#i was originally gonna go for like. a bar or a neon city street but idk. kept coming back to this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marvelous-imagines · 4 years

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His girl

Johnny Lawrence x kreese's daughter reader

Request:I love this! But like what about an imagine where the reader is kreese's daughter and a total badass (excuse my language please) and Johnny falls hard.... Maybe.... Please 🥺

Warnings: mild language. Fluff

@farewell-to-all

The sound of hard rock music blared from the speakers in the auto shop, well the garage, but you liked to call it your auto shop. It's a place you come and unwind, de-stressing by cleaning and tweaking a bit on your beat up 1967 chevrolet camaro, it's red paint chipping off a bit, black two lines racing down the hood of it. While you was distracted by washing the car you loved dearly, you didn't even notice your father walking inside the garage and turning your music off. You look up and can't help the little scowl that etched itself on your face.

"what the hell are you doing? Blasting that garbage loudly" he spoke with annoyance, eye's glued to you. You turn away from him and focus back on cleaning the camaro.

"well, I was cleaning my car while listening to music, but obviously you had to ruin that" you muttered with attitude, making your father angry.

"why don't you take a break from this stupid car and destroying your hearing with that damned music and train some with me in the dojo? God knows you need it" he looks you up and down, eye's flickering over your tiny muscles and weak looking self.

"are you implying I can't take care of myself now?" you ask him, throwing the cloth you held down and standing up, glaring at him.

"I'm implying that you need to learn more about you're own self defense, just looking at you makes me feel pathetic" he said, and even though he didn't intend it to sound insulting you scoff and shake your head.

"why don't you go back to you're dojo and prance around" you spat out, picking the rag back up and wiping the car down. Your father let's out a sigh and heads toward the exit, but stops to turn around towards you.

"you will always be my little girl y/n, I'm just trying to look out for you" you look over your shoulder at him.

"yeah? Well I'm capable of protecting myself, you've done taught me everything I need to know about self defense" you grumbled, he nods and walks out. You sigh and look at the red and black car with a little frown. Maybe you should show up at the cobra Kai dojo one day, surprise your father. You was growing a bit rusty with swift kicks and blocking....

The corner stores neon lights light up the darkness of the street. The moon out as the sun had descended the sky hours ago. Shutting your camaro off you step out of the car and head into the store, in search of snack foods and soda, tonight's planned dinner. Walking into the store you walk around, scanning the isles for whatever catches your eye's. But then you heard loud chatter among a group of people, when you take a peek like the curious person you are at the people you see a small group of guys, all wearing red jackets. You soon realize that it's cobra Kai jackets.

"hey beautiful, you look like you could really use a few drinks, wanna come along to a party with me and my friends?" you look away from the group of guys and see dark haired man standing beside you. Giving the stranger a unimpressed look you shake your head.

"I'm gonna pass, but thinks for the weird offer" you say and take a bag of chips off the shelf along with some bread.

"oh c'mon gorgeous, it'll be fun" he pushed, following you through the store. You take a six-pack of soda of another shelf and head for the checkout.

"listen pal. I said no, so leave me alone before I make you" you threatened, that caught the attention of the cobra Kai group. Placing the stuff in your arms down you watch the cashier scan them. But much to your dismay the stranger wouldn't leave....

"oh yeah? What's a small little girl like you gonna do?" he goes to grab your arm but you grab his hand and twist his rest, swiftly kicking his legs out from under him, causing him to fall on his knees where you then kick his chest.

"that" was all you said as you throw cash on the counter and grab your stuff and leave. But a certain someone followed you.

"hey! Wait up" you sling the bags into the passenger seat and lean on the car, watching the blonde man approaching, stopping in front of you with a impressed smile.

"that was awesome what you did back there, I was going to kick that guys ass for you but... It looks like you can handle you're own just fine" he said, blue eye's on you, but then look at the car behind you, "67 camaro, nice" he muttered with a grin.

"what did you want? Not to be rude or anything but I have dinner to make" you crossed your arms and look at the handsome man, although you didn't know him he had caused your heart to skip a beat, with those gorgeous blue eye's and soft face, you found it infuriating how gorgeous he really was.

"I originally wanted to say that you left your soda, but now I wanna look at this car" he points at the car with a smile, eye's alight with joy. You sigh and let a small smile etch its way on your face.

"take a look if you want, just don't try and steal it or anything" you joke while popping the hood open, letting him see inside. He chuckles while walking around to see the beauty of the motor.

"after what I saw in there, I don't think I have the balls to try and steal it" he joked right back, making you giggle.

"I'm y/n by the way" you outstretched your hand awaiting a handshake. He shakes your hand with a smile.

"johnny" he introduced as he then watches how you point out the cars original parts and the ones that you had put in yourself.

It was that night Johnny had started developing feelings for you. But the night he knew he was in love with you... That was a night he wouldn't forget.

Seated on the hood of your car, parked on a old barely used road, you and Johnny look over the city, eating candy as the radio played some rock song. After knowing Johnny for a few months you and him became close friends, he really dug your 'I don't give a shit' personality along with how tough you truly were. Needless to say, Johnny was smitten unbeknownst to you. That's how you found yourself here, head leaning on his shoulder as you was Laughing at Johnny's story he was telling you, about how he tried buying beer by flirting with the middle aged cashier lady.

"there is no way you actually thought that'd work!" you laugh, taking a sip of your drink as he chuckles. Arm wrapped around you.

"it's worked before I thought it would work again! No need to laugh at me" he says with a wide grin, sipping from his beer he managed to get.

"you're such a dork sometimes" you say, laughing lightly. Johnny hums a little in amusement.

"I'm not a dork" he defended himself with a teasing smile, looking down at you.

"says the man who thought a 50 year old woman would sell him beer just because he complemented her hair" you boop his nose making him scrunch it up and turn his head.

Just then a bunch of other teens pull up on the beautiful sight, loud music blaring from their car. You roll yours eyes and feel Johnny's hold on you tighten. The protective gesture warming your heart, even though you both knew you could handle your own well enough.

"looks like a couple of love-birds stole our spot guys" a man spoke up, his voice already pissing you off. Johnny could tell and throws the teens a glare.

"knock it off man, we were hear first" he tossed his beer bottle aside and keeps a eye on the jerks.

"oh yeah? We don't care, now beat it before you regret it losers!" a girl said from the girl, laughing along with the other man and girl in the car. Johnny jumps down from the hood of your camaro and looks them up and down.

"I Think you'll be the ones to regret it if you don't take you're pansy ass's down the road" johnny threatens. You stand beside him and watch how the man who spoke before gets out of the car along with the other one, the two girls staying put.

"shit, what are you doing do about it blondie? Braid our hair?" they laugh, but you felt anger boiling up within you at the goons.

"he's gonna break you're nose, or maybe I will" you growl at the men, making them burst out laughing. Johnny tenses his jaw, fists clenched. You could feel anger rolling off him. But you place a hand on his shoulder calming him down somewhat.

"like you could even throw a punch!" they laughed, really testing your patience. "you're nothing but a -

"a what?! Uh? " johnny seethes, blue eye's fixated a hard gaze on them.

"a little bitch" and that was all it took to have you pounce, shoving passed Johnny and using all the lessons and training your father taught you, kicking, punching and dodging like a professional. Your movements was fast, swift. You didn't even realize it but Johnny was stood frozen in his place, heart pounding, eye's glued to you absolutely kicking those men's ass. He knew he should have helped you, but he couldn't, he was hypnotized by you, how gorgeous you looked, how absolutely sexy it was with how you showed these jerks no mercy....

When the fight was over with the men left in a hurry, faces bruised and swollen, noses bleeding. You smirk and turn around to see Johnny in a trance, his eyes on you as his lips was parted in amazement.

"that was... Wow...." he muttered, causing you to laugh at him, patting him on the shoulder.

"I'm obliged to have you staring at my ass the whole time Lawrence" you say, making him blush and began to stutter. "now I do believe we have a whole bag of chocolates to finish" you say hoping back up onto the hood of the car, eye's watching Johnny with amusement.

"I wasn't staring at you're ass!" he tried to explain but you laugh and shake your head at him. He hops up beside you and watched you open a chocolate bar and take a bite, offering him a bite from yours he indulges. His eyes unable to leave you.

"you have chocolate on your face" you giggle at him, when he goes to wipe it off he completely missed, so you take your thump and wipe it off the corner of his lips, pausing for a moment to take in how close your faces were, his blue eye's locked on your own y/e/c one's. You lean in closer, his breath fanning over your face as you feel his nose slightly bump yours.

He was the one that closed the distance between you, his soft lips moving against yours in a frantic passionate way, his hand instantly on the back of your neck pulling you closer to him, causing you to let out a little sound of surprise into the kiss. Smiling as you placed a hand on his chest, but your lungs longed for air, forcing him to pull away and smile down at you. You felt a flutter in your heart at the way he looked at you in that moment, with such love and affection, a sparkle you'd never forget...

Although Johnny knew that was when he fell in love with you, you knew he had feelings for you at the beginning.

Standing in your father's dojo you practiced moves on a dummy, practicing more so on your kicks, roundhousing and trying to practice getting your legs up higher with each brutal kick you landed. Watching from Afar was Johnny and his friends. Watching how your father teaches you different techniques. Johnny let's a little grin spread across his face, eye's glued to you.

"she's hot, look at how powerful those kicks are" Tommy said, making Johnny smack his arm.

"that's my girl, shut up" he said, eye's never leaving you.

"God her thighs are so freaking toned!" another said. But luckily Johnny didn't hear, to caught up in how you landed one final kick, earning criticism from your father. He stormed off and you looked over at Johnny and wink.

He was absolutely smitten with you. Even though you was kreese's daughter you and you was both dating in semi secret, he couldn't take his eyes off you. He fell hard for you...

A/n: here it is! I hope you like darling! Sorry if it took a bit long to write, and I apologize if it's not good👉👈🥺

#johnny lawrence #johnny lawrence x reader #Johnny Lawrence imagine #william zabka #cobra kai #the karate kid #daniel larusso

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alfredosauce50 · 3 years

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What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 15

Wordcount: 3, 484 Rating: T for strong language and mild violence “For you, it can be. I'm actually conscious about the taste and origins. You know those protein jellies Zao makes? They're made of his roommates.” Chapter synopsis: Everyone goes out for a night in town for a day off. While Arthur is complaining about the venue of choice, Allen sulks about the prospect of being replaced. When you disappear to the bathroom, he follows you and comes clean about it, even suggesting that you run away with him. You're reminded that you picked the right choice when you come across some unfinished business. The reader is referred to as she/her.

15 - Blood was on the agenda

“Technology advances, but humans don't. We're smart monkeys, and what we want is always the same. Food, shelter, sex, and in all its forms, escape.”

He could repeat the quote word for word if he wanted.

A week had passed since Zao left the planet, leaving you buried to the neck with work, and him, with an unstable mechanic. Alfred was still wasting away, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when the guy was the source of all his problems. Ever since he returned to the guest room after comforting Arthur, this feeling of abandonment never stopped haunting him.

How could it, after seeing you curl up so comfortably with Alfred? Every night was the same. Allen would face you, hoping you could face him. But it was always your back. Your arms were coiled around the blonde's neck like they belonged there. And the image seared into his mind like branding. It only burned deeper into his soul at every passing day as you stuck closer to the man.

Down a narrow flight of stairs in a secluded street was a pounding nightclub. Two bouncers who could easily take his head off guarded the entrance. With tattoos of dragons etched into their skin, the sight was enough to get Arthur warbling again. “Why did we have to come here? The club across the street looked fine to me!”

Allen clicked his tongue and ruffled his hair.

“If it weren't for the fact that two of your friends are on the hit list, we'd go there. But we need every bit of protection we get.” Holding his hips as he gave the two men a squint, a tense silence fell around the group before they gave a soft grunt. A grin stretched over his face. “Good thing your boyfriend has connections.”

“... Hah...” Digging a hand through his choppy blonde locks, he shook his head with a hard frown. “And because of that, that idiot will turn up dead in a ditch one day...” As he trailed off, everyone entered the establishment. One of the bouncers whipped their head over their shoulder to stare at the group that just disappeared inside.

“Didn't we already let that guy in? The blonde one?” He pointed behind him with a thumb.

“... You're tripping balls, man.” The other sighed.

“Not today, I'm not. The one with the blue eyes. Like an hour ago.”

“Maybe he came in again cuz' he wanted to. It's not that deep.”

“This is why I'm better at this job than you.”

“Eat shit.”

It was a cloudy afternoon. A grayish-blue haze had been cast over the city, but what you walked into was so much dimmer in comparison. Nothing but neon illuminated the interior. Lights that faded from blue to purple lined the countertops. The tiles of the dancefloor were a blinding white. Next to it was a heated pool that glowed blue.

As fog clouded over the surface of the steaming water, it curled around the patrons wading in it. Needless to say, you were hypnotized. “Did nobody actually think of bringing their swimsuit?” Scrambling to the edge, you bent down to your knees and played with the white clouds. “A nice hot soak would do my sore muscles some good.” Before your fingers could do so little as graze against the water, Alfred grabbed your wrist.

“But not for your junk. They're practically swimming in STIs... Just do it at home in the bath.” He grumbled, pulling you up. Shivering at the thought, you let him pull you to the bar.

“But the bath doesn't glow...”

“Not yet, it doesn't.”

Allen narrowed his eyes. The guy was so quick to follow you, then lay hands on you, it had him rethinking his life purpose. Protecting you was meant to be his thing. Hell, it used to be his job, even. And yet, here Alfred was, having replaced him. No way. He was just an outsider in the end, wasn't he?

As he watched your interaction with him, he would soon learn he was right to some degree. Maybe Alfred didn't replace him, after all. He just became another figure in your life. Somebody he never managed to be--yet.

“Let's just grab some grub.”

Ever since Alfred arrived, he'd been wondering what was on the menu.

Hunger might have been history, but not eating. And you knew it well. Shooting him a weird smile, you nudged him with your elbow. “You say you don't have organs, but you still have a digestive system. How else do you use the toilet, huh?” Alfred looked at you, turned away, then looked at you again with his face scrunched up in a scowl.

He couldn't admit it, but you were right down to a T. “It doesn't count. It's not exactly real if it's not made of organic materials.”

Taking a seat by the counter, the stools beside scraped back to be occupied by your friends. While Alfred sat on your left, Allen sat on your right. Arthur took the end. “It's all a social construct.” You piped, much to his displeasure. The word wasn't entirely accurate to describe the emotions flurrying in his chest, however.

Was he frustrated? Yes. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to hear what you had to say. And you didn't disappoint. “If something serves a function in your body, it's an organ. Doesn't matter what it's made of.”

Alfred waved over the bartender. “I'm not having this conversation with you. We're from different generations, so I have a right to brood in peace.”

“Fine. But I won't let it destroy you.”

His breath hitched while he was about to order. “Can I--” Darting his eyes to yours, his voice only faltered at the steely look in them. Tearing his gaze from you had never been so difficult. “... Can I get a yakisoba with extra bonito flakes on the top? And uh, six of these dim sum-thingos?” He slid the menu to you.

“What do you want?”

A soft laugh rumbled from your throat as he refused to look at you. I'm finally getting through to your thick-headed ass, huh? But you couldn't be unreasonable. This was always a touchy subject. “I'll just have these dumplings. What about you two?”

Allen raised his brows, unimpressed. “Lotus chips and beer for me. This isn't the most vegetarian-friendly place in the world. Sucks.”

Arthur smirked. “I know, right? But protection is the priority, I suppose. I'll have the BLT.”

“I don't think you get to side with me when you ordered the worst thing off the menu.” The redhead mused, causing the other to flare their nostrils. He slapped his hands down on the counter to sit further up his stool. “But I get it. Aw, everything reminds me of him! Except for this BLT cuz' it's white.”

“Shut your gob and bugger off, Allen! It's literally just food.”

The said man sipped his beer loudly. “For you, it can be. I'm actually conscious about the taste and origins. You know those protein jellies Zao makes? They're made of his roommates.”

“So what? Not everyone has the same eating habits as you. Deal with it!”

You exchanged funny looks with Alfred. “Don't they get along well?”

“Not as well as us. And it'll stay that way so long as you don't talk about your philosophies.”

“... And that's not happening.” The food finally arrived, so the murmur of conversations came to an end. But it wasn't long before they picked up again. “You're not the only one who can have opinions.” Alfred glanced at you with narrowed eyes. “I can't even say that they're as strong as yours. But you'll have to live with them. Maybe you could learn something new.”

He scoffed, but he couldn't bite back a defeated smile. “C'mon, not this again. You of all people should understand how I feel about that stuff.”

“And I've seen what it does to you.” Alfred hung his head at that. This was exactly what he wanted to hear, but it annoyed him all the same. The hardest topics were often the most worth discussing, and this was a perfect example of it. Giving your chest a few indignant bumps with his head, he sulked like a child much to your amusement. “I'd love to entertain you some more, but nature calls.”

Hopping off the stool at that, he thrust out a hand to grab yours. It all happened so fast, even he was shocked. But it became apparent to you both what just happened—he needed you for one last reckoning. For you to see that expectant look of his, saying how he wasn't done with you. After a few moments, he let go, letting you turn away and run off to do your business.

Life had been such a shitshow you almost forgot the situationship between you and him. Even with his lacking memories, he couldn't forget it either. And now, he just had to wait for the right time.

“Right. That's it.” Allen grumbled, scraping his chair back to hop off.

Arthur glanced up.

“And where the hell are you going?”

“Gonna go with her. I've learned to not trust anything anymore.” Jogging after you at that, the mechanic was left with a fellow blonde.

“Well, would you look at that? It takes two to tango.”

Alfred shook his head. “What?”

“You and Allen, I mean.”

The toilet flushed. Leaving the cubicle to wash your hands in one of the communal sinks, you stared at your reflection as you shook away the water droplets. The pandemonium of the club music had faded to a soft thumping, giving you some space to collect your thoughts. Even in the darkness, what you saw in the mirror couldn't be clearer. It was distinctly different from watching yourself in a pond—where the ripples of the water distorted your image—specifically the one in the garden back at headquarters.

Your old home.

But it could burn for all you cared. This was who you were now. Tired, resentful, and fuelled by a fire of hot vengeance.

“... Whatcha thinkin' about?”

Your heart jumped out of your chest as you turned to the voice. Leaning against the doorframe was none other than your old bodyguard himself. “Oh my god, you scared the crap outta me.”

He craned his head to the side with a grin. “Sorry, a force of habit. Security works better when they're discrete.” You responded wordlessly with a small, wistful smile. As nostalgic as it was to have the man by your side 24/7, he didn't have to do this anymore. And it was better that way. Something about bodyguarding never sat well with you. Not with a man of his talents, anyhow.

Walking in to join your side, he bent down to fold his arms across the sink. Then, he rolled his head up to you. “So... Wanna tell me why you look like that?”

“Like... Like what?” Blinking a few times at the mirror, you leaned in to peer at your reflection.

Allen snorted. “Not literally. Well, not your physical appearance. I can tell when something's on your mind.” Straightening up, he squeezed your shoulder as he stared at both of your reflections. Almost instantly, he felt you tense up beneath his fingertips. “I've known you for nearly eight years, dollface. I'm offended that you're underestimating me.” The man pressed his cheek to yours coyly. “Even if you don’t talk to me about your problems, I can smell em’.”

You outstretched your hands to hold the edge of the sink, breaking away from the contact on his skin. It wasn't anything worth paying mind on your end, but the feeling of your face separating from his was reminiscent of tearing something from its glue. It stung as much as it was destabilizing. It showed in his troubled frown, which deepened when he heard your mirthless laughs while you hung your head.

“I'm sorry I haven't been talking to you.” The loudest silence fell around you both as his eyes went round with grief. “It's... Too productive.” Returning his gaze with a bittersweet smile, he felt himself die a little inside. You weren't spared of the sensation as you continued with an honesty so brutal, it killed you to say it. “I've been trying so hard to make something out of myself.”

Your brows trembled ever so lightly as they furrowed together. “But I'm getting so tired, I wanted to just... Give up on the future. Maybe disappear for a bit. But I couldn't bring myself to come to you or anyone about it. You especially.”

Allen huffed out a pained breath. “Why? I wanna help you! You can trust me with anything, you know that! Out of everyone in the world, I'm the closest to you, aren't I?” Holding onto your shoulders, he gave you a desperate squeeze. “Or am I wrong to assume that?” In this space in time, he never felt more betrayed in his life. The hurt coursing through every fiber of his being was unbearable—he preferred being skewered into by your father's blade to this.

“Because it’s Alfred now?”

Your heart sank as you listened to and saw how wounded he was. His lips were trembling, and tears were threatening to spill from his glassy eyes. Never in your life had you seen him cry. The sight was so sobering you couldn’t hold yourself from pulling him down into a tight hug. “No! It's because you're you.” As your bodies swayed from side to side in the embrace, you dug a hand through his hair and screwed your own eyes shut. “You’re my only family in the world. Nothing and nobody will ever replace you, ever.”

He tightened his hold on you as he let a few tears roll down his face. His eyes had been shut as a last-ditch resort to keep that from happening, but they oozed out the tiny gaps of his lids. “Then talk to me.”

Allen never knew he had this fear, but here it stood before him in all its glory, threatening to undo his sanity at the seams. It was the fear of being a second choice. Being abandoned. He already was once, and it nearly cost him his life. But if you did it--“What makes me so different from the rest? Why would it be easier to say this to everyone else?”

“Because you’ve known me since I was thirteen!” You buried your face into your hands to hide how it contorted with pain. Falling deathly quiet at your sudden outburst, he could only watch as you trembled away. “I’ve been working towards something ever since. I always thought I was scared of disappointing dad. But in the end, I was more afraid of disappointing you.”

Allen pulled you in again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate to kiss your cheek. It wasn’t a first, but the way how his mouth lingered on your skin made it feel like something more—something beyond a platonic friendship—and pulling away felt like a sin in itself. “Don’t think that fucking low of me. You could never disappoint me.” Pressing his forehead to yours, he bit back a contented sigh as your cries quietened to sniffles.

“You have nothing to prove. Fuck expectations. You don't have to live the way everyone wanted you to. Just live how you want.” Reaching up to hold your face, he was at a loss from how satisfied it felt to finally say it. But the moment of truth had yet to come—the culmination of everything he wanted in this world.

“Just run away with me. We can put this all behind us. We don’t have to think about this ever again.”

You held onto his hands that found a place on your cheeks. It was a nice thought. To abandon everything you knew to live a carefree and blissful life with Allen. But you declined with little hesitation. “We don't run from things. It's not who we are.” A sad smile made its way to your face. “And I have too much unfinished business.”

Allen wasn't sure whether to think of your response as rejection. But he wasn't about to let it get to him. “... If you ever do, then tell me. Zao's got a nice retreat in the middle of nowhere. We'll pack our things in the middle of the night and disappear by morning.” Your smile spread to him, but his was more bittersweet.

“I just want you to know that you'll always have a way out of everything. I'll wait for you. So just... Give me a call.” He shoved his hands into his pockets to walk off. With one last wistful look over his shoulder, he added this. “I'll always be your guy.”

Going to the bathroom was meant to clear your head, but here you were, sitting in your lonesome in an empty pool room in the penthouse to mull over the conversation. You would be lying if you said you didn't want to run away with Allen. A part of you wanted to return to how things used to be—when it was just you and him. He was the most important person to you in the world, but so was Alfred. You couldn't just forget about him like fuck all, could you? Breathing out a drawn-out sigh, you watched the soft pulsing of lights of the city at night through the window.

Maybe Allen did want you to forget him.

Fiddling with the gun he left you, the barrel scraped against the counter in small slides. Then, you picked it up with a huff to slide off the stool. It was about time you joined the rest. As you did, you caught sight of a familiar silhouette by the window.

Shrouded in the dimness of the room, their body was nothing but a shadow against the scenery of neon holograms and billboards. With a brief squint, you could recognize the person almost right off the bat.

“Alfred? How did you know to come up here?” Tucking the gun into your back pocket, you couldn't help but grin at the pleasant surprise. The said man spun to your voice, then waved. Your grin would've widened at the sight, but it faded upon discovering he was in a different set of clothes than what he arrived in. He came in a dark khaki military jacket and navy blue jeans.

Weird. When did he change to a kimono?

“Hey! I haven't seen you in ages. Come gimme a hug, dammit!” Tightening his arms around your waist, he lifted you up a few inches off the ground. A few nervous laughs fell from your lips as you held onto his shoulders to stabilize yourself. And they felt... A little softer than you remembered. Warmer. Before you could linger too long on the sensation, he set you on your feet and gleamed.

“Whatcha doing in the club, (F/N)? I thought you didn't like places like these. 'Specially when this one's got ties to the underworld and stuff.”

You craned your head to the side—never have you been this baffled. “... You walked in here with us.”

Alfred blinked. “Oh, did I?”

“... Are you drunk?”

He patted his chest a few times without eliciting any sort of whirring noise—immediately, the interaction changed to an unsettling one. But his answer only confirmed your suspicions. “Nope! Stone-cold sober. It would take more than a few drinks to get this baby down.” He gloated, much to your surprise. But the shock soon morphed into a grim kind of understanding.

Alfred couldn't get drunk.

In a heartbeat, you grabbed his wrist, then felt down his forearm. The utmost terror contorted at your expression as you felt his soft flesh sink between your fingers. You only sucked in a horrified gasp when you witnessed his veins disappear under your presses. It was almost as if he was—“Heh. You having fun there?”

Glancing up at him in a dark glower, you never bothered to open your mouth. Instead, you reached for your back pocket. If he was who or what you thought he was, you couldn't let Alfred see him. He couldn't leave this room alive. However, your conviction couldn't triumph the smallest shred of hope that you were just seeing things. There was one way to confirm you weren't hallucinating.

Blood was on the agenda, and you wanted to see it.

You pulled out your gun at light speed and fired a shot into his palm.

The explosive bang was loud enough to reach a few floors down, including the elevator that just left this one. Allen was whistling to himself when he heard it.

As faint as it was, he couldn't mistake it for anything else.

He shouldn't have left you alone.

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

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chapter three: take this longing

“your body like a searchlight, my poverty revealed. i would like to try your charity until you cry, ‘now you must try my greed’. and everything depends upon how near you sleep to me.” -“take this longing”, leonard cohen

The sun had dipped behind the Los Angeles skyline and in turn, the entire area was bathed in a blanket of bluish violet darkness. It was moments like that there in the northeastern side of the city that Sam realized she had missed it all. She peered out the windshield at the winding dim lit freeway before them: all the jacaranda and oleander trees tucked behind the brick walls that lined the road around them. Somewhere near there was the old neighborhood in Alhambra where her parents used to live at before she was born.

Chuck took the next exit to one of the side streets down below, past a small row of low palm trees off to the right. Beyond the trees stood a mural painted upon a wall of pale bricks. Sam couldn't exactly tell what the mural bore but she made out the sight of a series of bright colors there in passing.

“Did you see that?” Greg asked her.

“I did, yeah,” she said.

They rolled up to a stoplight and Sam glanced about the intersection before them. The darkening freeway to the left, the stretch of road right in front of them and all the mission style houses up that way as well, and to the right, the four lane parkway that took them into the heart of town and closer to that old neighborhood. The faintest of memories in mind and yet a memory nonetheless.

“Oh, god, the memories that are coming back right now,” she admitted.

“That's right, this is your neck of the woods, isn't it?” Chuck said as he raised his attention to the rear view mirror; even in the dim light, Sam made out the sight of the little glimmer in his eye.

“All of Elsinore and this side of L.A. in particular,” she said. “My parents lived around here when they first got married. They also lived closer to the beach, too—down by San Pedro.”

“Love San Pedro,” Tiffany declared.

“Oh, yeah, it's all cool down that way. San Pedro, Long Beach, Rancho Palos Verdes—it's all the real nice part of L.A.”

Sam thought about a walk on the beach at some point. So much she wanted to do while she was back there in California, that is if she could do it. Bill wasn't willing to let her out for any reason whatsoever.

Hell of a time getting back to New York if she so wished to do so.

In the meantime, she thought of her parents. Or at least she thought about Esmé and what she planned on doing following the divorce. The fact that her parents were splitting up left her wondering where it all went wrong when she wasn't looking. Her mother became an author and her father had his own things to deal with and yet she had no idea about either one of them.

Much like with her secret about living with Bill had to be kept away from Joey at all costs, she knew that she need not tell a soul about the divorce as well. As far as she knew, Bill had no idea about it, and he didn't need to know about it, either.

Within time, they reached the center piece of Alhambra, the vast stretch of dark grass nestled in between a series of scraggly but still fully shrouded oak trees. The grass made a little hillside near the middle of it all. And right near the sidewalk stood the dark brown wooden city sign: Sam peered out Alex's window to the stone sidewalk out there as Chuck searched for a place to park.

“We're just gonna be seeing them in a little restaurant,” he announced to them. “It’s another little baby thrash band, too, so it’s a humble restaurant rather than the sunset strip.”

“They’re not Poison or Ratt, anyway,” Alex noted in a low voice.

“Don't really wanna walk too far, though,” Chuck continued, “you know?”

“Right, right,” Tiffany said.

“Especially after all of the running we just did,” Sam pointed out. “And the fact I fell on top of Greg.”

Alex laughed out loud at that and Greg bowed his head at that.

“I saw that!” Chuck declared. “That was actually pretty funny—no offense, Greg.”

“Greggy,” Sam said in recollection of Zelda's nickname of him.

“Greggy!” Tiffany chimed in.

Chuck then swerved towards the curb and they took the spot closest to the corner, right across the street from a small bar in a brick building with a pink and blue neon sign in the window.

“We're seeing them in there?” Sam wondered aloud.

“Nah, next door,” Chuck told her as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Mr. Skolnick here isn't twenty one yet—neither are they.”

“Really?” Sam muttered but Chuck never replied as he climbed out first, followed by Tiffany, and they leaned the seats forward so she, Alex, and Greg could climb out into the impending darkness.

Chuck and Tiffany led the way to the warmly lit restaurant next door: on the far side of the room stood a doorway into a separate floor for a band to play. Behind them stood a long table with Death Angel shirts.

“Here just in time,” Greg remarked right as the lights turned low. The five of them were only a select few in a small crowd but it didn't seem to bother either of them up on stage. All five of them had that smooth Pacific Islander skin that seemed to glow with a halo under the dingy lights. All five of them were slender and svelte and their instruments seemed far too big for them.

“Band of cousins,” Chuck told Sam. “Each and every one of them.”

“I was just gonna say,” she started, “they all look related to one another. Like they're brothers.”

“All literal kids when they started out a few years back,” he continued. “About around the same time as us, but kids, though. Literally kids—you think Alex is still just a baby when you first saw him and also right now. I think Andy, the drummer, was fourteen when they dropped their first album. That was like a month after we officially changed our name to Testament.”

“Wow!”

“Hello, Alhambra!” the bassist declared into the microphone with a bit of a high pitch squeak of a voice. “We are Death Angel.” Indeed, they struck Sam as a five piece band out of a high school up there on the stage. But she knew they carried with them a bit of prowess from her secondhand experience with Mark. He then ran up to the stage with a portable microphone in one hand, and those long black dreads streamed behind his head. His slender little body was wrapped up in a big black Slayer shirt and baggy black jeans that appeared to be falling off of his hips.

To think Aurora had an encounter with him right before her wedding. The more Sam thought about it, the more she wished for Aurora to have gone with him rather than that harebrained Emile. But as far as she knew, Aurora never touched him once and she only did it to rile her up, especially after her behavior in recent months. He gave those dreads a little toss back with a flick of his head and he showed a big beaming smile out to the audience.

“This is from our brand new album—it's the kind of album you listen to in the City of Angels, too,” Mark said into the microphone head. “It's called Frolic in the Park.”

“What a name,” Sam joked, to which Greg and Alex burst out laughing at that.

“Exactly!” Chuck declared.

“Hit it—”

For a band of kids, they reminded Sam of the Cherry Suicides, just by their relentless nature, their tightness, and the high scratchy shriek that Mark sang in. They weren't nearly as akin to punk rock and they lacked that gory aspect as well, but they were definitely up there; his thick black dreads reminded her of Joey. She needed to call him at some point.

“Man, they just pull, don't they!” Sam shouted.

“They do!” Greg shouted back.

Mark lashed his tongue and threw his dread locks back so that he resembled to a sea monster up there. Andy kicked his drum so hard in order to get the crowd clapping: given it wasn't a very big room, Sam could feel the thumping right through the floor. Chuck and Greg also stomped along with them.

“Let me hear you guys!” Mark bellowed into the microphone. “I wanna hear this room come alive! Make the Philippines proud, Alhambra!”

He raised his hands up over his head as they plunged into a good long guitar solo. Sam thought of the Cherry Suicides in Boston, when they became a thrash band themselves for a few moments. The whole series of claps lasted about five minutes before they returned to the original flow of the song.

Death Angel played one more before they parted the stage, and Sam, Alex, and Greg treated them to applause.

“Hey, kids, you want a shirt?” Tiffany offered the three of them.

“Can get a whole bunch of shirts, actually, Tiff,” Chuck told her from behind them, “they’re all like a buck-fifty.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh at Bill’s complaint about a bag of crackers. Cheese crackers that were the same price as a handful of T-shirts she could sleep in that night and the one afterwards. But at the same time, she still shook her head at the very notion. And he was about to lose what income he had left; but Marla had the right idea to pressure him into finding a better solution for himself. Sam thought back to what her mother had said about things growing treacherous and sticky when kids were involved.

Greg bowed into the men’s room in the restaurant while Chuck and Tiffany strode outside into the night. Sam turned to Alex.

“You want something to eat?” she volunteered as she tucked her small bag of shirts under her arm while she put her change away.

“Nah, I’m not very hungry believe it or not,” he said, “Chuck also told me that he and Tiffany are going next door to bar for a drink.” To which he then eyed her juggling her things only to put her wallet away. “Here, let me help you—“

He took the shirts so she could put the change inside her wallet, and then her wallet back into her purse. Once she had it back against her body, he handed the shirts back to her.

“Thank you,” she told him.

“Wanna take a walk outside?” he offered her.

“Take a walk on the wild side?” she retorted, and Alex laughed, a big hearty bout of laughter. But he led her out to the front door of the restaurant, where the night had fallen upon Los Angeles: a hazy orange glow emerged from the downtown area, such that Sam could only see the stars in the sky if she turned her attention to the north, over the mountains.

Alex led her to the corner next to the bar, and they both peeked inside: Chuck and Tiffany were in fact in there and at the bar in anticipation of their drinks.

“Did Greg say anything about being in there?” Sam asked him.

“Nah, he just said he was using the bathroom and then he’d meet us outside.” Alex took a glimpse over his shoulder right then.

“I’m not seeing him, though.” He stood there at the corner of the sidewalk and she awaited right next to him there. Once they glanced about both ways first, he took a step off of the curb and she walked side by side with him to the opposite sidewalk, right near the car. But Alex himself kept on going into the darkness: the sole light came from the glow of the city, the neon lights behind them, and the sole street lamps on the corners up ahead.

“Would you believe that before I joined Testament,” he started at one point, “I never really had been to the L.A. area?”

“Really?” She was stunned by that, to which he nodded his head, even in the darkness.

“Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area my whole life,” he told her. “Never really felt the need to leave until I decided I wanted to be in a band. Sometimes I made visits to New York City or out to Vegas, but never the City of Angels. It was weird telling Chuck that, too, because he was born in L.A.”

They reached the street corner and he ran his fingers through his hair once more. Even in the nondescript light, Sam made out the sight of his deep eyes as they glanced off to their right. She was once again alone with Alex, and what better place than an area she called home for such a long time.

“I will say this,” he began again as he strolled along the sidewalk with her right next to him.

“What's that?”

“I'm glad that you're out this way,” he admitted: whenever he looked over at her, the ambient glow of everything made him resemble to a little porcelain doll. “Ever since we got together on New Year's over in Ithaca, I went home thinking, 'I was really wrong about Samantha.'”

“I feel bad about you overhearing at that conversation I had had with Aurora, though,” she confessed. Meanwhile, the sidewalk deviated away from the grass and gave way to pillars of pure concrete.

“Why?” he asked her as he stepped down in the barren storm drain.

“You saw a side to me that I didn't really want you to see.” She followed his lead into the storm drain, away from the concrete and almost into the street.

“Why? She was your best friend and she pretty much left you behind at this point.”

“And she made your day all about her,” she added.

“And she made my birthday all about her, right,” he echoed her.

They kept on walking around the concrete until they reached the next edge of the sidewalk. Beyond that something dark emerged from behind the pillars.

“Bit of grass here,” he pointed out.

“Grass, the trees, and the hill,” Sam added, and she turned to him. No moon out that night but there was in fact plenty of ambient light from the city near there and the very town of Alhambra; despite the dim light, however, she could make out the sight of that gradual hill side not too far from the concrete's edge.

“Remember during Kirk and Rebecca's wedding when you and Zelda rolled down that one hillside together?” he recalled.

“Oh yeah!” Sam snapped her fingers at that. “And you and Joey ran down it together with your shirts off like you were a couple of athletic boys.”

“I dunno about him but my suit was getting a little heavy at that point,” he pointed out with a shrug of his shoulders and a lopsided little grin. Through the darkness, she noticed his eyes pointed towards the other side of the grass. “Hey, there's the car.”

“Where?”

“Due north of us from here. Right over there.”

“Shall we frolic in the park?” she joked.

“At this time of night?” he pointed out.

“Yes.”

“There's no light, though, Samantha. We can't see the creatures and things that crawl about the grass beneath us.”

“Well, if we frolic about in the park, we gotta get closer at some point, though. So you can protect me from all the bad things that linger about down in the grass.”

“Well—you're technically married now,” he pointed out as they continued onward to the next corner. One more corner, and they were back at the restaurant and the bar, and of course the safety of the car.

“Yeah... but I don't have a ring, though,” Sam pointed out. “Sure, Bill made me sign some things but we don't have the things that make a marriage a marriage. Or at least so I think.”

“But you are technically married to Bill, though,” Alex insisted. “That means we can't fool around or do anything like that or anything that involves any kind of frolicking. Or at least that's what the Jew in me tells me.”

Sam giggled at that.

“Mr. Wandering Jew,” she joked.

“The Wandering Jew!” he recalled with a chuckle. “I think we gotta put a name on that at some point.”

“Who, you and me or you and Testament?”

“Testament! That could be a track for an album in the future. When I get back to my guitar, I'll throw around some licks and see what comes out of it at some point.”

“You are just—you are fascinating, Alex,” Sam remarked.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. There’s so much more to you than meets the eye, and I feel like I’ve just scratched the surface with you.”

“You really have, Samantha,” he told her, “you like barely made an etching on the surface of the little Skol-man.”

“By the way,” she began and a part of her shuddered at the phrase given she knew Bill likes to employ that onto her, “I know you're a guitarist for a heavy metal band—but are there any other genres you play?”

“Not really,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Most of my influences tend to be rock n' roll based. Most anyways. I saw Miles Davis in a concert on TV a while back, and ever since then, that's piqued my interest for the jazz world. I was raised by older parents compared to my peers. Where they grew up to things like Grateful Dead, I was exposed to like Sinatra and Dean Martin when I was growing up.”

“Who do you tend to be influenced by?”

“Well, my favorite band ever is the Beatles. I think anyone who knows what they're talking about when it comes to music they mention the Beatles at some point. They have to mention them, too, otherwise they have no credibility. The thing that got me into heavy metal was Kiss—I remember being eleven years old and literally begging my parents to take me to see Kiss. I actually cried to convince them.”

“Aw!”

“Yeah, my older brother Nate was like 'okay, Alex, if we can't get Mom and Dad to say yes, turn on the water works' and I did! So the Beatles got me into guitar, Kiss was what convinced me to go into metal—and then I found Van Halen and Eddie Van Halen, whom I think genuinely inspired me to be a lead guitarist. And then I started finding more and more guitar players like Randy Rhoads and Stevie Ray Vaughn. I also found a movie—you might find it the next time you go to a video store like near here or over in New York—that came out when I was nine years old, I think? I was nine going on ten. It's called 'American Hot Wax'—got people like Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Screamin' Jay Hawkins playing themselves!”

“'American Hot Wax',” she repeated, “I'm writing that down.”

“Please do! The last time I threw out that movie name to someone they forgot it in like three minutes and then I never saw them again.”

Sam stopped right on the sidewalk in search of that one piece of paper, the one with Chuck's and management's phone number written on one side, and a pen down inside of her purse. Alex stopped right before her with his head bowed a little bit before her. The neon from the bar across the street from there provided enough light for her to find it but she had to squint her eyes in order for her to adjust to the sight of the ink on the paper.

“Can you see?”

“Sort of.” She held the paper within the pink and blue glow of the neon and that proved to be enough for her.

“'American Hot Wax',” he repeated. “The story of Alan Freed, the disc jockey who introduced rock n' roll to the masses and even coined the term, too. It's a little obscure, though, I remember one of Nate's friends had a copy of it and I happened to watch along with them. So you might have to look around for it.”

“A little late movie night the next time I see Marla and Bel,” she said as she carefully wrote the words down.

“Do they still live in New York, by the way?” he asked her.

“Marla does—Belinda went up to Albany to work in a shop that specializes in stained glass.”

“Oh, wow, that's badass.”

“She tried to get me to take stained glass when we were in school but it went through twice.”

“Damn, that would've been awesome.”

“She showed me a few little tips and tricks on the whole world of glass. There’s just… so much I want to do. You know?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Absolutely.”

Alex then turned his attention to the sidewalk before them, to the car still parked there. Chuck and Tiffany were in that bar there while Greg appeared to be still in the restaurant.

“What shall we do next?” he asked her. “We kinda walked around in a big circle just now.”

Sam tucked the piece of paper and the pen both back into her purse, and she glanced up at the grass before them. They were close to the car and the sole light came from the neon across the street: he was too young to go inside there and she needn’t drink lest Bill ask her about it by the time she came back. As far as she knew no one would see them out there.

“We can lie here, though,” she suggested, and he giggled at that.

“Just lay on the grass?”

“Yeah, like star gaze. Just walking around here, I can tell that the sprinklers haven't come out yet, either. We're a ways out from the very center of L.A., so the light pollution isn't so bad out here in Alhambra.”

“Yeah, guess we sure can,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “Just don't get too close to me, though.”

“Why not?” Sam laughed.

“Because when you get too close to me,” he started with a little gyration of his head, “it warrants a kiss from you.”

“I won't kiss you,” she assured him. Alex sighed through his nose and he ran his fingers through the piece of black hair on the right side of his head. That little glimmer of gray atop the crown of his head appeared even lighter against the soft neon glow near there.

Sam tucked her new Death Angel shirt underneath her arm, and then she led him onto the soft dry grass in the midst of the trees. It wasn't in fact entirely dry: a light dew already began to fall over their heads. She guided Alex towards a spot on the grass, the driest spot as far as she could tell there. He had rolled up that single bag of T-shirts into a tight bundle and, once Sam stopped right in place, he dropped down to the ground and he set the bundle down on the grass behind him.

“Oh, I see what you're doing,” she declared as he lay down flat on the grass and his shirt lifted a little bit up his body. Even in the darkness, Sam made out the sight of that little sliver of pale skin between the bottom hem of his shirt and his jeans, about the width of her thumbnail, but a sweet little sliver of his tummy nonetheless. She bunched up the shirts in her bag as well, and she followed his suit and lay down next to him there on the grass. A couple of inches separated them from the other.

“I won't kiss you,” she assured him for the third time in a row.

He shifted his weight there on the grass and folded his hands upon his stomach, which in turn made the sliver between his shirt and his jeans a little bit bigger. He swallowed and his neck appeared much more shapely than before. She thought of drawing that shapely neck at some point. It was a fleeting thought, but that thought in fact swam right through her mind at that point. The shape of his side profile and the soft appearance of his black hair as it sprawled over his shoulders even down there on the ground.

Sam then cleared her throat and he rolled his head over the makeshift pillow for a glance over at her.

“So if you write a song called 'The Wandering Jew',” she said, “will you credit me for inspiration?”

“Of course,” he replied with a slight chuckle. “I mean it only makes sense to do just that.” He showed her a sweet little smile and then he rolled his head back to where he lay flat on the bundle of the other shirts. “The Perseids are coming up here soon. At least I think they are.”

“Perseid meteor shower?” she asked him.

“Yeah. They're right in the middle of August—at least I think they are. That's my memory of them from when I learned about them in school.”

He fetched up a big yawn and then he stretched his arms up over his head. Sam rolled her head over her makeshift pillow for a look at the side of his face: the way in which his side profile had such a fineness to it. The prominent but gentle point of his nose. The full sensual shape of his lips. The smoothness of his skin and his chin.

She never thought of Alex as being so lovely, but laying there next to her, she recognized another side to him that she hadn't seen before there. She inched closer to the side of his face, much to his surprise. He gaped at her and raised his eyebrows at her.

His little body enticed her and she wanted him, and she wanted to kiss that little pearl of gray upon his head, now a little tuft the size of her index finger. She set a hand on the side of his face and she lunged in closer to his face.

“Samantha!” he gasped. “What're you doing?”

“I want to kiss you,” she whispered into his face; she showed him her tongue.

“Don't,” Alex begged her in a soft whisper and with a shake of his head.

“I want to kiss you,” she insisted as she gazed into those deep eyes and at those sweet smooth lips, as smooth as butter.

“Samantha—Samantha, please—you're legally married and you have a boyfriend, too.”

“So?”

Alex froze right in place at that.

“So?” she repeated, and he cracked her a smile and he laughed at that. He brought a hand to his mouth in order to stifle his laughter given they lay together there outside of the bar. She lifted herself up and then rolled over him: she suspended herself over him. He was right underneath her; Sam brought her face closer to his so she could smell the soft cologne on the side of his neck.

Decadent, like a little treat for her and all for her, all for being such a bad girl.

A bad girl with a good boy.

His chest heaved from her being right above him. The tips of her dark hair dangled down towards his chest and she ran her tongue around her lips to get him going as well.

“Samantha, I—” He could hardly talk. “—I—” She pressed a finger to those lips.

“You're just—you're so sweet and intelligent and funny and refined and just—everything totally different from what I'm used to.”

Alex swallowed but he never moved a muscle.

“I want to come closer to you,” she begged him as she touched his chest. With that free hand, she unfastened the bottom lip there at the top of his shirt. “I want to come closer to you, Alex Skolnick.”

Or at least that was what she thought would happen had she inched even closer to him. Instead she fluttered her eyelashes to rid of the daydream, and she just lay there on her back next to him and every so often, she peered over at him and the soft and smooth side of his face.

“I should tell you,” she began for real that time, “you have the cutest little lips.”

He snickered at that.

“You do! They're really cute and shapely, and I like how they kind of peel back whenever you talk, too.”

“I'm a mishmash,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Like one of those rag dolls,” she added.

“One of those rag dolls they piece together of all the scraps they scrape up from like the bottom of the barrel.”

“Nonsense,” she insisted.

“These lips under this schnoz and with these eyes and with the little tuft on my head? Yeah, it's bottom of the barrel, Samantha.”

“You are not from the bottom of the barrel, Alex,” she persisted. “I assure you.”

“I'm like something that the world likes to keep a secret, and by the time it comes out, it's already been said and done.”

He sighed through his nose and Sam frowned at that. And then it hit her, especially with Joey and Marla not around, and neither of her parents knowing about Alex himself.

“Speaking of secrets,” she began, to which he rolled his head back over the roll of shirts on the ground. “Can you keep another one?”

“I'll lock secrets up in a vault and never let them out,” he said in a single breath, “especially after Louie told Marla about your living situation. Can't believe he did that.”

“My parents are getting divorced,” she told him straight up.

“Aw, really?” He gaped at her.

“Yeah.”

“Well, why am I sworn to secrecy about it?”

“My mom doesn't want me talking about it with anyone. But she doesn't know about you, though.”

He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Really?” he said in a low voice.

“Yeah. So—could you?”

He ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth.

“I'll put them in the proverbial vault, Samantha. Don't you worry about a thing.”

“Hey, kids!” Chuck called from across the street.

“I want you to be my secret, too,” she blurted out to him.

“Me?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Yes. From my parents, from Joey, from everyone. I want you to be my best kept secret.”

“Sam?” Tiffany called from across the street. “Alex?”

“I’ll explain later,” she vowed, and he nodded his head and they both clambered up to their feet. Alex fixed his black hair and Sam straightened her top.

“Oh there they are, babe,” Tiffany pointed out from the shadow under the neon lights.

“Had a little fun on the grass?” Chuck joked as they headed closer to them.

“That’s for us to know and for you to find out,” Sam retorted, and Chuck erupted into laughter. She glanced over at Alex and the shadow cast over his face.

“Gonna be hell of a time getting you back home,” he said in a low voice. “I just think about how that man treats you, too.”

“That’s an understatement. I don’t even want to go back there.”

“You wanna hang out with us!” he exclaimed with a chuckle. “Next time we’re down this way, I’ll make sure you get a spot with us in the hotel room. I’d hate for you to go back to him.”

“Aw, Alex, that’s so sweet of you,” Sam said with a smile on her face.

“There’s Mr. Christian,” Chuck declared.

“Looks like he’s got some food, too,” Alex added. Indeed, Greg returned to the car with a brown cardboard box in one hand. The two of them awaited Chuck’s unlocking the doors as well as the folding back of the seats.

“Still not hungry?” Sam asked him as she took a whiff of whatever was inside there as Greg walked past.

“That might change,” Alex confessed to her before he climbed into the back seat behind Tiffany first.

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leenishinoya · 3 years

Text

‘Round the World

Post time skip Nishinoya X y/n

[I used 1st person POV from the perspective of Y/N]

Chapter 1

"I'm telling you Y/N; this is unacceptable!" Ma shouts at me.

"I know that already, Ma!" I shout in response.

Lately, we've been on the wrong foot, constantly fighting over trivial matters sprinkled among significant ones. Every day is comparable to a chicken fight, and even the neighbors have had enough of us. In short, we're at each other's throats.

"You're already 20 years old, and you still don't have your own house," She starts, but I'm tired enough of this same conversation. I stomp towards my room and slam the door when Ma chases after me and catches it before it could shut in place. She stands angrily in my doorframe as I bury my face in the cold pillow, messily resting on my bed.

"You know I've been saving up money to get out of here, and you're still in my ear every waking moment," I retort. Ma's face scrunches up. I've been saving up all of my checks from various jobs for the past few months. Recently, I dropped out of college after realizing it was taking too much of a toll on my wallet. I need as much money as possible to get out of this hellhole of a town. There's nothing to do here but lounge in diners and go to a busted, half-abandoned roller-skate rink. I would love to move somewhere out of the country and exotic, quite literally anywhere but here.

"I refuse to have a lazy, no-good freeloader raising my light bill and eating my food," Ma snarks from afar. Trust me: I'm undoubtedly grateful to her for raising me for 18 years and allowing me to stay in the house during college to dodge lodging costs. And I don't think I'll ever be able to repay her, but I won't act like she isn't the most bewildering person I've ever met.

I burst out in rage.

"Well, if you don't want me here, then I'll just leave!"

The room goes silent. My expression is in a scowl, and my face feels hot. The shock on Ma's face says it all. "Fine," she says after what feels like a lifetime, "then get out."

I suddenly feel regret flush into my body, seemingly flowing faster than my blood. But I won't let Ma get the best of me. I speed past her silhouette in the doorway and navigate through the halls to find the storage closet. I noisily grab a duffle bag and go back to my room. In the background, I hear Ma talking on the phone, spilling my business.

"Yup! I know, right! She should've been out of here ages ago!" she stage whispers. (*whispers loudly for my non-theater kids*)

"Have fun rotting in the retirement home, you old hag!" I yell on the way out, quickly breaking into a sprint before she can make me pay for that remark. I run as far as my legs and lungs will take me. Past my favorite diner, the one that puts extra love into their fries. Past the creepy cemetery that kids dare each other to trek across for Halloween. Even past Nana Goldy's house--she's not my Nana, everyone calls her that.

I come to a stop at the outskirts of downtown. It's less busy over here, and it's quiet enough for me to clear my head.

Two things were clear right now: One, I have nowhere to go. And two, I'm hungry as hell.

What was I thinking? Sure, Ma is annoying as fuck, and I lived in a dull, endless cycle of capitalism and labor. But at least I was safe--not sitting on a damp park bench at 7 pm. I must be the smooth-brain of the goddamn century. I need to figure out a plan and fast. Someone could snatch my ass at any given moment, and I wouldn't know a thing!

I think Satan accidentally received my fears instead because a man suddenly pops up behind me.

"Um,"

Shit.

"Excuse-"

A let out the loudest yell I've ever released in my entire life. By instinct, I whip my body around, and my fist collides with his jaw instantly. He flies back in pain, and I collect my belongings and get ready to speed off.

"Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!" the strange man winces. He has a slight accent that I don't recognize. "I was gonna ask you for directions, but I guess I startled you. My bad," he grins sincerely. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to get the hell out of here, but something about his expression made me let my guard down, just a little.

"I'm sorry for slugging you," I start, still keeping a good 3 meters between us, "but I kinda hafta go."

He sits up energetically. His left hand is still cradling his cheek. "Before you go, would you mind telling me how to get downtown?" he says. Never in my whole life have I ever met a man who asks for directions from his assaulter. Oh yeah, he could be trying to turn me over to the cops! I don't wanna go to jail! Well, at least I'd have a roof over my head. Wait, what's wrong with me? I socked him in the jaw; the least I could do was tell him how to get help.

"You won't call the cops on me, right?" I question.

"Nah, it was my fault after all," he reassures me. He picks himself off of the ground, revealing his structure in the dimming sunlight. He has a sturdy but slim build, like an athlete. Dressed in black cargo shorts, a cheap, loose-fitting v-neck, and a run-down pair of sneakers, he was beaming. He looks like someone's father--what the hell am I doing?

I give him the directions to downtown, along with the nearest emergency room. He smiled brightly and thanked me countless amounts of times. What a character.

I wait until he's out of sight in the direction I pointed to and make my way downtown as well. I need to find somewhere to sleep; and something to eat. I don't have any friends to call on. Most of them are either across the country from moving away for college or living in the dorms here. The one friend I have to call, Sid, is living with their grandmother and five brothers, so I'd have to be out of my mind to move in there if they would even allow me. Today has to be one of the worst days of my life. Drowning in self-pity, I stumble through the noisy streets of downtown. Vibrant neon signs line the walkway, inviting pedestrians into various restaurants, stores, and clubs. I've never been to some of these stores; their price tags are too demanding for my just-over-minimum wage jobs. Finally, a little tucked-away bar squished between two multimillion companies catches my eye. It looks like the perfect place to collect my thoughts--for real this time--and fill my stomach.

The moment I enter the bar, instant warmth surrounds me. No more than a dozen workers weave through the tables accompanied by a comfortable amount of people. I'm sure I stick out like a sore thumb with my bags and tired expression, but I'm too hungry to care right now.

I walk up to the reception counter, where a pretty lady was standing behind the small counter. She gives me a big smile before asking me how many people. "One," I say, but then I hear a more or less familiar voice from the furthest corner to the right of the building.

"Over here!" shouts the man who I decked in the park, wearing an even bigger smile than the reception lady. What even is my luck at this point. Miss Reception Lady spoke before me.

"Your friend?"

"Not in the slightest."

Reluctantly, I walk over to the man's booth and plop down. "We're not friends. I'll pay for myself," I mumble. He wipes buffalo sauce from the corner of his mouth with a napkin, then takes a swig of his drink.

"I'll pay. it's the least I can do in return for you helping me find this awesome restaurant. Man, the food in America is top tier."

"All I did was tell you how to get to downtown," I reply.

"But it's because of you that I was even able to get here!" He lets out a hearty laugh that seems to melt away my stress.

"So you're a foreigner? I don't recognize your accent," I figure it wouldn't be too bad to start up a conversation.

He tells me that he's originally from Japan but had been traveling the world for some time now. From Japan to Spain to Portugal, Brazil, and Egypt, he plans to visit every country--at least once. He shows me pictures of his travels; the Great Pyramids of Giza, the Tokyo Skytree, even Christ the Redeemer. He talked about the time he participated in a bullfight with a 96 year-old-man. Fascinating. This man with a permanent smile and a bruised cheek was living my dream life. I asked him to tell me more. But he insisted I talked more about myself and why I was sitting on a park bench at 7 pm.

We talked for a good two hours. By then, I've ordered a burger and fries with a Sprite and chips. A different lady, this one with a more solemn expression, approaches our booth. "Are you ready to pay?" she asks the man. He glances at our empty plates and cups, then nods. I begin to retrieve my wallet when he pulls out his own.

"It's on me," he assures with a smile.

"But we've eaten so much, I can pay for my part," I object.

He looks me in the eyes as if he were deciding something important. After a minute of awkward eye contact, he rested his elbows on the table. "Okay," he grins widely, "in return for paying for your meal, be my escort."

Escort? Escort? I mean, he's a foreigner--he must be mistranslating. But what if he isn't? What if it's all an act and those pictures were just deep fakes? What if he's trying to lure me into a trap like he's done to many other young women, and I'm his next victim?

"Oh, I don't think that's the word. Guide? Is it?"

My anxiety levels go down. "A guide? Guide you where?"

"Around your city, of course."

"I don't even know your name."

He extends his hand. "Yu Nishinoya. You can call me Nishinoya."

You shake his hand in return. "Y/N, pleased to meet you." [yall I just realized Y/N has the same initials and Yu Nishinoya I'm ecstatic and an idiot]

CHAPTER 1 END

give me criticism

#nishinoya yuu #nishinoya #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #manga #wholesome #haikyu #time skip #y/n #nishinoya x y/n

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the-marshals-wife · 4 years

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Sticks and Stones [Part 1] (Arthur Fleck x Reader)

Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: Full disclosure: I loved Joker. I appreciate dark, psychological character studies, and this film both enchanted and terrified me. #Oscar for Joaquin 2020 That being said, while I know the catalyst for the movie is to show how an unfeeling, broken world can break the soul of a person, I really wanted to write my take on what a simple dose of kindness could have done to impact the tragic life of Arthur Fleck.

Description: Arthur Fleck x Fem!Reader, angst and comfort fluff, Mur-ray | Warnings: Flashbacks of bullying, mild verbal harassment, mention of blood | Setting: Before the events of the movie | Word count: 2,807

Gif credit: user joaquins-phoenixs

Imagine being friends with Arthur in school, and after running into him many years later, you find out how much your kindness meant to him

Why had you not moved out of Gotham? What on Earth possessed anyone to stay here?

These questions tumbled about in your anxious mind as you pulled your purse strap even closer to your chest, the stale night air sending chills straight through you.

“Because you’re broke, you idiot,” you answered yourself silently, glancing over your shoulder every dozen steps or so.

There wasn’t a place left in Gotham City where you didn’t have to white-knuckle anything of value you dared to carry with you, but this particular borough had all the makings of a murder scene waiting to happen. Piles of trash were stacked up at eye-level on both sides of you as you trod down the narrow pathway left on the wet sidewalk. The odor from the black, plastic mountains burned your nose every so often, each level in varying stages of decay.

“Ya just had to get a gig on this side of town,” you groaned, your breath making a cloud before your eyes in the plummeting temperatures.

At every street corner, you were just waiting for it to happen. Some starving, deranged thug was gonna jump out and it was gonna be on. You gripped the mace within your coat pocket tight, the possible scenarios playing out before you as you quickened your pace. In your twelve years in Gotham, you’d been mugged twice, and you weren’t about to go for a third without a fight.

10 more blocks to the train station. Why was it so frickin’ far?

You begin to hear your heart pounding in your ears as you pass by a dilapidated bar. A host of unsavory looking characters loitered outside the boarded-up, gratified windows, and you could feel every last eye fix on you. Their gazes alone gave you a feeling of violation, more adrenaline rushing through you as their fascinated chatter reached your ears.

“Hey baby, where you staying tonight?” one of their sleazy voices called out.

“What’s your hurry, sugar? We can help you stay warm,” another beckoned, followed by a chorus of laughter that curdled your blood.

Mace would not be enough tonight. You break into a run, abandoning your original course and racing to the end of the street where you thought you remembered there being a diner. Their sickening voices echoing off the buildings behind you, you tear around the corner out of sight, almost tripping over a mutilated bicycle.

There, at the end of the street, the blue glow of neon perforates the fog hanging over the pavement. Gasping from your stinging lungs, you slow your pace a bit, looking behind you to see the vandals were too drunk to give chase. Brushing your wind-whipped hair from your eyes with your shaking hands, you make for the diner as quickly as you can. Not a single car in sight, you cross trash-covered road, inches away from sanctuary.

Jerking the door open, you all but stumble into the diner, still panting as your eyes sting in the bright light.

“You alright, miss?” the waiter behind the counter asks, concern on his weathered features.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you,” you say, feigning a smile as you sink onto a stool, “Coffee, please.”

He nods, grabbing the pot, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“That would be a decided improvement,” you reply, wrestling off your coat as he pours the coffee into the dingy cup. “Thank you.”

“You sure you’re alright, miss? You need to call someone? The phone’s just outside,” he questions, scrutinizing your lingering shortness of breath.

“This is all I need. Thank you,” you insist, genuinely relieved to have found a decent person.

“Alright. I’ll be in the back with the dishes. Holler if ya need something,” he relents, though still obviously unconvinced.

Forcing yourself to breathe deep, you stare at the piping hot liquid, but can’t bring yourself to drink it. You reach out to fiddle with the spoon on the chipped saucer, but your still-trembling hands remind you of the situation. It was too late to call any of your friends. You doubted you had enough money for a taxi.

“How did you get into this mess, Y/F/N Y/L/N?” you ask aloud, throwing your head down onto your arms upon the counter.

“Y/F/N?” a quiet voice repeats, causing you to shoot up.

“Oh Lord!” you exclaim, easing into embarrassed laughter as you turn around.

“I’m sorry, I thought I was...” you trail off, recognizing the face in the booth across the aisle.

“Alone?” he finished, unmoving, giving a modest smirk.

“Arthur?” you ask, stepping closer.

“Hi, Y/N,” he smiles sheepishly.

“Arthur Fleck, is that really you?”

“Yes m-ma’am,” he stammers a bit, looking flustered as all get out.

“Oh my goodness, it’s been so long! How have you been?” you grin, sliding into the booth.

“Alright, I guess,” he says, barely keeping eye contact.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, glancing around the restaurant as you failed to do before, yet seeing no one else.

“Went for a walk. Got tired,” he replies placidly. “What about you?”

“I just got off work. Took a wrong turn actually,” you say, deciding to change the subject, “How’s your mom?”

“She’s good. Hasn’t changed much. Not really.”

“You have. You look good,” you smile, looking him over.

Perhaps your choice of words had been generous, though well-meaning. He was as gaunt as ever, hunched over, his features tired and resigned. A dark shadow hung around his right eye, the remains of what surely was black a few days before. A band-aid clung to his left temple, and a patch purple-tinged skin trailed down his neck, the bruising reaching below his shirt collar. Your heart sank, realizing how little had changed for him since your days at Otisburg High.

“Not me. You look good,” he deflects, “As always.”

“Aw, thank you.” you say, catching a glimpse of the Arthur you once knew. Even after enduring abuse at the hands of his classmates, there had always been a gentleness to Arthur. Under his reserved surface, he was thoughtful and childlike, in what you considered the best way possible, especially in the world that you lived.

“Do you work around here?” you ask, wondering if that is were he received the beatings.

“Here. There. Pretty much anywhere,” he says, his demeanor starting to change, “I’m a clown. I preform for people. Make them laugh. I used to like it. Now I just do it...because I can’t do anything else.”

You pause, unsure how to continue, the subject obviously tense for him. Before you can speak again, he breaks the silence, his gaze drifting downward.

“You remember the day you first talked to me?” he asks, methodically ripping a paper napkin into smaller pieces. “It was the day Harvey Bullock pushed me in front of the bus.”

You swallow hard, the memories of that awful day returning with every word he spoke.

“He cornered me in the hall that day. Him and some of his buddies. I was walking to lunch. I wasn’t bothering anybody. I never bothered him. All I ever did was laugh,” he reflects, bitterness gripping his voice. “They said I was broken, and that there was only one way to fix me.”

Tears pool in your vision, and you can barely keep your eyes on him as he describes the horrifying events.

“They drug me outside, and threw me down the front stairs. I yelled for help, but everyone around...they just watched,” he tells, tearing at the napkin further.

“Arthur...” you breathe, not wanting him to finish.

“He grabbed me by my shirt, and as he went the throw me in the street, you know what he told me?” he asks, finally looking up and meeting your gaze, pain filling his eyes. “No one could miss a freak like you.”

“Arthur...he, he was just a stupid kid,” you say, but he goes on.

“The bus driver didn’t see me. I thought I was gonna die. But then I didn’t,” he says, staring right through you, “Someone grabbed my leg, pulled me out of the way, right as the tire was in front of my face. By the time I sat up, Harvey was on the sidewalk, blood pouring outta his nose.”

You smile despite yourself. You broke your hand that day. It was worth it.

“There you were, standing over me. I didn’t even know your name. But you saved me,” he says, his expression softening. “And I’ve always wondered...why?”

“Arthur, come on,” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“No one else ever cared about me. No one helped me. I coulda died in the street that day, and no one would have cared. Why did you?” he asks, genuinely looking to you for an answer.

You hesitate, realizing you’d never put it to words.

“They were so mean to you. The cruel things they said, the things they did. I hated it,” you say, looking at your hands, “We moved all the time when I was little. Otisburg was my fifth school. By then, I knew what it felt like to be alone. To be picked on for something that you can’t control. And...I didn’t want you to feel that way too.”

Arthur stares at you in bewilderment, unable to respond at first.

”And they’re as wrong about you now as they were then. You’re not broken,” you say, placing your hand on his, “You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re talented. We all got our crap. Just because yours shows differently, it doesn’t mean you’re not worth as much as anyone else in this whole frickin’ city.”

The expression of astonishment on Arthur’s face was enough to make your heart ache, but you weren’t going to stop until he remembered himself the way you did.

“And you may have forgotten, but it was you who was nice to me first.”

A bashful smile overtook him, “I was not.”

“Oh yes you were!” you declare, “You’re the one who talked to me first, remember? Julie Ranelagh stole my notebook in sixth grade. I’d broken my arm from falling off the playground, and she took it right out of my backpack during recess. You made her give it back. Grabbed her by the pony tail ‘til she screamed.”

“I almost forgot about that,” he poorly stifled a chuckle, his cheeks turning a tinge pink.

“See?” you say, giving him a knowing look. “Why did you help me?”

“You didn’t deserve to be treated like that,” he said in almost a whisper, staring at the table.

”Neither did you,” you confirm, at last answering his question.

“Alright, alright. You win,” he concedes, snorting a bit. A moment passed before he spoke again. “I guess we were both freaks to everyone else.”

“I’d rather be a freak with you than a small-minded cretin like them,” you declare. “You know, I never got the chance to thank you for saving my notebook. You rescued like eight of my songs that day. They were terrible. But I still loved them. Still have them, somewhere.”

“How did it go with your songs? Are you a singer now?” he perks up, starting to sound like himself again.

“Well, sort of,” you sigh, “I don’t have a gold star yet, let’s put it that way.”

“What do you mean? Your singing is beautiful,” he questions, seemingly surprised by this news.

“Thank you, Arthur. I wish other people thought so.” you lament, though his sweet words mean a lot to you.

“They will! You just gotta get out there,” he encourages.

“I’ve had a few shows. Nothing too big. A few clubs, a couple of events. Actually, that’s how I even wound up here. Y’know, alone in the middle of the night. I had a gig over at The Black Canary, that one really fancy club?”

“That’s great!” he responds, as if he’s hanging on every word you say.

“Yeah, mostly. They said they’d call me if they wanted me to come back. Kinda sounds like a ‘no thanks, toots’ to me,” you say, shrugging a bit.

“It’s their loss then,” he says firmly, “Something will work out. You’ll get the right job one day and then everyone will see what a great singer you are.”

“I hope you’re right,” you say with gratitude, not really wanting to talk about yourself anymore. “What about you? How is your big time comedy career?”

“It’s pretty good. I’m working on a bunch of new material,” he says proudly, “I’m going to be doing a show here soon. You should come and see me.”

“I’d like that. For sure. I could use some humor in my life.”

“And I’ll come hear you sing,” he declares.

“Deal,” you agree. “And for the record. I’ve always liked your laugh.”

“You’re the only one,” he scoffs.

“No I’m not,” you insist, “You’ll see. Someday your laugh is gonna turn this whole town around.”

He smirks, savoring the idea. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze.

That seems to settle the argument. Running your fingers through your hair, you lean back and glance at the clock over the kitchen door.

“Well, I need to be getting home. Somehow. I don’t reckon they’ll let me sleep here tonight,” you exhale, your anxiety for going back outside piquing.

“Where do you live? I’ll walk you home,” Arthur immediately offers.

“I appreciate that, Arthur, but I live over in Coventry. I planned on taking the train, but I ran into some interesting characters out there. I came in here to get away from them. Not exactly thrilled about going back out,” you explain.

“I’ll walk with you to the train station then,” he states, climbing out of the booth.

“Really? You would do that?” you ask, “I don’t want to keep you from getting home.”

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I knew you were okay,” he insists, waiting in the aisle.

“Alright,” you relent, pulling on your coat and scooting out yourself. “You win.”

“Now we’re even,” he points out, raising his eyebrows teasingly.

“For now,” you say, reaching into your purse and laying your last spare dollar bills on the table for the untouched coffee.

Arthur opens the door for you, and you walk out into the cold air together.

For ten blocks, the two of you talk about the last decade. The good, the bad, the in between. You learn more about his job and all the “interesting” (as he put it) places he’d been. He loved making children laugh most of all, and you loved hearing him say that. You hoped that part of his innocence could stay alive, as long as he was able to be silly around others. After all he’d been through, you only wanted the best for him.

20 minutes later, you stood on the platform, body chilled by the night but heart warmed by your company.

“Maybe next time, we can...have dinner or something,” he suggests, glancing quickly at the train doors as they open behind you.

“I’d like that,” you say, “After I see your show?”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” he hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey,” you say, looking him in the eyes, “I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” he nods, “I’ll let you know when.”

Standing on your toes, you kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” you say earnestly, stifling a giggle when you see how big his eyes are.

Taking a seat in the deserted car, you look out the window to see him meekly waving. You wave back as the doors creak shut and train lurches forward. A huge grin now plastered on his face, you watch Arthur until he’s completely out of sight.

You shut your eyes and commit the image to memory. That was going to keep you going further than any paycheck.

“Bring it on, Gotham City,” you challenge, exhaustedly raising a fist.

If Arthur could keep smiling in all this madness, so could you.

#arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #joker imagine #arthur fleck imagine #joker #joker 2019 #arthur fleck #my writing #joker x you #arthur fleck x you #arthur fleck x y/n #joker x y/n #joaquin phoenix

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nygmaisms · 4 years

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♡ ˙ aaron tveit, he/him, 26 / EDWARD NYGMA has been displaced !! originally from DC, HE has found themselves in new york city, WITHOUT their memories . on the SCREEN, they come across as WITTY, AFFECTIONATE, NOSY, & LOUD . we’ll see if their FLICKERING NEON LIGHTS AT DUSK, SMUG SMIRK LOCKED ON FEATURES, & A RUBRIK’S CUBE WAITING TO BE SOLVED personality will be their downfall or their saving grace in these streets. / faith , 22 , she/her , est

first comes first, eddie doesn’t have any of his memories.

eddie baby has undiagnosed DID, which means ed has a friend in da membrane that talks to him sometimes. he has a few of the same qualities that ed has, but then he has a lot of qualities that ed doesn’t have- like charisma for DAYS.

if you asked ed, he couldn’t tell you when his friend first made an appearance; it’s almost like he’s been there his whole life. perhaps started out as an imaginary friend to talk to as a kid as he didn’t attract too many people with how smart weird and talkative he was. but over time this friend just became his enemy that became more aggressive and now seems to have a life of their own through ed when he’s sleeping.

ed is an ex-forensic examiner and scientist. a year ago he was let go from his job after his coworker and girlfriend had gone missing. obviously, it didn’t make ed look good, but they had nothing they could pin ed to the case when there was no body or evidence.

with no job, ed spends a lot of his time scouting for them so he can keep his apartment. sometimes he’ll get a call from the police station asking for his opinion on things, but other than that it’s a lot of sitting in coffee shops and bars looking through job ads. though he doesn’t have a job, he seems to not struggle with keeping the apartment as he somehow ends up with money in his pocket every few days. a lot.

some days you’ll get talkative, weird ed and others you’re gonna get the dark, witty, charismatic ed. and if you come across the latter for the first time, don’t expect him to remember you the next day. but there’s no telling when you’ll come across who.

that’s all I got for now. i’m tired. zzzzz

#dphqintro

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stusbunker · 5 years

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Featuring: MoC!Dean x Demon!reader, Original Female Character, Castiel, Charlie, Crowley, Rowena

Summary: Our reader’s back and there’s gonna be trouble! Charlie brings back the Book of the Damned and CC asks Castiel for something he doesn’t want to give.

Warnings: This is super long, possession, show level violence, rough sex, face fucking, oral sex (male and female), hair pulling, dirty talk, dub!con smut.

Series Masterlist

*^*

March 30, 2015

Munich, Germany

The city was old, streets wrapping around buildings at harsh angles and in varying stone. But that was what you needed, age, wisdom, answers. At your sendoff, Crowley had given you a name, occupation, and a proverbial pat on the head. You didn’t know why you complied so easily; until you heard the first peal of laughter from a stranger on the sidewalk. Humanity. To be surrounded by life was worth the mission. Language and social niceties came back quickly, adjusting from vessel to vessel as you navigated the foreign byways.

It was easy to forget your time with Dean here; to imagine yourself something newly minted in this different world. The power you found during your initial escape in that lonesome field painted with bull’s blood, was nothing compared to the possibility of redemption. It taunted and teased you with that naïve hope only Crowley’s goading could coax from your battered mind. He hadn’t mentioned your previous time running his errands, nor the Winchesters, but he didn’t have to. He had your number, and once you started stacking the clues together; you had his.

The shop was warded to the nines, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t watch from the café across the street. You handed the server a fifty Euro banknote and asked to be left alone, freeing your table for the lunch hour and beyond. Hell, the teacher of eternal patience had left you with nothing to do but absorb and endure. So, you did what you knew; you waited. Eventually, the shopkeepers eased from the side door, their business hours long faded into the setting sun.

They each cast a hasty glamour once they spotted you. Too late; you had their scent now. Carefully you rounded the building the opposite way they had headed, the alleys were dark and narrow so much more inconvenient for the humans you tailed. Their hurried footfalls remained unmasked, up and over the next embankment. You didn’t flinch as they separated, trying to confuse you further. They only managed to spread their magic too thin and soon you had gained on the rasping breaths of the one that had decided to go north.

“I’m not after you, you know. I’m looking for someone else,” you said in blunt German.

“I know who you work for,” the rough voice answered in accented English.

“Then you know it is easier to give me the information than wait for the consequences.”

His middle-aged face appeared as he dropped his last barrier from your shining black eyes. He pushed off the brick wall and squared his stance, hands dangling and fingers working in distracting movements. You pulled the handgun from your waistband and met his bluff. No one expects a cowboy duel in the Fatherland, but nothing about your afterlife made sense.

“You want to draw a little more attention to yourself there? Bullets don’t scare me, demon,” he spat out the last word as if he was some holy man, some saint worthy of a judgement.

“Witch killing bullets might slow you down a tick though, yeah? Witch.” You said it how it felt best on your tongue. You spoke over your shoulder to the one who had rounded back, failing to trap you, “thanks for joining us. All I need is for one of you to talk and then we can all go home. Easy peasy.”

“What does it want?” The one still hidden from sight demanded from the one staring down the barrel of your gun.

“Information,” you answered evenly.

“On who?”

The man shook his head at his partner; the name in your head reaped more fear in the witch than Crowley. The silent conversation dragged between them and you decided incentive was necessary at this point. If Crowley’s reputation wasn’t enough, enforcement needed to make up for it. You pulled the hammer back and aimed.

“Alright, alright, what do you need to know?”

“Give me everything you have on Rowena MacLeod.”

*^*^*^*^

April 1, 2015

Inside Man

If Dean was avoiding CC, then he was. If CC was avoiding him, he had no idea. It was almost too easy to be with her in the quiet library or even the cavernous garage, now. Maybe it was the non-human thing, but Dean didn’t really notice her anymore. A chameleon in any room, there, only when she wanted to make her presence known, otherwise she had become as peripheral as furniture. So, it was with the same regard as to a bookcase that Dean called Rudy, begging to be his back up on a case. Sam had his mime movie thing and Dean had his cabin fever. Bupkis it was.

He slipped into the driver’s seat and headed to nowhere in particular, the purples and greens of twilight kept at bay with Baby’s headlights. Dean needed something normal, something expected, something as easy as his hands on the wheel and his cassettes in the deck. This was where he belonged, where he was himself and how he could make sense of things. Now with what the Mark and the world had done to him, he needed it more than ever. Without Sam’s constant vigilance and CC’s over accommodating methods; Dean needed to feel like Dean again, even if it was just for the forty-mile drive to a douche filled sports’ bar.

He switched to the radio about twenty minutes down the road, letting a familiar snare walk and bass line fill the car. He started singing along, drumming his fingers on the downbeats. Dean let himself sink into the music, the carefree joy of belting out crescendo after crescendo. His voice cracked on a lyric and he stopped to swallow as it all hit him. He missed her. He fucking missed the demon. He finished the song, words hitting him harder on the other side. He ignored the tightness in his chest and the shake to his hands. Thinking it made it real and the reality of longing for something, someone like that made his stomach pitch. But it wasn’t disgust, it was grief.

Dean yanked his thoughts out of the depths and brought them back to surface survival as he pulled into the parking lot. The faux neon signs reflected on the Impala’s freshly waxed hood. The meager groups were congregated around the pool tables and Dean decided to try his luck.

A few beers and a pool hustle later; Dean realized he should have stayed in for the night. Rowena had set a pack of rabid frat boys on him and he had to reign in every ounce of his control to stop from gutting them all.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean had the tiny woman pinned to the bar after her spell failed to even give him a nosebleed.

“Saving my son!”

Dean’s confusion was dwarfed only by his surprise. “Your son?”

“Crowley,” she challenged him, adding another shock to the moment.

“Crowley Crowley?!”

“My son is a king! A god, or he would be if you didn’t—You snap your fingers and he comes running like a wee lapdog.”

Dean started to back away, missing whatever blame he held in this scenario. “Lady I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a good influence on him. That’s why you need to die!”

“Well, sorry your little light show didn’t work,” Dean held her fast, he wasn’t going to underestimate her now.

“Oh, I’ll try again,” she whispered the promise that sent a chill down his spine.

“What, you think I’m just gonna let you walk outta here?” Dean matched her menacing smirk.

“I think, you’re a hero. You could have killed those men, but you didn’t. Because they’re innocent.” She winks at him then, taunting him even with the knife to her very pale throat. “Cuz, you’re the good guy and you want them to live. But the spell I cast will DEVOUR them from the inside out, just like it did that girl.” She knew exactly how to use her powers and wiles against him. “I’m the only that can save them. What’s it going to be, HERO?”

Dean recoiled, releasing Rowena as he stepped back to allow her the chance to reverse the damage she had caused. “Fix ‘em up and go.”

“So civil, aren’t you?”

“Lady, I think I’m being the, bigger person here? You did just try and kill me.”

“Well, bigger isn’t always stronger, is it? Brains are a muscle you might want to, strengthen?”

Dean rolled his eyes behind her back. Lithely, Rowena whispered into each of the dude bro’s ears, pulling hexbags from their pockets.

Another bar, another drink with another MacLeod

“Who’s the liar now?” Crowley looked at Dean a little too knowingly. Dean scoffed and took a drink. “She says I’ve gone soft.”

Dean chuckled, because damn if the red head isn’t right, “you have. What? Yeah, maybe it’s all the human blood that Sammy pumped into you, you know? Maybe it’s, uh, I don’t know. I don’t know. But the old Crowley, he would have come in here with hell hounds and demons and he would have blown the roof off the joint. Now? You didn’t want to fight. You wanted to talk. And maybe I’ve changed too. Here I am playing Dr. Phil to the King of Hell. Never saw that coming.”

“Maybe we’re getting old,” Crowley waxed mortally.

“Never saw that coming either,” Dean agreed.

Dean let go with Crowley, explaining the backbone of who he is and how he had made it this far. Family. Then he shoved the piss poor example of a mother Crowley was clinging to, back into the demon’s face. “Does that sound like your mother?”

Crowley knew better, but he was feeling generous. Dean had become his Achilles’ heel after all. “You know I may have seen it coming. Might have had someone digging up all her years of indiscretions since I’d last seen her.”

“Well, good, can’t be too careful,” Dean takes the last pull from his glass, smacking his lips together.

“She’s kind of a wildcard, but I think she’ll get the job done. Who knows, maybe it’s just me getting soft. But I do love an underdog,” Crowley’s eye sparkled back at Dean as the suspicion creeped through the man’s features.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dunno,” Crowley stood. “Just, uh, let me know if you want her number? Might be worth the dime.” With little segue, he vanished. Dean groaned and slid Crowley’s drink over, holding back the fruit and ice before taking the leftovers as payment for not offing the guy’s mom.

April 16, 2015

Book of the Damned

The Bunker after the Cabin

“Whoa,” CC muttered just as she felt Castiel arrive. She looked across the War Room table to Sam who just walked in from whatever he had stashed in his room. “We’ve got company.”

“Hello, Sam, CC.” Castiel joined them, filling in the details of their plan to get information out of Metatron on the Mark behind Dean’s back. Castiel explained in guilt-laden detail how his original grace had been restored. CC felt an ease in the Angel’s eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. Sam did his best to placate Cas, while CC started guessing how a being like Metatron on the loose was going to come back to bite them all in the ass. A stone started to worry in her gut over the words of a never forgotten dream.

“You did the right thing. That book needed to be destroyed,” Castiel’s reassurance brought CC back to the present. “We will find another way, Sam.”

The creaking of the entry door turned everyone’s head skyward.

“We’re back bitches!” Charlie’s spunky return continued to brighten the mood as the evening moved forward with genuine ease in the air. CC never saw Dean smile as much as he did when the red head was around. Something about her tenacity and unabashed nerdiness brought out the teddy bear in him, which CC liked to see, even from a distance. The hacker had become part of the family in a way she never had, despite living with them for this long. Thoughts of a lonely childhood and her looming solitary eternity caused CC to call an early night, leaving only a weary Sam to notice her exit.

April 18, 2015

Manhattan, KS

A summons.

Though the hope had betrayingly crossed your mind, more than once, you never thought he would actually do it. Now that you stood before Dean Winchester once more, you weren’t sure if it was to kill you properly or to fuck you senseless. His glare was that gloriously intense. You welcomed either outcome, if it was at his hand.

“You rang?” You smirked in greeting, hoping the vessel was moderately appealing. The timing of the spell didn’t really give you many options, she was a petite Latina in her early forties, though her genetics hid her age well. You weren’t in the Bunker, but what appeared to be the storage area of an old basement. Mildew and old masonry evident as you gathered any detail that held potential of his intentions. Secrecy abound; you were very much alone.

“Y/N?” Dean didn’t break eye contact, his voice cracking as your eyes misted at his acknowledgement. You only nodded, the emotion of seeing him again began to break through.

“I wasn’t sure you remembered,” a whispered confession.

Dean looked down, shame falling over his usually steadfast features, “Yeah, well I had to do some digging.”

“So, you still don’t know who I am?” Realization knocking you down a peg once more. Geez, drag a girl across the world and you still can’t put the pieces together, some great love he was. And yet he was, damnit.

“I don’t think I know anyone the way I know you.” Dean chided himself, biting at his lip and tsking his tongue. He stepped closer, eyes searching yours. You unconsciously mirrored his movements, taking you to the rim of the red spray paint on the cellar floor.

“I suppose that is the best I could ask for.” Your arms longed to be around him, to feel the weight of him against you, to feel his heart beat. You didn’t know what he wanted from you, but you knew it was your last chance at honesty. You answered his call and raised him with your shared history.

A heavy breath escaped your chest and you let your eyes go black. “I first met you, centuries ago. Before I was a Demon and before you were the infamous Dean Winchester. When you were just some kid who sold his soul for his much more promising brother. Before you knew of your destinies and long before you gave Heaven and Hell the finger.”

Dean’s shoulders straightened, one hand in his pocket as his head cocked with mild amusement.

“I remember the first day Alastair strapped you to his table, the way you screamed and challenged him. I still heard it some nights back home: your voice in agony and me powerless to stop him just outside the door to his favorite torture room.” You began to pace inside the trap, working through the memories both cherished and painful.

“How long did he leave you there?” Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest now, brow furrowed.

“I was left outside your sessions until the day you took the deal,” you stepped forward as he shook his head in disbelief. “I heard him, every day, ask you and I heard you every day, even after hours of anguish, refuse. I begged him for the same opportunity, but I wasn’t special. I wasn’t you. And then I finally saw you face-to-face.”

“The First Seal.” Dean closed his eyes as it all came crashing back and into focus.

“I never blamed you,” your voice fell, hand raised trying to comfort him. He stood just beyond the barrier of his own devising. “Of course, I would have done the same, had I been given the chance. But it wasn’t until your Castiel rescued you, did I feel Alastair’s final torment.”

“Just stop, okay?!” Dean pleaded suddenly; he thumbed the Mark of Cain which seemed to be throbbing over all of the blood he had shed in Hell. The hunger that threatened his humanity once more. You flinched at his words, your stories had brought you back to that vulnerable human soul who had witnessed her schoolgirl crush and torturer ripped from her plane of existence. “You’ve only ever seen the worst of me. Why didn’t you just kill me?”

He kept his eyes down, but you saw how perplexed he felt; you were not a predictable demon and bless him for trying to understand. Your face softened, the endearment you felt catching him off guard. “I was just getting to that part, dumbass. Love. Alastair’s final torment for me was an unwavering and unrequited love, for you.”

“We had very different experiences with Alastair.” Dean’s face broke into a smile, the slight blush on his features. He was such a dork, it hurt to watch him like this.

“Yeah, well, according to Crowley, it wasn’t Alastair at all. He wasn’t ‘that sophisticated with the emotional aspects of the job’.” You shrugged.

“He has a point,” Dean relaxed, walking a bit as you continued to speak.

“Where’s Chloe?” You asked nervously, “And Sam?”

“Chloe? She’s still kicking ‘round the Bunker, but, well, too much water under the bridge.”

“That’s our girl.” You knew she would move beyond this ordeal better than most, yet somehow you still worried for her wellbeing, even after she extradited you. Fucking symbiotic relationships.

“And Sam’s fine. Ornery and trying too hard to make me listen to reason–”

“A lost cause if there ever was one.” You teased, Dean smirked, toeing the line that separated you.

“I’m done fighting the Mark, Y/N.” Dean let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not strong enough, either I go hermit-style like Cain for as long as I can, and people die. Or I just give in.”

“That seems a very narrow list of solutions to a very new problem.”

Dean’s whole torso twitched at your candor, “Well, the Book of the Damned was our last lead and that’s toast. Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

You stepped closer; tips of your pointed shoes frozen against the magical wall of the Devil’s Trap. “I’m what you would call an ‘entry-level demon’. I got out on sheer dumb luck the first time, Dean. They don’t share the great mysteries with the cesspool. Honestly, I think Crowley has been honest with you about the Mark since you became his trusty Knight in Shining Plaid.”

“Yeah, well, worth a shot.” Dean tried and fell just below gracious. He was truly desperate. It carved at you to see him so defeated.

“Is that the only thing you wanted from me?” The pain you couldn’t hide from your words, returned to you in his aching glance.

“It’s not like that.” Dean swallowed. “You know it’s—”

“It’s better left unsaid.” You nodded, trying for the stiff upper lip, sniffling against his stubbornness. “But tell me something else?”

Dean head shot up, waiting for your next question.

“If you’re done, if you’re giving in to the Mark. Why the trap? Afraid I’d get out or just afraid I’d touch you? And you’d really turn? If there’s really nothing to lose, why don’t you—”

Then he was kissing you, Dean Winchester had stepped inside your cage and welcomed your darkness as if it was his only salvation. Though you couldn’t save him; you needed to show him everything words were unable to convey. How you wished he could see how perfect in his imperfection he was, how his self-sacrifice never ceased to take your breath away, how with just the sound of his voice you could withstand a hundred years in the Pit. How much he was loved and needed and how he deserved so much more than a worthless hell-spawned wretch could offer him.

The height difference sent you spinning, he was everywhere, broad shoulders and strong hands, clutching at your now smaller body. The danger Dean accepted by stepping into the circle gave you a rush, your core tightening as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly, you were weightless, he lifted you up, your legs quickly opening to lock around his waist and before you knew it you had tugged open half the buttons of his shirt. When you pulled the tee shirt up from where your thighs had pinned it to his sides, Dean broke the kiss, with heavy breaths he rested his forehead against yours. It had been years since you had tasted him and never with this tongue, but somehow, he still knew how to kiss you.

*^*

Dean could have stayed in that moment forever; the oasis of Y/N’s arms was something he hadn’t known he had missed until he found his way back home. Her hands were now delicate and soft, her legs shorter and waist impossibly narrow, but she still moved the same, with Y/N it felt right. His cock twitched against both his jeans and her impossibly sheer leggings. She rolled her hips against the movement, causing him to groan before leaving a fierce trail of nibbles down her jaw, her skin spiced and smooth beneath his chapped lips.

*^*

The heat growing in your belly intensified as Dean’s mouth wandered lower, his teeth tearing at the lowcut top, you pulled down the shirt and lace covered bra, freeing your aching nipples for his hungered mouth. Balancing one hand tightly on your back, Dean’s free hand kneaded your left breast before teasing the puckered flesh with the warmth of his tongue. You clamped down against the emptiness inside, overwhelmed with each affection Dean gave you.

You grinded harder against him, whimpering, letting your hands snake through his hair, your fake nails digging in as he switched to the opposite tit, pulling that nipple between his straight teeth. He watched you grow needier beneath his every touch, the desire in his eyes making you more desperate. You pulled yourself up, flush against him as you worked off his shirt. The anti-possession tattoo utterly elementary compared to the ancient curse on his arm.

You took over, your kiss demanding his submission as he backed you against the invisible concave wall. The barrier, though intangible was strong, and you used it to rest against as you slid down Dean’s body to remove the clothing restricting you from taking him fully. You wiggled the trim hips from the thin material, tossing the drenched lace to the side among the bunched pant legs. Dean had kicked off his boots, thumbing his shorts and jeans off with a swift dip. He was simply gorgeous, solid and bowlegged, but stunning all the same. Lust battled the emotional appreciation of his nudity and all too soon you were sinking to your knees. Tiny fingers raked up his calves and over his sturdy quads, heavy lashes fluttering over your cheeks as you waited for his impatience to get the best of him. Your face so close you could smell the tang of his heavy balls, eyes lingering on the drop of want leaking from his menacing tip.

Every inch of him seemed larger than before, perspective was in the eye of the beholder and for this vessel Dean’s cock was downright intimidating. The trim legs held you up, the abundant chest brushed against his leg as you silently dared him to make the next move. His hand came down hard on the crown of your head, thick fingers lacing in the dense black locks, he slid through until yanking at the nape of your neck. As he snapped your head up your mouth opened automatically from the jarring tug. In his other hand Dean fisted himself, “You don’t get to tease me, or I’ll send you back. You understand?”

You nodded, tears forming from the intensity of his grip on the base of your neck.

“Sorry?” Dean tilted his head, dramatically inviting you to speak up.

“Yes. Yes, Dean, I understand.”

He sucked air through his teeth, green eyes darkening as he released his hold on your hair, his rough thumb dragged down your jaw to circle lazily around your pouting lips. Instinctively, you licked them before he paused. “No teeth, Y/N. I know that was you and I mean it.”

“Whatever, you liked it,” you hissed before taking him into your smart mouth. Dean’s hand fell away from the base of his shaft as you worked him deeper and deeper with each test of this mouth. The lips were fuller, plush against the veiny length of him. He repeatedly tucked your hair back, keeping your face on full display as you sucked and mewled over him. As your tongue lapped from underneath, your core clenched, once again, over nothing. The gagging girth of him quickly made you lightheaded.

“You want it so bad you’re gonna choke on it, aren’t cha?” Dean crooned down at you as you looked back up at him, his fat bottom lip clenched between his perfectly white teeth. You slid back to lock eyes with him completely, delicate fingers massaged his balls as he called out into the night. “That’s it, that’s my dirty little demon slut. Hmmm,” Dean huffed and suddenly the Mark took over. His massive hands planted themselves on either side of your fragile skull and suddenly he was thrusting back into you. His dick deepened to puncturing your throat, your stomach rolled, saliva building as he growled with the fierce snap of his hips.

The pressure on your temples increased alongside his speed, delicious and terrifying. Then you began to cough, Dean finally slowed, which allowed you to swallow against the thick mucus that had gathered in your esophagus, tender and stretched wide. You dragged her nails back down his legs before letting him go with an audible pop. Then Dean did the hottest thing you had ever seen, he crouched with those damned bowlegs, lowering his pulsing cock to the generous cleavage in front of you. In a frantic whimper, you tugged your breasts apart for him, tips of your fingers teasing the dark areolas before holding the fleshy globes tight against his spit-slicked cock. Once again, his strong digits weaved into your hair as he fucked your tits. His every muscle worked to dominate you, the Mark of Cain ragged against his pale forearm, his abdomen tense behind the soft layer his other vices supplied, all overloading your senses with his power, his lust for you and just how far you would push each other.

You teased the ruddy head of his cock with the tip of your tongue, his salty juices seeping out to aid in the rough friction. Your nipples ached as your pussy sopped with emptiness.

“On you back, Y/N. I need to eat some of that before I am done with you.” Dean growled, tugging as his cock as he tried to step back from the brink. “Fucking smell you from here, you know that?”

You didn’t reply, just slowly sat back on your bare ass, the cold floor sent shockwaves through your overheated thighs and straight to your folds. Your nipples puckered impossibly smaller. Dean spread out his large shirt behind you, before leaving a tantalizing kiss on your shoulder. Then his lips took over, he sucked and nibbled and decimated the teak colored skin. When his hot breath hovered over your nipples you thought you were going to cum on the spot. Each sensation barreled into the next, your legs were shaking by the time Dean spread your knees wide.

“Now this view, Y/N? I have got to hand it to you, hmmmm, nice choice,” Dean’s eyes glinted as his thick tongue found your swollen bud. It gave a dizzying jostle before licking broad strokes up and down your lips. Spreading you wide, Dean gathered your juices with his skilled fingers. You half laughed and half moaned when, at long last, your trembling cunt earned its fill. Dean’s fingers worked into you as he sucked gently on your bursting clit.

“Is it sweet enough,” you teased back, watching him lavish you, drunk on your sex. His scruff shown with your arousal, his whiskers adding roughness along your tender apex, further blurring the lines of pain and pleasure.

“You know what’s the most messed up part?” Dean whispered, sliding back to watch his fingers disappear inside you. “I don’t know this chick and I don’t care. I am just fucking you. Not Chloe, not anyone else. Right now, it’s only us. And I should care and I’m sure I am going to hate myself tomorrow. But that feeling of not caring?”

“I’d call it freedom. Best kind of bittersweet.” You sighed, reaching up to stroke his temple. His closed his eyes and you finally saw how bone-tired he was.

“I hate being this scared, Y/N. It’s not who I am.” His fingers never stopped; his mouth ghosted over every sensitive crease as if the act alone was penance for his confession.

“Dean?” Your voice hitched.

“Yeah?” Dean placed tiny pecks along the inside of your thigh, his voice impressively soft.

“I really need to cum. You make me feel so good, but I can’t—” you broke off into a gasp as he added a third finger inside you, his tongue pressed wide and forceful against you. You didn’t know if it was his admission or the added effort once you begged for it, but less than two minutes later and your climax overcame you. Waves of heat flooded your system as everything contracted. Then the break and you fell: unwinding with the stuttering pulses. Dean pulled you through it, his fingers’ pace slowed in calculated increments. Just as he slipped from your clutches, he made sure to nuzzle your mound before easing up to his knees.

With a tempered swat at your knee, you caught his drift, rolling completely over you rocked back to give him another angle to admire. You arched your back and shimmied your shoulders to stretch out the tension that had settled as you braced for your orgasm. You couldn’t see him, but you knew Dean was centering himself behind you, his damp fingers coating his length as it returned to its full glory. You squared yourself, knees below hips and shoulders over splayed palms, ready for whatever he would give you.

Dean nudged your knees farther apart, causing your upper half to lower onto your elbows, the cold stone floor stiff beneath your thin joints. Ass bared and ready. “I want you to tell me, who I am.”

“Deeeeeeeeannnnnnn.” You keened as he stretched you open, even his fingers couldn’t prepare you for the heavy steel of his cock.

“And?” he slowly rolled his hips, barely hitting that secret spot, as if by accident. He was fucking vindictive.

“Dean fucking Winchester.”

“That’s more like it, Y/N.” Dean built up his rhythm.

“Hunter.” You mewed.

“What else?”

“Mark Bearer?”

“And?” His teeth were clenched now, the words strained and menacing.

“Knight of Hell!” You screamed as he smacked your ass, pounding into you with constant shallow thrusts.

“Who am I?”

“The Righteous Man!”

Dean growled at the old title, the darkness of the Mark at war with his true nature: protector of the innocent. As his other hand connected with the opposite cheek you tensed, unsure of what else he wanted to hear.

“Michael’s Sword!” your voice was high and whiny as everything that was holding you upright began to weaken. He took both of your hips in his palms now, dragging out of you slowly before popping his pelvis back in, forcing you to press back into him or crash to the floor. He hummed in appreciation as he spread you wider from behind, his thumb pressed against your puckered hole, adding to the building pressure throughout your core.

“That’s mine, just like this pussy is mine. You hear that, Y/N? You’re mine.”

“Always have been,” you replied plainly without even registering what it all meant. “My Seal Breaker.”

Dean liked that one, because he raised one knee up and began to work you over again. You tossed your head back to watch him over your shoulder, bending nearly in half. He was breath-taking, his mouth open and panting, skin dewy and tense, uncountable scars and freckles randomly yet perfectly placed to outline this impossible man.

“Come on, baby, let me see you,” Dean coaxed, your eyes burst open, the inkwell pools staring back at him as he thrust harder into your luscious depths. “Hmmm, Y/N, you know how good you feel? So. Fucking. Sweet.”

“Better than her?” You half-whispered, half-begged.

“Every ti–.” Dean broke off on a moan, your body pulling him as deep as it could, and suddenly you crested again, muscles spasming as a howl escaped your mouth. Dean gave you only two beats before slamming back into you with wild abandon, reveling in the tightness and the added slick. The slap of his balls against your clit and his strong hips against your firm ass an erotic symphony.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum so hard in that borrowed pussy, you want that?”

“God, yes, Dean. Fill this tiny little thing up,” You whined, tugging at your nipple as Dean began to add an extra roll of his hips between his thrusts. Damn, he knew just how to move, your channel quaked against him, another orgasm looming just out of reach. Dean slid one hand from your waist to palm the small bubble of one ass cheek, fingertips digging so deeply they’d leave marks in the morning. He brushed your g-spot over and over again, everything was vibrating, but it grew too loud. As soon as you felt the next wave approaching Dean froze, spilling inside your wanton cunt. Hot, thick and delicious Dean’s cum slipped from your lower lips as he eased his spent cock from your shaking walls.

He wouldn’t stop touching you, his hand on your hip as you slid down to curl on your side. He let his breathing regulate as he perched back on his heels, his well-built body on full display, the base of his multicolored pleasure trail glistened with both of your juices. His mouth a perfect pink “O” as he blew out a chilling stream against your lolling breasts. You groaned and rolled back up to all fours, biting his delicious thigh as you snaked up his body to steal another kiss. His arms encased you, pulling you in a painfully tight squeeze, the Mark of Cain, hotter than the rest of him, pressed against the lower curve of your ribcage.

He nestled his nose against yours with a satisfied hum, “Now, THAT, was not something I never thought I would do.” Gesturing to the sigils beneath your bodies.

You laughed, “Come on, not even when you were the demon?”

“Okay, maybe once, but Sam was in the room, no way he was getting a free show.” Dean winked down at you, which you eye-rolled away, letting the black slip away for effect. This was it: you felt the inevitable end approaching like a derailed train. You couldn’t look away or sidestep the onslaught, you just had to let it happen. If Dean would let go of the brakes, it would all be over soon.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” You asked softly, letting your hand rest just below his tattoo, head against his collar bone.

He shook his head, “Not a clue, but I had to see you again, in whatever way I could.”

“Well, you could have come to me,” you teased, “I’m pretty sure Knights get all access passes.”

“I’d much rather come in or on you, sweetheart.” He grinned, what an ass. You shoved him away playfully, setting these carefree moments to memory. Even if you were both shit at coping, but professional at bullshit, at slapping on a mask for everyone else’s benefit. Well, Dean the later at least. You didn’t care much for anyone other than yourself, him and CC, if you were being honest. Which you weren’t.

“I don’t think I could handle if you went back, you deserve better than Crowley’s crap-dom.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I can’t die then.” He kissed you gently. “And won’t be going on another karaoke tour anytime soon.” There were so many things you wanted to say and none of them sounded like what he needed to hear. So, you sat there in silence, naked and blissed out upon the grimy floor of a forgotten warehouse in Dean’s arms.

***

He had fallen asleep, with his flannel as a pillow and his jeans thrown back on, unzipped and rumpled, he snored lazily at your side. It was some surrealist painting unraveled, he was raw and clammy with every spare patch of skin reaching across fictitious distance between you. He grumbled senselessly as you watched him, the vessel’s pleas growing with each passing minute. You kept your exploits from her, but she still knew she wasn’t safe there. The wrongness of losing perspective fostered the alarm churning inside your shared head. You savored every second you spent watching Dean dream, which was all the more precious because it was brief. Fleeting as a heartbeat, gone as quick as a wink. Nothing gold can stay.

Once the awe of it all wore down into undeserved contentment, she pushed harder and your willingness to ignore her thinned. You had work to do, a King to please and a vessel to free. You may have been a demon, but you weren’t cruel. CC had taught you how to be honest, even when it cost you everything. You wouldn’t look him in the eye and offer a true goodbye. You didn’t want to hurt him, and you couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t as pained as you.

Which is why you left like a thief in the night. The trap meticulously scratched through with the switchblade Dean always kept on him. Hastily, you left a note, prying a strip of vellum from the spell book he had used. Sam would have a bitchfit about it later, that you were certain. You couldn’t just disappear after experiencing an ecstasy of his choosing. Dean deserved more than you could offer, but you muddled through. With an air of melancholy that would make a Victorian widow proud, you staggered away on feet too swollen to be shoved back into her tiny boots.

*^*^*

When Dean woke up, everything hurt: his pride especially.

He hadn’t planned beyond summoning and facing her, but once he was inside her vessel with her; Dean had found what had been missing all those months. Dean saw his mirrored half: damned and deceitful, surely, but beautiful and blossoming all the same. He started to laugh when he fully came to, a deep belly laugh that brought tears to his eyes. Here he was, left half naked in a devil’s trap and somehow felt like he was the one doing the walk of shame. Either way, they both were. Figured.

He started gathering his spell materials as his phone went off.

“Dude, where are you?!”

“I had an errand, Sam. I’ll be home before noon.” Dean plucked a folded piece of paper from the middle of the old grimoire he had stolen from the Bunker’s collection.

“Everything alright?”

“I haven’t killed anybody, if that’s what you mean.” Dean read the note carefully before tucking it into his breast pocket, phone pinched between his shoulder and ear.

“That’s not what I— You know what, forget it. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Not if I see you first,” Dean replied ad nauseum.

Sam barked a forced laugh. “Nice.”

“Yeah, well, you too.” The brothers both hung up, allowing Dean to finish clearing the basement of everything but the mangled sigils ringed in red. Before Dean started the Impala’s engine, he pulled out the thin scrap and reread the words she had left him.

Dean-

I’m sorry to do this like this, but this one needs to get back to her life. I’m still on a job in Europe for the time being, but thanks for the one-night vacation. You were, as always, incredible. I hope you know you can call me; whichever way works best, anytime. Just, don’t do anything stupid. O.k.?

Always yours,

May 1, 2015

After Angel Heart

If Castiel had known Chloe Collins her entire life, perhaps he wouldn’t have been surprised by her request. Maybe, if he had known her without a demon’s influencing their entire history; she would have built up to this massive deceit with more finesse. Though angels were known best for being direct, unless one considered Lucifer and Gabriel, of course. Every way he regretted their tumultuous past; it still didn’t make answering her any easier.

“No.” Castiel glared at CC like she had suggested he trade the trench coat for Bermuda shorts.

“Castiel, please? This is really important and now that you’re fully you, you can show me how.” CC hated asking for favors, especially of the Angel, but this had gone too far.

“I don’t understand why you think I would do such a thing.”

“Because it is for their safety, Castiel. Sam and Dean are in danger with this hanging over us. We ALL are in danger from the truth getting out.” CC moved further from the backdoor of the Impala, drawing Cas out of earshot.

“Why?”

“Because, ‘Heaven’s eyes will never be far from you now and the minions of Hell will seek you out as a fortress against the light.’” She huffed in exasperation, eyes locking onto his impossible blues as the warning resonated between them.

“Whose words are those?”

“Mine, or my granddad’s, I don’t know. I had to make a choice to comeback from being comatose, Cas. I chose to live with the knowledge of my birth, of what and who I am. So now; I am a target. Dean doesn’t need another cross to bear, his plate is full. And Sam? Sam’s already walking on thin ice.” She stopped before she could expose every dirty secret she had learned from her months of hiding.

“Why are you only telling me this now?”

“Claire. You did the right thing, even if it hurt like a sonofabitch.” CC gave him an impressed eyebrow as he took what she said as the compliment she intended.

“You trust me?” Cas looked at his hands then back to CC, who’s own were tucked into her back pockets.

“Us Heaven rejects need to stick together, right?” Her smile pulled one out of him.

“If I agree to this, when would we even be able to do it?”

“As soon as possible. I need to get back at it, especially with the Steins still out there.”

“And you’re sure this is the only way to ensure Sam and Dean’s safety?”

“Fuck no. This is the only way to ensure Sam and Dean’s blood isn’t on my hands. Those assholes don’t do safe, you know that.”

Castiel nodded into a shrug, still playing at considering her offer.

She stepped forward, dropping a heavy hand onto his shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t care about them, Cas.”

He noted her repeated use of his nickname from Dean and the physical contact that they had never shared before. “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll erase the knowledge of your lineage from Sam and Dean’s memories.”

“And Charlie’s,” CC added.

“And Charlie’s, of course.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” CC reached her opposite hand out and shook Castiel’s hand, solidifying their agreement. Cas took her hand and her anxiety in his, sensing she needed the peace of mind as much as she needed the escape.

*^*^*^*

Next Chapter: Finale: Just One of the Many

#known series #moc!dean #dean winchester fanfic #dark fic #demon!reader #dean winchester smut #moc!dean x reader #spn dark fanfic #spn fanfic #spn fanfic series

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lokis-lady-death · 5 years

Text

The King of Gods Pt 7

Tom Hiddleston/Loki x reader

Lady Death: This is a sequal to the Interview with a God series I completed a few months ago. This picks up months after the original story ends. If you haven’t read IWAG, HERE is a quicklink to Part 1 or you can find it on my Master List !

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The King of Gods Part 7

The night life of the city was one of the main reasons you lived here. Neon lights lit the windows of night clubs and bars down the popping Main Street, beckoning to the hip crowd to come party there. Poison was just one of the many places tailored to the party goers, but it’s main distinctive factor? That it was considered low key, supposedly only known to people who were able to be fortunate enough to hear about it by word-of-mouth.

The truth? Everyone and their mother knew it existed.

The main entrance to the night club was originally a side entrance, left unmarked and unspectacular, normally only accessed by the staff. However, it became just the hole-in-the-wall millennials appreciated. The only marker of the entrance was the large set of metal doors with two large bouncers .

As the car pulled into the parking lot, you could already make out the mile long line of people waiting to get into Poison to see the newest rock sensation. “This was a bad idea,” you croaked, getting cold feet. “I should’ve stayed home.”

“Nonsense, you need out of your apartment and this band is gonna be awesome!”

“Who exactly are we here to see, anyway?”

“Mount-N-Do-Me.”

Your eyes narrowed, sure she was joking. “No way.”

Her shoulders shrugged while all she offered was, “You know these bands never keep their startup names. Eventually a manger will scoop them up and fix it, I’m sure they came up with it when they were twelve. Anyway, they’re not what tonight’s about!”

Carmen turned in her seat to look at you while she started, “We gotta find you someone to make you forget pendejo.” She shot you what was meant to be a reassuring wink but it did little to soothe your nerves.

After finally finding a suitable parking spot, Sue fussed with her hair in the mirror as Carmen dug around in her bag. “Here,” she ordered, reaching back to hand you four vials of lime green liquid. She passed another one to Sue and held onto another. “A toast to y/n!”

“Why do I have so many?”

“Because this is your salvation, y/n! We are here to liberate your soul!” Sue decreed with a fake accent that might have been meant to sound dignified but came out as a southern preacher. “This is to clear your mind of all bad you’ve felt since what’s-his-face broke your heart and left you all alone!”

“But mostly it’s to help loosen you up so you can rub your butt on strangers.”

Shaking your head, you couldn’t help but comment, “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Sue accepted, popping her vial’s top. “But I promise, this is going to be a night to remember.” She and Carmen held their drinks out, beaming as they waited for you to join.

You sighed, popping the top off one of the four vials. Lifting it up, you donned a weak smile. “Cheers.” The vials made a soft clank together before all three of you chugged it down. The drink was obnoxiously sour like an apple candy with only a slight sting of alcohol. After a week of binge drinking, it was tame aside from the sugar rush.

“Now, you gotta finish,” Carmen instructed with a stern expression. Sue nodded in agreement and you did as you were told. One after another, you choked down the green shots.

After you finished, Sue clapped her hands together. “Alright, now for the rules-”

“Rules?” you repeated.

“Rule One, don’t interrupt the rule maker.” Your eyes rolled, but you did it with a smile. “Rule Two, don’t speak of he-who-shall-not-be-named.”

“Um, is that a Harry Potter reference because his name is Tom like Tom Riddle?” you genuinely wondered.

Sue glared at you as Carmen pulled yet another vial from her purse and passed it to you.

“How many of these do you freakin’ have?” She shrugged so all you could do was throw your head back. Smacking your lips, there was a flutter from either the alcohol or the sugar deep in your stomach. “Anything else?”

“Yes, Rule Three, don’t go home alone.” She made her eyebrows jump as she did a little shimmy in her seat.

You scoffed, “I’m not hooking up with some random guy at a bar!”

“It doesn’t have to be a guy,” Carmen iterated with another wink. You let out a flustered laugh, your cheeks flushing without your consent.

“Carmen and Sue hopped out of the car as you took a deep breath. ‘This is normal,’ you thought, trying to convince yourself to add pep to your step. ‘This is how we move on.’ Sue opened your door and you slinked out.

“Alright, I have my press badge to get us in, so while I’m interviewing the band, you guys can start scoping out the specimens.” Looking out at the masses of people at the door, you pushed yourself to keep pace with the others until coming up to the set of bouncers checking people in.

“Hiya,” Sue charmed, holding out her badge . “I’m here from people’s magazine, ya’ll shoulda gotten a call?” One bouncer eyed the press pass then looked back at the three of you.

“It takes three women to interview a band?”

Sue let out a sharp huff while pressing her hands to her hips. “If you must know, Carmen is here to take pics of the boys on stage and y/n here is my trusty assistant.” You cut your eyes at her, certain you wouldn’t have come out if you knew she was going to pull such a scheme. But when Carmen pulled a camera from her bag, you couldn’t help but be a little impressed.

This was certainly not their first rodeo.

“Hey, wait, I recognize you,” the second bouncer started as he leaned closer to your face. “You dated that bad guy from that superhero movie. What’s his name? Tim something?”

“Tom Hiddleston,” you corrected, immediately stricken as the name left your lips.

Swallowing, you went to correct that you weren't seeing him when the same bouncer commented, “Who knows, she could up our presence on social media. Get a few good pics of her out on someone’s page, it’ll spread like wildfire.”

The first bouncer rolled his eyes, passing the press pass back to Sue. “You ladies can go on in then.”

Carmen and Sue smiled as they walked in, but you kept your eyes low, hoping they were wrong and no one else would recognize you. Dating a celebrity had its perks, but being seen as just some extension of someone was never your goal. Tom himself liked hiding from the limelight, enough so that you didn’t get harassed too often. Nearly every day, Dave would drive you to and from work, and if the two of you ever went out for a date, the facility would be called in advance to ensure the place was clear of any paparazzi. As a journalist for a magazine that focused on making famous people’s privacy public, you knew first hand the damage that could be to a normal person.

The entryway was so dark you wondered if a light had gone out. With just a thin set of twinkling string lights lining the walkway, you followed the girls until you reached another set of doors. Sue stepped forward and, after shooting one quick wild grin, she threw them open to release a booming sound of rock music. Drums keeping the rhythm, the bass speeding up as the main guitar sent electrical power waves through the air. Out in front of the stage, you could see a crowd jumping and hollering to the music, either singing along or just screaming. Red and White strobe lights lit the dance floor while most of the space was dark, only lit by more twinkling lights against the baseboards. Just opposite of the stage set a raised deck with the bar which was lit up in multi colored neon lights that lined the glass and mirrored liquor shelves behind it.

“This place is a little loud, don’t you think?” you yelled over the music to Sue.

“I know, ain’t it awesome!” she yelled back with a wild grin.

You looked over towards the bar and, as if reading your mind, Carmen looped arms with you. “Ready to party?”

You didn’t think you were, but a small flutter in your head from the shots gave you just enough liquid courage to say, “Let’s do this!”

*****

It was just as generic as any social media post a girl would make: all three women’s faces crammed close together making the signature kissy face, sultry face, silly face looks with the caption, “Out to forget you loser chollos ;D”

Elliot didn’t have a hard time figuring out which club the three of you were at, seeing the Press Pass clearly in two of the images. It also didn’t hurt that he had been to every bar and club in the tri-state area. Looking for a buzz, chasing a high, paying for a lay, but mostly trying to feel something, anything, other than this miserable melancholy. In the months following Hela’s death, Elliot had an immense void in his life that, despite his most valiant efforts, he couldn’t fill. Where once he felt thrill in diaviant behavior, now nothing gave him satisfaction. Alcohol, drugs, sex, nothing settled his emptiness. It was like everything in life had lost meaning, like his own senses were gone.

It wasn’t until his uncle Jared sought him out that he was able to get a grip on himself and slow down the self destruction.

Putting his car in park, he looked out at the line formed outside the entrance to Poison. Checking his reflection, he pocketed his keys and made his way to the door, ignoring the grunts from patrons still waiting to get inside.

“How are my boys tonight?” he spoke through a sly grin, “Looks like a lot of fine asses showed up for the show tonight.”

The first bouncer held out a fist to Elliot and they bumped knuckles. “How it goin, Stranger Danger, what’s got you out on the prowell? I thought you might be dead in a ditch somewhere after the last time I had to boot you outta here.”

A few women standing in the front of the line snickered as Elliot simply shrugged it off. “Ya know, I think I just had a little too much that night-”

“That's what they all say,” the second bouncer rebutted as he crossed his arms. “So what can I do for you tonight?”

“”Hoping to check out the new band, heard they’re the newest up and comers in the industry. Ya know, gotta stay on top of the newest, hottest people if I wanna get back into the celebrity gossip.” When they didn’t look convinced, he thew in, “Well I used to write for Rolling Stones, so I thought maybe if nothing else I could get something on these guys and try to get all of us some recognition. Cause that’s what this is about, right? Getting the band’s name out?”

The first bounce raised his brow while the second one shrugged. “Well, we did already let those magazine chicks in earlier…”

“Yeah, see, just trying to stay in the game,” Elliot tried to convince. “Come on, Drake, what’s the harm? Let me in?”

Letting out annoyed grunt, he stepped aside while the other opened the door. “Go on, but I’m only warning you once, Stringer. Don’t make me throw you out.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he promised through a toothy grin.

*****

You and Carmen had barely made it to the bar before a short man offered to buy a round of shots. While you tripped over your words, Carmen gave the man a flirty giggle and accepted. Once he passed her the tray of tequila, she handed you one then took one for herself. “Salud!” she commanded in Spanish.

“Sa-lood?” you asked dumbly.

“Salud! Drink!”

You initially wanted to argue, knowing that letting a stranger hand you free drinks usually meant he wanted something in return. But you choked back your inhibitions and swallowed it down. Unlike the sweet apple drink from earlier, this burned. You smacked your lips as Carmen handed you another glass, again calling out, “Salud!” which you repeated back. After three more, you held up your hands in surrender. Carmen passed the tray back to the short man who looked at you both confused.

After you were out of ear shot, you said, “You know he was probably expecting us to at least talk to him.”

With a very serious expression, Carmen stopped walking to face you. “I don’t care if chollo buys me a house, if I don’t wanna talk to ‘im, I ain’t finna talk to ‘im. Besides, that pendejo still had his wedding band on.”

Her arm linked with yours again as she pulled you into the crowd. People were singing and dancing to the music, mostly jumping in place with hands up as they screamed the lyrics to the cover band’s songs. Carmen pulled you closer, loudly speaking into your ear, “Let loose, compa! It’s about letting go!” She pulled back, her red lips curling just before she went on ahead and burried herself in the sea of bodies.

Taking a deep breath, you plunged in after her.

*****

Elliot had been looking for a few minutes when he turned just in time to see you disappear into the crowd in front of the stage. Huffing while he straightened out his shirt, he walked out onto the dance floor. Shrugging his shoulders one last time, readying to dive through people, he made his way towards you.

*****

The alcohol was sitting on you just right, making you feel more and more relaxed by the second. You were standing beside Carmen in the middle of everyone, arms up and screaming as you got lost in the music. Bodies bumped against each other, hands pressed and pulled at each other, but you were so lost in the moment you didn’t mind. Sharing smiles with Carmen as you both screamed out, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of euphoria as the pain got pushed to the back of your mind. Closing your eyes, you breathed in this feeling.

It was right at that moment that you felt a set of hands land on your moving hips. You gasped, but didn’t pull away. People were so crammed you didn’t think anything of it until they started moving with your movement. Your heart sped up and for a split second you contemplated saying something.

But something stopped you.

The realization that you were, in fact, a single woman out dancing with friends, came into your mind, and rather than say or do anything, you divulged. You let the hands stay, felt them rock with you, whoever they belonged to behind you dancing at the same beat to keep up with the motion. A part of you wanted to divulge, back against him, dance like there was no tomorrow, maybe even drown in each other for the night. Just the suggestion was enough to send a shiver down your spine, though it was not out of pleasure.

The thought of dancing like this with him, knowing it wasn’t your Loki, sent a pin into your chest. Even worlds apart, knowing he was moving on with his life, you couldn’t move on with yours. At least not now. Not like this. Taking a deep, sobering sigh, you felt a wave of guilt, though you couldn’t place why.

Feeling you begin to slow your movements, the fingers curled against you, moving upwards to scrape across your exposed sides. That was too much. You pushed the hands back down to your hips, even more annoyed when your obvious objection was ignored by the hands moving back up and even taking a stronger grip on your waist.

“Lo0k, buddy, cool it with the touch-feeling, ‘kay?” you shot over your shoulder loud enough that they had no excuse not to hear.

To your disdain, the hands went right back to your sides. You turned with a jerk in time to lock eyes with the man , but rather than take him it, it was the one behind him that got your attention.

“Elliot?”

Your old coworker put a hand on the man’s shoulder, pulling him back from you as he leaned close to his face. “I think the lady said she’s done dancing with you, buddy,” he threatened before cutting a lott your way, “Just better hope she doesn’t tell her boyfriend on you, unless you wanna get thrown out a window.”

The man took the cryptic message at face value and stomped out of the crowd, while everyone else was still dancing, ignoring the scene.

Your eyes were still locked on Elliot when Carmen came and threw her arms around his shoulders. “Elly!”

“Don’t call me that!” he spat. When she pulled back, her fist came crashing against his arm. “Ow, what was that for?”

“You don’t call, don’t answer texts, don’t answer your Facebook messages for two months, you get punched.” Carmen’s brow furrowed, adding, “I was worried, stupido, your landlord said you packed up and moved off.” When all he offered was a shrug, she punched him again.

“Shit, ow, okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ghost you, I just had some… soul searching to do. But I’m back in town,” he answered, looking apologetic. “Think you can forgive me?”

She narrowed her eyes before planting a big, red stained kiss on his cheek. “I guess. So, what, you’re here to party with us? Y/n and cholo broke up, so we’re trying to cheer her up.”

“Broke up?” he echoed, looking down at you. “Oh, I hate to hear that.” His expression was hard to read, but his tone was less than sympathetic. “No, actually, but I am here to talk to y/n. It has to do with a mutual friend.”

Your eyes widened as you tried to think what he could possibly have to say, but Carmen already put a hand on your back to push you towards him. “Fine, but I expect nena to be returned to me in one piecec, amigo.”

He smiled at her before taking you by the arm to lead you away from everyone else. When there was no one left to move through, you snatched your arm from his grasp. Just as he went to speak, you slapped him, hard.

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“And you’ve got some muscle in that little body, damn that fucking hurt! ” he sulked, pressing a hand to his face to soothe the sting. “Shit, was that necessary?”

“You helped Hela! The entire time you were helping her! Even after she drugged me, you…” the words wouldn’t manifest, and you realized your eyes were watering up. Angry that you would cry simply out of pent up rage, you put but hands out and shoved him. “God, Elliot, you’re such a dick! And a liar! And just a fucking terrible person!”

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You were too stunned to speak, expecting him to provoke you further so you could unleash more, but his flaccid response was enough to dull the fire.

Subsiding your anger for confusion, you instead went on, “Well, I’jm glad we agree on something. Now, if you don’t mind,” you turned to leave but he caught your wrist.”

“No, serious, y/n. I am sorry for everything.”

The words struck you and left you momentarily silent. In a million years, you never expected to hear him actually apologize.

“And I need you to come with me.”

That was enough to snap you back, narrowing your eyes as you spat, “Yeah, no. I don’t trust shit from you, Elliot. Whatever you have to tell me, you can just go talk to a wall.”

“Even if I told you it’s about Loki.”

Your shoulders tensed while you swallowed, trying not to look as excited as you were just at hearing his name.

“What about him?”

“I may have a way for you to talk to him.”

Even as loud as the club was, it all went silent at the words he spoke. You felt your heartbeat quicken, the idea floating around in your head before you realized who it was you were dealing with. You rolled your eyes, cutting back, “Why the hell would you help me?”

Leaning down to speak into your ear, he elaborated, “Cause I know when Hela was away, it felt like I was a heroin addict that couldn’t get a fix. I know how painful being away from him is for you and how you feel numb to everything else with him gone.”

You pulled back from him, needing to look him in the eye when you asked, “That doesn’t explain why you would do this for me.”

Sighing, he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly to go on, “It’s really a long story and I don’t know everything, but Elsa called my uncle-”

“Elsa?” you repeated, “Elsa Hemsworth? Called your uncle?”

“Look, like I said, it’s complicated,” he got out quickly as he felt her get ready to just keep questioning him. “So what’s it gonna be, you coming or what?”

*****

By sun down, a dark cloud rolled over Asgard. While the people had dealt with minor rain showers before, this was no ordinary drizzle. Lightning flashed as golf sized drops came crashing to the ground, thunder roaring into the night sky like a lion on the hunt.

Yet the people of Asgard only had to be momentarily concerned, easily becoming distracted by Odin's invitation to a banquet in honor of Loki. They all crowded into the main hall of the palace, singing, dancing and drinking in the name of their future king.

The only issue? Loki was nowhere to be seen.

A couple of hours into the evening, food was being brought from the kitchen and laid out for all the guests. A few of the Asgardians asked when the crowned prince would come.

Finally the king was sick of waiting.

"Fetch him. Now," Thor overheard his father command Baldur. "They're here to see him, he needs to at least make an appearance. The people need to know everything is alright, with all of these… tremors. They need the reassurance of a smiling face."

Baldur made a hasty retreat with Thor ready to pursue him until Elsa caught hold of the back of his armor. "Where are you off to?" she asked, suspicious of how he tried to back away without her notice.

"I'm going to check on Loki with Baldur," he offered, pulling back from her hand to kiss it. "I'll be just a minute, Love."

Her eyes narrowed but she waved him away. She caught sight of him one last time before he tucked out of the grand room.

Baldur was quick up the stairs, brushing past servants still tending to the palace chores as he zipped down the halls to Loki's bedroom.

Just as Baldur got to the door and began knocking, Thor caught up to him.

"What are you doing?"

"What are You doing?"

"I'm getting Loki for Allfather-"

"I guess that I'm also getting Loki then-"

“I can appreciate your attempt to assist, but it is not necessary, you may go-”

“Oh, no, I think someone is going to need to bare witness to this.”

Both men went silent when they heard the disembodied voice from the other side of the door call out, "Come in."

Baldur and Thor both straightened up before finally opening the door. Neither moved at first until Thor shoved the slightly smaller advisor in ahead of him.

"He's here to retrieve you for dinner," the god of thunder announced, disregarding Baldur’s sharp blue eyes cutting at him.

"Yes, well," for the first time he looked out into the room to Loki lounging on a chaise with his face inside a book. "Allfather requests your presence downstairs for the-"

"I'm not going."

The air was stale as Thor looked between the two of them, his fingers twitching while he waited for someone to speak.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said," Loki reiterated, turning the page in total disinterest,"Im. Not. Going."

Thor watched Baldur inhale and wondered exactly how the two most well tempered men in Asgard would proceed.

It wasn't what he expected.

"Your father asked that you make an appearance,” Baldur started, stepping over towards Loki’s chair. “That's not too much to expect considering all he is giving you. Just go down, shake hands, reassure the people that you are their king and will care for them-”

"I told Allfather I wouldn't parade around for him,” Loki answered simply, still not looking up.

Baldur’s jaw tightened. “He is still your king, Loki. You may be the crowned prince, but he is still your ruler, and your father. You should show him respect and see to him.”

He looked like he would go on but went quiet at the clap of Loki’s book closing. “I should show him respect? I should see him? Should I also fall in line like the rest of you sheep, bring him offerings of good tidings in hopes of gaining his favor?” Just then, a loud crash of thunder sounded right outside the veranda of Loki’s room. He stood, looking into Baldur’s eyes as he went on, “This is him doing whatever he damn well pleases without my regard and you shouldn't be cross with me for not wanting to participate in his show. You should be grateful I'm even staying."

Baldur swallowed hard while Thor looked between the two of them.

Taking a deep breath before he spoke, the advisor knew he would be crossing the line when he asked, "Is this all over your little Midgardian girl? Just because you, what, want to go live out HER days? You want to return to watch her die, is that it? Or did you forget you live over a hundred of her lifetimes?"

Loki shook his head at the comment, arguing, "You don't know what we had, Baldur. We were in love-"

"Love? Love!" Baldur turned to speak to Thor, throwing out his arms as if he were surprised, "Did you hear that, Thor, they were in love! Well, what a true travesty for you that you have to put aside your own feelings for someone who will die in the blink of your eye to save your eternal home from destruction!"

"Don't mock me, little brother," Loki spoke in an unsettlingly soft tone. "Or you will regret it."

At that Baldur narrowed his eyes. "You asked Thor why she left? Your y/n?" he started. "I'll tell you-"

"Baldur," Thor interjected quickly, only to be cut off.

"You should have seen how that poor girl begged to leave, Loki. Said she had been under your influence all this time and only recently became aware of it herself. As soon as you got away from her, she sought an escape."

The god of mischief froze in place, his face losing color at hearing his worst fear. "You're lying."

Baldur spoke louder, his face red as he spat the words, "She just couldn't wait to get away from you, even called you a freak and a monster! Said her life was so blissful until she met you! Pleaded for Thor to protect her from the evil, no good, demon that was savage enough to slay the only person who ever cared about him in his long, miserable life!"

Loki's rage subsided, hurt obvious on his face. "She was my mother, too, Baldur, and y/n knows that's not what-"

"She was Not your mother, she was Mine and you Slaughtered her!"

"Enough!" Thor bellowed as he saw Loki's fists tighten at his sides, his eyes dark and his face scrunched in barely controlled wrath. "Stop this, we are not here to fight. We're brothers, we must-"

"I assure you, he is most certainly no brother of mine," Baldur bit back with a cold stare.

That final strike made Loki change stance. His head tilted to the side while he glared at Baldur. "Look at you. Poor, pitiful, forgotten Baldur. You're so jealous you can hardly see straight," his voice slightly shook as he did all he could to calm. "You think you can just take your frustrations out on me because I'm not hot tempered like Thor, because you don't think I'll reach out and take your throat in my grasp and just squeeze? " he stepped closer, looking Baldur straight in the eyes. "I think you've forgotten I am the one Allfather chose because I am powerful enough to contain his powers. And you? What powers have you that make you worthy to try and speak like this to me? You, no more than an imputent runt of the litter, one that was so worthless to everyone in the family that he didn't even step foot on Asgard until Thor decided to stay on Asgard?" Another thunder boomed outside, but no one flinched.

Baldur's eyes were glassed over while his teeth grinded, taking in every last from Loki before finally speaking. "You think I don't know I'm not as powerful as you? I'm very aware of your strength, Loki. It's your lack of sympathy to your people that is so hard to watch. They’re scared, they need to see you to know they’re safe. It’s how you care so little about the rest of us that you're just resigned to make your own existence here miserable. And you know what? I'll have no part of it." Just then, Elsa tentatively pushed the bedroom door open, not meaning to make herself known but was taken off guard by the tension as Baldur was turning to leave. “Consider this my resignation, your highness. I won't be a part of this kingdom or this family any longer." He kept his pace even after he realized Elsa had heard him. Her mouth opened to speak, but he left too quickly for her to form the words, brushing gently across her shoulder on the way out.

"What? What's going on?" She looked back towards Thor who was about to speak but Loki, who ignored Elsa’s entrance, looked to him now.

"And you!"

"Me?"

Loki stepped towards the god of thunder, his voice harsh, "I wouldn't even be here if not for you! I would still be home, I would still be with y/n!"

"Oh, so it's my fault-"

"You were his first born son, this unbearable place was meant to be yours, his powers were meant to be yours, but you went off and started a family-"

“I can’t help what happened, Loki, if I knew this is how things would play out-”

“You’d what?” Loki asked with fire behind his eyes. “You’d trade places with me? You would have stayed in Asgard? Exactly what would you change because from where I stand, you are, once again, the only person in this entire damned place that is getting what he wants!”

"Shut up, both of you!" Elsa snapped, stepping between them. In their fit, both men had gotten less than a foot apart, steadily becoming more heated. "You don’t need to fight, please…"

Loki closed his eyes and stepped back, taking a breath to try and steady himself. "Thor, I never would never have agreed to this if I didn't want you to be with your family back on Midgard. I hope you don't waste my sacrifices by hanging around this place any longer than you have to." He sat back down on his chaise, picking up his book at where he left off, "And in case my meaning is unclear, let me be perfectly clear: I'm telling you to leave.” Going back into the same pose he was in before the interruption, he finished with one last jab, “After all, you’re quite good at."

With that, Thor gently led his wife out of the room. After closing the door, he expected Elsa to be angry, or in the very least upset, but instead she looked at him with something else in her eyes.

"You…"

He swallowed hard, “Yes, my love?”

Elsa's eyes watered up while her lips threatened to tremble. "Thor, you're a god. The god of thunder, feared by many, loved by all. Even living as a Midgardian you've managed to recreate this whole new persona of yourself as, well, you, but not just as a god: as a hero. And yet at every turn, you keep making these decisions… to do nothing."

"And what would you have me do, Elsa? You know my hands are tied-"

"Anything, Thor!" she shouted, "Anything at all! But this? Doing nothing? It's almost as bad as pulling the strings!"

“I’m trying to get us home!”

“You’re acting like a coward!”

Thor was quiet and for the first time, she really believed he felt the guilt of what he had done. “I don’t know what I can possibly do. If I help Loki I damn my family. If I do nothing, I damn him. What will you have me do?” he asked genuinely, bringing her hand to his face without looking away. “Tell me what to do?”

She really considered his words, really wondered if they held true value.

Elsa’s eyes searched Thor’s for a moment before she resided that even if the drama of his family was clouding his morals, there was more to what was going on than just asking Loki to take the crown. Breathing in, she held onto his hands to ready him for what she was about to say. “Actually, before I tell you that, there’s something I need to tell you... about these dreams I’ve been having.”

Like my garbage? Read more of it! Master List

Tags are open! You can request a tag view comments, private messages, or asks! I will always respond to let you know when you’re added! If you requested to be added and didn’t get a notification, let me know!

TKOG: @youveseen--thebutcher– @therealityhelix @m4shtyx @canoodlincanary @just-the-hiddles@hisxblackxqueen@imjusthereforthehiddlesfanfic@casteelle, @xmichellax @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark, @alexakeyloveloki @godhateskyleigh @teylacarter91

LOKI TAGS: @socialheartbreak @kcd15 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @nephalem67@jessiejunebug @woodyandbuzz20-01@imasultforlokiandspencerreid @bambamwolf87@avenging-blackwidow @kitsuneharo12@yzssie@macbetheliza @lokilvrr@lokixme @li-ssu @j-u-s-t-4@letskillthefuhrer @lou-makes-me-strong @wolfsmom1, @noplacelikehome77@unicorniorosacomefrutillas@justiceiswater

#loki #loki odinson #Loki Laufeyson #marvel #loki (marvel)#marvel fanfiction #tom hiddleston #loki x oc #loki x reader #loki x you

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veryangryhedgehog · 5 years

Link

“The Man Who died Twice,” An Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

The Man who died Twice

(Just in this one Scene)

Ace didn’t know what he was doing in a suburb like Ede Valley. He was used to the hustle and bustle—and general violence and mayhem—of the city. Back there, he was somebody; he’d started from nothing, built his livelihood, his business. People scattered when they saw him approach.

That was true here as well, but he didn’t get quite the same high from soccer moms trundling little Timmy away from the strange man with the funny sunglasses.

Yep, he certainly missed the city, but he’d be back there soon enough, just as soon as he got this whole “deal” mess sorted out. He didn’t know why he was coming here now of all times. His business was booming, the world was in the palm of his hand. Maybe that was exactly why: he’d done everything he’d set out to do. It was time to reclaim his collateral.

Of course, that hadn’t been the terms of the original agreement, but did Ace look like he gave a flying fuck about the fine print?

Actually, don’t answer that. You don’t even know what Ace looks like. Yet.

See him here now, in his dark suit and omnipresent mirrored sunglasses, sitting at the counter of a smoky, quiet British pub. He could tell that this was a suburb because even here, in the shadiest part of town, people merely snuck glances at him over their pints and muttered to each other.

The bartender, he noticed, was new, a young kid with near-dreads and a frankly ludicrous number of tattoos. Probably one of those new-age hipsters or something. He sincerely hoped the pub hadn’t changed hands. But considering that from the neon sign to the dark interior, it for all intents and purposes appeared that no time had passed since he’d last stepped foot through that door all those years ago, he sincerely doubted that was the case.

“Hey, kid,” he called to the bartender, who was currently taking stock of the fine liquor selection displayed with an unmatched flair behind the bar.

The kid looked up. “Can I get you another?”

He swore, kids these days just had no manners. “That’s ‘can I get you another, sir’ and no. I’m here to speak to your boss. Probably.”

Sighing, the kid didn’t move. “Seems like everyone is. He’s in the back with a… client right now. You’ll have to wait a minute… sir.”

The kid had some spunk, Ace had to admit. It was truly difficult to fit that much sarcasm in one syllable. He made a note to himself to tip the cheeky brat later.

Ace was just about to order another drink while he waited, when with that unnaturally uncanny timing of his, the owner of The Smiling Goat strode through the back curtain, directly after a pale man in a truly fugly sweater vest.

“I’m sorry, Marcell,” Cowell was saying, “but for all your years and power there’s nothing you can do for either of them. Inconvenient as it is, both little miss Sabrina and the scary dragon lady made their deals fair and square.”

The pale man took a deep, clenched breath, briefly revealing unnaturally white teeth. “You know, Cowell, someday you’re gonna get exactly what’s coming to you.”

“And lucky you will no doubt still be around to witness the glorious event first hand.” Cowell grinned as the pale man nearly growled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, unless you’d like to stick around and have a pint, it appears I have other business to attend to.”

He gestured the pale man out onto the street and turned back to the bar. He blinked once, as his owl-like eyes fell on Ace, and shook his head. “Ace, is that you? My god, it must be… bloody years since I’ve seen you last.”

“I’d hoped it was the last,” Ace stood and shook Cowell’s hand. Slimy stick of a man though he was, Cowell had a firm handshake. Ace had to respect that.

“Doesn’t everyone,” Cowell recovered effortlessly. “Now, if you’ll just follow me to my office we can—”

But he didn’t get a chance to finish, for just then the door was kicked open, and the pub went silent. Ace instinctively reached for the gun under his jacket as he saw several vaguely familiar faces enter the dark bar. For a second, however, he thought he must be dreaming, because he never thought in a million years that he would see this assortment of faces together. Half of them were the pinched, Italian faces of the Mirelli’s, and half were the pasty, Russian faces of the Borozovs.

“What in the ever-loving fuck…” Ace began.

“I agree!” Cowell cut in. “Why on earth would anyone kick in that door? I had to pay a specialist to get it to stick like that.”

“N-no, that’s not…” Ace shook his head. “Never mind. This might be my fault. These chucklefucks clearly tailed me.”

The four men stepped through the doorway, and still with the utmost calm, Cowell motioned for the patrons to leave. The men let them go. Clearly they wanted to handle whatever it was they were here for quietly.

“Hands where I can see ‘em,” said the short one, waving a pistol nonchalantly through the air. Cowell and the bartender stuck their hands up, the latter looking slightly on edge, and after gesturing to the tall one to watch them, the short one turned to Ace.

“You really didn’t think we wouldn’t catch onto you playing both of us?” he asked. “We’re not stupid. Once we all realized you’d been uh… consortin’ with our greatest enemy, well, loyalties run deep, so now you’s gotta die.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Look like it matters to me? Go on, do it. I dare you.”

The short one looked a little unnerved, but thinking he’d called his bluff, straightened up again, and fired. Once, twice—always doubletap—and Ace fell to the floor with a small thump.

All present looked at his corpse for a second, including Ace himself, from over the short one’s shoulder. He would say that he hated dying, but usually he was already gone before the pain really hit. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still absolutely pissed.

“That… was a really nice suit.” All four of the men turned towards him with looks of abject horror on their faces. A gentleman might have given them a few seconds to react, but Ace was no gentleman. He punched the short one right in the face, and all hell broke loose.

Even with his ability to not die backing him up, Ace was no slouch at hand-to-hand combat. The short one was nearly down after that one punch, and the butt of Ace’s gun against his forehead knocked him out of the fight for good.

By then, the three others had recovered from their surprise and had begun to advance on him, guns gleaming in the dim lamplight. But Ace was ready for them.

“What do we do?” the bartender kid turned to Cowell, who merely looked vaguely amused at the scene. Just then, a bullet zinged directly over their heads and hit the old wood crossbeam.

“This, Tommy, is the part where we duck behind the bar to minimize the risk of a bullet ricocheting and hitting us.” When the kid looked about ready to resist, Cowell simply grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down with him. “You see, I could easily come back from something as simple as a bullet, but you on the other hand,” he made a hissing sound between his teeth,” not so much. And I’d not like to see your rather pretty face marred by blood today.”

The kid blushed slightly, and opened his mouth to comment on this, but was interrupted by a body being dragged across the bar directly over their heads, bits of broken glass from smashed pints rained down on them.

“Ooo, I’m going to have to replace those,” Cowell muttered.

“Sorry about the mess,” Ace shouted over the sound of someone’s jaw breaking. “I’m trying to minimize the damage but you know how these things go.”

“Well, you’re trying your best, and that’s all that matters.”

The last man standing, one of the Russians, ran at Ace with a pool cue he’d found lying around, but Ace shot him clear through the forehead before he ever reached him. He barely even had to look.

When all was said and done, there were six bodies on the ground. Two of them were Ace. After tapping them lightly to make sure none of them were getting up anytime soon, he sat back down at the bar and wrapped on the counter. “Hey kid, how about that drink?”

The kid and Cowell appeared from behind the bar, and after a second of taking in the scene, the kid blinked and mumbled, “Um, yeah, sure.”

Miraculously, the liquor display had not been harmed in the slightest.

“So, why are you really here, Ace?” Cowell leaned against the bar. “I hope it wasn’t just to trash the place.”

“I think you know what I came for,” Ace sighed wearily, and took a hard swig from the bottle of whiskey that the kid had just passed him. “My deal.”

It was clear that Cowell already knew the answer, but he asked anyway. “What about it?”

“You know, all those years ago, I thought I had outfoxed you. Hell, you gave me the ability to not die for nothing in return.” He stared off into nothing for a minute. “But I misunderstood, didn’t I?”

“They always do,” Cowell grinned a little, pleased with himself.

Ace continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “But it wasn’t for free, was it? Cuz while you gave me the ability to not die, that also means… that I can’t die.”

“You’re lucky,” Cowell said. “Most people don’t live long enough to realize what their deals truly mean.” He straightened up abruptly. “So, good for you, well done, a pat on the back, nice to see you.”

“Is that it?” Ace asked. “I was just hopin that since I’d figured it out, you know, learned my lesson and all, that you could…”

“Remove it? No can do, I’m afraid,” Cowell chuckled beginning to turn away.

“You mean you won’t do it?”

“Not won’t, can’t,” Cowell shrugged. “Once a deal is made nothing can be done.”

Frowning, Ace processed this for a second. He gazed down at the bottle in front of him. “Then make a new deal with me.” He gazed, stony-eyed, behind his sunglasses. “I’ll give you my ability to not die, and in exchange, you allow me to die.”

Cowell opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He did it again. Finally he frowned. “That… is a loophole that I had not considered. I sincerely hope no one else finds out about this.” He turned back to Ace. “Normally, I wouldn’t allow it. But I like you, and you’ve provided me with entertainment for the afternoon, so I’ll allow it just this one time.”

They sealed the deal with a firm handshake, and that was that. Ace took one last swig from the bottle, stood, and put a twenty on the counter. “That’s for the kid,” he glared pointedly at Cowell.

The daemon waved pleasantly as Ace made for the now broken door. “See you around.”

“No offence,” Ace paused, “but I certainly hope not.”

He walked out onto the sunny street and blinked for a second, even with the sunglasses. As he started walking, he happened to see a woman across the street, watching him. She had been watching him for years.

“Not yet,” he muttered and kept walking. There were still a few things he needed to take care of first. But once those were done, he’d be ready to step into her cold, loving embrace with open arms.

#Ede Valley #Cowell #Ace #Tommy Miler #writing

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rickstexaschick · 6 years

Text

Rick’s Texas Chick: Chapter 16

She meets Harley.

This was originally posted on AO3 at:https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183545/chapters/35512488

She arrived home from an early shift, happy now that she was at the start of a scheduled five day break from work. Rick was sprawled on her couch, watching tv, as usual, holding what looked like a tumbler full of whiskey on the rocks. She plopped herself down next to him. He handed his drink to her, grinning. “Drink some of that, then get changed. We’re going out.”

She took the glass and drank a few sips. She was getting used to his abrupt travel plans, especially now that she knew more of the whys and hows. She knew he was making shady deals and black market-type trades with other species on other planets, and that’s how he always had sufficient money to pay for all the set-up in the Smith’s garage, or for taking her out --- something he didn’t do nearly enough of, she thought on more than one occasion. So, she wasn’t going to pass on this opportunity tonight.

“Great. What do I wear?”

He shrugged. He was a man, what did he know or care about what a woman chose to wear to go out. “It’s just a (urp) bar. Any-anything will do… Not your damn scrubs,” he added hastily. Even though she no longer did bedside nursing care, she still wore surgical scrubs to work at the hospital. “We’re going to meet some friends of mine. Get drunk, play some (urp) play some pool.” He sounded like he was half in the bag already.

She didn’t take too long to decide, Rick had never been very patient. In the end she went with a stylized buttoned turquois top blouse, leaving the top buttons undone and showing a good amount of her cleavage; she wore a pair of hip hugging jeans and western-style boots. They didn’t have much of a heel, she knew her feet weren’t up to wearing heels after standing all day, but these would still give her some height. A little.

She came back downstairs and sat down next to him on the couch; his eyes smoldered when he stared down her blouse.

“Hmmm. Or, maybe we could just stay here together, babe…” He pulled her towards him and nuzzled his face down into her cleavage, making obscene noises.

She giggled, pushing him away. “Cut it out. Let’s go.”

---

They stepped through the portal onto a quiet city street outside a bar. He opened the door and ushered her inside the dimly lit tavern-style pub. She stood for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust.

It was long and narrow with a dark-stained oak bar along one side; a few booths and pub tables with stools ran down the other side. In the back were two pool tables with billiard lights hanging low over each of them, creating additional shadows which concealed a few bar tables nearby. Otherwise, neon beer signs provided most of the light. A blues guitar song with a heavy bass rhythm emanated from an unseen music player.

The place was fairly crowded and smoky. Mostly human or humanoid type people, nothing squiggly or tentacled. Just based on the seating set-up, it looked like it probably didn’t cater to many different types of aliens other than humanoid. In the back she saw two men in the middle of a game at one of the pool tables. The other pool table was empty.

Rick ordered two long neck dark beers for her and a double whiskey on the rocks for himself. He handed one of the beers to her. “Drink that.” She took a few sips. “Finish it.”

“What do you want me to do, belch all night?”

“Yeah---urp. You’ll fit right in,” he burped loudly, grinning.

She finished off the first beer and he handed her the second.

“Let’s go.” He gave her a gentle little nudge in the small of her back, then protectively left his hand there as he steered her to join the two men at the pool tables in the rear of the pub. As they approached, she realized…she realized it was a couple of Ricks…

One was wearing a pair of worn blue jeans that fit snuggly to his lean frame; she couldn’t help but notice the significant bulge in his crotch. He wore a tight-fitting black t-shirt that was roughly tucked into his jeans. It showed off his pecs, and on each arm she could see the hint of a tattoo peeking below the snugly fitting sleeve which covered each well-defined bicep. His blue-gray hair was wavy and longish and he sported a pair of dark sunglasses atop his head. When he turned to look at them approaching she noted how his face was tanned and weathered by years of open road riding, with fine wrinkles at the corners of his piercing blue eyes. He sported several days’ growth of beard stubble.

Watching them approach, he parked himself half onto a chair style barstool, one boot resting comfortably on the ground, the other hooked by the heel over the rung. Picking up his beer and taking a sip, he placed one arm along the backrest of the chair and rested the other on the table, holding his beer. Even in the dim light his eyes bored into hers and she felt an instant…connection, desire, need…Her breath hitched at the sight of him.

The other Rick was in the middle of making a shot on the pool table. He bent over his stick and eyed the cue ball with a squint before hitting his shot with the sharp crack of colliding balls, sending his ricocheting just off the side of the pocket and back out into the middle of the poor table. “Shit,” he cursed quietly. Retrieving his beer from the other table he took a huge swig, then turning to follow the other Rick’s gaze, he saw Rick and her approaching.

“Hey-hey! Loo-(urp)-ook who finally decided to make it!” he called out as they walked up.

“Eh,” grumbled Rick and pointed his head down at her, “Somebody was having trouble finding—she was having wardrobe issues.” They stopped at the tall pub table with the other two Ricks. Rick put a hand on her shoulder and introduced them to her as Rick and Rick.

The Rick who’d been making the shot stepped forward, placing a large hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you’re a real breath of fresh air around here. Been getting sick and tired of just seeing this one’s old sour puss.” He bent down and kissed her affectionately on the cheek, “Call me Polo.” Unlike the other Rick, Polo was clean-shaven and his hair was trimmed shorter. He had a strong jaw with the hint of a cleft in his chin. He was dressed in a pair of freshly ironed dark jeans with a dark brown leather belt and a deep blue polo-style shirt (of course, she thought to herself) that was tucked in. He wore a pair of brown casual-style loafers.

His manner was outgoing and light, much different from her more gruffly-spoken and taciturn Rick. She grinned at him and spontaneously gave him a hug hello. He was gorgeous. He looked like he could be a model for GQ; in fact, even though she couldn’t have known it, that’s what Rick liked to sometimes call him as a joke. “Hi, Polo, it’s nice to meet you.” As it usually did when she’d been drinking, her drawl had become a tad more prominent.

“And that’s Harley,” said Polo, indicating the other Rick sitting at the bar table.

“Hey, doll,” he nodded at her, but remained by his beer.

“We’re not quite finished with our game…Rick, it’s your shot.” Polo moved away from the pool table and parked himself on a stool next to her, taking a swig from his beer while he waited.

Harley drained his beer before easing off his stool, then collected his pool stick from where it was leaning nearby against the wall.

“Watch this, angel, he’s one of the best,” Polo leaned down and whispered into her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

Quickly and without hesitation, Harley ran the table, driving his remaining balls into pockets, then called the last shot and sent the eight-ball home.

“And that, my friend, is why (urp) I don’t play you for money,” said Polo, tipping his beer towards Harley in friendly acknowledgement before draining his beer. He set the empty bottle down on the table with a pronounced thump.

“All right! What’s the next game? Are we teaming up?”

“Nah. Think I’ll just watch,” said her Rick. “Harley, take her, she could probably benefit from your experience and tutelage. You two play against Polo.” She looked at him sharply. There was a hint of hidden meaning in his voice, but his eyes betrayed nothing.

“But wait!” She exclaimed. “I totally suck at pool! I mean, I love to play, but it’s been awhile…” Like, over ten years, she thought. She didn’t fancy embarrassing herself in front of everyone.

“No worries, doll. Come here. You know how to break?” Harley set the rack down on the table and was placing the balls inside. “Come here, I’ll show you how to rack up the balls.”

Lifting his whiskey up to his mouth, Rick snorted unexpectedly into the glass before taking a drink.

“You gonna let her rack the balls and break?” asked Polo in mock annoyance.

“Shut up, asshole, she’s learning. Now, doll, come here…” Taking her elbow, Harley pulled her around to stand in front of him and pressed her slightly up against the pool table. Then, leaning into her and looking over her shoulder, he reached around on either side of her and took her hands in his, guiding her to pick up the balls and position them in the rack.

“The eight-ball goes in the middle, the one-ball at the top, then you alternate stripes and solids everywhere else…”

She could hardly focus on what he was saying. The heat coming off his arms and his hands wherever he touched her skin was electrifying, and the pressure of his cock against her butt made her weak at the knees. She wanted to swoon against him. Maybe he noticed because he shifted subtly so that he pressed against her just a little more closely, either to hold her up or tease her further with his bulge against her back. When he finished, almost as a coup de grâce, his forearms just brushed against her breasts before he stepped away. Next, he led her around to the other side of the table to show her how to break, picking up his cue stick along the way.

“You think she should use your stick? It’s kind of big for her…” called out her Rick, not so helpfully.

Polo laughed loudly at that, and went off to buy another round of beer and whiskey. Rick had identified the players early tonight; for this evening, at least, Polo could only sit back and be a bystander.

“Don’t pay attention to those assholes,” said Harley, his voice gruff but gentle. “Come here, doll.” He helped her pick out a pool cue from the selection on the wall, one that was more suited to her height, then showed her how to make sure that the tip wasn’t damaged. Then, using the empty pool table, he showed her how to roll it to judge it for straightness. Taking the cue ball from their table, he had her make a few practice shots on the empty one. Standing beside her, he reached his arms around her to show her how to hold the stick, then bent her down over the table to line up the shot. She could barely hold the stick properly, and was glad she didn’t scratch a groove in the felt.

Her Rick watched them from his seat on the bar stool with an amused smile. The bemused expression on her face was one of half lust and half drunkenness. He enjoyed seeing her look of discomfiture at Harley’s closeness and her inability to fight her growing attraction. He could read her like a book, as always.

“Christ, aren’t you two done with your little private lesson, yet?” Polo returned with a bucket full of ice with a half-dozen longnecks sticking out of the top and another double whiskey for Rick.

“Come on, doll. Let’s put him out of his misery.” Harley led her back around to the other table and positioned her for the breaking shot, then stepped away. “Go for it.” He reached into the bucket and pulled out a beer, using his bare hand to crack the bottlecap with a hiss.

She bent over the table and focused on the cue ball, not realizing that she was giving all three men a clear shot down her blouse and full view of her cleavage. Taking a deep, steadying breath and desperately aware that they were all watching her closely, she closed one eye and took the shot, breaking at an angle. The balls exploded apart and scattered across the table, the six-ball sinking into a corner pocket.

She stood up in amazement. “Fuck, yeah!” then clapped her hand over her mouth. The three Ricks burst out laughing. Her next shot required her to bend over the table, facing away from the Ricks and giving them a fine view, and healthy appreciation for, her round ass. Sitting further back in the shadows, Harley adjusted himself, grunting under his breath.

She missed the next shot and parked herself on a barstool and drank another beer while watching Polo and Harley take their turns. Polo tried to claim that he should go twice, since he was playing against the two of them, but Harley wouldn’t let him get away with it. The three Ricks taunted each other, gave each other unnecessary tips for the next shot. Restless, she drank another beer as something to do, which was her usual mistake at times like these.

When it was her turn again, only one ball from each team and the eight-ball remained on the table. She slid off the tall barstool and felt the world tilt slightly. Her Rick noticed this and signaled for the waitress, speaking quietly to her. She left for the bar.

She stood uncertainly by the table staring down at the balls, trying to line up her shot in her mind. Harley came up behind her. “Here, doll.” He positioned her, then keeping his hands over hers on the stick, he bent over her to help her make the shot, sinking the ball. Next, he called out the final shot to Polo then helped her to send the eight-ball home, finishing the game.

“Nice,” she said, standing up and turning around to look up at him. “I couldn’t have done it better my- (hic!) self.” She paused, feeling herself getting lost in his ice blue eyes.

Polo was a good sport and congratulated them from his position on a bar stool by the beer bucket. He knew he’d lost more than just the game. On this night, at least.

The waitress reappeared by her side at that moment, carrying a tall glass of ice water with a large lemon wedge inside. “Here, honey, your boyfriend ordered this for you.” She took it then paused, looking across at her Rick at hearing him described as her boyfriend…He winked at her, then called Harley over.

She drank half the glass in one go. Across the pool table from her, she watched Rick talking to Harley quietly. Harley looked over at her, nodding slightly as he listened. He picked up his beer and drained it, setting the bottle down with a thump, then reached down and picked up an old black leather jacket that had been hanging on a barstool nearby. He walked up to her and took her hand.

“Come on, doll, let’s get you some fresh air.”

She got off a questioning look towards her Rick, who nodded at her reassuringly and winked before Harley led her away to the front of the pub. She hastily set her glass down as they passed by the bar.

tbc

#Rick Sanchez #Rick/Reader #Harley Rick #Rickdicted #Rick's Texas Chick #OC Rick #oc reader

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thotyssey · 7 years

Text

On Point With: Patti Spliff

Whether it’s painting, sculpting or performing, this Brooklyn queen with her signature tentacle braids is an artist we should all be watching, like, now. And a great place to start is Sasha Velour’s epic Nightgowns, returning to Brooklyn this week. Get high on Patti Spliff!

Thotyssey: Hi Patti! So, we are getting well into October now, yet I'm still asking people about their Bushwig experiences. I am particularly curious about yours, because you're such an intense stage performer. How did it go?

Patti Spliff: I loved it! I prefer to perform on smaller, more intimate stages, but this year's was epic! I had to try harder, so I pulled out all the simple choreography I know! What was the number you did? "Konsumier Mich" by PLASTIX, this 80s punk band from Vienna. I was having trouble settling on a song until a week before Bushiwg. It was just playing at a bar down the street (Rebecca's), and I immediately fell in love with it. You have such a refined, diverse musical lexicon for someone so young. The first time I became aware of you was your number with Chris of Hur and Sasha Velour last year that you did for the Austin International Drag Festival, and later for the Brooklyn Nightlife Awards. The B-52s! It was a long, eclectic, intense performance. Yes! I had performed that B-52s number solo a couple times. It's a great song but definitely needs someone to be the Fred Schneider. Chris of Hur came up with this mix including "Dance This Mess Around," and had Sasha and I debut it in Austin. I love the songs Chris and Sasha pull, so it was a perfect trio.

And now we're coming full circle! So, where is your hometown, and what were your earliest artistic pursuits? I was born and raised in Dallas, TX. I was definitely a nerdy kid that loved to draw, so I spent a lot of time sketching new X-Men, or repainting action figures i'd find at garage sales. I'd also cosplay at local Anime conventions, making my own costumes and props out of cardboard and hot glue. This eventually turned into a love of fine art and sculpture, so I moved north to attend the School of The Art Institute of Chicago. Aside from comic art, what other genres or artists inspired you during your formative years? I was introduced to Paul Thek's work my first year at college, It really influenced the art I make to this day. Before then, I had stuck with painting and drawing -- but Thek's pieces pushed me to explore installations, objects, and ephemeral work.

I see from your sculpture website that you have a particular interest in circular shapes and wheels. Ha! yes, it started out as a counter to the square/rectangular paintings I was making; but I've since used them to represent halos, orifices, and otherworldly objects.

Didn't you recently publish a coloring book as well?

I released my Look Book at LA Drag Con this year. It's a collection of 20 fashion illustrations I'd been working on; about half are looks I've done, and half are future looks. I plan on releasing a new one each year. I hadn't illustrated in a while, so it was fun to jump back in. As far as music is concerned, how were you exposed to such a diversity of genres? Even the most eclectic young queens today don’t seem to have have much knowledge regarding classic rock or old school punk, for instance.

My mother and father always played the "oldies" station, so that’s the only music I was exposed to when I was younger. In high school I listened to a lot of "downer" music like Cat Power and PJ Harvey, mostly female fronted bands. Now I'm usually just performing songs that I've loved forever and know the words by heart.

And then of course there's Patti Smith. She's the queen of counterculture, such a spectacular singer and poet and so vital to the underground history of this city. I love that photo recreation of you as Patti from the Horses album cover. I had been wanting to recreate that photo for a while. Horses is definitely one of my top 5 favorite albums, but that cover is what initially got me interested in Patti Smith. Luckily my husband is a photographer and uses the same type of Hasselblad camera Mapplethorpe used.

Did you always connect with her more than most, hence the namesake?

When I was starting out in Chicago, I had a couple names I was playing around with, but I always knew I wanted long, black, loose braids as an exaggerated reference to Patti Smith's braids. Her songs are also kind of perfect to perform to. I’ll be performing one for Nightgowns!

So, how did you discover Brooklyn drag?

I tried doing my research before moving here 4 years ago. I remember following performers like Untitled Queen, Macy Rodman, Horrorchata, Mocha and Misty to kind of get the feel of Brooklyn Drag. But I really got a crash course in BK drag from Brad Callahan (BCALLA). We met at SAIC in 2006, and have been friends ever since! What speaks to you about drag? And as a visual artist, do you sometimes feel more like a living installation then a traditional performer? I was definitely more into the look when I started drag. I could turn into the characters I had illustrated as kid. I was never a theater kid, and to this day I get nervous on a stage if I don't have an inch of makeup on, so it took me a while to get used to the performance side of drag.

youtube

Regarding your braids, we all identify you by those tremendous, swooping hair tendrils that are often longer than your entire body. Are they hard to maneuver onstage? Do you ever trip over them?

They are heavy! Usually I toss them around my neck by the end of the night.

So, it's an interesting time for the Brooklyn scene. It seemed dismal when TNT closed last year, but then a lot of new venues opened their doors to drag afterwards. And there's a whole lot of new queens too.

I just love that there is so much new drag, new shows all throughout the week. More is more to me! Some of the newer queens are pulling the best looks/ shows. Ruby Fox Is killing it!

Right!? Ruby Fox, Suburbia, the House of Femanon are some of my favorite new queens!

Pearl is your drag mom, right?

Yes, we met in Chicago and were roommates for a bit. I made a couple of her early looks, and she would paint my face when I first started going out. Are you still in touch with her, or is she just all over the place these days? She's definitely all over the place, but I see her when she's in town. Sometimes I take care of her adorable dog Honey when she's away. You must've been way happy when Sasha won Drag Race this season... not only is she your Judy and amazing, but it sort of introduced a different style and aesthetic of drag to the show's fans around the world. SO HAPPY! It's crazy how quickly that all happens. She is one of my favorite drag performers, and I'm glad more people can have a chance to see her live! It was nice to see a sweet and collected queen with a very specific aesthetic make it to the top.

Sasha’s show Nightgowns was a special monthly event at Bizarre Bar before her TV win; it combined a more dramatic repertoire of numbers from the drag performers with gorgeous visual elements projected on them and the backdrop. Since she's brought back the show post-win, it's exploded in scale and popularity, and often includes other popular Drag Race queens in the cast. What do you think about the change?

I’m really into the change! I think they're being smart about it, and I think this is the level of production value that Sasha has always wanted for Nightgowns. A lot of the original BK queens make appearances, but I love seeing queens that don't normally perform these emotional torch songs, have a chance to perform something they are passionate about. Well, for the most part, this session of Nightgowns starting tomorrow is mostly Brooklyn performers. It's gonna be three shows over two nights at the gorgeous National Sawdust. How psyched are you? I can't wait! Definitely a little nervous -- haven't performed at this venue yet. My last Nightgowns was at Bizarre! This cast is amazing too! I'm excited to see what Neon Calypso ends up doing. I performed right after her Missy Elliot mashup at Bushwig, I was standing right off stage with my jaw open the entire time. I hope I'm not performing after her again!

And in other exciting news, last month you started an interesting new monthly at the Rosemont, “Sad Songs,” which I'm guessing is self-explanatory!

Yes! Very-self explanatory. I had one of the saddest queens I know be my first guest, Untitled Queen.

You're gonna be back there doing it with Charlene on Tuesday, October 17th. What made you want to do a sad song show? I just wanted to do a simple drag night that was exclusively sad songs. "Sad" is up to the performers own interpretation. I usually perform a bunch of slower songs anyway, but I also don't like turning a big Friday night drag show into a Debbie Downer moment. So this is my night to test them all out. I also like the idea of hosting queens that don't normally perform sad songs. I can't wait to see what Charlene brings!

What else is coming up for you? I'll be giving Halloween shows on October 28th in London for Cybil War's "CYBIL's HOUSE : CIRCUS OF HORRORS" and probably a couple of last minute shows before then. That's right, you've done a lot of performing abroad... do you have any wacky road stories? Well, the plane ride to Life Ball 2017 in Vienna was nuts. Susanne Bartsch brought a bunch of us with her to represent NYC. The entire ride was one giant party the second we took off. Pearl and I drank straight whiskey while watching Amanda Lepore give a strip tease for everyone. The music on the portable speakers wasn't loud enough, so the whole plane drummed a rhythm for her to dance to. It was just such a surreal mix of people -- Dionne Warwick was somewhere in the front of the plane. At the end of it, we all took a 30 minute nap and started painting our faces because a red carpet and the foreign press were waiting for us when we landed. It's the quickest and drunkest I've ever painted my face! And that was just the beginning of the trip! that whole weekend was "wacky." That is the stuff of legend! Okay then, so last question... where in the world should Patti Spliff go next? Wherever they'll take me! I went to Queef Latina's Wigwood in Miami last spring, it was too much fun! I want to go back and perform next year! It's like Bushwig, but with a Miami beach!

Sounds like heaven... hope you get there soon! Thanks, Patti!

Patti Spliff hosts “Sad Songs” monthly Tuesdays at the Rosemont. Check Thotyssey’s calendar for other upcoming NYC-area gigs, and follow Patti on Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr and her sculpture website.

On Point Archives

#npointwith #patti spiff

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hysterialevi · 7 years

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In the Smoke pt. 13 (Cobblebats)

From Bruce’s POV

THE STACKED DECK

After quickly running home and throwing on the hoodie Oz had given me, I simply walked to The Stacked Deck, not wanting to draw any attention with a big, fancy car. I mean, I doubted anyone in Gotham truly sympathized with Hill, and there were probably others out there who would’ve beaten him just like I did, but I still preferred to remain in the shadows. Right now, Oz was the only person I wanted to see, and considering that the press was pretty much at my family’s throats, this hood was the one thing keeping me from drowning in cameras.

Arriving at the bar, I squinted slightly at the neon, card-shaped sign that practically lit up the whole block single-handedly and reflected in the street’s puddles as the sound of glasses clinking reached my ears. There were some patrons chatting outside of the packed building, and the closer I got, the more I could hear the alternative music playing inside. This was definitely the place.

Searching around for a little, I eventually found Oz relaxing in a nearby alleyway, separated from the rest of the crowds. He was leaning against a brick wall with a cigarette in his hand, and the small flame gave off a soft, orange glow as smoke puffed from his nose. Upon noticing me, he threw a casual wave in my direction and straightened his position, putting out the cigarette beneath his boot. I eagerly walked up to him.

“Hey, love,” Oz greeted before pecking a kiss on my cheek. “S’good to see you again--” he chuckled, “--or at least what’s not hidden under that hood of yours.”

I shrugged, grinning. “Thought we could try to avoid a fight, for once.”

Oz rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, speakin’ of fights...” he frowned a little, “Listen, I’ve been thinking a lot ‘bout it, and I just wanted to say sorry.”

I quirked a brow, crossing my arms. “Sorry for what?”

“For what I did to Harvey, back at the debate. Y’know, drugging him. Melting half his face off. I didn’t realize the two of you were so close. I mean, it was obvious that he was your friend, but admitting to loving you? Woof.”

I averted my gaze from him, a bit uncomfortable. “Oh, um--you heard that?”

“Hard not to.” Oz stepped closer, almost to the point where we were sharing my hood. “...you don’t...love him back, do you? We’ve got a good thing going here. I’d hate to throw it away so soon.”

I shook my head. “Of course I don’t,” I lied. “I wouldn’t be here tonight otherwise.”

Oz smiled, kissing me again. “Good. But back to my original point, I really do regret doin’ all that to Harvey.”

I sighed. “Just...no more planning behind my back, all right?”

“All right.” He lowered his voice. “Look, I know I said we wouldn’t talk ‘bout work here, but since I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, there is someone else you should know about.”

“Someone?”

He nodded. “You see, I ain’t the leader of the Children of Arkham. I’m just the right-hand man.”

I double-checked our surroundings, as if someone were eavesdropping. “Then who is?”

“Brace yourself, but have you ever heard of a reporter called Vicki Vale?”

My eyes popped wide-open. “Vicki Vale? She’s your leader?”

“Yeah, except we don’t call her that. We call her Lady Arkham, since that’s her original name. Her parents were assassinated after they tried turning Hill in, just like your mum. By the same person too. Now that I think about it, the two of you actually have a lot in common. More than you realize. It’s like you are her.”

“...is that a good thing?”

Oz laughed. “Depends which aspect you’re talkin’ about. But anyways, enough of that.” He grabbed my hand and gestured towards the bar. “C’mon. Let’s get some drinks.”

From Thomas’ POV

WAYNE MANOR

I sat in my office, blankly staring at the mountain of paperwork that now lived on my desk, but not actually doing any of it. There was just far too much going on at the moment, and with all the tension between me and Bruce, work was the last thing on my mind right now. Though, according to Regina, if this scandal surrounding my family continued, I might’ve not even had to worry about work soon.

I couldn’t believe it. The press seemed to have an infinite supply of evidence pertaining to me, Hill, and Falcone these days, and all along, my son had been the one giving it to them. What was Bruce thinking? I understood that he disapproved of what I did, but bringing all this attention to us--it was just asking for the media to fan the flames. There was also the possibility it could harm him too. Though, he clearly didn’t care about that.

Rubbing my temple, I thought back to when Martha was still alive. Before she had been killed, Martha and I used to argue around the clock about my “side business,” and whether or not I should step out. It got even worse once Bruce started to grow up, and she’d always say that he was living without a father. And as much as I hated to admit it, I could now see that she was right.

I couldn’t remember the last time Bruce and I spent time together as just father and son, and even when helping the city as Batman, I never felt like I was truly doing any good for him. Well, the best way I could redeem myself now, was to keep him safe from Penguin, and any other threats looking to tear Gotham apart.

Just then, a knock came from the door, Alfred walking in not a second later.

“Sir, I hate to interrupt, but Mr. Falcone is here to see you. Apparently, he has something rather...concerning...to discuss.”

“Thank you, Alfred. Send him in, please.”

Opening the door further, Alfred allowed Carmine to waltz inside the office before leaving us alone and heading down to the kitchen to make some tea. The crime-boss’ face was plastered with agitation, just as Alfred had said, and his usual, suave vibe was nowhere to be seen.

“You look troubled,” I commented. “What’s going on, Falcone?”

Carmine took a seat on the opposite side of my desk, letting out a breath of frustration. I could tell that there were words stuck in his throat, but it took him a moment to actually say them.

“Forgive me for putting this so bluntly, Tommy, but,” he took a breath, “it’s Ham. He’s...dead.”

I fell silent for a while, trying to fully comprehend what he just told me.

“Hill is...dead?” I repeated in shock. “Oh god, Bruce,” I muttered to myself, “what’ve you done...?”

Carmine leaned forward. “Hill’s death is gonna cause a load of problems for us, but I’m afraid that’s not it. There is something else you should hear about.”

I dragged a hand through my hair, taking a sip of the coffee on my desk. “Oh? And what’s that?”

His eyes darted around the room for a second. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Tommy, but there are rumors saying that Bruce is working with Penguin.”

I nearly spat my drink out at that, and slapped a hand over my mouth, staring at Falcone with a baffled glare.

“What?”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Falcone adjusted himself in his seat. “But yeah, just before he died, Hill told me his men caught the two of ‘em meeting at Cobblepot Park sometime last week. He also had them report it to the GCPD, and now, Gordon himself is on his way to track Bruce down. They’re starting to think that he was drugged on purpose. So that he could beat Hill to death.”

“Goddammit.” I snatched my coat off the back of my chair, heading for the door. “I gotta find Bruce before the police does. I don’t care what the media says. I wanna hear the story from him before anyone else.”

Falcone stood up, slowly following me from behind. “Well, then, you’d better start searching. If Gordon reaches Bruce first, there’s no doubt he’s getting arrested on the spot. And he won’t be the only one taking the damage. If people find out your son could potentially be working with Penguin, it’ll be the end of everything we’ve worked for. All of it--just gone. No pressure, of course.”

“Well, thanks for letting me know about this, Carmine. Now, I gotta get going.”

“Good luck, Tommy. It’s a shame it’s come to this, what with the scandal and everything. Bruce was always more of a by-the-book kinda kid, despite being somewhat of a free spirit. It’s hard to believe the whispers traveling the streets. Though, like I’ve said a million times before, and will continue to say in the future: you can’t trust anyone in Gotham. Especially those you call friend.”

#cobblebats #batman telltale #bruce wayne #oswald cobblepot #harvey dent #fanfic #story

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jrazillashadowworks · 7 years

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Second Chances

A new, original story. ^,,^

Warning: Blood. Violence. Sexual themes. Language.

Word count: 3322

Enjoy!

Waking up to the all too fancy apartment, the young man opened his dark eyes, staring at the blackened wall, the blur of sleep easing away. The alarm clock sitting on the nightstand beside him shown four am, the hologram luminescent straining his eyes even in its dim function. He had woken up before the alarm yet again. Feeling the grogginess lingering, he had to fight to sit up, pushing the covers off of him. His partner shifted in the bed, letting out a soft sigh.

Turning, he brushed the thick bangs from his face, eyes adjusting to the darkness to notice the mop of wavy hair flowing out on top of the pillow next to him, face marred within the tufts. Smirking, he tried his best to get up without making a sound. Stepping around the room, he found the bathroom and went inside, shutting the door behind him before turning on the fluorescent lights that blinded him when he clicked the switch. Groaning, he hovered his hand over his face, letting light filter through his fingers until his eyes had adapted.

The shower was all it took to clear away the last of the sleep and he was awake and alert. Doing the other cleanly necessities, he exited with a towel around his waist, coming back into the darkness. The lamp suddenly flashed in the room and his partner stared at him through the tresses of her messy hair. “Hello, sexy,” she said half groggy, half sensually. “Up already?”

“Morning,” he replied with a smirk. “Yeah, I figured I’d just get started since I woke up anyway. You got class today?”

The woman combed her hand through her pale brown mane, moving it from her beautiful face, full lips still molded into a smile. Sleep did not dull her looks like it did ninety-nine percent of the population, including himself upon waking up. “Not today. It’s my layover day.”

“Lucky you,” He scoffed.

She gave a mock pout. “Don’t be jealous.”

Walking over to the wide, oaken dresser, he pulled out his simple clothes for the day, moving over to the bed and sitting them down. Dropping the towel, he raised a brow. “I’m not.”

She scanned him up and down and wiggled her brows, blue eyes alight. “That’s a good start to my morning.”

Chuckling, he pulled on his boxers and jeans. “Just a sneak peek for now, I’m afraid.”

“You better make it up to me later.”

Pulling on his t-shirt that meshed to his muscled torso, he gave a nod. “Count on it.”

Walking up to her, he bent down, giving her a kiss on the lips, her arms wrapping around his neck in a vice, threatening to not let him go. Not that he minded much. But after a minute, she let go and slapped his ass as he turned to leave. “Good luck,” she breathed.

“Enjoy your day off.”

Pulling his zipped, black hoodie from the wall hook in the alcove by the door where all the jackets and shoes sat, he shrugged it on. Pulling on his shoes, he finally gave his partner one last wave before heading outside.

Staring out over the railing of the second story of the apartment complex, the sky was still pitch, the countless skyscrapers of the city raising up to the hidden clouds, only visibly by the ever relentless, neon lights that practically decorated every building. The light posts below however, remained darkened. As he strolled down the walkway, the little half orb lights above him flickered on, revealing his way down the descending stairs to the front and then to the side parking lot filled with futuristic vehicles, luminance following him.

Finding his VX-motorbike at the very back, he straddled the cushion and unhooked his helmet from the flank, pushing it down on his head. Flicking open the panel on its side, he pushed the button, the holographic visor glowing a green, showing coordinates to his location based on his brain waves, as he visualized where he needed to go. Squeezing his grip on the bars, his hands signaled the bike to start with a loud roar that was sure to piss off at least one of his neighbors.

Leading the long bike out with his legs, he revved it, nearly hovering off the ground towards the streets. However something jumped in the way of his bike just as he passed the threshold and he had but a millisecond to freeze the bike with his mind. Inhaling sharply, he glared daggers at the Doofy face of the person who got in front of him.

With a stupid smile, the upper corners of their mouth twitching, the man was immediately recognizable. “Sup, Clever?” He said, calmly.

Feeling a vein pulse on his forehead, Clever’s body tensed in pure rage on the bike, thinking of running him over after all. “Lucky, you dumb piece of shit, what the actual fuck?!”

The one known as lucky, giggled like a dork, making Clever immediately want to punch him in his dorky, punky face. “I could have run you over, you dip shit…”

“Nah you wouldn’t,” he replied with a laugh. “You got good reflexes!”

Though it was a compliment, it just pissed him off further. “What the hell are you doing out here so early anyway?” Clever grumbled.

“Walking Puff!” Pointing waggling hands downward, he proudly showcased the fluffy husky, pup, staring up at Clever with a silly face matching his dumb master. Puff gave a quick bark, acknowledging him.

“This fucking early?”

“Yeah…so?”

“Just get out of my way Lucky. I got to get to the school now.”

“This early?” Lucky Mimicked.

“You know. You consistently know how to piss me off.”

“I suppose that’s a skill.”

“Consider yourself Lucky, we are friends.”

“I am Lucky,” he chimed.

“Move,” he warned. “Or you’ll be a friend I used to know…”

Lucky tilted his head, the dog doing the exact thing. “I don’t get it.”

“Get the fuck outta my way or I’ll run your ass over you stupid, dumb, fucking asshole piece of monkey shit, bag of dicks!”

Moving away, he nodded, keeping the same light hearted expression. “Okay! Have a good day!”

Flipping off Lucky, with his metal implanted middle finger, he shot the bike forward, blasting a burst of air that ruffled up his friend’s hair and the dog’s fur into a fluff ball.

Leaving him behind, Clever revved the bike, soaring down the empty streets and overpasses towards the city. Before long, the roads suddenly filled with other vehicles of the early morning commute. Myriads of glowing colors zipped passed one another, leaving after images as they raced down the five lanes. His pathway was lit in a golden line for him to follow towards the school.

Soon, he was in the thick of the city, as buildings and sidewalks surrounded him, already bustling with people on their own missions. It still surprised Clever how different the city was compared to the slum lands he had lived and thrived in for the early years of his life, fighting to survive. These people had not the struggles he had once gone through. After the crazy events that led him to this path, things had definitely changed for the better. At least, for most.

Having to halt at a stop light, the gentle thrum of his bike rolling throughout his body, he happened to turn his head in time to see a group of men walking down a dank alleyway, dressed in much the same, punkish garbs as one another. Only a couple stood out between them, fear evident in their strides, encircled by this group. It left him with a foreboding feeling that set into his stomach. “A new gang huh?”

It was of course none of his business, and yet one last glance cemented the nagging irritation. A single, patch embroidered in one of the jackets of the men was the face of the Jester. His blood ran ice cold, brows furrowing over his dark eyes. A horn blared at his back, causing him to jump. Flipping off the one behind, he jerked his bike into the alley, silencing it before the noise would make it to the gangsters. Kicking the stand, he sat it upright, setting the thief lock that would send ten-thousand volts into anyone who tried to take his bike. Not that it would start for them anyway. Curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Taking off his helmet, he sat it on the seat and creeped after them, keeping his back to the wall. Something devious was obviously in the works and he was going to find out what. Though he was never the nervous type, he felt a slight shudder. “There is no way he can be alive,” he whispered. “Probably just remnants of his dead ass gang.”

Skittering towards a corner, he peeked out at the group who forcefully pushed the couple, Clever could now make out, wearing upper class suits and held glossy, briefcases. A robbing perhaps, he wondered. Probably procuring funds to restart their fallen gang that once ruled over the city and slums in terror. Though it was a pain, he knew he couldn’t let that stand. Though, he needed information first.

“This’ll do, you city slick, cock suckers,” a gravelly voice spat. It sounded much like rocks in a blender. “Now you wanna git out of this alley alive, we gonna need a million from each of you. We have our own bank account, all’s you gotta do is hand it over right now.”

Clever could already tell how stupid they were by their outrageous demands. Small timers. Should be easy, he thought. He could hear the couple of business men mumble incoherently.

“You don’t has it?! Then wire it from one of your business accounts! I aint foolin! I’ll bust ye up into a bloody mess, not even your money grubbing kids will be able to identify.”

That caused a cry of fear from one of them. It was obvious he would have to intervene and get information out of them the hard way. Good. Inhaling one long breath, he sighed loudly enough for them to hear him.

Rounding the corner, he pulled the hood over his head and shrugged his hands in his pockets. “It’s a nice morning isn’t it?”

A wave ran over the shoulders of the gang members, who spun on their heels to look at the newcomer. “What the hells you want? This aint none of Yo business!”

“What’s with the patch? You guys worship a dead bastard who was nothing but a bitch ass cockroach?” Clever inquired.

“The fuck you say?” They each replied, utterly offended, rage boiling on their ugly faces.

“Let’s not make this take long. I got places to be.”

The obvious leader, a man a bit wide in the middle threw his hand towards Clever. “Take that short fucker out!”

Clever shook his head. “I did miss this.”

The morons ran at him, sloppily, fanning out in front of him. The first one to make it to him swung his right fist, a pathetic move that Clever easily dodged, sending his own fist into the man’s stomach, knocking air and spit from his maw. Two next, swinging wildly at him, in which he simply moved around. Kneeing one in the groin, he kicked him into the one behind, toppling them over. A knife glinted past his face, nicking a strand of black hair free from his head. Another swipe. Stepping back expertly, Clever caught the man’s arm, his metal fingers pistons, hissing as he crushed the man’s wrist, the bone snapping completely. They wailed, in agony.

From the perspective of the leader, he could only see a mass of bodies shuffling around, footsteps and whines echoing out in the back alley with each thump and crash. “Git him good!” He urged them, still keeping the two businessmen in his grasp.

It was a pathetic fight in which Clever barely broke a sweat. However, they did get a couple of lucky hits which he glanced off, and countered with ease. Within a couple of minutes, they were all defeated, sprawled on top of one another, unconscious. The short man’s body was electric with adrenaline, his blood burning hot. Chuckling, he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. “Damn, I missed this!”

The leader glared incredulously at him. “Who the fuck are yah?!”

“Just a civil servant, keeping the streets clean of has-beens and wannabe fucks like you and your crew. What a fall from grace.”

Tightening his thick arms around the necks of the two men, whose faces paled, the group leader threatened to break their necks. “Come closer and I’ll fuckin kill em!”

“How would you get the money then? Not a smart business strategy.”

“We can find more!” As he blinked, he failed to notice the flash as something sharp punctured his hand, sinking deep. Rearing back, the two escaped and Clever demanded them to make a run for it. They of course obeyed as the gang leader wailed in pain, staring at the knife that was plunged into his flesh, oozing blood.

“With a weak grip like that, you probably can’t even wank yourself properly,” Clever teased.

Eyes bulging, the fat man’s lips moved over invisible words, drool leaking between his few, grit covered teeth. Grabbing the knife, he winced and then pulled it free, lining a streak of blood before him. Pointing the sullied blade at Clever his face burned a bright red. “I’ll fucking kill you here and now!”

With monstrous steps, the behemoth that towered Clever over a foot, bumbled forward, thick, meaty arms curved outwards. “Raaaaah!”

“I don’t want hugs, tubbo.” Sidestepping away from the downed fools, the short man circled the buffoon, easily escaping his charges, followed by a swing of the knife. It was the definition of sad.

With one leg sweep, the fat man tumbled, nearly smacking into the brick wall. Face scrapped against the pavement. He remained there unmoving as Clever stamped his foot on his back, pressing down with as much strength as he could on the patch of the Jester, which was enough to make the man grunt and clench his jaw.

“It’s like standing on a mountain,” Clever said. “Now, tell me, what’s the deal?”

“None of your fucking business,” he growled.

Clever stomped on him five times for good measure, letting his anger out on the fat man’s spine. “Fucking tell me! I don’t have time for this shit!”

“Fine! FINE! I’ll tell you! We are-“

Suddenly a blaring, ear piercing, siren cut them off, as red and blue lights flooded into the alley, dancing off the walls. Armored and armed officers filled the tight space, surrounding them. “Raise both hands in the air!” they demanded.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Clever complained, raising both hands as high as possible. “I was getting to the good stuff!”

He was jerked off the gang leader, thrown against the wall and searched, rolling his eyes as they brushed over his crotch. “Don’t forget your change.”

“Just be quiet while we handle this,” the officer hissed.

“I don’t understand the unnecessary force. I did your job for you.”

“Silence. You are coming to the station so we can get a statement.” They read him his rights, though he simply just nodded.

“Whoopee,” he replied, exasperated.

Hands cuffed, he was lead to the cruiser and shrugged into the back, glancing at the cops looking over the downed gang members. “Well, now I’m going to be late as fuck.”

And that he was. The station was packed and it took him three hours to get through the proceedings, talking with dispassionate cops about all that happened. Luckily for him, the testimony of the two businessmen got him freed with a slap on the wrist. Leaving, he shrugged. “Do your job and none of this shit would have happened!”

“Have a good day, sir,” the female receptionist said, smacking her lips, giving him a sarcastic smile. “Your bike is out front waiting for you.”

Pushing out the double doors, he ran towards his bike and slammed his helmet on and skid out onto the streets yet again, leaving behind a black streak of tire. He pushed the speed limit, making it to the school in five minutes. Bursting through the front door, he ran through the sleek hallways of lockers and pin boards, hurrying to his classroom.

Huffing in the clean fumes of the school, he bound the stairs to the third floor and slid across the paneled steps onto the landing and froze when he saw who was standing before the door of his classroom, shoulders dropping. “Fuuuck,” he mumbled to himself.

The old hag by the entryway, was glancing inside, her wrinkled, talon fingers flicking against her pointy chin. Her frigid, angular form was stuffed in a black suit, her grey, wiry hair tied in a tight bun. A witch in principal form. As if to notice his life essence, her vulture-esque face turned to him, beady, black eyes locked on her prey. The wrinkles in her face tightened as her mouth lowered into a frown that nearly sagged off her face. “Soo good of you to join us,” she seethed in witch speak, uttering the words as if she was addressing trash.

“Yeah,” he breathed, trying to calm his frantically beating heart. “I got held up by some thugs.”

“Your excuses do not interest me, Lucas. And as far as I’m concerned, the only thug I see, is you.”

“yes.” he gulped down the hate in his voice. “Mam. My sincerest apologies.” He hesitated to step closer but finally did so, reaching for the handle. “It won’t happen again.”

She locked her crinkled, bone hand on his arm, holding it in place, the cold of them seeping into his skin. “See that it doesn’t or it will be….is that blood?”

Peeking down, he noticed many splotches of crimson, soaked into his hoodie, he had not noticed before. “Um, yeah… I told you, I got held up by thugs.” He could already see her disbelief set into her countenance. “Don’t trust me? Ask the cops. Now if you excuse me, Mam, I need to teach my class.”

“Not with that on you won’t,” she snapped, jerking his hood, harshly.

He had the sharp urge to punch her but exhaled to stop himself. “You are right.” Unzipping it, he took it off and folded it under his arm. Luckily, the blood only left very light spots on his shirt. The kids wouldn’t notice. “Thank you, Mam,” he said as sarcastically as he could. “Have a great day, Mam.”

She let him escape, with but a single claw before her face, pointed at him as if she was going to be watching him. No change there, he thought. Composing himself, he turned to his class who stared at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Good mor….day, class.”

“Good day, Mr. Lucas,” they all rang out in unison. It was a nice, relaxing sound. He had enough of dealing with adults for the day.

Back at the precinct, the lights flickered, broken bulbs snapping and crackling sparks. Walls were bathed in thick splashes of runny blood, as countless bodies were strewn below them, unmoving. It was a macabre scene of pure hell, as all officers were diced and left in pieces along the floor. The Cell doors of the jail were left open, emptied, all convicts freed. However, the thugs that were brought in only hours before, remained in theirs, a bladed card embedded into each of their foreheads. Expressions of slack jawed terror were all that was left, glossed eyes staring upward, frozen in death. A flash of stuttering light revealed the cackling face of the Jester painted in blood on the front of the cards.

#My writing #original work #cyberpunk

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joeybelle · 7 years

Text

Starlight - Chapter 14

Relationship: Cassian Andor x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature

Tags: Pre-Rogue One, Romance, Adventure, Canon Compliant Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Foul Language, Explicit Content :)

Samarkand is from now on under Imperial protection. Please stay calm.”

“Why are there Imperial ships on Samarkand?” Cora asked, her back against a wall, Cassian’s body protectively shielding her.

“Remain non-violent and no one will be harmed.”

“I don’t know,” he said in a low voice, watching the people in the streets scurry for cover. Blaster shots could be heard in the distance, making the hair raise on the back of her neck. “We have to get out of here fast.”

“Please take shelter until the Imperial troops have secured the perimeter.”

He grabbed her arm and guided her away from the crowd, walking as fast as they could through the narrow lateral streets. This was a side of Samarkand Cora hadn’t seen until now. If the rest of it looked shabby, the back alleys were positively filthy. They had to be careful not to walk into the piles of trash that just lied on the pavement or get bitten by vermin. When Cassian decided they were far enough, they hid under a low balcony and he took out the com-link, contacting K-2SO.

"There seem to be a lot more stormtroopers than any of us anticipated,” came the droid’s mechanical voice.

“Did they take over the spaceport?” Cassian asked, hastily. “Can we still leave the planet?”

“Probably. If you were here, we could leave right now,” he said in what Cora could recognize as being a condescending tone. “They seem to concentrate their efforts on taking on the streets. But who knows for how long.”

“That’s good. Keep the engines running, we’re coming to you.” He seemed to want to turn off the com, but then changed his mind. “If we’re not back in one hour,” he added, “leave without us.”

“I’m not leaving without you,” the droid scoffed.

“If we’re not back in one hour, take off without us,” he repeated, more convincing this time. “We can hide until they send someone after us.”

“The odds of surviving in case of…”

“Do as I say!” he barked and turned off the com.

“Do you think we’ll make it in time?” Cora asked, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking. She was just starting to get scared. It all changed so fast, her brain didn’t get the chance to fully process the situation until now.

“Yeah, we will.” He tried reassuring her with a smile, but despite that, she could still see his face clouded by worry. “But we have to move fast.”

They took off in a hurried pace, taking only the most secluded alleys, avoiding to go out in the open. They kept quiet, often listening for the the sounds of battle and taking a detour if it seemed like their path would lead them directly to it. When they hit a dead end, they climbed on the roof of a small building.

The city looked desolating. While just a few hours earlier the streets were brimming of life, now they were deserted. The shops had been closed and the colourful stalls full of merchandise were nowhere to be seen. The neon ads that lit the streets at night had been turned off, leaving the city bleak and grey. Only closed doors and barred windows everywhere. In the pale light of morning, the city looked dead.

They kept walking on the roofs for as long as the terrain allowed them. She had no idea where they were, so she trusted Cassian to bring them to their destination. Once again she realized that she was useless in this war they were fighting. Without him, she would have probably cowered in fear and died in an alley sooner or later, unable to fend for herself. The blaster felt heavy on her hip.

“Get down!” Cassian urged, pulling her behind a parapet. He fished a pair of macrobinoculars out of his backpack and sneaked a peak over the wall. Cora waited silently until he let her look too.

In one of the main streets there was a fight taking place between stormtroopers and a group of people dressed in dark grey. From what she could see, their clothes didn’t have any military insignia on them. “Who are they?” she asked, handing the binoculars back to Cassian.

“They’re the local militia,” he explained. “The planet’s unofficially ruled by a smugglers’ guild, but they have all the actual power. There’s no military force, or any other line of defence besides this militia.”

“Do you think they’ll be able to resist the attack?”

“I doubt it,” he said, zipping up his backpack. “Let’s go.”

They climbed off the building and took another detour. Whichever direction they went in, they seemed to always be just one step away from getting into a fight. Cassian’s hand never really left the blaster, being prepared to retaliate at any sign of danger. Fortunately, and this was only thanks to him, they didn’t run into any stormtroopers.

When the spaceport finally came into view, Cora allowed herself a sigh of relief. She could see ships taking off and leaving the planet, so she felt like they’d made it. The sound of an explosion made her realize that she had relaxed too soon.

“K! K!” Cassian yelled over the com, as they were running towards the spaceport. There were no stormtroopers in sight, so they risked going in the open.

“They seemed to have changed their mind about the spaceport once someone blew up one of their transport shuttles,” K replied, a bit too calmly.

“Are you alright? Are they attacking the ships?” Cassian asked.

“The ship is fine. They’re currently engaged in a fight with a bunch of smugglers and seem to take on anything that moves, but don’t attack the ships directly,” he said. “But I guess that isn’t so good for you. Do you want me to cause a distraction?”

“No! You stay on the ship and wait for us!” he barked, before turning off the com.

Cassian readied his blaster, so Cora did the same, even though she doubted she’d be of any use. She feared she’d only be a burden to him, but he looked at her gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he tried reassuring her. “We just have to stay outside of their firing range and move as silently as possible. It’s worked for us until now,” he smiled.

“Well, I hope you’ll be just as lucky from now on,” she smiled back, but only for a second, as worry took its place.

“What makes you think I’m the lucky one?”

“You don’t think it’s me?”

“Why not?” he shrugged. “We have to get going,” he said, his smile vanishing in the blink of an eye. He was Captain Andor once again. “Stay behind me, but try not to fall too far behind,” he instructed. “If I tell you to duck, you duck. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to run to the ship and leave me behind, you do that, understood?”

Cora didn’t like where this was going. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but her mouth was dry. He was asking her to leave him behind if anything happened and save herself, but she knew she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t just leave him if he was injured. It was her duty as a doctor to never abandon someone in need of help.

“Understood?” He must have noticed her avoiding the question, so he insisted. Eventually she nodded. It was easier to lie when she didn’t open her mouth. “Good. Listen to me and everything will be alright.” But she was afraid.

She followed him, the blaster in her hands, her heart somewhere in Limbo. She could hear the shots and the explosions becoming louder and louder but she kept repeating to herself that she had Cassian, so everything was going to be alright. She had fought space pirates a while back and lived to tell the tale, so she was probably gonna make it this time too.

Once they entered the spaceport, they took the most roundabout way towards the ship. They stayed as far as possible from the fight, walking in the shadows, hiding behind the ships that still remained docked. Cora kept her eyes down. She didn’t want to see all the people who were being wounded that she couldn’t help. She just wanted to leave the planet already, and she was blaming herself for delaying the takeoff so much because she selfishly wanted to spend time with Cassian.

Their tactic of crossing the spaceport unseen would have worked if it weren’t for the AT-ST that joined the battle and started shooting at the docked ships. If until then the smugglers seemed to have a slight advantage, with the addition of the Scout Walker, the tables seemed to have turned.

With their cover literally blown to pieces, they had no other choice but to run in the open. Cassian was shooting while he was running, trying to stay between the blasters and Cora, dragging her along when she was falling behind.

The U-Wing was getting closer and closer, and Cora hoped that they would make it. The ship had the engines already running and the lateral door was open, so the only thing they needed to do was to reach it and they were out of there. Or at least, it would become Cassian’s job to bring them out of there.

But a stray blaster shot hit her back. The pain was white and searing hot, burning and seeping into her bones. For a moment she lost consciousness, waking up on the stone floor, with Cassian running back to her. She wanted to scream and tell him to go, to leave without her. But she had no power to do it. Her vision was blurry. She didn’t want him to leave either, she didn’t want to die alone.

“It’s alright, it’s ok,” he hummed in her ear, holding her by the shoulders and helping her in a sitting position. He looked at her wound and Cora could see the colour drain from his face. “It doesn’t look that deep. Can you feel your legs?” he asked, and Cora wondered how bad it actually was. The adrenaline rush had taken over and she didn’t feel that much pain.

She tried moving her legs and was relieved to notice that she could. She smiled at Cassian. It meant that her spine wasn’t affected, or at least, it wasn’t that badly affected. She tried standing up, holding onto his shoulders for support, but her legs felt like jelly. He helped her out of the firing line, placing her down behind the smoking body of a ship. She could feel the blood slowly dripping.

“Do we still have time to get to the ship?” she asked, her voice weak, still clinging to his jacket.

He looked around. “Yeah,” he said, but didn’t sound too convincing. “We could…” The AT-ST came into view, shooting at another row of docked ships, getting dangerously close to their U-Wing. He looked at the ship, then looked at Cora and took the com out.

“K! Take off! Leave now!” he yelled. “K!”

“The AT-ST is getting closer, but you could still make it if you hurry,” K said.

“We can’t make it. Leave without us!” The AT-ST turned his attention to the ship closest to their U-Wing and fired. “Leave already!” he yelled in the com, and Cora saw the ship finally take off without them. It narrowly avoided the shots fired by the walker, but in the end it left unscattered.

“We have to get out of here and find a safe place. Can you walk?” he asked, his hands back on her shoulders.

“I think so,” she said, trying to get herself together.

“Ok, get ready,” he said, and fished a flash grenade out of the backpack. He set it on a timer and threw it.

He helped her up before the grenade detonated, placing one of her arms around his neck for support. He held her close, careful not to touch the wounded area, and guided her away from the fight. When the grenade exploded making a loud noise and lighting the room up, they used the ensuing chaos to slip out of the spaceport unseen.

Back on one of the deserted alleys, they found a hidden spot to rest a little. Now that the initial shock had died down, she realized that her injury wasn’t that bad. Yeah, it hurt like hell and it was still bleeding, but the quantity of blood wasn’t significant and the pain was superficial. It was probably just a graze, but it had incapacitated her at a crucial moment. Cassian had walked around for hours with broken ribs and a gushing wound and it didn’t stop him.

“Give me an emergency patch,” she told him, awkwardly twisting and shoving a hand under her clothes, trying to at least feel the wound if she couldn’t see it. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, slapping her hand away from the wound. Her hand returned smeared in blood.

“I need to know what’s going on,” she whined, but he hoisted her up once again.

“I’m gonna patch you up, but we can’t do that here,” he said, and Cora noticed a little tremble in his voice. “We’re too exposed. I know a place, do you think you can walk?”

“Yeah.” Now that the blasters weren’t shooting around her head, she was feeling a lot calmer. “Let’s hurry.”

They started walking again, this time a lot slower than before, with Cora’s injury holding them back, but they were still leaving the spaceport behind pretty fast. Cassian wasn’t looking as self-contained as he did just a while back. He was paler than usual, and kept looking at Cora as if expecting her to just fall down and die any moment. His hand never left her back, even though she didn’t need his help holding her up anymore.

They reached a building that looked deserted, with broken windows and no door. It looked even more deplorable than the rest of the buildings, if that was even possible. What confused her, she noticed, was that this was the only building she’d seen until now that was completely deserted.

“Space is very valuable here on Samarkand,” Cassian explained, as they took the stairs up to the attic. “So not that many places are abandoned.”

“So what’s wrong with this one?” she asked, curious.

“It’s haunted.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not. People here are surprisingly superstitious,” he laughed. “Right now, that works in our favour.”

He picked the lock on the attic door in mere seconds. The room was in a much better condition than the rest of the building: it was relatively clean and dry and it had intact windows. A mattress on the floor indicated that someone was crashing there occasionally. She assumed it was Cassian.

He closed the door behind them and dragged the mattress to the middle of the room, asking Cora to sit down. He looked outside the window for a brief moment, probably to make sure that no one had followed them, then took out the medipack.

Taking off her clothes took a little effort and a lot of help from Cassian, but he didn’t seem to mind. Left only in her bra, the cool air hitting her skin made her shiver. Her top was bloodstained, and the jacket, her precious jacket, had a hole in it.

She tried once again to touch the wound when she thought Cassian wasn’t paying attention, but he stopped her. She snorted, frustrated. She hated not knowing how bad it was.

“I’ll patch you up,” he said, taking a seat behind her. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

“How bad is it?” she asked, trying to look over her shoulder. When she couldn’t see anything, she instinctively tried to reach for the wound again, but Cassian grabbed her hand and placed it back in her lap, holding it there. She could feel his shirt brushing the skin on her shoulder, and it made her hyper aware that she was almost half naked in front of him. “Cassian,” she groaned.

“I’ve already told you, it’s not a big deal,” he said, running his thumb over her fingers. “Don’t you trust me to do this?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you…” she mumbled. “It’s just that I hate not being able to do it myself. It makes me feel helpless.”

He let go of her hand, opened the medipack and started cleaning the wound and the blood around it. “Well, you have no choice but to let me do it this time,” he said. “You’ll have the pleasure to assess my first aid knowledge, since you once accused me of knowing nothing.”

“That’s all your fault for not knowing that emergency stitching is just that: emergency stitching,” she scolded. “By the way, how did you imagine you’d heal without any medical help?”

“I’ve survived worse,” he said, and then concentrated on her injury. “You’re really lucky. I’m not a doctor, but it doesn’t look deep at all. You’ll be needing stitches, and it’s probably going to scar, but you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t understand how being shot by a blaster counts as being lucky?”

He chuckled. “A few centimeters deeper and it would have hit your spine. That’s really just a matter of the angle of the shot. If they held the blaster just one centimeter to the left…”

“You’re not helping!” she laughed. “Just shut up and disinfect it. I’m gonna get stitches when we get back.” If we ever get back, she thought.

“Don’t you want me to stitch it?” he asked, and Cora couldn’t tell by his tone if he really intended to do that or he was just joking.

“No, Captain. I trust you with the blaster, but I really don’t trust you with that needle,” she said. “Just disinfect it, smear it in bacta and put a patch on it and I’m good. The disinfectant is the purple bottle, by the way,” she instructed, pointing at the medipack.

“Cora,” he said, stopping whatever he was doing, “I got this. I’ve done it a million times before.”

“I know, I’m just… micromanaging,” she said, looking at her fingernails. There were still traces of blood on her hands.

“Alright then, would you like passing me the disinfectant?” he said.

Cora took the medipack and handed him the bottle over her shoulder. She felt a little more in control now that she had the first aid kit in her hands. She felt like she was actively doing something, as opposed to just waiting for him to finish, and that eased her anxiety a little.

“Is this your first blaster wound?” he asked, as she hissed from the burning sensation given by the disinfectant.

“No, I shot myself in the leg once before,” she laughed at the memory. “But I guess this is the first one that isn’t self inflicted and completely accidental. My first real battle scar.” It sounded awesome until she realized one thing. “I’ll look like shit in a bikini!”

He laughed. “I doubt it.”

“Is that a compliment, Captain?” she asked, smiling cheekily at him over her shoulder.

“Maybe?”

He worked fast and clean. Even though she couldn’t see what he was doing, and after he administered the local anesthetic she couldn’t feel anything either, she knew he didn’t lie about doing this plenty of times before just to make her feel better. She could sense it in the way he moved, it was muscle memory. She still told him what to do, even though it was clear that he didn’t need the instructions.

“Now press on it tightly, and hold until it seals,” she said, as he placed the waterproof patch over her wound. She sighed, relieved. They had done everything that could be done so now her brain was at peace. Somewhat. She had other things to worry about. Like the fact that they may not leave the planet soon (or ever). Or that she could feel his fingers pressing into the skin above the patch, reminding her how his hands once roamed freely under her clothes.

He seemed to remember the same thing, because she could feel his fingers inching upwards, idly caressing her skin. Even though the contact between them was minimal, she still felt enveloped by his warmth. One finger was brushing against her spine as his hands traveled towards her shoulders, giving her goosebumps. She leaned into his touch, but it was a mistake, because he seemed to realize what he was doing and took his hands away.

“Umm…” he muttered, shifting away from her. “You’re all done.”

“Thanks,” she said, pulling the bloodstained shirt over her head. It was a little gross and definitely unhygienic, but she had no other choice. She was supposed to be a badass smuggler who shouldn’t be queasy. She grabbed her jacket and sighed, poking a whole hand through the charred hole in the fabric. “I really liked this jacket,” she complained, before putting it on.

“I think we can get you another one, if you’d like.”

“I don’t think General Draven would give me one for free, as a reward for getting shot on a mission…” she shrugged.

“Probably not,” he laughed. “But we can ask the guys in Storage. If we ask them nicely…”

They both jumped at the piercing sound made by the com. Cassian hurried to turn it on.

“The situation on Samarkand seems to become increasingly unstable,” came K2’s voice from the small device. “I see more and more locals organize into groups and start to retaliate. I’d advise you to leave immediately. I’ll be waiting for you at the old spaceport up north. It’s currently pretty silent here.”

“I thought I told you to leave without us,” he shouted into the com.

“I did exactly as you told me,” the droid said, calmly. “You told me to leave, you didn’t tell me to leave the planet and go back to base.”

“Semantics,” he growled.

“Very important. You wouldn’t want to be misunderstood.” Cora couldn’t help but smile at the cheekiness. “Anyway, I’d advise you to hurry. Ours isn’t the only ship docked here.”

Cassian seemed to think about it for a minute, the lines between his brows deepening. He got up and looked out the window, silently assessing the situation. “Give us two hours,” he finally said. “If we can’t reach your location in two hours, leave without us. And this time, you leave the planet and go back to base, no tricks. Understood?”

“Understood,” the droid agreed, and the line went dead.

It seemed there was still hope for them. As long as Cassian was with her she wasn’t that afraid, but she still felt like this whole situation could have been avoided if she hadn’t insisted to spend more time on the planet. She was making things difficult for him, so she just wanted to go back to base and call it a day. She was sure that General Draven would yell at her for the rest of her life, but she took responsibility for that.

Cassian had taken out the macrobinoculars and was looking out the window. “I see two sets of stormtroopers patrolling. I think we’ll lay low for a while. I don’t think we should risk getting into a fight.”

“Do you think they’ll let us leave?” she finally asked what had been bothering her for a while now. “I assume they have a star destroyer up there and TIE fighters. Do you think they’d let us just leave the planet and go into hyperspace?”

“Yeah, they will,” he said, and seemed quite certain of it.

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“I assume they want to take control of the planet, not wipe it out, otherwise they would have used a different tactic,” he explained. “Most of the people you saw on the streets today aren’t locals, just like us. It would make no sense to just imprison them all. Most of them are rich citizens of the Empire that just came here to have a little fun. Yes, most of the businesses on Samarkand are illegal, but it would bring the Empire a good deal of money if they were under their protection.”

“So they’ll just let them go in the hopes that when they come back and spend more money, but in this case, the taxes would go to the Empire?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s a good business. Besides, I don’t think there are enough stormtroopers in the city to fight them all right now. They can be very dangerous people and who knows what illegal weapons they’re hiding on their ships. If they all took up arms, there wouldn’t be much of an invasion. The stormtroopers just scare them off and let them leave, so they only have to deal with the locals and the militia.”

“So why don’t they?”

“What don’t they what? Fight back?”

“Yeah, why doesn’t everyone just fight the Empire if they hate it so much? This is the perfect opportunity to fight it.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Is the Rebellion finally getting to you, Doctor?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“You’ll soon become more dedicated to the cause than General Draven,” he joked, and Cora glared at him. “First of all, they would need someone to organize them,” he said, taking a seat besides her on the mattress. “Right now, they’re just a bunch of people, each with their own agenda. For them to work together, you’d have to offer them something big enough for them to risk their lives for. Most of them live well enough in the middle of the Empire, there’s no reason to fight it. Plus, they probably hate each other, so you’d have to convince them to put aside their differences and work together, and you won’t be able to do that today, in just a few hours.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she replied, thoughtful.

“You could still try to do it,” he laughed. “Cora, Defender of Samarkand. It has a nice ring to it.”

“I’m not sure they’d listen to someone with my pedigree,” she shrugged. “You do it.”

“I don’t think they’d listen to me either. Not really the hero type,” he said. “But even if they did, and let’s say we got them all to work together and we stopped this invasion, it would be a wasted effort on the long run.”

Cora raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“They’d only send a bigger fleet next time and wipe the whole planet out. We’d win a battle, but in the end we’d lose the war.”

“So what do we do then? We just let them take over, one planet at a time until there’s nothing left?”

“No, that’s why the Rebel Alliance exists,” he said, getting up and moving to look out the window once again. “We fight the Empire and we actually do some damage. Instead of fighting back now and risking to be completely wiped out, Samarkand can help the Rebellion and sabotage them from the inside. One planet as tiny as this one can’t fight the Empire on its own, but it can help us face this common enemy and win in the end.”

Cora couldn’t help but smile. He looked so full of passion when he spoke about the cause. There was a fire in his eyes that burned brighter than what she’d seen before. There was hope, and there was determination. Now she understood why he hated her so much in the beginning. It probably wasn’t personal, he just hated what she represented.

“Well, Captain, I think I now know why you can’t get a girl,” she laughed.

“And why is that?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, pretending to be seriously interested in what she was about to say.

“You’re in love with the Rebellion,” she said, getting up and stretching her legs. Her back wasn’t hurting anymore, but the sensation of numbness was strange. Still, it didn’t bother her when she walked.

He smiled, but it was a sad smile, and Cora realized she might have made a mistake with her joke. “You may be right this time,” he said, and went back to looking out the window.

She joined him by the window, looking at the depressing city. “It’s not a bad thing, you know,” she said. “Being passionate about what you do. We wouldn’t be having a rebellion if there weren’t people who really loved the cause.” She smiled. “Do you think we can win?”

“Maybe, one day. But not today. Today we have to survive.”

They looked out the window for a while, Cassian actually scouting the city, while Cora was just lost in her thoughts. She realized that she had been really selfish. She didn’t leave the Empire because she wanted the world to be a better place, she just wanted to be free and safe. The world could have gone to hell for all she cared, if her tiny little world remained unshaken. But there were people like Cassian who were sacrificing the quality of their lives to fight for people who they didn’t even know. Who were in this fight because they made a choice, who could leave any time but every day, they chose to stay and keep fighting, because they hoped for a better future for everyone.

She looked at her bracelets and wondered, if tomorrow they took them off, would she leave? Would she still be here, with Cassian, trapped on a planet that was slowly being taken over by stormtroopers, if she had the opportunity to just get away and live peacefully someplace else? She liked to think she would. Maybe she didn’t care that much about the Rebellion, or about the world, but she cared about him. So she decided she was going to stay, no matter what happened next, because the Alliance was important to him and he meant a lot to her.

“I think we can go now,” he said, breaking her train of thought. “They seem to have left the area. Are you feeling up for it?” he asked, and Cora nodded. “We can stay here for a while and wait for a rescue team to come pick us up if you’re not feeling ok.”

“Stop coddling me, Cassian, I’m ok.”

“Just making sure,” he said, gathering the rest of their stuff and shoving it back in the backpack.

The streets were silent, but the air felt tense. She could see where fights had taken place, like burn marks scattered throughout the city. Occasionally she could see the brief, fearful gazes from behind the curtains of the people who had made Samarkand their home. It might have been filthy and depressing, but for some this was the only place they had ever called ‘home’. And now they could be close to losing that, because greed was stronger than compassion in the Empire.

With her back numb and adequately patched Cora could move a lot faster than before and Cassian didn’t have to keep an eye on her anymore. However, she still caught him throwing her quick glances from time to time. For someone who treated all his injuries, even the more severe ones, like they were nothing serious, he certainly seemed to worry about the graze on her back. He probably considered her quite incompetent for getting injured so stupidly, and she hadn’t proved him wrong until now, but she also felt like he was genuinely worried about her.

They reached the old spaceport without any incidents. Most of the troops seemed to be concentrated in the center of the city, where the smugglers’ guild had their headquarters, so the streets were rather calm. The spaceport, if you could call it so, was just an open space surrounded by tall walls that looked ready to break down at any moment. Safety wasn’t something that Samarkand inspired, but this was a special kind of safety hazard.

They kept a safe distance and contacted K. He had the ship on the far side of the spaceport, meaning they would have to cross it all to get there. Not surprising at all, there were also other ships docked there, some of which could be a little hostile, Cassian concluded. No stormtroopers were in sight, though.

“So… do me make a run for it?” Cora suggested. “100-meter dash?”

Cassian laughed. “I don’t think that’s the best tactic.”

“It’s the fastest,” she shrugged. “We either reach the ship or we die. Either way, it’s gonna be fast.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, then smiled and shook his head. “Do you have a death wish, Doctor?”

“Not a very well defined one,” she joked, but he didn’t smile this time, listening intently.

“We may actually have to follow your suggestion,” he said, his face serious. “Something’s coming.”

Cora listened, but didn’t hear anything that hinted that there was a battle going on. However, she was going to trust Cassian on this. She was sure he had better hearing than her, or maybe even a sixth sense. He readied his weapon so she did the same, and started advancing towards the spaceport.

They quickened the pace when they reached the gates, a deep thudding sound becoming louder and louder. Before they even knew it, they were surrounded by a bunch of raggedy looking people, running for their lives.

“Run, you two!” one of them yelled, passing them.

“Shit!” Cassian swore and started running, Cora following closely looking over her shoulder from time to time.

The thudding suddenly materialized into the shape of an AT-ST that was apparently following the others. And now, them too, since they were all running in the same direction.

“Fuuuuck!” Cora screamed, trying to run faster. There was nowhere to hide. Besides the few ships awaiting their owners, there was no place to hide.

They ran in zig-zag, trying to avoid the walker’s laser cannons. Cassian and a couple of others kept shooting back, and occasionally threw a grenade at it, but Cora focused on running. When she had joined med school she thought she was done with running for good, but here she was, hoping she wouldn’t trip and get crushed under the walker’s feet.

The AT-ST was catching up fast, especially since the terrain was working in its favour, and Cora could see its shadow almost covering her. The others had scattered, or had been shot, she didn’t pay attention, so the walker was left chasing her and Cassian. However, they had somehow managed to disable one of its cannons, and damage the other one, but even with the decreased accuracy it was still so close to blowing them to pieces.

Cora’s heart was beating a million times a minute and her lungs felt like they were on fire, but she kept running. She knew that if she stopped, she’d be dead. The only thing that kept her alive was Cassian who was pulling her towards one of the grounded ships. She hoped it would shield them until they found a way to take the walker down. She tried remembering how they dealt with situations like this while she was in stormtrooper training, but she couldn’t recall any scenario in which two people, very lightly armed and armoured, were chased by a nine meter tall war machine.

They were close to the ship, just a few meters away, when she heard a loud bang. She turned her head just in time to see the AT-ST falling towards them. She didn’t have time to react, but Cassian grabbed her by the jacket and threw her forward, under the hull of the ship. She fell down, her legs not working anymore.

Fortunately Cassian had enough time to throw himself besides Cora, before the walker fell over the ship, the crashing sound almost deafening. He grabbed Cora and pulled her under him, shielding her as much as he could. She knew that if the ship gave in it would crush them both under its weight, but it was comforting having Cassian close. At least she wouldn’t die alone. She put her hands around his neck and pulled him closer.

Surrounded by the the ear-shattering noise, in a state of detachment from what was going on around her, Cora had no idea if she was dying or not. Only when the noise ceased and she felt a foul smelling liquid dripping all over her did she have the courage to open her eyes. Jet fuel, she noticed, probably mixed with engine oil by the colour. She turned her head before it got into her eyes.

“Are you alright?” Cassian whispered in her ear. She didn’t even try to speak, so she just nodded. “Are you hurt?” he asked again, and she shook her head after wiggling her legs a little to make sure they were still in place.

“You?” she whispered, her voice small and shaky, arms still around his neck.

“I’m ok.” His body relaxed, letting Cora support all his weight for a brief moment, before propping himself on his elbows and looking around. “We have to get out of here before it crushes us.”

The ship had sustained a lot of damage, but even if one of the landing skids had given way under the force of the impact, the other one was still holding, saving both their lives. They scrambled to get out from under it while it was still standing, managing to get drenched in fuel and covered in dust, probably also bruising their elbows and knees. They were alive.

The U-Wing was waiting for them behind the fallen scout walker, K-2 hurrying towards them.

“That was a really close call,” he said, in a deeply disapproving tone.

“Thanks for saving our skin,” Cassian said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Well, someone had to do it.”

“I guess we should hurry,” Cora suggested, pointing towards a squad of stormtroopers who were just entering the spaceport gates.

“Shit!” Cassian cursed and urged them to the ship.

They took off before the stormtroopers had the time to reach them, and Cora could finally breathe freely. Somewhat. She had jet fuel in her nostrils and it was burning. Actually, the chemicals irritated her skin and made it itch. She hoped the patch on her back was still holding, because she really didn’t want to know what jet fuel would do on an open wound.

“K, make the hyperspace jump as fast as you find a safe route. It doesn’t matter where to, just take us out of here,” he said, looking out the viewport at the star destroyer looming over Samarkand. It was the smaller, Victory-class destroyer, so Cora knew the Empire didn’t go all out on this mission. No one seemed to notice (or care), that they had left the planet. They weren’t the only ones anyway, as she could see other ships going into hyperspace. “We have to take a shower before we get chemical burns,” he said, pushing Cora towards the living quarters.

The doors opened and the lights automatically turned on and Cora found herself in a tiny cabin. Tiny was an understatement, as there was barely any space for anything there. There was a table that could be pulled up to make more space when it wasn’t in use. The bed, that looked oddly similar to what she had slept on while imprisoned, was currently pulled up, otherwise she was sure they wouldn’t have enough space to move.

She felt a little awkward intruding into Cassian’s personal space, even though she knew she really needed that shower before she smeared everything in jet fuel or she caught fire. However, it was unusual seeing something as intimate as the place where someone slept.

There was a pair of worn out boots thrown in a corner and a sniper rifle leaning on the wall next to it. A parka and some trinkets were negligently flung on the table, but apart from those, and a few diagrams stuck to the walls, the room looked clean and empty. The cabin of a soldier.

“The shower is in the back,” he said, urging her to go first. “Just throw your clothes on the floor, I’ll get you some clean ones.”

She entered the shower and peeled off the wet and sticky clothes, dropping them into a pile on the floor, kicking them into a corner so she didn’t trip on them. She regretted having to part with the badass smuggler outfit, but she was sure it was already ruined. Maybe she’d find another cool one in Storage, but she knew it would be of no use to her: after another mission that almost ended with them getting killed (even though, again, it wasn’t her fault) she was sure Draven would never let her leave the base. White, medical uniform would be her only outfit for the rest of her life.

The water felt good on her skin, washing away the fouls smelling fluid. She grabbed a bar of soap and thoroughly scrubbed herself, but her skin still felt oily and dirty. Getting it out of her hair was another challenge, the engine oil and jet fuel mix seemed to stick to every strand and even after soaping it a few times still didn’t seem to wash off completely. Fortunately, the patch on her back was still holding.

She jumped in surprise when the door opened and a naked Cassian stepped in. She didn’t expect him to join her, but she realized that she was taking her time with the shower and they were in a hurry. She backed into a corner, leaving as much space between them as possible, even though it almost wasn’t enough for both of them to fit.

Cora was very aware of how close and how naked they were. Cassian had his back turned to her, offering her a little privacy. She knew the right thing to do would be to get out of there as fast as possible, looking away, but the only thing she could do was stare at the way his back muscles moved as he washed himself. She was absent-mindedly clutching the bar of soap in her hand while the water washed down her skin. She was amazed at how fast the adrenaline that was still running through her veins turned into arousal.

“You’ve missed a spot,” she said, making up her mind.

He looked over his shoulder, trying to find the spot he couldn’t reach, but Cora covered it with a soapy hand. He looked her in the eye for a moment, then turned back around, letting her clean it. His skin felt soft under her fingers and even after the dark spot of grease was no more, she still couldn’t take her hand away, letting her fingers follow the shape off his spine down to his waist.

He slowly and hesitantly turned around, as if giving her the chance to stop him. She didn’t. She extended her arm and rested it on his abdomen, right above his semi-erect cock. She felt him tense for a moment, then relax and cover her hand with his. He looked at her for a second, wet hair sticking to his forehead and water dripping from his beard. There was a look of determination in his eyes when he pulled her closer, pressing his lips onto hers in a hungry kiss. She grabbed onto his shoulders, pressing herself into him, finally able to feel his naked skin on hers. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to feel him like this and her body was shivering a little at the contact.

His hands were roaming freely over her body, his fingers over her naked skin giving her goosebumps and making the fluttering in the pit of her stomach increase to the magnitude of a medium tornado. However, the moment he touched the patch he seemed to remember her injury and started to back away.

“Don’t you dare run away now,” she growled in his ear, grabbing his hand and pulling it down to her ass. He chuckled and gave it a playful squeeze, making Cora jump a little and press her chest onto his, before he resumed the kissing and touching and nibbling. Her hand fell down to his cock, squeezing and pumping slowly, making his breath hitch.

The conditions were less than ideal. It wasn’t the time and place for this, a shower module on board of a U-Wing was definitely not designed with sex in mind, but even with water getting into their mouths and the constant risk of slipping and breaking something, they were too immersed into each other to care. They seemed determined to make up for that missed opportunity in the catacombs, so now their hands and lips were freely touching each other’s bodies, trying to draw out as much pleasure in as little time as possible.

A sudden jolt that sent them flying into a corner signalled that they had entered hyperspace. After making sure neither of them was hurt, they decided that shower sex was a fantasy they would have to fulfil another time, on less shaky ground, and reentered the cabin, leaving the shower door open and the water running. The cabin wasn’t designed with sex in mind either, but they were both intent to somehow make this work.

Cassian lifted Cora up and placed her onto the small table, without bothering to make some space first so her ass landed on the blue parka.

“Is there anything that may go up my ass?” she asked, touching the material with her hands, making sure nothing was going to poke her.

“Uhm…” he looked around and picked up a metal tube off the table. “A silencer?” he said, before throwing it on the floor.

“Kinky,” she laughed, and pulled him closer, running her fingers through his hair and kissing him passionately.

He positioned himself between her legs, holding her thighs in a firm grasp. Their foreheads were almost touching and he was looking into her eyes, hesitating for just a second, so she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. He buried himself deep into her as she gasped into his ear, pressing herself even closer to him. She could feel his breath on her neck as he let her adjust and then the tiny kisses along the sensitive skin behind her ear.

They were mostly silent, like they were only used to having sex where they risked getting caught. The water still running in the shower was muffling any stray moan or gasp that may have left their lips as they rocked into each other. It wasn’t rough, but it definitely wasn’t gentle. It was primal and needy, their bodies almost moving on their own, finding a rhythm that suited both of them.

It didn’t take long before they found the much needed release, the excitement of the day, the fear and the adrenaline contributing to it. They collapsed into each other’s arms, ragged breaths and heated bodies, their brains floating in the clouds of pleasure. They stayed like that for a while, snuggled up into an embrace, Cora’s fingers idly playing with the hair on the back of his neck. She was feeling drowsy and content in his arms.

Cassian broke the embrace, a little too soon for Cora’s liking. “I have to take us home,” he whispered in her ear, his voice a little deeper than usual.

She nodded and hopped off the table, her knees feeling weak, and her body aching for rest, but she knew there was no time for that yet. She was still wet and without his arms around her, she started feeling cold, but before she started shivering, Cassian protectively wrapped her in a blanket.

She leaned against a wall, patiently watching him get dressed. He was way too energetic for someone who was just coming down from the heights of an orgasm, but she assumed cuddling after sex was something he just didn’t do. No matter how much she wanted to pull him close and hold him there for a while, basking in his warmth, she knew she couldn’t do it. So she just wrapped herself tighter in the blanket and yawned.

“I have to bring us home,” he said once again, putting a stack of clean clothes on the table for her to use. “We’ll have to make a few jumps until we get back, so you can pull down the bed and rest for a while.” She nodded and decided she may actually take him up on that offer, a sort of sluggishness taking over her. “See you later,” he said, and before she could say anything he was out.

Cora smiled. “No kiss goodbye, Captain Andor?” she whispered to herself before going to turn off the water.

When Cassian entered the cockpit he noticed that they were no longer in hyperspace. He didn’t feel the ship leaving it, but to his defence, he hadn’t been paying attention. He took a seat on the pilot chair and grabbed his headset.

“You took your time,” K2 criticised him.

“Yeah,” he didn’t deny. There was no point. “Do you have the calculations for our next jump?” he asked, not wanting to delay their arrival at base any longer.

“Where is she?” the droid asked, looking back over his shoulder.

“Resting, I assume.”

“I see.” The droid was curiously looking at Cassian and he didn’t understand why. “You’ve showered,” he said, and Cassian raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like the droid to state such banalities.

“Yes,” he replied, not knowing where this was going.

“Together?”

“What?” He looked at him wide eyed. He couldn’t have heard them, not with the water running, and not while in hyperspace. Then what? Did he just assume it? That wasn’t like him either. “Of course not,” he denied it, going back to looking out the viewport.

“Right,” the droid said, as Cassian started the procedure to enter hyperspace. “Because that would be highly unhygienic,” he finished.

“Kriff!” Cassian whispered.

Previous chapter

Masterlist

#cassian andor #cassian andor x ofc #cassian andor x original female character #rogue one #starlight

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adapted-batteries · 7 years

Text

The LiTs Go Clubbing

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: Teen and up (only for a bit of language)

Ships: Jassekiel

A mission leads the trio to a club in NYC, where Stone gets to rescue both of his co-workers, and possibly save most of Manhattan from being sucked into a void.

This is set in the Land Pirates AU that my other story “You Sultry Land Pirates Ruined My Dig!” is set in. This story may make more sense if you’ve read that beforehand in terms of previous interactions and such.

Also posted on my Ao3.

Edit on October 14th, 2017: I realize that I never explained how they got to the Portland Annex or how they met Jenkins, so I added a bit in to kind of fix that. To clarify, in this universe, Flynn actually knows about Jenkins and the Annex already, so Jenkins shared the backdoor technology years ago with him (I'm not sure why he didn't know about Jenkins in the show, kind of odd he didn't know after 10 years). The Portland Annex is the LiT's and Eve's main base of operations, while Flynn works back in New York City, but he's only a door away to get to their Annex.

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Just three weeks after Dr. Stone, Ezekiel, and Cassandra received their invitations, they found themselves off on a mission, this time without Colonel Baird to guide them. She had been training the trio to be Librarians like Flynn, with the help of Jenkins in the Portland Annex, where Flynn had booted them to for training. Of course said Librarian was off chasing down some lead on Dulaque hopefully, and had dragged Colonel Baird with him.

Dulaque was a sore subject for the two land pirates. Ezekiel and Cassandra had been hired by him to take the book of Serhem from Dr. Stone’s excavation. At the time they didn’t know any better, but since their enlightenment to the world of magic, and consequently Dulaque’s troubling gathering of magic artifacts, both felt guilty for working with the man.

Today, thankfully, the clippings book sent them on an unrelated mission to New York City. Apparently some “strange happenings” had been going on near a specific set of blocks, and after Cassandra’s mental mapping of locations, in a pentagram-like pattern around a particular building that housed a club on the first floor and basement. After spending a day investigating the various sites of the magical incidents (namely people disappearing or things appearing in puffs of purple-black smoke) the Librarians-in-Training (or LiTs as Flynn liked to call them) decided a visit to the club that night was in order.

Ezekiel and Cassandra were well-equipped wardrobe wise to go clubbing, however Dr. Stone walked into the main room of the Annex looking like he was about to visit a country bar in rural Oklahoma. “Seriously? A cowboy in NYC, that won’t stick out one bit,” Ezekiel scoffed, leaning against the table while he waited. He had on a pair of low cut black boots, slim, black pants, a blue and yellow plaid sports jacket over a striped shirt, and a mustard colored ascot with a broach to tie it all together.

“Hey, I don’t have all the new ‘threads’ in my closet like you two do,” Stone retorted, looking down at his maroon and tan plaid shirt and dark blue jean combo self-consciously. “I think my outfit is just fine, thank you very much.” Stone was secretly glad he decided to leave his black stetson in his truck.

“You don’t get out much, do you Mr. Stone,” a booming voice said behind the cowboy, making him jump slightly. Jenkins had just walked through the same door Stone had moments before, a worn book in hand. “Unfortunately with this one, I have to agree with Mr. Jones. In a New York club, you will stick out like an ent would walking down the street.” Ezekiel’s eyebrows arched for a moment.

“Really? That’s the analogy you go for?” Stone replied, annoyed. “And how do you know what’s in to wear?”

“I may not be up to date in this century’s fashion, but I do know that clubs haven’t changed that much since I last went,” Jenkins explained.

“Jenkins...clubbing...I just can’t picture that,” Ezekiel chuckled.

“I’ve not been in the Annex for that long, Mr. Jones,” Jenkins replied coolly, looking down at him for effect. “I’ll have you know I frequented the Cotton Club, among other places.”

“Pretty sure the club we’re goin’ to isn’t gonna be like the Cotton Club,” Stone said, stifling a laugh from the thought of Jenkins clubbing. Jenkins narrowed his eyes at Stone like he knew what the cowboy was thinking, so Stone looked back down at his clothes. “It’s not like I’ve got anythin’ else to wear anyway,” he mumbled. Jenkins shook his head while rolling his eyes, then continued to his desk.

“Mate, you’re in a magical library. I’m sure we can find something more...modern,” Ezekiel laughed, amused by Jenkins’s expression.

“Oh boy,” Cassandra’s voice rang through the Annex. Both men looked to the door as she walked through. She had on some high-heeled, leather boots that went just over her ankles, black leather-like leggings to match, a dark blue pea coat with gold hemmed edges, and a white scarf with a different broach than Ezekiel’s. “A trip to the costume room, before we go?” She nodded to Ezekiel, then turned back on herself to go to said room.

“Ya’ll know how to make a man feel inadequately dressed,” Stone mumbled as he followed her out.

“At least we actually help you fix it too,” Ezekiel replied, play-elbowing Stone in the side as they walked behind Cassandra.

Twenty minutes and a few outfits later, the trio returned to the main room in the Annex with a freshly made-over Stone. Cassandra had found a black sleeveless jacket and a grey waistcoat, Ezekiel found a navy undershirt that tastefully highlighted Stone’s biceps, and a leather chest strap thing that he insisted looked “cool” over the waistcoat, and Stone, feeling left out in the neck department, found a navy and dark blue dotted scarf with a little black brooch on it. They let him keep his dark jeans and tan workman boots, now that he wasn’t a flaming cowboy.

Jenkins glanced up from another book he’d acquired while they were busy. “Much better,” he commented. He grabbed a piece of paper and stuck it in the book to keep his place while he dialed up the backdoor for them again. “Now don’t have too much fun while doing your reconnaissance,” Jenkins added.

“Yeah yeah, we know,” Ezekiel said, dramatically looking up at the ceiling. “Hurry up and open the backdoor already.” Jenkins huffed, but within seconds the magical blue glow seeped around the doors.

“Call when you’re ready to come back. It should open in the same place, hopefully,” Jenkins said, holding the door open for them. Without hesitation, Ezekiel lept through the door; Cassandra and Stone looked at each other like mildly exasperated parents before doing the same.

It was around ten at night, but the street itself was lit as bright as day from various neon signs and street lights. They were down in Greenwich Village, on a Friday night, so many people were wandering from bar to club to food or other places that young people go on Friday night.

“Alright, Club 10 should be just around the corner,” Cassandra stated, pointing towards a group of people going the same direction.

“What an original name,” Stone remarked sarcastically as they started walking.

“It's at least accurate, considering it's on 10th street,” Cassandra replied. Stone just shrugged in response. “So what do you think we should be looking for in there?”

“I dunno, anything magical,” Ezekiel answered distractedly as he looked around them.

“Gee, I hadn't thought of that,” Stone smirked. “I’d look for any sigils, repeating patterns, runes, et cetera. The magic seems to be more European than anything else.”

“I’ll be sure to check the bar,” Ezekiel quipped, jumping back into the conversation.

“Actually that’s not a bad idea,” Cassandra started. Both men looked at her, confused. “I mean that would be the best place to hide potions in plain sight, or use them on people.”

“With that in mind, it’d be best to not drink anythin’,” Stone added, eyeing Ezekiel.

Ezekiel sighed dramatically and stomped a foot. “You guys are no fun, I swear.”

“If ya want to drink something that may turn ya into, oh I dunno, a stone statue or magically dissolve your insides, be my guest,” Stone replied with shrug. “Though if ya find something like that, I bet Jenkins would like it if ya brought it back to him.”

As the trio rounded the corner, they saw a fairly good sized crowd filling the sidewalk outside a brick building adorned with a simple white neon sign that said “CLUB 10” in blocky print. A bouncer stood a couple feet above the crowd on a concrete platform leading to the entrance, frowning at no one in particular. People filed in regularly, suggesting there wasn’t much of a wait to get in. A driving bass line and synths escaped through the opening door, but all evidence that a club was housed inside the brick walls disappeared once the simple looking glass door shut.

“Ugh, lines,” Ezekiel said as they neared the mass of people. “I bet there’s a backdoor somewhere.”

“Or we could just wait, like normal people,” Stone retorted. “Course a thief like you probably wouldn’t understand that concept.”

Ezekiel narrowed his eyes at Stone. “Mate, you can’t steal anything good if you don’t have patience.” He glanced up at the slowly moving queue, scrutinizing the people like he was a king looking down on peasants. “A thief knows when it’s worth it to wait.” He then looked back to Stone with a mischievous look in his eyes and a smile on his face. Stone countered with a scowl of his own, knowing Ezekiel was planning something. Remembering Cassandra, Ezekiel glanced at her, getting a look that told him it was pointless. “This time, we wait,” he said, surrendering with a sigh.

Much to Ezekiel’s approval, they only spent about ten minutes waiting before they got their chance to enter. Though the building looked old, the walls seemed to be totally sound proof, as the bass unexpectedly hit them. The atmosphere was characteristically “clubby”: various colored lights flicking around an open space, a dj booth towards the front, dimmed lighting with somewhat comfortable looking seating against the walls, a bar to the right set into the wall. The crowd mainly clustered towards the dancefloor, but a fair few people dispersed around the edges, and some entered and exited two glass double doors on the left, wisps of smoke puffing out when they opened.

Stone was going to tell the other two he thought they should split up, but of course Ezekiel was already gone. He gave Cassandra the ever frequent look of “Why does he have to do that?” to which she responded with the only answer anyone ever did: a shrug of the shoulders and a small, pitying not-quite smile. Not feeling like yelling over the music, he simply pointed opposite directions with his thumbs, and Cassandra nodded back, then strode towards the mass of people. He thought he saw a glimpse of Ezekiel’s head over by the bar, so Stone decided to cover the left side of the room, and whatever lay behind the double doors.

Following the wall, Stone found nothing unusual about the rather plain decor. No hidden runes, no magical circles in the floor, nothing that would suggest magical happenings going on in this building. It looked just like a club, nothing else, except for the tinted double doors. Though he may not be familiar with club layouts, he didn’t think many regularly had smoke emitting basements. Going down the L-shaped steps that lay just behind the doors, he guessed correctly that it was a sort of designated smoking room, though he smelt more than just tobacco and weed smoke. If anything there were floral notes, herbal even, like someone was also burning a variety of incense too.

It was just as dark as the floor above, but there were no strobe lights to give extra light. Unlike outside, the bass thudded through the ceiling, mingled with the low murmur of the twenty or so people talking amongst themselves as they sat on various couches, chairs, and the rug covered floor. A little bar sat in the corner nearest the stairs, selling overpriced cigars and such, staffed by a bored looking attendant. He skirted the room, sticking to the old wood-paneled walls, trying to get the layout, but he knew for a fact this room was only half as deep as the floor above, something that wouldn’t be very unusual for a basement if it hadn’t been for the door hidden behind some fake plants where the rest of the room should be.

Deciding that the others should know about the mystery door, Stone returned back to the main floor. Instinct took him to the bar, where he found Cassandra talking to a girl fairly intently at one of the couch and coffee tables nearby and Ezekiel being chatted up by some guy with gelled up hair at the bar. He hadn’t known Ezekiel for long, but he could tell Ezekiel didn’t care for this guy’s advances. Stone couldn’t see the stranger’s face, but Ezekiel was having a hard time hiding his discomfort with weak chuckles and eyes darting to and fro. It wasn’t long before that darting zeroed in on Stone, eyebrows moving up ever so slightly and eyes widened. The stranger said something that got Ezekiel to look back at him, but Stone was already on the move.

The somewhat muscly white guy didn’t seem to have volume control anymore; Stone could hear what he was saying even though he was still ten feet away. “So like, I waz thinkin’, m’place izn’t far, maybe we cou’ ditch thiz dump,” the stranger slurred, sloppily grabbing at Ezekiel’s shoulder like he aimed too far over. Ezekiel shrugged it off and mumbled something Stone couldn’t hear, which apparently pissed off the drunk dude as his grip returned tighter to Ezekiel’s arm. “Hey, I bought you a drink babe, leazt ya can do iz come wi’ me.”

“Hey, Ezekiel, I’ve been lookin’ all over for you man!” Stone butted in, purposely bumping into the stranger’s outstretched arm so he could be as in between the two as he could without being super obvious. It worked enough to make the drunk drop his grasp as he looked over Stone.

“Oh, hey Stone,” Ezekiel said faux nonchalantly, a hint of relief slipping out.

“Hey, I got here firzt, I get dibz,” the guy said, narrowing his eyes at Stone before standing up from where he’d been slouching against the bartop. Stone could still take him on, no problem, but now the guy went from maybe an inch taller than him to a good half a foot at least. “Beat it before I beat you.”

“Well that’s funny ya think you got ‘dibs’,” Stone started, doing air quotes, “‘cos this one here is mine.” He saw Ezekiel’s eyes widen slightly at the statement, and apparently so did the dude.

“I don’t believe you. Yur just tryna take ‘im from me,” the drunk snarled, forcefully shoving himself against Stone to move him out of the way. Stone stumbled back a bit, not expecting the drunk to assault him, but quickly returned the hip check. That brought him more room than he’d lost as the drunk stumbled back towards the counter for support, his legs not quite getting the whole “standing up” thing.

“Be forceful all ya want, but like I said, he’s mine, and some drunk kid ain’t gonna take him from me,” Stone replied, almost growling the last bit of his statement. The drunk was already back on his feet, about to get rid of Stone once and for all, so Stone wrapped his arm around Ezekiel’s waist and in a mild panic, kissed him as soon as Ezekiel looked at him in reaction to the arm.

Stone wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but the two pulled apart as they heard the drunk slur out “fuck you,” and watched him stagger off towards the mass of people on the dancefloor.

“I, uh, I think he’s gone,” Ezekiel stuttered. Stone remembered he was still holding on to him and that their faces were very close, so he released his grip and put a good few feet in between them.

“You alright?” Stone asked, watching Ezekiel carefully.

“Yeah. It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with those types of people before,” Ezekiel answered, brushing it off like he totally had it under control. Stone decided not to patronize him about it. “He actually gave me some info, before he decided to show me he couldn’t hold his tequila worth shit.”

“Wait you drank something?” Stone interjected, eyes widening in concern.

“I’m not that stupid, Stone, God,” Ezekiel retorted, back to his normal self. “The floor is probably gonna be sticky in the morning, but Piss-Brain wasn’t exactly paying attention at all.”

Stone literally sighed with relief, earning a curious look from Ezekiel. “Ok, so what info did he give you?” Stone asked, hoping something good came out of Ezekiel’s suffering.

“There’s been word on NYU campus that some students were in a cult, somewhere in this area,” Ezekiel said, moving his arms around like he was trying to make a semicircle in front of himself. “And apparently the weird magic things started up just as those rumors started going around the school.”

“Well that makes what I found more fun then,” Stone started, leaning closer to Ezekiel so no one would hear. “Half the basement is behind a rather poorly hidden door.”

“That can’t be a coincidence,” Ezekiel said.

“I’ve got the bad feeling it’s not,” Stone added. “If we’re gonna find what’s causing it all, it’ll be behind that door.”

“We need to find Cassandra and check it out,” Ezekiel began, searching the vicinity for her. “Well shit.”

“What?” Stone asked, turning on his heels to see what got Ezekiel’s attention. Sure enough, the asshole from a few minutes ago had invaded where Stone had seen Cassandra before. The other girl was nowhere to be seen, and Cassandra was quite obviously sliding down the small couch away from him, quickly running out of space. “Well I guess I do get to punch someone tonight,” Stone huffed, rolling his neck and moving his shoulders like a boxer.

Ezekiel grabbed his arm before Stone could charge over to them, spinning the cowboy in disguise around to face him. “Wait, if you make a scene you’ll get thrown out,” he said, eyes pleading, a look Stone hadn’t seen before.

That look took a mere three seconds before it broke Stone’s anger. “Alright. I’ll handle it civilly,” he relented. “Go downstairs and check out the far wall, where a cluster of fake plants are. No one will pay you any mind down there. I’ll bring Cassandra down in a couple minutes.”

“Please, don’t make a scene,” Ezekiel said.

“I promise I won’t, don’t worry,” Stone chuckled, amused by Ezekiel’s concern. Noticing a pressure that had been there for awhile now, Stone glanced down at Ezekiel’s hand wrapped around the middle of his forearm. “Though I can’t do anything if you don’t let me go…”

“Oh, sorry. Alright, door badly hidden, got it. Was it locked?” Ezekiel asked, quickly changing the subject.

“I don’t know, I didn’t try it while I was there incase it was trapped or something,” Stone replied. “I figured you could best handle that.”

“Right, I am the best,” Ezekiel smirked, even adding a wink, before making his way to the double doors.

Cassandra seemed to be holding up better than Ezekiel had looked, however she also looked like she was seconds away from slapping the idiot. Just as before, Stone swooped in, grabbing the hand about to make a speedy connection with the drunk’s face and pulling her up to him. “Hi Cassie,” Stone drawled, trying to sound as infatuated as he could. “This punk givin’ you trouble?”

“You again!” The drunk yelled, but his yell didn’t get over the din of the club. He stood up to attempt to intimidate Stone again. “Now I know yur fakin’. Where’z th’ twink, I liked ‘im better anyway.”

“Where he went is none of your damn business,” Stone replied coolly, still holding onto Cassandra.

“Hid ‘im frm me, did ya? Well she’ll work too,” the drunk said, taking a step towards them. “If you’d been nice ta me, I wuld’ve invited ya too.”

“Nope,” Stone started, pulling Cassandra with him a couple feet back, making the dude stumble forward where he thought he was going to grab her. “She’s mine too.”

“If he’z yurz, Sh’ can’t b’ yurz too,” the drunk reasoned out loud. “Go on, kiss hur thn if she’z actully yurz.”

Stone did exactly as the drunk demanded. Cassandra didn’t seem near as shocked as Ezekiel had been, and in fact she pulled away first to play her part. “Have you never heard of polyamory before?” she asked, voice dripping with venomous sweetness as she stuck to Stone’s side.

“You people are sick!” the drunk yelled yet again, this time backing away from Stone and Cassandra like they were diseased animals. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t remember that there was a coffee table behind him, and took a rather ungraceful trip to the floor.

“Serves ya right,” Stone laughed, turning himself and Cassandra to meet up with Ezekiel. It was easy enough for them to disperse into the crowd and leave the drunk half awake on the floor. “There’s a secret door down below, probably where we’re looking for,” he whispered into Cassandra’s ear while they navigated through the stuffy room.

“What was the whole 'he’s yours' thing about?” Cassandra asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

“I had to rescue Ezekiel from that asshole,” Stone replied, shouldering his way past some people.

“I assume you probably did the same thing as you did for me?” Cassandra asked, piecing it together based on the drunk’s reaction.

“More or less, yeah,” Stone answered. “I was gonna just punch him for you but Ezekiel practically begged me not to make a scene.” Cassandra looked at him, waiting for him to explain why he suddenly listened to Ezekiel. “That boy has puppy dog eyes and he knows how to use them,” Stone added, trying to explain himself.

“He normally uses them on...sources of information…” she said, hoping Stone would get what she was saying.

“So he manipulated me?” Stone asked as they neared the glass doors.

“Well I can’t say that for certain, since there’s those eyes and then there’s Ezekiel being real with you eyes too, and he could’ve been concerned about what would happen to you if you got in a fight, soo…” Cassandra started, backpedaling.

“We can talk later,” Stone said, grabbing the glass door and opening it for her. “He can explain himself then.”

Like before, a wave of smokes greeted them as they descended the stairs. He saw Cassandra wrinkle her nose a bit out of the corner of his eye, but for the most part she walked calmly, taking in as much of the surroundings as she could with her eyes and ears. Only a few less buzzed people and the attendant glanced boredly in their direction, but most people still kept to themselves.

“Why do I smell sage burning?” Cassandra asked, leaning towards Stone to whisper.

“I gotta feeling it’s coming from behind the door, ‘cos there’s no incense burners in here that I could find,” Stone answered, scanning the room for Ezekiel. “But the sage is new, it smelt more like lavender before.” The dim light didn’t help at all; anyone not standing near a lamp or low overhead light were silhouettes more than distinguishable faces. He figured Ezekiel would be watching for them wherever he was, so he gently tugged Cassandra by elbow towards the most direct route to the back of the room.

A shape leaned against the wall next to the door, arm bringing a hand to a face. A faint glow flared as the person inhaled, then the hand returned to near the hip as they breathed out a cloud of smoke. Stone wasn’t sure how he was going to get this person away from the door so they could get in, however person didn’t let him have time to think up a plan.

“Took you long enough,” Ezekiel said, stepping into the light in a rather dramatic fashion. He took one last draw from the stump of a cigarette before leaning over to a nearby table and sticking it in the bowl of sand. “I almost had to start another one.”

“You smoke?” Stone asked, keeping his voice quiet.

“Only when I need to, like now,” Ezekiel replied with a shrug. “The door’s not locked or trapped that I can tell.”

“So how are we going to get in without people noticing?” Cassandra asked, glancing around the room.

“Easy, I just need to disable the lights in here for a bit, let them clear out, then viola, no one’s in the room to see us sneak in,” Ezekiel explained.

“Ok, how are ya gonna do that?” Stone asked.

“Lucky for us they’ve got an alarm setup I’ve hacked numerous times before, so I can set off the fire alarm in a few seconds,” Ezekiel explained, waving his phone for effect. “It will most likely get the fire department though, even if I can successfully block the signal, and there’s a chance management does like they’re supposed to and call the alarm company.”

“Sounds like we gotta work fast, disabling or preferably taking whatever’s behind that door,” Stone concluded, glancing around the room for himself. No one seemed to be paying any attention to the trio at all. “I say go for it.”

“Ok just give me a minute to bypass the trigger for the emergency lighting, ‘cos that won’t help...alright let's hope that block holds...and,” Ezekiel pressed a button on the screen and within a few seconds, and alarm blared overhead.

“Dammit the lights didn’t turn on, ugh, Alright everyone needs to go upstairs immediately, follow the crowd,” the attendant yelled over the alarm, annoyance filling his voice. The crowd, though slowly and with reluctance, got up as he instructed, filling up the stairs in a not particularly rushed fashion. While the crowd hid them and occupied the sole employee, the trio quickly moved all the plants out of the way, revealing a simple wooden door that matched the panelling around it.

Ezekiel reached for the doorknob first not bothering to open it quietly. Sure enough it swung open easily, revealing the rest of the room with unfinished walls and a concrete floor, a few electric lamps dotted about, and most disconcertingly, a large circle on the floor with things sitting in what looked to be specific places with a startled group of five or so college-age looking people standing around it.

“Y...you’re not supposed to be here,” the one nearest them stammered. He looked fresh out of high school, still not quite grown into his body, and he wore an obnoxious looking dark robe that was several inches too big in all directions. He also held a notebook with scribbled handwriting all over it.

“Yeah? Well you’re not supposed to be doing magic!” Stone shouted, getting his desired effect of startling the kids more, except for one, who seemed annoyed more than anything. Her robe fit her better, and she looked like she knew exactly what she was doing, or wanted to do anyway.

“Brett it doesn’t matter, just finish the ritual!” she shouted at the lanky boy, who frantically looked back at her, then at the intruders, then to his notebook.

Stone was moving before he even finished the first word. “Oh no you don’t!” he roared, closing the space between himself and Brett faster than he anticipated. This also meant that instead of merely grappling the boy, Stone sent the boy flying to the ground and about gave himself the same fate. The kid, very much afraid of the wall of man that just tried to flatten him, tried to scurry back into the circle and away from Stone, smudging some of the runes. The kid wasn’t paying attention to holding onto the notebook either, letting Stone easily pluck it out of his hands. “Collect whatever they’ve got here,” Stone commanded, turning his head slightly to Ezekiel and Cassandra behind him.

“What is this stuff?” Ezekiel asked as he neared the kids, who all backed away from him slightly like they were afraid he’d do the same thing Stone had.

“Well, if I’m reading this scrawl right, I’d say it’s Latin, and the circle’s probably something out of a 16th century Germanic folklore book,” Stone answered, squinting down at the notebook.

“You can’t do this!” The girl from before shouted, trying to be more intimidating than she probably felt.

“I’m sure as hell not gonna let you suck up the people in this building into wherever people and things have been coming and going,” Stone retorted, narrowing his eyes at her. “Do you even know what you’re dabbling with?”

“Actually yes I do,” she replied, putting her hands on her hips defiantly.

“If you actually knew you wouldn’t be messin’ around with this stuff,” Stone said. The girl had a quick eye conversation with Brett, who cowered next to her. Then without warning, the kids shot towards the back of the room, pushing a panel aside that revealed stairs that probably exited outside in the alleyway behind the building. Ezekiel started giving chase but Stone called him off. “Let ‘em go, I’ve got their spell book and based on the wear, is the only resource they had for information.”

“Are you sure?” Cassandra asked, peeking over his shoulder at the notebook, arms holding a few snuffed candles, a foot of some animal, and some bundles of herbs partially blackened.

“If anything, we’ve put a halt to their activities for a few days at least,” Stone responded, glancing around the room. “Take a picture of that circle, I’m sure Jenkins will want to see it.”

“Already on it,” Ezekiel said, holding his phone above himself to get the whole circle in the picture.

“You wouldn’t happen to have found anything else useful at the bar, did you?” Stone asked as he looked around the edges of the room for anything else the kids may have left behind.

“If by useful you mean this,” Ezekiel started, pulling a small, dark rectangular bottle out from his coat’s inner pocket, “then yes, I did. I noticed the bartender giving it to people who asked for a drink called “forget-me-not” and decided to nick it after I saw someone drink it and suddenly...well...change demeanor way quicker than alcohol ever could.”

“They probably have more things up there,” Cassandra suggested, walking towards the door. She leaned against it, listened for a moment, then abruptly stood up straight and pointed towards where the kids ran. “People coming, we gotta leave now!” she said in a hushed whisper. With quick nods of understanding, the men followed Cassandra into the staircase. Stone grabbed the discretely hinged board and pulled it closed behind them, but stopped to listen to the voices that echoed off the concrete.

“See I told you someone was snooping around here, Carl was right when he texted you about the people hovering by the door before the alarm went off,” a voice said, sounding uncomfortably familiar to Stone. Ezekiel poked him in the shoulder to get him moving, but Stone waved him off, still listening. “I bet you it was the same guy who was fucking with my game earlier.”

At that bit of information, Stone glanced at the two with wide eyes. “Drunk guy from tonight is in on the magic, and not actually drunk,” he whispered, leaning back towards the door.

A new voice talked now, this one sounding like a lady. “I’m sure Freisha got them all out before whoever it was could get them. She’s my apprentice for a reason. Go on and occupy the firemen while I shroud the door so they don’t go snooping where they shouldn’t.” The man mumbled something and Stone heard footsteps and the door shut.

“Ok, they left, let’s go,” Stone said, turning around and ushering the two up the stairs. Sure enough, the stairs brought them to a slanted door that opened into the alleyway, which thankfully was empty. To the left, red and blue lights reflected off buildings, making weird shadows.

“We can go the long way to get back to the backdoor’s last location,” Cassandra said, shifting the things in her arms. Stone realized he only had the notebook so he grabbed the candles from her to lighten the load.

“I’ll call Jenkins and let him know we’re ready,” Ezekiel said, pulling out his phone and typing on it.

Fortunately for the LiTs, the firemen had no desire to look in the alley, so they easily put distance between them and Club 10. Stone caught them up with what he heard while they walked to the location they originally arrived in NYC. The backdoor mostly stayed there, only moving a couple doors south of where it had been.

“I assumed you would be longer,” Jenkins greeted them as they stumbled into the Annex.

“We kind of had to leave before some crazy witch found us,” Ezekiel said casually, pulling out the bottle and ignoring Jenkins’s look of confusion. “I think this is a potion that does something.”

“What an astute observation,” Jenkins quipped, before turning to Stone and Cassandra who had dumped their items on the table. “So what exactly did you find?”

“I thought it was kids messing around with magic, but I think someone’s teaching them...though poorly,” Stone said, handing Jenkins the notebook. “The stuff in here is hastily compiled, like they were taking notes from someone, and I think their teacher about found us.”

“This teacher I take is the ‘crazy witch’ Mr. Jones referenced?” Jenkins clarified, flipping through the notebook.

“Yeah, and one of her goons may have gotten on our trail,” Stone mumbled, glancing at the other two LiTs.

Suddenly Jenkins’s eyebrows furrowed, his expression almost grave. “Did you see the lady?”

“Uh, no, I only heard her,” Stone answered, glancing towards Cassandra. “Who were you talking about before Asshole came over?”

“Um, I’m not sure, she just told me about what had been going on in the club, the rumors,” she started, thinking hard. “Nothing about her struck me as ‘magic’ or anything, and she didn’t sound the same as the lady I heard before we hid in the stairway.”

“Based on this,” Jenkins held the notebook up and pointed to a series of notes, “I have reason to believe this may be Morgan le Fey.”

“Morgan...le Fey...like Arthurian legends?” Stone asked, hoping he was wrong.

“Yes. Which could be very, very bad,” Jenkins confirmed, setting the notebook down on the table.

“Wait, how do you know it’s her?” Ezekiel asked, looking down at the notes.

“When it comes to old magic, such as hers, there are things that get...invented, or discovered, by those with great skill. Now as people use it, the wording or techniques change, and especially over a thousand years, the originals don’t exist in their pure form anymore. However, this method of summoning,” Jenkins paused, pointing at the passage, “that is something Morgan developed a long time ago.”

“Ok, but she wasn’t doing the magic, she couldn’t have been, unless she got sloppy,” Ezekiel thought aloud.

“I don’t think she was, I mean those kids were about to do something before we burst in the room,” Stone said.

“So she’s training kids, but for what?” Cassandra asked.

“What indeed,” Jenkins hummed. He grabbed the bottle of potion Ezekiel had set down on the table. “Was this the only bottle there?”

“It was the only bottle the bartender used regularly, that I didn’t recognize, and that made people act different,” Ezekiel answered. “I would’ve liked to hit the bar before we left, but our hasty exit didn’t exactly allow for it.”

“And what exactly do you mean by ‘different?’” Jenkins asked, looking at the bottle intently, slightly swishing the liquid inside.

“Uh, well, they seemed almost like glowy, like after they drank they were more, I dunno, important or something,” Ezekiel attempted to explain.

“More prominent in your field of vision, perhaps?” Jenkins suggested.

“Yeah, I guess,” Ezekiel confirmed. “Why would people want to drink that?”

“Well, as their clever name suggests, the potion is meant to make a person be more memorable, or unforgettable, presumably to get laid or whatever you kids do nowdays,” Jenkins explained with a roll of his eyes. “It used to be something struggling dukes or brash princes would buy to enhance their reputation artificially.”

“So we not only have potentially dangerous rituals to deal with and a legendary sorceress, but potion selling as well,” Stone said.

“Unfortunately yes, and this needs to be shut down or at least mitigate whatever she’s intending to do,” Jenkins confirmed with a look that suggested he was none too pleased about this development. “Morgan is extremely dangerous. I’ve not heard of her whereabouts in at least a century, so I don’t know what she’s planning, but it must be big enough to jump on the Library’s radar.”

“Should we wait for Flynn and Colonel Baird?” Cassandra asked, glancing to the other LiTs. Ezekiel gave a look of disapproval, but Stone looked more apprehensive.

“Regardless whether you want to wait, it would be wise to do some research before going back there,” Jenkins suggested, pointing up above them. “What the Library has of magical literature on European magical practices will be upstairs. While you do that, I want to make sure this is the potion I think it is, and mix some common antidotes and cancelling potions as I have the feeling they will come in handy.”

“Can we actually take her out?” Stone asked, not thinking highly of their chances against her.

“Oh no, Morgan’s about as powerful as it comes. We’ll only be a minor setback to her, but as long as that setback saves people, then we will have done some good,” Jenkins answered, a faint, pitying smile on his face. “I suggest finding safe ways to dismantle activated circles, potential locations for wherever they are summoning things from, other things they may summon, and so forth.” With that, Jenkins nodded to the LiTs and strode through the double doors to his lab.

“I’m gonna look over this notebook we got, try to make some more notes of my own, though I’ll make sure to be more readable,” Cassandra declared, collecting the notebook and her own notebook that had been sitting nearby on the table.

“Guess that means we’re stuck on reading duty,” Stone said, lightly whacking Ezekiel in the arm before he walked over to the desk he had claimed as soon as he arrived at the Annex to grab his own well-used notebook and a pencil. Cassandra had already settled in at the main table, busy writing something down.

It turned out the Library had a lot on European magic, a whole bookcase-full in fact. “Uh, I guess I’ll take the bottom three shelves, and you can look through the top three,” Ezekiel suggested, squatting.

“Sounds like a plan,” Stone replied, pulling a book out from from the shelf above Ezekiel’s head. “I think we’ll be here for awhile.” Ezekiel had grabbed an old looking book and sat with his back against the shelf, next to the balcony railing. Stone sat down next to him, balancing his book on his left leg and his notebook on the right, flipping through the first few pages, but his mind drifted back to the club. “So what was that face back in the club?”

“What?” Ezekiel glanced up from his tome, eyes squinting slightly in confusion.

“You know, that face you made when you begged me to not sock the dude to get him away from Cassandra,” Stone said, tilting his head down slightly. “I’ve seen a fair few of your faces by now, this was new.”

Ezekiel opened his mouth, closed it for a second while he reconsidered his statement, then spoke. “Am I not allowed to show concern about you getting thrown out by the bouncer while we were in the middle of an important mission?”

“Sure, but you don’t strike me as one to actually show pure concern like that,” Stone shrugged. “You always joke around or laugh it off or use sarcasm, but you looked at me like I was about to walk into my doom or something.”

“Maybe you were a little past diffusing jokes,” Ezekiel suggested, turning the conversation back on him. “To me anyway you seemed really aggressive, and I needed to stop you before you acted on it.”

“So you used your manipulation eyes on me?!” Stone retorted, not sure why he felt so worked up.

“Wha-manipulation eyes…” Ezekiel paused, leaning against the railing and looking down at Cassandra, “did you give him that?”

“He asked, I answered with the information I had available,” Cassandra replied loudly.

Ezekiel sighed and leaned back against the bookcase. “Look, yeah, I know how to manipulate people, that’s old news. I didn’t want you getting in a fight, making a scene, getting hurt, so I used what I thought was the better of my two options,” he explained, suddenly finding the top of the bookshelf across from them very interesting.

“Other option?” Stone inquired, raising an eyebrow at him.

Ezekiel looked back at him, and Stone swore he saw a faint blush on Ezekiel’s face. “Uh, well, I mean right after your little scene with Asshole, I thought I could, um, shock you like you did me.”

“I wasn’t actin’,” Stone mumbled under his breath, looking back down at his still empty notebook.

Ezekiel wasn’t letting him escape, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “You weren’t?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“Uh, I mean, well,” Stone stuttered, suddenly flustered at Ezekiel’s attention. Ezekiel couldn’t help but laugh at him a little.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re the jealous type,” Ezekiel added. Stone started to object but Ezekiel cut him off. “It was easy enough to notice when you rescued Cassandra.”

“Am I not allowed to care about the well-being of my friends?” Stone retorted, throwing Ezekiel’s earlier statement back onto him.

“Uh, sure, but you’re the one that not once, but twice, asserted we were ‘yours’ to defend us,” Ezekiel replied. Stone bit back his comment; Ezekiel decided to get in some banter. “I totally understand why you’d want us for yourself, we’re both super hot.”

“You’re right,” Stone said with a straight face, besides the slight raise of his eyebrows. From down below Cassandra choked on something, coughs echoing through the Annex. Ezekiel was just as caught off guard, mouth hanging slightly open. Stone shrugged, pokerface broken as he snickered a bit, unconsciously running a hand through his hair. “It’s not like I could deny it, especially when we first met. I figured it was pretty obvious.”

“Um, well, I didn’t know you felt that way,” Ezekiel stammered, not sure how to respond.

“I had my suspicions,” Cassandra called up to the balcony, now recovered from her cough attack.

“Ya know ya don’t have to yell, ya can just come up here,” Stone called back to her. The squeal of a stool sliding on polished floor, along with the patters of what sounded like bare feet, signaled Cassandra’s hasty ascent to the balcony. Within a few moments she appeared at the top of the stairs looking the same as she had been when they went up, albeit lacking her boots. For a moment she looked quite giddy, but Stone’s glimpse behind the personality he normally saw faded as quickly as she had ascended the stairs. He saw her and Ezekiel look at each other, full on eye conversation going on. After several seconds of awkward silence, Cassandra eventually broke it.

“Based off how you acted, and tonight,” Cassandra continued her statement, now a lot less loud and echoing. “I wasn’t for sure, but it felt like a pretty good guess.”

“You weren’t gonna say anythin’ about it?” Stone asked, glancing from Ezekiel to her.

“I didn’t to...disrupt...our work-relationship,” Cassandra explained. “You weren’t exactly friendly to us at first, but then you relaxed, and then tonight…”

“I didn’t actually agree with her, but tonight made me reconsider,” Ezekiel added.

“Ok, so what does this mean? Are you guys sayin’ you feel the same way?” Stone said.

“I mean…” Ezekiel started, glancing from Stone to Cassandra and back to Stone.

“Yes,” Cassandra responded for the both of them. “Though I think we have a very pressing mission and if we’re alive afterwards, then we can figure out whatever this is.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Stone added, glancing down at the books still open on his lap. Motion in the edge of his vision made Stone look back up; Cassandra closed the distance from where she had been standing near the staircase to them, kneeling down next to Stone.

“However, that rescue was fun, and I didn’t get a chance to thank you for it,” she said with a smile on her face. Cassandra then leaned in and kissed him, quick but not quite chaste, before pulling back and standing up.

“Uh, y...you’re welcome,” Stone stammered, smiling back up at her. She gave him a smile back before turning on her heels and descending the staircase. Remembering Ezekiel, Stone looked over at him with a mild look of expectancy.

“What, are kisses the standard unit of thanks now?” Ezekiel asked with exaggerated exasperation.

“No, but I figured-” Stone started, thinking he had to explain himself, but Ezekiel cut him off with his own thank you kiss. In the back of Stone’s mind, he wondered if Ezekiel was trying to one-up Cassandra. Ezekiel pulled away before he could think about it any longer.

“There, happy now?” Ezekiel taunted, smirking at Stone’s mildly dazed look.

“Yeah, very,” Stone hummed, smile making his eyes squint. “Is that how you’re gonna thank me from now on?”

“Depends on what I’m thanking you for,” Ezekiel toyed, enjoying himself way too much.

“Before you two end up making out up there, can you at least find some useful things so we can prevent the potential destruction of the lower portion of New York City?” Cassandra called, annoyance mixed with amusement in her voice.

“Fiiinnnee,” Ezekiel sighed dramatically at the ceiling. He then winked at Stone, who got considerably more flustered by it than he should have, and resumed reading the book in his lap. Stone wasn’t exactly focused on his work now, but he figured with that looming promise, he could find something useful in the bookcase of information at their disposal.

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So in terms of the outfits, I couldn’t really think of anything so I opted for the Club Effigy outfits mostly for both Stone and Ezekiel. For Cassandra I modified hers to match her edgier personality she has in this au. Also, the club is fictional, that I know of it doesn't exist.

I intended for the focus to be the jassekiel, however my brain really liked the plot I had and went wild with it, so much for that I guess. Though if you’ve read my other works, it’s fairly obvious that I do this a lot. I have no clue if the plot regarding Morgan le Fey will get resolved, I didn't really write with a resolution in mind, but who knows what I'll end up writing over the summer.

#the librarians fic #the librarians #jassekiel #jacob stone #cassandra cillian #ezekiel jones #jenkins #land pirate au #clubbing #magic

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