttered among the air when he looked at the brightened screen, a lick to his lips following as he followed the familiar streets leading to his own flat, quiet steps that would normally echo silent as he thinks of a reply. Oh, this one way playful when not in person.

[But of course. -D]

[pickalilywrites]

A New Years Prank War, leading up to New Years Eve between the squad members of: Levi, Miche and Hange. I really love these three teams. I really hate the fact that each season, these awesome teams die.

!!! happy new year!!!

The Joke Is on Us

Squad Levi. Squad Hanji. Squad Mike. Newspaper AU. 

1969 words. 

Buy me a ko-fi!

“It looks like it’s going to be the year of Team Levi,” Auruo says with a smirk as he watches a dejected Gelgar walk by. He turns to Gunter, raising a bottle of gin he’s been hiding behind his back. “Care for an early celebration?” 

“I thought all of the liquor was watered down already,” Gunter says with a frown, referencing the failed prank that Gelgar and his companions had tried to pull earlier. Gunter is holding a glass of that diluted liquor right now; his drink tastes more like water with just a hint of whiskey. It’s dissatisfying, to say the least. He swallows the rest of his sad drink in a few swallows before holding out his glass to Auruo so he can fill it up. “Should I ask you how you got it?” “Gelgar asked me if I wanted to help him with his prank and I told him I would,” Auruo says with a grin. He looks around carefully before pouring Gunter some gin. After he fills Gunter’s glass, he takes a swig of the liquor straight from the bottle. The alcohol burns his throat as he swallows, and the sandy-haired man sighs in satisfaction, giving Gunter a wicked grin. “I took a bottle of vodka and told him I’d dilute it for him, but it’s really just for us to have when we finally win this year.” 

“I hope we do,” Gunter says darkly as he raises the glass to his lips. After he takes a sip, he says, “Hanji’s team has been winning for the past three years. They must have picked up Hanji’s crafty ways after working with them for so long.” The annual New Year’s party at the newspaper company isn’t just to celebrate the end of the year and the beginning of another; it’s an opportunity for the different departments to prove which one is the best of the best by the way of a prank war. Other departments used to participate – current events, politics, sports – but they all dropped out one by one when the stakes began to get too high: almost getting set on fire, broken windows, or getting chased out of the office by a band of hedgehogs. In the end, only three departments were left: Hanji’s science and technology department, Levi’s business department, and Mike’s home and lifestyle department. There aren’t very many rules when it comes to the New Year’s prank wars. The only major rules are that: (1) pranks should not result in anyone’s death and (2) the department head can’t find out. They’ve always narrowly avoided the first rule (see: someone almost getting set on fire), but it’s the second rule that they worry about the most. Even though the teams are named after the department heads, the heads themselves aren’t allowed to find out about the prank war or else the team is disqualified. Every team does their best to carry out their plans under their manager’s noses, but there were times when they had almost been caught. Tonight, Mike’s team has been caught – diluting party liquor isn’t exactly something that can fly under the radar – leaving only Hanji’s and Levi’s team. Team Hanji has been the reigning champion for the past three years. They win because Team Mike is always too ambitious (see: Gelgar’s idea to steal the liquor and replace the missing volume with water), and because Team Levi is far too timid because they fear the repercussions they might face if their manager were ever to find out about the annual prank war and the role they play in it. It also doesn’t help that Team Hanji is also incredibly creative with their pranks. They’re subtle, but crafty – stealing items one by one and misplacing them, shifting the furniture inch by inch throughout the entire night until the whole room had been rearranged, changing all the songs on the party playlist to Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up,” and those were only the pranks they had pulled over the past three years. If Team Levi wants to win this year, they have to be discreet and clever. “Got it!” Petra says, appearing between Auruo and Gunter. She grins giddily up at each of them. “Everything’s in place. We just need the right person to walk through that door.” “It’s a classic prank,” Gunter says with a grin. He raises his glass to Petra. “If we don’t win, we riot.” “Drink?” Auruo says, wiggling the bottle in front of Petra. “Gelgar had me steal it. I decided I’d rather double-cross him than betray you guys.” “Don’t mind if we do,” Eld says, appearing behind Petra. He holds out two glasses, one for him and one for Petra, and raises an eyebrow at Auruo. “So, you managed to get some of the real deal? You should have told us before, Bossard. We’ve been drinking all this watered-down crap.” “Hey, be glad I’m sharing,” Auruo says with a grin. “I was thinking about keeping this all to myself.” He pours out the gin generously, but he’s careful not to spill a drop of it. “So, who are we luring over there?” Gunter asks, swirling the gin that’s left in his cup. “I hope it’s Gelgar,” Petra says. She takes a swig of her gin and shivers as she feels it burn down her throat. The petite ginger takes a deep breath before continuing. “That guy has such a big head sometimes. Did you hear him bragging about how his team would win earlier? I’m surprised Mike didn’t overhear him. It might have been better if he got disqualified then and there!” “But how do we get him to the copy room?” Eld asks with a frown. “It’s not as if he’ll need to be there during a holiday party.” “Booze, girls, secret meeting,” Auruo says, holding up a finger for each suggestion. “I know how that guy thinks. He’s an idiot.” “Well, fools seldom differ, right?” Petra says slyly. When Auruo scowls, she simply sticks her tongue out at him. “If anyone should lure Gunter into the copy room it should be Petra, right?” Gunter says. His friends all look at him in alarm – Petra looks particularly offended – and Gunter raises his hands defensively. “Well, she’s pretty, right? She’ll have a fairly easy time convincing him to go to the copy room.” “He’s right,” Auruo says, and Eld nods. “Fine,” Petra grumbles. She downs the rest of her drink in one swallow before handing her glass, empty save for a few ice cubes, to Eld. “But you all owe me one.” She stomps off so quickly that the men have trouble following her even though she has a much shorter gait. She’s walking so quickly that she doesn’t take any notice of those around her, and bumps into someone. Petra stumbles backward, surprised, and immediately jumps to apologize. “Shit! I’m so sorry…Levi?” “Sir, what are you doing here?” Eld asks in alarm. He and the others gather behind Petra, and he begins to panic when he sees the stack of papers that his department head holds in his hands. “I’m making copies. What does it look like?” Levi asks, lifting up the pile of papers for his workers to see. He raises an eyebrow at Petra and the others, wondering why his staff looks so alarmed to see him. “What’s wrong?” “It’s just…working in the middle of a party, sir,” Auruo says, stumbling over his words as he looks for an excuse. “Don’t you think you should enjoy yourself?” “Yes, let us make the copies for you, sir!” Petra says. She’s a little too eager as she reaches for the stack of paper in Levi’s hands. Even when she tries to yank his paperwork from him, it doesn’t budge. “Nonsense, Ral,” Levi says, easily tugging the papers away from her. “I can do this myself.” He begins to walk away, and the others, not knowing what else to do, follow him, exchanging desperate looks. “Wait!” Gunter says. He quickly moves in front of his manager, blocking him from entering the copy room. He glances nervously back at the partially opened doorway and turns back to Levi, forcing a smile on his face so that his manager won’t become suspicious. “What is it?” Levi says. The frown on his face deepens and his subordinates can see that his patience is wearing thin. “We…we need to make copies too,” Gunter blurts out without thinking. “None of you are holding papers,” Levi points out. He stares at them, all of them fidgeting nervously as they try to come up with another reason why he can’t enter, but he finally grows tired of waiting for any of them to speak. With a sigh, he says, “Move aside, Schultz.” “I’m…I’m sorry, sir,” Gunter says almost mournfully, stepping aside so that Levi can walk through the door. Levi steps through and the others can only watch helplessly as the bucket that was precariously balanced on the door finally falls once the door swings open. Even though it’s only a second in reality, it feels like an eternity as they watch the bucket full of glitter tip over, spilling onto their manager. Thankfully, the bucket doesn’t hit him, instead falling to the floor with a large clatter. “Men. Ral,” Levi says after a long pause. They can’t see his expression at all, they can only see the glitter sparkling on him that will certainly take at least a week to completely wash off, but the way he says their names sends shivers up their spines. “I’d like to speak with all of you. Now.” “Yes, sir,” they all say, entering the copy room after their boss. They walk as if walking to the beat of a death march. “I guess the joke is on us,” Auruo mumbles under his breath. None of them have the energy to tell him to shut up.

“Very nice work, Nifa,” Moblit says, raising a glass to give a toast to the newest member of Team Hanji.

“Thank you,” Nifa says with a smile. She lifts her glass, clinking it gently against his. She had joined the science and technology department only a few months ago and was quite eager to prove herself a true member of the team by participating in the oft-mentioned prank war. “Although, I never would have thought of luring in their manager if Keiji hadn’t advised me to do so beforehand.”

“You’re officially a part of the team now, Nifa,” Rashad says, patting Nifa on the back. He takes a deep sip of his rum and smacks his lips. “And you’ve outdone yourself as well, Moblit. Not only did you manage to swipe most of the liquor from right under Team Mike’s nose, but you got them disqualified as well.”

“Well, it wasn’t very hard,” Moblit replies with a sly smile. He’s usually the most professional person on the team, but the annual prank war brings a more mischievous side to him. “Gelgar and the others were bound to get caught anyway. I just sped up the process.”

“Then I guess it’s another win for Team Hanji this year,” Lauda says with a grin. “I know we don’t even need our prank to win, but I can’t wait until someone stumbles into the break room…”

It seems that someone has done just that because a shriek can be heard from the other side of the office. Most of the office workers rush over to the scream, but Team Hanji remains where they are, sharing knowing glances. While their coworkers stumble onto an astonishingly realistic murder scene in the break room, Team Hanji is lifting up their glasses for another toast.

“To Team Hanji,” Moblit says with a smile.

“To Team Hanji!”

[ellanainthetardis]

Uh uh... what about Lyssa being single, and she, in fact, does want Haymitch, and she flirts with him trying to get him in her bed and Effie is all crazy, and sad because she knows that when Lyssa wants someone, she has them. It's not like Effie has told her that she's in love with Haymitch so Lyssa doesn't think that she's hurting Effie. And in the end, Haymitch is like "I'm sorry, but I don't want you" and then goes after Effie.

Here you go ! |x]

Of Sisters, Bending & Pool Tables

“Well. I am separated. No matter what Mothersays, our marriage cannot be mended.I am entitled to some fun now.” Lyssa huffed, jutting her chin in the air. “Rufus certainly never let a little thinglike marriage stop him from finding alover.”

Effie toasted to that, happy that her sisterseemed to have found her backbone at last. Tired of being cheated upon maybeor, perhaps, it was the fact that the last affair had been made public in a fewgossip rags. Lyssandra had grabbed her children, slammed the door and showed upat their parents’ house. Needless to say their mother had been desperate tosalvage the situation as best as possible by urging Lyssa to go back and letRufus apologize. He was wealthy and powerful, asking for faithfulness was goinga little too far according to her.

Effie had unfortunately been present for thelatest lecture and had cringed when Elindra had pointed out that she didn’t want to know what theirfather did behind her back as long as he was discreet about it. She had takenpity on her sister and had invited her to come along to a Games party.

The new victor, the rude girl from Seven whohad pretended to be weak only to come at the tributes with an axe when theyslept, was in the clinic still and the Gamemakers filled the time with partiesand interviews so it was the right time to go out and celebrate.

Of course, Effie had remembered why she seldom went out with Lyssandra when shehad picked her sister up. Lyssa looked so fabulous in her blue muslin dressthat Effie felt underdressed. Heads and eyes had turned on her sister’s wakewhen they had entered the party and she was very aware that more than a fewpeople were eyeing them. Or, she supposed, Lyssa.

“Good for you.” Effie smiled nonethelessbecause her sister was upset and she needed the attention more than Effie didat that moment. “You should findsomeone else. When was the last time you even had good sex?”

“Oh, Effie!” Lyssa half-chided, half-giggled.“How improper! Shocking!”

“You’re being shocking behind my back, sweetheart?”a familiar voice snortedbehind her and Effie didn’t startleexactly but she stood a little straighter.

Lyssa instantly turned on the charm. “Hello,Haymitch. How nice to see you again.”

Effie chanced a glance over her shoulder at hervictor, disappointed that Chaff wasn’t with him for once – and she had neverthought she would ever feel that way.Haymitch, as it turned out, was smiling back. Not smirking but smiling withsomething akin to fondness.

“Lyssa, right?” he asked, outstretching a hand.“You’re Effie’s sister?”

Trust him to remember that when she couldn’t get him to remember a sponsor’s name formore than two minutes.

He must have seen Lyssandra three times in all.In ten years, she had been very carefulto keep them separate.

Lyssa shook his hand, her smile brightening.“You remember me.”

“You’re hard to forget.” he answered.

Effie almost rolled her eyes. Annoyed by thehandshake that was stretching to long, she bumped her hip against Haymitch’s. Accidentally, it went without saying.

“And what are you up to, this evening,Haymitch?” Lyssandra asked, tilting her head to the side. “Effie claims you arealways involved in some mischief. We could use some mischief tonight. Isn’tthat so, dear?”

The question was directed at her so Effielifted her eyebrows. “It depends on the mischief.”

Haymitch clearly hesitated. Effie wasn’t surewhat was planned – and with the victors something was always planned between the Games and the Crowning – but heobviously didn’t want to invite them along, which was just as well. Her hemight have brought if she had nagged him long enough but her sister wasn’t partof the group and…

“Drinks and pool in a bar downtown.” heoffered. “We can find more mischief after if that’s not enough for you.”

“Oh, downtown!”Lyssa clapped in delight. “How deliciously scandalous!I haven’t been in years. Effie, let’s go with him!”

Effie looked at him and he shrugged hispermission. That was easy. Too easy. “Who else will be there?”

“Chaff. Finnick. Beetee… Maybe Blight if he canget away.” he replied. “Look, you don’t want to come, that’s fine. Stay here.I’ll take good care of your sis…”

“Certainly not.”she huffed. “I will not abandon my sister to Chaff’s grabby paws.”

“He only has the one hand, you know.” hesnorted, his grey eyes sparkling with amusement.

“And yet he is very talented at pretending to be an octopus when it comes to groping defenseless women.” she deadpanned without a blink.

“Youain’t defenseless.” he mocked before turning to Lyssa. “And I’ll protect you.No need to be scared of Chaff.”

“Why wouldI be scared of Chaff?” Lyssandra dismissed with a flirty smile. “He is not whoI am interested in.”

Effie almost gasped.

Could she be even plainer?

Granted, she had agreed Lyssa should find aone-night-stand but…

“Right…” Haymitch said and, for the first time,he didn’t sound so smooth. If she hadn’t known better, Effie would have thoughthe was uncomfortable now. He offered her his arm – out of reflex, she was sure,she had trained him well after all – and she grabbed it before Lyssa could.Unfortunately, her sister didn’t take the hint and linked her elbow with hisother one.

Effie made a point of sitting next to Haymitchin the car but that only left Lyssa facing him and that meant they could talkmore easily.

Lyssandra was flirting and Haymitch wasteasing.

Effie wanted to strangle someone long beforethey even reached the bar.

As luck would have it, the other victors hadalready escaped the party and had grabbed a table in a corner. The bar wasshady and it made Lyssa hesitate but Effie, used by now to their choices ofvenues, marched on straight to the table and grabbed the shot of tequila thatwas waiting in front of Finnick without even a proper hello. She didn’t feelmuch better once she had drunk it and Finnick’s raised eyebrow meant she wouldprobably have to explain herself at some point.

“Well, hello to you too, love.” Chaff snorted.“Didn’t know you were coming…”

And he wasn’t pleased about it but Effieignored that and smiled, ready to apologize for her rudeness when all the eyesturned away from her and she knew, without having to check, that her sister wasstanding behind her. Even Beetee, who was by far the oldest man at the tableand also very much taken, was staring.

Since he was too busy gawking at her sister,Effie decided Chaff wouldn’t miss his shotof tequila and downed that one too. Haymitch’s hand was resting at the small ofLyssa’s back and Effie was dying to say something she had no right to say.

Introductions were swept out of the way quicklywhile Finnick rushed to grab chairs for them. The fact that Lyssa sat rightnext to Haymitch and that she was batting her eyelashes at him wasn’t lost onanyone.

Chaff went to grab his glass, found it empty andtossed her a knowing look.

“Your sister knows she’s stepping all over yourtoes?” he snorted in a miraculously lowvoice.

“I do notknow what you mean.” she snapped right back and pointedly turned to Finnick,leaving Haymitch and Chaff to compete for Lyssandra’s attention. Even Beeteewas desperate to buy her a drink, it seemed, but she was secured in the factFinnick had been crushing on her eversince he won and…

…she felt extremely disappointed when he jumpedon the seduce Lyssa bandwagon.

At long last, she finished her drink all thewhile trying not to listen to the general flirting and eventually stood up togo hustle money she didn’t need out of unsuspecting gullible men.

She liked pool, she was good at it and nobodyever thought she would win because she was too pretty.

The two guys she beat to dust were young andhad thought she would be an easy prey. Still, she felt bad about taking theirmoney because they weren’t in the richest part of town and those people clearlyweren’t healthy. She settled for their cigarettes instead because she didn’thave hers.

She was just lighting one and fighting the urgenot to look toward the victors’ tablewhen she felt a hand on her back, wandering dangerously low for a public place.

“Take it off.” she warned, knowing perfectlywell who it was.

The man was close enough that she could smellhim and he smelled like whiskey, cheap soap and faint sweat.

“Ain’t that my line?” he snorted in her ear,stealing the cue from her hand. “That dress would look better off, alright…”

She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, blewout smoke and crossed her arms, the cigarette carefully angled between herfingers so she wouldn’t burn herself. “Are you seriously flirting with me right now?”

He shot her a warning glance. “I don’t flirt.”

Flirting was too close to admitting heactually liked her, she supposed.

“You certainly flirt with my sister.” sheretorted, waiting for him to lose the shot before snatching her cue back, hercigarette held tight between her lips. She bent over the table to take thewinning one band restart another game. She felt him staring at her ass andregretted, not for the first time, the lack of pool tables in the penthouse.They could have had fun with one. Or, at least, they could have had fun with itif he hadn’t been attracted to her sister. “I told you once that if you ever slept with her…”

“I ain’t gonna sleep with her.” he scowled.

“No, you are just going to flirt with her in front of me all night, isn’t that it?” shesnapped. “And when you are done, you will take me to bed and you will thinkabout her while you do unspeakablethings to me. Things, by the way, that she would not let you do. She is quiteconservative in that area.”

He watched her for a few seconds, his faceunreadable, and then grabbed the cue back from her even though it wasn’t yethis turn. He didn’t try to play either.

She wondered if he was drunker than he looked.She would have said buzzed if pressed but buzzed was pretty much normal forhim. The night was young yet.

“I was just being nice.” he said quietly.

“You are nevernice.” she scoffed, looking around for an ashtray. “And certainly not withsponsors.”

He frowned. “She’s your sister and your assholebrother-in-law cheated on her. It’s on every gossip channel. Thought you’d wantme to be nice.” He shrugged and took an angry shot that missed its mark. “Nevermind. Don’t know why I even tried to do something nice for you. Think I likebringing Capitols along to a victorsevening?”

“You bring me often enough.” she retorted,glancing at the table where Finnick and Chaff were competing for Lyssa’sattention. “And they are not complaining.”

“You’re different.” he grumbled.

“She won’t sleep with them.” she warned,finally locating an ashtray on a nearby empty table. It was half-full alreadybut that was the quality of services in that part of town. She crushed hercigarette and turned back to stare at him. “Finnick is too young and Chaff istoo Chaff. You, on the other hand…”

“Ain’t interested.” he said firmly, his eyesnever wandering away from hers.

She wanted to believe him. Oh, how she wanted…

But when it came to Lyssa… Men were never not interested. She had learned that thehard way.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Princess. Youknow better. If there’s a woman I want bent in two tonight, it ain’t yoursister.”

“Bent in two?” she repeated with a mockinghuff. “How very confident of you. Iam not in any mood to bend for youtonight, Haymitch.”

He took a step closer, very much in her space,trapping her against the pool table. “Maybe I’ll go down on my knees for youfirst…”

Now, that…

She pouted, her eyes darting from his amusedface – because he knew he had her – to the table in the corner where Lyssa waslaughing at whatever Beetee was saying.

“She ain’t prettier. She ain’t smarter. And sheain’t more attractive.” Haymitch said slowly. “That’s in your head, Effie.”

She flinched but didn’t try to deny it. Shestepped around him because they weren’t exactly inconspicuous pressed togetheragainst a pool table, even if the bar was shady and most people didn’t care –that was why the victors always chose that type of places. Discretion.

She slowly leaned over the table to take thewinning shot, making sure Haymitch had a good view this time.

“Perhaps we can convince the Gamemakers wesimply need a pool table in thepenthouse next year…” she hummed.

His hand briefly ran up her spine and coiledaround her nape in a possessive and affectionate squeeze she pretended not tonotice.

She trusted him, she decided. For this and foreverything else. It might not have been the cleverest move but it was too latenow. She trusted him.

[jobethdalloway]

Sapphic September Challenge! Day 4: ““Look, I might be evil but even I have standards.”

Pairing: Hevelyn (The Incredibles 2)

Someone disposable. Something harmless. Nothing that would call too much attention to her or her plans.

The paper boy looked like he might’ve been walking around wearing kooky glasses he’d sent away for, courtesy of a comic book ad. It took him less than ten minutes to walk to the drugstore, steal a box of Good & Plenty, and return to Evelyn’s new apartment. When he knocked on the door to give them to her, she took the glasses along with the candy and sent him on his way.

This was her tenth successful venture with hypnosis. She hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up the first few times, sure that a mistake had to be coming, but it was all going like clockwork now. Vengeance was finally within her grasp, if not in the immediate future. Evelyn chuckled at her own genius, throwing herself onto her bed. Now it was time to formulate. She should’ve had more faith in her own abilities; it hadn’t occurred to her to start planning this far ahead because she hadn’t been sure the mind control would really work. But it did. And now she could make those damn skippy Supers pay. 

At times during her experimenting, a doubtful voice would prick its way into her mind to tell her she was crazy for thinking her plans could work. Now the voice was going at her a different way, attacking a far more sensitive spot:

You know what you could do with this, don’t you? 

Yes, obviously. End Supers for good.

Or...you could take back the worst mistake you ever made. You could bring her back, and make sure she never left you again. Make her yours, forever, and you could make her give up the superhero act, too...

Evelyn sat up. Goosebumps were prickling her skin as she thought back to her first encounter with Helen Parr--well, Helen Truax back then...

New Year’s Eve, 1955. 

It had been Winston’s idea to host a party while their parents were out of town. Not that the Deavors’ would’ve minded some kind of soiree, but Evelyn was sure he felt freer to be more loud and obnoxious in their absence. As far as Evelyn was concerned, there was far too much pressure to enjoy oneself on that holiday, and if she had her way she’d have just stayed in her bedroom all night long. She just wanted to be alone, but the sounds of the raucous party downstairs made that difficult. Going out was another option, but she doubted she’d be able to find a place where she could be left alone. 

It was around 11:00 when she thought it might be quieter outside, at least. She made her way to the second story balcony, a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. She took a drag on the cigarette; it was much more peaceful out here. Music was still wafting her way but at least she couldn’t hear the partygoers. 

At least, not until--

“Phew! Mind if I join you out here for a sec?”

Evelyn turned to say she minded very much, but then she saw who the drawl belonged to and fell suddenly mute. The girl sauntered towards her in red slacks and a silver top, wearing a dazzling yet unassuming smile. She sat herself down next to Evelyn, mimicking her posture: legs dangling between the bars of the rail, leaning back and resting her weight on her palms. Evelyn was aware that she was staring and felt her heartbeat starting to race, but she couldn’t will herself to look away. 

“You’re Win’s sister, aren’t you?”

Lord have mercy, at least she could still speak: “How’d you know that?”

“Oh, he’s very fond of you, y’know,” the girl said. “Also, your picture’s up all over the house. Your folks must be fond of you, too.”

“How do you know Winston?”

“Let’s call him a fan. I mean, a friend. I’m Helen.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow but decided not to push it. “Helen...hello. I’m Evelyn. Um, happy New Year’s.”

“Same to you! So, what’s got you out here instead of dancing the night away with all the other cool cats at this party, huh?”

At this, Evelyn scoffed and could finally look away. “Did Winston send you up here to get me?”

Helen sounded genuinely surprised. “What? No! Truth be told, I needed some space myself. It was gettin’ too crowded down there for my taste and I needed a breath of fresh air. This is quite a place your folks have got! I didn’t see this balcony was occupied until I opened the doors. And now I’m sitting here and I’m thinking, what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ all on your lonesome up here?”

For the life of her, Evelyn could not remember the last time she had blushed- or, for that matter, the last time someone had called her pretty. She’d been told her hair wasn’t short or cute enough for a pixie cut, and that it made her look mannish. Her mother severely disapproved not only of the hair but of her taste in clothes, which was none too feminine, and which Mrs. Deavor strongly suspected was one of the reasons Evelyn had graduated with an MRS degree. 

“Mom, I know your heart is in the right place but Smith is a women’s college!”

“I know that, I know, but there are some courses open to students from other schools nearby, some of which do in fact allow men to register! Please, dear, just keep an open mind.” 

“Oh, trust me, my mind’s plenty open already.”

Helen’s voice drew her out of her reverie. “Evelyn? Hey, anyone home?”

“Yeah, sorry, um... yeah. Winston’s much more of the social type than me. Throwing the party was his idea, and I’m not enough of a killjoy to have stopped him. Although trust me, it was tempting.” She nodded at Helen. “What’s your deal, square? You a party girl?”

Helen laughed, and Evelyn hated that she had been cursed with the propensity to fall in love and fall hard at the drop of a hat. “Square? You think I’m square? Check out that hog down there.”

The lights from mansion’s windows shone bright on a line of partygoers’ cars, and Evelyn followed Helen’s gaze to a motorcycle sandwiched between two Buicks. “The Indian?”

“Fire Arrow, newest model.” 

“Is it your boyfriend’s?”

“Ha! Now I’m starting to think that you’re trying to insult me!” Helen chuckled, and Evelyn grinned. “The bike is mine, and incidentally, I’m flying solo these days.”

Evelyn gasped for dramatic effect, but her surprise was genuine. “Well! What’s a pretty girl like you doing single?” 

The response was another airy laugh, but Evelyn was watching closely for the smallest signs of betrayal - hollowness, tenseness, a brief widening of the eyes that would indicate Helen had been asked this a lot and was tired of hearing about it. Maybe Evelyn was projecting, but she could swear she saw her own tiredness reflected in Helen’s lovely face. 

“Listen, you find a guy who wouldn’t mind taking the backseat on my bike and maybe then we’ll talk.” 

Evelyn scoffed and mashed the cigarette on the balcony. She wasn’t drunk, but she’d had enough of the whiskey to get brave - reckless, in someone else’s words - and she had talked her way out of enough scrapes barking up the wrong tree that she felt it was time to throw caution to the winds again. 

“I leave finding guys to other women. It’s not something I care to take up my time with.” She took a sip of the whiskey, emboldened by the way Helen was looking at her. “If you’re interested in finding someone to ride behind you, though, I could maybe think of someone.”

Helen drummed her fingers for a moment before inching them closer to Evelyn’s hand. “Ever ridden a motorcycle before?” 

“Mm-mm. Always thought it looked neat, but learning to ride a car seemed easier.” She sighed and took another sip for bravery. “That’s human nature, I guess. Bet you get a more satisfying ride on that bike than you would a car, huh?”

“Oh, top quality,” Helen said fervently. 

“Now see, that’s the trouble with most people. We choose ease over quality. I did that for years before I...” Evelyn paused when Helen’s hand covered her own. “Before I had a particularly persuasive roommate who made me realize life is supposed to be the other way around. The good stuff is sometimes the hardest to get. You know what I mean?”

Helen nodded. “I’ve never been a girl for taking the easy way out. Whaddya say, Evelyn? Wanna ditch this party and go for a ride?” 

She moved to stand up at once, her legs weak. “God, yes.” 

They made their way back downstairs, where Evelyn’s main goal was to avoid being seen by her brother. Fortunately the party had gotten crowded and rowdy enough that it was very easy to avoid being detected. Evelyn ducked outside while Helen went to track down her jacket. 

But it seemed Evelyn hadn’t gone quite as unnoticed as she’d hoped. She was zipping up her own jacket when she heard a young man from the party call out to her. He’d followed her down the front steps, probably intoxicated, and not at all deterred by the look of disgust on her face. He stumbled over to her, putting a heavy hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey, baby, you gonna ditch the Deavors’ already?”

“Buddy, I’m giving you to the count of three to take your hands off me. One, two...”

“Aw, c’mon, be a good sport, honey!”

He’d been warned. Evelyn whipped a lighter from her pocket- but instead of igniting a flame, it sent an electrical zap through the man as soon as it made contact with his arm. The mild electrocution sent him flailing to the ground, and Evelyn tried not to laugh. The device still needed work, though, if it was to be as thoroughly effective as she wanted: he was still able to get to his feet, shaking his head but ready to go for her again. 

All of a sudden a fist came flying out of nowhere, punching the guy square in the jaw. He swung on the spot, trying to grab his bearings, and an arm with stunning elasticity wrapped itself several times around his neck and pulled hard, spinning him like a top back up the steps to the open front door. And there was Helen, kicking him over the porch railing where he lay sprawled out in a small pool of his own vomit. 

“Are you okay?” Helen asked, hurrying over.

Evelyn felt winded. “Christ! Y-you’re--but--”

“I know! Doesn’t it look cute in these slacks?” Helen asked, twisting around, but that did little to change Evelyn’s stunned expression. The jig was up. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I”m a Super. Your brother invited a few of us to the party; I hope that’s all right. You looked like you were ready to handle that guy all right yourself, maybe I should’ve left you to it! What’s that gizmo, anyhow?”

It took a moment for Evelyn to regain her powers of speech. “Oh, well, it still has a few kinks to work out, I guess. I call it the Zippo Zapper. Made it myself.”

“You made that?”

“Wow, did I really impress Elastigirl?” 

“Don’t get too cocky. I’m still amazed by the concept of an electric mixer.” 

It felt good to laugh. “Well, I’m amazed that there’s a superhero here who didn’t show up in costume.” 

“Eh.” Helen shrugged. “Making a scene just for the sake of it isn’t, well, my scene. Truth be told, I think your brother and your folks are a little too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when it comes to Supers, but I suppose ...well, never mind. I’m flattered by the attention but I don’t do superhero work to get fans.”

“Why do you do it, then?”

Helen slipped into her leather jacket and started walking towards her motorcycle. “Because I want to help people! I want to do good with the powers that I have. Y’know, my mother just about wanted to disown me when I said I was gonna get the mask and the gear and all that to fight crime. Can you beat that?”

“What? Why? Isn’t she a Super, too?”

“Nope, but my old man was. Mother figures superhero work is a man’s job. Thought I should just find the right guy and settle down.” Helen scoffed, straddling the bike. “Settle down, are you kidding? I’m at the top of my game! I’m right up there with the big dogs! Leave the saving of the world to the men? I don’t think so!”  

Evelyn’s form of teenage rebellion had been to distance herself from her parents’ worship of superheroes, but by her twenties she’d grown nothing stronger than indifference towards them. But Helen, wow, she was really something else... 

She took the few remaining steps to the bike, but didn’t climb on just yet. “I may not have superpowers of my own, but I still like to take jobs now and then that are typically prescribed to men.”

“Oh? How’s that?” 

Helen’s heart seemed to skip several beats when Evelyn leaned down and kissed her. Evelyn was daring; she took Helen’s face in her hands and deepened the kiss. She liked the idea of catching a Super off guard, almost as much as she liked how clearly Helen was into this kiss. Helen’s instinct was to break it off so she could stand up and properly take Evelyn in her arms, but the tiny part of her mind that was still cognizant of the world beyond Evelyn’s surprisingly soft lips knew that making out in full view of the mansion’s windows wasn’t the best idea.

“Did you have any... particular idea of where you might like to go?” Helen asked between heavier-than-normal breaths. 

Evelyn smirked. “It was your idea to bust out of here. Not mine. Where does Elastigirl like to spend her nights out on the town?”

Helen patted the bike. “We’re staying in and going to my place.”

That relationship had lasted almost two glorious years. Well, glorious in retrospect, maybe; it was easy to glamorize the past. Evelyn sat up, scowling. That kind of romanticization was Winston’s thing, not hers. She and Helen had had their fair share of arguments, which had ultimately led to Evelyn breaking things off because she couldn’t take the stress of dating a Super. They’d had a shaky reconciliation as friends that had weakened enormously when the Deavors died, and Evelyn had become a recluse. 

And now here she was, primed to tell Winston they could get going on their plan to get Supers out in the open again... all so she could ensure they stayed buried forever. But part of her wanted so badly, so desperately, to use her newfound gadgetry for something that might’ve been even worse.

You know the last time you were happy? With her. You can have that again. Put some goggles on Helen and she’ll be and do anything you say. None of the superhero drama, just the two of you, all the time... it’d be so easy.

Easy.

The word reached out and hit her like a slap to the face. Scary easy, but no quality. Nothing that really mattered.

Taking Supers down forever was going to be hard enough, and dodgy enough, too, but at least it served the greater good. At least she could tell herself she was ultimately helping others to become self-reliant by ridding them of these costumed crusaders. Yes, this was a noble goal. Someday history would look back and smile on her for restoring America’s can-do spirit and rejecting so-called saviors. Some people might look at her as wicked, but she chose to see it as a necessary evil.

Contrarily, using her device as essentially a high-tech love potion for purely selfish reasons was depraved. She may have hated Helen for what she became, but romantic agency was not something she would ever take from her.

Sure, I might be evil...but even I have standards.

[rykerelias-archive]

TRANSFERRED FILE. ||  @cardshcrp   Remy & Elias. VERSE: ac. ( season one au. ) 005.   THREAD: pickpocket prince.

   He was pretty positive this was as close to hell on earth as he could get, given that he wasn’t ON earth and that he’d actually SEEN hell but – poetic license aside … he was about as uncomfortable and fuming as he could be without there being actual torture involved.  Honestly, he’d take ACTUAL torture over this, pretty much any day of the week.   Being forced into the suit and tie was bad enough. Being stuck playing pretend police for a mess of Meths that would probably just laugh in his face if he tried to call them on their bullshit, while having to not just outright snap or snarl at one of them every time he caught the snide, sideways glances they gave him?  This was Tanaka’s way of reminding him that he needed to toe the line and all it made him want to do was punt kick the line up Tanaka’s ass.   A glance down, a face made at the decidedly empty glass, and he was making his way towards the bar – about the only perk of the job at hand.  

   A heavy lean, a drop of an elbow against the edge of the bar, the glass slid towards the bartender.  “Whiskey – whatever’s the best you’ve got –”  He said, his voice a low rumble, edged a touch with petulance that he was TRYING to choke down.  His gaze slid up, a moment later, at the shift of movement, slight andSUBTLE pricking at the edges of his awareness.  Too many years of doing what he did, maybe, but he had to double check, a moment of vague disbelief that made him doubt himself as he watched the brat prince of the Lebeau family estate drift his way closer, the distinct glitter of something metallic slid from a guest’s wrists and into the – robe? – the host wore.   He glanced back to the bar as the glass was set back down for him, the contents half emptied in one swallow, his attention following the dark-haired figure for another few minutes, a faint smirk pulling at one corner of his lips as the Meth finally turned to make his way to the bar as well.  

   He hadn’t exactly MEANT to say the words that spilled from his lips – too much whiskey, not enough food, maybe, or maybe he was just tired of holding back.   “You must have a hell of a lot of pockets in that getup,” he spoke, his voice dry, and pitched soft enough to not be overheard by most, but that didn’t make them any less reckless.   FUCK.  The last thing he needed was a Meth breathing down Tanaka’s neck to make his life any more miserable than it already was.  .

         Oh, MY. His head snaps right around at that to take in the man in front of him - distinctly out of place, clothes more than a few cuts below the standard, and looking sour as old milk to boot. Handsome, too - obviously rented muscle from the police, as usual, but not one he’s seen before.

OBSERVANT, he thinks, and a thrill runs through him, all the way up from his toes. OBSERVANT AND BOLD. HE’S FUN. GONNA BE FUN, FUN, FUN.

He smiles at Elias and winks, one thickly-lined eyelid sliding down smooth, the glittering powder across it catching the light as he raises his finger to his lips. SHH. “NAH,” he says, amiable as hell, and leans on the bar with a distinct lack of Meth-ly manners. “I STICK IT ALL UP MY ASS, Y’KNOW, TO MAKE UP FOR THE LACK OF A WHOPPIN’ BIG STICK THAT THE REST OF THESE GOOD FOLKS GOT LODGED UP THERE REAL SOLID.”

He holds out his hand, lazy, wonderfully arrogant and demanding, exactly the kind of move he knows the other man can’t exactly refuse, but it’s quite alright; he thinks he’ll be forgiven when he slips him what he has for him, oh yes.

“M’NAME’S REMY LEBEAU. IT’S A PLEASURE.”

    It’s ALMOST easy to ignore the once over.  He’s used to being scrutinized, be it by his co-workers, the junkies or the trouble makers on the street, the suspect of the hour in one of his cases (which is what he SHOULD be paying his time and attention to rather than this shiny fucking shindig) or on the occasions when his paths crossed the Meths, being analyzed and picked apart with the distinct air of disdain like he was LACKING something that only they could see.  Maybe that wasn’t true, he saw plenty lacking when he stared himself down –  The man – MAYBE – with the dark hair and scarlet eyes, painted lips and eyes – wearing something that didn’t really seem to fit into dress or suit, – he was LEANING towards man, to be honest, though maybe that was just the background chatter of what information he’d picked up about the host of the night’s events through the chatter – managed to surprise him, enough so that a scarred eyebrow tilted upwards, a flicker of an ALMOSTsmirk creasing one corner of his mouth briefly at the Meth’s words.

   “That’d sure explain a lot,” Elias grumbled, despite the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him chances were high this was just an elaborate form of entrapment.  Then again, he hadn’t even met a Meth in the habit of pickpocketing so – who knew.   “Might want to consider the POCKETS though, for future reference – probably a hell of a lot more CONVENIENT,” he replied, his tone droll, tainted with an edge of sarcasm, a faint pinch of his lips as he was forced to set aside his drink, his calloused, worn hand settling a little uneasily into Remy’s.   “Ryker.”  He offered in way of introduction, before finally seeming to opt for elaborations.  “Detective Elias Ryker.”  Homicide – not babysitter, but that part he kept silent, at least, for now.

          “GOOD TO MEET YOU, ELIAS,” he grins, and the way he says his name? It’s half-WONDERING; he rolls it around on his tongue, savors it, lets it drip slow out of his mouth like molten gold, andMM, he likes the taste of it. “YOU DON’T LOOK LIKE YOU’RE HAVING FUN, GOTTA SAY. PARTY NOT TO YOUR LIKIN’?”

And just like that, there’s weight in Elias’ palm as Remy pulls away. It isn’t the bracelet he’d just taken off his guest, no. It’s one of his own, copper and bronze beaten heavy, braided against each other until it’s something beautiful.

“KEEP IT,” he says, and cocks his head at the detective, smiling faintly. “THEY’RE YOUR COLORS. OR DON’T - IT’LL SELL WELL ENOUGH TO GET YOU SOMETHIN’ YOU WANT, AT LEAST. CONSIDER IT A TOKEN OF MY ADMIRATION. IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE ANYONE SPOTTED ME DOIN’ WHAT I DO.”

He KNOWS he’s making himself into a curiosity to Elias, knows that the wandering eyes of his guests wanting to butter him up are finally finding him and wondering, but it doesn’t truly matter. They can assume what they like of him favoring a ground-dweller with his attention - ultimately, none of them will have the courage to call him out on anything they decide he’s guilty of.

“SO, MONSIEUR RYKER. WHAT WOULD YOU PREFER T’BE DOIN’ RIGHT NOW? AND BE HONEST. IT’S A REAL QUESTION, I AIN’T GONNA JUDGE YOU WHEN I’D RATHER BE GETTIN’ WASTED ON CHEAP WINE AND BITCHIN’ TO THE AIR ABOUT MY EX-WIFE MYSELF.”

   There’s a twitch of something, a response that he isn’t quite sure how to process, at the edge of his lips, a rub of his tongue against the back of his teeth at the halfPURRED repetition of his name – that was NEW – he wasn’t sure he’d heard anyone take quite as much TIME to say it.   Maybe Kristin, during – That wasDEFINITELY not the place to let his mind wander.    His fingers curl, closing over the object that he found, suddenly, palmed into his hold, a faint tilt of his head back, his hand pulled away, an elbow resting against the bar again.  Subtle, reflexive, not unaccustomed to the act of an illicit hand off, a glance cast down, after a moment passed.   “Not my kind of party, no,” he allowed, a vague crease between his brows as he studied the bracelet, a flicker back up to the Meth, prepped to object, to remind him that he wasn’t allowed to accept gifts –

   A thumb ran over the intricate, heavy woven metals, the weight of it substantial.  Probably worth more than he made in a month, easy, a year, maybe.    He wondered, briefly, if Kristin would like it, a faint twinge of guilt at the thought of passing on a second hand gift.  He waffled, still, but he refrained from handing it back – at least, for the moment.   “It’s kinda what I’m here for, isn’t it?”  A pained half smirk, his gaze tilting back up towards the event’s host, a brisk shrug of wide shoulders.   “Keeping the peace and enforcing the law, right?”  He barely swallowed down the scoff.  

   He shifted his weight, slightly, the bracelet slinking into the pocket of his jacket, reaching for his glass and pulling it up to take a sip, casting a wide glance over the room again before he answered, buying time to weigh his response as well as trying to make sure that he didn’t miss something that’d come back to bite him in the ass later.  “Well, I’ve got about seventeen open case files on my desk at the precinct that are calling my name, about three  weeks worth of paperwork to catch up on and let’s not get started on the about six  years of sleep I haven’t had.” He took another long swallow, draining the last of the glass and tapping it back onto the bar beside them.  “Didn’t think you type were the kind to get ‘ex’ wives.  You know – that whole ‘til death do you part’ schtick.”

          Oh, SOMETHING flickers across Elias’ face right there, a little bit of uncertainty laced with a familiar hint of interest - it’s enough for Remy to smirk, a crooked pull to the corner of his mouth.

“MM. WELL. SHE’S KILLED ME A FEW TIMES, BUT SHE LOVES ME TOO MUCH TO REAL-DEATH ME, SO THERE’S THAT, I GUESS. SOMETIMES SHIT’S - COMPLICATED, T’SAIS?” He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment, shaking his head slowly. “MY KIND? MONSIEUR RYKER, FOR A DETECTIVE, YOU’RE REALLY MISSIN’ IT. MM, MMM. I DON’T WANNA THINK I’VE FINALLY GOTTEN A STICK UP MINE WHERE THE SUN DON’T SHINE.”

He’s pouring another drink for Elias in half a heartbeat, snagging the glass and the bottle as the bartender passes by. Bringing it to his lips, he quirks a brow at the taller man, stealing a sip before holding it out to him with a sunny smile.

“CASE FILES, PAPERWORK, AND SLEEP AIN’T HOW YOU SHOULD WANNA SPEND YOUR TIME, EL-I-AS. DON’T TELL ME POLICIN’ HAS WORN OUT SUCH A CLEVER GUY SO QUICK. WHAT WOULD YOU DO RIGHT NOW FOR FUN?”

He couldn’t help but wonder why he suddenly felt like there was some kind of joke that he was missing, as the host’s cheek dimpled, something that he guessed to be a smirk toying over Remy’s lips.   “Sorry, were you just reporting multiple organic damage assaults to a Bay City homicide detective?”  A quirk of that same scarred eyebrow, a hand dumping into a pocket to drag out a pack of smokes, cheap, plastic wrapped and half crumpled, tapping one out and clamping it into the corner of his mouth as he traded out the pack for the antiquated butane lighter.  “Cause if so, it’d add a whole new stack of paperwork to the ones already waiting so –”  A rough shrug.  

   A purse of his lips, watching with an odd mix of resentment and resignation as Remy swiped his glass and in turn, a sip – what was he going to say, don’t drink the hooch you’re paying for?  Okay, maybe in most cases he might have but.  He had the distinct impression there wasn’t much in the way of Remy LeBeau that fit whatever it was the Methuselah’s defined as normal.  “Not so very clever,” he half mumbled, taking the glass and rolling it between his fingers as he weighed Remy’s question, his gaze shifting out to the room again, as it did, every so often.   Assets, head count, exits, trouble.  

    A shift of his gaze back to Remy.  Trouble.  A faint flicker of an amused smirk, half hidden behind the reclaimed drink.   “Drinking a cold beer, eating cheap ass take out, shooting pool and watching my partner take me for every dime I had to spare,” he admitted, a residual warmth in the words that probably implied he meant something more than just partner.   “But seein’ as she’s working graveyard and I’m stuck here, not really an option and I learned a hell of a long time ago wishing for what you don’t have just makes what you do have seem less than what it already is.”

          “NAH, PRETTY SURE ALL I DID WAS MAKE A CUTE DETECTIVE REAL AWKWARD BY MENTIONING FOREPLAY.” And he taps his nose knowingly, chuckling to himself as he shifts to rest his back against the bartop, offering an idle wave to a passing guest.

They were all just slavering with excitement to be on the invite list, every single one of them so insistent on finding him to gush about howLOVELY it all was. Still interesting and ironic, he thinks, that they’re tripping over themselves for the favor of a lowborn inductee if it means they’re a little higher in the eyes of each other.

“FIGURE OUT WHAT MAKES ME DIFFERENT IN THIS ROOM, AND I’LL FIGURE OUT SOMETHIN’ NICE FOR YOU,” he offers, half-teasing, but hums. He’d actually back that if it came up - it isn’t that hard to guess, at least the part he’s referring to. He still talks like he’s right out of the pleasure district, the lazy, crawling dialect that’s so famous and starting to die out.

“YOU’RE SUCH A DOWNER, ELIAS. DONTCHA KNOW THAT THE HOPEFUL THOUGHTS ARE WHAT KEEP US GOIN’ ENOUGH FOR US TO ENJOY THE LITTLE MOMENTS SPRINKLED BETWEEN THE SHIT? I’D OFFER TO CALL IN A FEW FAVORS AND MAKE THAT HAPPEN FOR YA, BUT T’BE HONEST YOU STRIKE ME AS THE KINDA GUY THAT’S GOT TOO MUCH PRIDE AND SUSPICION FOR THAT, SO I WON’T.”

   There was a sound – part HMPH, part COUGH, part something else he wasn’t quite sure what that tried to escape at the Meth’s description of apparentlyMULTIPLE sleeve deaths as FOREPLAY –  A hand shifted, a flicker of flame to the end of his cigarette, using the moment that bought him to let his composure regather.   He shouldn’t have been surprised – the truth was he really wasn’t surprised by most anything the Meths might get up to for ‘fun and games’ in their free time.  It wasn’t like the BCPD monitored the intake / output of Meth clones, unless one of the Meths cared enough about a sleeve death to report it which.  Wasn’t all that often, to be honest.  “Interesting definition of the word.”  The reply was dry, exhaled on a cloud of smoke aimed up, over the head of his conversational companion.  

   “Easy way to fix that – don’t want a downer at your shindig, have Tanaka pick one of the many just frothing at the bit to be here instead,” he pointed out, taking the time to mull over the rest of the words that had been spun in his direction, a harsh drag taken, a flick of his thumb against the butt of the cigarette over a glass – nah, definitely crystal – ashtray on the bar.   “Nothing comes for free, and while I’ve got no problem earning my way through this life, dangling from a Meth’s puppet strings isn’tEARNING, it’s being PLAYED.” A lingering bitterness, the words sharper than he actually intended to let them be, a lifetime of resentment, years of frustration at watching the world spin and dance according to the whims of Bancroft and his ilk –  

  He might’ve should’ve apologized.  Maybe if he knew what was good for him, he still would but – he didn’t. “You mean besides the OBVIOUS?” He finally turned the topic back around to Remy’s challenge.  Something else he probably should let lie, rather than rising to the bait but.  He couldn’t help himself.   “Which is it, by the way – man or woman cause – I get the appeal, you know, confuse the huddled masses but – “  God, he was going to get himself canned and Ortega was going to kick his ASS.   A work of his jaw, a rough shrug flung in the direction of his host, his glass raised to take another long swallow, the pungent BURN a welcome distraction.  “Do you just like the thrill of playing bad … boy,” he took a gander, “Or you trying to tell me that’s your preferred modus operandi, ’cause if that’s the face you wear in Licktown to get your kicks, I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.”

          “I WAS MARRIED TO AN INTERESTING WOMAN.” It’s an off-handed response, but it is what it is - they had been what they had been and he finds no reason to try and conceal that. He can’t help but cock his head at the other, a cheerful smirk curling up over that wide mouth. Elias REALLY ought to slow down, particularly considering he’s on the job, but Remy’s hardly inclined to stop him.

“I DON’T WANT PEOPLE THAT WANT T’BE HERE. LOOK AROUND - THEY AIN’T GUARDIN’ SHIT, IT’S FOR SHOW. YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE DOIN’ WHAT YOU’RE PAID TO. OR WERE. AND I GOTTA GIVE YOU PROPS - MOST THIEVES WOULDN’T HAVE SPOTTED ME, EVEN WITH MY BEIN’ LAZY. I APOLOGIZE, DETECTIVE, BUT I DO BELIEVE I’M GONNA SEE YOU AGAIN.”

He leans over the bar to snag a clean glass for himself, filling it far past the proper amount (but who’s going to stop him, really). Taking a long sip, he flashes EL-I-AS a smirk, glossy, lacquered nails tapping thoughtfully at the bottom of a painted lip.

“MAN,” he says after a long moment, and raises his drink in a joking little half-toast. “BORN IN A WOMAN’S BODY, SO REALLY I SUPPOSE IT DEPENDS ON YOUR LEVEL OF BIGOTRY, BUT THAT’S MY OPINION. I DO THIS TO REMIND THOSE AROUND ME THAT THINGS AIN’T ALWAYS SO SIMPLE FOR EVERYONE. OH, AND PURE SPITE.”

He finally, finally, takes a stool, and he doesn’t bother to stop himself from chuckling now - it’s hard to picture Elias in Licktown, at least with that sour look on his face. “I WEAR THIS FACE EVERYWHERE, LICKTOWN INCLUDED, THOUGH THE AMOUNT OF SHIT ON IT TENDS T’BE LESS. I’M ATTACHED. IT’S MY FACE - I NEVER CHANGED IT. THOUGH IF YOU’RE LOOKIN’ AT AUDIENCES AND NOT PERFORMERS, I’M NOT SURPRISED YOU WOULDN’T RECOGNIZE ME.”

Partly true, partly false, let the detective squirm a bit.

   INTERESTING.   A tilt of his head, a swallowed scoff, the hand with the cigarette in it drifting up, a thumb rubbing against the scar that divided his eyebrow unconsciously. His lips thinned, a stiffness creeping into his shoulders and spine as the Meth continued, casually and consistently making it clear, per standard Meth protocol, that what HE had to say on the matter – didn’t much matter at all.    Another long, harsh drag on his smoke, his gaze cutting down to watch the ashes scatter into the ashtray worth more than his paycheck, a sour angle to his jaw and eyes.   “Why do I get the feeling you and me aren’t speaking the sameLANGUAGE,” Ryker returned, his gaze hot, his tone almost bordering on frigid when he spoke.  

    He could practically feel the fish hook twisting in his cheek – and it wasn’t a particularly PLEASANT sensation.  “Yeah well.  Some of us, despite what the general population and the people with a stick up their ass tend to think, happen to give a shit about what we do.” Not as many as SHOULD. And only a naïve idiot would think that the ones that did were enough to make up for the ones that didn’t, the ones that nestled up close to the pockets of the Meths and the drug dealers and the flesh peddlers.

   His fingers curled around his glass again, a thumb tucking over the top of it, a force of will needed to keep from slamming back what was left in the glass.  He wasn’t doing a particularly good job of acting like he gave a shit.   A half breath in, the last of a drag of the cigarette before he crushed it out, circling the smoke around his cheeks and over his tongue for a long moment before exhaling.   Remy’s next words proved something of a distraction from the stewing anger, however, his gaze snapping back to study his host, a more scrutinizing gaze than before perhaps.  SPITE.  Yeah, he knew something about that.   His own face, his own body – with the kind of money that a Meth like him at his disposal, Ryker knew damn well he could’ve had a body designed, replicated, cloned to the t save gender – a simple switch of chromosomes and …  he hadn’t?

   “If you aren’t watching everything and everyone in Licktown you wake up dead,” he pointed out, SOME of the surliness having bled from his tone, his thoughts spinning in a few more directions than one, at once.   Even among the grounders, gender sleeve swaps were common place, people desperate enough to get out of their birth skin they didn’t care what the other one was, so long as it wasn’t theirs…   “You want me to buy the line that YOU worked a Licktown brothel?”  As much as that’d be one hell of a rags to riches story –   “Your fingers might be quick but I don’t think even your tongue’s that silver.”

          “SOME OF YOU. NOT ENOUGH. I WATCH YOUR DEPARTMENT GET BOUGHT OUT DAY BY DAY, AND IGET IT - I DO. DON’T MAKE IT LESS DISAPPOINTING.” He studies Elias over the rim of his glass, smiling faintly. “M’SORRY, DARLIN’, BUT YOU CAUGHT MY INTEREST. I’LL BE PERSONALLY REQUESTIN’ YOU AGAIN. IF IT’S ANY CONSOLATION, YOU’RE WELCOME TO TAKE HOME ANYTHING YOU’D LIKE FROM THE BAR TO SULK INTO LATER. I’VE NO INTENTION OF BUYIN’ YOU. I’M ENJOYING THE CONVERSATION, NOTHIN’ MORE.”

Oh, much better. EL-I-AS was toning down, curious more than frustrated, or starting to tip that way at least, and it’s enough to pull a smile from Remy, long fingers twisting through auburn hair as he fixes his stare on his glass. The cogs turning in the other’s head were so - charming, really. He’s trying to figure out the puzzle in front of him with a handful of scattered pieces.

It’s not going to be enough, but it makes him indulgent, willing to hand him a few more.

“IS IT SO HARD TO BELIEVE? WE’VE ALL GOT PASTS.” Propping his chin up on his knuckles, he shrugs, offering Elias a joking little sidelong glance and wink. “I WORKED A PLACE AT THE CORNER OF BLOSSOM AND FOURTH A LONG TIME AGO. I DIDN’T HAVE TO, BUT I DID. S’GONE NOW - LESS A BROTHEL AND MOREPERFORMANCE, BUT I CAN ASSURE YA MY TONGUE’S PLENTY SILVER FOR THAT, TOO.”

He cocks his head at the detective, smiling, and sticks out his tongue, playful as he lets it curl, piercing VERY evident. And damn, if the other wasn’t obviously infatuated with his partner he’d tease him more than that, but he doesn’t.

“YOU SHOULD CHECK THE GAMBLING DENS ON THE BORDER IF YOU EVER WANNA SPOT ME GROUNDSIDE. I PROMISE YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO CATCH ME ANYWHERE ELSE - I’D BE ASHAMED IF YOU DID.”

   Maybe it was the open admission of Remy’s intent, his clarification of the why and the what for.  Maybe it was the acknowledgement of what was happening in front of their eyes, the greediness and the stench of corruption that was working its way through BCPD like a rot – because that’s what it was.   A sickness that spread in bursts and lurches, impossible to stop unless cut out in one fell swoop and doing that was damn near impossible with it trickling down from the TOP.   Maybe it was him focusing on the unasked, unanswered questions that spun around his head, trying to find where the edges of the pieces of one Remy LeBeau fit together to create – whatever the HELL the big picture was.   One conversation?  Definitely not going to be enough but … he’d sure as hell be interested to see what the police records had to say, when he finally extricated himself from this party and the penguin suit.  

  “I don’ t—“  Sulk. He cut himself off, suddenly and painfully aware of the petulant tone and how it’d sharply contradict the words.   “Not like there’s anything I could do to stop you –”  He pointed out, dryly, a sigh of something akin to resignation, a rough shrug of one shoulder as he let himself relax, slightly, the worst of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders and jaw, at least for the moment.  “But while you’re pushing Tanaka’s buttons, maybe make sure he actually includes the overtime he’s supposed to for shit like this cause – for somebody in the pocket of a Meth or three the motherfucker’s a penny pincher when it comes to paying what his people are owed.”  Which – really didn’t HELP keep the desk jockeys and street cops resist the easy pay day of a few favors here and there, to be honest.

   His hand drops into his pocket again, prepared to drag out another cigarette, but he hesitated for a moment, a pinch of lips as he pulled his hand away empty, a low grumbled sigh as he reached for his glass instead, a smaller swallow taken this time around.   The booze alone might make up for the indignation, and if Tanaka didn’t pay up what he was owed, he could always sell it off – maybe take Kristin out for a real dinner their next shift off, rather than just another couple containers of Chinese take away.  “Sure, we’ve all got pasts,” Elias conceded, an ALMOST hidden twitch along his jaw, a flicker of tension in the line of his neck.  “Not all of us end upHERE,” he pointed out, with a faint smirk.   Grass was always greener, maybe.  MONEY COULDN’T BUY HAPPINESS?  Maybe, but it sure as hell could try…

   And then there goes that eyebrow again, at Remy’s confession, if that’s what it was, though it didn’t really seem to be a confession so much as a statement of fact.  Good for him, Elias reckoned – survival of the fittest didn’t always mean the toughest, or the hardest, though – he felt a moment of PITY for anyone who mistook Remy for SOFT.   “I’ll have to take your word for it,” Elias replied, an almost smirk touching his lips at the clear taunt of the displayed tongue, a slight shake of his head more in bemusement than chagrin.   “You must irritate the SHIT outta them,” he found himself remarking with a half snort and a glance back over to the crowd that spun and shifted, each of them cogs in whatever fucked up machine this society had become.   A cigarette was in hand, without recognition or thought, lighting it, a drag pulled from it. “Sorry but that kinda sounded like a CHALLENGE,” he pointed out, his gaze shifting back to Remy’s with what was, this time, a clear smirk.

          He could feel it, that prickling interest, the way Elias’ eyes are boring into him now, trying to pick him apart. He wants to KNOW, just like everyone else, but far, far worse because Remy’s letting him peek.

He’d bet nearly anything Ryker was going to look him up as soon as he got the chance, find the not even single page police file with redacted blackouts and the barest summary. Adopted. Dead brother. Father’s name. None of it would satisfy him, and maybe it’s a little bit sadistic but Remy’s toes are practically curling with delight, because it’s a GAMEand he’s been so very BORED.

“MAIS OUI. I GOT LUCKY. OR NOT. DEPENDS HOW YOU WANNA LOOK AT IT. I THINK - IT’S A MIX.” He cocks his head at Elias, and he smiles, a genuine thing this time that dimples his cheeks and crinkles up the corners of his eyes. “I’LL MAKE SURE Y’ALL GET PAID IF I HAVE T’SEND THE CHECKS MYSELF. PROMISE. YOU DID THE WORK, YOU GET COMPENSATED.”

He laughs outright, bright and half-startled because while it’s TRUEElias probably shouldn’t say it, but really fuck propriety anyway. A few heads turn, and he snorts, lifting his glass to his lips again. “I DO, YEAH. FOR PEOPLE WITH SUCH LONG LIVES, THEY SURE GOT MEMORIES LIKE A RAT’S ASS - HALF OF THEM DON’T REMEMBER WHY THEY STARTED SUCKIN’ UP TO ME IN THE FIRST PLACE AND CRAWL OVER EACH OTHER FOR INVITES. THE OTHER HALF RESENT ME ’CAUSE I’M, I DUNNO, YOUNG AND PRETTY AND NOT NOBLE LIKE THEY ARE? BUT THEY KNOW I’D EAT THEM ALIVE, SO. GREEDY ANIMALS. THEY’D KILL THEIR OWN KIN IF IT MOVED THEM UP THEIR SELF-CONSTRUCTED LADDER OF GLITTERING SHIT.”

Slipping his own packet of cigarettes from - well, SOMEWHERE, it’s kind of hard to tell exactly, he lights up too, smiling faintly to himself. “THAT’S ’CAUSE IT WAS A CHALLENGE, CHER, AND GOOD FUCKIN’ LUCK TO YOU.”

  “So how does one go from the shit heel of Bay City  to the heights of the Aerium, anyways – “  A faint twist of a smile, an exhale of smoke, another swallow of whiskey.  This kind of multi-tasking he was familiar with, though to his credit, he still turned his attention outward, an occasional sweep of the crowd in the disinterested attempts to make sure that no one was actually being murdered while he was stood, getting buzzed on hundred credit a shot whiskey.  “You know – asking for a friend,” he felt compelled to add, a glint of humor lighting his gaze for a moment; lightening the naturally dark hues briefly.   He wasn’t sure what the answer would be, if he was given one, but he had a suspicion it wouldn’t be what most people assumed.  

   A half shrug escaped again, at Remy’s promise.  It wasn’t the money that really irked him, in the end though – it certainly didn’t help that Tanaka claimed there weren’t enough resources to go around for day to day expenses … until someone like Bancroft snapped his fingers and then it was balls to the walls effort required with – still, half the compensation they should get.  He shook his head, the thoughts wearisome, repetitive.  Shit hours, shit job, shit insurance. Hell.  He was surprised every single cop wasn’t in someone’s pocket.  A hand flickered up, thumb and index finger pinching against the bridge of his nose.  “That’d be a nice change, be nicer if it worked that way for all the PD,” he groused, his hand falling away again to tip his glass from one side to the other, watching the golden liquid reflect the light.  

   The snort, the laugh, pulled his attention up, his eyes flicking to watch the startled, varied reactions of those nearby, aware of the casual and not so casual scrutiny their, by now, extended conversation had acquired.   He resisted the urge to flip the crowd the bird.  Barely.  “Piranhas, I think, is the most accurate depiction I’ve ever heard them called,” he admitted, tilting his gaze back to Remy, a small snort of his own following Remy’s declarations. “You must have some pretty big — “ An intentional pause, a quirk of an eyebrow.  “Teeth,” he settled on.  “Not easy to rattle a Meth – trust me, I know.”  The cigarette was propped on the ashtray, long, calloused fingers snaking the bottle from beside Remy, refilling his glass and topping off Remy’s.   “You often in the habit of challenging your security to treasure hunts or is it just me?”

          “THAT’S THE MILLION-DOLLAR QUESTION, AIN’T IT? LITERALLY.” He chuckles, but turns to him fully, indulgent. Smiling when Elias pours him another, he blows him a little kiss in thanks, bringing the glass back to his lips. “MM. LET’S SEE, WHICH VERSION - I COULD TELL YA I’M A BASTARD CHILD. OR MAYBE THE PARTICULARLY GROSS ONE OF HOW I SEDUCED MY FATHER AND CONVINCED HIM TO ADOPT ME FOR HIS FORTUNE. BUT THE REALITY IS, WELL. I PICKED HIS POCKET.”

And he snickers to himself, quiet and nostalgic. “THAT’S YOUR ANSWER, THE ONE NOBODY IN THIS ROOM WOULD EVER BELIEVE. I SLIPPED PAST A METH’S GUARDS AND I PICKED HIS POCKET, I TRIED TO KICK HIM IN THE NUTS WHEN HE CAUGHT ME, AND I TOLD HIM TO FUCK RIGHT OFF AND HE ADOPTED ME AFTER HE WAS DONE LAUGHIN’ SO HARD HE CRIED, YANKED ME RIGHT ON UP TO THE AERIUM. THERE’S NO FUCKIN’ SECRET TO IT, JUST A GOOD MAN WHO SHARED HIS LUCK WIT’ A SHITTY KID.”

Oh yes, Elias was great fun. That much, he was sure of. Especially that little bait - he could just CACKLE, but he doesn’t, lets his features split into a wonderfully amused grin instead.

“YOU’RE SPECIAL,” he half-croons, chuckling. “I DON’T GET A LOTTA FUN. IT’S NICE MEETIN’ SOMEBODY WHO AIN’T FALLIN’ OVER THEMSELVES TO CRAWL UP MY ASS. SO I’M GIVIN’ YOU SOME TIDBITS T’PLAY WITH.”

  More like the TRILLION dollar question, Elias refrained from pointing out, as much for his own benefit as for the sake of the conversation.  He tried not to let himself OVERTHINK about the amount of waste, the amount of money that the Meths that surrounded him bled out on a daily basis, tried not to think about just what kind of difference one percent of that money could make to the people he watched live in misery, scraping by hand to mouth on a good day.  He tried not to think about it because if he did, he’d end up punching someone and breaking something and that was – DEFINITELY the fastest way to unemployment and he owed Kristin better so – he swallowed it down, the rage, the disgust, as well as another larger than healthy swallow of whiskey.  

   The first two OPTIONS presented were pretty standard fare, the kind of thing he figured the Meths would assume because it fit so nicely into their box of the expected and the sordid which, in truth, was why he’d already considered them and dismissed them.   Whatever Remy was, standard fare wasn’t it.  What did follow, though, wasn’t something that had even crossed his mind as a possibility but – considering it in the moments that followed it certainly seemed to FIT.  His lips quirked, amusement and a half snort lingering.  “That’s a story too far fetched for it to be anything but the fucking truth,” he rumbled, a last drag of his smoke before he crushed out the butt in the ashtray, a last wisp of smoke drifting out with his words.  

   The mental image was one that he was pretty sure would stick with him, if only for the sharp contrast to how he’d have ever imagined something like that going in his own life, ESPECIALLY when he was a kid.  Trying to pull something like that in his neighborhood?  Or with HIS father?  A twitch at the edges of his mouth, his jaw, a flicker of something that he shoved away as quickly as it tried to rise.  “I’d say one way or the other then, you landed on the side of lucky,” he settled on, a shift of his weight as he pulled himself more upright, muscles aching dully at the lack of movement, at the onslaught of alcohol.  

    “Trust me, I’m not all that special.”  A low huff, a rough shrug of one broad shoulder.  “NEVER been a particular fan of trying to crawl up ANYBODY’S ass,  so – “  TIDBITS.   He had a nagging feeling that it was a lot more than just a few tidbits, but maybe that was just the alcohol fucking with his gut instinct.  “So just outta curiosity, this CHALLENGE you’ve presented –”  An upward tilt of his scarred brow, his fingers twisting the glass back and forth between them.  “What’s in it for me?”  

          “CONGRATULATIONS, MONSIEUR RYKER. YOU KNOW MY SECRET THAT I’VE NEVER KEPT A SECRET BUT EVERYONE IS WONDERFULLY INCLINED TO DISBELIEVE, BECAUSE KINDNESS IS INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO PIRANHAS.” He raises his glass, clicks it against Elias’ in a playful little toast. “I SUPPOSE I MIGHT’VE. I’M IN THE POSITION TO DO THINGS, SO I DO.”

He blinks at the other, placid, and lifts one shoulder, a noncommittal little shrug. “OF COURSE YOU’RE SPECIAL. EVERYONE IS, SOMEHOW. THE INSTANT YOU LOSE SIGHT OF THAT IS THE SECOND YOU BUY INTO THE ILLUSION THATANYONE IS BETTER’N YOU. C’MON, EL-I-AS, YOU KNOW THIS.”

Tipping back the rest of his drink, he hums thoughtfully, rolling the empty glass between his palms. What to give him, oh, that’s such a very good question. “I’LL GIVE YOU A CHOICE BETWEEN PRIZES. EMPLOYMENT UNDER ME, QUITE LEGALLY, WITH A VERY NICE SALARY - OR ANSWERS. THREE. I’LL BE COMPLETELY HONEST TO ANY QUESTION YOU CHOOSE. I THINK FOR A CLEVER MAN LIKE YOU, EITHER IS AN OPPORTUNITY.”

  Was it possible that he’d actually met a Meth that he didn’t HATE?  Was there such a thing as a Meth that wasn’t a total dick?  MAYBE. Maybe he didn’t meet the actual qualifications of a Meth, but then again, given the way he lived, the here and now, yeah –  Definitely qualified.   “And that’s the fucking truth of it in a nutshell,” Ryker conceded, his glass tilted briefly against Remy’s, brought to his lips for a swallow, smaller than before.   He could feel the burn in his muscles, the ache of tension and adrenaline that would burn off all too soon, leaving him worn out with only a few hours to spare before his shift in the pre-dawn hours, and at least half of those would be spent with Kristin after her shift before she crashed out for the morning.  A glance to the cornea display to check the time.  The party was already running well past the time he’d been scheduled for and showed no signs of slowing.

   “You might be the first Meth I’ve ever heard say something like that I’m inclined to believe, maybe,” Elias admitted, dismissing the display as he turned his gaze back to his host, a faint smile creeping over his lips at the next words spoken.   “Clearly, you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” he replied, his tone dry, a vague self-depreciating humor clinging to his words, only, it wasn’t really all that humorous.  A slight shake of his head at the way the Meth rolled out his name again.  

    “Something tells me you’ve grown long accustomed to getting your way,” Elias replied, after a moment of mulling over the offer, the rewards that Remy dangled.  Working for a Meth?  Doing what, of course, was the question of the hour.  Playing bodyguard?  Could he put up with the boredom – would it actually BE boring, with this particular Meth?  Or maybe worse, what if it wasn’t?  The money would be … nice, but the whole point of what he was doing now was to try and make up for his own SHIT – protecting somebody who had extra sleeves and a backup wasn’t exactly going to be the end all in the check mark side of things ….  Still.   MAYBE.   The last offer though – now that he could see the perks of, from the get go.  A man in his position, with his money and influence, who CLEARLY had a feel for the pulse of the Meths and, so he claimed, tangled in the world of the grounders as well? “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a deal – open ended on the winnings til I claim them, though – can’t make a choice like that without all the facts, after all.”  

         “Oh, no. I dunno you at all, yet. At least, not what I wanna know. But that’s okay.” Remy tilts his chin at him, grinning just a little bit. He catches the glance, the familiar flicker of movement, and he clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I tell the truth. That’s why. I don’t put blinders on, but that’s ’cause I’m a stubborn bastard.”

He rolls the glass between his hands one last time, finally depositing it back on the bartop with a little clink. Hmm. Elias was - well, insightful, maybe more insightful than expected.

That made it far more fun, really.

“I always got my way, even on the street. You got to, y’know? Take what you gotta get, s’just how the world works.” He thinks, for half a moment, of teasing him - seal it with a kiss - but he’s put the man through enough for one night, so he smiles and holds his hand instead. “Deal. Added bonus; you can ask me whatever you’d like while we play. I’ll answer honestly, but I also reserve the right t’decline any question I like.”

“Yeah?”  A tilt of his head, a hand dropping into his pocket again, fingers crinkling the edges of the cigarette pack before withdrawing, empty, thumb flicking against the edge of a fingertip.  “And wha is it exactly that you wanna know?  Maybe I’ll give you a freebie,” Ryker returned, with a half smirk, shifting to let his back and hips rest against the bar, arms crossing loosely over his stomach as he cast another practiced and casual glance around the room.  “Stubborn – yeah.  I think that’s kinda a requirement for being a Meth or a thief – a good one, anyway.”  

His gaze tilted back towards the Meth, another assessing glance, a mental assessment, a guesstimation of what he’d look like without the glitz and the glam and the makeup, ruddied up rather than prettied up, for future reference and to let fester in the back of his head in search of something to connect it to.  “Why doesn’t that surprise me.”  A dry, droll return.  Take what you get, take what you need, do what you had to do to survive – familiar mantras that seemed askew and out of place here.   “What’s in all this for you, then – say this pans out like you want it to – what’s that look like to you?”

[sourwolfstories]

Could you list you favorites smut fics of sterek? You seen to have a pretty good taste.

There is no way I could choose and rate my favorite smut fics. There are just way too many but here is a long list of the best. Hope you enjoy!

Over the Threshold by alisvolatpropiis

This is the last time,” Stiles declares, just before he attacks Derek’s mouth with his, the kiss fevered and desperate, his long fingers jabbing roughly into Derek’s abs as he tangles them in his shirt. He pulls him close and walks them away from the front door, and in his hurried clumsiness, Stiles’ nose smashes Derek’s glasses into his face, hard enough that they smudge against his eyelids. It should be annoying, but like everything else about Stiles that should be infuriating, Derek can only find it hopelessly endearing.

That’s the thing about love, he supposes, even a love he won’t fully admit to himself, let alone to Stiles.

The Awkward Moment by stilinskisderek

…when your sister sets you up on a blind date with the one night stand you hooked up with three weeks ago who vanished without a goodbye leaving you pathetically heartbroken.

Maybe by MellytheHun

Tumblr Prompt:

my fave overheard on campus moment of all time was the two guys who sat behind me in pop culture theory

as class was starting one of them was like “so… do you want a blowjob after this” in a rly bored voice, and then the second guy was like [pause][dejected sigh] “yes”

Little talks by Vendelin

“Your favourite is here,” Danny says, smirking. “I tried to steal him away by giving him some extra attention, but he just looked uncomfortable.”

Stiles snorts, though he’s secretly pleased by his regular rejecting Danny. “He always looks a bit uncomfortable. I bet he’s married with a kid and a permanent guilty conscience when he’s here.”

It had been quite the surprise for Stiles to realise that he had a regular. A pretty young, hot regular, on top of that.

In which Stiles is a stripper, and Derek is the always-polite regular at the club where he works.

Moved on from Whispers by wishingonalightningbolt

He’s not dumb. Out of everyone in the school, Derek is second in grades only to Lydia Martin, and the only reason Stiles is third is because he’s taking more APs than Derek, so his grades are suffering the slightest bit. That’s why Derek knows, when Stiles arches an eyebrow at him, why what he said was so incredibly dumb.

Stiles didn’t break into Lydia Martin’s upstairs bathroom to take a piss. He broke into Lydia Martin’s upstairs bathroom while Derek was in it, because—because of reasons.

-0-

Stiles is tired of pretending like and Derek don’t want each other.

The One Where He Pitches And Catches by mikkimouse

Derek entered the conference room, spotted the table with “M. P. Stilinski” on it, and stopped short.

Oh fuck.

It most definitely was not going to be fine.

Sitting on the other side of the table was the most attractive man Derek had ever seen, with whiskey-colored eyes and pale skin with dark moles speckled across his jawline, moles Derek was very familiar with because he’d spent two hours last night drunk out of his mind and licking them.

R U Mine? by blackstar

It hits him like that - in the middle of fiery hot sex with Derek one night that he’s in love. It’s not lust and it’s not a crush anymore, he’s very much gone on this man above him, who is now stopping his rushed efforts to bring Stiles pleasure in order to look slightly concerned.

Never Been by Lenore

Stiles gets snared in a virgin trap. Derek to the rescue!

An Error as to Meaning or Intent by LacrimaDraconis

“Care to tell me why you were suddenly hell-bent on cockblocking me? That was a nice girl back at the club, and she was actually talking to me. So you better have a good explanation for basically hauling me out of there by the scruff of my neck.”

Derek exhaled heavily, and, rubbing a hand over his face, he suddenly looked tired. “Fine. I was jealous. There you have your fucking explanation.”

three little words by stilinskisderek

“Are you gonna keep teasing me or are you gonna fuck me?”

Stiles gave him a small smile. It could’ve came out as devious if his eyes didn’t look so sincere.

“None of the above,” he said, “I’m going to make love to you.”

A Whole Strip of Condoms by eeyore9990

Somehow Stiles has managed to survive the horrors of Beacon Hills until the ripe old age of twenty. He’s still a virgin, of course, because there hasn’t really been time between school, work, and running for his life to take care of that pesky little problem.

Derek Hale — also a Beacon Hills Survivor — has sadly attained lonely bachelor status. In between running for his life, researching the latest threats to the town with his good buddy Stiles, and lingering nightmares of the outcomes of his past relationships, he hasn’t exactly been on the lookout for anyone new since Braeden.

Stiles feels the crushing weight of his family’s debt; Derek has piles of money. Derek needs to get laid; Stiles is a willing and eager virgin. It’s a match made in… well. Beacon Hills. Eesh.

Their odd little friendship has survived death threats, possession, and all manner of things that go bump in the night. Surely it’ll survive a friends with benefits arrangement.

Right?

First Time by Emela

Derek has all kinds of assumptions about what a gay relationship is like (he’s never been in one after all, and the Internet is not his friend), but Stiles shows him that there’s no rule except one: what makes you happy makes me happy.

OR

The one where Derek is nervous about having sex with Stiles, and Stiles is the best boyfriend ever.

Thump, Thump by littlefrog1025

That awkward moment when your ex brings a date to your father’s wedding…

Definitely, Not Probably by dragon_temeraire

Stiles gets hit with pollen that makes him intensely aroused. Derek helps him out.

The Giggles by the_painless_moustache

Derek accidentally discovers that Stiles does solo amateur porn.

When the Strings Attach by oblivions172

Derek and Stiles were fuckbuddies until they weren’t.

Complicated Is An Understatement by stilinski_wolf

Stiles is the 17-year-old son of the POTUS, and Derek is his bodyguard. For the past few months they’ve been together in private, and only in the last few weeks did they take it all the way.

And it isn’t just sex between them, they’re in love. Which makes their situation a whole lot more complicated.

I Thought You Would Like That by Emela

Yeah, that was pretty bad, but what was worse was having spent the last three years pretending to hate Stiles, because it was better than being the guy who failed at emotions and got rejected for them, and now Derek was locked in the same room as him under the promise they would only be let out when they “did something about their sexual tension”.

Derek and Stiles get locked in a room together at an office Christmas party and end doing something about all that unresolved sexual tension.

Derek Hale From HR by nogitsune_lichen

“Derek? Fancy seeing you here! I was just-er, getting a new chair. I think mine has a squeaking problem so…yeah I’m just gonna take a chair and–”

The man closed the door with a soft click before holding up the Captain America sticky note with Stiles’ patented chicken scratch handwriting on it. Stiles gnawed on his lip, trying and failing to come up with some sly excuse. Instead he hung his head in defeat when Derek didn’t so much as say anything or make a move.

“Enough playing around; I dig you, and it’s your last day. Meet me in the abandoned closet at one,” Derek quoted, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Stiles sighed, “okay not the best choice of words, but it got you here didn’t it?”

“Yes it did,” Derek nodded before adding, “and I dig you too by the way.”

Screwed by stilinski_wolf

Stiles and Derek have some fun times in Derek’s car, and it’s definitely a good thing that Derek has tinted windows. Stiles and Derek have some fun times in Derek’s car, and it’s definitely a good thing that Derek has tinted windows.

Bridging The Space Between Us by stilinski_wolf

Derek is a student in Stiles’ college class, and nothing should happen between them. But there’s been something brewing between them all semester.

When Derek comes to see Stiles and confront him about it, neither can resist each other for long.

Just One Night Together by stilinski_wolf

Brokeback Moutain!Au.

Stiles invited Derek into the small tent because it’s freezing outside, which leads to a culmination of everything they’ve been feeling for each other the past few months in the form of rough, hard, dry sex. And Stiles, well, Stiles would rather take whatever he could get from Derek than nothing at all.

More Than A Feeling by sweetbutterbliss

Stiles is alone on the set and eye fucking the shit out of Deputy Derek Hale, who’s been assigned to protect him. Stiles No-Last-Name is the biggest thing in gay porn since…well, Derek doesn’t actually know because Derek is straight. He’s never seen gay porn in his life. He played a lot of sports in high school so he’s seen his fair share of dicks, but not like this.

He’s just watched Stiles get rimmed for what was probably about half an hour, but felt like an eternity. The way Stiles moaned, and his eyelashes fluttered had Derek holding his deputy hat strategically to hide his deeply confusing hard on.

Prepared by ericaismeg

He gives him a cautious look, and Derek catches the way his eyes narrow as if to say dude, it’s your turn. Derek inhales a little too sharply and then the words, “I can…I can help you with that, if you want,” come tumbling out.

***OR: Jackson refuses to work with Derek anymore, so he’s working with someone new today. Did Derek mention he’s a porn star? And this new guy is mouth-watering? Because he is and he is. Script? What script?

whatever you want (but you’re gonna have to ask me) by HalfFizzbin

Stiles has a fantastic boyfriend and absolutely no sex life. He is not okay with this. (Or, the implementation of Stiles’ Secret Seduction Plan™)

i don’t believe in fairy tales (but i believe in you and me) by callunavulgari

Derek scrolls to the next picture. Stops. Blinks.

For a moment, they just freeze. He can see Stiles’ hand hesitating just next to his out of the corner of his eye, stopped mid-air, like he was reaching to take the phone back. Stiles’ heart is loud — so fucking loud — in the quiet of the loft, drowning out Derek’s own heartbeat and the many varied sounds coming in through the cracked window.

“So,” Stiles says, voice wobbly and pitched high in what’s probably mortification. “That’s my penis.”

What the Hell is a Rinse Cycle? by dobrien

Stiles is a student who doesn’t know how to work a washing machine and Derek is the one to notice him struggling and help him out. PWP.

Salty Sweet by secondstar

Derek works at a porn store. One day, Stiles comes in asking all sorts of TMI questions about different toys. That’s where it all starts.

a gift of some sorts by honeymoonmuke

A mysterious gift addressed to Alpha Derek Hale lands Stiles in a rather heated predicament.

Thinking of You by CelestialVoid

Derek might have gotten a little drunk last night. And he might have sent Stiles a very revealing video…

Aconitum Bulbus by hazelNuts

xxxAthaelaxxx asked for: “Stiles is underage like 17 and Derek’s 23. Stiles got hit by some sex pollen and needs to fuck. Derek’s the only single wolf who can do it and refuses to help Stiles since he’s underage but if Stiles isn’t cured he could die. Virgin!Stiles and Martyr!Derek.Please write in great detail the deflowering.”

They’d been having a simple pack picnic, because they did those things now. They’d just finished lunch and had decided on a game of tag.It had all been great until Stiles had tripped and fallen face first into some flowers.

If you would like more you can check out my smut tag for some more sterek goodness!

[xxmadsxoxo]

How to get on Santa’s Nice List.

{Part one}

Pairing: Buck Barnes x Reader

Pre warning: Fluff, Fluff, and some more fluff

Warnings: Swearing, and probably bad punctuation because I’m using my phone.

Summary: you moved in with your best friends apartment around 3 years ago, and found out she has one hot neighbor. Only problem is he is a huge smart mouth, and he always has jokes. Worst thing of all is he is a huge flirt, the boy could make your face warm up with a look. One day he gave you a snarky comment (to no surprise.) but you decided in spirit of the holiday to challenge him. No, smart mouth, or dirty jokes for the rest of November lets see if he can get on Santa’s nice list.

This is for (@lovelynemesis) Sam’s rockin’ around the Christmas tree writing challenge!

29. ”Ho! Ho! Ho!” “Honey don’t insult yourself that way.”

/3 Years ago/

As much as I love the cold, it’s not fun to be in it for hours when you have nowhere to go. It had been 5 hours of me walking around calling every person I could think up to help me out, but since the holidays were coming up nobody wanted some old high school buddy to come stay over for a few nights.

I almost lost hope before scrolling down my contacts and finding Natasha’s name. I though about it for a few minutes, she didn’t know me too well and she is probably very skeptical of her friends. I prayed she’d help me out and pressed the call button.

Shivering from the hours of being in friking icy air, waiting for her to pick up as people pass me staring. They are probably thinking the worst of me. To be fair I did get kicked out in my pjs, and a heavy jacket. All my clothes in one bag, and utilitys, I learned to pack small with how much I moved around. People grow tired of me quick, and I have this sarcasm that people don’t understand and take personally. It has always gotten me into big trouble.

“Hello?”

“Nat! Oh thank god you picked up.”

“Yeah uh, who is this?”

“It’s Y/n, from stark industries? Granted it was some time ago.”

“Oh. OHH, Oh my god hey.”

“I was wondering if you could help me out girl.”

“What kind of help do you need?”

“I just need a place to stay for a few nights, just till’ I find another place. I will be out before Thanksgiving!”

“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“I’m where the rockafeller tree is gonna be put up.”

“Alright stay there I’m on my way.”

“Thank you so much!”

___________________

\1 year ago\

It’s been 1 year of living with Nat, she has been the kindest to me since she picked me up that night I almost turned into a popsicle. She’s been like a sister to me, and she said that she loves to have a girl to gossip to when she comes home. Although It’s been hard getting used to her coming back from a mission and, being totally locked away from the world. Sometimes she comes back from a mission with a new bottle of champagne, and other times she just walks straight to her room and doesn’t come out for hours. I understand for the most part, if I fought aliens and psychotic Germans I’d lock myself away too. She said that some of her friends from the agency stay in this appartment building as well, but I’ve never been good at first impressions. Nat, is the only person who actually talked to me when I worked at Stark industries. Other than Stark of course, but Nat just clicked with me that’s why we are still good friends today.

I never planned on meeting any of the other agents, that is until Christmas Eve.. Somehow Nat got me to dress up, and got me to go to Starks annual Christmas party. Now I’m sitting at the bar, in a dress that I hate myself in, downing vodka like it’s water. Nat is having a great time on the dance floor with a bunch of superheroes, and god I wish that I had the confidence to talk to one of them. Even if I could talk to one of them, I’m just a normal person they have fought alien wars. Let’s be honest here the closest thing to a war that I have been in, was when I got into a bar fight with a hooker and I smashed her head into the wall. I was drunk as piss, but damn I put up a good fight. My thoughts were interrupted when a husky voice asked the bartender for another bottle whiskey, I slowly look over not to draw attention to myself.

“Why you sitting alone over here?”

“I’m sorry?”

I look up getting full view of this guy, and damn was he hot. He had chestnut brown hair that was pulled back in a bun, and he was wearing a navy blue tux. He had gorgeous eyes, ocean blue, and plump lips that you wanna bite. I realized I was staring and quickly looked at my empty shot glass.

“Well, I mean Nat is over there and you’re over here. Why?”

“Oh, uh I’ve never really been a social person.”

I look at all the different types of alcohol as a small distraction to keep me from being weird, as he continues the conversation.

“Huh, me either I couldn’t even tell you how Steve dragged me here.”

“Steve? As in-“

“Steve Rogers? Also known as Captain America? Yeah.”

You look up at him in amazement, you knew that Nat worked with them butwho is this guy and why is Steve dragging a normal hottie to a party like this.

“Wow, so you’re a super soilder too or something?”

“You could say that.”

The waiter brings the bottle, and sets on the bar, the man looks over and winks at you. Quickly grabbing the whiskey he starts Walking away.

“Hey you, wait!”

He stops and turns around in confusion.

“Yeah?” He chuckles

“Can I join you?”

“Sure doll.”

The nickname makes you smile, and makes your heart flutter.

“Names Bucky by the way.”

You reach your hand out, and give a welcoming smile.

“I’m Y/n, it’s nice to meet you.”

He shakes your hand, and you can feel your face warm up from the way he looks at you.

_____________

-Today-

“NAT! Did you steal my favorite leggings again?? You know the ones that make my ass look great?”

“No! I think they’re in the dryer!”

I run to the laundry room and whip the dryer open, searching through all my black clothes for leggings. Ripping them from the dryer.

“YES!”

I put them on and walk into the living room.

“Damn, what’s the looking cute for?”

“Going to the bar tonight, figured since I hate the holidays I might as well get plastered and forget them.”

“Oh no! You aren’t to go to the bar without me or our friendly neighbor Bucky.“

“I don’t need a chaperone.”

“YES YOU DO.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Do you really want a List?”

“Okay no, but it can’t be Bucky.”

“What why not?”

“Because Bucky always has somethin’ to say about my ass, or something snarky to say about my drinking.”

“I mean, you do have a nice ass and you also do drink a lot.”

“Thank you, and no I don’t.”

You flip your hair and walk down the hall to your room.

“GET DRESSED!”

“Yeah, yeah!”

__________

I take one last look in the mirror, and love it for once. I touch up my lip gloss, and give my hair one last fluff before walking to the front door. Realizing Nat isn’t ready yet, I think of making an escape. I grab the apartment keys as quietly as possible, and open the door slowly. I make it into the hallway succeeding in closing the door silently, just as I turn to walk down the stairs. Well that is until I hit a brick wall or atleast that’s what it felt like, nearly falling back he catches me.

“Sorry doll, you okay?”

He helps me stand straight, and I push him off of me straightening out my shirt.

“I’m fine thanks. You frikin’ brick wall.”

He chuckles lightly

“Thanks?”

“It wasn’t a compliment Barnes.”

Yes, Barnes as in Bucky Barnes, also known as the super hot dude from the Christmas party that seemed 100% normal. Yeah, he’s our neighbor and it seems he’s always with us, even when you don’t want him to be. It’s not that I don’t like him, or that I don’t want him around! He’s a great guy, but he has this thing about himself he’s always go something to say about what I wear, and he’s more sarcastic than I am.

“Right, well why are you all dressed up love?”

Oh, and he does this thing where he calls me a ton of cute little nicknames, and I wanna melt everytime. I look up at him and give him a cold fake smile.

“I’m going out.”

I try to push past him and walk away, but he grabs my forearm.

“Alone? In that? Are you trying to pick up every asshole in the club?”

Just as I was about to slap him Natasha walks out looking as pissed as ever. I look at Bucky and put on the fakest laugh to make it seem like I came out to talk to him.

She pushes Barnes out the way and gives you a death stare.

“WHAT. THE. HELL.”

“What?”

You give her an innocent look, but Nat can’t be fooled.

“You tried making a fuckin’ run for it didn’t you?”

“No, I came out to talk to Buck.”

Bucky steps forward with a finger up ready to say something, but Natasha puts her hand in front of his face without even looking at him.

“Save it Barnes. Y/n What the hell.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Part 2

This is going to be a couple of parts, but I hope you guys like it so far! I’ll try to get the next part up as soon as possible. Tags: @ailynalonso15 @starkxpotts @libbymouse

[ragehappysecretsanta]

Author: http://teambattlebuddies.tumblr.com

Recipient: http://achievemenhunter.tumblr.com

Summary: Nothing even remotely interesting has ever happened in Micheal's life. Nothing fun, noteworthy, or cool. He's tired of the boring self pitying person he's become but honestly? There's nothing much he can do about it really. That is until a handsome stranger accidentally turns his boring life on it's ear when he's witness to a supernatural event. Things are significantly less boring when he's fighting Vampires side by side with two gorgeous guys who he thinks might want him too.

Warnings: Violence, Alcohol, NC-17

WordCount: 11,093

It’s Tuesday night, so naturally nothing much is happening. Nothing really happens on Tuesdays. Nothing of importance or significance at least. Most people don’t like Mondays, but whether good or bad, shit happens Monday. Nothing’s ever happened on a Tuesday. It might be the shittiest day of them all.

Michael gulps a craft beer because he’s a dying man anyway. A man dying of boredom that is. A man staring at the game playing in the corner of a dive bar when, if you asked him, he’d have no answer to the score or the teams or even the sport. He cares so little, the only reason he’s even looking at the TV is because it’s moving and something is happening, even if it is an old rerun of some sport Michael couldn’t care less about. Hell the only reason he’s in this shitty bar is the thought of being that guy in a shoebox apartment he can barely afford, alone, drinking beer staring at the wall, well the thought of that’s just about the only thing sadder than being where he is and doing what he’s doing.

God, his life sucks.

Even Michael hates his boring, self-pitying ass. He hates his job? He should quit it. He’s lonely? He should try dating. He’s horney? He should pick someone up at the bar or just jack off or something. God he’s such a fucking whiney baby. Get a grip.

“I’ll just have a water.”

Michael’s eyes drift over to this designated driver guy because he has to be even sadder and more bored than Michael. Water? Really.

But this guy doesn’t seem to be part of some sad Tuesday night party, he’s alone at the bar. And he’s pretty fucking hot if Michael’s honest. Like He’s short, built as hell, and wearing a leather jacket. All things setting off Michael’s boner meter.

Come on, Michael. Time to take life into his own hands. And by life, he means… well you know. Apologies to his right hand but he’d prefer other company tonight if he’s honest. So Michael tries to be casual, try not to be too much of a desperate son of a bitch. Just sit next to him, put down his empty glass and order another. There. Now he has a reason to sit next to this guy.

There’s not many guys Michael feels comfortable openly flirting without first finding out a few things, like ‘Is he gay?’ but that’s a box already checked here. He emanates the most powerful top cub vibes what with his shaved head and facial hair and honestly just everything this guy’s got going for him. He’s got to be gay.

“So, you come here often?” Fuck. Shit. It’s been so long since he’s talked to anyone hot, let alone this hot. What a dumb fucking thing to say. ‘You come here often?’ what kind of reply is he gonna get then? ‘Nope/Yeah.’ Then Michael says ‘cool’ and that's that. The end. What’s his next line? ‘Are you from fucking tennesse or something? Because I’m a fucking stupid asshole.’

“Nope.” The guy says and MIchael wants to crawl into a fucking hole.

“C-” Michael begins, resigned to how this conversation is going to end.

“Not my scene, usually.” The guy continues. And that accent? What are the chances of another east coaster down here in Texas? High, probably, but still Michael likes.”You?”

“Uh…” He wasn’t expecting to have to reply, fuck. “...Nah, I don’t really get out much, so I’m not really anywhere often, except for work and-”shut the fuck up, Michael! Stop fucking babbling. Act cool you piece of shit. “-uh, home.”

“I’d say the same about myself really, if work wasn’t almost anywhere.” He laughs to himself, finishing off his water.

Michael smiles along with him because he doesn’t know what this guy does so how’s he supposed to get the joke? “So what do you do?”

“Oh, uhh…” The guy drinks his water and he looks like he’s stalling. What, does he strip for bachelorette parties? The fuck is this non-static work environment secret bullshit? “I work, um, freelance… security?”

Well that’s a fucking lie if Michael’s ever heard one. He isn’t gonna call him out on it. Whatever this dude wants to keep private is his fucking business. Instead, Michael just leans in closer, “Wow… that sounds interesting…” He touches the guy’s hand and he realises that he doesn’t have any idea what this guy’s name is. And honestly? Michael’s kinda into that. “Freelance, huh? Flexible work hours?”

“I can get called in last minute pretty often, but mostly I make my own hours.”

“So you’re free tonight,” And here it comes, fucking head first into this shit, “And if we’re both lucky, all morning too?”

“Umm…” It doesn’t even look like he’s paying goddamn attention. The guy is straight up looking over his shoulder at something across the bar! “So, you got any, uh, hobbies?”

Well he was just thoroughly ignored. It doesn’t matter, the guy’s beautiful brown eyes are back on him and really Michael doesn’t need some polite guy. All he needs is a burly top to give him something interesting to do for a few hours. “I play a lot of video games,” Attempt number two, “If you want, you can come over. We could play something if you want?”

Just as he gets to inviting him over the dude looks over his shoulder at something again. Or not something Michael realises. Someone. There’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen across the bar. Right. Did he misjudge this guy? No. Not fucking possible, if this guy was straight he would have rebuffed michael immediately. Maybe he’s bi though. He doesn’t even look back at Michael as he starts to speak again, “Yeah, video games. I’ve got an xbox at home. I’ve played so much GTA V sometimes I almost just steal a car in real life before I can stop myself. Hahaha…”

“Right.” This guy’s just babbling now, straight up looking away from him. Not that Michael can blame him or anything, that chick is incredibly hot. Like long curly hair, slim legs, big red lips, and giant tits? If Michael was into girls he would be all up in that. They apparently both want the both thing if those fucking bedroom eyes she’s giving the guy Michael’s been trying to fuck are anything to go by. And fuck, she’s definitely winning this battle, no contest. Michael makes one last attempt, but it’s weak. He’s already given up.

“I’ll suck you off in the parking lot.”

The guy doesn’t even acknowledge him, instead just fucking gets up and walks out, following the gorgeous goddamn woman and her mile-long-leg, curves-in-all-the-right-places ass. Michael hopes they both have a terrible night.

He orders two shots of whiskey, pays, and downs them.

He literally just met that guy and he fucking misses him. Michael has no idea what he’s like, but he was from the east coast. He had such broad shoulders. He played GTA V! They were practically fucking soulmates!

He hopes the shots get him tipsy enough to get over the loss of the love of his life. Or at least tipsy enough to tide him over ‘til he gets home. Then he can actually get shitfaced and cry on the phone at a friend or someone he went on a failed date with or something.

Fuck, Michael doesn’t know. He’ll surprise himself.

His chest is warm and his legs feel like they maybe want to be kind of rebellious and unresponsive. It’s all good. Maybe not good, but not bad.

He’s out of the dim light and into the dark and cool night. He unlocks his phone to call an uber because he lives too far to walk home at midnight.

Ah, cool, it’s 0:01.

“Fuck-”

Michael turns to the voice against his better judgement. It’s the voice of the guy who rejected him and honestly Michael doesn’t need to see those two fucking against the wall, but millions of years of evolution cause him to look over at the source of the noise. Science is bullshit.

But they’re not fucking.

They’re fighting. Viciously. The woman tightens her grip around the guy’s neck and Michael’s head goes fucking blank for a moment. He has no idea what to do, even as the dude knees her in the stomach and pulls her head into the wall next to him as she’s doubled up.

Then he whips out this thing, it looks like a fucking knife. Hot guy has a knife,  what the fuck.

Call 911! Screams the only voice in Michael’s short circuiting brain but it’s too late. The guy drives his -not a knife, it’s too thick- into the woman’s chest and Michael has never been more glad he didn’t get that guy to fuck him.

Shit, he could have ended up stabbed!

His fingers are already dailing, something he does in the split second before things go crazy.

There’s this sound like someone sucking on a pipe organ or something, but like, this sucking sound, but through like an amplifier. It’s loud and like maybe she’s inhaling hard with that -holy shit, holy fucking shit, she’s got a full on stick in her chest- in her lungs. Then like she’s voldemort in the last Harry Potter Movie, she flakes away. All at once, she turns to dust, or like dandruff, or dandelion seeds as she floats away into the wind.

There’s gravel stuck into Michael’s hands before he even knows what that means. His ass hurts and not in the way he wanted it to. Shit. Shit. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck!

The guy’s eyes snap onto him as Michael's muscles bypass his brain and just start scrambling as far away from this guy standing above him with a fucking sharp stick he used to kill and fucking evaporate some woman in this goddamn parking lot. He’s going to die. He’s going to fucking die here.

Michael’s back hits the front of a parked car and there’s no further he can go. The guy is standing right over him and Michael can see the guy’s eyes snap from him to the phone on the ground. Shit. Michael dropped his fucking phone. If only he’d hit that call button, it’s not likely but at least there’d be some fucking chance that he wouldn’t get stabbed. It’s too late now though.

The guy picks up his phone. “Huh. I guess you saw all that then…”

Michael is so dead.

Then he sticks out his hand. His empty hand. Like he’s trying to help Michael up. Michael instinctively flinches, drawing further back. He wanted to sleep with a fucking murderer. What the hell is wrong with him.

“Wait, uh,” The guy takes his hand back, following Michael’s eyes to the wooden stake in his hand. Like there was something else that Michael was going to be scared of. What the fuck is wrong with this guy? Oh right, he’s fucking crazy. Like, literally just killed someone batshit insane.  “I-I’m not going to, uh, stab you if that’s what you think.”

Michael laughs. It’s not like he finds this situation funny or something. It’s just, pure disbelief. Disbelief at the statement. Disbelief at his fucking situation. Disbelief that he was about to die. Because Michael doesn’t picture his death often, but murdered in a parking lot was not one of the scenarios he’d imagined.

“No, really!” The guy raises his hands. Surrendering. Michael could make a break for it? Get back in the bar. “Look,” And the dude drops his sharp stick.

There’s a silence. The guy with his hands up just stands over Michael. Michael stays on the ground, brain frozen halfway through the complex equation of things that could happen and ways to not die.

Then the guy talks again, “I-uh- you weren’t supposed to… see that. I mean. Um, I’m Jeremy.”

Ah yes, a wonderful time for introductions. Good to know your murders first name. Wonderful.

“Yeah, I’m Jeremy and uh…” Jeremy -probably a fake name. Like why would he give out his actual real life name? “Um, can I buy you a drink.”

What?

Fifteen minutes ago -hell, fucking like 2 minutes ago- Michael would have been ecstatic to get a drink from a  handsome stranger, but after seeing a literal murder? He’s less excited if he’s honest.

“If you’re afraid I’ll, um, kill you or something, there’s -uh. Witnesses? Yeah, witnesses in the bar.” Jeremy explains, he seems pretty panicked about this whole thing too. “I can explain.”

MIchael just stares at him.

“Right, um. I’m going to go back into the bar. If you want you can join me. I guess. I’ll pay.” Jeremy babbles like he was the one to see the murder. But Michael reasons that he’d be pretty freaked out if someone saw him commit a murder. Fuck, he’s probably the only person standing in Jeremy’s way from getting away with literal murder. Of course he’s being nice about it.

Jeremy backs up slowly, like he’s hoping Michael will spring up before he’s fully in the bar. Fat fucking chance, dude. Michael’s good where he is. Once Jeremy has backed fully into the bar Michael gets inch by inch back to his feet.

His heart is pounding so fast and hard and he can barely feel his limbs. This must be what actual fear is like. It’s a lot different from fear that your character’s going to die. He feels less sick playing video games. There’s nothing tying him here now, he could just leave. He really should leave.

He should leave.

Michael’s heart takes a while to calm. His knees take even longer to rebuild themselves from Jello. It takes just enough time for him to decide to do the dumb thing. He could just leave. Never come back. Get out of here and move on with his life but he knows it’s going to eat him alive. The curiosity. The chance to talk to a real-life actual murder and here how he fucking evaporated that woman and why. He decides to go back in because there’s no one stupider than Michael Vincent goddamn Jones.

Michael Jones, biggest dumbass alive.

Still on wobbling legs, with a thousand frogs hopping in his stomach, he goes right back in the bar. No one looks at him and yet he feels like there are a million eyes on him. It’s awful, the vulnerable exposure all over his skin. The fear is still there. Adrenaline can suck his dick. He walks at a fucking snail’s pace to try not to fall over.

One foot. Next foot.

Jeremy’s sitting in a booth texting someone on his phone. Maybe he’s got some serial killer friends that get off on his descriptions. God, Michael can’t fucking understand why he’d wanted to fuck this guy before. He’s probably bald so he doesn’t have to wash blood out of his hair. That’d be a pain in the fucking ass, Michael bets.

“Ah-hem.” He clears his throat because there’s really nothing to say. And frankly, his tongue feels so thick in his mouth he doesn’t know if he’d be able to talk at all, let alone coherently.

Jeremy starts making a soft “Ap!” sound as he drops his phone. The fuck does he have to be skittish about?

“Oh, ah. You came back in! That’s good.” He pockets his phone again, “So, uh, do you want to sit down?”

Michael laughs again. One of those laughs where he doesn’t know where it came from. One that’s just there, like he didn’t make the sound at all, but he did. He sits down though, right on the edge of the seat. He doesn’t know why. Maybe to run faster? But really how much faster is three inches?

“So. I-uh, this is going to be completely insane. Fuck, you’re just not going to believe a word I say,” Jeremy goes off rambling, getting increasingly quieter and more strained in his voice as he goes on, “God, how am I going to explain this…”

Michael just kind of sits there. Waiting because, what the fuck does he say? ‘Aw no buddy, I’m sure whatever bullshit excuse you have is really convincing!’

The guy finally takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Like he’s reorganizing his excuse in his head. Then he begins.

“Okay, you know that Lady? She was a Vampire.”

Well this dude’s fucking crazy. Michael called it, bullshit excuse. Except either this guy adamantly believes this and he’s like, legitimately crazy, or it’s the first excuse he could think of.

“I'm calling the fucking cops.” Michael tells him matter of factly, because it was a fact. To emphasise this he takes out his phone.

Jeremy looks at him bemused. Or amused? Michael knows what amused means but that's not quite what Jeremy looks like and bemused sounds so goddamn similar so maybe? His eyebrows shot up and he looked like he wanted to smile. So if that's not what bemused means then Michael's been using that word wrong since he first learned it.

“Really? What are you going to tell them?” And Michael doesn't get it. He should be begging him not to call. Threatening him! This guy just killed someone! The fuck is he so smug for?

“That you're a fucking murderer!” Michael catches himself mid yell. But, looking around it seems everyone is either too drunk or doesn't care enough to turn and even just give them a dirty look. “That you're crazy and you killed that lady outside.” And then we'll see who's laughing.

“Really?” Jeremy mocks surprise, “But where's the evidence?”

“I fucking saw y-"

“Yeah, but where’s the body?” Which… makes sense. The body just evaporated. How the hell did he do that. The only times Michael had ever seen anything like that happen was… in vampire movies. When the vampire got stabbed with… a wooden stake.

What the fuck.

Vampires aren't fucking real. Vampires don't exist.

Maybe Michael's the one who's crazy.

Maybe this is a dream. It certainly doesn't feel real.

“Do you even know how you would describe the woman you think you saw me allegedly ‘murder’?” Jeremy cuts into his thoughts with his dumb fucking nonsense. Of course he knows what she looked like! Her hair was… beautiful, and her eyes were… really pretty or something. Fuck. He knows he knows what she looked like but the details are gone. He can't picture her face but he knows she was gorgeous. Was she Asian? White? Black? He has no fucking clue, which doesn't bode well for giving a convincing testimony.

“Why can't I-? Did you do something..?” Michael drifts off. Either he has a concussion or something or something legitimately supernatural is going on here. And Michael wishes he thought it was a head injury.

Jeremy gives him that little white person grimace you do when you’re trying to say ‘sorry, man’ when you have no actual control over the situation at all. Michael’s had two beers and two shots so he’s starting to feel like he’s drunk too much to deal with this. Or not enough. Michael’s head is so full of just general buzzing and fog that the only place for his thoughts to go are out his idiotic mouth.

“...but vampires aren’t fucking real.”

Jeremy looks away and shrugs his shoulders. Yeah, yeah, Michael fucking gets it ‘what can I tell ya?’ and ‘it is what it is’ and all those fucking bullshit placating platitudes. ‘It’s all going to be fine’ yeah, bullshit it’s going to be fine. Fucking vampires exist.

Things are never going to be fine.

But if Jeremy had to kill that lady then does it make it okay to find him super hot? Because really, who hasn’t wanted to fuck Buffy?

And a dude buffy? The absolute dream for Michael’s dumb gay ass.

Really after the adrenaline and the fucking terror of tonight Michael may have discovered something about himself, and that is the thought of hunting vampires -especially with the cub equivalent of a goddamn Winchester brother- has got his dicks attention. He’s not suicidal so of course he’s not going to actually go around hunting vampires but it sounds like a pretty hot role play in the comfort and safety of his own home. Right now though? Michael just wants to be in the thick capable hands of Jeremy and then never hear from him again. Maybe he’ll forget about vampires one day. Heck if he can get Jeremy to fuck him hard enough he might forget by the morning.

“I’m Michael,” Michael says, trying to figure out quite how to pull off the transition from complete and utter disbelief to ‘let me get into them pants’. “By the way.”

Jeremy blinks.

“You told me your name, and I thought we could maybe try this again from square one.” Michael says and really everything has happened way too much so he is honestly just going to block it out until tomorrow. Or never. Who cares! “I’m an electrician and I’m here because my job’s boring and my life’s boring so I thought it might be a good time. Somewhere to do something and have a little fun.”

Jeremy shrugs and reintroduces himself, “I’m Jeremy. I hunt supernatural creatures-” creatures? Not just vampires? Well fuck, if goddamn bloodsucking dracula motherfuckers exist then fairies and centaurs might as well too. What the hell does it actually matter. “-but my day job is doing freelance art for next to no money. I’m here to kill a dangerous vampire, but now that that’s done I’m just here to drink.”

“Well that makes two of us,” Michael does that half smile that his last ex fucking loved. “So I’ve got to wonder what a vampire hunter’s house looks like. Walls hung with weapons and trophies of all the vamps you’ve dusted?” He laughs a little to show he’s not actually interested in hearing Jeremy’s fucking interior decorating scheme.

He laughs, “I think the landlord might not like that.” Jeremy stands rapping the table quickly as he stands -knock on wood?- “I was gonna get a shot. You in?”

Michael smiles.

His boss is going to be so pissed at him in the morning

--

The night so far has gone almost exactly as Michael had hoped. Excluding the vampire thing. Obviously. But otherwise he’s met a hot guy, had a couple of shots, and is sharing an uber to the hot guys house after asking to see something they both know he doesn't actually care about. In this case it might happen to be that Jeremy mentioned he had a necklace made of hellhound teeth. It sounds cool, yeah, but would Michael go out of his way just to see it? No.

The uber driver gives them a tired look as they leave, Michael clinging to Jeremy because it’s Texas, but it’s Austin and Jeremy’s got those massive guns that if he’s honest, Michael wouldn’t mind seeing in action again. With a little three fingered wave the driver’s off again and the night is cold and the air is thin.

Jeremy’s house is small to say the least, not in a great neighbourhood. But Michael’s not here to have kids, he’s here for a one night stand and then forgetting about Vampires and Ghosts and shit that his brain keeps coming up with explanations as to why they can’t be real anyway and so Michael’s going to sleep with a murderer. He’s done worse though. He once had an ex who played League of Legends.

“So hellhounds…” Jeremy continued the story of how he got the teeth as he flipped through his keys -jesus christ he had a lot of keys, it was like he was some kind of storage unit janitor or something- “...they usually burst back into flames when you kill them, but I wanted those teeth, so I-” The door opened, “-well I had to…What are you doing up?”

Jeremy stopped in the doorway, but Michael could easily see over him to where another man as sat on a couch with a book in hand. He can only hope this other guy is a roommate and for the love of god please don’t let him be this guy’s-

“Hun, who’s your friend?”

Boyfriend. Well now Michael’s never going to get laid. Thanks life, really fair hand you’re dealing him here.

“Oh, this is Michael. He saw me ice that vampire at the bar.” Jeremy explains, shutting the door behind him as it dawns on Michael that either Jeremy is really good at keeping it cool or he wasn’t planning on sneaking around behind his boyfriend’s back. So either this guy is a fucking idiot or him and his boyfriend aren’t exclusive. Michael doesn’t know if he’d be alright with that or not.

“Why’s he here?” The Boyfriend asks over his book.

Jeremy ‘um’s a little, “Well he wanted to see the necklace I got from that time we got rid of that cult-  The hellhound one.”

This Boyfriend puts his book down and he’s got these little reading glasses on and all of his hair held up in this messy bun. These two truly look like Michael’s fantasy threesome. He can say for sure right now that if they offered? He’d have his pants off before they’d even blinked.

God he’s so fucking lonely.

“He came all this way to see a necklace?” The boyfriend says, and he seems to get it. Like he hears how it sounds, because to anyone it sounds like Jeremy invited him over to fuck. “Is it just for the necklace or did you forget to text me?”

Jeremy goes beet red and Michael doesn’t really know what that means but he’s kind of stuck inside because Jeremy’s blocking the doorway. Fuck man He just wants to leave now. Well, yeah he wants to have a threesome, but if that’s off the table then really he just wants to leave.

Jeremy sputters, “I-uh-no!” Jeremy coughs, “No, really I just invited him to see the teeth. Proof! Because I was telling him about… vampires and things.”

“Well, if he’s here because of… uh… well I’m not really up for tonight. Bring him around Saturday maybe?”If only Jeremy had introduced his boyfriend then Michael wouldn’t have to just think of him is The Boyfriend. Also it’s starting to sound more and more like something was going on. Either they’re both murderers and Michael shouldn’t have come here or The Boyfriend thinks he’s here for a threesome. Well that’s two of three on the same page it seems at least.

“No!” Jeremy glances from Michael to his Boyfriend, “I, uh, Well if he wants to… but I swear! I swear to God I didn’t invite him for uh…”

“Well, he can see the necklace if he comes back on Saturday,” The Boyfriend says, getting up, “But I’m going to bed and you better be coming with me. You really need to tell me if you’re going to bring strange men here, whether you’re planning on having sex with them or not.”

Jeremy looks between them guiltily. Welp with is just great.

He takes an Uber home with a new number in his phone and the promise of a threesome on saturday apparently.

This has been a very weird night. Michael doesn’t even know if he wants to go, sure they’re both super hot and it’d be a good time but he should just delete Jeremy’s number right? Go back to doing nothing and forgetting Vampires are a thing.

Because honestly who wants to deal with that.

--

Michael looks at the text Jeremy sent him yesterday for about the fifty thousandth time. He’s still got this internal debate about what he’s going to do. It’s a struggle between how lonely and horny he is constantly and how much he’s decided that vampires and Hellhounds don’t actually exist. The bartender could have slipped something in his drink! Or Jeremy could have actually just killed a real life woman and he’s a fucking idiot for going to his fucking house rather than calling the cops. The problem is, it seems, that he can’t reconcile between his peace of mind and his peace of dick.

Why is his life so hard.

Buffy-> sorry about last night. i was a little drunk i guess. didnt eat yknow?

Buffy-> this is awkward and weird but i thought i should explain

Buffy-> it’s cool if you’re not into this just block me i guess? but me and Ryan have been talking about having a threesome for a while and he thought i had brought you over because of that which i swear was not what i was planning on

Buffy-> but uhhhh if youre down we’re down i guess

The lights in the house flicker on all around him. Electricity restored and Michael’s work here is done. His mind is on the texts and how to respond, they’ve been on his mind since he’d gotten them. Hell, Jeremy’s been on his mind since before that. There’s nothing in his life that matters enough to take his mind off of it. Nothing’s interesting or fun enough to occupy him with any other thought than if he should respond or delete.

Michael sits in his car just staring at his phone. He’s got nowhere to be and nothing to do until his boss calls him with somewhere to be. Otherwise he has all the time in the world just to stare at his phone while the angel and devil on his shoulder argue.

Trouble is he doesn’t know which one’s which really. They’re both more like two assholes who don’t know jack from shit.

The phone starts buzzing in his hand and his heart skips like fifteen beats thinking that it’s Jeremy. But it’s not. The screen reads ‘BossMan69 calling…’ and Michael doesn’t know if he’s sighing from disappointment or relief. Really it depends on what way he’s leaning in his internal struggle.

“Yeh?” He answers, pulling his feet from the dash. Time to get this show on the road, earn that bunce he needs to afford his five basic needs: food, shelter, water, video games, companionship. Or, well, four out of five isn’t that bad really.

Predictably his boss doesn’t call to tell him he has the day off, or a raise, or anything besides just where and what is needed and to confirm that even though he didn’t come back and he didn’t text that he fixed the wiring in that old couples house and he can move on to installing some switches in someone else's place. Predictably he gets there later than his gps tells him he should because he spent at least ten minutes staring at Jeremy’s texts and wishing he hadn’t quit smoking. It’s to the point where if he saw someone pass by with a cigarette he might just leap out of his car and wrestle them for it. He doesn’t because it’s Austin and smoking is almost illegal here but he would have. Let it be noted that Michael would have done it. He fucking swears on the big man himself.

When he gets to the house Michael looks from the gps address- screen screaming out how he has arrived at his destination- to the house. It’s the only house it could be and fuck if he would just need to install switches. Michael would be fucking surprised if this place had light bulbs installed. It’s classic horror movie haunted old house, it’s even got the old dead leafless tree. Well, it might not be dead, it’s fall so there aren’t any leaves on any of the trees but that’s not the point. The point is there’s practically a lightning crash behind this house and Michael stares up at it. He doesn’t get freaked out easily and even here it’s more the fact that this place is old as shit that he’s bothered, but onto the property sends a shiver down his spine.

He grips his bag harder.

--

As it turns out the job is easier and harder than he thought it would be.

On one hand he actually didn’t need to install anything, so thank christ for that. On the other hand well, Michael isn’t much of a runner really.

Really the suspicion creeped in on him when he opened the door and was met with the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Like stunning, perfect skin and amazing eyes. Then he smiled with weird sharp teeth, oh and then he had Michael look over at something on the wall and while he was distracted the guy, uh what was it again? Oh right, he tried to fucking bite his neck.

Now he’s locked in the bathroom with a heart beating a million miles a fucking minute because he literally just decided that vampires don’t exist. He had just decided that and yet here’s this guy trying to fucking drink his blood, living in a straight up dracula-style weird old house.

Slow footsteps creep down the hall, obviously maximizing the scare factor because this guy wanted to be classic. Honestly it’s so cliche Michael almost doesn’t believe in vampires again. On the other hand the vampire dude starts running his claws against the wall and he sounds like he’s getting fucking close and Michael can guess how well a lock is gonna work against an actual creature of the night.

His phone buzzes again.

Shit!

Vampires have fucking super good senses right? As he immediately panics about how he’s going to actually die because his service provider needs to tell him right now that he’s almost out of data for the month. Michael whips out his phone to make it shut the fuck up because really what the hell else are you supposed to do in a vampires bathroom as ominously makes his way to kill you?

But it’s not TMobile. It’s Jeremy.

Buffy-> yeah this is weird you should just block me

The beautiful fucking son of a goddamn bitch vampire hunter. Michael knew that he was a stupid but honestly this is rock bottom. How did he forget that he has the number of a vampire fucking hunter?

You-> yo help??

You-> m at 33 rver garfen blvd

You->big creepy house can’t miss it

His phone buzzes back with Jeremy’s reply.

Buffy-> whatd u need????

You-> vamp help

Buffy-> shit man??? b thr sooon.

Buffy-> get a sharp stick

And with that sage advice in mind Michael can hear the wood on the door that is the only thing keeping him from becoming a bloodless corpse creaks. A dent begins to slowly form outward as the dude, with obviously inhuman strength, pushes his flat palm from one side of the door to the other. It’s fucking intimidating, yeah, but if this guy keeps up his whole slow pursuit thing that he seems to get off on he’s going to get fucking dead soon. Jeremy seems to know what he’s doing.

Michael hopes he does at least

The door splinters as it bends back farther and farther before the whole centre breaks away as a pale hand pushes its way through the door. He’s gonna have to call someone to come replace his door. Then he’s probably going to fucking murder them too. The long nails in the vampire’s hand scratch along the wood.

Searching for the fucking knob that’s going to pop the door open and then Michael’s going to die.

He’s so fucking scared he couldn’t even think of a good Shining joke.

Adrenaline doesn’t make things slow down like in the movies. Michael doesn’t get another five minutes to think of his next move, but it’s like his brain moves faster. Like when you close all other windows and suddenly your game moves a lot faster, his brain shuts off all the unnecessary windows of sexual frustration and disbelief and panic so the one and only function he needs can run at maximum speed; survival instinct time bitches.

The splintered section of wood from the door had slid across the tile floor. Sharp? Check. Wood? Check. Near him? Well nearer to him than to the vampire -whose hand found the door knob so now it really was split second.

No time to think.

Michael takes the leap and bends to grab it, but time doesn’t slow for him and the door clicks open as his hand grasps the splintery wood and he’s going to need tweezers soon. But the Vampire’s fangs are fully exposed, extended like a snake’s and Michael can see himself in third person perspective; bent double and clutching a piece of wood, overshadowed by a tall imposing figure poised to strike.

There’s only one thing he can do and that's back the fuck up. Back up and stand up. But this isn’t a turn based game, there’s no Michael backs up then Vampires makes his move. It’s simultaneous as the ever encroaching threat looms closer, jaw wide, and Michael backs up until his back hits cool, hard tile that he can feel a thousand times more through his cotton shirt than he should. The wood splinters more in his hand when he grips it harder. He’s fucked but the part of his brain that tells him exactly how fucked he is was shut in favor of recalling literally any action movies he’s ever seen.

Michael knows it’s kill or be killed right now and he aims to kill.

Or maim. He’s still not sure how comfortable he is killing someone. Or Something.

The vampire takes a step closer and Michael’s had his arms for quite a while. He’s pretty sure he knows how long they are. He takes the swing, pointy end slashing across his body. He catches the vampire’s hands, dragging sharp splinters into gouges into his palms. Fucking get wrecked.

The vampire recoils, surprised, and Michael knows that at least he’s going to be the most difficult meal this vamp’s had in awhile.

“Fucking take that!” He yells kicking out at the Vampire’s balls, which doesn’t seem to do much other than knock the vampire off balance. It doesn’t last long though because Michael is not a kung fu master and he’s not very fast. A tight grip wraps around his ankle as the vampire steadies himself on Michael’s fucking leg and now it’s Michael’s turn to be off balance. And off balance doesn’t really cover it when, with the strength of a fucking ox, his leg gets wrenched upward and he tumbles backward onto the tile floor.

His elbows take the brunt of the force as his leg is dropped so his head doesn’t split in half, but he still cracks it hard against the floor, seeing white and feeling a deep nausea in the farthest parts of his stomach. And there’s a thousand pound man laying on top of im all of a sudden. A man made of fucking pure marble with razor sharp teeth and it’s the fucking end of the line.

The vampire’s teeth brush against the junction of neck and shoulder.

Michael still has a grip on the splintered wood.

Fangs plunge into his skin and it hurts like fire and knives.

Michael uses all of his strength, his considerably lackluster amount of strength, to drive the wood into the vampire’s back.

It doesn’t quite make it all the way to his heart but it clearly hurts because suddenly he can breath and his wounds are bleeding onto his shirt and skin and not into some fuckers mouth.

A door bangs open downstairs. “Michael!” Jeremy.

The vampire twists around to the source of the noise and Michael isn’t one to let an opportunity like this pass him by. He knees him right in the side, twisting himself to punch at the fucker. Which is a bad idea. It’s like punching a brick wall.

“Michael!” Jeremy yells from much closer.

“Fuckin’ hurry!” Michael yells back before the vampire gets his hands around his neck, crushing his windpipe. He doesn’t even know why he bothers clawing at his hand, trying to do something.

Jeremy appears in the doorway. The vampire turns his head again and Michael kicks out again, catching his ribs. “Take that you undead fuck!” Jeremy’s eyes light up in the corner of Michael’s vision.

Michael needs to stop being this gay for like two seconds.

With a stake in hand Jeremy runs in and now it’s two on one and Michael kicks his foot out hard, aiming for the jaw. He doesn’t know if you can knock out a vampire but he sure as hell tries. Jeremy goes straight for the heart, plunging the stake into the vampire’s heart with enough force to push all the way through his back. Then again, the ear splitting vacuum cleaner death rattle as the vampire dissolves into dust.

“Jesus fucking christ!” Michael topples onto his back, gasping for breath, “Fuck this holy fuck.”

Jeremy grins back at him, breathing hard too, “Yeah.”

His hands are so bloodless they don’t feel like his own. Fuck, nothing feels real past his eyes. “And you do this everyday? You’re a fucking lunatic!”

That laugh, it’s warm and genuine and full of relief over saving someone he barely knows, tugs right at his heart. But Michael shuts that down real quick. No need to catch any kind of feelings ever. Feelings, quite frankly, can suck his fucking dick.

“I wouldn’t say that, but yeah.” Jeremy says, still laughing in his eyes. Beautiful brown eyes that Michael could fucking care less about.

Couldn’t.

Michael couldn’t care less about.

And there’s Jeremy’s hand on his shoulder, “But you’re okay?” and it leaves him gasping, for a moment.

“Uh- yeah. No.” Michael cuts himself off, wrenching down his shirt, “He uh-” It still hurts. Two pinpricks and every vampire movie, every zombie movie, flashes before his eyes. Is he gonna turn? Is Jeremy going to kill him? Can he live off chicken blood and work the night shift? “I-I got, uh, bit.”

Jeremy blinks, “Oh, I have some, uh, disinfectant in the car. Infections. And a bandage for the bleeding,” He says, making a move to help Michael up, “But otherwise?”

Okay, no fear of becoming a vampire apparently? “No.” That’s lucky, “So bites don’t make you turn? I mean movies probably aren’t the most accurate thing to go by here but-”

“No-” Jeremy laughs like understands Michael’s hesitance. Like he’s been there. “No, it’s more, um, you have to drink vampire blood. That’s how you turn.” He pulls down his own collar, “I’ve been bitten -fuck- fifteen times?” Sure enough, his neck is littered with small white pin pricks. “It’s not really a big deal. It hurts like hell but otherwise.”

“Right.” Michael says, using Jeremy to finally get on his feet. “Right.”

Right, right.

When his wounds are dressed and his questions are answered the car is quiet. It’s a lot to take in. True it was a lot to take in before, but now it’s like it’s settled in his head.

Vampires are real.

Vampires are real and he has a crush on buffy thinks Jeremy is kind of attractive and will leave it at that because he really doesn’t want to get involved in this vampire nonsense.

Except that’s the most exciting thing he’s done in his whole life. That’s the first thing in years to get his heart to beat faster than a destiny raid It’s the first time he’s actually been in real danger and all of a sudden extreme sports make sense. He wants to fucking go bungee jumping.

“How long,” He edges into the silence carefully, “Uh, how long have you been hunting vampires?”

It gets harder and harder to lie to himself every time Jeremy laughs. “I didn’t believe any of it even after finding Ryan’s books. He was… really into supernatural stuff. I just thought he was into fairytales and shit but I got attacked by a fucking little goblin thing and I believed all of it since then.” He explains, “But my, uh, first vampire was maybe three years ago and it was just some dumbass who’d been sleeping for too long to know any modern technology, so it wasn’t hard.”

There’s one important thing Michael caught in all that and it’s unfortunate but, “So how long have you and Ryan been dating?”

“Uh,” Pausing to think is not a great sign for Michael. A threesome is one thing but Michael sincerely doubts he fucks good enough to get Jeremy to leave a long term relationship, “Five years? Five and a half. Learned about the supernatural stuff maybe four years ago? Got engaged eight months ago though. I know that one.”

Oh, they’re engaged. That’s nice.

“Engaged?”

“Ha, don’t have a date or anything. Hard to do that shit you know?” Jeremy says. Michael agrees even though no, he doesn’t know.

The car stops in front of Jeremy’s house again. Maybe Michael can worm his way to be a permanant fuck buddy? Or they could be one of those weird throuple things you see on buzzfeed? But he’s getting ahead of himself. He’s getting way ahead of himself. He just thinks Jeremy’s hot, no need to get into any weird three person relationships quite yet. He doesn’t even know how that would work. Ryan gets Jeremy monday wednesday friday and Michael has him tuesday thursday saturday? Do they alternate sundays?

“Babe! I’m home!” Jeremy announces into the house.

“I didn’t know you had gone!” Ryan yells back as Michael follows timidly behind. He doesn’t know why he’s here.

“I went to go help Michael with a vampire situation.” Jeremy calls, taking off his shoes in the entrance. Michael quickly follows perhaps a little too quickly. He hopes Jeremy didn’t see that. He’d think Michael was some kind of idiot, almost falling trying to pull off sneakers like a fucking idiot.

And again Michael’s reminded how incredible Jeremy is. Ryan walks in, drying his hands on a tea towel, as handsome and tall as ever. “Michael?”

Ouch.

“Uh, Michael.” Jeremy presents him with a nervous hand like he’s something to be embarrassed about. He is, but he doesn’t like being treated like it. That’s just fucking rude. “Michael? From, uh, yesterday?”

Ryan looks him up and down. He’s starting to feel really exposed and uncomfortable under the judgmental gaze of this apparent supernatural expert when Ryan finally smiles. He’s got pretty teeth and a smile like he’s never seen any suffering. He’s a good liar, Michael can tell. “Right! Michael.”

It’s thursday. A day of confusion and a day of awkward meetings and realizations. Thursday’s always that kind of day, a day where a lot’s happening. This thursday Ryan smiles at him, and Jeremy’s by his side and his heart fills with warmth and Michael knows in that moment that he needs to get laid more than anything in the world because he’s barely known these two a day and he thinks he might be a little in love. “H-hi.”

“Do you wanna-” Ryan winds the tea towel around his wrist “-I made enough dinner for left overs if you want to join us?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” He says. Honestly he had no other choice.

--

They bring it up first. At dinner. Jeremy and Ryan have this whole cutesy couple thing going on that makes Michael’s stomach hurt but they have this whole thing where they look at him and they hold hands and it’s like they’re going to offer him the best deal he could ever accept.

“So…” It begins after comfortable conversation peters out to comfortable silence over mashed potatoes and chicken legs. “You actually did really good.”

“Hmm?” Michael asks with his mouth full.

“Handling the vampire,” Jeremy clarifies, “You did good.”

���Mmm.” Michael agrees verbally but not mentally. He knows he would be a fucking raisin if Jeremy hadn’t been there to help him. He swallows his potatoes, “Thanks, but I would have been toast without you there!” Thank fuck he ran into Jeremy at that bar.

“Ha, well you handled yourself pretty well,” Jeremy assures and the look he gives Ryan kicks Michael right in the chest. “You’d be welcome to join sometime.”

Join? Join what? “Er-”

Ryan cuts in, “He means that -well- when we meet people and we show them vampires and supernatural shit is real they sometimes want to… help out?” Oh. They want to bring him into their vampire hunting squad.

“That’s-maybe.” It’s an interesting idea. But he has a job and he values his life. Michael stares at his potatoes. Who’s he kidding. He doesn’t value his life he’s fucking bored at home all the time.

He wants to be fucking Buffy for a change.

“Maybe,” he says, “Uh maybe I can help out? One time. See how it is…” Like a fucking vampire hunter internship program. Like he’s fucking auditing a class or some shit.

Jeremy and Ryan look at each other and then back to him, “Sure.”

--

At five his shift ends and plugs Jeremy’s address into his phone. It’s so fucking surreal still, even after hanging around with them last night talking about exactly what he’d be doing. He feels like he should prepare, mentally or physically or something, but his head’s just empty because he just can’t understand what’s going on.

He’s going to go help two gorgeous guys hunt vampires.

He wonders if this means the orgy’s off.

Michael pulls up into the driveway. Does his heart exist? Or is it beating so fast he can’t feel it? It’s just weird to think that he’s going from just a normal job to actual supernatural shit. He knocks on the door and just kinda stands there, rocking on the balls of his feet. Nerves.

It’s Ryan who opens the door, smile on face, “Michael! You made it.”

“Yep,” He says because there’s nothing else to say and saying nothing is even worse.

“Come in,” Ryan says, making room for him to shuffle in. He takes off his shoes; he knows the drill.

“So what are we doin’?” He’s already buzzing. Fae? Sea monsters? It’s been all he could think about and he’s been doing research. Well if looking up mythical creatures on wikipedia at four in the morning counts as research.

“I’m making hot cocoa babe!” Jeremy calls from the kitchen, “Ask Michael if he wants some!”

Well it doesn’t seem like anything particularly exciting is actually going on then. The buzzing in his chest slows.

“You’re not going to make me any?” Ryan asks as they both cross into the kitchen.

Jeremy clutches his chest in mock offence, “You think that I don’t already know you want some!” He smiles at Michael who is very gay, “So do you want any?”

“Uh,” It’s gonna make him gassy and he likes both these people, “Nah.”

Jeremy shrugs at him, “Suit yourself.” Like he’s doing this for himself, he’s thinking of them on this one. If it was up to him he’d be chugging hot chocolate six ways from sunday. Fucking lactose goddamn intolerance.

“So uh,” the room had settled into a comfortable silence and no one had answered his question, “What are we doing?”

Ryan pauses blowing on his drink, “Well this is your first official go, so we’re gonna go slow.”

“Like faeries or some bullshit?” He could fuck up a faery. He could wreck a fucking faery.

Jeremy and Ryan laugh.“Oh god no,” Ryan says, “Faeries are probably the most dangerous.”

Note to self: you cannot just fuck up a faery.

“Yeah, no there’s a gnome that’s tearing up some golf courses,” Jeremy explains, “Luckily everyone thinks it’s a mole.”

A gnome? Like a tiny garden decoration with a stupid smurf hat? “How do you know it’s a gnome?” Because isn’t it more likely that it’s just a mole anyway?

“Well there’s… uh… signs.” Jeremy says unhelpfully. No shit.

Ryan cuts in, “Flags, clubs, balls and all sorts of things have been going missing and gnomes get pretty-” He gestures vaguely with his cup, “Enamoured with human things.”

“Okay…” It’s not the biggest indication. People lose things all the time but they’re the experts so Michael’s just going to trust them on this. It’s not like he has any idea about the signs a gnome is living in his pants let alone on a golf course. “Okay so, what? We lure the little guy out with some cool people things, snatch him up, and then what? Release him into the wild? Kill him?”

Jeremy smacks himself in the face, “Ah shit, Ryan! People things!”

There’s barely enough time for Ryan to get out a confused “Pe-” Before Jeremy jumps out of his chair.

“We’ve wasted so much time looking for what they eat, but-” He calls, already out of the room, “-can’t we just…”

Exchanging looks with Ryan is a weirdly bonding experience. Maybe because they’re both just so confused by what’s happening.

“We can set a trap with” Jeremy marches back into the room, big box in hand, “Old shit we don’t need!” He looks so proud of himself. Ryan looks less proud when he stands up to look at the contents of the box.

“No.” He says. Which fuck, he’s the expert. Or one of them. It sounded like a good idea to Michael. “We’re not using my computer parts!”

“But Ryan,” Jeremy whines, “You never use them.”

“I will!”

“When?!”

Oh shit. This turned into an argument too fast for Michael to handle. Normally he’d just leave but they’re both standing in the only door way. Maybe he could just climb out the window.

“Just admit you’re using this as an excuse to get rid of my shit!”

Michael pointedly looks away from the arguing couple. His friends? You don’t technically count as a booty call until you’ve slept with them, right?

“You always say you’re going to use them! When? When are you gonna use broken computer parts from the 1800s? I’ll tell you. Now!”

“You can’t just volunteer my things!”

This is uncomfortable. This is weird and Michael really shouldn’t be here for this.

“I just thought this would be a good way to lure the goblin. Sorry I solved our problem I guess.” Jeremy drops the box of computer parts a little harder than is probably good for them. “We can use my things then. I’ll go grab some old shit of mine I guess and we’ll use those to catch this fucker. They’ll probably be more interested in some action figures anyway.”

Honestly this might be one of the more uncomfortable situations Michael’s ever been in.

Ryan gasps, “You are not.”

“Oh yes I am, Ryan.” Jeremy says, glaring at his fiance.

Ryan stares, horrified and Michael starts to feel like maybe he’s missing some context on these action figures. “We’re so close to that full set, please-”

Jeremy sighs dramatically, hand on chest, “I know Ryan, but we need to get rid of those gnomes, and if you won’t let me use your useless garbage, well…”

There’s a long silence as Jeremy and Ryan glare at each other. Each daring the love of their life to crack. Is this normal couple shit? Michael hasn’t dated anyone for longer than two weeks since, well, high school.

“Fine.” Ryan says, “But only because I got you the last of the set for Christmas.”

Jeremy’s eyes light up, “You what!” then his face falls, “You bitch! I’ll ruin Christmas for you too then! Remember-”

Honestly, Michael might give anything for a hot boyfriend who spoils his Christmas presents.

--

It’s gnomes (which they caught and replaced with an actual mole in the dead of night, but not before Ryan’s whole collection of computer parts was ripped to shreds) then a dragon (it was tiny and starting small fires outside of town and Jeremy almost convinced Ryan to let him keep it before the thing set Ryan’s shoes on fire) and in what felt like no time he was out with Jeremy hunting dangerous vampires (Jeremy’s laugh makes Michael’s heart twist) and in the wilderness with Ryan, luring werewolves away from civilization (Ryan’s smile makes Michael dizzy and giddy).

He doesn’t even realize they’d missed saturday plans until Jeremy reminded him.

Lil J-> i kno we were gonna hang like two weeks back but if ur on for this monday we can make up for that

Which either means ‘time to make up for lost threesome’ or what it says on the bag. Hang, beers, scrabble. Only time will tell.

Not much time. Michael pulls up to the curb. He’s prepared for both scenarios, wearing his nice underwear and his tighter pair of pants, but nothing too overt. To someone that didn't know Michael only owned two unstained shirts he would  just look like a regular guy.

The sun’s on his face and he locks his car. Condoms? Check. Beer? Check.

He knocks on the door. Over analysing and over thinking everything. Jeremy brought up the missed booty call, meaning he’s probably going to get laid. But Ryan and Jeremy hadn’t seemed particularly interested in him so it was probably just a regular hang. But you don’t have to be interested in someone as a person to have sex with them, so-

“Hey Michael,” Jeremy smiles from the open door, “You brought beer! Nice. Come on in!”

Somewhat stiffly, Michael does just that and suddenly it’s easier. He’s been in this house before, he has beer and he knows where to put it. He’s friends with Jeremy and Ryan and what happens will happen. That doesn’t mean the anxiety tightening in his chest is gone, but it’s easier for him to say ‘fuck it’ and start heading to the kitchen, throwing back a quick, “Thanks for inviting me. I’m just gonna put the beer in your fridge.”

“I’m real glad you brought that. I knew I forgot something, we only have hard liquor.” Jeremy catches up behind him, diverging from Michael’s path to the fridge to instead kiss Ryan, “And you didn’t buy any last week either.”

“Well I don’t drink it, how am I supposed to remember to buy it?”

“So, uh, what did you guys want to do?” Michael asks.

Jeremy and Ryan exchange glances that could mean anything. Don't jump to conclusions. “We were thinking about watching a movie,” Jeremy’s got a lilt in his voice that might not mean that this movie is a ‘netflix and chill’ sort of situation, “But we can do whatever you want.

Michael is very consciously not getting his hopes up and his mouth, which feels farther from his brain than usual, says, “Uhh, yeah. Movie. Um.” Pull yourself together! “A-a movie sounds fun. What were you going to watch?”

Jeremy shrugs and Michael grabs his rising hopes and pulls them down like a helium balloon. Intuition can be a dumb fucking bitch sometimes. Best not to make an ass out of him or Jeremy.

“Well Jeremy’s never seen Pulp Fiction,” Ryan says, giving Jeremy an intense look.

“Oh right!” Jeremy says, “We were gonna watch Pulp Fiction.”

Jeremy and Ryan look at each other again. Doing that weird ‘we’ve been dating long enough to develop telepathy’ thing couples do.

“I’ll make popcorn, you get it set up.” Jeremy says as he apparently either wins or loses their telepathic negotiation.

Ryan nods and turns to Michael, “Do you want something to drink? We’ve got soda, water, and you brought beer.”

“Uh,” This situation is too stressful for him to stay completely sober, “I’ll have a beer.”

--

Michael hasn’t been able to pay attention to the movie and he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be. Jeremy seems enraptured by Uma Thurman’s performance, but he keeps creeping closer and closer to Michael. Maybe it’s subconscious? But why lean closer and closer to Michael rather than Ryan?

Jeremy’s hand brushes his thigh and Michael can feel every vibrating molecule in his body. He could feel a fly bat its wings across the room. He tries to pay attention to the movie.

“Milkshake.” Some character he doesn’t know the name of says. Jeremy’s hand is fully on his thigh now. This is happening isn’t it? His dick is starting to take some notice too. Jeremy’s hand is so close and he’s been alone a long, long time. He’s just so fucking hot.

“I’m gonna go get more popcorn.” Ryan leaves and Michael gives a little nod to his back for apparently no reason. Everything in his brain is going so slow. Someone on screen laughs. Jeremy’s thumb traces circles in his thigh and his heart is in his ears so loud you’d think it would deafen him but he can hear birds chirping in fucking Europe.

Ryan comes back without refilling the popcorn bowl. In fact, he has no bowl. And he sits next to Michael, so now he’s sandwiched between the two and they’re both leaning on him, hands on him. He’s breathing three times as hard as normal but who could blame him? Michael moves his own hands, slowly. One, then the other.

First he lets his left drift closer and closer to Jeremy’s and when their pinkies touch he feels like a middle schooler. This was going to happen and they all know it, why did it have to move so slowly and so carefully. Why did he have to plan eight moves ahead? This isn’t fucking chess. So he takes the leap because it’s been a long time coming and Jeremy is so fucking hot.

He grabs Jeremy’s face and leans in to catch his lips. To kiss him.

Jeremy makes a startled, ‘ah!’ and then his hands are both on Michael’s waist and his beard scratches Michael’s face as he kisses back. This is happening. Holy fucking shit, this is happening.

There are two pairs of hands on the hem of his shirt. Two pairs of lips kissing him, Jeremy’s lips in tandem with his own and Ryan’s on his neck, finding those places on his pulse that make him sigh and moan. It’s like being with one person with two heads and four lips. Maybe years of monogamy turn you into a single finely tuned instrument with sex. Getting that routine together and knowing each other so intimately and knowing exactly what does what to your partner and how long they can last.

Michael whines and maybe it’s because Ryan grazes his teeth just below his ear or if it’s the thought of becoming part of this routine, this shared machine.

Jeremy pulls away and Michel tries to follow, but then he feels his shirt coming off and the next step from making out comes back to him. His dick is straining on his jeans. Well, he doesn’t really need them anymore. Ryan and Jeremy seem to decide wordlessly to double team Michael’s body, trying to cover every inch in kisses which makes taking off his pants difficult, but he settles for unbuttoning them. God that’s so much better.

The sound of Michael's relief seems to be a cue for Ryan because no sooner had Michael groaned than Ryan wound his fingers in Michael’s hair and tilted his head back to kiss him softly. Following, lingering kisses - letting Michael set the pace. Well Michael wasn’t one for slow and sweet. Especially not when Jeremy’s hand starts to palm his cock.

“Mmm fuck,” Michael groans between kisses and Ryan chuckles and Michael can feel it vibrating through his chest. He pulls Ryan back by his collar, bringing him back to the fast and hard pace Michael had set to handle the anticipation as Jeremy settles between his thighs and starts to pull down his pants.

Ryan pulls back, fixing Michal with a hungry look, his devious little smirk burning it’s way into Michael’s mind. Jeremy licks a long stripe from base to head and Michael can’t help but gasp.

Michael pulls himself back to his senses because Ryan’s looking at him with such a smug, satisfied look, he can’t let him get away with it. He pops the button on the front of Ryan’s pants, which shuts his stupid face up. Jeremy seems to be doing his utmost to distract Michael from giving his fiance a handjob, which would be fair in any other situation, but now it’s just plain rude. Jeremy keeps doing this thing with his tongue that makes Michael just want to hold on to something for support, but instead Michael starts pumping at Ryan’s dick and Ryan just moans and leans his head on Michael’s shoulder. Not even trying to help Jeremy.

Which… Is actually super fucking hot. Ryan, who’s always in charge and who takes control in research, in planning. Ryan, just becoming pliant and whining with Michael’s hand on his dick.

And Jeremy starts groaning around Michael’s cock, and it doesn’t take a genius to know two plus two equals Jeremy is touching himself through his pants and the thought makes it hard not to just cum right then and there.

Everything is fucking magical and Michael can’t believe anything that’s happening.

--

Michael wakes up, overly warm from being squashed between two people all night, and in desperate need of a glass of water and a piss. He tries to sit up, but Jeremy just tightens his grip around Michael’s shoulders.

“Hmm, no…” Jeremy says vaguely, brow furrowing. Michael’s heart is so light he could be floating through the fucking ceiling. There aren’t words that exist in the world that can explain how much this can’t be a one night thing. How Michael knows he’s gotta be here every day, held down by Jeremy. How the steady breathing of Ryan right behind him can’t just be here today and not the next and the next.

As Jeremy said last night when he wasn’t sure if he should leave or not, this bed is definitely big enough for three people.

He’s still got the piss though, and fix his parched throat, so -much to sleeping Jeremy’s dismay- Michael extricates himself carefully and climbs over Ryan’s sleeping form.

From the doorway he smiles over at them, and the clock on the nightstand blares out ‘3:26 am’. The wee early hours of a Tuesday morning.