#Barstool Fund

[lokisgoodgirl]

Final Bids [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my (new) Masterlist is HERE Summary: (19) Stakes are high and mischief is rife at Stark's charity auction. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Auction trope. Smuttish. Language. Mild Angst -> Fluff. (w/c 4.7k)

Loki hadn’t shown up fighting his way through customs at the airport. There was no dramatic kiss on the runway, and no hint of his theatrical presence at the other side when you landed at JFK. He’s never text you before, he won’t start now; you thought, staring at the blank phone screen resting on the bar of the Tower’s event suite. You stared at it, hoping for a miraculous flash. This is mad.

“Hey.” Wanda said, sliding into the seat beside yours. “Hey.” you replied flatly. She was dressed to the nines tonight, cleavage bursting from a sinfully red strapless dress. “You better be careful in that thing, Thor will get the wrong idea.” you muttered, taking another sip of your drink. “Oh, I’m counting on it.” Wanda winked. “Have you seen him?” she said, flipping her hair over one shoulder as she scanned the room.

“No...I need to talk to him, actually.” you said, joining her in scouting the bustling crowd. Wanda hummed, distracted. Needing to talk to Thor, you chided yourself; say you’re desperate without saying you’re desperate. “I still think you should have given Stark a pair of used panties for this thing.” the redhead mumbled coyly as she turned back to you, satisfied her audience of choice was not in the direct vicinity. “I don’t think anyone wants my dirty underwear, girl.” you laughed, happy for the distraction. “Please.” she scoffed. “Whatever pheromones you’re pumping out had two gods fighting over you. Lit-e-ral-ly.” she said, emphasising with four slaps of her palm on the bar. “People would pay good money to wear that shit like perfume. Mark my words.” You shrugged, seeing Wanda’s eyes narrow. “I think my pheromones are officially out of business, honestly” you sighed, “Rome didn’t exactly go to plan. I think we’re done.” Wanda rolled her eyes. “You always say that. And then the next time I see you, the hair’s all fucked out and you have a big dopey smile on your face and something new he’s said or done that’s driving you crazy. It’s your thing. Your couple thing.” “We’re not a couple.” you snapped.

“If you say so.” Wanda murmured coyly, manoeuvring the tiny straw hanging off her cocktail into her mouth.

There was a pause as you both ran your eyes over the elegant guests returning from intermission. So far, the charity auction had been a roaring success. Your combat belt went for a respectable forty-eight large, while a pair of Banner’s ripped shorts and Bucky’s unwashed sweatband had both garnered over fifty thousand. You knew the world had gone officially mad when Rogers’ notebook of patriotic mindfulness ramblings reached double that. Tony was working his magic on a group of shareholders near the head of the hall, raucous laughter splitting the gin-soaked air. Steve stood at the podium, frowning. As expected, he was taking the duty of auctioneer very seriously.

“What did you hand over to Tony’s fund, then?” you said, crossing your legs on the barstool. “A bra.” Wanda shrugged, as you spluttered on a mouthful of diet coke. “What?!” she postured innocently, “it’s for charity.” The two of you burst into peals of laughter, your gaze drawn back to Captain Rogers squinting at his cards on the stage. “Oh, Steve’s gonna love that.” you gasped, wiping a tear from your eye. Wanda shrugged again. “They said a personal item that people would want – so I complied.” Clint peeled away from the edge of the crowd, leaning on the bar beside you. “Ladies.” he said solemnly, letting his stare wander from a distance over the pulsing mass of people. “Have either of you seen Laufeyson?” Wanda shook her head. “I don’t think he’s coming, he’s not on the auction list – hasn’t even submitted anything.” she said casually, fiddling with her straw. Your stomach dropped, as Clint grimaced. “Good.” he said, letting out a sigh of relief. You frowned. “What’s the problem?” A forced smile stretched across Barton’s face. “Oh nothing! Just...trying to lay low that’s all. He and I had a little...never mind.” You shifted your handbag on the bar, feeling the weight of Loki’s seal rolling gently against the sides. He wouldn’t want to lose it, you thought; remembering the awkward conversations with airport security in Rome. A flash of green caught your attention out the corner of your eye. Whipping your head towards the entrance, you watched as a polished and preened Amanda sashayed around the edge of the crowd like a shark. Green, you scoffed. She’s really laying it on thick. Amanda teetered on her heels before pausing, forehead creased as she plopped down on a chair and hoisting one leg over the other. Clint cleared his throat. “They’re starting again, Tony sent me to get you guys. Shall we?” The next forty-five minutes went by in a haze as your gaze flickered intermittently to the main doors. Loki never missed a chance to schmooze with the higher echelons of Midgardian society. He enjoyed the look of abject terror on Steve’s face too much. You clapped dryly with the others as each lot was closed: Thor’s silk nightcap, Natasha’s make-up case, Lang’s personalised hip-flask and of course...Wanda’s bra. Where is he? You couldn’t help but notice Amanda glancing over her shoulder, meeting your eyes each time before quickly turning away. She made no bids, you noticed; but her stare wandered to the main entrance with suspicious regularity. The same as your own. Steve rumbled on, pausing for laughter as the crowd graciously indulged their host for the evening. Tony heckled from the side-lines, making the captain’s cheeks flush pink on each occasion. As he began the speech he had rehearsed for the closing remarks, you saw his blue eyes widen. The tell-tale shuffle of bodies parting behind you was the only other sound you registered as whispers ran through the crowd like the rustle of leaves. “Good Evening, Agent.” a low voice drawled softly over your shoulder. Wanda elbowed you teasingly in the ribs, her hands still folded on the high circular cocktail table. You elbowed her sharply back.

Tilting your chin casually to the side, you saw the blurred edge of Loki’s profile as he hovered at a respectful distance. “You’re late.” you hissed, heart thundering in your chest as the scent of him infused the air. You could have sworn the holy incense from the Roman church still clung to his hair. Loki chuckled lightly under his breath, hot air ghosting your ear. “I think you’ll find I’m right on time.” he purred, before peeling away to a space at a standing table to your side. Suddenly your mouth felt dry, flickering your eyes to the side covertly. Loki was wearing a suit tonight, but not just a suit; you whined internally. Never just a suit. Snug trousers of darkest forest green clung to his legs, the straight hem tailored flawlessly to the tongues of his dress shoes. A jacket of green sateen was wrapped around his exquisite musculature, biceps bulging beneath the glossy fabric as he conjured a drink to his open hand. You ran your eyes over the black lapel, his strong chest flat beneath the trussed layers of propriety you wanted to rip from his body.

Beneath the jacket, a silk waistcoat hugged his broad torso; the buttons glinting in the low atmospheric lights. A matching cravat wound around his long neck, fastened with a peculiar brooch you could only assume was Asgardian.

His hair was drawn back in an unkempt bun, messy strands hanging by his carved cheekbones. The contrast between his refined ensemble and the muss of his hair was not coincidental. It couldn’t be. A gentleman in the streets, a ravenous Asgardian whore in the sheets; it screamed. In his free hand, he held a cane; the tip heavy and ornately carved. Completely unnecessary, of course. Of course, you thought – watching him sip his drink with a knowing smirk. People were staring. And among them, Amanda. Steve cleared his throat pointedly, trying to recapture the section of the crowd engrossed in the unexpected late arrival. Your gaze swung back to the blushing blonde just as a stagehand crept sheepishly to his side, handing him a note.

“-and so in conclusion we would like to thank...to...wait wha-?” he raised his hands towards Tony, waving to the note with undisguised irritation. You saw Stark shrug, closing his eyes as his eyebrows raised. Just go with it, the gesture said. Steve frowned. “It seems we have one final item for auction, folks.” the captain said sourly, his feelings on the matter abundantly clear. “Courtesy of Loki Laufeyson apparently...which is..is-” He trailed off as he flipped the prompt card in his hand over, before waving it subtlety to the man who had delivered it, hidden offstage. The stagehand shrugged, making Steve purse his lips. “Well...I’m sure whatever our newest member has submitted for tonight’s fundraising efforts will be top notch. Why don’t we get the man himself up here to tell us about it, since he’s being so coy?” Steve looked smugly towards towards the god in the crowd, before he frowned. Loki was already sauntering towards the stage, tipping the ostentatious cane to excited applause before he began to climb the steps. You could see Steve’s lips moving, the rest of his face a stoic warning. He spun on his heels towards the audience, whipping the microphone cable once. “So, why don’t you tell the generous people here what they’ll be bidding on?” he announced through gritted teeth, an air of joviality barely masking his anxiety. Rogers gaze ran suspiciously over the god's placid features before turning back to the crowd with a showman smile. Loki clasped his hands behind his back, leaning forward to the microphone clenched in the captain’s fist. “Me.” he said, slowly.

There were gasps as the guests leaned to each others ears, hands impulsively travelling to the bidding paddles discarded prematurely. “Ha-ha-ha he’s only joking folks. Let’s not get excited.” Steve chuckled, extending a hand to pat down the enthusiasm on the air. “Why don’t you tell them what they’ll really be bidding on.” he said with a maniacal fake smile that looked like it hurt. Loki’s smirk was a masterpiece of mischief, flirting at the dimples at the base of those devastatingly high cheekbones. He bent forward to the microphone, and you saw the exact moment that Steve realised it was too late to pull it away. “Me.” Loki repeated with a growl, his voice even richer and more seductive the second time. His long fingers wrapped around Steve’s white knuckles, holding him steady. “For one night, for the highest bidder; I will show them what it is to be brought to the precipice of sanity through pleasure. My complete and utter carnal devotion. An unlocking of your basest and most debauched desires. That is my submission to this affair.” He straightened, his eyes flickering to Steve’s face now pinker than his fuchsia tie. The poor captain’s eyes were watering. You felt sick. “What the fuck is he doing?” Wanda hissed, before downing her drink. “This is ridiculous, how dare he... he needs a knee in the nuts-” You turned, shushing her. “No, just...I need to..think.” you muttered. On one hand, if he didn’t go above fifty thousand...you could probably afford it. Just. But then, why should you? The arrogant, cruel prick that he was. If there was ever a way to show you that he was over it, over you – then this was it. Fuck him, you thought; blood thundering as you saw Amanda twirling the paddle between her fingers. And he’s definitely going above fifty-fucking-thousand. You saw Tony begin to squirm as Steve took a few tentative steps to the front of the podium. “You know...ladies and gents I gotta say this is pretty heckin’ unorthodox right here and I’m not sure-” In a handful of frantic bounds, Tony was on the stage; his arms spread wide before he clapped Rogers harshly on the back. “-OK, thanks Cap.” he announced playfully. “Captain Goodtimes over here doesn’t think it would be proper to support tonight’s great cause with this...fine specimen on the bidding block.” He motioned up and down Loki’s long body, his endless limbs wrapped in the exquisite green suit that shimmered like blackbird feathers in the light. “Do you agree with him?” Tony yelled incredulously, winding up the baying crowd with a circling fist as chants of No filled the air. Steve was incandescent with embarrassment, redness flushing down beneath the collar of his shirt. “Are you ready to get a piece.of.this?” Tony roared, as Loki spun slowly on his heels, hands clasped behind his back before he raised them outwards with faux sheepishness. A smile tugged his lips, eyes smouldering across the crowd becoming steadily unsettled as friends became adversaries in the face of competition. Chaos was brewing.

You suddenly felt yourself jostled, Wanda’s hand grasping at your forearm before it slipped away. Swathes of guests crowded forward, each trying to be subtle and failing miserably. Men and women crushed together towards the stage, elbows popping dangerously close to eyes as they readied their paddles for action. “Let’s start the bidding at...twenty thousand.” Tony postured towards the fizzing audience, casting an appraising glance back towards Loki who met his stare with a tilt of his head. His lips pursed, a silent 'ooo' sliding between his lips as he feigned offence.

Tony grinned, pressing the microphone innocently to his chin. “Number seventeen, I see you.” he pointed. “Twenty five thousand.” a strangled voice shrieked behind you. “Twenty-five, not bad.” Tony mumbled, beginning to pace. Loki swung the handle of his cane casually, before making it flip in the air and land expertly back in his grip. The crowd groaned in unison, the scent of mass arousal beginning to hang heavy in the air. You felt your pussy clench beneath your party dress, beads of sweat beginning to form on your collarbone. In a flash, the cane disappeared, as Tony let his forefinger trail down the silk of Loki’s waistcoat, toying with a chain hanging from the pocket. “It’s a nice suit Laufeyson – you’ve got quite the wardrobe, but I think your bidders are more interested in what’s underneath all that slutty satin am I right?” he said coyly, raising an eyebrow. Feral roars of approval sounded around you, as you were shunted back and forth. The man beside you shot up his hand. “Thirty-five!” he yelled, waving the paddle in the air. The increments came like bullets as Loki’s fingers toyed with the silk cravat wound around his neck, sliding the material teasingly from the curve. He threw it into the audience, two women falling to the floor as they became a squabbling mess of bare legs and dishevelled Chanel.

This can’t be happening, you thought with a wave of panic. You clenched the paddle in your fist to your chest, watching the smouldering sweep of Loki’s gaze run like treacle over his captive audience as he began to shrug the satin jacket from his shoulders.

“Fifty!” you heard yourself gasp, arm straight in the air. Tony’s face scrunched, his amusement palpable as he acknowledged the desperate bid with a nod. But it was white noise. “Sixty-five!” the man beside you blurted immediately, shouldering you roughly to the side as he squeezed forwards. You cast a pleading look towards Wanda, who shook her head in disapproval. Tony didn’t have to say a word, pointing to each bidder as they continued to come thick and fast. Loki held his waistcoat with one long finger, dangling it teasingly to the side before letting it drop. It vanished before hitting the floor. Seventy. Eighty-two. Ninety-five thousand. The devastatingly erotic god treated each button of his shirt like an act of foreplay. His fingers caressed the curve before releasing another sliver of fair skin to the sound of baying moans of desire all around you. Beginning to force your way against the tide of bodies to Wanda, you collided with Scott. “Oh hey.” he grinned, eyes wide with excitement. “This is fucking ca-ray-zy right?” Another wave of squeals told you Loki had reached the end of the line of buttons. Suddenly Scott raised both arms, throwing his head back. “A HUNDRED N’ FIFTY BIG ONES!” he yelled, returning to his previous stance as if nothing had happened.

“What?” he quipped casually, giving a shrug of resignation as he was immediately outbid. “Just shooting my shot. Plus, this is legend already. Iconic. No way I ain’t gonna be part of that.” You rolled your eyes, beginning to press against the mass of bodies to the side. “We should get t-shirts. ‘I bid on Loki Laufeyson’…” he joked to no-one. “’And all I got was this stupid semi.’” he added wistfully as you finally reached Wanda. “I saw your bid. It was kind of lame.” she drawled. You shook your head. “I don’t know what to do Wanda.” you whined, wringing your hands. You heard a commotion as the crowd parted over near the doors – a woman had fainted. Loki’s smirk was pure drama as he showed off the endless length of his body with finesse, bare chest glowing beneath the stage-lights. His legs were wide – a perfect triangle wrapped in tight, luxurious cotton that creased against his thighs. The bulge of his cock was clearly visible, every subtle sway of his hips making the fabric stretch against the outline. The bladed angles of his face flashed tantalisingly beneath heavy-lidded eyes as he reached for his belt buckle. Five hundred thousand. Five-fifty. Six hundred.

Wanda rolled her eyes again. “Look – if he doesn’t say it back? Well then he’s the same asshole he’s always been. Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that.” she mumbled, taking another sip of her drink. “But the auction-” you whined, feeling Wanda’s other-worldly grip tighten on your wrist. “You’re an Avenger, dumbass.” she growled. “Fuck the auction.” “Fuck the auction.” you repeated unconvincingly under your breath, turning to face the source of your undoing. Loki’s eyes met yours across the room as he ambled forwards, ignoring the hordes of guests who had lost all sense of decorum scrounging at the stage’s edge. They were feral. Over the chaotic din, you could swear you heard the clunk of metal as his graceful fingers toyed with the metal fastening at his hips. He slid the leather out of its loops slowly. Tony wolf- whistled. “Hoooo-eee folks, do I hear seven hundred thousand for a night of debauchery with this actual...real life...bona-fide sex god. Think of the orphans, people.” he jibed, working the crowd into a frenzy. Eight hundred, eight-fifty, nine hundred. You watched the constant flash of frenzied paddles rise and fall, your breaths becoming ragged under duress. “Do I hear one million?!” Tony smarmed, unfurling his arm towards Loki who had placed his hands on his hips, working the waistband of his trousers down to reveal the V of his muscles. “Come on, we’ve all seen the Twitter photos...don’t pretend you haven’t read the tabloids - you know he’s worth it.” Loki flicked a strand of hair back from his eyes, throwing Tony a slow wink as a paddle for the one million bid rose tentatively in the air. Fuck, Tony. you thought, slamming your paddle down to the bar table. “Are you gonna use that?” a woman behind you mumbled inaudibly, before sliding it away. Your frantic eyes found Amanda, still seated elegantly at one of the high stools. There was something different about her tonight, you pondered; as she waited with a look of unbreakable concentration. Waiting to pounce.

There were gasps as Loki reached one arm up, the mouth-watering curve of his bicep matched only by the tight stretch in his obliques. He tilted his chin down, the coquettishly slutty pose making you realise a flood of wetness had begun pooling traitorously between your thighs. He slowly dragged the hair-tie from his messy bun, letting waves of curls fall around his collarbone. “Final bids, folks.” Tony sighed. “I don’t think Laufeyson can take off any more clothes without Steve-y boy going into cardiac arrest.” he quipped, fighting to contain laughter as he glanced at Rogers concealed off stage. Final bids. A wave of nausea rolled in your belly. Who had bid last? Was it the stockbroker, the mayor’s wife? Obama? You couldn’t tell, the mass of jostling bodies melding into one horrible sludge of jealousy. “Two million.” a clear-cut voice called over the carnage. Every head in the room turned to gape at the owner, but you didn’t even need to look. It was her. Tony released a low whistle, spinning on his heels and patting Loki on the shoulder with a commiserate shake. “Two million. No pressure, bud. Hope the royal sceptre has been resting recently.” he mumbled with feigned secrecy into the microphone. Loki chuckled, leaning over. “A veritable bargain, I assure you.” he smirked. “That’s my boy!” Tony chuckled gleefully, spinning to the front. “Two million going once…” Your eyes were wide, turning to Wanda who nudged her head frantically to the head of the room. Tackle him, it said. “Two million going twice…” - “Where’s my paddle…?” you gasped, not thinking straight, “I..fuck.” “Sold!” Tony yelled, to moans of disappointment and reluctant clapping. “To the beautiful Amanda Goldberg for two...million...dollars. Come get your prize, m’lady.”

You saw red, the room starting to spin as the applause grew louder. The flow of Amanda’s dress swirled towards the stage, a bare-chested Loki down on one knee to welcome her with a kiss on her outstretched hand. “Loki, no!” you gasped quietly– pushing the crowd to the side as you elbowed forward. His arm slid around Amanda’s shoulders, planting a lingering kiss on her cheek with a secret smile. “Loki!” you yelled, shoving the final obstacle from your path. Tony. He spluttered, waving his hands dramatically as you hopped onto the stage and took three stumbling steps to where Loki waited with hands clasped behind his back. Even in his stripped state, messy curls hanging devilishly around his chiselled features dark with the lust of baying adoration – he was a prince. Your prince. The crowd began to whisper, awkward murmurs of dissent bubbling like lava at your back. You could feel the heat of their confusion wafting against your skin as it rose in your cheeks. Loki stared unblinking, his eyes narrowing for a split second as he analysed your stricken features.

“Can I help you?” he purred innocently, drumming his fingers around Amanda’s bicep. She gave a loud, cartoonish giggle. You swallowed harshly, throat dry. Loki tilted his head, feigned-confusion painted on his ethereal features. You grasped at your clutch bag, feeling it click open with a fumble of your moist fingers. “I wanted to give you this...back.” you stuttered, arm outstretched with his ancient seal in the flat of your palm.

Loki looked at it for what felt like an eternity, before his eyes finally rose.

“Are you sure you wish to return this to me?” he murmured, arm dropping from Amanda’s shoulder. His chin was tilted to his chest, ropes of muscle flexing at his neck. The growing whispers of the crowd faded to nothing, the beat of your heart the only sound as it thudded in your ears. “No, actually.” you heard yourself say, voice trembling. Loki inhaled sharply. His chest puffed, hard abdominals clenching as he braced himself. Reluctant tears stung your eyes, fingers shaking as the heavy seal began to quiver in your outstretched hand. You tried to blink the impending flood away, glancing to the side. Steve stood behind the wings, wringing his hands with a deep frown. Your eyelids fluttered shut, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. You could hear Tony trying to clear the crowd, tempting them to the bar with the offer of free booze, before Loki’s warm breath fanned your forehead. “Then do not return it.” he said, carefully wrapping your fingers around the cool metal. His hand clasped your own, squeezing gently as he lowered to your ear. “It is yours.” he whispered. It is yours. Maybe it was the scent of him, maybe it was the heat of his naked skin so close, the warmth with which his fingers intertwined with yours, holding his sacred mark. Maybe it was the faint plead in his voice. But as your eyes rose along the carved lines of his chest and up the curve of his neck, savouring every inch – you somehow knew what you would find. Loki’s eyes shone with nervous anticipation, brows slanted upwards as he licked his bottom lip. His teeth caught the curve, pulling gently. They swam with worlds unseen and words unsaid, long lashes framing the endless chaos you had lost yourself within. Hopelessly.

A rogue tear rolled down your cheek, making you look away. “No, darling...no-” Loki murmured, confusion lacing his tone as he wiped it softly with his thumb.

He cupped your face, drawing it towards him. “Please, Loki...don’t.” you gulped, swallowing the force threatening to humiliate you in front of the whole of New York high society. He sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. Tendrils of his hair grazed your cheeks, curtaining you from the crowd at your back as his fingertips slid from your jaw to your shoulders; gently at rest. “Agent, I…” he started, breath trembling. His grip tightened, a staggered exhale making his stomach clench. Three loud slaps sounded by your feet, making you jump. Loki released you with a growl, as you spun towards a very pissed-off looking Tony resting casually on the side of the stage.

“Can you guys hurry up? Trying to save this thing, here. Thanks, Laufeyson, by the way, for the added theatrics. Very amusing, as always.” he scoffed dryly, inspecting his nails. “Will you desist?” Loki hissed, crouching forward. Tony shrugged. “Better get the two mill for the orphans. That’s all I’m saying. Little Loki’s got his work cut out tonight.” “Little?!” Loki snarled indignantly, sweeping his hair back from his forehead as he rose to his full height once more.

The vein in his temple twitched, anger flashing across the sharp profile you knew so well. You grasped his bicep, feeling the tight bulge soften as his breaths steadied. Nerves twisted in your belly like acid, the room beginning to swim as you felt the moment begin to pass. Not again. You took a deep breath; “Loki, what were you going to-” The god whipped round, jaw set in a grimace as he swiped against your forearm with his own. Your hand was swept from his bicep, caught in a millisecond by the warrior grasp of his long fingers. “That I love you, you infuriating woman.” he yelled ferociously, brow furrowing as he realised he had said it aloud. You gaped, frowning as you fought lacklustre against his iron grip. Breaths quickened in your chest, panting as you looked at the abject fear beginning to creep into Loki’s eyes. The gazes of a hundred confused spectators became nothing but a blur, their mutters fading. You stilled, letting your hand become limp. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. Suddenly, you lunged towards him - hooking your free arm around his shoulders. Loki swallowed a gasp as your lips met his with force, a low sigh breathing into your mouth as he melted into you. The god’s hands travelled to your ass, hoisting you around his hips as his tongue massaged your own with wild intensity. A palm slid up your back, winding in your hair as he pushed your face roughly to his. You could hear the PG-curses of Rogers as he frantically hoisted the stage curtains closed, his inane blustering audible over the gasps of intrigue from the crowd beyond. Loki’s feral kisses had moved to your neck, the desperate adrenaline coursing through him as he devoured your soft skin in messy sucks. You found your fingers curling in his lengths, pulling his head back gently. Just like the old days, you thought with a thrill. He frowned, panting. Loki wet his lips, preparing to speak before you covered his mouth with a flat palm. “I love you too, you infuriating whatever-you-are.” you enunciated slowly, lips feeling heavy with the force of his affections. The god’s brows slanted, deep lines appearing in his forehead as he shook his head from side to side; making your hand slip away. “Truly?” he growled incredulously, peering up through ebony lashes. “Truly.” you whispered, watching a smile as radiant as an April sunrise creep slowly across his face. “What happened to ‘I know you love me, Agent’…” you coyed, impersonating the timbre of his voice as he lowered you to the ground. His arms wound around your waist, pulling you flush to his bare chest. “Knowing and feeling are two different things, Agent.” he purred, before placing a languishing kiss on your forehead. “What would be the point in your love for me...” he murmured, muffled against the skin, “if you did not believe it yourself?” There was silence as Loki’s fingertip tenderly grazed your collarbone, steady breaths rising and falling between you as he nuzzled into your temple with a low sigh. You opened your eyes over Loki’s shoulder. “Oh – shit, what about her?” you groaned, giving a small, awkward wave to Amanda several meters away. That’s weird, you thought; frowning. She’s smiling. Smiling like...

Loki’s hand rose, a click of his fingers making the emerald skirts of Amanda’s dress begin to smoulder with bright green flame. “My brother owed me quite a few favours, Agent…” he murmured apologetically with a smile against your cheek.

Your eyes widened as a bulky frame peeled into view behind the mirage of Loki’s magic. But the grin – the grin was still the same. Thor flicked his hair, running his palms down his torso. “That’s better.” he rumbled, throwing you a wink. “Sorry about that…” he chuckled. “Motivation was required, apparently.” He folded his meaty forearms. “I still think you’re mad for being in love with him, by the way. But there’s no accounting for taste.” “You better not have started another Oath of Most Ass-yoor-red Recompense scenario.” you muttered dryly to your dark-haired lover, making another smile stretch across his face. He pulled you tight. “No, darling. This was purely fraternal reparations. Isn’t that right, brother?” he growled. “I have been reliably informed that I have been, what you call, a dick-head.” Thor grumbled penitently, scuffing his foot on the floor. “Indeed.” Loki hummed coldly, before his voice softened. “But tonight has gone some way to mending said wrongdoings. Along with your agreed donation to the orphan-fund, naturally.” “Naturally.” Thor grumbled, averting his eyes. Loki’s fingers toyed with the shell of your ear, the tips exploring the angle of your jaw lightly as if for the first time. “I believe that we should..talk? As is the custom I believe? If you’ll permit it.” You nodded, giddy disbelief still coursing through your veins. “As long as it’s not in this fucking ballroom.” you scoffed, before squealing as Loki gathered you effortlessly against his chest bridal style. “Gods, no.” Loki purred, capturing your lips in a wet kiss before his tantalisingly moist lips grazed your ear. “I think it’s time you finally saw my chambers, Agent -don’t you?”

Continued in Final Bids: Love Wins Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

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[wordsinhaled]

oops i saw that video of ferdie watching ads and my brain was all “wake up new dreamling meetcute just dropped” and really ran away with me and became a ridiculous sappy improbable thing

AU where dream is the model in an ad and hob is traveling for an academic conference. he’s watching tv in his hotel room late at night and sees this ad with dream in it. it’s some silly and forgettable TV commercial but the man in it may possibly be the most gorgeous person hob’s ever seen in his life? anyway hob can’t sleep, partially because he’s nervous for his panel the next day, partially because he’s stuck on Gorgeous Guy From the Ad and feels incredibly silly for it. it was a two minute appearance. matthew really is right that hob needs to get out more if he’s crushing on people in random TV commercials now

so he goes down to the lobby bar to get his mind off of things. it’s late and the bar is deserted - the bartender is about to knock off for the night in maybe half an hour. hob orders a club soda and is reviewing his papers when someone slides onto the bar stool next to his. hob is about to be slightly irritated that someone is In His Bubble at this late hour, when he looks up and sees it’s The Guy. the guy!!!

it’s the fucking guy from the ad he just watched, and somehow he looks even more beautiful in person, and hob is like, oh, okay, the stress of academia has finally gotten to me and i’ve lost it because there is just no fucking way

it’s such a ludicrous coincidence that hob sets down his pen and just starts laughing. the way you laugh at things that aren’t actually amusing, because it’s the middle of the night, and everything’s just a little fuzzy around the edges?

“is something funny?” says mr. walking wet dream from the TV, in a voice like slow-melted chocolate, and also with the kind of curiosity in it that makes hob realize he’s being totally socially inappropriate

“no—no, i’m so sorry. it’s just—god, am i dreaming? because you’re here, but i swear i just saw you—upstairs. well. not like—i mean. in an ad on the TV?” (completely not helping himself in the smoothness department)

the breathtaking stranger’s lips quirk up in a sardonic smile. “ah, yes. that.”

“that?”

“unfortunately, you are not dreaming. i did indeed feature in an advertisement several years ago. as my sibling dearly loves to remind me on every possible occasion, lest i let myself forget for even a moment.”

and hob expects the man to leave in a huff, or something. he goes back to his papers, dream orders himself a gin & tonic, but they’re watching one another in each other’s periphery until finally dream says, “i must admit why i sat beside you this evening. i noticed you were reading marlowe…”

to hob’s great surprise this stranger soon doesn’t feel like someone he’s just met. hob talks about his teaching post and the conference and the paper he’s presenting and the panel he’s on tomorrow, and how (“shhh, you mustn’t tell anyone”) his co-panelist tomorrow is an absolute pill so he’s dreading it. he finds himself sharing more easily than he expected in a way that you only can in the kind of liminal space that is an empty swanky hotel bar at midnight. they’re angled toward one another on their barstools so that maybe their shoes knock together or their ankles brush occasionally in a way they both pretend is accidental, and hob does his level best to be calm and collected about it

he learns his stranger’s story over several gin & tonics. dream’s ‘real’ name is morpheus. he wants to be a published author, studied creative writing. his father is the head of a major media/entertainment/publishing conglomerate and dream used to work for the company. when dream said he wanted to pursue something totally different (essentially… be a starving artist) his father saw it as a betrayal, and trapped him into continuing to work for the family for years on the promise of getting him the connections to publish his first novel or help him get funding to stage his first play… provided he could “actually” finish the manuscript

in the meantime his father had dream doing bit parts in forgettable commercials and made for tv theatre productions, partially as humiliation for daring to want to leave. (i really want him to be in a hair commercial where he broods about in silky black robes…) eventually dream lawyered up and severed ties. his father retaliated by setting up a kidnapping attempt on his own son that someone else conveniently took the fall for, and so on…

anyway - to make a long and tragic story short, now morpheus goes by dream, moved cities, has started his life over mostly estranged from the family, and he’s actually working on his novel - but he’s in town for a friend’s funeral and is staying at the hotel too

at the end of this story hob goes, “bloody hell. i’m sorry, my friend,” and it’s a bit over-familiar, isn’t it, for someone you’ve just met at a bar, even if you’ve just shared half your secrets. so hob is all, oh god oh god ohgodohgod, i’ve scared him off now—

then dream is all, “your friend. is that all you’d like me to be, robert gadling?” and he’s Looking at hob like he’s caught hob out in a lie. and hob’s breath is just… gone… gone away somewhere… and he has to admit that he may still barely know this man but there’s nothing he wants more than to know him in every way possible

and maybe they both go up to hob’s hotel room, and when hob kisses dream for the first time, cradling dream’s face in his hands, it’s more tender and intimate than it has any right to be and hob is just. flabbergasted because fuck. he just met this man and it feels like he could be content just to kiss him for hours and hours and hours. ok? like this is some accidental soulmates energy. their first time is slow and thorough after falling asleep curled together on top of hob’s covers and waking up in the blue hours before dawn

ok basically just my favorite thing is dreamling finding one another in very unlikely circumstances and having a Connection asdjfjf

#the sandman #dreamling #long post #this absolutely got away from me but that’s ok

[delta-pavonis]

Fic: Making the Cut

Dreamling (Hob Gadling/Dream of the Endless) || Rated T || 1k words || complete Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, modern dancing, jealous Dream is best Dream, gratuitous use of Renaissance instruments, might be crack?

Jealousy, for it could only be that, made every muscle in Dream’s Waking body tighten, to the point that he was glad he had the wherewithal to vanish his wineglass before it was crushed to dust in his hand. Lex said something and Hob threw his head back in laughter. As he did so her fingers tangled in the hair at Hob’s nape, pulling strands from his ponytail, and Dream was on his feet and moving forward before he could think better of it.

Because the GIFs in THIS POST have taken over my brain and I was not be able to get any work done until I silenced the voices. Be the Dreamling you want to see in the world.

Fic under the cut. Reblog and tag if you think I should continue. 😜

It took nigh on forty years, the establishment of a trust to fund the project, and an absurd amount of money (mostly paying lawyers), but Hob Gadling had won the rights to restore the White Horse Inn. 

Well, actually, according to the paperwork, Rudolf Gass, grandson of British ex-pat Robert Daglin through his marriage to a German painter named Rosemarie Krause, whose daughter married the glazier Albrecht Gass, now had the rights to restore the White Horse Inn. Dream hadn’t followed the details further than that. 

But, given that it was the White Horse, and all the sentimentality it held for them, Hob had been absolutely adamant that Dream should make an appearance at the party he was holding at the New Inn in celebration. 

And if Dream had been subtly nudging the dreams of some elected officials and government officers over the past seven years since his return from captivity, well, that could be a secret kept between him and the White Horse herself. That the paperwork went through on the 7th of June was merely a coincidence of cosmic proportions. 

Clearly.

Dream hid his private smirk behind a sip of red wine.

The New Inn was alive with revelers, many of them historians and academics, and Dream supposed he should have not been surprised at their propensity for theatrics. A musician with a deep knowledge of Renaissance musical instruments was currently rapidly plucking away at a cittern with the thumping bass of lyricless electronic music coming from the speaker behind him. Another had rushed out of the bar to her bicycle to head back to her office to grab her crumhorn. Hob seemed delighted and that was what mattered.

Other than the barstools, one of which Dream was perched on right now, any of the furniture that was not nailed down had been shoved aside to make a small dancefloor. Hob had barely spent more than a handful of minutes off of it since sundown. 

Said victorious professor tumbled out of the crowd and caught himself on the bar right in front of Dream. Panting, sweating, and glowing with happiness, he signaled the bartender for a pint and moved to retie his hair back from where it had fallen out of the tail at his nape. He canted his hip into the side of the bar to hold himself upright. Hob’s eyes were full of bright mischief as he looked to his longest-held friend and took a swig of ale. “My friend, are you sure I cannot entice you to-”

“Come on Rudi! This is our song!” A tall, slim woman with graying black hair bouncing around her shoulders in locs grabbed Hob’s arm and tugged him back into the fray just as a different song started blaring from the speakers. Her smile was wide and welcoming and she had a startling resemblance to Dream’s older sister, if much more lithe of form. She was sleek as an otter with a glint in her eye twice as clever. She dreamed of writing historical fiction and running long distances and cups of tea on the sun porch with her enormous fluffy orange tabby.

“We don’t have a song, Lex!” Hob just barely got the half-full pint back onto the bartop, laughing as he let himself be pulled away, looking apologetically over his shoulder at his friend left on the barstool. 

They didn’t enter the crowd fully, just joined the edge of the amoeba of humans, which meant that, for the first time that evening, Dream got to see all of Hob dancing instead of just his head and shoulders. 

The pair started with the choreographed moves of a courtly bassadanza, which did not work at all without a large group of others dancing with them, and so, with a trip and a laugh, Lex threw her arms over Hob’s shoulders and pulled their bodies together. It seemed reflex had Hob’s hands on her waist, put a slight bend in his knee, so that he could slide a knee between her thighs and then their pelvises were rocking close together.

Jealousy, for it could only be that, made every muscle in Dream’s Waking body tighten, to the point that he was glad he had the wherewithal to vanish his wineglass before it was crushed to dust in his hand. Lex said something and Hob threw his head back in laughter. As he did so her fingers tangled in the hair at Hob’s nape, pulling strands from his ponytail, and Dream was on his feet and moving forward before he could think better of it.

As he approached his coat dissolved into shadow, leaving him in a tight black t-shirt, tight black jeans, and black boots. Dream tapped Hob on the shoulder, but his gaze was fixed on the woman. “May I cut in?”

It was probably unfair to color his voice with Endless power, with seductive tones inviting complete acquiescence, but, as Hob would say in the current turn of phrase, Dream had no fucks left to give.

Both pairs of dark eyes widened, both turned to Dream as they stepped apart, but only Lex smiled. “Why certainly.” She made a motion to put a hand on Dream’s bicep, but with all the grace of ten billion years he sidestepped in front of her and looped his arms around Hob’s shoulders. 

Their bodies were inches from being flush and Hob’s mouth fell open. He looked down to the scant space between them, then back up. “Dream… what…” A blush was blooming on his cheeks.

“I find that I am loathe to see you with another pressed so close.” Dream spoke in his normal Waking tones, just loud enough for Hob to hear, and arched his hips forward to brush against Hob. The gasp it elicited was delicious nectar, sticky on Dream’s tongue. “It seems that you have indeed enticed me, Hob.” They were near enough that he got to see Hob’s pupils dilate, the rich, welcoming earth of his eyes all but consumed by inky blackness. 

Dream was often himself inky blackness.

He would consume the rest of Hob as well.

#Dreamling #Hob Gadling #Dream of the Endless #getting together #inspired by GIFs #Pavonis writes #Pavonis writes instead of working because she is possessed #The Sandman fanfic #The Sandman

[mediocrevideopodcast]

First I need you to know I absolutely love the way you write rocky! He feels so in character!

Second I saw requests are open so speaking of rocky: imagine if reader was a wealthy client who helps fund the speakeasy but they're only really there for rocky

like everyone else thinks it's pretty obvious they're into him but I imagine rocky would be clueless lol

(can be neutral or fem pronouns, whichever you prefer :) )

A/N: Thank you so much! I'm always worried that I'm a little too heavy-handed with his speech patterns, so I'm glad that it comes off right! And wow, I loved this idea so much! I got a little bit carried away with this it, actually -- never let it be said that I don't love this silly cat. Buckle in friends, it's gonna be a long one -- 3.4k, to be exact. Thank you all for all of the lovely asks and reblogs thus far -- because as much as I love writing, it's all of you that keep that fire burning when times get rough. Enjoy!

Content Warnings: None! Gender neutral reader, no pronouns or presentation indicators used.

Deafening raindrops turn into quiet pitter patters as you descend the long, spiraling staircase into the speakeasy. Comforting and familiar walls lift your spirits from the dreary outside world, caked in gloomy clouds and ever-growing smog. You wipe your boots on the doormat as you reach the bottom of the stairs, frowning a little when you notice just how far the mud splashed up the leather. 

        What a shame -- you'll have to clean them off when you get home tonight. Lord knows how your coworkers love to gossip, and with how calm things have been lately, they're just itching for something to discuss. Like how the head doctor has mud on their evening boots… after a heavy rain. How scandalous. 

        You're pulled from your thoughts by the gentle voice of the doorman, peering over at you with a hint of concern -- Horatio, you think his name was? Sweet boy. 

        "Is everything alright, Doctor?"

        You tear your eyes away from your shoes, smiling kindly. 

        "Of course," you chirp, "Just a bit of mud. Do be careful when you head out tonight. That suit looks nice on you, I'm sure you wouldn't want it getting dirty." 

        He straightens his posture at the compliment, adjusting his cufflinks with an endearing -- if not a little overenthusiastic -- nod. Content, you smooth out your outfit and move forward once again. You stride through the door, flashing your pin for formality's sake, and slink into the main room with a neatly contained excitement of your own. 

        Red satin curtains line the wall, contrasting beautifully with the natural grey stone -- the Lackadaisy speakeasy has a unique atmosphere, and despite having seen it no less than a hundred times, it never ceases to light a twinge of admiration within you. You weave between the towering stone pillars, letting your eyes rake across the room as you pad towards the bar. But… something is missing. Or, more aptly, someone. 

        The barstool squeaks in protest when you plop down at the bar, brows furrowed. Although before you're allowed to stew in your disappointment, a drink is placed in front of you. You look up, meeting eyes with the tall cat in front of you. Victor Vasko, resident bartender, for lack of a better word. He glowers down at you, although you know him well enough by now -- it's hard to be intimidated when you know his scowl is all but carved into his face. 

        You're also acutely aware that you're one of the last benefactors of St. Louis' finest speakeasy. 

        You slide a ten across the bar -- more than enough to cover drinks for the night, if not everyone else's too -- before swirling the drink in your glass. The amber liquid dances just shy of the rim before settling back down against the ice -- it's liquid gold in these parts, and they call it that for more reasons than one. You don't miss the subtle widening of Victor's eyes as he pockets the money and moves to the other end of the bar, presumably to clean -- or more aptly, shatter -- a handful of glasses. 

        Sweetness cascades over your tongue when you raise the glass to your lips -- it's a far cry from the common coffin varnish. That is to say, it's a luxury reserved only for new patrons… and those with deep pockets. You smile to yourself, savoring the taste. It's not the greatest drink in the world. Even a priest could tell you that. It's bitter, and burns in a way that tells you that its creator would really prefer to put the "fire" in firewater over anything else… and yet you couldn't fathom going anywhere else. It's not like you're aiming to get drunk here, anyways. 

        "So," Zib drawls, lumbering onto the bar stool next to you, "What's a man gotta do to get a drink around here?" 

        You huff a laugh into the glass, rolling your eyes. "Sorry, I only buy drinks for pretty boys."  

        He leans forward onto the bartop, leaning his head on his arms and gazing at you. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils lazily tracking your glass as you raise it to your lips. It's hard to tell if he's just tired, or if he's already gotten a headstart on drinking tonight. You'd put money on the "all of the above" option, if you could. 

        "I can bat my eyelashes if you want," he says.         "Jesus Christ, shut up," you laugh, swatting at him but waving down Victor nonetheless. He stomps over, rolling his one visible eye, but acquiesces and pours him a drink at your soft smile. It's clearly a cheaper alcohol, but Zib doesn't seem to mind. He seems to prefer it, if anything. He takes a strong drink, sighing at the burn. He pulls himself up from his crossed arms, leaning back with a groan.

        "Thank God, I don't know enough violin to pull anything else off. Or Shakespeare."

        "Hey!" You sputter, kicking his leg beneath the countertop, "What's that supposed to mean?" 

        "Nothing, nothing." He hums, pausing. Sips. Tilts the glass. "Just that you seem to have a favorite here, no shame in that. Other than the fact that you've chosen the strangest man in all of St. Louis to set your sights on." 

        "Excuse me, for one, I don't play favorites. And two, he is-- he isn't…" Swirling the liquid around in your own glass, you furrow your brow. When nothing comes to mind you take a sip of your own, thinking. 

        You know well enough that your protests are just for show at this point. It's become a near-daily point of banter between the two of you, considering how obvious you are in your affections. Many moons have come and gone since Wick showed you the Lackadaisy, but unlike the astral body, your interest in Rocky Rickaby has never waned. 

        It's hard to remember what kickstarted your affections for him -- maybe it was his natural lyricism, or perhaps his flair for theatrics. Maybe it was his unwavering spirit, or his penchant for getting into trouble. If you asked Wick, you're sure he'd tell you that you were simply attracted to the danger he brings with him, but he's never seen the way his eyes sparkle when he's excited. He's never seen the way he glows when he's truly happy -- not like you do, anyways. Maybe it was a combination of all of those things and more. What you do know is that…

        "He's got his own charm. He's different, yes, but I like different. But again," you say, looking at him over the rim of your glass, "I don't play favorites."  

        Zib chuckles, shaking his head, but says nothing. You wait one breath, then two. 

        Silence. 

        You scoff, muttering to yourself. "Set my sights on… You make it sound like I'm picking out a dog at the pound." 

        He grins, and you sense that you've fallen directly into his trap. Damn it. 

        "He'd bark if you asked him to."

        "Oh, you reprobate," you exclaim, laugh tinging the edges of your words. You swat at him once again, this time making contact. You'd like to say he choked on his drink, or sputtered at your attack, but this has become such a song and dance that really, you'd be more surprised if he didn't expect it. "You're incorrigible, you know." 

        "Just being honest," he says. 

        You shake your head, sipping lazily at your glass before slipping back into easy conversation. It's nice to simply chat the hours away with him -- despite his dour outward demeanor, he's quite good at keeping a conversation going. His taste in literature doesn't hurt much, either, nor does your own affability towards his own theatrics. For as much shit as he gives Rocky, he isn't all too much better in the drama department. 

        You weren't always treated so casually -- the memory of Mitzi all but batting Zib and Rocky away from you still brings a smile to your face. Hell, you're sure if Mitzi heard the dreary remarks falling from Zib now, she'd pick up the broomstick again… if only for her own sanity. But once it became clear that you'd sunk your claws into their best -- and up until recently, only -- rumrunner, the air changed. 

        You don't have to guess why -- everyone's been plenty clear about it.

        'If Rocky hasn't driven you away yet, there's not much anyone else can do to scare you off.'

        You cast a look over your shoulder every now and again, glancing at the door, aflutter with anticipation. It's impossible to hear the rain this far down into the cave system, although it's unlikely that the rain has let up at all considering the torrential downpour you weathered just a few short hours ago. You nervously bite at your lips, forcing your head back into the conversation. 

        'It's just the storm holding him up,' you tell yourself. 

        You vaguely realize that somewhere along the way your simple affection and interest has bloomed into something more all-consuming, and you can only hope that Zib doesn't catch your sudden fluster. Best to file that thought away for later. 

-----

        It's half past midnight when Rocky waltzes through those towering wooden doors, caked damn-near head to toe in mud. His suit seems to have taken the brunt of it, although the drying flakes embedded in his fur and the single symmetrical pair of clean streaks along his lapel tell a story all on their own. He clasps two bottles in his hands, mysteriously absent of any dirt or grime. 

        Calvin is hot on his heels too, pupils pinpointed with what you assume are the remnants of adrenaline. He too comes through the door with bottles of what you presume is liquor, although he certainly has an… abundance compared to Rocky. Because for Rocky's two, Calvin anxiously clutches no less than eight bottles to his chest. He practically waddles through the door, more out of fear than exertion. He, however, is almost entirely clean of grime… save for his pant legs, which are all but drenched. 

        Once Calvin is past the doorway Ivy comes skipping through too, hands wrapped around her own pair of bottles. Her wardrobe seems to be in slightly worse condition than Calvin's. Mud dapples her sweater, and the twigs tangled in her fur so abundant that you could probably call her a fire risk. But she seems joyful nonetheless as prances past Calvin and falls in line right behind Rocky in his march towards the bar. You realize in the back of your mind that she's chatting happily with Calvin behind her, although the words turn to water in your mind as you gaze at Rocky. If he's noticed you yet, he gives no indication. His tail, slicked thin with muck, flicks happily behind him. Small drops of mud hit the stone floor, causing Calvin to flinch back and clutch the bottles tighter to his chest. There must be a story there, you think to yourself. 

        You huff out a laugh -- partially out of amusement, and partially out of relief. You'll have to ask for the story of tonight's escapade later on. 

        "Praise be to the rain, protector of your ever faithful moonlight servants," Rocky finally reaches the other end of the bar, placing the bottles down with a thunk. He spins, his back towards you as he casts a hand in the air with a flourish. The smile that stretches across your face is painfully lovesick, if the way Zib nudges you gives you any indication, but you pay him no mind as you lean forward to watch the show. 

        "For such modern ventures, we need no stream to wrench forth our gold from the Earth, dearest raindrops. Rather, it is you, oh dearest clouds who bring us such prosperity, such joy. It is--"  he spins back towards you, locking eyes. He stiffens, blinking owlishly. A moment passes before his eyes sparkle in that perfect way you've come to adore, fangs peeking beneath his lips as his expression changes into a grin, and then a beam. 

        "You," he moves across the floor towards you, stretching his arms out for a moment before realizing his state of dress and letting his arms fall back at his sides. His tongue darts between his lips, practically buzzing with excitement as he pads towards you. 

        (You briefly catch the shocked looks of his, quite literal, partners in crime. Eyes wide, the two look at each other inquisitively, then at him, then back at one another. Clearly they're shocked at his willingness to drop his monologue, and the feeling is mutual. It makes the smile stretch further across your face, and you realize that if he hadn't silently retracted the offer, you would have accepted the hug, velvet be damned.)

        You spin your stool to face him, pushing your drink to the side with a wave in his direction. And it should be illegal for anyone to be so damn cute, because the way he lights up -- at your acknowledgement? At your excitement to see him? -- sends a hot flush through your cheeks that has you melting from the inside out. Up close you realize that despite (somewhat) clearing himself of mud, he wasn't able to keep entirely dry from the rain. Water drips down his nose, and you fight back the obnoxiously domestic thought of drying his fur for him. Tender looks and loving touches, of hands carding through fur… It's soon replaced by the vision of him toweling off himself, and Christ, something so mundane shouldn't be so damn attractive. That too, you tuck away for later. 

        He stops at your feet, eyes crinkled with mirth. 

        "I didn't think you'd still be here," he says, leaning against the bar countertop. Although he quickly notices the muddy stain he's left, and while he does pull back to attempt to clean it… it's not like there's much clean real-estate left on his suit to wipe with. You giggle -- honest to god, giggle -- at his antics, and just like that his attention is pulled back to you. He leans back against the countertop, resting his face against his hand. It squishes his cheek with a boyish charm, ears flicking towards your voice. It's cute. He's cute. 

        "Well, I wouldn't want to miss my favorite…"  Heat rises to your face at your own use of the word 'favorite.' Zib will never let you live this one down. 

        "...Musician." 

        Said cat snickers behind you, and oh yeah, you really aren't living this one down. It takes a lot of willpower not to shove him off the barstool then and there. But Rocky simply waves his free hand at him before turning it upwards, fingers splayed. It's clear that he's attempting to be casual in his body language, but the energy in his voice and barely hidden beam ousts his joy at your praise. 

        "Pay him no heed, dearest muse. Now, what form of entertainment would you desire tonight? Pick a key, any key! Through spoken word or melodic strings--"

        Any other night you'd be enraptured with his rambling, but tonight you seem to get lost in his words. Your eyes rake across his face, taking in the little details that make him, him. You're only a little ashamed at the way your eyes keep darting to his lips while he speaks -- truthfully, you're more embarrassed at the longing it sparks within you. Maybe you should have taken the time to unpack this earlier, but alas. You force your eyes upwards, taking in how his own bright blue ones shine with excitement, before letting them fall once again.

        And Rocky is nothing if not unique. The bridge of his nose tells stories beyond your imagination -- no matter how many times he tries to tell you their stories. They all just seem too wild to be true -- littered with little dots and lines that you could connect like constellations, they convey decades worth of life. A knife trick accident here, a wire snap there… allegedly, a horde of bees created many of the smaller dots. An experiment from youth gone wrong, he said, but you can't imagine he'd do anything different if presented with the opportunity again. Your lips upturn at the thought, and let your eyes roam to his cheeks: his fur bounces with every word he speaks, but even still, you can see little uneven patches. A thin line here and there, not quite reaching skin; a patch that's just a fraction shorter than the rest; all from recent incidents that simply came a little too close. But on his left cheek there's something new, something that you've never seen before.

        There's one last streak of mud on his face that, clearly, he had missed. You're so focused on the mark that you hardly even feel yourself move to grab your handkerchief. 

        "--But in an art such as this, moderation is for the weak. If you'll give me just five minutes I'll have--" 

        He stills at your gentle touch, halting his speech for the second time tonight. His fur is softer than you expected, despite its dampness from the rain outside. You tilt his head upwards by just a fraction, your thumb and index gently holding his chin in place. Stricken with a sudden wave of adoration, you drag your thumb experimentally across what you can reach. The movement is so painfully fond and oh, so close -- just millimeters away from his lips. It's a gentle action that lasts no more than a second -- hell, maybe you didn't even realize you were doing it -- but it feels like a lifetime to him. He thought he'd get used to the lightheadedness that you always seem to inflict upon him, but he couldn't be more wrong. And before he has any time to recover, you're dabbing at his cheek with a silken cloth. 

        And for all your observations tonight, you end up missing the way his breath catches in his throat. You miss the way he leans into you by just a fraction, how his eyes widen at your softness; how they take to memorizing every contour of your face in awe; how he melts in your hold, like he's never been held with such kindness before. He doesn't think he has. 

        And that's nothing to say of all the things you can't see -- how his heart leaps into his chest, pounding so hard he's half sure you can see it through his shirt; how he prays for the world to stop just as it is now, so that he could enjoy this for just a few more seconds. How he's so sure that he's dreaming, but far too joyful to even consider pinching himself awake. 

        He's so enraptured with your touch that he hardly even processes your movements. It's only once you lean in -- close, so damn close, so easy to close the gap -- to get a better look at the spot that he finds his voice again. 

        "Oh, you don't have to, it's--" he curses himself for stumbling, for being so breathless in your presence, considering your previous praise for his eloquence. He doesn't know why you keep coming back here, why you keep entertaining him as you do, but he's not going to complain. He swallows, counting to five before starting again with renewed, albeit artificial, confidence. "I'm sure that lovely, lovely silk piece cost you quite the pretty penny." 

        And this time, it's your turn to blink owlishly. You look at the cloth, then back at him, before laughing softly. And just like that you're leaning back in, once again coaxing the mire from his face. It's silent between the two of you for just a moment, so quiet that you damn near forget where you are. And in a moment of courage, you up his face in full. You feel his jaw clench beneath your hand, emboldening you to push just a bit further. You catch his eye, smiling softly. 

        "You know money doesn't mean a thing to me, Rocky," you murmur, just loud enough for the two of you to hear. 

        A million words are left silently humming in the gap between you, a million words you hope he can pick up on in your silence. 'Not when it's you,' you think to yourself. 'I'd give up every penny for just another second with you.' 

        There's a glimmer in your eyes that can only be described as fond, and he basks in it before you turn back to your task. This time, he doesn't stop you. 

#lackadaisy x reader #rocky rickaby x reader #lackadaisy rocky x reader #lackadaisy imagines #roark rickaby x reader #divider by @cafekitsune #you know with how often i write about rainy days you'd think its raining a lot here. it isn't. i just have a rainy jazz playlist.

[unrequitedloveletter]

THE HALLOWEEK OF HURT: DAY SEVEN

Heartbeat- K.B x gn! Heartrender! reader

all right! Last day of this event and the goal with this one was to make myself cry. I'll be rereading and editing it the day it comes out, too, so this fic is for anyone who needs a good cry and doesn't mind crying on Halloween.

Fic type- this is angst.

Warnings- a lot of mentions of matthias' death, mentions of blood, drowning, stabbing

The final day of October in Ketterdam was shaping up to be at a minimum, decent. The pumpkin-flavoured drinks still dominated the bars and would hold their rightful place until around the 15th of the next month, at which point the winter season would take full hold five-ish weeks in advance and you would not be able to escape the sight of sugar cookies and various ceramic ornaments or the smell of fresh pine, eucalyptus, gingerbread and cinnamon.

You were working behind the bar, making yourself a shift drink--a pumpkin spice martini because you, too, were a fiend for the fall drinks and your shift was nearly done with anyway--when Kaz approached.

"Drinking during a shift, are you?" He asked, sitting down at one of the barstools. You'd been working more and more shifts at the bar lately, one near the University of Ketterdam. You were a part-timer with the Dregs, one who Kaz considered apart of his inner circle, and when you weren't in the Slat or at the bar, you were at uni, studying to get a degree in library science.

"Drinking at the end of it," you said. "Two minutes to go. You'll probably have me at the end of my shift when this conversation is done. What do you want?"

Kaz grinned, and you took a sip of your martini before setting it on the counter, grabbing a glass and pouring rum into it. You slid it across the counter, and Kaz took it with one gloved hand.

"Heist," he said. "Tonight. Can you manage?"

"Where?" You asked. "How many days of my study fortnight are you asking me to miss?"

Kaz grinned. "A fortnight is fourteen days," he said. "Five days on the boat, five days back the way we came. We're due for a heist in the Wandering Isle, but thanks to the heist we pulled for the Ravkan royalty over the summer, Nikolai added one of his speed boats to the limited sum they were able to offer. The likes of the Wandering Isle would take three weeks, normally, so thank your saints for Ravka, your royals, and their limited available funds."

"Just because I am Ravkan does not mean I like the royals, nor that I claim them in any respect," you said. "Zoya Nazyalensky is quite admirable indeed, but the Lantsovs have run the country into the ground since the first in their line sat his pathetic ass on the throne. I have no respect for the Lantsov line, even as handsome as Nikolai turned out in spite of the previous men of his lineage."

Kaz took a sip of his rum. "Ten days of travelling in total," he said. "Two days in the Wandering Isle to get the jewelry we need. You can study for your finals on the boat, if you need to, and then you can study for the remaining two days before your break ends and we're home. Are you in?"

You scoffed. "I joined the Dregs when we were sixteen. I've been in on every major job we've done since--unless this isn't major?"

"Sixty million kruge."

"Level of risk?"

"Trapdoors in the tiles on the floor that take you to a windowless and relatively inescapable lower level, a security system that defaults to flooding the building and leaving no survivors. Without Jesper, the windows would be lined with unrelenting Grisha steel and glass, so they would be unbreakable and effectively leave us to drown."

"And with him?"

"He can manipulate it enough so that it can be broken, and he's agreed to," Kaz said. "The risk amounts to the reward, I think."

"Last time we got money in the high end of the millions, we lost someone," you said. "I love the heists, and I love you enough to consider it, but the risk might just be too high. I can't stand the thought of losing the likes of any of the rest of us."

"You paid off your college debts," Kaz said. "You own a home in the financial district, even if you don't live in it. With this kind of money, you wouldn't have to work a day."

"You used your portion to renovate the Slat and buy out Pekkas buildings," you said. "What you've done with the rest of it, I don't know. This money could just mean more expansions, and if you keep going like that you'll be the king of the Barrel one of these days."

You took a sip of your martini and Kaz shrugged.

"So, you're in?"

"Obviously," you said. "I'll even wear my amplifier. If I can slow our heartrates before we drown and then liven them up once the water has drained, we'll be set to go."

Kaz laughed, a rare but true sound, and your heart gave a flip.

"Your shift?"

"Finished about half a minute ago now. Walk me back to the Slat?"

Kaz finished off his brandy, and you finished off your martini, and the two of you left the bar. You walked home in relative silence, occasionally talking about the heist as you went.

-

You'd packed everything necessary for the journey and were on the Lantsov-gifted speed boat at midnight, sharing a brownie with Nina in a common area belowdecks as you registered Kaz's heartbeat from where he stood upstairs, looking on at an empty horizon while standing at the centre of the boat.

"You do that a lot," Nina noticed as you popped a piece of the brownie into your mouth. "I used to do it, too, before the parem hit."

"Do what?" You asked, one of your hands going to the bear claw necklace you only tended to wear in dire situations. It amplified your abilities as a Heartrender, allowed you to sense the differences in peoples heartbeats and choose who to keep standing on their feet.

"That," Nina gestured. "And when you wear your amplifier, you go seeking for heartbeats. Gives you something to listen to."

"I do not," you said, part of you still focused on the rhythmic beat of Kaz's heart in his chest. "And besides, how could I need something to listen to when I have the sound of the waves?"

"You don't like the waves much," Nina observed. "One of the things you and Kaz have bonded over since you started dating three years ago, I would assume. Is it his heartbeat you're listening to?"

You flushed, shook your head. "I'm not listening to anyones," you denied. "I don't do that."

"Yes you do," Nina said with a laugh. "All Heartrenders who're strong enough to do it do it. During the Ice Court, I did it with Matthias'--had I not taken the parem, I would've been able to listen to his heart when it stopped."

"If you hadn't taken the parem, we'd all be dead," you said. "I am grateful for your sacrifice, and Matthias', but I think that if you could've heard his heart as it stopped you never would've stopped grieving--you still grieve him."

"I'm learning the art of moving on," Nina said with a grin. "I wanted to hold onto him forever, and I know that it's not feasible. He's buried in Fjerda to connect with Djel, and I am here. I am helping Kaz Brekker on a heist and I am sharing a brownie with the person who is probably the love of his life, and everything is okay."

You grinned at her, let go of Kaz's heart and instead absorbed the sound of the silence in the room.

"You are not the person you were when we did the Ice Court," Nina said. "You are not the person who came to Ketterdam to escape the war--you've changed, and it's for the better. Matthias would like the person I am now, and as much as I take solace in that, I do not need to know that to keep functioning as a person."

You sighed, looked around the room in search of a bottle of brandy.

The lounge area was simple--a couch pressed against one wall, a window just a foot or two above it that looked out onto the upper level, and a small drawer with a couple of bottles of various liqours and cups to drink them from. A table was in front of the two of you and would probably be used when Jesper came in, seeking something entertaining like a game of rummy or war without making any bets.

You grabbed yourself a brandy, grabbed Nina one and clinked your glass against hers.

"To not being the people we once were," you said. She grinned.

"To listening to the heartbeats of those we love the most."

You both sipped your brandy, and you let yourself be content, not quite aware of the storm that would make landfall in the Wandering Isle at the same time you did.

-

The water had already risen to your kneecaps by the time you registered just how wrong things had gone. Everyone else had rushed out while you, Jesper, and Kaz stayed behind to fight--it meant that Inej, Wylan, and Nina were safe. That was all that really mattered as you fought the guards, some part of you having tuned into Kaz's heartbeat as you fought them off.

They were coming at you in droves, nearly impossible to fight as the water continued to rise, and when you looked at Kaz, he looked half dead as it were. You livened up his heart, forced the sound of it to thrum in his ears.

You are still alive, you thought. You are still here. Stay with me. Don't give in. I can't lose you.

"I've weakened the windows!" Jesper shouted. "Get near them! We can punch our way through the glass and then hope the water cushions our fall!"

You began to move that way, watching as Kaz did the same. "We can't keep fighting them like this!"

You clutched a hand to your amplifier. "I can't take them all on at once--there were a thousand when we started, there are five hundred now!"

The water had risen from your knees to your shoulders in a matter of minutes, and soon it would rise past your head. You would have to hold your breath as you punched through the weakened windows and fell out of the windows, onto the pavement.

You were still listening to Kaz's heart as the water rose, though. You'd been rendered a bit useless in the water, having to use your arms to keep yourself from sinking rather than swimming.

The water reached your neck. You glanced at Kaz as his heart slowed, saw him in a fight with one of the guards.

It was because of the fact that you were listening to the thrum of his heart in his chest that you heard the very moment it stopped beating.

You glanced at Kaz again. A knife had been jabbed into his chest fatally. You wished you'd chosen to be a healer instead.

Jesper lurched forward, nodded at you as the water took you even further, rising past your head and plunging you beneath the surface. You swam to a window, punched it open wide enough and punched the walls still, letting Jesper take Kaz's corpse out first, falling out of the window thereafter and landing in the puddle that'd formed on the ground.

You started crying when you looked at him. Kaz was gone.

Jesper was crying, too. "We need--he has to--"

"The boat," you said. "Take him to the boat--I need a second, Jes. I need a thousand."

Jesper nodded at you. "I'm sorry this happened. I know how much you cared."

You watched Jesper walk away, carrying your beloveds corpse bridal style, and curled in on yourself.

He was gone. Kaz Brekker was gone.

He'd died by being stabbed--a painful death indeed, but not more painful than the fate you wished to deliver to his killer.

-

"Did you--you weren't--" Nina started as she came into your quarters on the ship. "Oh, Y/N."

"I was," you said. "I heard his heart when it stopped. I wanted to save him but I couldn't."

Nina sighed, walked into the room, lied down next to you. "He has found his peace."

You didn't believe that. You weren't sure if you believed anything.

"I know," you said anyway.

He was gone, and you were incomplete, but there was nothing more that could be done--if he had found his peace, you too would find yours in time.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix

[eisbae-r]

Fixed Version of Sims 2 Knitting

Hi. No idea on how to do this. Totally Tumblr newbie.

I finally reappeared from my PC hiatus and saw the questions about my announced fix for @Tony-Veis Knitting set.

It is an amazing set. I adore all crafting stations for the sims. Now knitting became even better. Thankyou all for staying so patient with me.

Tony Veis got my new files and hopefully will update his set soon.

It might be possible to download it here in the meantime. If I managed to set the rights correctely. Please remove all old files from your Download folder.

There are still some details that could be improved. But I will not continue to work on these files.

Credit to DeeDee/NixSims/Rebeccah for the sell from inventory code. General help from the Sims 2 Crafters Discord. AlmightyHat for her buyable toy, that I used as a base.

Details below the cut.

The following things were fixed:

• Fixed: Crafting station clash, no double entries in pie menu. Toys are no longer based on the firetruck. • Fixed: Spelling in pie menu string fixed. Entries don’t split anymore. • Fixed: Strings in TTAs shortened. Changed TTAB Flags for all entries to remove the joinable function. Join Index set to 0xFFFFFFFF. • Fixed: labled some BCONs for easier use in the future. • Fixed: Animations: removed spaces in file names. • New: Polished the language of the notifications. Added 2 notifications. • Fixed: While knitting (using the object), the pie menu entry “put in inventory” was available by other sims. If executed, object was put in inventory, canceling knitting for all knitters and resulting in Jump Bugs. The used seat of the knitter will glitch and became unusable. No error dialog. Chair needed to be reset by Force Error. BHAVS were missing the “Standard Entry” line. Hence, knitting was not flagged as “in use”, hence the guard line “are you in use” did not work. In addition, guardian BHAV for “add to inventory” called: "are you alive" and "Asking for gardening values"). Created a new guard BHAV. • Fixed: Sims were starting to knit siting in thin air when all seats were occupied. Rerouted each “make” interaction (also changed name from “Interaction” to “Make”), creating a proper exit and linking the unused dialog. Fixed a mistake := replaced by == in line [prim 0x0002] Expression (My person data 0x0000 (Sitting?) == Literal 0x0001). • Fixed: if funds are insufficient, knitting created an error. Fixed and notification of insufficient funds added. • Fixed: Toys disappear in toybox after canceling the play interaction. Not anymore of this nonesence. The toys are totally toybox proof now. Code is free to use for other toys. • Fixed: Did not restock from inventory: Used code from DeeDee and Nixed Sims. • Fixed: unused BHAVs removed. • Fixed: now, mood check implemented. Sims won't knit, when not in the mood for it. • Fixed: animal clothes package error, now you get the colars. A BCON was doubled and corrupted. In addition, in BCON 1001 consant 7 was missing. Buypassed some lines in a BHAV. Now it works on home business lots as well.

Known Issues that bothered me but remain unsolved:

• Knitted objects are not added to the lot owners’ inventory but to the knitters’ inventory. • Choosing a barstool does not trigger the correct sitting high. • No resuming knitting when canceling. Instead, instant finishing of object. • No “knit multiple”. • No conversation between sims. I am too unskilled to get such code implemented. And hell did try a lot of stuff!

#sims 2 custom content #sims 2 download #ts2 mods

[osric-giroux-ffxiv]

One Step Forward

He hated business offices. 

Despised them with a passion - the nests of over dressed individuals with over-inflated egos propped up by their excessively expensive furniture sitting in overly perfumed spaces.

All to project an image that they were competent and could be trusted with one’s gil.

It was part of the reason why he’d previously held his meetings, when he had to have them, within the Slater estate. 

But the estate was no more, and he certainly couldn’t have meetings within his apartment, so his options had been limited - leaving him with little choice but to travel to the office, despite his disdain. 

Fortunately, the individual seated across from him seemed blissfully unaware of his feelings, as they were far too focused on how they were going to earn their commission. 

“So, you’re looking to purchase land, which you’d subsequently be planning to build on, correct mister…”

“Giroux. And yes, that is the intention.” Osric leaned back in his chair - the uncomfortable gaudy thing that it was, resting his elbow on the armrest and settling his chin against his fist. “My intention had been to look at land available in the Highlands. I’d like to be near the city, but not within it.”

The man paused in his scribbling, blinking slowly. “I…well, there certainly is quite a bit of land available in that area, sir…but for Fury’s sake why?”

Dark blue eyes narrowed for a brief moment before he managed to put on the fake smile he’d been wearing so often as of late - he could tell fishing when he heard it. “I’ve plans that I’m not quite ready to disclose. I have the coin, if that’s the concern, to purchase the land, and to make arrangements with a company for construction. My reasons for choosing that location are my own.”

“I - it’s not that I doubt you’ve the funds for such a purchase. It’s just…I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the area, mister Giroux. You’ve no title, no holdings here, no real connections…”

Osric exhaled slowly, the fingers of the hand settled against the opposite arm rest drumming steadily against the wood. “I’m quite familiar with the area, I assure you, and I’ve connections enough.” He straightened his head, lowering the hand his head had been resting against. “Now, if it allows you to rest easier at all, I can assure you that I am well acquainted with the city, how it works, and the areas surrounding it. Just because my name is not well known doesn’t mean I haven’t been present.”

He reached into the bag at his feet, pulling forth a hefty pouch which he set on the desk, before the man. “Given you’re not the first broker I’ve spoken to, it’s safe to assume this will suffice for what we’ve discussed my needs are, yes?”

Confusion passed across the other man’s face as he pulled the pouch towards him before glancing inside, his eyes widening before offering a quick nod. “Heavens, yes.” Surprise replaced confusion as he looked up to meet Osric’s gaze. “Just…what do you plan to do out there?”

Osric shrugged one shoulder easily. “Find a way to move forward. If you wouldn’t mind, sir, I’d like this agreement in writing. And once you’ve obtained the land I can contact the contractor to begin construction.”

That had been weeks ago - and as agreed, Osric now stood in his apartment with the deed to the land he’d requested and now purchased in hand. 

One step forward - now to find a contractor. 

His gaze cut up as Freyja and Týr crashed into one of the barstools during their wrestling and shook his head with a sigh.

He needed to be closer to Ishgard, especially with Vahalia being as far along as she was. The pups were going to need the space soon, growing the way that they were…and he was going to need the space to do what he had plans to do. 

Long sleepless nights had given him too much time to think.

It would have been easy to return to being a wandering mercenary- but the last job he’d been on had done nothing but reminded him how fragile he could be. 

One wrong move and he would not have been offering Vahalia the papers for separation. She would have been burying her husband. (The end result would still have been the same, ultimately - nevertheless…)

He wouldn’t be alive to father his…

He paused, his chest tightening for a moment.

The children - Vahalia’s children…children that may or may not be his, a thought that left a sinking feeling in his gut -  if he was skewered out on the middle of some battlefield somewhere…or even if he was constantly traveling as a mercenary to keep the gil flowing, then he couldn't be present...he couldn't be there for them. 

It wasn’t sustainable.

Something had to give - he needed…wanted to be there for the children - even if they weren’t his. 

He’d made a promise to himself that any children that resulted from his union to Vahalia Cress would not grow up the way he had - without one parent or another, questioning whether they were wanted, facing questions of being a bastard - no…whether they were his or not was a question he may never know the answer to - but society at large would never have a reason to question it, and they would never want for a present father figure, he would make sure of that. 

He clicked his tongue, drawing the attention of both pups back over towards him. 

One particularly sleepless night as he’d laid not on the bed, but on the couch staring aimlessly up at the ceiling trying to determine what he was going to do, how to move forward and not repeat the same history over again - that was when the idea of raising and training wolves for combat had struck him. 

It was...different than anything he'd done before - he certainly wouldn't be treading back over the same path he'd walked before.

Hyaka’s offer of living within the barracks, while kind, just wasn't an adequate long term fix.

He was willing to continue to assist with training the troops, if that was what was needed. And if this endeavor worked the way he hoped it would then he would be happy to provide trained wolves to the warriors of the barracks - but they already had stables for chocobos within the training grounds, keeping wolves there as well seemed like a bit of a stretch.

Or a recipe for disaster. 

No, better to maintain his current trajectory, follow his current plan. 

He would have to invest up front, but he had personal funds - and if it worked out, it would be something he could maintain and it would keep him ‘close to home’…and now, now he was one step closer to seeing that become a reality. 

Osric folded up the paper, tucking it safely back into its envelope before motioning for the pups to follow. “Come on you two, we’ve work to do before I head out for the day.”

One change at a time. He could manage that.

Mentions: @vahalia-cress-ffxiv & @hyakatakatales

#of lances and lament

[arkangel9]

Literally another war 2019 headcanon sorta fic (Yea no i aint over it yet)(nsfw maybe?)

the timing's fucked, lets pretend after jai jai shiv sankar there's LIKE 1 year till ilyasi and my boy dying(hater's gon say khalid died but NAH)

context:so they're on a mission(who doesnt love mission sex.)kabir now trusts khalid more. they're closer. #possessivekabir

Khalid and Kabir have been assigned a two man mission. Not that uncommon since the men's skillsets complimented each other and Khalid was literally willing to throw away his life for the Major.

What the issue was, was the nature of the mission .Their goal this time was to lure a certain terrorism funding businessman. The man was becoming one hell of a pain and the higher ups wanted him gone.

after initial assessment it was found that the man had a penchant for the same sex. This fact was not publicized so the agents went through a fair bit of trouble to ascertain this. the man occasionally did take the odd woman home, however the agents managed to establish contact with one such call girl and she mentioned that the man behaved oddly and had weird requests such as that she put on a loose men's shirt and that he seemed obsessed with her cropped hair.

The intelligence gathered a portfolio of all the men the business man had taken to his bed however they were having a hard time figuring out what the man's type was. He seemed to like handsome younger men but beyond that there was not much of a similarity among the boys . A couple of tips from their spies and intel from media pointed that the man was often found at certain high end casinos in Las Vegas

The strike team was decided to be kept small and kabir and khalid were chosen to execute the mission. Agents would be there to support them along the way but in the crucial moments, the two would have to rely on each other.

3 months later

Kabir and Khalid landed in las vegas 1 week apart from each other so as to not arouse suspicion. Khalid who arrived second checks into his hotel. Kabir is in the hotel right next to his. They meet at the decided rendezvous spot.The hotels shared a common pool, 2 men meeting or chatting at such a spot would be ignored. Khalid changes into his swim trunks and heads off towards the pool with a towel slung over his shoulders. The poolside bar was his destination.

He checks his watch to reassure himself that he isnt late. He expected multiple things as he enters the pool area but what he definately did not expect was Kabir to be sitting at the bar in hawaiian swim shorts that barely did anything to hide the powerful muscles of his thighs or the short sleeved shirt with half of its buttons undone exposing strong collar bones and firm abs. The sunglasses covering the major's eyes just made him look even more mysterious. A few half naked girls had already surrounded Kabir.

Why am i getting annoyed at that

As he moves closer, the major's face tilts to face his direction. although he cannot see the older man's eyes. He can feel his gaze raking over his body. Suddenly Khalid feels stupid about his choice of wearing just simple navy swim trunks. He should've worn a shirt over it.

Kabir dismisses the girls with a friendly wave here and a pretty smile there and discreetly motions to Khalid to occupy the seat next to him. Khalid seats himself on the nearest barstool and flips over the menu and orders himself a Shirley Temple earning him a snort from his senior. Kabir motions the bartender to bring another glass of whatever he seemed to be having earlier. The two men finish their drinks and head off in their own directions.

Now to the unassuming eye this may seem like an unnecessary move but the meeting served 2 purposes

it allowed the agents to ensure the other was well and had reached destination

it allowed kabir to pass khalid a tiny scroll containing the name of the casino they would meet up tonight

Khalid discreetly shoves the paper into the compartment in the back of his waterproof watch and goes to take a swim. It would be odd if he didnt . An agent's job is always to never attract any attention than necessary onto themselves. A few women did flirt with him in the pool and quite a few propositioned something more. Khalid however politely turns them all down saying he was already committed to his girlfriend of 3 years. Kabir would've rolled his eyes at the excuse. Khalid however cannot shake the feeling of being watched but he just puts it off as his childhood anxiety resurfacing. He towels himself dry and goes back to his room to read the paper. it contained two words and a time.

Lapis Lazuli. 1900 hours

Khalid tosses the paper into a nearby glass of water. the paper dissolves instantly. He has around 4 hours to waste until he needs to start getting ready. He decides to read up once more upon the target and locate the casino

4hours later , khalid has consumed all of the information available on the target

Name: Arfik Shah Age: 41 Physical description 5'11 Blonde hair Blue eyes Has a mole under his right ear Occupation: Head of operations of Minik.inc networth: 2 billion dollars Target is seen to frequent casino's. Highly allergic to mango.

He tears up the papers and tosses them into the fireplace. With a sigh Khalid gets up to start dressing. Since the agency could not figure out the target's type , khalid and kabir both decided to approach the man and moving the plan forward based on the results. Khalid dresses up in a tight fitting shirt with sleeves rolled upto his elbowes and the top 3 buttons unbuttoned. The pants hugged his legs in an almost uncomfortable way. Usually khalid did not prefer wearing such tights clothes and opted for more softer looser well worn cotton or fleece but the job required this.

He finishes off the outfit with some perfume and styles his hair so that it makes him look younger. He heads to the casino switching cabs twice so as to cover his tracks. On reaching the casino, Khalid scans the area to locate his superior. A flash of azure catches his eye and he notices Kabir in a striking blue suit was sitting on one of the plush sofa's with a glass of whiskey in his right hand. His attention was focused on the man sitting opposite him, their target. Arfik Shah was often classified as a lady killer with his blonde hair and striking eyes. The man was born as son to a Arab father and a German Supermodal mother. He casually walks by them on his way to the nearest bar, he feels a set of eyes following him and assumed that his superior had noted his arrival. Khalid takes a seat at the barstool and orders a non alcoholic daiquiri. He vaguely notes a movement on his right side and decides to ignore whichever gentleman or lady had decided to take a seat beside him. He was startled however when the stranger lets out a husky chuckle

'Ignoring me right after you flaunted that tight ass darling?'

Khalid twists his frame to come face to face with none other than Arfik Shah. The man was looking at khalid like he was a piece of meat

'you know usually I like guys who play a little hard to get but tonight? i think i just want a pliant little puppy'

Khalid blushes a little at the implication. The man seems to take that as a positive sign and places a hand on Khalid's thigh.

How about we get out of here. I've got a room on the 12th floor. We could go and have some 'fun'.

The last part is whispered into Khalid's ear and punctuated with a lick to the shell of his ear.He can smell the man's deep expensive cologne as he leans over, Khalid shakes out a small nod and the man shoots him a dazzling grin. They move towards the elevator, the man guides him using a hand on the small of his back. The elevator for VIPs is empty. The man slides the hand on the small of Khalid's waist upwards until he reaches his neck. He uses the grip to twist Khalid's face towards his and kisses him passionately. Khalid jerks in surprise but the man just chuckles at that and moves his lips onto Khalid's neck sucking a bruise under the strong jaw bones. Khalid didn't know how long he could do this before the game was up. He prayed to God that the major would be waiting for them and this whole matter would end within the next 15 minutes. The plan was that whoever would get chosen would distract the target while the other sneaked into the apartment and awaited them.

They reach the apartment and the man shoves him in before closing the door behind him. The man shucks off his jacket and grabs onto Khalid's waist with a bruising grip.

I want that pretty ass naked and presented on my bed within the next 5 minutes.

Khalid cursed internally. He tried to stall. He pretended like he was having difficulty in removing the buttons to his shirt however the target was having none of it. Khalid was manhandled onto the bed and Arfik loomed over him.

Need some help with your clothes baby?

And proceeded to tear the shirt. Buttons flew in every direction. The next thing Khalid sees is Kabir appearing beside Arfik and holding a cloth over his nose. Arfik struggles but his strength is no match for the trained agent. Kabir pushes Arfik to the ground and signals Khalid to help . Khalid quickly moves over helps Kabir to lock the flailing man's limbs. Within the next 5 minutes, the man had gone still. Kabir uses a gloved hand to check the pulse and gives a small nod towards Khalid.

The cloth contained higly concentrated mango essence . The Intelligence planned to stage this as a hotel mishap rather than an assassination.

The two agents start moving to make the crime scene clean. They remove the buttons and move the victim onto the bed. They light a candle with mango essence as an ingredient to cover their tracks. At 11 pm, both agents have exited the building through different exits. They had already checked out of their previous hotels to ensure security. The plan was for them to rent a hotel in the outskirts of the city together until the flight scheduled to take them back to India landed.

Pt 2 will be up soon haha

#hrithik roshan #kabir x khalid #khalbir #khalid rahmani #tiger shroff #war 2019 #possesivekabir #theyweregayyourhonour

[puffpasstea]

hiii I love all your writing! it really makes me feel some type of way 💖🥲 I was wondering if you would be willing to write something about y/n feeling like her friends are using her (to get to harry, $$$, or for clout) and Harry is comforting y/n. Or something like y/n feels left out at a Hollywood party with all of Harry’s friends?

im going thru a rough time with my friendships and kind of feeling lonely. no pressure though 💖 thank you for being a source of joy during this time 🥺🫶🏻

Hi babes! Thanks so much for your lovely message 🥰🥰 and I’m so sorry that you’re going through this. I’ve been where you are. It hurts no matter how you try to rationalize it. Please know that my inbox is always open if you need a friend, or just to vent. I hope this little one shot helps somehow. Let me know what you think! 💗

—

She plumped down on the barstool, tucked away in the shadowy corner of the room, letting her feet dangle and hover over the floor. Those heels were killing her. She glanced across the room, scanning the crowd of faces for Harry’s comforting eyes. He was standing in between Jeff and some really old guy in a suit, the grin on his face slowly growing until his dimples appeared. At this distance, she had no idea what he was actually saying, but she liked to imagine that he was telling a joke, judging by his face, that’s usually what he looks like when he’s laughing at his own joke before he’s even reached the punchline. She was glad to see that he was at least having fun. Because she’d be lying if she said that these kinds of events felt fun for her.

Tagging along to these parties increased her sad and admiration for Harry. It always made her proud to see him in “work mode.” This wasn’t even what he normally does for a living. Giant parties like these were usually hosted by the record label, designed to make really rich, really old people feels important enough and respected enough to convince them to invest their buckets of money into musicians’ tours. Someone needed to pay the insurance companies, purchase the bands’ equipment, pay the crew, and fund the millions of things -big and small- that went into carrying out an entire tour. Learning this gave her a better understanding of why, to make it in an industry like this, you need more than just a pretty voice and a little bit of hard work. But as proud as she was of Harry, she couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in moments like this.

Harry always wanted her to feel included, so he would keep his arm hooked into hers, introduce her to his team and investors, and whisper any background information into her ear to catch her up to speed. She loved witnessing first-hand how he was good at remembering a CEO’s 4-year-old daughter’s favorite cartoon, or how he complimented an ancient rich lady on her brooch. She found his ability to make everyone feel important to him weirdly attractive. But, when Harry and his friends would so quickly fall in and out of industry talk, making inside jokes or using technically lingo, she often found herself feeling weird. Like she was an anchor weighing him down. His constant need to keep an arm around her waist, or to explain a joke to her, or rephrase something in a way that she would understand, it made her wonder if he wouldn’t be more present in the moment if she wasn’t trailing behind him, so she found a quiet place to sit and admire him from a distance, hoping he’d be too engrossed in his friends’ conversations to notice her absence.

She pulled out her phone to check the time. It was almost midnight. She could pass the time by scrolling through her phone, but it would honestly just make her more miserable. Scrolling through Instagram posts of people that felt so far away would just hurt.

Perhaps this whole thing wouldn’t be on her mind if things in her own friendship were different. The truth was that some of her most important relationships have felt nonexistent lately. Which made her more conscious of how she related to people. Often even wondering if she had some invisible flaw that she’s failing to see, or if she was too stubborn to realize that she was unintentionally pushing people away. It felt like her relationship with Harry had altered the way that people saw her. Friends that she had had for quite sometime, and honestly thought would hold on to forever, were now gone without a real explanation. It was like they’d decided on her behalf that she no longer needed them. They began acting different around her, gradually growing colder and more indifferent. It was difficult to come to the realization that, if they would treat her this way, maybe they weren’t really friends in the first place. Maybe they only liked having her around to make them feel better about themselves and seeing her happy, successful, and in a relationship with someone like Harry was doing the exact opposite of making them feel good. So, they no longer had any use for her.

She felt a lump form in her throat. At least ending friendships in this way was better than the opposite. The people who’d never actually liked her, never treated her with any respect at all, and never bothered to hide their feelings about her suddenly “reconnecting” with her because they found out who her boyfriend is. How did things get so fucked up and why hadn’t she noticed until it was too late?

“There you are!” The feeling of Harry’s soft lips kissing her cheek yanked her out of her spiral. “How’re you, darlin’?” He smiled, grabbing the stool next to her and ordering a drink. He still had a smile on his face and seemed to be giggling to himself.

The look he was giving her forced her to smile back. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, it’s- it’s nothing Mitch was just telling a funny story over there.” Harry chuckled at the memory of the encounter. “Anyway, where’d you run off to? I looked behind me and you’d vanished.”

She waited for a moment, considering just telling him the truth but she didn’t want to burden him. He was clearly having a good time. And he’d earned it. He’d been working so hard lately; a night out with his favorite people is what he needs. Besides, she liked that Harry felt comfortable enough to introduce her to his friends and bring her to industry events. She didn’t want to make him feel bad about it.

“N-nowhere, I- my heels are just too much. Probably should’ve worn a different shoe tonight.”

Harry’s brows furrowed. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby. Wanna go home?”

“Oh- no, no. Don’t worry about me. I’m good just staying right here. You go, have fun.”

Harry wasn’t having it. She should’ve expected it. He wasn’t the kind of person to just abandon her after she’d admitted to being in pain. Instead of going back out there, he brought the party over to her. Within minutes, Mitch, Sarah, Pauli, some assistants from the wardrobe department and a few drum techs were gathered around her previously private corner. They’d ordered some appetizers and sat around telling stories from past tours, making plans to visit the landmarks and hidden gems of certain cities they were touring, and recalling the time someone had intentionally re-tuned Mitch’s guitar and fucked up his string-matching.

For the whole night, Harry’s hands were on her thigh, glancing at her in between conversations and casually kissing the top of her head. She felt selfish for not having fun. After all he does for her, and after he’s forced everyone to hang out at the bar so she can be included. She still felt like an outsider looking in. What the hell was wrong with her?

The ride home was quiet. Harry asked her if she wanted to take her shoes off and stretch her legs but she’d just hummed a quiet “no,” looking out the window of the passengers seat to avoid his eyes.

She stood in the bathroom, getting ready for bed and trying to shake the feeling of intense isolation that had clung to her. She wished she could wipe it off the way she’d just wiped off her makeup. Maybe if she just went to bed and started fresh tomorrow?

Harry called her name “come over here and give me a cuddle alreadyyyy.”

She made her way to the bed where he’d been plopped, reading a book as he waited for her. The goofy smile on his face disappeared as soon as he saw her. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“N-nothing.” Her voice betrayed her, already breaking. It’s just that the softness of Harry’s voice and the concern in his eyes threw her off. The tears that she’d been pushing away all night were now stinging the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Not nothing.” Harry asserted, reaching for the side of her hip and gesturing for her to come closer.

“It’s dumb. Please just forget it, Harry.” She pressed her palms to her eyes, wiping the tears away.

“It’s not dumb if it’s got you this upset, honey.”

“I- I just wish-“

Harry said nothing, his eyebrows shoot upward.

“I wish I wasn’t so lonely all the time.”

Harry felt his heart split in half at her words and the simplicity with which she’d said them. He wondered how long she’d felt this way. If the feeling just rolled off her tongue like that, it had to have been sitting in the pit of her stomach for a while.

“Lonely?” Was all he could say.

She just nodded, tears now unashamedly rolling down her face.

Harry was now replaying all the conversations that he’d had in the past few weeks where she seemed to jokingly suggest that she was fundamentally in likable, or that she was too rough around the edges for friends to want her around, or that she hated people so much that she hardly left the apartment anymore. How could he have been so blind? He knew her well enough to know that when she made self-deprecating jokes like this, it was usually because she believed them to be, at least partly, true.

“W-why?” He cleared his throat, hoping to sound more like an adult. “What’s made you feel so alone?”

She shrugged, finally pulling her hands away from her face and shifting nervously on top of the duvet. “Just don’t have any friends anymore, Harry.”

“What do you mean? You’ve got plenty of friends!”

“Name one.”

Harry wracked his brain. “Well there’s Je- okay, fine? What about Sa-“ he was stumped. Every name that came to his mind was a friend of his that had, by extension, gotten to know her through their relationship.

She could see the wheels turning in his head. “Exactly.” She huffed.

“Well, what about people at work? That nice lady, Melanie? You seem to get on really well. And, besides, you can share my friends!”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I don’t know people. But those superficial relationships only make me feel worse. They just remind me of the connections that I’ve lost. I don’t- Harry, I don’t wanna have perfectly mundane conversations about the weather, or what I did over the weekend. That’s not what I mean. I just- I miss the kind of connection where you could text someone your random and extremely niche take on a specific topic that only you care about. Or call someone cuz you’re bored and want company. Or make spur of the moment plans. Or vent to without worrying if they’re secretly judging you for talking too much. You know? The kinds of things that you can just build overnight.”

“Intimacy.” He said simply.

“Yeah…”

Harry said nothing. He pulled her into his side, letting her lay her head on his shoulder and blink her tears away as he squeezed her shoulder.

“I’ll be your friend!” He said suddenly breaking the heavy silence.

She laughed, the chuckled disrupting her sobs. “Thanks, but, I think I like what we are.”

“No, I mean, like, sometimes you date someone but you can’t really talk to them about stuff. You know? I’m saying you can talk to me.”

“I just- I don’t know why it’s so hard for me.”

“Baby, it’s not your fau-“

“Don’t! Don’t say it, okay?”

“But you know it’s true.”

“It makes me feel like a bad person to just say that they’re dumb for not wanting to stay friends. Somehow I’m the perfect Angel and everyone else is wrong for leaving me.”

Harry said nothing for a moment. He could tell she firmly believed that and convincing her wasn’t going to be simple. Plus, he didn’t want to interrupt her as she finally let things off her chest. After he was sure she was done speaking, he started again.

“I’m not saying you’re perfect. Nobody is. We all have our flaws. But people who really care about you wouldn’t give up on you when things get difficult. Friendships only work if both people are invested.”

“What if- What if I’m just not good at this? What if people leave me because I’m not a good friend?”

“Bullshit.”

“Harry! I’m serious.”

“So am I! You care, and you’re so kind. And you’re fun and gracious and-“

“Then why am I so alone??”

Harry kissed the side of her head gently.

“I get what you mean.”

“No you don’t. You’re surrounded by people who love you all day everyday.”

“Yeah, but that hasn’t always been the case. I felt really lost and alone for years before all this happened. You know? After the band and all?”

“Hmm”

“It was hard.”

She just nodded silently listening to, taking his words in, letting the sound of his voice comfort her.

“Just can’t change who you are to make people want to stick around. You’ll lose sight of what matters to you. Even though it hurts to let people go.”

“It does.”

“I know baby.” He nuzzled his nose into her neck. “But you’ll meet the right friends eventually. Ones who won’t take advantage, won’t be threatened by your light and love.”

“I hope I do. This is exhausting.”

“Let me help. Hmm?”

She finally turned to face him, locking her lips into his, causing him to hum into her mouth.

“You always do, Harry. Everyday.”

#harry styles one shot #harry styles #ask #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x y/n

[showerthoughtsonly]

Sweet and Shy

reader x Fives

summary: You tend to lean more to the shy side and avoid crowded bars like the plague. Unfortunately, your friend drags you out one night and you’re not exactly having the best night. At least until a certain someone locks eyes with you. 

A/N: Enjoy pls, this was written in a half asleep haze. I myself tend to move away from any kind of attention, so miss/mr/mx reader acts quite a bit like that. Smooches xx

“I thought you said this bar isn’t normally too busy!” You yelled over the thrumming bass to your friend, who was leading you via hand through a thick throng of outfitted soldiers and a truly impressive assortment of species. Leila looked back, the most exuberant grin on her face.

“I said normally! A couple of battalions just rolled in apparently!” She shouted back over the din of the bar. It was your first time out in a long time and your brain was effectively in the middle of overheating. You zeroed in on the indigo flush settling in on Leila’s cheeks and squeezed her hand, trusting her implicitly to bring you to the bar for a much needed drink.

Soon enough, Leila sat you down in a barstool and clapped her hands over your shoulders protectively. Fingers squeezed down on your skin, grounding you in the moment as you flagged down the busy looking bartender, a surprisingly calm looking zabrak male in a black tank top that displayed a rather impressive set of arms.

“Can we get a Corellian run-rum and a Tatooine sunset? Thank you.” Leila called over your head at the bartender. He gave her a crisp nod and a charming smile before turning back to the group of clones he had already been attending to.

A sudden commotion drew your gaze down to the other side of the bar. People shouted and laughed as a handful of soldiers in blue detailed armor clambered on top of the bar, dancing clumsily to the song playing. You glanced back to the bartender, fully expecting him to do something, but he only sighed and shook his head.

“You boys better not shatter any glassware! Or kick anyone in the nose!” He warned loudly, but stepped back slightly to get started on the drinks you had ordered.

“Roger that, barkeep!” One of the men with a republic cog covering about half of his head nodded with an exhilarated laugh. His brother to the side, a small 5 tattoo printed on the side of his forehead, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and brought him in tight with a clash of armor.

“Join us, Echo! C’mon vod!” He shouted. You glanced back to see one face in the sea of near identical people shaking vigorously.

“The Captain’s gonna be here any second, Fives. I don’t wanna be stuck washing refreshers for the next two weeks.” Echo shouted back. Fives just laughed and pumped his fist a bit harder to the music.

The sight of the handful of soldiers dancing so cheerfully on the elevated surface brought a slight smile to your face. It looked like they were having a lot of fun, equally getting themselves and their audience riled up.

“Here’s your drinks, enjoy, ladies!” The bartender slid the drinks down the counter with a mild mannered shout. Leila snatched her drink from the counter before you even raised your hand and leaned an affectionate head atop yours.

“I’m gonna go find someone to dance with real quick. You gonna be good here?” She asked sweetly. You glanced back to give her a grin and quick nod. She had been talking about letting loose all week, so you were happy to just hang out and be toted around as needed.

“Thanks, sweets.” Leila said and gave your shoulder one last quick squeeze before leaving your side. You smiled down in your glass, the drink was even better than you had expected from a bar funded by the government.

When you looked back up you made eye contact with one of the soldiers, the loud one with the five tattoo. He froze. You froze.

His mouth hung open just the slightest bit as he held eye contact, a faint blush welling up. He was looking at you like you were the only person in the room, like you held the world and its adjacent solar system before him. The look was so intense that you just had to break it to glance behind you, just to make sure it was aimed towards you.

When you turned back, the handsome soldier was scrambling. Feet shuffling across a sticky bartop, accidentally spilling a glass cup of maker-knows-what, and he stood crouched before you in seconds.

He, Fives, you think his friend called him, extended his hand to rest about an inch from your’s invitingly. “Come up here and dance with me? Please?” He begged.

Your mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Eyes bored into your body, everything felt a bit too hot, a bit too loud, your face felt like it was on fire, and he was… he looked so expectant, a bit too happy to be so close to you.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” Fives prompted. He was magnetic, his eyes charismatic and face gorgeous and voice charming. The sudden hoots and hollers of his brothers broke the trance that he had over you.

“Oooo, Fives! You found a special lady already?!” The one with bright stripes of blue tattooed across his face and head put his hands on his knees and batted his eyelashes.

“Shut up, Hardcase!” Fives shouted back quickly. He looked back at you, pretty brown eyes hopeful and… and, it was just too much, too quickly.

“I’m really sorry, I have to go find my friend. Um, thank you, uh… Fives.” His name rolled off your tongue easily. You ignored the slight hurt that crossed his face and turned, diving back into the crowd to go find Leila. People bumped at your shoulders and nearly tripped you as you pushed through.

Maybe you could convince Leila to ditch the bar and find a quieter one somewhere else. Bars and clubs practically dotted the neighborhood. One of them had to be a bit quieter, a bit easier to manage.

“Sweets!” You barely caught Leila’s voice over the crowd. She was perched in a round booth, soldiers and a few others piled in jovially. Well, more accurately, she was perched in a soldier’s lap, patting the seat next to her as an invitation. You weren’t leaving anytime soon.

You glanced back at the bar. Fives was back to dancing with his brothers, movements a bit jerkier and smile a bit less bright. Somehow, he managed to feel your eyes on him and clocked you near instantly. He gave a small wave before turning back to Hardcase and taking a drink from him for himself.

“Oh my gosh, who was that?” Leila asked as you sat down next to her. She wound an arm around yours, leaning halfway out of the lap she was sitting on in favor of smothering you with affection.

“I don’t know. Some trooper named, uh, Fives?” You asked, looking towards the soldiers around you for confirmation. The one sitting across from you nodded, extending his hand for a shake.  

“That he is. M’ names Boost. That guy with his eyes on you on the bar is ARC trooper Fives.” He explained. His grip was firm, tight. Boost grinned at your bewilderment.

“ARC trooper?” You asked, looking back at the bar. Most of them were still decked out in what you could only assume was full armor. Fives had extra plating on his shoulders and a little skirt looking piece of armor covering his thighs. You had to admit to yourself, he looked damn good with them on.

“Crazy sons of bitches. Earlier on in the war, they kept ‘em in stasis pods between missions. They claim it’s because they were so unruly, but I think the Kaminoans were just scared of ‘em.” The man that Leila had claimed as a seat spoke up. He had crisp, white hair and had a set of moony eyes whenever he glanced over to your friends. The kind of moon eyes that don’t just happen in one night.

You sent her a look and she grinned cheekily, leaning back to press an affectionate smooch to his cheek. Cute as it was, the sinking feeling of loneliness crept up.

“Oh, that’s awful! You were never in stasis, right, Sinker?” Leila cooed up at her partner. He shook his head as a negative, but dipped his head down to her shoulder and cuddled up closer.

“Nope. M’ just a regular old Sergeant. But, uh, Leila’s friend, Sweets? Your lover boy is coming on over now.” Boost warned you with a nod to the crowd. Sure enough, Fives was shouldering through the crowd, having much less difficulty than you had earlier with his wide shoulders and armor that people parted for.

“You got a nickname now, that means they like you.” Leila whispered to you, though it came out as more of a whisper scream. “Go have some fun, they’ll watch over you if things go south.”

“We will. Fives is a good man, though. Let yourself get a little bit loose.” Sinker said. You didn’t miss the slight implication that Leila had told him about you before.

You sent the both of them a rather sour look and turned to check on Fives’ progress with the crowd, but he was already in front of you. He gave you a little grin and bent closer to you to talk over the music. Involuntarily, you leaned forward, drawn in by his magnetic presence.

“Sorry, you looked a bit uncomfortable back there and I just wanted to check in and apologize if I made you feel like that.” He explained. Fives’ face was closer to your’s than you had expected it to be. The proximity had your heart racing. It was hard to gather your words.

“You didn’t. I’m just not a fan of dancing on top of crowded bars.” You said. There was a brief pause between the two of you. Fives just stared at you, apparently at a loss for words. He shifted a bit closer and you scooched back, butt hitting Sinker’s armor and back hitting Leila’s front.

Leila shoved you forward, straight into him, the traitor. Warm hands encompassed your shoulders and eased you back into the sticky barseat. Your heart skipped a beat at the ease of which you had been manhandled into sitting back down.

“So what’s your name?” Fives asked sweetly, hands lingering on your shoulders before brushing down, down to your hands. Calloused fingers slid between your own and you froze yet again. You couldn’t help it. At his attention, your mind just blue screened.

“Her name’s Sweets!” Sinker butted in. You shot him a dirty look.

“Sweets, really? Suits your sweet face a little too well.” Fives said smoothly. A thumb pressed into your chin and a warm palm cupped your cheek to bring your attention back to him. You just blinked and gave him a little shy smile. His little switches between flabbergasted and sauve dominance? Maker, you were into it.

“Well, you’re gonna have to earn her real name.” Leila interrupted as well, hands coming up to prod at your back lightly.

“Well then, Sweets. Are you a fan of dancing not on bar tops?” Fives gave your hand a little light tug. You allowed yourself to be whisked up and into his arms. He smoothly spun you around, pressing your back to his armored chest and switching his grip so his hand held the back of your’s.

“I’m a fan of it if I have the right partner.” You said. Your hand found his free one and you smoothly guided it to hold onto your hip. The resulting chuckle vibrated pleasantly against your back and he used his grip to sway your hips side to side, in tandem with his and the music thumping through the bar.

“Well, I’d love to serve as that right partner. I’ll return her back to you unharmed, eventually. Thanks for lending out one of your girls, Wolfpack.” Fives used your intertwined hand to wave back at them before guiding you down to the floor once more.

“Wolfpack?” You asked.

“The guys up there. The ones you were hanging out with. Their Commander’s name is Wolffe, so it just kinda stuck.” Fives explained. You scrunched your nose.

“I’m not one of their girls!” You shouted over the music. Fives gave you another infuriatingly attractive laugh and shook his head. He used your hand for one last spin before bringing you in tight, chest to your back. Even with the armor, he was a warm wall of comfort against your back.

“But you are! Sinker’s dating Leila and you’re Leila’s friend, AKA now in their pack. All you need to do is look slightly uncomfortable and I’ll probably get blocked by a wall of unhappy 104th armor.” He explained, warm hands tracing up your arms, head resting on your shoulder. You were facing the booth now and he gave them a little wave, one returned a bit too enthusiastically by Leila. Goosebumps followed his touch and you eagerly leaned back into his embrace, swaying side to side sensually.

There was a moment of silence as you processed the idea of having what was essentially a pack of people akin to overprotective older brothers now watching your every move. Fives gave another little laugh and slipped his fingers through yours once more, leading you into a graceful spin.

Now chest to chest with him, it took your brain a couple of seconds to catch up with what you wanted to say. “They really just adopt people like that?”

“It’s in our DNA.” Fives joked. His hand still holding yours tugged lightly and slid it up his chest before leaving it on the back of his neck. That hand slid back down to squeeze at your waist. You couldn’t think of what to say next, not with him looking at you like he was, so you folded your head against his chest. Grounding yourself by winding your fingers in his curly hair and slowly stroking, you giggled.

“It’s in your DNA to adopt people?”You asked. Fives tugged you just a little bit tighter in and rested his head above yours.

“Yeah. I see gorgeous girls sitting alone at a bar and am struck with the urge to adopt her as a lover.” He said smoothly. You couldn’t help it, you laughed. He probably didn’t intend for that pickup line to be a joke, but it didn’t seem to faze him.

“That was horrible.” You giggled into his armor.

“That was fantastic. Have you ever tried to freestyle flirt?” Fives asked. You risked looking up to see his face. He was smiling down at you. Kriff, kriff, kriff, you were so gone. You could physically feel your careful control slipping like sand through your fingers.

“I can’t say I have. I uh… I don’t. Yeah.” You solidified. Trying not to swoon over him should be considered an Olympic sport.

“Hey now, you’re not getting all shy on me again, right?” Fives’ warm hand smoothed up and down your back soothingly. Your mind sputtered your a stop, trying to come up with a viable answer.

“I’m allowed to be shy!”

“Of course you are. It’s pretty damn cute, actually. Just wanna make sure you’re not gonna run out on me again… and that you’re not uncomfortable?” Fives said and paused the dance to bring you away and look at you firmly in the eyes.

You shook your head, your body already longing to slip back into his yet again. “Not gonna run away again, not uncomfortable. I just… I don’t normally seek out any romantic attention.”

“Oh!” Fives looked a bit surprised as his thumbs slowly rubbed against your knuckles. “Is this… okay? Do you wanna make this more platonic? I don’t wanna…” it was his time to trail off and glance to the side in an embarrassed manner.

“Don’t wanna?” You prompted.

“I don’t want to lose you. It’s really stupid, but I feel really connected to you. I really like you.” As clichéd as his words were, they really stirred something. You took a chance and stepped back into his personal space and took your intertwined hands to guide his around your waist.

Sliding your hands up, you mapped out his firm chest, moving up, up, to brush his cheeks with your palms. You tugged lightly, bringing his face a bit more level with yours.

“I’d love to keep this romantic. I really like you too. You look at me like I’m the only person in this room. You chased after me even though your buddies are still table dancing and you have more than respected my boundaries so far. And you’re really, really kriffing handsome.” You breathed, bringing his face closer so you could press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

When you leaned back you had to resist the urge to giggle. His face was beyond flushed, eyes wide and mouth ever so slightly open. It took a second or two, but he came back around to you, slowly bringing you in another embrace.

Swaying softly to the beat, he leaned down and pressed a similar kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Does this mean I get your comm number?” Stars, his boyish grin was back.

“Of course you get my comm number.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @sugarpuffsstuff​ @quietplaceinthestars @misogirl828​ @rain-on-kamino​

#fives #fives x reader #rowdy 501st as usual #clone wars #star wars #sw fics #skittish!reader #arc trooper fives

[bitchinbarzal]

Not barstool being the ones to fund the rest of Michigan’s women’s team bills… c’mon Umich do better this is embarrassing

[laxcoleccion]

motorcycle diaries.

closed starter for @jcnkyard in response to wanted plot (ft. apollo).

i’ve lost track of how many miles it’s been since rubber first met asphalt. 

i  know this though—it hasn’t been long enough to erase the laughs of momma’s newest boyfriend.

︽ ︽ ︽

there are tears in his eyes as he flips through my drawings. they’re both high, no surprise that after twenty-one years my mother’s taste in men has all but dwindled, sunken to the pits; anything for a hit. 

“you ain’t gonna amount to shit with this, why don’t ya join y’er mom down in the club? i know the feller’s will treat you nice…”

mom’s eyes flash with anger, not at his comments but at me; the little bitch who stole her youth, and if I retort and fail to keep my mouth shut, I’ll fuck up her plug and then nobody wins. i ignore him, fingernails tearing through toughened barrier to draw crescents of blood. they’ll be gone soon enough. 

like clockwork, they disappear into the only bedroom of the trailer, but stupidly her newest companion leaves the keys to his chopper next to my mangled book. i pick up the ripped drawing, finding it ironic that he tore the one of my mother; she was sober in this one, a posed memory I had of her, retelling me about her life in france. before my father, before her fuckup—me. 

it’s not the first time the thought has crossed my mind, to just leave this shit behind, but it had never been so tangible before, dropped right into my hands. i look both directions, as if someone were watching me and would jump out to my surprise. no one does, and for once i decide…stop being the scared little girl you hate being; be the woman you always shout to be. i grab my bag off the floor, an old leather backpack thrifted from the rich kids on the outskirts of my town.

i snatch his keys, and i see his leather jacket hanging off the broken barstool we’ve fixed eight times now. i search the pockets for my new belongings: a pack of cigs, a wallet filled with receipts, his ID, cards, and 200 dollars cash. i know that if i look in the interior hidden walls of the jacket I’ll find a small stash of powdery serotonin—a save for a time when I’ll need it later. i keep the paper funds and toss his wallet aside—mom’s gonna have to pay for this debt. i decide i like the jacket because it matches my bag and take it too. 

I know I’m heading west—like those cowboys looking for land and whatever trouble that would follow. 

i sneak out the door, careful to not let the screen slam behind me as it usually does, and find my newest ride. i know he probably stole this shit too, and so I decide my new name is karma and to be that bitch. 

︾ ︾ ︾

i’ve driven out of the state, this much i know from the welcoming signs and for an upcoming rest stop. i know they won’t come this far, both because this motorcycle was already stolen and the hassle to reclaim it wouldn’t be worth it, and second because by now the weariness of their killed high has settled and they’re fixing for another hit. 

i think about rest, my eyes weary from the long journey but settle on another few hours before finding a place to lay my head … that was until halfway through my unknown destination I see the smoke of a car, and curiosity beats my will to drive past and abandon the figure.  

i brake my cycle in front of him, jade optics scanning over him. he didn’t look much older than me. a foot falls on ground, and i nod my head towards the vehicle. “is it fixable?” i ask him, deciding in that moment to engage with the stranger; perhaps he’d have an idea of where a decent meal existed nearby in exchange for a ride; besides — i had nothing better to do and absolutely no fuckin’ clue where to go next. 

this was life waiting to happen. 

#〈le créaтιғ.ᐟ: 𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙞〉 #thread: motorcycle diaries. #independent rp

[svmhvin]

𝚏𝚘𝚛: @hamartialed

𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: some expensive restaurant

HER SENSES ARE HONED LIKE A PANTHER'S IN THE WILD. growing up in the city has given her a wariness and a constant unease in the world. she thinks of the pistol tucked neatly into her drawer or the mace in her bag and she will wonder later after all this is over why she didn't realize she was being tricked earlier. in the furthest corner of the upscale restaurant flush with trust fund kids and wall street bros she checks her phone for the third time in thirty minutes. her dates aren't usually late, too concerned with falling all over themselves for a real life escort or so nervous they're sitting straight-laced in the their boots and barstools and hour before she even deigns to call an uber. annoyance pricks her features as warm yellow candlelight illuminates her face in a dewy glow. she's beginning to fasten the silver hooks of her clutch when he finally does appear, gloweringly tall and stone-faced. she stands melting into that malleable thing she must become. a woman made of water and oil beckoning you to come try just a taste for a price. she kisses his cheek genteel and lovely and smiles. "you must be dante. i'm heart. i'm glad you're handsome enough to forgive your tardiness."

#heart / threads. #h. srisevok. / d. arkin.

[secretsfromthegirlnextdoor]

Pairing: JJ Maybank x female!OC

Part: 6/??

Series Masterlist

Sam turned around to watch JJ tiptoe gently through the door. He placed his feet so deliberately she wondered how often he was required to practice such silent exits and entrances. Just when she thought he was finished, he caught the toe of his boot on the threshold and tripped, slamming his whole body into the wall and allowing the screen door to slam shut behind him.

She let out a small laugh as JJ fell to the floor, eyes and nose scrunched with his teeth clenched as he waited for a scolding that wouldn’t come.

“JJ, I said you could come in, it’s fine”

“But you just said your mom is home!” He said in a strained whisper “and here you are sneaking me in and not being very sneaky!!”

She leaned down to grab his hands and pull him up off the floor “we don’t have to sneak, she’s asleep, she defintely didn’t hear any of whatever…that was ”

Sam dropped his hands and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pawing around for something to eat. JJ gave her a questioning look, “asleep? It’s ten am on a weekday.. does she work the night shift?”

The girl shook her head no as she peered into the fridge, still biting her bottom lip between her front teeth and allowing the cold air to pour out and cool her face. “Is she like a nurse or something? Does she work a weird schedule?” JJ asked

Again, Sam shook her head, turning towards JJ and shutting the refrigerator door “she doesn’t work, kinda hard to keep a job when you don’t get out of bed”

JJ eyed her quizzically, “then how..” he looked around the small house, it had nearly the same layout as the Chateau, but that’s where the comparisons stopped. It was clean and actually pretty nice, considering its location on the south side. Not a book on the shelves was out of place, not a speck of dust on the tables or furniture. The only houses this clean he’d ever seen were on Figure Eight, and they had housekeepers.

“She gets alimony and child support from my dad, apparently that wasn’t enough though” she said matter of factly, referring to her mom's draining of her college fund. She reached into the basket on the counter and pulled out a peach, biting into it and making JJ’s eyes widen.

“Damn, that is some kook shit, alimony and child support? Fancy” he said as he spun around on a barstool, still surveying the space, “you sure she won’t wake up and get pissed at me for being here?”

Once again she shook her head, chewing the peach and swallowing, then wiping the juice away from her mouth with the back of her hand. She set the piece of fruit on the counter, wiping her hands on a rag and then opening her mouth to call out “MOM I'M HOME!”

“Sammie!!!” JJ hunched up and whispered aggressively.

She looked at him and rolled her eyes, shouting out again “MOMMA?! MOM!!”

JJ stared at her with wide eyes, he didn’t think he’d ever heard her speak so loudly or with such conviction.

“Hold on, hold on, let’s try one more,” she said, holding up a finger and walking past him to the short hallway where the bedrooms were located. JJ watched her take in a deep breath, then he nearly fell off of his stool when she started shrieking and screaming “MOM HELP ME!!! MOM HELP!!” It sounded like she was being murdered.

The boy jumped up from his seat, walking through the living room towards her, glancing out the windows towards the the house next door “your neighbors are probably calling the fucking police now, Sammie”

Sam turned around, red in the face from all the screaming and walked back to the kitchen nonchalantly, picking up her peach and licking the juices that were coming from the bite she had already taken “but she didn’t wake up, did she?”

JJ eyed the hallway where she had just been standing, there was no noise or movement. “Are you sure she’s…okay?” He danced around the idea that her mom could be dead in there if she didn’t hear the screams her daughter was letting out just seconds ago. He stooped down to pick up a Knick-knack that adorned the side table he was next to, turning it over in his hands.

“Don’t steal anything, please.” Sam said flatly, as JJ shot her an unamused glance “she’s fine, I’ll go in and check on her in a bit” she said and then took another bite of the peach and hopped up to sit on the counter. “I have a few chores to get done around here, and then what do you want to do today?”

JJ shrugged and replaced the little decorative item to its rightful place, “I dunno, up to you” he mumbled as he wandered further into the room, eyeing the books and photos displayed on the shelves and walls.

Sam huffed as she discarded what was left of her uneaten fruit into the trash and then got up “fine, well, make yourself comfortable, like I said I have a few things to do.”

“Where’s your room?” JJ blurted, dragging his eyes away from the family photos to meet her eyes with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

She scoffed and pointed at the hall, “on the right, weirdo” she said as she faced the kitchen sink and started the water. He ambled casually down the hall and stood in front of the door “don’t go through my drawers, Maybank!” Sam called from the kitchen.

She knew him too well. JJ chuckled and opened the door, setting his eyes on the room in front of him. It looked just like every other room of the house he’d seen, perfectly tidy, not a single item out of place. He didn’t know what he had imagined when he thought of Sammie’s room, but this was definitely hers.

JJ walked slowly through the door, almost tiptoeing as he had earlier when they came into the house. His eyes flicked over photos of the Pogues on the beach tacked on the wall, with old swimming ribbons and medals, photos of her marching band friends and magazine cutouts all over. He eyed the bed in the corner, smiling at the worn plush fish that he and Pope had fought to win at the carnival freshman year. The bed was perfectly made, and didn't look like it had ever been used.

He then ambled over to the desk on the opposite side of the room, eyeing the books she had stacked up on one side and the highlighted calendar hanging on the wall behind it. He looked at the dates she’d marked and the notes beside each one, “band camp” blocked out a whole section, nearly two weeks, “first day of school” was still a couple of months out, and “Pope’s birthday” shortly afterwards. JJ shook his head, God she's so organized. He didn’t even realize that Pope's birthday had coincided with the beginning of school, of course she’d have it highlighted on her calendar.

His eyes travelled down and looked over the little trinkets she kept on the work surface, various crystals that Kie had no doubt given her, notepads and pencils, shells and beach glass that she and John B were always picking up; And then JJ’s eyes fell on a basket of tiny bottles, each one differently colored and equally vibrant, and he couldn’t remember a single day he’d known Sam that she hadn’t worn nail polish. He eyed the bottles, digging through the basket until he found his favorite color, a nearly empty bottle of olive green. JJ rolled the bottle between his fingers for a split second and then deposited it in his pocket.

JJ didn’t know why he stole things like this, little things, inconsequential things. He just couldn’t help it. He knew John B called him a Klepto, and he wasn’t wrong, so he never said anything about it, just went on stealing whenever something caught his eye that he liked.

At the sound of footsteps coming towards the room, he whipped around, catching the sight of Sam gingerly opening the door to the room across the hall, carrying a glass of water and a plate. She shot him a look through the open door and then turned and made her way into the dark room.

Another thing he couldn’t help? His curiosity. JJ moved quietly to the door frame that Sam had just disappeared into, and peered in. Letting his eyes adjust, he clung to the door frame and craned his neck to see into the room in another vain attempt to be sneaky. As his eyes adjusted he started being able to make out shapes, piles of things scattered all over the dark room.

And then one shape that was moving, JJ could just make out that Sam was knelt next to the bed, whispering and stroking her mothers head as she laid motionless on the bed. “Hi momma, it’s me,” she said softly and sweetly.

“I brought you some water and a snack, whenever you’re hungry,” she whispered some more, standing up from her kneeling position, but still bent at the waist to be close to her mothers face, “I’m gonna go to Kie’s for a couple days, don’t worry about me, okay?” Sam leaned in even closer, placing a kiss on her mother’s head.

JJ took that moment to peel himself away from the door, scurrying to the living room and throwing himself down on the couch, even though he was sure Sam knew he was listening, he didn’t want to make it more obvious than it already was. She emerged from the room and pulled the door shut, carrying various cups, plates and mugs, then made her way past JJ and set them all in the sink. He sat quietly and watched her as she washed the dishes and placed them on a drying rack, grabbing a rag in her hands and wiping them dry.

“I just have to grab some clothes for the rest of the week and then we’ll get out of here, sound good?” Sam said in the same soft voice he’d heard minutes ago.

JJ nodded, pretending to be focused on the rings he wore on his fingers. “Yeah, whatever”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her sigh and shake her head, and then Sam moved towards the back hallway, opening up a closet to reveal a washer and dryer. She popped the dryer open and pulled out a pile of clothes, gathering them in her arms and bringing them back to her room. Again his curiosity got the better of him and he got up, following her into her own room this time.

“How long has she been like that?” JJ said as he stood against her door frame, watching her fold clothes and place them in the tote bag she carried whenever she stayed over with the Pogues

She replied without looking up “bout since my dad left, she never got over it”

JJ attempted to do the backwards math in his head, he remembered her mentioning her parents divorce back in middle school, sixth grade maybe? “Sammie…. It’s been years..”

Sam set down the dress she was trying to fold and looked at him right in the eyes “it’s fine JJ, just forget about it, please?”

“It’s not normal” JJ pleaded with her making his way into her room. “Shes depressed JJ, she’s not abusive, chill” Sam shot back.

“I guess…” JJ said, trailing off, then thinking better of it, “I mean isn’t neglect a kind of abuse?”

“Oh my God, I’m not abused JJ, this is nothing like the bruises you hide from your dad” as soon as the words were out of her mouth Sam wished she could reel them back in, stuff them back down, but it was too late.

JJ stared at her with wide eyes, she was the first one of his friends to actually bring it up and he wasn’t sure if he should feel angry or relieved. “I sleep next to you almost every night, I couldn’t help but put the pieces together, I’m sorry” she whispered as her eyes brushed the ground.

Before he could speak again she cut him off “none of our lives are normal, JJ. You know that better than anyone.” She was moving faster now, stuffing clean clothing into her bag “Your parents? John B’s? We’ve all had one parent leave, and one who had to pick up the pieces. Each one of our parents dropped the ball, and we’re the ones who have to just deal with it, right?!”

“Does anyone else know?” JJ asked

Another shake of her head, “but I think Pope is catching on, I’m running out of excuses for why she’s not around for school stuff”

JJ nodded, taking a seat in front of her on the bed with his hands in his lap “why didn’t you say anything before?” She looked at him and bit her lip, holding back tears as she tried to finish folding the last few items, “I don’t want anyone to worry about me, I can take care of myself, I’m fine” Sam insisted, though a few tears were breaking free, running down her cheeks before she could wipe them away.

JJ’s heart felt like it might explode out of his chest, he wanted so badly to reach up and wipe her tears away himself, but instead his hands clenched into fists, then relaxed, “hey” he whispered, “we’re good, right?” Sam nodded, sniffling and frantically trying to wipe away any evidence that she had been crying. “I know about your mom, you know about my dad, neither of us has to deal with it alone anymore, okay?” Again, Sam nodded in response, slinging her bag over her shoulder before wiping at her face one last time.

“Good!” JJ said as he jumped up, clapping his hands, earning a flinch from Sam “now, let’s go enjoy our fucking summer”

#jj maybank #jj obx fic #obx #obx fanfiction #obx season 1 #obx season two #outer banks #fanfic #jj obx #wattpad #jj x oc #original character #obx oc #john b routledge #johnb #kiara #kiara carrera #kie #pope heyward #pope

[simgrump]

Gen One, Day Fifty-Four

After Johnny went off to make sure that Charlie didn’t get sick off his large slice of cake, Eris’s phone buzzed. One look at the caller ID and she almost squealed in excitement on the barstool, quickly answering the phone. “Hey Tyson! Are you almost here?” 

“Look out the front door,” came Tyson’s voice over the line and she turned around on the stool, grinning as she saw him standing in the doorway. She laughed, hanging up and went bounding over to her friend, practically leaping into his arms for a hug. He laughed with her, swinging her around and greeting with a “Hey, sunshine.” 

“It’s so good to see you!” she proclaimed. It had been a few months and while there had been several phone calls here and there, they’d both been busy just trying to survive their new lives in high school. She’d been worried about going to a different school than Tyson. Worried that they wouldn’t retain their friendship. And while yes, it took some work to remember to call him to check in, she was willing to put that work in. “Nice jacket,” she teased slightly at the leathers he wore. 

Tyson snorted. “Rode my bike here.” She quirked her head to the side, but then went wide eyed as he turned and nodded towards a classic motorcycle parked out in the road.

Gasping, she moved past him to go and check it out. “This is yours?” she demanded, because it couldn’t have been cheap. He’d not mentioned anything about it on any of their phone calls and the large grin that spread across his face told her that had been on purpose. 

“Yeah. I... might have dipped into my college fund a little.” That had her stalling a little to look at him. He chuckled. “I’m not going to college. I’m going to join the Air Force. Already started talking to recruiters to do some sort of junior program so I’ll be ready when I’m 18.” 

Eris wasn’t sure she liked that plan. It meant they’d be even further apart as he served his military service and not to mention the inherent danger that he could put himself in. But she didn’t express any of that, a thought for another day, perhaps. She looked back at his new motorcycle. “When did you get so cool?” she joked. 

Legacy Page

#ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 legacy #simblr #sims 4 #rrl #rrl01 #rrl01w8 #rrl01d54 #eris #tyson

[mafiaxmalachi]

@tylerxdrake​

Three hours after getting in, and already Malachi felt content - he had already drained his balls twice, which was a good welcome to the new and improved Haus. He had to make a mental note to congratulate Thomas or Alex in person on their new acquiescence and inform them that if they needed an investor, they could strengthen the bond between their families even more by allowing him to be an investor. He’d just have to find a way to justify such an expense to his father, as he doubted that the man would be happy to hear that he was wanting to help fund a sex resort for gay men.

Still, though, with a smile pulling at his lips the crime boss made his way to one of the clubs at the resort and towards the bar where he saw a hot young bartender serving customers. “So, what’s a guy gotta do to get some attention from the hot piece of ass from behind the bar?” he asked, smirk pulling at his lips as he eyed the bartender and slid into one of the open barstools.

#tylerxdrake #malachi #malachi x tyler