#Shiv always peeking through

[waystarresourceco]

Mark Mylod on the Season 3 finale (x)

#forever in love with the various godfather parallels #also extra depressing given the funeral and the finale #Shiv always peeking through #locked outside the office waiting for the door to open #shiv roy #tom wambsgans #hbo succession #succession #mark mylod #tomshiv

[ichorai]

hell, yeah ; roman roy ; part five (m).

pairing ; roman roy x f!reader

synopsis ; pain was an old friend for the both of you.

words ; 10.9k

themes ; angst, fluff, drama, slowburn, smut, childhood friends to lovers

warnings / includes ; depictions of mental and physical abuse, mentions of death, a lot of sexual/suicidal jokes and general foul language, a lot of business talk, unprotected penetrative sex, roman’s implied demisexuality, dick pics and weddings

a/n ; and that's the end of s3!

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Roman had gotten into the habit of sending you pictures of his dick every now and then. Apparently, having sexual intercourse with Roman also entailed an afterparty consisting of dick pics and filthy messages. Not that you weren’t enjoying them, he really had a pretty cock—but you were growing increasingly paranoid that people, maybe hackers, maybe curious coworkers looking over your shoulder, were going to find out about the salacious pictures and texts he’d been sending you. And how bad would it look to have people find out your boss was sending you pictures of his penis? 

Maybe it was his way of getting you to stay. Really, it just translated to: Hey, look at my dick! Remember this? We fucked, do you remember that? Do you like it? Please tell me you like it.

You found it strangely endearing, in a way. A lot of emphasis on strange.

And now, as you were just settling into the lovely, spacious room in Italy for Caroline’s wedding, your phone buzzed in your pocket. 

Another dick pic. How lovely. You smiled down at your screen as you replied with:

looking great ro :)

A second later, you asked: you going down for welcome drinks?

Yup, he texted back. I’ll come by.

Not three minutes later, he swung your door open without bothering to knock, peeking his head through. He was dressed in rather casual attire for a wedding event—pale blue slacks, a white shirt, and an unbuttoned canary-hued top. 

“You dressing down as a way to tell your mom you don’t approve?” you queried as you smoothed down your own pantsuit, a soft shade of purple over a cream turtleneck. 

“Fuck you. You look great, by the way. Like a jizzed-up grape,” Roman snorted, linking your arm with his when you stepped out. “I need to talk to her about getting a prenup—this Munion character is a walking fucking sinkhole. Shiv is being an avoidant bitch about it.”

A hum fell from your lips as the two of you began making your way downstairs and out to the gardens, where the event was taking place. “Shiv’s always been more prickly when it comes to Caroline. It’s a warped mirror to her, you know?”

“She’s my mom, too. I get it,” Roman said with a shrug. He didn’t, not really.

The two of you spotted Caroline chatting with Peter, and you nudged Roman into their direction. After pleasant greetings were exchanged (well, less pleasant on Roman’s end), you excused yourself from the rather tense atmosphere to go walk around and grab a few drinks and bites of food. You knew Roman would be confronting Caroline on the prenup and his distaste for Peter, and you really didn’t want to be around for that hot mess.

Instead, you found yourself engaged in a lovely conversation with a pretty, raven-haired woman about the last book you’ve read, genuinely interested in what she had to say. The joy was short-lived, however, because Shiv stormed up to you, only barely apologizing to the woman before dragging you away.

“What? What’s going on?” you asked, incredulous. 

“Check Matsson’s Twitter. Jesus. What the fuck is going on, do you know? Is this a move of some sort?” 

Pulling out your phone, you quickly opened up his profile, reading the latest tweet. 

Going to Macau. Feeling lucky. 

You narrowed your eyes. Soon enough, Gerri and Roman appeared, the former looking apprehensive and the latter in more denial. 

“It could be nothing,” Roman said, which made Shiv narrow her eyes. “Fucking social media fireworks.”

“He’s always been one to tweet bullshit when he’s high off his ass,” you tried to reason, reading the five words over again. “Remember that time he said he was going to release his sex tape? That blew over in a few days.”

Clearing her throat, Gerri argued back, “Well, yeah, it could be bullshit. Or it could be him trying to up his price.”

“Is he just rocking the boat or is he trying to blow up the deal?” Shiv asked. 

From behind his wife, Tom chimed in, “Maybe he’s just going to Macau, and he just happens to feel lucky.”

Roman stepped away to leave Matsson a voice message, because none of his calls were going through. You sucked in a breath, wondering if you wasted an entire evening at Kendall’s disaster of a birthday party just for Matsson to fuck you over the ass. 

God, you hated him.

After sending a few messages, Roman popped up beside you. “I don’t know, he’s a fucking trickster. It’s nothing.”

“Mmkay, so is he going to steal our watches and saw the fucking deal in half?” Shiv deadpanned.

“Hm. Maybe,” Roman reluctantly drawled.

A frown pinched her lips thin. “You’re supposed to be inside this, Roman.”

“I am inside this. Leave it. Why don’t you go find someone else’s dick to tug on? Oh, sorry Tom, didn’t see you there.” 

They were bickering like children, as they often did. Tom blinked in mild confusion.

“Hey, okay, why don’t we get in contact with his PR team instead of him? They’re supposed to be working with us on this. None of this should be leaking onto personal accounts until the deal is met,” you calmly said. Gerri nodded, sending message after message to Karolina to get on their asses.

Though, it was far harder to stay calm when Kendall approached the group, face sullen, his phone held out to show Matsson’s twitter. To your surprise, his head was now shaven.

“Matsson going nut-nut, huh?” It was said as if it was supposed to be a joke, but his voice was monotonous, and his exterior cold. “Keep a hold of that shit, bro.”

“It’s all under control, motherfucker,” Roman hissed. “And where are you off to? Going to go score some junk in Naples?”

Kendall didn’t show any reaction to that. “No, just our mother throwing me out of her party.”

“Oh,” Roman replied. “Nice.”

“Where are my kids?” Kendall asked, before wandering off to go search for them.

Rolling his eyes, Rome snickered, “What a surprise—Ken doesn’t know where his kids are.”

“SEC is going to be all over this,” Gerri said, shaking her head. 

“Ooh, gummy love bite from the fucking toddlers. I’m so scared,” Roman scoffed. “I think he likes us, I do. I can feel it in my gut.”

Pulling a sour face, you told him, “I really don’t think we should be banking the future of the company on your gut, Rome.”

It was then that Matsson tweeted again. This time, it was just three emojis: a game controller, crossed fingers, and an eggplant.

“He’s fucking us,” you muttered, which made Roman’s head jerk in your direction. 

“Nah, come on. Don’t be so paranoid—we’re good. I think we’re good!” Roman insisted. 

Brows raised, Shiv asserted, “Yeah, well if he blows this deal, then who is left for us, exactly?”

Before Roman could reply, you all caught sight of Logan making his way through the crowd, Marcia hanging off one arm and Kerry trailing behind the two of them.

“Jesus. He really doesn’t give a single, solitary fuck, does he?” snickered Roman, gaze following after his dad.

Caroline wove through to stand in front of you and Shiv, inviting the two of you to the bachelorette party. Shiv fumbled with protests, but Roman had insisted she went. When Caroline looked to you expectantly, you nodded your head and told her you’d be there, but not without a reluctant glance in Roman’s direction, who rubbed your back in an almost consoling manner.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be spying on you guys with a pair of binoculars,” he leaned forward to whisper.

“Not creepy at all, Roman. You sure know how to charm me.”

Nearly an hour later, the bachelorette party set off a little ways away from the hotel. There were drinks, there was gossip, and there was laughter. By nightfall, the party began to fizzle away, and you were more than ready to head back to the hotel. Find Roman and rope him into sleeping next to you, like he often did.

Though, as you descended down the stairs of the building the bachelorette party was occupying, you weren’t all that surprised to see Roman leaning against the bannister, a rogue smile on his lips.

“Have fun up there?” 

“Mhm.” You kissed his cheek once, then another time for good measure. He smelled like limes and expensive cologne. You liked the limes more than the cologne.

“Not too much fun, I hope.”

You snorted. “Were you waiting for me here?”

“No, I just really like loitering around Italian streets at three in the morning.”

There was a warm sort of feeling simmering within your chest. “It’s only eleven o’clock, Roman.”

“Close enough.”

Roman rather liked the way your hair had gotten a little more tousled as the night passed on. You muffled a yawn, leaning against him as the two of you set off for the hotel.

“Matsson?” you asked tiredly, voice hoarse with overuse.

“He left me a message—said the tweets were just fucking around. You were right. As always. Lawyers gave him the spooks—he’s flying back to Switzerland.”

You hummed again, pleased. “Good. You did good, Roman.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you told him, soft. “And what about your dad? How’s he taking it?”

“Gerri says Dad thinks Matsson is trying to fuck him. I don’t know. He’s just gotta ride it out,” Roman said, shrugging. “They want me to go save the deal. Go see him.”

“You’re leaving me alone in Italy?” you crooned, laughing slightly. 

Without hesitation, Roman offered, “Come with me. Can get you away from Mumsie and her nosy little fingers.”

You pulled a wince. “Mmh, no thanks. Didn’t like the way Matsson eye-fucked me the entire time I sat near him at Kendall’s party. Don’t want a repeat of him getting distracted.”

“Good to know I didn’t just imagine that,” Roman murmured. His head drooped, hair dropping over his forehead.

There was a moment of silence, interrupted only by a few people passing by, cheering in broken Italian. Drunk party guests, you assumed.

“What’re you thinking? Like—is Matsson… is he good for us?” 

“No,” you said, much quicker than Roman had expected. “I don’t like him. He’s a flight risk. But he’s big—it would be a huge fucking deal acquiring GoJo. As in, change the company fundamentally, kind of a big deal. Could be good for the company in the long run, maybe. I don’t see us working well with Matsson, though.”

Roman studied your side profile, eyes roaming the bridge of your nose, your drooping eyelids, your parted lips. It was dark, but the moon’s glow seemed to light up the most beautiful parts of you. Or maybe it was just the Italian air. 

“Well, I guess we’re just gonna have to see.”

“Yeah.” You yawned again. 

“Okay, yeah, come on, sleepy. I don’t have the arm strength to carry you there.”

Matsson wanted a merger of equals. You should’ve guessed, with how he was talking at Kendall’s party, not wanting another man’s shadow looming over him. And… asking about Logan’s death.

“I hate that guy,” you mumbled to Roman as the two of you walked to the meeting room, where Logan had called for everyone to assemble. “The nerve of him…”

“I think it’s off the table but… Gerri’s pressuring me to push the deal forward. I’m already so stressed I’m jerking dust.” He rolled his shoulders and frowned. “Think Dad’s gonna eat it?”

You spared him an unsure glance. “I mean, what other choice does he have?”

With a heavy sigh, Roman swung open the glass door and the two of you filed into the meeting room. Logan waved for you to take a seat. Around the table was Gerri, Kerry, Shiv, and Tom—Karl and Frank were on call, displayed on a big screen TV. You sank down beside Gerri, with Roman across the table from you.

“Now, before we get the whole circus here, I wanna get a sense of what’s going on,” Logan announced. “Is he a Twitter panty-flasher? Or is he a serious person?”

“Uh, well, he is a serious person,” Roman said, which earned him a disbelieving scoff from Shiv. “But, Dad, he thinks there’s value that hasn’t been priced in yet. He’s gunning for a merger of equals. So I guess that kills it, right?”

“What? A merger of equals?” Shiv parroted, staring at her brother as if he’d grown a second head.

“Well, yeah. He’s got, like, twelve of the prime Asian sports leagues under GoJo’s belt, and he’s gonna fold it all into the platform. Live sports, games, betting—it’s a fucking growth bomb.”

Narrowing her eyes, Shiv hesitantly broached, “Okay, but… fifty-fifty board, all stocks? Dad, what, splits control?”

“Yes, Siobhan,” Roman exasperatedly said. “That’s what he wants.”

Everyone looked to Logan, who was silent for a few moments. There was a contemplative look to his gaze.

“But the guy isn’t a fuckhead?” he asked Roman.

“Oh, no. The tweeting was a move.”

Logan leaned forward, resting his large hands on the table. “He’s not some big baby who shits for clicks?”

“No, Dad. He’s, uh, he’s—I know people, Dad. I’m a fucking people sniffer.” 

Shiv was glaring at her brother, and you pursed your lips. 

“Because I can win any round with a boxer fuck, but I don’t know how to knock out a clown,” Logan deadpanned. 

“He’s not a clown, he’s a tough motherfucker,” Roman insisted. “It’s what you would’ve done, right? He just maximized his leverage.”

Still not happy with the whole ordeal, Shiv shook her head. “Yeah, but merger of equals? That sounds ridiculous!”

“No such thing,” Logan gruffed.

Tom, by his right, nodded in agreement. “Always a top dog.”

“Family stake will be seriously diluted,” Karl warned, his voice crackling on the call.

“Could be just an on-paper thing,” you added. “Real control rests on the family if we negotiate who gets board seats.”

“Yeah. We could still be the puppy-fuckers here,” said Roman. “I think Matsson would let us craft it so that we keep balance of the board. He just wants the freedom and the status. GoJo Royco, I mean, who gives a fuck? Let him have the logo, we take the wheel.”

Sensing her father was being swayed, Shiv finally caved. “I mean, it would be real-scale. It’s a legitimate way of staying relevant.”

Frank and Karl weren’t happy, seeing as a merger of equals would threaten their positions with newer, better replacements. You almost laughed upon seeing Frank’s pixelated, unsure features.

“Dad and Gerri, you guys would stay with your hands on the tiller. Their price rise is real! It’s a proper fucking streamer. Would save that sector of Waystar completely. The future is really boiled down to: movies, TV, music, games, sports, eSports, VR, AR, betting—fucking everything for everyone, and Matsson can get us there,” Roman argued.

With a slight dip of his head, Logan said, “We can’t afford to walk away now. This is our crutch. Must be worth a conversation, son. Call in the team. Let’s get the banker fucks on this.” 

Roman grinned victoriously, his eyes meeting yours. 

You smiled back, pulling out your phone to shoot him a text.

you’re a fucking champ rome

The GoJo bankers began to file in, and you put your phone away. Roman’s buzzed on the table, and he glanced down at the screen, beam unwavering. He shot you a sly look, before tapping his keyboard a few times, deciding now was a good time to send you the picture of his hard dick he’d taken early in the morning, while you were still asleep.

dinner to celebrate? eat this, fuckface

He watched you expectantly, but you were busy greeting one of the bankers, shaking her hand. And then, his father’s phone buzzed. Logan slid on his reading glasses, clicking on the new text notification from his son.

Dread sank down to the pits of his stomach once he realized what he’d done.

Oh, fuck.

Logan stared angrily at his son, who sunk further down on his chair. You were still chatting to the banker, but halted the conversation when Logan suddenly stood up. 

“I need five,” he said.

And with that, he was gone. That was the quickest you’d seen him walk in a long time.

Shiv shot you and Roman a confused look, before following after him. 

You excused yourself, too, rounding the table to put a hand on Roman’s shoulder. To your confusion, he seemed to jerk away from your touch. 

“Hey, what—? Rome, what’s going on?”

He sucked in a breath, letting you pull him out of the meeting room. The two of you stood in the hallway, just a few feet away from the conference room Shiv and Logan had disappeared into.

“I maybe might have sent Dad a, uh, a picture of my dick,” Roman nervously said, scratching at the back of his head. His arms seemed to shake.

“Oh,” you replied, far too stunned to say anything else. “Were you… was it for…”

“Yeah. It was for you. Fuck.” 

The two of you stared at each other. 

“Will he… oh, Rome. Fuck.” You didn’t know what else to say. Logan wouldn’t hurt Roman with GoJo right in the next room, right? 

But you weren’t so sure.

Inside the conference room, Shiv winced to her dad whilst handing his phone back, “Yeah, he sent you his dick by mistake.”

“Well, that was pretty obvious.”

“It was meant for Y/N,” she said. “He calls her fuck-face all the time.”

Logan’s brows furrowed. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, they’re… they’re weird with each other. Everyone knows. Frankly, I think it’s fucking disgusting.”

“Yeah? They fucking?”

Shiv spluttered for words. “I don’t really—I don’t—I mean—” She shook her head. “Regardless, this… this is grounds for a potential lawsuit. Boss sexually harassing his employee kind of situation.”

Logan took his glasses off. “Isn’t this Roman just being Roman? They’ve been good pals since babies.”

Shiv chose her words carefully. “No. No, Dad, I think this could be a potential problem. This could be bad for us, you know. Y/N could use this as blackmail if she wanted to. And Roman, he’s… he’s a loose canon. People say he used to get jerked off by his personal trainer.”

It was then that Logan bellowed Roman’s name so loud, the very walls seemed to shake. Roman flinched, and you gently patted his arms, urging him to go.

“Put in a good word for you,” Shiv told her twin as he hurried in.

Roman twisted his hands nervously, only barely managing to catch the phone that Logan angrily slid over. 

“Are you a sicko?” Logan asked, voice harsh. “What is this? Why do you send them?”

“Jesus, Dad…” Roman sucked in a breath. “It’s just—you know, we’re… it’s like, here’s my dick, or whatever.”

His brows cinched. “What? Like a ‘fuck you’?”

“No, it’s just… people send each other pics of their dicks. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?”

“Yeah, it’s fucking normal. You ever heard of dick pics, Dad?”

Rolling his eyes, Logan retorted, “Well we do publish a number of popular newspapers, so yes, son. We probably invented the fucking words. But why?”

Roman’s mouth opened and closed. He shrugged. “I don’t know, Dad. It’s just something people do.”

“You have a problem, son?” Logan asked, watching Roman like a hawk would its prey. “What happened to that nice piece of tail you were with?”

“Uh, Tabitha? Yeah, she’s… she’s not really in the picture anymore. We had a few issues.”

Logan frowned. “She wasn’t messy. Y/N is messy. She’s a good girl, don’t get me wrong, but she’s messy.”

“Well, uh…” Roman shrank under his father’s glare. “I like her.”

“Oh, you like her? Fucking solves everything, doesn’t it? It’s one thing for you two to be plastered all over gossip tabloids. It’s another thing entirely for it to be real. And I don’t like things going on that I don’t know about.”

It didn’t go past Logan’s notice when Roman’s voice cracked a bit. “It’s all fine. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re… we’re friends.”

A terse second of silence. Roman worked a hand over his jaw.

“Go on. Fuck off.” 

Roman made his way to the door. “So, what’s… what’s going to happen?”

“You end it. Or you fire her. Whichever is easier for you, son.”

A pained look crossed Roman’s features. “Well, uh, I’m not a radical feminist or anything, but I think, maybe, we shouldn’t fire her for getting pictures of my dick?”

“Then you end it.”

Roman cleared his throat. He lingered by the doorway as if he had something else to say, but he eventually turned on his heel and left the room.

Meanwhile, Shiv had beckoned you out of the hall to sit in a different room, her expression contorted into one of false security.

“What’d he say?” you asked her. “Is he… did he get a—?”

“Yeah. Roman’s dick. Real classy,” she replied, before beckoning you out of the hall to sit in a different room. “So… I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

You tilted your head. “Uh, yeah. It’s fine, Shiv, really.”

“Uh-huh. Has this kind of thing happened before?”

You studied her, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. Can’t really remember.”

“Right, yeah, of course. But if it did… did you ask him to stop?”

Fed up, you held your hands out. “Listen, Shiv, I’m not going to give a statement to you. I wouldn’t jeopardize Roman or the company like that.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you were welcoming these, right? Because that would be… an abuse of power on Roman’s end, wouldn’t it?”

You drew yourself back. “Roman and I are friends. Nothing happened.”

“Okay. Yeah, sure. Things are just really delicate right now. Can’t afford to fuck up, right? Do you want to make a formal complaint about this situation? You’re the victim here, Y/N.”

“Woah, uhm… can I have some time to think about it?”

Humming, Shiv nodded. “Of course. Just know that… you should really report this to HR. It’s a big deal, this.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Shiv.” You hesitantly turned away, biting down on the inside of your cheek anxiously. You stood out of the meeting room for a second, trying to compose yourself. Plastering on a professional smile, you swung the door open and stepped inside.

Late that night, long after the meeting had ended, Roman slipped into your room, making sure nobody was around to see. 

He kissed you then, fingers cradling your face as if he was expecting you would crumble away right in front of him. When you pulled away, hands lightly pushing at his chest, he mumbled that he needed this.

And so you let him pull you apart. Kissing you, touching you, holding you. 

Your clothes were gone at some point—you hadn’t even registered taking them off, and he guided you over his lap. You rode him then, slow and steady, his hands roaming over your sides. Your foreheads were touching, the both of your moans muffled into kisses.

It was much more intimate than the last time the two of you had sex—Roman shook beneath the pads of your fingers, rife with fear. Sex was fine, but intimacy… that scared him more than anything. But he felt safe with you. It felt right with you.

And, this time it didn’t feel like Roman had a point to prove. 

He came first, his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, teeth sinking into the flesh of your breast, panting wetly against your skin. You were close to follow, shuddering against him, your hips slowly rocking to a grinding halt.

You left to clean yourself up a minute later, and came back to Roman sprawled over the bed, half-asleep.

You laid down beside him and brushed the hair away from his forehead.

“Dad told me to fire you,” he mumbled, almost slurring his words. “If I didn’t want to break up with you, that is.”

“Break up?” you echoed. “But we aren’t together.”

“Right. Sure, yeah.” He sounded hurt, but he wrapped his arms around you, nonetheless.

With no hesitation, you curled your leg up over his. “You gonna fire me, Romey?”

“No. You’re the only thing that makes sense in this fucking shitstorm.” 

“Okay.” You pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. You were never really worried on that end. “Then I guess we’ll just have to be less… open and affectionate in public. It’ll blow over eventually. We’ll fade away, and nobody’s going to care.”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay.”

The two of you fell asleep like that, entangled in each other, dreaming of tooth necklaces and strawberry popsicles.

The next morning, you heard from Shiv that Kendall had nearly drowned himself in the pool while everybody was at the meeting, and he’d stayed over at the hospital overnight. At your worried expression, she reassured you that he was fine. One too many limoncellos, apparently.

To make matters all the worse, GoJo’s market cap had overtaken Waystar’s, and they were apparently also considering other options. Roman and Logan were off to go see Matsson to make sure he wasn’t pulling the plug. You mumbled a low good luck to Roman, not wanting to do or say anything else with his father watching the two of you like a vulture.

Hours later, when he returned, there was a slightly panicked look to his eye. He pulled you into the gardens, where it was mostly empty, save for an elderly Italian couple sniffing the roses a good distance away from you.

“No more merger of equals,” Roman hurriedly whispered to you, which made your eyes widen. “Matsson insinuated that GoJo eats Waystar—and he stays top dog.”

Your brows cinched. “What did your dad say?”

“Nothing. Told me to leave. But Matsson said he’d go with a handsome settlement.” The distress was clear across his features. “And where does that leave us? Fucking—kicked out to the curb with bread crumbs and cardboard boxes.”

“Jesus,” you breathed out. “Well… did he offer you an out?”

Roman ran a hand through his hair. “No. Just—just don’t tell Shiv, okay? We’ll stick to the merger of equals story.”

“Okay.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in what you hoped to be a comforting fashion. “C’mon. It’s time to face Mr. Poseidon. Shiv and Con are already waiting.”

“Poseidon, huh? And who does that make me? Hades?”

You arched a brow. “Hermes. Duh.”

The two of you made your way out of the gardens, to the fancy little tables Caroline had set up. Shiv and Connor were sitting near the balcony, bearing a particularly breathtaking view of the Italian countryside. Rolling green fields and slanted, multi-hued rooftops. It wasn’t too bad of a place to get hitched, you wistfully thought, shooting Roman a glance. If Shiv had noticed anything between the two of you, she didn’t say anything. To that, you were grateful.

He was explaining the merger of equals situation to his siblings (save Kendall, who still had yet to appear), and Connor grew angry with the fact that he wasn’t informed. He didn’t like Matsson, but for a wildly different reason than you.

“Okay, well, if you guys don’t mind, I’m a little churned up about my big brother trying to kill himself, so I can’t really think about that shit right now, thanks.” Roman made a high-pitched noise, before leaning forward and snatching a piece of garlic bread off of Connor’s plate. “I’m fucking starving. Can we get some more food here?”

“It’s a buffet, you dipshit,” Shiv told him.

Before Roman could get up to grab food, Kendall turned the corner, stiffly making his way to his siblings, and you. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of expensive, brown-tinted sunglasses, doing a great job of hiding the bags beneath his eyes. He hadn’t slept a wink at the hospital.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hello,” Roman chirpily greeted. Only Roman could somehow make the word hello sound sarcastic. 

Kendall’s hands twitched at his sides. “So, what is this?”

“Take a seat,” Shiv said, and Connor patted the head of the empty chair beside him.

Kendall scoffed, but sat nonetheless.

“So,” Shiv started, looking awfully uncomfortable being somewhat emotionally open with her brother, “we just wanted to get together and let you know that… we love you.”

A soft breath, and a tilt of his head. “What?”

Connor nodded. “I love you straight up.”

“We care about you, Ken,” you added, feeling mildly guilty that the last time the two of you spoke, you were yelling at him about something as stupid as a popsicle.

“I suppose I don’t want you to die,” Roman lamented, pouring himself a glass of wine.

“What is this, guys? What’s the angle?” Kendall asked. 

In a placating tone, Connor said, “No angle. We were just worried that you… consciously or subconsciously tried to… you know…”

“Are you trying to shut me down?” gruffed Kendall. 

“Uhm, you kind of tried to kill yourself, dude, and that’s not cool?” Roman inputted, avoiding eye contact.

“I fell off an inflatable.”

Clearing your throat, you gently said, “You were drunk. And your kids were there. Comfrey had to fish you out. I heard that Soph was crying behind the rose bushes, Kendall.”

At his daughter’s name, Kendall’s face seemed to twist with an unmistakable sort of anguish. “Is this a fucking intervention? Why do you guys get to do an intervention on me?” 

“Seriously?” Roman asked.

“No, well, maybe you need an intervention.” He gestured to Shiv. “You need an intervention, Con. You two need one, too.”

“Yeah, totally, but, like—you’re kind of the top of the pile, right now. We can do me tomorrow, yeah?” Roman said.

Shiv pursed her lips in agreement. “Suicides kind of jump the line.”

“I fell off my fucking floatie!”

“You’re an addict,” Shiv stated plainly. “You’re addicted to booze and to drugs and relationships and sex and work and family drama.”

The siblings decided to argue a bit more, until Connor, fed up, exclaimed that he was the eldest son, and that he loved all of you, and he’d proposed to Willa and nobody even bothered to congratulate him. Your face fell with guilt, but you didn’t try to stop him as he stormed away. The conversation died out after that, with Roman complaining that he was too hungry to think straight, leaving for the buffet table, and Kendall straight up leaving without even saying goodbye.

Not wanting to be left alone with Shiv, you shot Roman a message saying you’d be in your room, and left the table.

The wedding started two hours later. You’d managed to squeeze in a nice nap and a quick shower before, meeting Roman at the lobby with a refreshed smile.

“You look great,” he told you, genuine. His hands seemed to reach out for you, but he winced and pulled himself back. “Now that we’re not supposed to be all over each other, I suddenly have this inexplicable, caveman urge to raw dog you in front of everyone.”

Your lips twitched in amusement. “You are so romantic, Roman.” Careful not to draw attention, you bumped your hip into his, and the two of you began walking to Caroline’s wedding.

Shiv met you at the entrance, pestering Roman on where Logan was (which he clearly didn’t know himself), and also making several incessant japes about Roman’s lost chance to marry his mother. A part of you wondered if she was amping it up because you were there, as if to try to goad a reaction out of you.

“Well, I’m just worried about the prenup,” Roman hotly defended after Shiv made fun of him for not liking Peter Munion.

“She has a prenup, Rome,” Shiv said while rolling her eyes. “She had her lawyer look at it because she wants to keep the London flat Dad gave her.”

“What if he poisons her? Or pushes her down the stairs to get this flat he so desires?” Roman quipped, crossing his arms.

Shiv snorted. “Oh, yeah. And what if worse—he fucks her with his dick. Fucks her so good that she dies?”

A group of giggling children passed by, and you muttered a quiet apology to the parents glaring at the three of you.

“We should get going,” you told the twins. “Must be starting any minute now.” 

They halted their quarreling for the time being, and followed you into the building. 

The ceremony was delayed around half an hour—you suspected it was because Logan hadn’t shown up, and Peter Munion sure wanted to brown-nose some more—but it carried on without him. You wondered if Logan wasn’t here because of what Roman had told you.

GoJo eating Waystar. That would make headlines for a good few months.

After the ceremony came a lovely little banquet, decked with long white tables lined with sweet-smelling flowers, beautiful flutes of champagne and wine passed around. Waiters flitted to and fro like busy worker bees, serving up course after course. There were seventeen dishes total, you counted. Roman said there were actually eighteen—you missed one when you briefly disappeared for the bathroom.

“You don’t have a fucking clue where Dad is, do you?” Shiv prodded at Roman’s shoulder, and he shrugged her off.

“Just relax, will you?”

Connor came up to the three of you then, a wary smile on his face. You and Shiv took turns apologizing to him, wearing guilty expressions. He’d always had soft spots for the both of you.

“No, no, it’s okay. Forget about it.”

“Mhm,” Roman said. “Forgotten.”

“So, guess who’s getting married to the greatest gal in the world?” Connor announced, a wide smile overtaking his features. 

You grinned, congratulating him with a hug, Shiv and Roman slapping their older brother on the shoulder. When you pulled away, Connor pulled up a shriveled little brown bulb out of his pocket.

“Oh, ew. What is that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“It’s a dried penis from one of the great men in history, correct?” Roman postulated, poking it before wiping his hands onto you.

Pointing at it, Connor said, “This is maca root. It’s for Dad’s smoothie.”

“Mhm?” Shiv asked, not quite getting it.

“He’s working on his baby batter!” Connor reiterated. “Maca root, almond butter! Dad’s putting together a more adhesive, potent gloop.”

“Ew,” you said, grimacing. “He’s eighty fucking years old. The baby practically pre-ordered the daddy issues themself.”

Utterly confused, Roman asked, “Are you fucking with us right now? That’s disgusting!”

“No, I’m not! Look at all the walnuts he’s been munching! He’s gonna be rocking sperms like a little catfish.”

“Oh, my fuck. Dad’s scrambling the fighters,” Roman guffawed, batting away Connor’s hand when he waved the maca root closer to his nose. 

With a final laugh, Connor clapped Shiv’s shoulder, before bidding adieu, in search of his now-fiance.

“We gotta find a way to kill this baby,” Roman muttered.

“Yeah, finally you’ve got a worthy adversary,” laughed Shiv.

It was then that Tom made his way to the three of you, his arm curled over her waist. You eyed the fluid motion, wishing you could have something of an open relationship like theirs. Though, you weren’t sure comparing yourself to Tom and Shiv was the best way to go.

Tom let it slip that they were planning on having a baby, too—but by freezing an embryo. 

“Congratulations,” you told the two of them, though Shiv didn’t look all that happy.

Roman chortled and made a few jokes about how Tom would have to poop out his own baby, and you nudged him harshly. 

“That’ll be your niece or nephew, you know. Just don’t be that weird, creepy uncle they avoid at family gatherings.”

“Can’t make any promises,” Roman whistled, though he fell silent when Gerri strode up to the three of you.

It was just as you thought. She’d heard Logan and Matsson were meeting with financiers—which meant Logan was going through with the flipped deal. GoJo swallows Waystar, Logan leaves with his pockets full, and everybody aboard the sinking ship is left to fend for themselves. 

“Why would Matsson need financing for an all-stock deal?” Shiv asked, though she was beginning to get an inkling of what was truly happening on her own.

Gerri suggested splitting up to cover more ground. Roman would get Kerry, Shiv handled Marcia, Gerri tackled Frank, and you were left to call in a few of Roman’s lawyers to see if they could rifle through anything that could block Logan from plowing into GoJo full-steam.

“I think Frank and Karl are in Europe,” Roman told Shiv, his phone pressed to his ear. “It’s got the fucking Euro ring.”

“What?” Shiv demanded. “Rome—are we being fucked right now?”

Roman hung up once Karl lied straight through his teeth that he was in America. Just before, he’d seen Gerri and Kerry speaking to each other in hushed tones, before Gerri quickly walked away. Was Gerri knifing him, too?

He turned to stare at you, speaking to his lawyers on the phone about voting power for the next CEO.

“Okay, well, I should probably tell you,” Roman said, scratching at the back of his head. “Matsson did float, just as an idea, that maybe they’d buy us.”

There was a momentary pause. Shiv’s eyes flared wider, her lips pinching tight. “Right. And what did Dad say?”

Roman shrugged. “Fuck off!” he said, in his best Logan imitation.

“Mhm. And he stuck around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he did.”

Abruptly, Shiv shoved him so hard that Roman stumbled back into a table. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me this earlier?” She stomped off then, making her way to Kendall, moping by the edges of the gardens.

You hung up the phone, walking back to Roman. “Dead ends. They’re going to have to look through fucking everything—signing heir contracts, settlement conditions, the divorce clauses. Might be something there that gives the three of you a hand on the steering wheel.”

“Great.” Roman sucked at his teeth, hesitant. “Hey, as it turns out, I don’t think I can trust Gerri.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and—I can trust you, right?” He scuffed the grass with the heel of his expensive boot, anxious.

The two of you stared at each other for a long moment. Man and woman, microphone and stand, dog and chew toy. You ran your tongue along the back of your teeth. 

“I love you, Roman. You know that,” you told him, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“Okay. Yeah, okay. Yeah. I trust you.”

“Hurry the fuck up!” Shiv yelled, startling the two of you away from each other. She began making her way around the building, towards the deserted back, where nobody was around to hear what the four of you were discussing. Slow on her heels was Kendall, dragging his feet along glumly.

You and Roman were only barely able to exchange comforting glances, before hastening after her.

“Okay, so—Dad is doing us dirty, right?” Shiv said, a tad too loud for your comfort, seeing as there were wedding guests only around the corner.

“Can you not make it a whole thing?” Roman protested, nose wrinkling. “We actually don’t—we don’t know anything yet. Matsson pitched to Dad the idea of them eating us, but I think he was just flying a kite.”

“Financing wouldn’t be there if it was just Matsson jerking off. Karl and Frank wouldn’t have bothered unless it was real. You know that, Roman,” you said.

The man merely raised his tense shoulders, kicking at a rock on the sandy ground. “Dad kind of shut it down,” he replied.

“He kind of shut it down?” pressed Shiv. “A moment ago, you were telling me that he told you to fuck off!”

Frowning, Roman told his sister, “Well, I didn’t keep track of the exact number of expletives he used, Siobhan. Okay? I’m not a fuckometer.”

There was a crackling silence for a few seconds. Kendall wasn’t facing the three of you, opting to stare away into the distance, hands propped on his hips. 

“Our market caps have tipped,” Shiv vehemently put forth. “The local town’s been bought out by a new set of advisors. Something has flipped!”

It was clear that Roman was the only one still clinging onto his father’s leg. He watched you and Shiv with scrutinizing eyes. “Dad would never sell, would he? Hey, asshole, Dad would never sell, right?” Roman directed the question to Kendall.

Kendall’s shoulders moved just a tiny bit, barely a twitch. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

“I see him doing it if the buy-out settlement is large enough,” you said, expression grim. “A handful of billions in his pocket, and he’d walk off satisfied.”

“But Dad… he…” Roman itched at the back of his head. “What about us?”

“Okay, yeah, the question is—would we get fucking protection?” Shiv demanded, as if the three of you had answers to give her.

Kendall looked up at the bright Italian sun. He was feeling thirsty.

“Can you guys just do this without me?” he asked, voice dejected. “I can’t—I don’t really wanna get into it.”

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Shiv hurled out an accusation, “Wait a minute, Ken. Do you—you have an angle on this? Are you speaking with Matsson?”

Kendall laughed. He paused for a second, thinking on Shiv’s words some more, before laughing again. Then, he sank to the sandy ground. There were sharp rocks poking his legs, a fine layer of dust coating his ass and the back of his thighs.

“Is he okay?” you whispered to Roman, who just shook his head and murmured something you couldn’t quite catch under his breath.

“Ken, can we just talk?” Shiv asked. 

“Shiv, I’m not here,” he said. His knees pulled up to his chest, and his head rested upon them.

He wasn’t okay, that was plainly clear. Tentative, you took a step forward, exchanging uneasy glances with Shiv. The redhead crouched down and soothed a comforting hand over her older brother’s back. You kneeled in front of Kendall, uncaring of how dirty you were getting your pants. Lingering a little farther back was Roman, stressed out of his mind, studying the three of you contemplatively.

“Hey, you okay?” Her voice was far more soft this time around.

Kendall shook his head, a heavy exhale slipping past his slightly-chapped lips. The familiar sting of salt welcomed the corners of his eyes. 

“Talk to us, Ken,” you said, your shoe nudging his. 

His mouth trembled. “There’s something really wrong with me. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

“Uh, well… it’s okay, Ken…” Unsure, Shiv looked up to you. 

“I just—I’m not feeling very connected to my children or my endeavors right now. And, uh, I can’t get one thing right with another, you know?” His voice broke near the end. A warble, a shake, a lilt.

Roman stepped closer. To anyone who didn’t quite know him, he looked as if he was angry. But you knew—you knew that that was concern splayed across his features. He was worried for his big brother.

“Kendall, we can get you help,” you tried to reassuringly say.

“But I can’t,” he replied, on the verge of tears. “I don’t know what happened. I tried to do something. I tried, I really did. Really.”

For better or worse, Roman attempted to diffuse the tension by saying, “I know, man. You fucked it.”

You and Shiv glared at him, while Kendall merely laughed. It was painful and grating. His throat ached.

“I took a shot, but it’s like it didn’t matter,” he said.

“It’s just business, okay?” Roman told him, trying to downplay the situation. “We’re all fucked. Everything just sort of got… mixed up.”

When Shiv stood up, her legs aching, Kendall’s eyes slid shut. “I thought I had an out. I could see it—I could see the way markers, and I thought I could, out of all our shit, I thought I could take us all out of it. I tried, guys. I did.”

Roman hummed. Shiv stayed silent. You watched him, pensive. 

“I don’t know,” said Kendall. “I’m not a good person.”

“Well, whatever,” Roman said, miffed. “You’re… fine.”

“I’m… I’m bad.”

A few tense, sparse chuckles. Roman shot you a confused look, as if to say, is he for real?

“Lighten up, glum-glum,” Rome said.

Kendall blinked down at the sand. “I killed a kid.”

“Hm?”

“What?” you quietly asked. What was he talking about?

Shiv laughed a bit, wondering if this was all an elaborate joke. After all, it was hard to take anything Kendall did seriously after his disaster of a birthday party.

“I killed a kid,” Kendall repeated.

“Like… metaphorically?” you queried.

“No, I… I killed a kid. And, yeah, they’re… they’re coming for me. They’re gonna come for me.”

Your mouth fell open and shut, shocked and uncertain of what to do, what to say.

“Is this—?” Shiv looked around wildly. “Is this real? What the fuck?”

There was a sharp inhale. A warm breeze blew by, and Kendall found himself swallowing around what felt like dust. Glass shards. All the same.

“At your wedding,” he said.

“What?” Shiv asked, voice hardened.

“Horseshit,” said Roman, though he knew it, deep down, none of it was horseshit.

Rapidly, Kendall blinked. “The kid. That kid.”

“Uh, you mean the… the waiter kid?” Shiv clarified. 

A soft, nearly horrified exhale slipped from you. “That was you?” you asked, voice much smaller than it had been only minutes ago. 

“I was high,” he began to explain, miserable. “I was trying to score, and I was drunk, I was fucked up, and I drove. He saw something and he snatched at the wheel. We went into the water.” His voice trembled. “And then I left him in there and I ran.”

“Uhm, okay, we gotta… we gotta get you inside,” Shiv started, but Kendall’s shoulders began to shake.

His head lowered further. “It’s fucking lonely,” he quietly sobbed. A tear fell down his cheek, slipping into his mouth. “I’m all apart.”

You weren’t quite sure what to do, so you reached out and kept a steady grip on one of his knees. It grounded him, in a way, because his sobs seemed to dullen after a few seconds.

“I mean, if it pleases the court,” Roman began to say, which made your stomach roil in fear of what other abrasive comment he might spit out, “it sounds like you didn’t really kill him. Sounds to me like… he killed him.”

Your brows cinched. Kendall ran away from the kid and drove under the influence, which made him largely at fault. But you also knew it wasn’t… wholly on his shoulders. It was an accident, first and foremost. Besides—what choice did he have than to keep quiet, with his tail pressed beneath Logan’s thumb? 

“Rome, I’m a piece of shit, man,” Kendall sniffled, shaking his head. 

“The road and the water killed him,” offered Roman. “That’s what it sounds like.”

“What he’s trying to say,” you interjected, voice slow and placating. “Is that it was an accident.”

“Yeah, seriously. You crashed, and then, what? You ran?”

“No, I mean… I tried to get him. I dived a few times.”

Roman spread his arms out a bit. “See? That… that sounds like the story of a hero to me. That’s more than I would’ve fucking done. Seriously, I would’ve been out of that water like a tabby cat from a bath.”

Pained laughs from Kendall filled in the space between the four of you, which dissolved into cries. “Don’t, man. I’m… I’m a killer.”

Scoffing, Roman groaned out, “Fuck you. Come on, bullshit. At worst you’re an… a fucking irresponsibler. Okay? You’re bigging yourself up.”

“I don’t know, you guys,” Kendall hiccupped. “I’m blown into a million pieces.”

“Okay, uhm, we gotta get you out of here,” Shiv said, rubbing his shoulder. 

“We could bring him back to the chapel,” Roman offered. “Stuff him into a confessional. That might fix him.”

It was then that your phone started ringing, the lawyers calling you back. You gently apologized to the siblings, before stepping away and answering. Not long after you, Shiv’s phone began to ring with Laird’s caller ID, and she pulled off, as well. Leaving just the two brothers.

Roman sank down to sit beside him. He tried, and failed, to comfort him. But he succeeded, too. Somehow.

“I’m sorry,” Kendall croaked.

Wincing, Roman said, “You know, one waiter down makes a bit more sense. Took me forever to get a fucking drink at that wedding.”

“Please, man, I can’t—”

“Yeah, no, I’m just saying. Who’s the real victim here, you know? I waited three quarters of an hour for a gin and tonic.”

Both you and Shiv hung up your calls at the same time, making your way back to the brothers.

“You first,” you told Shiv. “What’s Laird know?”

She nodded. “He was inside the deal, then got cucked out of the lead. He’s bitter and bleating. GoJo buys Waystar. They pay a premium, Dad cashes out—cash and stock, maybe a title and a few assets, but it’s Matsson’s fucking board.”

“Can we trust that? Is that even real? Laird is a fucking prick. I know this—I was stuck as a hostage with him pissing buckets next to me,” Roman spat.

“Look, Kendall, I know you’re in a tough spot right now, but we have to talk about this now. I’ll call the car. Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” Shiv said. 

The eldest of the four burst into another raucous sob. Roman got up from the ground and placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders, squeezing. Shiv palmed his buzzed head. You took your previous spot, crouching down in front of him and patted his kneecaps.

No more words were exchanged about the accident. It was time for war.

“What’s your news?” Roman asked. “My lawyers?”

You offered them a small, bitter smile. “There might be a gun in this knife-fight.”

In the car, you explained to them how the lawyers had found a clause in the extensive divorce settlement between Logan and Caroline: the kids would have veto power to any changes in company control.

If all the kids objected, there was legally no way Matsson could buy Waystar. 

The siblings were reunited on the same side for the first time in what felt like decades. Despite this, Roman still felt uneasy about the whole ordeal. 

“These are still all just rumors,” he said from beside you. “So I’ll have to talk to Dad alone first.”

Indignant, Shiv scoffed. “You think you’re close to him? You’re just his little rat fucker.”

“I’m just saying, as a matter of fact, that Dad and I have been working closely lately and I don’t want to go in too aggressive,” he heatedly defended. “I’m not busting in there crying Team Shiv, okay? We don’t know how this is going to play out yet.”

“You think Dad is protecting you?” Shiv hissed. “No, we let Matsson take control, that is Dad slamming the door! It means he doesn’t think that we will, can, or should take over.”

“All this time he’s spent braying about family,” you whispered, staring out at the rolling Italian fields flashing past. “And he’s the one who drives the knife in.”

Roman bit down on the inside of his cheek. “I just don’t think we should be aggressive. Can we even actually stop him with this one clause?”

“Yes,” Kendall said. “A change of control needs a super majority in the holding company. He’d need us to agree to it.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Just one of you, it wouldn’t work. That’s why he wasn’t threatened when it was just Kendall. The three of you, though… that’s the golden goose.”

Roman nodded, uncertain. “Right, well. I’m not sure I want to pull a move like that. Maybe I just… I stick with what I got.” He looked at you, expecting your support on this, but you pointedly pursed your lips.

Shiv gritted her jaw. “Which is what, exactly? A hard drive full of dick pics you send Y/N? Where exactly do you think we fit on Matsson’s new org chart, Rome?”

In a calmer voice, Kendall said, “He’ll gut you like a pig, Rome.”

Roman’s brows knitted together. 

“Rome, you know Dad is never going to choose you because he thinks there’s something wrong with you,” Shiv said. “I’m sorry, but maybe it’s time we said these things to each other. Instead of just airing it out to Vanity Fair.”

There was a roll of his eyes, but you could tell that her words hit close to home. A home he never felt safe in, perhaps.

“Hey, Rome,” you said, taking his hand, uncaring that Shiv and Kendall were there to see. They’ve seen far worse, after all, and you were nearly certain they already knew what was going on between the two of you. “You might not have a place beneath Matsson. You know that, right? And… and neither would I, I don’t think.”

This seemed to tip the scales over for him. The thought of not having the company to keep you close by his side anymore—to tether you to him—made him far more scared than he cared to admit.

Finally, Roman tentatively broached, “The holding company move… if we do that, that’s real?”

“He can’t sanction a deal without us. That’s legal fact,” Kendall said. “Block him and he’s fucked.”

With an air of finality, Shiv said, “Okay, we just rip the band-aid right off. Push him out. Get him on his own, say it was his urinary tract at the shareholder meeting—say he’s out of it. He’s fucking a twenty year old, and he’s planning for babies in jars. He’s gone loopy, and he’s tried to sell the shop while fucking his assistant. If we tell the board all that, he’s toast.”

“Burnt,” you agreed.

“Full coup,” Kendall said.

“Yeah. We have, say, Ken, chair? Rome or me, CEO? The other, COO, or whatever they want—studios, movies, TV. Equal.” There was a hopeful glint to her eyes. “Y/N takes CFO, maybe director of operations, maybe president of relations. Whichever floats your boat.”

You were quite happy with your quaint little title as general branch manager, but you nodded along to Shiv’s words, not wanting to argue with semantics. 

“Okay, but really equal. Like, actual equal. If we do this, I don’t want you two cunts trying to big-brother me out of my fucking piece, okay? And I want the dick pic stuff with Y/N cleared. We do shit like that. We like each other, alright? Deal with it.”

Shiv eyed you warily, but found herself in no position to turn him down, especially not with him in such a precarious position. You shot Roman a flattered smile, squeezing his hand. This was the most open Roman’s been about his relationship with you… ever.

“We can fight all the details out,” Shiv reassured. “It’ll… it’ll be fun.”

The siblings laughed, genuine and chesty. 

“Oh, fuck,” Roman breathed out. For a second, it seemed like his eyes seemed to glass over, but it was gone with his next blink. “I do think that, even though this literally makes me want to vomit and I wanna kill you both every day and it’s all going to end horribly… I do think that we—puke—could make a pretty good team.”

“So how do we feel about killing Dad?” Shiv asked.

Kendall smiled. “Pass me the fucking shotgun.”

By the time the four of you reached Logan, the sun had only barely set, and a heavy sort of darkness started stealing away the clouds. The rooms were full to the brim and bustling about with a frantic atmosphere. Lawyers and financiers and other powerful figures from the companies flitting to and fro.

Logan, however, was in a separate room. Empty, save for the few people at the very top. 

He called for the four of you to come in, all false smiles and honeyed tones.

“Hey. Hi, everyone,” Roman greeted, high-strung. “We’re just feeling a little out of the loop, Dad.”

“Oh, of course. Things have moved very fast, yes. Sit down, all of you.”

None of you sat down, but Roman stood across the table from his dad. “So, yeah, we’re, uh… we’re hearing some rumors about GoJo?”

“We heard that we might be the target now,” Shiv said in a far colder tone in comparison to her brother. “Is that right, Dad?”

Logan nodded once. “Okay. I’ve been looking at a few options.”

“Right. We might be affected with our positions, so we just wanted to get some clarity,” Shiv said.

A harsh glare was sent in Kendall’s direction. “Absolutely, but do you mind not with him in here giving me the fucking doggy-evils? Can you take him out, Romulus? I’ll fill in your sister and give you the angles.” Logan gestured vaguely at his second-eldest son. “I don’t trust him.”

Roman swallowed uneasily, unmoving.

Logan stared at him expectantly. “Roman?”

“You can tell us together, Dad,” Kendall said.

“I thought we had this figured out,” Logan deadpanned, fixing his angry glare onto Roman instead of Kendall.

Five different emotions seemed to flash across Roman’s face at once. “Yeah, no, we just… it might be better. If all of us heard.”

A steady breath. Finally, Logan acquiesced. “Okay. The market capitalizations of our firm have been on the move. Ours is a declining business. There’s a wave of consolidations happening, and that means this is the optimal moment, in my opinion, to make a deal with a serious tech operation like GoJo. That’s what I’ve been exploring, okay?”

Shiv stiffly put forth, “Okay, so, I would like to say, on behalf of all of us, can you ease up and let us in? Stop this until we see how exactly we’re impacted?”

“No, it has to be now,” Logan said.

“An hour to negotiate positions wouldn’t hurt,” you said, far icier than you were anticipating to be. 

Logan leveled his gaze with you, simultaneously curious and angry. “Aren’t you supposed to be fired? Or did Romulus have the balls to fucking sever things?”

You reared back a step, teeth gritted. Roman sucked in a cold breath.

“Why does it have to be now?” Shiv demanded.

“Because I can feel it in my bones,” said Logan. “And, at the end of the day, it’s all I fucking got.”

Shiv angrily narrowed her eyes. “Well, you know that’s bullshit.”

“Look, this is the best moment to sell. If I don’t do the best deal at any given point, what’s the point of anything? I don’t get out, I leave five billion on the table,” the father explained. 

“Come on, Dad. What are you gonna do with the five bil?” Kendall prodded. “Huh? Put it on your pile with all your other fucking bil?”

Logan frowned and nodded. “Mhm. Probably.”

“And what are we supposed to do?” Kendall asked.

“Make your own fucking pile,” hissed Logan. Then, after taking a pause to collect himself, Logan continued, “I know this is an adjustment, but our blood’s in the water and I need to make moves fast in order to control the situation and get myself and all of you assurances in the future.”

“Assurances?” Shiv echoed. “Once Matsson is calling the shots, we’re fucked!”

A dismissive wave of his hand. “No, nah. He rates you. And this is an opportunity for you kids to get an education in real life.”

“With you at the top, we can take over, but without you, we’re fucked,” Shiv said. The brothers stood side by side, quiet.

Abruptly, Logan stood up from his seat. “Come on, Roman. Let’s get away from these Jacobins. I’ve got you. We can discuss this.” Roman looked to you, and Logan clocked the exchange. “Y/N, my dear. We’ll work you in, of course. You are such a valuable asset to the company. The glue, as I recall all the papers we publish calling you.”

You stepped closer to Roman, putting a hand on his elbow.

This spurred him into saying, “Hey, look, Dad, I know what Matsson said, I was there. But, uhm, with Matsson calling the shots, we’re… we’re strung up in the town square.”

“No!” Logan asserted, making his way closer, standing less than an arm’s length away from Roman. “He likes you! You have my word. This is an opportunity son. A bit of fucking grit. Adversity, like me. You can trust me.”

These days, Logan Roy’s word seemed to mean very little. It was his money that held the power.

“You can’t trust him,” Shiv said, voice straining.

Roman’s hands shook. “Uhm…” His voice went all soft, almost a husky whisper. “We’re here to say, to ask, please… do not do this.”

Logan tilted his head. “And what if I decide not to listen to you?”

“We can stop you,” Shiv said. “And we will. Blow this up.”

“Kids have voting power over company control,” you told your godfather. “From the divorce.”

“Yeah,” agreed Shiv. “You need all of us. You need a super majority, and we can kill it.”

This time, Logan yelled, voice bellowing. “You’re playing toy fucking soldiers!” Roman flinched back into you, and you rubbed your thumb along the inside of his forearm. “Go on! Fuck off, all of you! I have you beat! You f—morons!”

Nose twitching with contempt, Shiv protested, “Well, no, because you need a super majority—”

Logan roared out a mocking imitation of Shiv’s voice, somehow still terrifying. He sighed then, pulling a hand over his weary features. He turned, asking Kerry something. Something you didn’t quite catch.

Then a phone was being pulled out, and you heard Caroline’s voice crackling through the line.

A heavy pit sunk down your stomach. It clicked for you before it clicked for the siblings—mostly because they were probably in such heavy denial.

Caroline had renegotiated the divorce agreement, effectively robbing the children of their say. Their voices. All three of their faces fell, crestfallen, as the weight of the realization slammed into them.

Shiv seemed the angriest of them, muttering expletives and yelling angrily at her mother through the phone. Caroline apologized, saying it was for the best, but she wouldn’t hear a single word of it. The call was hung up a second later.

“Dad,” Roman said, disrupting the eerie, tense silence. “Please?”

He was a child asking for a dog again. He was a teenager asking to come home from military school again. He was a young adult asking for his dad to stop hitting him again.

“Please?” Logan parroted, almost disbelieving. 

“Please,” he repeated, voice breaking.

“The seat sniffer gets a fucking leg up,” his father scoffed. “That’s a deal. What have you got in your fucking deck?”

“What have I got?” Roman asked. He reached back so the hand you had rested on his elbow laced with his. “I don’t know. Fucking… fucking love?”

When Logan repeated that word—love—it sounded so childish on his tongue. So frivolous and fanciful, as if it couldn’t possibly exist.

“You come for me… with love? You bust in here, guns in hand, and now you find they’ve turned into fucking sausages. You talk about love?” He worked a hand over his jaw. “You should’ve trusted me.”

Tears filled Roman’s eyes. “Dad, why?”

“Why?” Logan swept his gaze over his children, his goddaughter. “Because it works. I fucking win. 

A beat of unbearable silence. Your nose stung, a familiar sensation.

“Go on, go on. Fuck off. You nosy fucking pedestrians.”

A wave of nausea rolled over Roman. He called out for his father as Logan stormed off, disappearing behind the doors. Then, he rushed over to ask Gerri to help them out, as Shiv stressed on who had tipped Logan off that they were on their way to see him.

Gerri dismissed Roman, brushing him off as if he were a bread crumb on her jacket. Tom arrived then, asking if his wife was okay. Shiv seemed to piece something together that you didn’t quite understand yet.

Roman sank to the ground, and Kendall put his hands on his brother’s shoulders, just as Roman did for him hours ago. You sat down beside him, your side pressed up against his.

“I want to go home,” Roman muttered. “This was all for nothing. It meant nothing.”

“Okay, Rome,” you whispered in return. “We’ll go home.”

#roman roy x reader #roman roy fanfiction #roman roy smut #roman roy fluff #roman roy series #roman roy ff #roman roy angst #roman roy x you #roman roy fanfic #succession roman #succession roman x reader #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession x reader #roman roy imagine

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

1.2k followers?! Cee, that's amazing!!!!!!! I love your blog, your writing, and you!

Say Frankie needs a massage but Shiv is too busy trying to do something to our trash panda's hair. She has a massage therapist that can help out, I'm sure? 💖

@damnyoupedro

Thank you so much my dear for sending this in! And I'm so sorry, this is not at all what you asked for but you gave me an idea and I couldn't resist going off-piste 🙈 (I am terrible at this taking requests thing!!) I hope you enjoy this random drabble that no one asked for!

Grays drabble: Break it in

250 words | warnings: Frankie operating a handsaw and being a sweet, grumpy menace | chronologically set ✨in the future✨ i.e. after Part 2 which I haven't written yet lol

There's a little shed behind the salon that's standing empty. You mention off-handedly to Frankie one day that it would be a fun DIY project to turn it into a spa space - there's just enough room for a massage table and a nail bar. You could rent it out to massage therapists and manicurists and take a cut of the fees.

Next thing you know, Frankie sets up a whole carpentry station out back and the salon counter is covered in electrical plans and paint swatches. You sneak peeks of him sawing wood for the nail bar and shelfing through the back door whenever he's there, his biceps and his broad shoulders flexing in his favourite gray tshirt, which quickly dampens with sweat in the summer heat. Between clients, you bring him ice cold lemonade.

When the spa is done a month later, you stand in the cosy space painted in the colours you picked out, grinning to yourself as Frankie leans on the door with his arms crossed, watching you excitedly inspect the space, a lopsided smile on his lips.

You cock your head to one side and arch a decidedly unchaste eyebrow at him. 'I think we should break in the massage table, don't you?'

Frankie snorts dismissively, but you don't miss the way his eyes darken. 'Do you know what massage tables are for?'

You grin and cross the room to wind your arms around his neck. 'What can I say? I've always been the creative type.'

Fuck Yeah 1.2k Sleepover

#fuckyeah1200sleepover #cee goes rogue on requests i'm so sorry 😂 #fuckyeahgrays #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales drabble #frankie catfish morales fanfic

[tomwambsgans]

like the most optimistic thing i have to cling to is that tom is certainly realizing/accepting that his relationship with shiv has always been motivated somewhat by pragmatism, and that it was at its best when shiv was a mess and when they were basically business partners with benefits? but i'm just so so fucking disappointed that tom has given into shiv's weird sexual taunting. i really thought he was past it. he's BEEN past it all season! what fucking happened! is it just bc he found her crying and saw an in to feel some sense of power over her again? if so i mean. sure. fuck. i'll take it. makes enough sense. but their whole dynamic this ep was just disgusting and did not even feel like tom.

but also.. fuck idk maybe that's on purpose? maybe i'm actually just TOO good at staying optimistic but i do keep coming back to certain moments that feel almost like a more Real version of tom peeking through something insane that's possessed him. like shiv was begging him to say something about other women, and even though she was doing the opposite about other men, he still couldn't. he just wanted to say sorry and he seemed genuine. and then she brought up the whole bitey thing and shit went haywire and what it feels like at best is that, desperate for happiness, tom is somewhat briefly regressing to how he was in the beginning of their relationship, just chasing that high again? ...fucking whatever anyway i hate knowing that they're fucking again i hate it i hate it it's GROSS

#THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE SEASON OF TOM COMING OUT OF THE CLOSET!!!! <- he says. delusional #mine #succession spoilers

[ezlebe]

how about…. tom and greg meet at a regency era ball ?

“Who on earth am I looking at?” Tom asks, bending closer to Shiv, as he keeps his eyes on the fumbling, cheaply dressed colossus on the other end of the ballroom.

“The reason my father is known as a great capitalist, rather than an Earl.”

Tom raises a brow. “Oh?”

Shiv hums flatly, taking a slow sip of her claret. “He’s the grandson of my uncle.”

“I thought he was long dead?” Tom says, feeling his mouth twist, though he can’t quite remember where he had heard that rumor.

“Only quite recently, apparently,” Shiv says, eyes rolling, then sweeping to the side to watch the cousin, as well, fingers spinning across the mouth of her glass. “So now my dear Cousin Marianne has brought her half-French Canadian son over with her to reclaim the peerage.”

“That is interesting,” Tom says, looking back up at this cousin, and it’s no difficulty really imagining him in any kind of finery, but he simply doesn’t look like he could act the type of a Lord… Unless, perhaps, like Byron, which is a perilous thought. “Is your father going to contend?”

“I don’t believe so,” Shiv says, narrowing an eye, as she glances back to Tom with a lift of a shoulder. “He’s often been impertinent to that particular half of Parliament. I’m sure he could spin some insult against Marianne to his favor, though, particularly her arriving to overshadow such a significant birthday.”

“Too true,” Tom says, rubbing at the edge of his jaw, then wincing, as the cousin lifts a hand to his head after he nearly runs straight into a hanging lamp. “He’s terribly tall, isn’t he?”

“As was his grandfather,” Shiv says, dryly, raising her brows with a minor lift of her chin. “It’s one of the reasons we believe his pedigree. Are you jealous?”

“Not particularly,” Tom says, lifting a hand and pointing vaguely around them at the carved details that decorate the support of the overhead story. “I’ve often felt too big for this house, already, and now see he must duck and dodge every door and trimming.”

Shiv slowly raises a sardonic brow, head tilting with a jeer in the direction of her fumbling cousin. “It is unfortunate.”

“Considerably so,” Tom says, then leans down a bit, somewhat demonstrative, while gesturing out toward a window with a sarcastic click of his tongue. “He’ll have to live in pasture with the horses.”

Shiv snorts and lifts her hand to cover it, then shakes her head with a sharper smile. “His birthright allows him a set of ruins in the north – he’d be far better off in a pasture.”

“Ruins can always be rebuilt,” Tom says, dropping his hand to tug slightly at his cravat; he certainly needs to get out of London, if a mere mention of the country is making him wistful. “Presuming they’re keeping the land. Can they afford it?”

“Why don’t you go ask?” Shiv says, quirking a brow with a marked sweep of her eyes to the side. “I am curious, myself – he’s quiet, so I thought he was arrogant, until I heard him speaking to his mother, and now I’m convinced he’s simply a moron.”

Tom raises a brow with a tilted glance back across the ballroom.

“My French is unpracticed, but he didn’t seem to understand how to rouse the help.”

Tom tuts through a laugh. “Ah.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t know your face from that of an ass!” A familiar voice shrieks, from just the other side of the open doorway, leading out toward the grounds.

“Who is he – ?” Tom leans back, just as Shiv does, to pull at a curtain and peer around the jamb; it looks that the Roy brothers are going at it, again, though it’s indeterminable what might have set off Roman.

Kendall makes a sour face. “You’re an absolute pissant.”

Shiv makes a pinched face, one eye narrowing, then shakes her head with a peek around the ballroom. “I shall go get Connor, shall I?”

“Oh, you don’t want to get personally involved?” Tom asks, feeling a smirk curl across his mouth with another idle peek to watch Kendall and Roman doing everything but shoving at each other with a small crowd of their concerned, simpering peers. “I would, but if any brother of yours swung a punch at me, I’d have to do him worse.”

Shiv rolls her eyes in a wide sweep toward the ceiling.

Tom splits from Shiv at the other wall of the ballroom, turning to face the room with a low pair of hums. He lingers near a footman holding a tray of claret, letting his eyes sweep along the other attendants, then steps forward in a direct approach; it’s become quite clear this cousin is unaware of any rules of politeness, so is unlikely to expect them. If it’s seen as any sort of rude, then he’ll have his own curiosity filled, and Shiv’s bias confirmed, as well.

“Good evening!” Tom says, lifting his voice and his glass, in the direction of the mysterious cousin. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around.”

The cousin turns to look with a fumble of a dwarfed glass of evident negus in his overlarge hand. He stares for a marked set of beats, gaze sweeping up and down, then all of a sudden jumps back to life. “No, I – I have only just arrived. Sir.” He says, voice softly accented, but not too distractingly so, and bearing a fine set of narrow features that Tom had not quite noticed across the room. “It is my, um – my first season.”

“Welcome,” Tom says, turning his head in a respectful nod. “I’m Tom Wambsgans.”

The cousin holds out his opposite hand, much to Tom’s surprise, and if there were nothing else about him to make him stand out, it would be clear he is not from London by that overture alone. “Gregory Hirsch.”

“Mister Hirsch,” Tom repeats, as he reaches out to take the hand and shake it with a decisive wag. “Now, you did not ask, but I would certainly advise not repeating this gesture. It’s not done among these sorts.”

“O-oh,” Hirsch says, taking his hand back, and glancing around with a start and some attempt to huddle into himself. “I do sincerely apologize.”

Tom scoffs aloud, while a smile easily slips across his lips; he is not arrogant, nor particularly moronic, so far, but simply rather ignorant. “I don’t mind.”

Hirsch nods and takes a sip of his glass, staring down between them at their feet.

“Miss Roy tells me you’ve come all the way from Canada to introduce yourself to the London society?” Tom asks, lifting his voice with only some feigned interest. “That’s quite a long journey.”

Hirsch drops his head in a somehow avoidant sort of nod, shoulders slumping with an undisguised lack of enthusiasm. “Yes, to mingle and introduce myself, among my peers, and to find a – a suitable candidate for a…” He exhales a quiet sigh. “A lady wife. As we all so desire.”

“Certainly,” Tom agrees, slowly quirking a brow while mentally rolling around that particularly rehearsed statement. He slightly turns his head as he keeps his gaze steady on Hirsch’s face, then feels a smirk curl at his mouth when Hirsch drops his head with a clumsy sip from his glass. “…We do.”

“You and, um – and Siobhan?” Hirsch says, jerking his head toward the direction Shiv had taken in her search for her most neglectful eldest brother. “Miss Roy, I mean. My cousin.”

Tom raises a brow, rather startled that it seems he was noticed before he introduced himself, but he also stands well above many heads. “Ah, no. We had some notions, but…” He flattens his mouth with a neutral smile. “Your uncle has great ideals about who should or should not be courting his daughter. A start in the Colonies is only the onset of my deficiencies.”

“A-A shame, I’m sorry,” Hirsch says, with a sweep of his eyes away.

“We’ve become good friends,” Tom says, waving off the concern with a turn of his hand. “I think far better than we could ever have been coupled.”

“Ah,” Hirsch says, brow furrowing, then relaxing with a drop of his head. “Quite… fortuitous?”

“Indeed, so,” Tom says, quickly, and a bit falsely – the spot is still sore, if perhaps now more for the insults than the actual circumstances. “And in you, I do detect…” He taps at his ear. “A bit of a traitorous note, as well.”

Hirsch appears taken aback and inhales a sharp breath. “Yes, um,” he says, then immediately shakes his head, growing softly irked. “I do mean, no, I – I’m not French, by any means.”

Tom hums with a lift of a brow. “Except your language, Mr Hirsch.”

“I – I don’t believe that lends me any allegiance to Bonaparte,” Hirsch says, sounding somewhat bothered, looking down into his negus with a fetching petulant pinch building at his mouth. “I had no choice in the matter.”

Tom snorts loud, taking a sip from his neglected claret.

“I do believe I shall adopt the English manner of speaking quite easily,” Hirsch insists, somewhat petulant, switching his glass between hands when a footman approaches with an empty tray, though they hardly look his way. “I simply haven’t had the, um – the time to practice it.”

“Do not be so hasty,” Tom says, injecting a placating, taunting note to his tone. “Some of the eligible daughters enjoy such a brush with forbidden, however untrue it really is. You could play at some terrible and displaced Prince, escaped from the guillotine.”

Hirsch makes a face at the party behind Tom like this will only encourage him to try harder to hide his true voice.

“Have you been to the upper floor?” Tom asks, hearing his voice pitch, as something he refuses to examine too close spurs him to open his mouth. He gestures above them at the wide overhead balconies, more sparse than the busy ballroom floor. “Surely, you must have introduced yourself to everyone of import down here.”

Hirsch blinks and raises his brows, eyes sweeping from either side of them, and he must not be all that oblivious, as he pretends; he tips his head with an affected sort of nod. “I-I believe I may have, yes.”

Tom chuckles quietly while he reaches out to set his glass atop a passing tray. “Come, then. I am very curious to all that the newest eligible bachelor has accomplished in his seeking, so far.”

“You are?” Hirsch asks, stepping quickly at Tom’s heels, even copying the act of setting his glass aside to be taken away. “In – in what manner do you mean?”

“Who you’ve met, of course,” Tom says, as they turn through an open pair of doors, weaving among guests toward the large staircase that will lead them above the ballroom floor. “You’ve already got the Roys, so that’s the most important out of the way.”

“Really?” Hirsch asks, brow furrowing with a dubious lift to his voice. “My cousins?”

“It is their party, after all,” Tom says, gesturing around with an upward turn of his hand around them at the portraits rising along the walls. His personal favorite is one of a small, wretched dog that is rumored to have been a pet of Connor’s peculiar mother. “They pride themselves on their unfathomable status.”

“Ah,” Hirsch says, quietly, looking toward the portraits, too,, as they climb the flight.

Tom turns his head with an imploring angle, as they breach the topmost stair. “So?”

“Oh, um…” Hirsch hedges, reaching up to scratch just under one of his eyes with a tetchy curve of fingers. “I’ve spoken to quite a lot of people; I – I cannot possibly remember every name.”

Tom masks a laugh behind a short clear of his throat. “Not even one?”

“Miss Ferreyra was… an interesting conversationalist,” Hirsch says, brows knitting, as he looks avoidantly away toward the floor, and he stops beside Tom with a neat miss treading on a heel. “We… discussed plays. And playwrights.”

“Did you?” Tom says, quirking a brow, as he leans back against an ornate bannister to the lower floor. “Are you a man of the arts?”

“Uh, I – I would say that I… have no serious opinions regarding them.”

Tom hums a low, pitching note. “I see.”

“I believe she is rather attached to Connor, and was not open to dancing, though I did ask,” Hirsch says, as if this is some sticking point, and it probably is to his lady mother, who’s likely lurking somewhere about the house. “She was very polite in her refusal.”

“I believe it is more Mr Roy is attached to her, and she to his name and money,” Tom says, idly gesturing, again, around them at the many adorned walls. “She has yanked herself up from some rather immoral means.”

“Oh,” Hirsch says, blinking rapidly, quickly catching onto the implication with a thoughtful glance downward.

“I’m not sure Countess Roy would appreciate such a match for a future Earl.”

“I don’t believe she would mind,” Hirsch says, shaking his head with a lengthy, somewhat weary exhale. “She –  um, she said any adequate-enough woman would do.”

Tom drops his head in a nod, pursing his lips slightly to mask a smirk, as he watches the groups milling below them in the ballroom. He can feel warmth next to him, along his side, and briefly basks in it; how easy it has been to have already halfway gotten Mr Hirsch alone. “Not a particularly… exacting request, for certain, but you’ve been given your pick in company. Let us see who you might best dance with…”

“I am wondering,” Hirsch interjects, looking over with a flick of his lashes, quickly sweeping them back down toward the floor. “Why, um – why have yo-you made such an approach for my company?”

“Because I find you and your circumstances too fascinating,” Tom says, feeling honest and leaning forward just slightly on the balls of his feet, peering up into Hirsch’s seeming permanently, perhaps deliberately, bemused expression. “And you are the only man I’ve met who’s outmatched me in height to such a degree.”

“Oh,” Hirsch intones, staring back with a weak cough that is clearly to disguise a laugh. “I – I don’t believe them too fascinating. It is mostly the hopes of my mother.”

“You are a man of Lower Canada with the accent of a Frenchman who has arrived in the midst of multiple wars to recoup the peerage of an Englishman,” Tom says, pointedly raising his brows higher and higher, as well as the pitch of his voice. “It is massively fascinating.”

“I admit that, perhaps…” Hirsch begins, head turning to the side, and markedly shifting closer by some unsubtle pretend at confidence. “I did not know the French would be such a sticking point, I had not heard much at all of Bonaparte’s exploits until I arrived here. I know mo-mostly of, um – of the renewed difficulties with the American Colonies.”

“Bah,” Tom says, leaning back with a swift wave of his hand. “Everyone here is far too monied to care about that, a bit offensively so; I’m absolutely tugging at you.”

Hirsch furrows his brow a bit. “I see.”

Tom leans back in exaggeratedly to whisper behind a palm. “I’d advise to look appropriately aghast if they mention anything but French losses.”

“Of course,” Hirsch says, glancing toward the middle of the party with a sweep of his lashes and a downturn of his mouth.

“Now, be honest, Mr Hirsch,” Tom says, “Aside for your interesting conversation – have you managed a dance at all tonight with any of the eligible misses of the Marriage Mart?”

Hirsch is reticent for a few beats, one hand toying with the other across his fingertips. “My mother has… encouraged me to perjure myself here and to use the peerage to manage a – an uncomplicated marriage,” he says, absolutely sidestepping the question, and only solidifying some particular suspicion about him.  “As I am a bit… old, and I have little military experience to show for it. I find some discomfort in this scheme.”

Tom rolls his eyes, hard, “They couldn’t care less, I assure. You can surely whip out a sword and a lie.”

“Is that what…” Hirsch flattens his mouth, thoughtful, “You have done?”

“I only wish I thought that far ahead,” Tom says, pitching his voice, as some annoyance bleeds into him at the unkind assumption. “I was quite stuck at sea as a merchant for some years of my life, before I clawed out of it with an auspicious whisper in a few ears. I’m now a beloved curiosity of all who you see before you.”

“The sea? Oh, I actually – I was not on it for years, no,” Hirsch says, reaching up and touching at the side of his neck, mouth flattening with a weak laugh, “And I, uh – I was terrible sick for weeks, but I quickly grew to enjoy the sailing. I admit I already miss it.”

“Do you really?” Tom says, raising his brows with a short lean back. “How rare. I… do have my own two masted schooner,” he says, a bit taken aback at his own impulsive bragging, “Brought over from our neck of the water. Perhaps, if you like, you shall see it.”

“Truly?” Hirsch says, as a grin widens across his face and eyes becoming a fetching glow of blue, despite the dismal overhead chandeliers. “I would very much enjoy that, Mr Wambsgans.”

“It would be nothing,” Tom insists, shaking his head with a wide eye roll, mostly as an excuse not to look directly at Hirsch any longer and become too obvious. “I rarely get the chance to show her off.”

“I look forward to it,” Hirsch says, seeming sincere, then his expression collapses, “Though, I – I do think, it may be difficult to find time, if I am forced to all these events of the season by my mother.”

“The summer months are the best time for sailing, anyway,” Tom says, a bit earnest himself. He is already imagining the glittering water crashing against the bow in some rare sun, then hums a note of interest, as an idea occurs: “Miss Roy also told me you have an estate up north – do you know if it is anywhere near the sea?”

“Oh,” Hirsch intones, lifting a hand and scratching just below his lower lip, as his head cocks in a marked turn. “I think I… Yes? But my mother, I believe, is planning to… entirely tear that down.”

Tom tuts under his breath. “Ah, a shame.”

“I do hope to visit it, before that,” Hirsch says, looking toward Tom between a pair of quick blinks, “But I… I have gained some impression that the takings of our land have been… that is to say, injudiciously funneled by some means, since my Grandfather left it. The keepers’ books reflect impossible circumstance.”

“I cannot say I’m surprised,” Tom says, though perhaps he shouldn’t, since his worldly means currently rely on the man who has certainly and knowingly caused the circumstances of said family land. “It is difficult to reach the opulence around us, and certainly could not have happened on business enterprise alone. Your uncle has all but made himself a second king.”

Hirsch sighs quietly through his nose, as he offers an assenting turn of his head.

“For now…” Tom taps at his chin, sweeping his eyes across the ambling party below them with a series of quiet tuts. “Let’s see, who’s a good match for a redundant heir with no capital on hand…”

Hirsch huffs politely into the back of his knuckles.

“Miss Jordan?” Tom says, pointing toward Jess looking at Kendall with a pursed mouth and an expression of tired exasperation. “She’s quite competent and manages your cousin’s… everything, I believe.” He points in another direction, to a woman looking very much like she would like to leave out by the windows. “And Miss Lia is trained in legal matters – ah, there’s also Miss Castellabate, a confidant of your uncle.”

Hirsch hums a flat note of disinterest. He turns away from the room, leaning against the rail with a weak shake of his head.

“Do you not know how to dance?” Tom asks, as the thought occurs, raising his brows with a demonstrative lift of his eyes from Hirsch’s ankles to his bowed head. “I assure you, you’re in good company. The quadrille seems well beyond most in present company.”

“No, I – I do,” Hirsch says, sweeping hair behind his ear with a glance across his shoulder, gaze pausing on Tom for a pair of seconds, then continuing over his shoulder with a flat press of his lips. “I’ve had many lessons. My mother made it, uh… clear what was expected on the journey, though I… I suspect she did not truly know.”

“She has been out of the ton since before you were born, hasn’t she?”

Hirsch chews his lips for a pair of beats, then drops his head in a nod. “But then… the war started, and she thought it best to come back.”

“And her father had passed?”

Hirsch appears somewhat more honestly bemused for a beat, then blinks rapidly, quickly nodding agreement. “Yes, he – It was very dreadful. His death.”

Tom raises a brow, tutting under his breath, and watches as Hirsch nervously touches up the sweep of his hair. He really is blessed with every delicate aspect; the way his round eyes dart to and from Tom, tongue peeking to wet his pink lower lip, is far more alluring than should be for their collective good standing.

“You really should dance,” Tom says, raising his brows, as he pushes away from the view of the lower level. He glances to the side, confirming that Hirsch eagerly follows, and feels a smile threaten to glance across his lips too soon. “It’s how you determine your physical compatibility without jumping straight into the bedchamber.”

“Ah…” Hirsch visibly swallows, dropping and rolling his chin against his chest while he wets his lips. “I’m not sure.”

“No?” Tom prompts, tilting his head up with a mocking tone. He leads Hirsch through another door into a hall, toward a row of moonlit bay windows, where the house is entirely empty of any guests, and music and conversation are but murmurs behind them. “Are you really so shy?”

Hirsch looks sideways through his lashes, humming and dropping his head to a demur angle. “I do not know… I would describe it as that.”

Tom hums a flat note, feeling a smirk slip across his mouth. “I don’t believe I would, either.”

Hirsch looks up with a start, staring for a beat, then his eyes dart around their dark corner and his mouth falls open. “Have y-you perceived me so easily?”

Tom tips his head, but otherwise ignores the question, instead coming to a pause in front of a window over the garden. “Have you heard of a waltz, Mr Hirsch?”

“I – I have,” Hirsch says, quietly, his soft accent quickly thickening with nerves. “It is… somewhat unseemly, no?”

“Do you think so?” Tom says, looking over his shoulder with a narrow of his eyes and a furrow of his brows, watching Hirsch immediately shrink at the short tone. “I’ve rather appreciated it gaining recognition, as I gladly prefer it to these group frolics and minuets some in the ton consider decent. It is downright common in Bavaria, where based is a coterie of Wambsganß… It is so funny to me that a dance my parents did in front of the hearth could be so outrageous.”

“I see…” Hirsch weakly drops his chin, plainly scolded to some degree. “Do you… reference it for some reason?”

“I was wondering if you might know it?” Tom asks, softening his voice, as he cants in a way that brings him closer to Hirsch.

“No, I – I would not say so,” Hirsch says, shaking his head with a shy roll of his lips against this teeth. “The ship had some cavorting in the evening on deck, but I never… I wasn’t one to partake.”

Tom holds out his hand, palm up, and encourages Hirsch to take it with an upward jerk of his chin. “Would you partake with me, if I asked you to?”

Hirsch takes a sharp breath, but only hesitates a few beats more before he slowly reaches out and folds his long fingers around Tom’s hand, uncertain and loose-gripped; his expression is somewhat difficult to make out in the dim hall, but his eyes are large and his heart-shaped mouth is parted in a curious fashion.  

Tom hums gently and more boldly takes Hirsch’s other hand to set it on his shoulder, then tucks his own hand against Hirsch’s side with a quiet tut. He should, probably, encourage Hirsch to lead, easier to learn and his height supporting it, besides, but instead he simply encourages Hirsch to begin to move back with a push.

Hirsch must recollect more than he let on, as he stumbles some, but begins to move rather fluidly, falling into easy step. He looks hastily up and down from their feet, chewing visibly on his lip, and squeezes his hands loose and tight again across Tom’s shoulders, against his raised palm, while they slowly, carefully spin a full circuit in the wide hall.

“Does it feel unseemly?” Tom asks, lowly, slipping his hand across Hirsch’s back with a carefully planned shift closer on the next step. He is somewhat delighted when Hirsch’s arm curves tighter against his shoulder, as they spin, until Tom reluctantly sweeps a heel back. “Hm?”

“I know it is,” Hirsch says, voice just as soft, head tilted down at Tom with a contradictory smile flitting across his mouth. “But I-I don’t mind.”

“That’s a curious response,” Tom says, with a laugh, and promptly closes more distance between them, so his hand lowers further on Hirsch’s spine with a downward slide. He can feel Hirsch’s heart for the instant that their chests press together, and it must be thudding nearly as hard as his own. “But I don’t believe I do either.”

The music changes in the ballroom, far off and faint with a new song, but the steps stay the same between them.

#tomgreg

[loser-hub]

Who said birds and cats don't mix?

No one? Okay.

Its cats and dogs?

Well, clearly whoever that said has never seen the antics of Tweety Bird and Sylvester or Tom and Jerry. Cats didn't mix well with other animals, even other felines.

So how you and the Number Two Hero himself managed to go this long without scratching each other's eyes out was a scientific mystery. A question for the ages. Not that you weren't tempted from time to time, he was Hawks, Hawks...he was Hawks and that came with many, many things to contend with. Your animal counterparts didn't always mesh well but you two made it work.

Hey, he was Hawks after all.

Rising through the ranks, from a rookie to a hero of notoriety, wasn't as difficult as they made it out to be in Hero School. No doubt feathers were left in the wake of the person who schmoozed you through to the level just below the penthouse.

Almost immediately you had been scouted out by the Wild, Wild Pussycats due to your feline nature but they were over the top? Their search and rescue abilities didn't fit with your offensive capabilities. You were purrfectly fine just where you were, besides, the top spot was made for fighters anyways. All Might, Endeavor, and one day The Clawful Hero: Nekomata! You would go down in hisstory!

Hawks had been called away for a job, just a little one. It had been a day or two since he left and his texts mentioned he'd be back later that day...or so you thought. He was an incorrigible prankster. His pranks ranged from the minor switching clothes in drawers to the more aggressive bucket of water waiting on the door to the out right cruel act of switching vanilla pudding in cups to mayonnaise, ketchup in jelly donuts, the list goes on and on!

He truly was a cruel, cruel bird.

The rotten egg of the bunch.

Now Hawks saw the perfect opportunity to mess with you after he saw a video of cats reacting to food, catnip and meows. He was going to try them all, one by one. But first came the meow-ing.

For being a birdbrain manbaby his ability to mimic sounds and words was on par with other birds and he had learned so many of your little 'mew's, they were like his coos. Little noises that were unconsciously done but were so adorable in his eyes. So adorable he had to maliciously tease you with them!

Thankfully you didn't hear him enter the apartment, he was oh-so quiet turning the lock and typing out the security code. His dumbass was floating on a bed of his feathers so you wouldn't hear his foot falls, he knew your hearing was far too keen to miss that. Creeping around the kitchen, ducking under the dining room table, slithering cross the floor like a spy agent Hawks searched to find your exact location.

Curled up on the couch, with earbuds in, distracted? Good, good.

"Mow."

No reaction.

"Meow."

He saw your slitted eyes dart to the side.

"Meow."

The sounding call of your kind brought you out of your video watching stupor. Fluffy ears picking up the noise, pointing in the direction you thought you heard them from.

"Meow."

Another.

"Meow!"

The winged man was getting impatient with your lack of response so he decided to go with a noise that was louder, distressed, in trouble. As a hero and animal lover you were bound to investigate.

"Mrow!"

You disappeared from his view as you swiftly and adeptly lept from your cushion on the couch, silently padding along the wall to make it around the corner.

This was the moment.

He knew.

This was his moment!

Any moment now he'd see your head peek around the corner and he could see you jump out of your skin, hearing your shriek. That would be a great welcome home present, that and the reaction he'd get when shoving broccoli in your face in a couple of seconds.

Right on time, he saw the tips of your cute little ears poke around the corner. In one fluid motion Hawks moved around the doorframe and shouted right in your face. Mimicking the noises better than you could.

"MEOW!"

The reaction was priceless, Hawks watched with bated breath as he saw your pupils go round then to dangerous little shivs, your ears folding back and your tail frizzing out to thrice the size. You recognized who your spooker was as soon as the birdman appeared and you bared your fangs at him. That didn't stop your body from doing its natural reaction though, the leg that was primed and ready to kick him in the family jewels instead propelled you off the ground. Right up the wall. Your weaponized claws dug into the plaster and held your agile weight.

The fury that an angered cat harbored was unlike any other. Only matched by the wrath of a miffed Karen and entitled mother and yours were pinpointed at the other hero.

"HAWKS!?!"

"Awh, I was only kitten around, come down."

"Never!"

You held your ground, quite literally, and hissed at him.

Little did you know that he had a 'peace offering' to give you for this exact occasion.

"I brought you back a paw-some gift, would that make up for my little prank?"

"I think it would."

Hawks watched as you clawed your way down the frame, taking chunks of wall and wood with your claws. Making little gloves in the process but the fragments fell once your talons were retracted. Good, there goes the chance at him loosing an eyeball or two.

He waited for you to come within reach and...

Pull the sprig of vegetable from behind his back and thrust it against your face. The leafy tree looking devil spawn threatening to go straight up your nose, cats and cucumbers and cats and broccoli did not mix. Even for a cat person they didn't mix and Hawks knew that all too well. Happily using it to his advantage.

Your face went greener than the broccoli itself, the bile was rising up from the pit of your stomach and your tuna lunch was ready to be spilled out on to the carpet.

"Yuuuucccckkkkk! Blegh!"

"Ha ah! I got you good, Chickadee!"

The large vegetable was waved around like a floppy leek. Dancing and swaying his hips side-to-side in victory as your feline form was rendered incompetent at the food.

"Would you...like a cucumber?"

"Get that thing away from me! Don't you dare! I'll claw your eyes out!"

"If you can catch me, Dove."

#hawks x reader #keigo tamaki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #cat!reader #crack fic #fanfic #fanfiction

[ericsonclan]

A Comforting Melody

Summary: Clementine wanders around Ericson with Maisy to find Louis who has a new song to show her.

Word Count: 1796

Read on AO3:

Clementine walked through the silent hallways of the dorms, her footsteps the only sound save for the muffled voices outside in the courtyard. She took a deep breath and enjoyed the peace of the moment before Maisy stirred in her sling. Her baby began to cry softly and Clementine rocked her lightly as she walked forward.

“Hey, it's okay. I’m right here,” Clementine smiled down softly at her daughter. Maisy looked up at her mom with large eyes and seemed to calm down a bit. Clementine gave a small sigh of relief, glad that Maisy had settled down. She continued down the hallway and noticed that the sun was setting which meant that dinner wouldn’t be too long from now.

Her eyes wandered back down to the sling and noticed that Maisy looked rather sleepy. Maybe she could sneak in a quick nap time for Maisy but Clementine also wanted to check in with Louis. Considering her options for a moment, Clementine opted to find her husband before settling Maisy down for a nap. Wandering towards the doors Clementine carefully opened them and was hit with the sounds of her friends happily going about their daily lives.

Aasim had just gotten back from hunting and immediately went over to Ruby after setting down the catches for the day. He always made sure to find Ruby first to reassure her that he was okay after a day of hunting. Aasim smiled softly at his wife and stole a quick kiss before holding out his hands to hold his son. Ruby handed Zachariah over and Aasim gently held his son and placed a kiss on his forehead before rocking him softly.

To the right of the happy family Willy was busy trying to learn how to braid hair from Violet and Prisha. Renata seemed just as intent on learning the special art of hair braiding. Allison sat before Renata and seemed somewhat reluctant about being her guinea pig for this but the small smile on her lips made it clear that Allison wouldn’t say no. Meanwhile James was busy helping out with dinner prep with Omar. The pair spoke softly as the faint sound of knives slicing through the vegetables filled the air around them.

“Willy! It’s your turn for watch!” AJ called out from the watchtower, cupping his hands around his mouth. Willy groaned in annoyance, his hands hovering over Prisha’s hair. He was just about to start the first few steps on his journey to becoming the best hair braider of all. .

“Don’t worry, you can always practice later,” Prisha smiled back at Willy who returned the smile.

“Okay,” Willy hopped up from his spot and jogged forward towards AJ who was already waiting at the base of the watchtower. “Any funny looking walkers today?”

AJ thought deeply for a moment at that question. “I think one was stuck in a tree,”

“Really?” Willy snatched up the binoculars from AJ and scrambled up the ladder to the watchtower. He immediately looked out to see a walker who had its hand stuck in a tree. With a groan the walker yanked on its arm, causing it to tear off as it continued after a rabbit that was far too speedy for it to catch. Willy laughed and continued to watch on. AJ watched his best friend for a few seconds before his eyes caught sight of Clementine.

“Clem!” AJ ran forward with a huge smile. His eyes grew large when he noticed his little sister sleepily blinking at him from inside the slink. “Shit. I mean, shoot!” AJ quickly corrected himself before he realized he was talking too loudly again. A look of frustration covered his face as his lips pulled into a pout.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Clementine laughed and ruffled the top of AJ’s afro. “Maisy and I are just going to say hi to Louis before Maisy gets her nap time.”

“It’s Maisy’s nap time? I gotta grab my shiv and go on patrol!” AJ didn’t wait a single second for Clementine to respond and was off like a shot.

“AJ, where’s Louis?” Clementine called out but he was already long gone. With a soft chuckle she shook her head and continued forward. She’d just have to find Louis on her own. AJ tended to get like this whenever Maisy was settling down for a nap. He’d either insist on going on a patrol to make sure no walkers got in and there were no threats around or he’d sit on the bed nearby his sister and keep watch. Either way AJ was determined that no one ever hurt Maisy in any way. Clementine found the whole thing very sweet, how AJ always wanted to protect his family so fiercely and how deeply he loved Maisy. It warmed Clementine’s heart.

Clementine strolled forward, lightly bouncing Maisy as she walked. If Louis wasn’t in the courtyard and most of the daily chores were done, then there was only one place he would be. Clementine immediately made a beeline to the admin building and knew her hunch had been right. For as soon as she had entered she could hear the warm, soft melody of the piano. Clementine felt a smile pull on her lips as she wandered forward towards the music room. Peeking her head inside she saw Louis, lost in his music as his fingers danced upon the piano keys. He continued to play for a few more seconds before he felt Clementine’s presence. Glancing over, Louis’ face instantly brightened when he saw his wife. Sliding off the piano bench, he strolled forward and captured Clementine’s lips in a soft, tender kiss.

“Hello, my darling. What brings you here? Did my alluring music draw you in?” Louis grinned before his smile softened as he became lost in Clementine’s eyes.

“It definitely helped me find you.” Clementine reached out and gently squeezed Louis’ hand. Her heart felt calm and light like it always did when she was around Louis. The two shared a smile before Louis noticed the sling.

“And who is this a-Mais-ing bundle of joy?” Louis gently picked up Maisy and began to rock her. Maisy smiled and gave a small laugh as she reached up to try and grab one of Louis’ dreadlocks. “Damn, how did our kid turn out to be so cute?” Louis looked over at Clementine with a warm smile.

“I think we’re both pretty cute so it only makes sense. Plus she has some of our best features, like your freckles,” Clementine poked one of the freckles on Louis’ face before bopping his nose. Louis’ nose crinkled with joy and he leaned forward and kissed Clementine once more. He looked down at his daughter with pride and love.

“Well, she had your smile,” Louis felt his heart grow warm when he looked at his daughter. “Oh, how about Maisy takes her nap in here? She always loves the sound of the piano plus the rocking chair is in here,” Louis motioned with his head over to the rocking chair that Willy and Prisha had made during the months leading up to Maisy and Zach being born.

“I thought the rocking chair would be on the porch of the admin building,” Clementine commented as she walked side by side with Louis towards the rocking chair.

“It was but as it turns out Zachariah also finds piano music calming. So sometimes when Ruby or Aasim want a quick break from their kid crying they sneak in here with Zach and soon enough my music conks him out.” Louis smiled over at Clementine and gently placed Maisy back into her mother’s arms.

He pressed a quick kiss to Maisy’s forehead then was pleasantly surprised when Clementine captured his lips in a kiss. Louis’ heart soared and he felt like he always did around Clementine, filled with hope and joy. He gave a dorky grin then pulled on the sides of his coat. “I happened to be working on a special little piece for our family when you strolled in. I’ll have to play it again when AJ is around. Where is he by the way?”

“He’s out on patrol. I told him Maisy was taking a nap,” Clementine gently rocked back and forth in the chair.

“Gotta hand it to that little dude, he’s nothing if not protective. It's adorable, him being so protective of our family,” Louis smiled softly; the pride for AJ was clear in his voice. “Well, he’ll have to hear this song later but for now I can give you a sneak peek,”

Louis’ smile was infectious and Clementine couldn’t help but return it. “I’d love that. Let’s see what you wrote this time, Freckles,” Clementine watched as Louis spun around dramatically, causing his tailcoats to flutter lightly. Louis pushed the tailcoats back and sat down. Taking a deep breath, he began to play the song. It was a soft, joyful song. The notes slowly filled the air, complementing each other as the song progressed. His fingers brushed against the keys and fluttered around.

Clementine listened to the music, closing her eyes to soak in every single note as she rocked back and forth in the chair. Louis’ music had always been special; the emotions that he captured in them were always so strong and clear. The notes danced around the room, filling it with the passion that was poured into the song. The joy of it, the tender love, the feeling of comfort and safety. Clementine felt like she could listen to this song forever. Before she knew it the song had ended.

“There, first time played,” Louis spun around on the piano bench and gave his wife a loving smile. Clementine opened her eyes and looked over at Louis.

“I loved it. Does it have a name?”

“Shelter,” Louis awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “Not the most original name, I know.”

“It's perfect.” Clementine’s words made Louis’ eyes shine with joy. Without thinking twice Louis got up and quietly jogged over to steal another kiss from Clementine. Looking down, he saw that Maisy was fast asleep.

“Works every time,” Louis gently took Clementine’s hand and brushed his thumb on top of it. The two watched their daughter for a moment before Clementine spoke up.

“Could you play the song again?”

Louis’ smile grew and he placed a quick peck on Clementine’s cheek. “Of course, my darling.”

Giving his wife’s hand a soft squeeze Louis moved back over to the piano and began the song once more. Clementine closed her eyes and took in every single note. Her heart filled with peace and abundant joy. To think that she had a home and a family. Clementine couldn’t help but feel extremely lucky. She was home.

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg aj #twdg maisy #twdg ruby #twdg aasim #twdg zachariah #clouis #rusim #fanfic

[thorinthehottotty]

Dwemer or Dwarrow - Part 1

A/N: Based on semi-true events in my skyrim.

Summary: Thorin's found himself in skyrim. These are his adventures.

Warnings: cursing

"Honestly, I've always been told the Dwemer were extinct," you offer gently, not wanting to offend the small man.

"We are called Dwarrow where I'm from," he snarls through his perfect teeth.

"Dwarrow?" You repeat and nod. "Alright fair enough." You turn back to the fire, twisting the salmon on your spike slowly. It's an awkward silence for a long moment as he stews in his rage.

Finally, he breaks it. "What happened to make them go extinct here?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure. Dwemer- ah, er, Dwarrow ruins, don't sit well with me. Draugers I can handle, the damn machines are a pain in the ass to destroy."

"Machines?"

"Yeah. Your people are quite the craftsmen. Protecting their secrets even after their fall. I peeked at some crossbow schematics that I retrieved for an acquaintance back in the Dawnguard."

"Dawnguard?"

"Vampire hunters." Thorin sighs. In his world there were no such thing. His first occurrence with them enough to make him hate them like the folk of Skyrim.

"I'd like to visit some of these ruins," he admits. You give him a groan and a glare.

"I didn't sign up to be your tour guide, ya know," you puff out. In good conscious, you couldn't abandon him to that fate. "Whatever. I'll take you."

"Where is the capital for these ruins. We should start there." You wince at that.

"Ohhhh... About that..." You trail off, glare turning sheepish.

Thorin raises an eyebrow, preparing for your next words, but somehow, he was never prepared. Next you'd be telling him that the city had sunken into the Earth like a living fortress.

"I'm kind of wanted in Markarth, like... Really, really badly wanted."

"By the guard? Or those cultists that are after you? Or the Thalmor?" It was too hard for him to keep up with everyone who wanted you dead. It might be easier to list off the ones who were your friends. Between the shifty cat folk that often deal potent moonsugar potions and those uglier than normal elves, Thorin thinks he'll keel over from a heart attack before he gets home.

"The city guard, there was an... Incident."

With a sigh, Thorin lowers his head into his hand. He murmured something in his native tongue. "What's the bounty on you there?" When you didn't answer, Thorin glances to find your lips pursed as you focus on the fish cooking over the fire. "Y/N."

"Well... Something like... Ten thousand gold?" Thorin is baffled by this.

"TEN THOUSAND GOLD!? WHAT IN MAHAL'S NAME DID YOU DO? DEVOUR CHILDREN?"

"No!" You protest weakly, "it's a long story."

"Well, start telling it."

You give a whine and finally seem to decide your food is finished. "Alright. So the moment I enter the city gates, there is an inn and a two little shops. This man sweeps in out of no where, murders a woman, and then I kill him. People are going on about the Forsworn, hysterias breaking out, its a mess." Thorin settles in, knowing you're on your way for another dramatic rendition of your life. "This guy comes up and gives me this note that I 'dropped', obviously I didnt. It tells me to meet him at the Shrine. I get stopped on my way to meet him by this priest. We break into some abandoned house that's been used for something weird- aaaaaand that's not that important, I get it. Deadra, blah, blah, murder, blah, blah, I won the gods favor by beating this jackass priest screwing with his shrine, the works."

He hates to admit but he finds her stories pretty amusing. Even the dark ones.

"So turns out the city is corrupt. I got framed for murder. Befriended the Forsworn king and his enormous orc bodyguard in prison. Shivved a guy. Broke out of prison, accidently killed a guard. Then I had to kill a whole bunch of guards. And now everytime I go back my bounty goes up a lot."

"Why don't you pay your crimes off. You've got plenty of money."

"I was saving it for a house in Markarth, thank you." Thorin gives a groan of frustration.

"You have two houses already, just serve your time. Besides, how are you supposed to buy a house in a city you're wanted in?" She purses her lips at him, looking like she's debating smacking him. His 'tour guide' was his best hope for navigating this strange and dangerous world.

"If I go back, who's to say you're not going ot ruin into some dangerous ruins by yourself." The two of you glare each other down for a long moment. You emphasize your point by biting into your salmon.

Thorin debates for a moment. Despite everything, you'd proven yourself in many ways. A talented warrior, a good friend, and proved to be tender hearted. Truly you were a problem solver. He wasn't the only one you'd helped. He watched you give children homes, help perfect strangers and even stop to help farmers. You were always his best option. Yes, he wanted to go home as soon as possible, but getting there unscathed would be where his problem lie.

"I suppose your right. I'd really prefer not to go back to jail. Everyone wants to fight the dovakin, you know? Especially in prison." You laugh to yourself and he frowns.

"Dovakin?"

"You know... Dragonborn?" Thorin feels a deep sense of unease fill him at that title.

"I do not." You pulled a face, something akin to embarressment.

"You're not going to like this..." You nibble lightly on your salmon, avoiding his gaze. All he was imagining now was you birthing his child covered in scales. Did he say his? No. No, he did not. "So... I am the first one in centuries, but I have... dra...ood."

"Do not mumble." You wince and glance up at him.

"I have dragon blood."

"What does that mean?" He demands, glaring you down.

"I am born with the natural ability to shout." He'd heard that term before. He was unsure he understood it's full meaning. "The dragons have their own language. Each of their words give me the ability to do each of them. You could potentially learn them too but it takes years."

"So any new word you learn you gain magic automatically?"

"It's not so simple..." You turn fully toward him, looking ashamed. "I... I have to absorb a dragon soul for each word..." He watches you, unsure of how to react.

"Absorb?"

"I HAVE TO EAT A DRAGON SOUL OKAY? IT JUST KIND OF SUCKS INTO MY BODY LIKE LOUD LIGHT AND THEN I CAN DO SHIT OTHERS CAN'T!" Oh... That was... Different. Though he's more curious than angry now and his slow nod seems to relax you.

"Like what?" You sigh and stand up.

"This is the most basic I can show you. It's called unrelenting force," and you turn away, a deep breath in an then... You shout.

He can even see it, the edges glowing blue with magic. It's loud, like thunder clapping in his face and when it hits a dead tree the trunk breaks apart, the whole thing falls, crumbling down. He's awed, finding himself smiling.

He'd never been so attracted to anyone. Here you were, a dragon-soul-eating, prison-breaking, big hearted moron dressed in dragonbone armor and dear god was he falling in love with you.

"I normally don't shout for people, consider yourself lucky," you pout, dropping down onto your log and nibbling disinterestedly at your food.

"What other shouts do you have?"

Taglist: @tomisbaeholland @dabisburntnut @fizzyxcustard @queenofmankind @saviorsong @dumbassunderthemountain

#thorin #thorin thursday #thorin fanfiction #thorin durin #thorin x you #dragonborn #true memoirs of traveling with the dragonborn #dragonborn!reader #thorinxdragonborn!reader

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Safety In Numbers (SpicyHoneyMustard, lemon)

Summary:  Red knows how to play the game. The only problem is, not everyone gets out unscathed.

Tags: SpicyHoneyMustard, Fontcest, Fellcest, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Background Kustard, Established Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, LEMONY GOODNESS!!, Unhealthy Relationship, Unnamed Ship

Sequel to:

Showtime

Secret Garden

A Judicious Amount of Effort

Musically Inclined

Lest You Be Judged

Solo Act 

Appealing To Better Judgment

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Refuge.

That was what Toriel named the protected Monster settlement that rose up at the base of the mountain, for all the Monsters who either couldn’t or wouldn’t live in Ebott.

Red supposed if there was nothing else, they could all thank her for sparing them from whatever dumb shit Ass-gore would’ve called it, like New New Home.

Despite all the treaties and negotiations, there were plenty of Monsters still living there. Some found that once they set their feet on the grass, they were about as far away from the mountain as they cared to get. Some were plain afraid to live out amongst the Humans. And a fair few simply weren’t allowed to leave, their little laminated ID cards didn’t grant them clearance through the front gate. Monsters with LV, Monsters with an appearance that might be considered disturbing. Any Monster likely to hit a ten on the Human freak-o-meter wasn’t allowed out not yet, anyway. Made sense, really. If they scared the shit out of the Humies by going too fast, they’d be lucky if they only ended up chased back beneath the mountain and not used as potting soil.

Try telling that to the dumbfucks, though. Red kept an ear hole close to the ground for any incoming gossip and from what was coming down the line it looked like the Assholes of Asgore were using it as a recruiting point. Red suspected that they didn’t have only have the interest of one or two disgruntled folks.

Anyone with half a lick of sense should see through their bullshit, but if Red was supposed to count on any of the dipshits he knew underground having common sense, he might as well shove a bone through his own soul now and spare anyone else the trouble of dusting him.

Their real goal was to start the bloody war Asgore promised them all and if they managed it, well, it was gonna be a pretty damn short one. Magic was handy dandy, all right, but the Humans kinda outnumbered them a million to one. Hell, while they’d been down below twiddling their thumbs, the Humans figured out their own version of magic, one that was a fuckton more explosive than anything Monsters had on tap. If Red was a betting man, and he was, thanks, he knew which odds he was putting down on.

Red looked out the tinted window of the car driving him through the newly paved streets of Refuge, watching the scenery pass by. Much as he hated being chauffeured around, these days he didn’t have a whole lot of choice. Back when he was training in the guard, there was still some opportunity to skulk around. Strip away his uniform and its delta rune crest, and he was only another Monster with a shitty attitude wandering into Grillby’s for a drink.

Being Chosen took away any chance he had of wandering around unnoticed. Even if Red slipped away from Rus, his face was too well-known now and probably rated a solid six on the Humies freak-o-meter.

If he thought the chucklefucks throwing themselves at Rus’s feet begging for blessings were annoying, it was a damn sight worse when they tried that shit on him. As if he had any say in the way the Universe trundled on down the road. He wasn’t the one second in the queue to chat with the Angel, thanks, and none of the Divine had seen fit to give him their direct line.

Shame Edge didn’t let him fuck with them; a few broken fingers and a bruise or two might give them all a little peace, but eh, his bro was a spoilsport that way. His own fault for leaving the kid on his own years ago while he skulked off to join the guard, instead of sticking around to teach him what’s what. Edge’s code of morals didn’t line up so much with Red’s anymore and wasn’t that a bitch.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and shook one out, ignoring the sour look the driver gave him in the rearview mirror. They didn’t say a peep, though, kept whatever words they wanted to say locked up tight behind their tusks. Being Chosen did have a few perks other than risking his life and getting to spend plenty of quality time communing with Rus’s pussy.

Red lit the cigarette with a harsh rasp of his lighter, took a long drag of smoke and breathed it out as he leaned his skull against the cool window glass, watching the blurred landscape. The streets were lined with cheaply made carbon-copy houses, but there wasn’t a whole lotta room to complain about that. The first few months most of ‘em spent huddled in patched-up tents given to them by the reluctant Human government, miserable in the spring rain and mud that tried to suck off your shoes with every step. Far as Red was concerned, all Monsters should be damned grateful for a house to call their own and if someone wanted their place shaped like a fucking fish, they were gonna have to wait their turn.

Yeah, lots of Monsters struggled when they hit sunshine, trying to wrap their minds around everything that happened. Red wasn’t one of them. He’d been Chosen only days after his boots hit the ground, but he’d spent some time out in the mudholes, searching out threats against his freshly appointed Judge. He’d learned a few useful tricks before putting on a uniform and they sure did come in handy from time to time.

These days, Red didn’t get out as much anymore. Maybe if Rus had more Chosen than only him and Edge, he could’ve kept up with it, but it hadn’t worked out that way. The kid needed him, all of him, and that was that.

Inconvenient, yeah, but probably just as well. Kept him from having to hold the lid down on his boiling need to shiv anyone who fucking dared touch what was his. He played nice enough when it came to all the unity mumbo jumbo bullshit, the Judge was an avatar of the Angel, the Judge belonged to the people, yeah, sure, he’d toe the party line.

But when it came to laying hands on his boy there was only one other Monster with the right. He was as much Red’s as Rus was and that’d be true until the day Red shivered to dust.

So, yeah, he couldn’t do the footwork himself anymore, eh, sucks to suck. Instead, he was forced to rely on other Monsters to keep him rolling in that sweet, sweet info. He’d vetted all of them himself, checked into every detail of their lives all the way back to the day they dropped from their mama’s cooch. Every single one of them was loyal as fuck to the Angel and as willing to spy on each other as they were anyone else, and that right there helped weed out most of the trouble. Wasn’t a perfect method, but it usually worked pretty well and let Red keep his fingers hooked into a few pies. That was, whenever he could pull 'em out of Rus's desserts.

Right now, all his people were working overtime, trying to dig up some dirt on how those fuckers managed to get into the cafeteria to take a pot shot at Rus. When they finally got something concrete, Red planned to deal with it personally, and if Rus ended up giving him a Judging look over it, he didn’t much give a shit. He was Chosen for the Judge, to protect them in every way possible and if the Angel was having second thoughts about it, She could stop by and deal with it herself.

None of that had shit to do with what he was up to today.

The house his car pulled up in front of was as unremarkable as the rest, a cookie-cutter copy with different curtains and a doormat. The driveway was empty but that didn’t mean shit. He already knew they were home, had to be, because they never damn well left.

“stay here,” Red ordered the driver. He nodded silently, sodium-yellow eyes meeting Red’s in the rear-view mirror. Red got out, hopping down to the ground from the high seat with a silent grumble. He took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. Straightening his uniform shirt was an automatic to him these days as taking his next breath. Didn’t make Red hate the fucking thing any less and he forced his hands back down as he trudged up the walkway.

He didn’t knock on the front door. Instead, he went around to the back of the house where he already knew what he would find. A turn of the corner an expansive garden was spread out before him, filled with neat rows of greenery already creeping their way out of the rich dirt.

There was a garden in every backyard in Refuge, every one of ‘em planted at the Queen’s command. Part of her plan was making sure that eventually Monsters would be as self-sufficient as possible. Couldn’t depend on the Humies to keep them in clover forever and sure they had some tech deals getting hammered out, but if there was one truth all Monsters knew, it was that G wasn’t food.

True, it wasn’t a perfect plan; some of those mandatory gardens were pretty fucking sad, brown straggly plants that might cough up a tomato or two before they kacked it. This one, though, was pristine. Red didn’t care about growing shit that couldn’t be rolled up into a blunt and knew even less about it, but even he could see the way all the plants were evenly spaced and that there wasn’t a single weed growing anywhere. Not a stray piece of grass or a single thistle dared peek out of the soil in this garden.

A Monster was kneeling in one of the plots, dressed in overalls and a funny little straw hat, a wagon next to him heaped with tools and paper bags, a small pile weeds who ignored the warning signs.

Red didn’t actually know Blue real well. When Rus talked about Blue, it was always with a wealth of fondness in his soft voice, often whispering his memories in the darkness of their bedroom whenever insomnia haunted him.

Whatever sweetness Rus remember in Blue, it was long since eroded away, torn out of him, and whether it was being Chosen, his past Judgement, or Asgore who did it didn’t much matter to the outcome.

He was one of Sans’s early Chosen, back before Red even joined the guard and the few times he’d seen Blue were when he came to assemblies to watch the trainees before they were instated as full guards. Red remembered seeing him those days; dressed to the nines in his uniform, boots polished until a person could see their reflection in them from ten steps away, every crease straight, every button fastened. Seen him a few times from a distance, too, with Sans, always a nice, respectful two steps behind him and looking as if butter wouldn’t melt between his knees. Couldn’t even picture the bastard ever getting bent over a sofa getting fucked by a desperate Judge.

(Sans was more likely to flop back and take a fucking, way back when, all sly smiles and slick pussy, knees spread wide in invitation. Whatever becoming the Judge did to him must’ve given his preferences a good topsy-turvy, ‘cause gossip in the barracks warned all the guards to be prepared for spending plenty of time on their knees)

They’d talked a few more times since then and not a single one of those chats endeared Blue to Red any more than the first.

These days Blue was pretty fucking hard to look at. His skull looked like it’d been busted apart and put back together by hands that didn’t care if the puzzle pieces didn’t fit right, parts of the bone still discolored with char. The empty left sleeve of his shirt was pinned up neatly to his shoulder and the cane leaning against his little wagon wasn’t for show. He’d survived the coup, but not by much, the only one of Sans’s chosen who didn’t die along with him, and there was a memory that Red didn’t like to take out and play with too often.

His team came in far too late, after it was all over but the vacuuming. Breaking through the barred door and walking into the leftovers of a massacre, a mass Judging, no one who’d been in the throne room came out unscathed. Blue the only one still breathing right and Sans…yeah.

Probably a wonder Blue hadn’t offed himself yet.

All that aside, it was a shame that the stick in his pelvis didn’t get yanked out along with his arm. The eye light that lit his less damaged socket was blazing sharp, and he was struggling to his feet the second Red started walking across the yard, snatching up his cane and brandishing it like a sword.

“What are you doing out here?” Blue demanded loudly. He stormed out of his garden, tracking mud across the carefully shorn grass. “You should be with Rus, he needs to be protected!”

“well, hello to you, too,” Red drawled. He stuck his hands in his pockets carelessly, rocking on his heels. “kid is fine, edge is with him.”

Blue’s dismissive scoff raked across Red’s nerves like the tines of a fork on a cheese grater. “Oh, certainly, with Edge, that’s surely impenetrable protection! Edge wasn’t even a full guard when he was Chosen!”

"might be so, but edge is the one in charge these days. you think i want out there handling that shit?" Either Blue wasn’t keeping up with the times or he was just being a prick. Either was possible, but the fact of the matter was that in public, Edge was the boss. His word was law when it came to Rus and it had a lotta spillover onto Toriel. To insinuate that he wasn’t capable of protecting the Judge was an insult about the level of hocking a juicy loogie into Red’s face and if it was anyone else, Red wouldn’t be fussed about getting the dust out of his shoelaces before he headed home. Blue caught the barest hint of a break, for Rus, but he was already fucking pushing it. Still, Red kept his voice carelessly easy, “you sound kinda worried about your bro.”

Blue shed the glove on his remaining hand and pulled a tidy bandanna out of his back pocket, mopping at the sheen of sweat on his shattered skull. “I heard about the attack, of course. Everyone has.”

“yeah?” Red raised a brow bone, reluctantly interested. “hear any useful gossip about it?”

“If I had, you would already know about it,” Blue retorted. He sighed and gestured for Red to follow him, making his staggering way up to the back porch. It was surrounded by flowering bushes, heady perfume overwhelmingly filling the air while bees flee drunkenly from blossom to blossom. Sitting on a little patio table was a carafe of lemonade, lemon slices floating amongst the ice.

Blue poured two large glasses, pushing one over to Red. He took a long drink, the tartness blotting out the nauseatingly thick reek of the flowers.

Blue took a sip from his glass, ice cubes rattling, and he dabbed away the thin stream that ran out of his cracked jaw with the bandanna. “I don’t hear most of the gossip, I’m afraid, not anymore. I’m a failed guard, the neighbors don’t exactly stop by for visits and chats.”

“You didn’t fail at shit,” Red retorted sharply. Bullshit was all that was, all because Blue managed to not die.

Red wasn’t fond of Blue, but fuck, he’d had nine toes in the dustpan when they managed to tow him back into the land of the living. He’d fucking well tried and if anyone wanted to toss in their opinion on whether they thought Blue didn’t try hard enough, they were welcome to give Red’s fat one a good ol’ suck.

Blue only let out a humorless laugh. Once, his eye lights had been a starry yellow-blue, showcasing his traits. Patience and justice, pretty good draw for a Chosen companion to the Judge. The one eye light he still had was pale and colorless now, reminiscent of Rus’s, only Blue’s was dull, doughy-blank, showing none of Rus’s vibrancy. Hard to believe anymore that these two were even brothers.

Curious that Rus’s Choosing gave him a pair of brothers with a matching trait of Determination. Made a person wonder exactly why, but neither the Angel nor the Judge were telling.

The glass in Blue’s hand rattled against his trembling fingers, the bones still yellowed and scorched. “Tell that to Sans.”

“tell him yourself,” Red lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. The cunning little device in his pocket would’ve warned Red if there was any active listening devices around, but Red hadn’t survived as long as he had without harsh lessons in watching his mouth, “i told you before, i can get you up to our rooms, no one’d ever know.”

Blue’s mouth twisted disgustedly. The movement from his jaw pulled the gaping crack over his dead socket grotesquely wider as the first real emotion winking in and out of his eye light in a flash. "And I told you, there is a reason that former Chosen aren’t allowed near the new Judge,” Blue slammed down his glass, a wave of lemonade slopping over his damaged fingers. “There's no telling how he'd react if he saw me! If he recalled I was once Chosen, he might--ugh!” Blue hunched over with a shudder of revulsion, “It's bad enough that you and your brother are servicing him."

“you questioning the judge’s choice?” Red said coolly, just this side of waspish. He didn't really give a good shit what Blue thought of it, especially considering Red’s reasons for being here to begin with, but he did wonder what Blue would think if he knew Sans popped out for a recent visit. Whispered a coupla sweet nothings while he jammed Rus’s prick East bejesus up Red’s cunt. The memory made a slick of wetness form at Red’s crotch and he shoved the memory back. Not the time and he stuffed that little reminiscence back where the one of his brother’s cock in his mouth lived, the knowledge of how it felt, soft and slick with his own come and Rus’s, carefully tucked into the furthest corner of his mind.

That tart question struck the dartboard in a bullseye. Blue faltered like he’d been jabbed right in the tailbone, sputtering out, “No, of course not, but—" He recovered, straightening his spine and that cool soldier’s expression dropped over his face, the stick in his ass jammed straight. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is the damage it could cause my brother to see me, so you can stop asking, the answer is no, it’ll always be no.”

“whatever you say,” Red shrugged, ‘cause he didn’t care, not really. Except for how desperately Rus wanted to see his fucking brother, just once, one last time. The brother he’d missed out saying goodbye to between Blue’s unconsciousness and him being Chosen. Any other Judge at least got a chance to say fare thee well and the fact that Rus lost the opportunity was just one more bar in Rus’s prison, caged in, body and soul.

Blue’s answer was about what he’d expected though, and that was fine. Another useless attempt to get him to the Embassy wasn’t Red’s real reason for coming.

“not really here about you anyway, pipsqueak,” Red said, letting the words fall lightly. “i heard papyrus is staying here with you these days.”

That little tidbit of gossip came through the vine in the wee hours last night, Red checking his phone with Rus sleeping peacefully beside him, Edge on the far side. He’d spent the rest of the night lying awake, cold fury thrumming in his soul and that was the real reason Red came all the fucking way out here for a little face to face chat. “shacking up with sans’s little brother, huh, that sure must be something.”

Papyrus was only a kid when Sans was chosen as Judge, still in striped shirts and missing his two front teeth. Biggest difference between him and Edge was the Crown gave a stipend to the families of Chosen to make up for the loss of income. Papyrus probably never had a hungry day in his life and certainly not after Sans put on the robes. His bro never had to worry if the shit wage he was earning in the guard was gonna be enough to keep a roof over his kid brother’s head or keep him in clothes when he started growing like a weed. Sans didn’t have to set aside enough for a bribe to make sure that whatever G he made actually found its way to his brother and didn’t end up lining the pocket of some greedy deliveryman.

None of that was Papyrus’s fault and sucking on a silver teat didn’t make him miss his brother any less. Kid tried the join the guard a few times and always washed out, only got to try more than once because of who his brother was. Red wondered morbidly what Blue’s stuck up, sanctimonious ass would’ve thought if Papyrus had gotten into the guard and Sans Chose him.

Now it was looking like that stick in Blue’s ass didn’t keep him from inviting Papyrus between the sheets.

Whatever color was in Blue’s skull leached away, the bone dulling to chalky white, and taking with it any hope that Blue wasn’t using that kid as a dim replacement. His gaze skittered away, hunted, skipping around the yard, looking for fuck knew what. For Sans to step out of the void with shrieking admonishments, for a stray bolt of lightning to finally strike him down and send Blue after those who went before him. There was nothing, only Red standing here holding half a glass of decent lemonade in the sunshine so many died to get.

There was nowhere else for that look to go, no escape, and finally Blue reluctantly looked at Red again. He said, raw and stiffly, “There’s nothing against the code about that.”

“no, there ain’t,” Red agreed, softly. He only met Blue’s solitary eye light evenly. Red couldn’t see into Blue’s soul but he fucking well hoped Blue felt his sins crawling their leisurely way up his spine.

Red set his lemonade down carefully before he gave into the urge to toss it glass and all right into Blue’s broken face. He turned away and started back around the house, barely off the patio when Blue called his name.

“Red?” Blue struggled for words finally asked, plaintively. “Is he happy?”

Almost Red wanted to tell Blue that they kept Rus well fucked. That his little bro looked good stuffed with cock on both ends, that he sucked dick with the expertise of a thousand G whore.

But he wasn’t about to talk about Rus like that, not even to get one up on his shitheel brother. “i like to think so. he’s a real sweetheart.”

Red made no mention of the almost desperate adoration that rose up in his soul that came from only thinking about Rus. That wasn’t for sharing time.

“Yes,” Blue said. His hoarse voice was low, subdued, “he always was. take good care of him?”

Better than you could, Red did not say. “want me to give him a message or anything?”

Blue’s melancholy faded and he shook his head immediately, "Judges are forbidden from any contact by a former Chosen or family, and I’m both. You know this.” He sounded like he was reading straight from the guard manual.

If Rus hadn’t been Chosen, he’d be here right now taking care of his piece of shit brother. Standing back helplessly while Blue fucked the old Judge’s kid brother and pretended he was someone else, and Red was a selfish enough bastard to be glad he wasn’t. “you’re right, i do. so is there?”

Blue only lifted his chin and it was a damn good thing he wasn’t a Judge, because his single eye light was loaded with resentful judgement. “No. There’s nothing I could tell him that he wouldn’t already know.”

Yeah, just as well Rus was Chosen. Blue didn’t fucking deserve to have his brother here with him.

Wasn’t a fucking thing Red could do about Papyrus; he was out of stripes and kid was gonna have to make his own bad decisions and what was Red gonna do about it anyway? Take him back home like a stray puppy he found on the streets? Tell him that he didn’t have to settle for Sans’s leftovers, remind him that it wasn’t Sans’s idea to leave any of them? That he didn’t need to live here, the two of them burying themselves into a dusty tomb that Sans wasn’t even in.

He wondered what Papyrus was getting out of it. If he was closing his sockets and played his own version of pretend.

He wondered why he even cared. Why had he come out here to Refuge, really?

“tell paps i said hi,” Red said finally, “ain’t nothing against that in the code, either.”

“I will.”

Red turned on his heel and headed back to the car before he said something he wouldn’t regret, but would hurt Rus if he ever heard about it. He lit a cigarette before they’d even pulled away from the curb and by the time they got back to the Embassy, he’d smoked his way through the entire pack.

~~*~~

When Red got back to their quarters, he was too fucking tired for the early hour of the day and faintly nauseous from too much nicotine. He closed the door carefully behind him, resetting all the alarms. His joints ached like all his frustrations seeped out of his soul and settled into them.

In their living area, Rus and Edge were sitting on opposite sofas, playing some kind of stupid card game. Rus was choosing to stay home for a few days, barring a Judgement, and that was the only reason Red felt comfortable enough to leave the two of them alone, anyway.

Kid didn’t want to endanger anyone else, perfectly reasonable response to what happened, but they couldn’t hide away in here forever. Rus needed fresh air and sunshine. He needed his meditation gardens, not the weedy looking herbs Edge grew on the narrow windowsill for his cooking.

That meant Red needed to go over the intel his contacts were sending along. Search for reoccurring names, patterns, anything that’d lead him to the end of this snake so he could chop off the head.

Needed to, yeah, but it’d have to wait. Right now, his head wasn’t exactly in the game. He’d left too much of his mind behind in Refuge, turning that chat over and over, trying to find a chink, a solution that didn’t exist.

Probably better to get settled so he didn’t miss a trick, yeah, that was the ticket. All Red wanted right now was some manufactured forgetfulness and he wanted to get started making it right now.

“welcome back,” Rus called cheerily. He only glanced at Red, pale eye lights filled with warm greeting, before turning back to the cards in his hand with a little frown.

That gave Red a chance to discreetly run a mental inventory of his honey. Rus was looking good today. There was some color back into his bones, his pristine skull glossy with health. His magic was leveling out to its normal slower upward trickle. Hell, at a glance he was damn right perky, and that made it hard not to appreciate how fucking pretty he was. His long robes were discarded in favor of a pair of soft, loose pants and a t-shirt to match, bare feet tucked under his knees and a hint of his clavicles peeking tantalizingly over the neckline, begging for a mouth to give ‘em a taste.

Just seeing Rus like that leached some of the aching tension out of Red’s soul, trading it out for relief.

It was tempting to step up right then, but Red hung back, waiting for them to finish their game. When Rus wasn't giving Judgments, what he was mostly was bored. There was only so much meditating and bonding with the spirits or whatever the shit that anyone could do. Protecting the Judge was the focus of their job, the most important thing, but it wasn’t the only one. The other part of their bit was plain taking care of Rus and that included entertainment.

Sex might be an easy way to knock out two birds with one dick, but it couldn’t be the only thing.

Their living room was lined with shelves filled to the brim with books and blu-rays, video game consoles and board games, anything to help Rus pass the day and hopefully forget that the sunshine his brother nearly died to get for their people couldn’t really be his.

“What were you off doing anyway?” Rus asked absently. His attention was mostly on the game, sockets narrowed, and across from him, Edge only waited patiently, the slightest hint of a smirk curving his mouth. Rus didn’t seem too worried about Red taking a field trip, it did happen from time to time.

His brother was probably less than pleased that Red took off without a word as to where he was going other than a hastily scrawled note of ‘back soon’, but eh, Red could take that medicine when he had to.

There was a split-second choice to be made here, whether to tell Rus the truth of where he’d gone or not. With only a couple words, Red could make sure Rus never wanted to see his brother again…and taint every past memory he clung to in the process. Almost did it anyway; Red was an old hand at cleaning up all kinds of messes, he could handle one more. The only thing that held his tongue was thinking of Rus’s grief, the choking tears streaming down his pretty face, and his memory of his brother would end up just one more thing he’d lost.

Only this time it would be Red doing the taking.

Fuck it, if the Angel wanted Rus to know about it, She could do the dirty work.

“nothing important, darlin’,” Red said smoothly, and that was true enough.

Rus didn’t notice anything amiss, but Edge gave him a narrow, suspicious look. Eh, he’d catch his bro up on things soon enough. Now wasn’t the time. For once, Edge wasn’t buttoned from his clavicles to his toes in his uniform, instead dressed in soft pants and a sweatshirt that was a hair too tight, probably from Rus’s side of the closet. Probably meant they’d spent some cuddle time on the sofa before starting up on the game or at least Red hoped so. He might watch the cameras later. Just to make sure.

His wandering thoughts were coagulating, coming back together in his skull and Red was already wondering what kind of distraction he could come up with to tug their attention from the cards when he heard it. Faintly, the familiar, hollow sound of a constant buzzing against bone.

Well, now, this was getting interesting, now wasn’t it.

“care to fill me in on the rules to this game?” Red drawled. He leaned against the sofa arm and treated himself to a more in-depth perusal of them both. Nothing unusual leapt out at him, not yet.

“it’s pretty simple,” Rus said. His cards were fanned out messily in his slim hands, a disorderly array of suits. “whoever loses a round has to wear a vibrator in the next round. winner gets to put the vibrator wherever they want.”

Huh. Rus sounded a little more disgruntled than that called for. Kid was an ace at counting cards, it was a little surprising he’d even persuaded Edge to play. “sounds fun.”

“i thought so too,” Rus said, shooting Edge a sulky look. “only edge doesn’t even work up a sweat, no matter where i put it. i’ve tried it behind his sternum, his sacrum, pubic arch. i'm about ready to toss it into his eye socket and let it rattle around in his skull for a while, see if that shakes him up.”

Edge laid the queen of spades on top of the card pile and said placidly, “My apologies for my self-control being so boring.”

Boring, huh. Red looked his brother up and down calculatingly. The little details were there if a person knew how to look. Eye lights barely hazed, the slightest hitch to his too-even breathing. He was a little worked up, but Rus wasn't lying, he still looked like an ice cube wouldn't melt in his shorts.

Meanwhile, Rus was pouting unhappily, his pretty smile turned upside down, and that just couldn’t be allowed, now could it. An idea perked up in the back of Red’s mind, ripe with possibilities, and Rus would go for it no question. Whether Edge would was dependent on how happy he wanted to make Rus, which usually fell under ‘a lot’. The odds were good, and Red never shied from a good bet.

Red leaned in and settled a wandering hand on Rus’s knee, sliding lightly up his inner thigh and snagging his attention. "how about we play another kind of game, honey."

Rus immediately looked wary, but Red wasn't offended. Couldn't blame him; Rus'd played Red’s games before, good on him for taking the lesson to heart.

"what game?" Rus asked suspiciously.

"Doesn’t anyone want to know if I want to play a new game?" Edge asked no one in particular. They ignored him.

Red rose up on his toes and laid a soft kiss on Rus’s mouth, lingering a little too long over that sweetness before he reluctantly drew back. “lemme get changed first then we'll talk. you go on ahead and finish that round.”

He strolled off, whistling cheerfully. The day was already looking up.

In their shared bedroom Red stripped out of his uniform, carelessly dropping it to the floor for Edge to bitch over later. A pair of well-worn shorts and a t-shirt was a decent match to the wardrobe choices of two brats out there, and made for easier access and cleanup. Ready Freddy, except for one thing.

Red knelt down and dug out a small box hidden underneath their bed, grabbed a little something that might come in handy right soon. He tucked it into his pocket, shoving it deep enough not to arouse (heh) suspicions.

Edge was picking up the cards when Red came back out, tucking them back into the box. The previously unseen vibrator was sitting innocently on the coffee table as if Red couldn’t see the faint traces of crimson that’d been hastily wiped away.

Red crawled up on the sofa next to Rus and held out an arm, pretended that his soul didn’t give a solid throb as Rus immediately snuggled in against him happily. The kid rolled over on his back, his skull in Red’s lap, looking up at him with bright curiosity in those pale eye lights as he said, “c’mon, red, tell me!”

That pout was back and Red took a moment to lean down and quickly kiss it away, allowing only a brief flicker of their tongues together before he pulled back. He stroked the smooth bone of Rus’s forehead lightly, soothingly, “all right, honey love, here’s the game. you got five minutes to get edge to come, however you can. if you don’t get it done in the allotted time, i get five minutes to make him come. winner gets the prize.”

As he’d guessed, Rus’s eye lights immediately blew wide, briefly tinging golden in an abrupt surge of desire. It faded quick enough, Rus struggling to hold it back, but the cat was out of the bag now, wasn’t it.

Across the way, Edge barely stifled a sharp, startled sound, but if he had an opinion about Red’s little suggestion, he kept it to himself.

The rest of Red’s words seemed to have wormed their way past that first thoughtless rush and Rus was frowning again, “that's not fair. if i lose, he'll already be all worked up for you.”

Red leaned down and gave him a light kiss in reward for figuring that out. “ah, but see, difference is, i don't get to touch him. no bone on bone for me, sweetheart, i promise.”

Mollified, Rus settled back. “what do i get if i win?”

“you get to ask a favor of me, anything at all.”

Poor kid was gonna get whiplash the way he kept flipflopping from interest to disappointment. “i can already do that.”

“yeah, but you don’t.” Red pointed out, “you never do. this one you’d earn fair and square, might make it easier if you’re spending your own dime rather than the inheritance.”

Rus nodded slowly, understanding coupled with intrigue lighting his face, “and if you win?”

“same deal, i get to ask one thing from you. anything i want.” That win or lose Rus was gonna enjoy himself thoroughly was heavily implied.

“anything,” Rus murmured, rolling the word around in his mouth, giving it a good taste, but before he could decide if he liked the flavor, another bargainer stepped up to the table.

“I have a question,” Edge said, coolly. Red glanced at his brother meaningfully, met crimson eye lights that were a match his own. Edge was sitting on the opposite sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. The line of his jaw was tense, teeth gritted together, but that wasn’t distaste or reluctance on his face, not one fucking bit. He waited to see if his bro would beg off or outright refuse. They’d teeter-tottered around into a little touchy feely a long time ago, didn’t matter so long as it helped get Rus off. They'd been ramping it up lately, but this was a horse of a different color, deliberate red on red without a buffer of honeyed gold between them.

He was counting on his brother not to disappoint.

“what’s that, bro?” Red asked.

Edge’s crimson tongue flicked out over his teeth, an almost imperceptible hint at nervousness. "What do I get if neither of you get me to come?"

Oh yeah, that was his bro.

"ah, that’s easy,” Red said lightly, “favor is all yours, little brother. from both of us."

Red looked back down at Rus and he could about see the gears turning in his mind. He was a smart kid, even smarter when you took into account all the Judges in creation playing house in the back of his mind. He was trying to work out what kind of monkey's paw bullshit Red wove into the bargain, but looked like he wasn't finding anything cause all he said was, decisively, "deal.”

“Deal,” Edge agreed softly. He stood and turned on his heel, walking out. Came back only a minute later with a couple towels over one arm, fucking neat freak. He spread them out on the sofa then shed his clothes, folding each piece neatly as he stripped it off. Edge wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as Rus, his bones were thicker with none of the delicacy that was laced into their lover’s, pocked with scars from the years before he was in the guard and the training alike. Strong bone that could take a beating and had, bearing the marks of a survivor and warm pride flowed over Red like syrup, like the honey he so often named Rus.

Edge’s joints were already lit with mana, either from the earlier vibrator or the recent chat, and a cloud of it filled his pelvic cradle, a thunderstorm of brimming desire. He settled back on the sofa, long legs stretched out, and said, mockingly sweet, “Ready when you are.”

A hasty search found lube where it was thoughtful stowed under one of the cushions and Rus drizzled it over his slim hands, rubbing them together until the slender bones were glossy and slick. “summon your cock first, give me something to work with.”

Edge tutted in disappointment, shaking his head, “Asking for a concession already?”

“everyone knows you don’t start a game without setting up the pieces first,” Rus countered, waggling his slippery fingers teasingly.

“he’s got you there, bro,” Red chuckled, amusement mingled with a peculiar sort of relief. All the nastiness of the day was flowing away, dirty water down the drain, simply by being around these two sassy shits. “don’t you think he deserves a little head start?”

Nice to see that Red wasn’t the only one who weakened under a pair of wide, pleading eye lights. Edge softened like sweet butter left on the stovetop. The swirl of his magic solidified, his cock formed between his femurs, already heavy and hard, a formidable piece of equipment that Edge usually put to good use. Rus reached out with dripping hands, only waiting when Red called out.

“hold up.” Red pulled out his phone, setting the timer, “okay, rus…go!”

Red settled back into the throw pillows to watch the show, one hand slithering down the front of his shorts, hard phalanges idle against his pubic crest where his magic was settling humidly. Wasn’t any part of the bet against him coming and Red was all ready to hit the concession stand.

Rus didn’t waste any time, both hands already curled around Edge’s shaft, spreading the slippery lube until the scarlet ectoflesh was glistening wetly. The rhythmic sound was wickedly obscene, startlingly loud over Rus’s satisfied hum.

There was no reaction at all from Edge, his eye lights barely flickered as Rus stroked him. Even when Rus frowned determinedly, kneeling between Edge’s spread legs, tongue already eagerly extended. He lapped softly at the little jewel of scarlet fluid beading at the head of Edge’s cock before sucking the length of it down with a messy slurp.

“that’s it. little brother,” Red called, smirking as Edge only hissed out a breath, keeping stubbornly still, “don’t make it too easy for him.”

It was a helluva show, to put it mildly, worth it even if by some random chance Red lost the game. Rus was pulling out all the stops, using every dirty, wicked trick he’d been taught between them about giving head and a couple made up on the spot. The long, flexible length of his tongue wrapped around the shaft, a thumb and forefinger surrounding the base, following the tight rhythm of Rus’s head. Mouth sloppy wet, golden spit sliding down his chin and wetting his hand as Rus sucked Edge in deep, his formed throat bobbing as he swallowed, formed muscles massaging the hard length. His free hand wandered wherever it could reach, seeking out places he knew were sensitive. Rus had mapped out their bodies with those shy, nimble fingers of his too many times to count, committing their every twitch to memory, and now he was tweaking cartilage, fondling up the length of Edge’s spine, teasing at his floating ribs.

All the little details put together a fine picture; Rus’s ass in the air, his clothed pelvis wriggling enticingly as he worked. Muffled whimpers were spilling into the air from him around the cock filling his mouth, garbled pleading, and Edge sure as fuck wasn’t unaffected now.

Sweat decorated his skull like glittery sequins as Edge breathed hard through his nasal cavity, his tongue caught between his jagged teeth hard enough that a thin rill of crimson was spilling down his chin. His knees jerked slightly with each bob of Rus’s head, bones clattering softly. A raw groan escaped Edge, hinting at desperation at the exact moment the timer buzzed, shifting to a pained gasp as Rus pulled off with slow deliberation, giving the head a last teasing suck.

Rus sighed in mock disappointment, wiping at his mouth fruitlessly with the back of his hand and only succeeding in smearing the mingled gold and crimson fluids. “damn it, guess i lost.”

“guess you did,” Red slid down to the floor with less grace than he would’ve liked, knees wobbly and his own arousal settled heavily into his pelvis. “have a seat, honey, watch the master at work.”

Mischief flittered over Rus’s face, far too quick for anything but a warning. He caught hold of the front of Red’s shirt and yanked him in, forcing his sex-tainted tongue down Red’s throat. The taste was one he knew all too well, honey sweetness mellowed with spice, rich and addictive.

A last delicate swipe of his tongue and Rus sashayed away, snagging one of the pillows to curl around while he settled in for his turn to watch.

Red licked the back of his teeth, catching the last of that tang before it faded completely. Yeah, Rus was gonna pay for that.

Or maybe Red needed to thank him, because Edge was watching them hotly with a riveted gaze, a thread of crimson fluid leaking from the tip of his cock to stain the towel.

He didn’t quite flinch as Red crawled up on the cushions, keeping a careful distance from his brother’s bare bones. There was a certain fraught quality to Edge’s expression, a feral wildness like he might bolt away.

“close your sockets, bro,” Red told him, gently. Which mean of course that Edge did no such thing, contrary bastard.

“Why?” Edge said suspiciously. His gaze flicked down Red’s body helplessly to where his dick was pushing out the front of his shorts, then away, then back to Red’s face, the color blooming his cheekbones lovelier than any flower in Refuge.

Thoughts like that weren’t gonna help Red win the game and he shoved it aside, adding it to his growing collection of ‘ain’t thinking about it’.

“because i fucking told you to,” Red retorted, “that’s why. now play the game right.”

“I don’t recall following orders being in the rules,” Edge grumbled, but this time he did as he was told.

Red waited until he was sure those sockets were closed tight, not the faintest hint of crimson showing. Then he reached into his pocket for his special toy surprise.

This particular prize wasn't from their normal toybox since Rus didn't have a lot of interest in his cock. That might be changing, he'd give it a thought some other time. The toy was made of a gelatinous material was only slightly softer than ectoflesh, formed into a hollow sheath that was lined with small bumps and curving grooves designed stimulate, drag out every drop of pleasure possible, willingly or otherwise.

The expected cries of cheating didn’t come and Red flicked a glance at Rus to find him watching with wide, rapturous sockets, face flushed golden bright. One arm was wrapped so tightly around the pillow the fabric threatened to burst and his other hand pressed between his legs overtop his pants, fingers digging in helplessly as if he could stop his cunt from forming by sheer, physical will.

The audience was waiting, the timer was set. Time to get this game started. Red scooped up the depleted bottle of lube and squirted a dollop into the sheath and with one motion, deftly slid it down on his brother’s dick.

The reaction was gratifying. Edge’s hips lurched up wildly, his sockets flying open, hands curled into claws that very nearly latched onto Red’s skull before they abruptly diverted and clenched into the sofa cushions.

"You said no touching!" Edge hissed, crimson eye lights flashing as he trembled with outrage. His sharpened fingertips dug into the cushions, tearing through the fabric down to the memory foam.

“i ain't touching you a bit, baby brother,” Red crooned, and tightened his fist around the sheath, giving it a quick, vigorous stroke. Those bumps had to be digging in, massaging their way up and down with each rub.

Edge gasped wetly, squeezing his sockets shut, "Don't call me that!"

The other sofa creaked and Red slanted a glance at Rus who was halfway to his feet, reaching out weakly and conflicting emotions tangled across his face. “red, stop," Rus said, trembling but firm. "not if he doesn't want it."

Red only chuckled darkly, dragging his clenched fist down achingly slow, then up abruptly again, "oh, don’t you worry, honey, he wants it. don't you?"

Edge said nothing, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he struggled to keep his pelvis still while Red jerked him off through the thin barrier of the sheath. Looked like the trap might need a little more bait.

Red leaned in closer, careful not to so much as graze his brother’s strong, scarred bones, and whispered, low and harsh, "you remember the first time you fucked him? the way he was spread out under you, begging you to take him?”

This time his brother’s breath creaked out like the hinge of an old door as Red kept it up, murmuring breathily close to his auditory canal, “remember pushing your cock into that pretty virgin pussy? how it was already dripping with my come, how tight he was around your cock? kinda like this, yeah, remember him cryin' cause he needed it so much? how scared he was, showing us his soul? sweet thing all dripping wet, he needed it so bad, the mess he made, oh, that honey magic and silver, practically squirting over himself the second you touched his clit, remember that? you remember how he looked when he came?"

He kept up the relentless pace with every low word, letting the memory warm him. There was a certain charm to clumsy eagerness, inexperienced hands searching unknowingly for all the places that felt best. Not that Red missed it exactly, but he sure didn’t mind bringing that memory out to play with from time to time.

Edge was struggling, heaving, his eye lights narrowed to pinpricks as he stared blindly up at the ceiling.

Almost there, almost, and Red leaned in close enough for Edge to feel the heat of his breath, a bare whisper too low for Rus to possibly hear him, "member the first time he said he loved us?"

That did the trick. Edge let out a wretched sound like a sob, bones rattling as he came, filling the sheath to overflowing with his seed. Red could feel the surging heat of it through the thin plastic, smelled the rich spice even as the blare of the alarm came from his phone.

Game, set, match.

Red pulled off, tossing the dripping sheath to the coffee table to join the vibrator already there. Edge only lay weakly in his defeat, pelvis smeared with come, the rest of his bones dabbled with sweat. Red left him there to wallow in his filth, prowling over to Rus.

Who scrabbled back into the corner of the sofa, his sockets so wide it looked like his eye lights were gonna pop loose and fizzle out on the carpet. He fumbled for the phone gracelessly, somehow managing to turn off the warbling timer without dropping it on the floor even as Red raked a look over him. Taking in the heated glow of his joints, the honey-tint to his eye lights, the wet patch seeping through his pants, leaving a darkened stain that clung visibly to his pussy lips.

Yeah, Red had his number now. Looked like their honey had a lil' voyeurism kink going on. That was a new toy Red was looking forward to playing with, fuck yes. But for now, he had a problem of his own going on in his pants and Rus’s magic was crackling hotly in the air, searing lightning searching for the ground

"lay back, sugar," Red slipped off his shorts, briefly fisting his own cock, groaning at the feel of his own hard fingers.

Rus did it instantly, squirming as he worked his pants down his legs and kicked them off even as he asked doubtfully, "this is what you want as a favor?"

"nope, this is mine by right.” Red jerked Rus down until his pelvis was at the edge of the sofa, long legs dangling to the floor. He shuffled forward, lining his cock up with Rus’s eagerly clenching entrance, smearing his cock with golden wetness. “i'll let you know about the favor."

Then he shoved into that wet pussy, groaning at the soaking, tight heat around him as Rus’s wail filled the room.

So fucking gorgeous, watching Rus whimper and flail as Red fucked him. Pretty as Rus was on his knees, Red liked him better on his back. Liked watching that lovely face scrunch up every time Red fucked into him, honeyed tears welling up, streaming down the rounded curves of his cheekbones as that sassy mouth dropped open and his tongue curled behind his teeth.

In the down under, he got to watch his dick moving in the soft, golden magic that filled Rus's pelvis. His cunt was a slippery, plush delight, that first thrust inside always bordered on too tight until his walls loosened up a little, Rus whimpering out little cries as Red forced his cock in, past the rippling clench to fill him up.

And fuck him for how hot that was. Red knew Rus could take a fist all the way up to the elbow into his pussy, a cock wasn't no big thing, (heh), but the feel of it, fuck, like taking his virginity all over again. Red braced his heels against the coffee table and pumped harder, watched the length of his shaft slide in, pussy lips spreading wide around it, parting to give him a nice look at Rus's swollen clit. Red reached down to trace around it teasingly with a careful, sharp-tipped finger and Rus let out a frantic whine.

"you want somethin’, sweetheart?" Red panted out.

"i want to come!" Sweet desperation poured from him, fuck, talk about no stamina. Then again, Rus was like a little energizer bunny of orgasms, he could keep going and going, popping off one after another. Wasn’t no reason to hold him back now.

One hard drag of Red’s thumb over his clit and Rus was arching, his legs going tight around Red’s hips, holding him in deep as he convulsed. A fresh rush of wetness flooding his pussy, smoothing out the ride.

Rus sagged back against the cushions, hiccoughing soft little cries as Red kept it up. His own orgasm was swelling in him, tantalizingly close. Next to him, the sofa suddenly dipped with added weight and maybe Red couldn’t lean up high enough to give Rus’s pleading mouth a kiss, but that was fine, cause Edge was there to do it for him, his brother’s crimson tongue moving sinuously against Rus's golden one, fuck, yeah.

"come on down here, bro,” Red growled, flicking his thumb over Rus’s swollen clit again, “got something better for you to work with."

His brother shifted downward instantly, tilting his head in to lick at that sensitive nub. His crimson tongue was long, prehensile, dipping in between Rus’s femurs. Not his normal one, either, this one forked at the tip, all the better to work against Rus's clit, circling it from both sides, yeah, his fucking clever brother. Sometimes it wandered too low, one of the tips occasionally grazed against Red's cock, slyly pushing into Rus’s cunt and catching Red off-guard with a brief firework of sensation.

Red could taste his own sweat, sharp and faintly bitter, tried not to jerk as that tongue lashed against him again. He didn’t want Edge the same way he did Rus, he didn’t, but oh, you kid—

Fuck it, he couldn’t hold out anymore.

Red let go with a groan, pulling out to come in hot streaks over Rus's pelvis, and, oh, yeah, his bro's face. Edge flinched, closing his sockets and didn't stop, licking Rus through another orgasm even as a glossy spurt of come striped across his tongue, the fluid a shade of crimson darker than the ectoflesh.

With a deeply satisfied sigh, Red shuffled over enough to flop on the sofa even as Rus trembled and writhed through his shuddering ecstasy. He watched through narrowed sockets as Edge sat up, blinking too fast and his tremulous expression was loaded with conflicting signals. Almost, Red reached out, his sense still blurrily pleased, struck with the idea of rubbing his come in, smearing it across his brother’s scarred bones, marking him—

He reeled back, snorting aloud at his own stupidity. Yeah, yeah, his brother and no one else’s. He’d lived that schtick his whole life, no reason to complicate it now.

Looking at it sideways, the mess of his come was dripping down Edge’s skull in a way that made Red think hilariously of strawberry syrup on cheesecake.

Well, it could be a sweet treat for someone to eat, now couldn’t it.

"whoopsie, looks like i messed him up," Red drawled, elbowing Rus lightly. "you gonna clean him up, sugar skull?"

Rus stirred at the pet name, sockets fluttering open, then going wide as he took in the sights. He swallowed audibly, husking out, "yeah i can…i can do that if…if you want?"

Like Edge was even capable of turning that down. A short, sharp nod and Edge sat obediently still, let Rus lave at his face, greedily licking up the spatters while Red watched the crimson smearing the deeper gold of his tongue avidly. The sudden flood of fresh arousal was startling, almost unwelcome.

Almost.

The way he figured it, Edge would only stand that for so long before he hauled them all off to their massive shower. The three of them standing together beneath the generous spray, the water pouring down on them about two degrees lower than the temperature of lava, exactly how Rus liked it. The probability of blowjobs or fucking was high and so was the chance of a nap afterword, Rus snuggled up against him blissfully well-fucked, his brother on the other side. A preciously rare gift from the Angel to make up for the slagging shithole of Red’s life before.

He'd guarantee that Rus would mumble out a sleepy ‘I love you’ for them both before drifting off and right about then, Red wanted that more than anything in the fucking world. Those three words, Rus, and Edge.

His, all his in a way no one’d ever been his entire life. Not even Sans.

Red didn’t have a fucking clue what game they were playing anymore. Didn’t matter, either. All he knew was that the fates were sore losers and that he didn’t give a shit.

He was playing to win.

-fin

Next Chapter

#fontcest #keelywolfe #underfell papyrus #underfell sans #underswap papyrus #underswap #underfell #lemony goodness #papcest #spicyhoney #honeymustard #spicyhoneymustard #bodyguard au

[fics-not-tragedies]

Suit it up

©

This fic is based on this request I got ages ago, and yes obviously it is what it is folks 🤷‍♀️

SUMMARY: You’re Santino’s tailor and one day he visits your store right before the closing time. Words:  1933; Warnings: smut;

Readers tag list:

@spookier-than-u; @oreofenyloetyloamina; @derangedcupcake; @geostarr; @catsmieow; @wickedlangdon; @bodhi-black; @bugalouie; @onebatch--twobatch​; @fandom-lover-4; @mikaneonox; @drunkonyellow; @spadesandaces2342; @harrisongslimited; @hhighkey; @lunilate; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login; @sgt-morgan; @coloursunlimited; @childrenofthegun; @weminiaturestrawberry; @silverlambcaptain; @scarletmoon83; @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day; @krazycags01; @charlottebonnie; @moonlit-raven-haven; @girl-at-the-verge; @boopdedoop; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch; @ladyreapermc; @wifeofdarklordsworld; @mysticfluffyness; @zombiepandajfish; @kollover24; @greenmanalishi; @persephonehemingway; @lovelycarose;

Your small shop is cluttered and has the well-worn look of a place that's been in business a long time. There is a small rack of suits awaiting alterations against one wall, framed photographs of satisfied customers arranged randomly along another, and a large three-way mirror in the back corner of the room.

The slow summer day was slowly coming to its deserved end. You already managed to clean out your desk, hiding all of the patterns and tools that were needed through the day. Various fabrics were still unrolled and placed on one of the large tables in the back of your shop.

When you emerge from behind a curtained doorway in the rear wall with the intention to lock the door and move upstairs to your small flat, the set of keys jingling in your hand, you barely make it to the curtain that shields them from the insides of the store when the worn out bell hung above the entrance rings with whatever is left of its life and you froze upon seeing who entered the place.

“Santino…” you breathed out, dropping your keys.

“Buona sera, bella” he was charming as always and quickly got closer to you and picked up your key from the floor.

“Grazie…” you said, throwing them onto your desk, “What can I do for you today?”

“A need a new suit, bella” Santino gently grabbed your hand and pressed a little kiss to the top of it. You greeted him with a little bow and slid your palm out of his warm embrace.

“Good. I recently ordered new fabrics and I have few of them to show you.”

As you disappeared in the back to grab the pieces of the new fabrics you recently got that you wanted to show him, he just strolled around the shop studying the framed photos on the walls. Everyone looks happy and smartly dressed.

“Don’t worry, you’re not on the wall” you said calmly fixing your hair behind your ear while you clutched the patches of fabrics in the other one.

“So where’s the picture we took together, bella?” He asked raising his perfect eyebrow at you. With a roll of your eyes you let out a small laugh and walked closer to him.

“It’s in my flat, upstairs. Safe and sound.”

You handed him the pieces of fabric, “I got plenty of them, but I think that those three will suit your style the most: cashmere, silk or velvet” you watched as his hand gently slid across the three scraps, feeling them under his palm, before he pinched every single one of them between his fingers, “So what do you think, Mister D’Antonio?” His eyes moved from your hands gripping the fabrics to your face and when your gazes met a shiver ran down your spine.

“I told you, bella, please call me Santino. We don’t have to be THAT official” he spoke in his dulcet tone and you smiled, looking down at your feet to avoid the embarrassment that was making your face red.

“Sì, I’m so sorry Santino, I keep forgetting…” you rub your temple and step away from him. He notices how red your face is and lean forward to gently touch your cheek, feeling the warmth of your skin under his palm and smile at you.

“It’s okay, bella…” now he cups your face in his both hands and you just gasp, feeling his body close to yourself.

“Which fabric then, Santino?” You wiggled the scraps in front of his face and he lets go of you with a loud chuckle.

“Velluto. Nero.”

“Great… does your measurements changed anyhow?” You put the fabrics away and moved to the racks with suits wrapped neatly in black covers with the name of your shop.

“No, they didn’t.”

“And the occasion, Santino? Formal or informal? Day or evening?” You asked him you fingers skipping over the tags with the names of customers that were attached to every cover.

“Formal. Evening.”

“Excellent” you found the tag with his name on it and gently removed the suit from the rack, “Because it’s already done” handing him the suit you opened the door to the changing room, “Try it on and tell me if anything has to be altered.”

“Bella, you’re unbelievable…” Santino gasped, but took the hanger out of your hands nonetheless.

He disappeared in the changing room and you closed the door behind him, “Everything is as you like it: the soft lining, the inside pockets, the special pocket for your gun, the lapels, the pocket square…”

“What do you think?” You ask him when he emerged from the changing room.

“It’s perfect” Santino answered. There’s an odd tone to his voice and you turn away from the mirror to face him. His gaze roam your body freely and you grow warm under his scrutiny. 

He’s quite a feast for the eyes himself. His new black suit drapes smoothly around his tall frame. You meet his eyes and feel something electric in the look that passes between you two.

You order him to remove the jacket and turn around so that his back is to the mirror. Then you stand in front of Santino to study the fit of the trousers, “Enough room?” You ask and you can't help yourself, as your gaze drops to Santino’s crotch and you wonder how much room he does need. You look up and meets his eyes that are dark and unreadable.

After folding and pinning the trouser hem you step back, “So?” you ask him.

“Perfetto” he replies, still looking directly at you. His lips curl into a tiny smile.

“Done” you say, shooing Santino off the pedestal and waving him toward the dressing room. Santino is out of sight for only a moment when you can hear his loud curse from behind the closed door.

“Santino?”

“I think I stepped on something, bella”

“It's probably just a pin.”

“You better come here and check it out, please, bella…”

This man has been beaten and shot at and now he’s whining about a pin? You pull the door open and peek in. Santino is leaning against the wall, pouting slightly.

“Santino, I’m sure it’s nothing…” you reach toward his leg, intending to inspect the bottom of his foot, but his arm encircles you and yank the dressing room door closed. You turn to him in surprise and he pull you close against his body.

“Bella…” he said in a ragged whisper. He leaned in and kissed you hungrily. Stunned, you didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Santino’s tongue nudged and licked at you lips, enticing you to open them. Your mind warn you to resist, but his mouth is hot and insistent, and you waited too long for this; you he part your lips and welcome his tongue with your own.

The heat from the kiss spreads through you and his hard length is pressed to your hip. You run your hands over his shirt, feeling his body heat beneath the fabric, then slide them down to his hips, against the smooth velvet of his new trousers. Santino jerked his hips against your touch and broke the kiss with a moan.

“Is the tailor here?” A voice called from the front of the store slicing through the haze of pleasure and you try to squirm out of Santino’s grasp.

“Santino, wait…” he began to nibble at you ear, and you kept pulling back against his embrace until he reluctantly let go of you.

“Hello?” The voice asked again.

“Yes, I’ll be with you in a minute” you forced yourself to speak, even as you continued to inch away from Santino. You wouldn’t be able to control yourself if you don’t leave the dressing room now.

“You need to take me home, Santino” you said, in as steady a voice as you could muster.

“And then what, bella?” He asked. You merely looked at him and what he saw in your eyes made him groan.

You walked out of the dressing room before he can pounce on you again. Your whole body tingles and you almost forgot to straighten your clothing before opening the door and returning to the front of the shop.

When the other customer is served you lock the doors to the shop and pull him upstairs. Somehow you manage to unlock the apartment door even though Santino’s lips are hot against the back of your neck and his hands have crept around to cup your breasts. You both stumble inside and he close the door leaning against it. Drawing you into his arms, he capture your mouth with his and you could feel the fiery taste of him again.

Santino’s large hands roam down your back and clutch at your ass, and you shiver when you feel his erection, thick and hard. He released your mouth and began to grind against you. You writhe in his arms and tugs at his jacket; as wonderful as he look in suits, right now he need to shed this one.

He released you from his grip and peeled the jacket off his shoulders, then loosened his tie in one swift motion and dropped it to the floor. He yanked his shirt open, sending buttons flying, and you ran your hands greedily across his firm chest. His breath came in harsh pants as you touched his skin and his eyes were dark with lust.

Your hands slid lower and you undid his belt. His fingers followed yours to unzip his trousers and free his hard cock. Inflamed now, Santino reached under your skirt and tore away your nylons. His long fingers fumble for the waistband of your panties and he frantically tugged them down your legs. When you wriggled out of them he grabbed you by the waist and turned you around so that you were the one pressed against the door.

He lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around him, rubbing your wet cunt along his cock. You shivered as his hot length slid across your swollen lips, knowing that he is about to take you right here without being bothered by undressing you. You tilted your hips and Santino pushed inside you with a firm thrust. You both both gasp loudly at the sensation when Santino began to move, rocking you back against the door with each stroke. You melted instantly with his hard cock buried deep inside you and your orgasm hit you suddenly, sharp and fast.

You cling to him as the tremors jolt through your body. Santino gripped you tightly until they subside, then begin thrusting again, urgently, until he came hard, shuddering so fiercely that the door rattled and shook behind you.

When you can finally catch your breath, Santino is trembling against you, and you realize he’s still holding you up on unsteady legs. You uncoil yourself from his waist and he carefully set you down.

“Oh, cazzo…” his blue eyes were bright and tender.

“Yes” you agreed.

He kissed you softly, “In fact this was almost perfect?”

“Almost?” You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“This isn't quite what I imagined you wearing when we made love for the first time, bella” he said, fingering the lapel of your jacket. Your heart skipped at his words and you can’t hide the wide smile that appeared on your face.

“And what did you pictured me wearing, Santino?”

“Nothing” he breathed against the skin on your neck.

“You know, that's just how I imagined it, too” you mumbled, taking his hand and leading him toward your bedroom.

#Suit it up #santino d'antonio #santino d'antonio fanfiction #santino d'antonio fanfic #santino d'antonio fic #santino d'antonio oneshot #santino d'antonio imagine #riccardo scamarcio #riccardo scamarcio fanfiction #riccardo scamarcio fanfic #riccardo scamarcio fic #riccardo scamarcio imagine #riccardo scamarcio oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #imagine #oneshot #santino d'antonio x reader #santino d'antonio x you #santino d'antonio/reader #santino d'antonio/you #santino x you #santino x reader #santino/you #santino/reader

[fortune-fool02]

Unexpected Father

Robert. E. O. Speedwagon x child reader

Requested by: anonymous

Please enjoy.

Ogre Street was home to many horrible people. Everything from petty criminals to rapists to murderers. Ogre Streets had them all. And that was something that Speedwagon had grown use to. He couldn’t change it so what was there he could do?

With a light shiver, the blonde male pulled his coat closer to him in hopes to fend off the cold, biting winds. Snow glided with the wind, nipping at any exposed skin it could. He always hated the winter season, awful weather and long nights. Yet, the long nights were actually a good thing as it gave more cover for theft. Not for Speedwagon though.

It had been a couple of weeks since Johnathan was released from the hospital, and Speedwagon couldn’t have been happier to hear. He had checked on Johnathan just minutes ago and was returning home. 

As he crossed one alley way, he stopped. Confusion twisted his features as he listened. Crying could be heard, despite the wind’s best attempts to muffle it. Peering into the shadows, he could not see anyone in the alley but there was no mistaking he could hear crying. Normally, he wouldn’t have taken concern as to the crying but something about the crying twisted in his gut. He could not leave until he found the source.

Making his way down the alley, his hand drifted to the shiv he kept tucked in his coat, one could not be too careful around this place. The crying grew louder the further he went in until he stopped in front of a large piece of wood leaning against the wall, acting like some form of shelter. He crouched down and peeked under it and felt his eyes widened. 

Underneath the wood, curled up, was a child; appearing to be no older than five or six years old. Had... Had someone left this child alone? In Ogre Street? What were they thinking? The child would not last long, even if they survived the harsh weather -which was unlikely- they were at risk of someone coming along and killing them just for kicks. Or doing something worse to them.

“Hey, kid.” The child stopped crying and shifted sharply, almost smacking their head against the wood, pulling a knife from their pocket. 

“S-Stay away f-from me or.... or I-I’ll kill you.” the child tried to say, trying to appear unafraid and failing horribly. Speedwagon furrowed his brow in sympathy for this child. 

“No you won’t, kid.” he stated, knowing full well this child has never used a knife on anyone before, and very unlikely to. “Come on, I won’t hurt you.” he said, holding his hand out for the child to take. The child looked at his outstretched hand then up at him. 

***

It had taken a good few minutes for Speedwagon to convince the child he meant no harm to them and for them to come with him but he was able to do it. The child shivered violently against him as he carried the child -[Name], as they introduced themself- offering any warmth he could as he carried the child home. 

The second they got through the door, Speedwagon set the [Hair colour] child down, he rushed around the house to gather as many blankets as he could carry and wrapping them around [Name] after setting them on the couch. 

“There we go, that should help you warm up.” he said with a soft smile, watching as [Name]’s shivering slowly began to calm down. He then went to the kitchen and began searching through the cabinets for anything to give them. He found a couple of things he was able to throw together and make some tea for [Name]. 

The food did not last long, telling Speedwagon it had been a while since [Name] had had a warm meal, or a proper meal to be more precise, and smiled when they finished the plate, thanking him for it. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” he said, putting the plate in the kitchen and sitting beside the [Hair colour] child, only to find the small child had fallen asleep. With a soft smile, he scooped them up and carried them to a spare bedroom he had, which he was thankful that he didn’t get rid of it like he had intended to, and set [Name] down, careful not to wake them. As he turned to leave, he felt something tug at his jacket. He turned to see [Name]’s hand weakly holding onto his jacket, something struck Speedwagon at that. 

Slowly, his hand curled around [Name]’s smaller hand. “Night, kiddo.” he whispered before walking out the room, a smile on his lips. He was unsure why but he had a feeling this was the start of something incredible for them both.

#speedwagon #robert e o speedwagon #jojo bizarre adventure #speedwagon x reader #robert e o speedwagon x reader #jojo bizzare adventure x reader #speedwagon jojo #phantom blood #phantom blood x reader #jojo phantom blood #child reader #reader insert

[askyancy]

Team Get Yancy

OOC: Art by @smiling-jo​ Team Get Yancy’s Theme Violence, Blood and Character death warning below the cut.  A huge wonderful applause to @smiling-jo​ for their amazing contribution to this plot and story as the leader of the Happy Trio/Team Get Yancy known as Frank anon but better known on server as Tooth. We had to take them out with one hell of a bang!  Please enjoy the following content that went down on the discord server! If you’re not there yet you’re missing all the big action! 

The cell block was quiet, inmates falling asleep one by one, and with the gang still oddly missing, it made for peaceful evening.... 

 Swan padded toward the bars of the cell with Frank and Burger and took a careful peek into the cell itself. The room was abandoned, everything perfectly in place with the notable exception of Hank and Jimmy the Pickle. The silence was deafening; there should have been snores, whispers, anything from this cell block and Yancy's gang, but there was nothing.  Swan gave the others a nod, signalling that the coast was clear for them to enter the cell.. 

"I'd love to tango. I was always the dancer of my family." Burger purrs before pulling out their mask and slipping it over their face, tightening it so there was no chance of it slipping. They slightly nudge Swan out of the way and pull out a bobby pin that was swiped from one of the bathrooms. They pull it open slightly before digging it into the lock, leaning in close and holding their breath as they listen to the grinding sound of the lock. With a triumphant 'click' the lock pops open and Burger quickly drags the cell open, inviting the other two inside. "Do your business; I'm going to look around."

 Frank walks into the cell where he spots his target: Hank's hooch. "Just don't touch anything that could give us away or I will personally dispose of you." Reaching the small barrel he pulls out the cork that plugs it all, the other hand reaching into his trouser's pocket and pulling out a small flask with the detergent. "Now, this is a little gift from us", is all Frank says before he opens the flask and pours it into the hooch. And to finish it all up he picks up the barrel, puts the cork in again and shakes it to really mix it through - he doesn't want anyone miss their present after all.. As Frank spikes the hooch - after all, who doesn't like a bit of spiked wine every now and again? -

Swan stood back toward the cell bars, glancing between Frank in the cell and Burger in the hall. She kept an open ear for any new sounds, surveyed the belongings in the cell for anything of interest. A few old doodles of Jimmy's, a half eaten candy bar under the bed, the occasional speck of glitter, but nothing of any use to them. "Hurry up," she hissed to Frank, ducking her head back out the cell door to check on Burger.. 

"Jesus christ who tied your dick in a twist, Frank? I know what I'm doing." Burger snaps at Frank, keeping their voice lowered as they watch him shake the barrel vigorously. "I always hated wine. Mojitos, whisky, and gin and tonics are my go to." Burger mutters as they tap bricks in search of any loose ones. They search the beds but not as thoroughly as they would like given the time crunch. Coming up empty handed, they step back out to join Swan, peering into other cells. They inhaled slowly, enjoying the faint smell of smoke.. 

Before the trio could leave everything happened fast. Something POOMPFED into the side of Franks head, sending glitter everywhere, then into Burger and Swan as well, followed by another two! Suddenly they were out numbered by people inside the cell. Tiny looked PISSED Hank... even more so Jimmy made themselves as big as possible, a low rumbling growl Bambam and sparkles stayed to the side, murder in their eyes. Each and every one of them had a shiv and Tiny?.... Tiny had a bazooka. The Warden hadn't cleared out Bambams stash yet! "Got you mother fuckers. Freeze where you are or we blow your  stupid dorky masks clean off your faces and half way up your asses!" Tiny clicked the safety off the bazooka.

. So they have been busted, huh? Oh well, all fun needs to have it's ups and downs. With the barrel still in his hand Frank does a mock bow, eyes staying on the gang the whole time. "Congratulations to you all, you finally laid a trap that didn't go wrong", he comes back up and gestures towards the hooch he just poisoned: "I am sure you are quite thirsty after waiting for this long, may I offer you a drink in these trying times?". 

Swan froze in place, eyes behind the mask darting between the members of Yancy's gang, clothes and hair properly dripping with glitter. Of course they had been so quiet. They were lying in wait. Hiding in the shadows like cats in the hunt. The predators had become the prey.  "...Shit." Swan bolted, pushing past Burger and fleeing down the hall. She didn't care if she was leaving a trail of glitter or ricocheting off the walls. This bird wasn't dying tonight.

. Burger squawked when a glitter bomb hit them square in the chest, dropping their bobby pin and hastily trying to wipe it off of their clothing, but it stubbornly clung to the fabric of their clothes and their skin. They hissed when Swan shoved past them and for a moment looked like they would flee as well before they stood their ground. Burger wasn't a COWARD. They snickered, remaining in the open cell door as they sway back and forth, as if showing off the glitter on their clothes. "It feels like a family reunion in here! Isn't that what we are here at dear Happy Trails? Family?"

The gang stand their ground to. Hank looks pissed about the hooch but it's fixable... Hank has kitchen duty, a lot of scrubbing it would be fine. Cleanse it all out. A lost batch wasn't a problem, but it still stung. Tiny growled and took a step forward, pinched an eye shut and aimed right for Frank. They actually looked ready to fire too, if not for the hand on their shoulder from Bambam. "Yer out numbered assholes. We got you. So we'll be nice. We'll give you the chance Yancy offered you at the start. Fuck off. Don't come back. And maybe we won't tear you apar-..." Bambam was cut off when they saw something behind Frank.before anyone could do anything, Yancy's eyes had gone dark and while Franks arms were out stretched he'd lunged, shiv in hand and moved in for the kill. (Heavy violence, Heavy blood warning) He snapped his arm around Franks shoulder and drew the shiv across his throat. He wasn't taking chances. This was them. They had them. This fucker had HURT HIS FRIENDS! HURT HIM! NO MORE! HE grit his teeth watching the blood gush from Frank's throat as the eyes on the gang went wide. Their sweet boy Yancy made a kill. Not something they had ever gotten to see.... The blood was like a switch. Before he knew what he was doing, Yancy blacked out.... He stabbed Frank in the back... then again... and again again again again again again again AGAIN! AGAIN! He kept going over and over and over he didnt stop. Snarls and growls of absolute rage from the tiger within Yancy. He'd messed up before not attacking but this time. No. Frank wasn't getting away this time! The gang slowly lowered their shivs, the bazooka to, Bambam quickly hurried forward to try and grab Yancy's arm "Stop... STOP! YANCY STOP IT! FUCKING ST-HEY! Help!" Tiny was on them too, grabing Yancy's other arm to help pull him away. The second Yancy was away he was glaring at the mangled corpse that was now Frank and slowly his rage filled eyes moved over to the burger....

. Burger hadn't even noticed Yancy's approached until he was already in front of them spilling Frank's blood across his hands and the floor, their eyes widening in horror. They staggered backwards and completely out of the cell, glitter falling to the ground like snowy, sparkling in the dim light. They were holding their breath, listening to the wet squelch of the blade digging into flesh again and again and again, scarlet splattered across skin as Frank was slaughtered in front of all of them. Burger met Yancy's gaze as he turned to face them, their eyes wide. Before he could moved they surged forward and grabbed the cell door, slamming it shut and leaving them locked inside. At least, locked from that exit. "P-Princey finally snapped, huh?" They sneered. "Oho, Daddy's gonna be mad to see blood on birdie's hands. K-Kill me or not you're getting the chair and I'm going to laugh as you join Frank in hell." Burger tears away from the cell bars and sprints down the hall, opposite from Swan to leave a forked path.

Yancy is fast to move, slamming into the bars as the door shuts on them all, a growl of absolute rage leaving them, watching the glitter trail go. He immediately started yanking at the door, Bambam and Tiny holding him back and Jimmy came over to help "Th-this is bad.. This is really fucking bad" "Hank go get a guard. Get the wardem something ANYTHING!" Sparkles was freaking out. There was blood on all of them, all over the cell... It was horrific. Yancy was still fighting them but gave out a grunt, slumping. "Fuck hey.. you okay? Calm down man, deep breaths" WHAP "Snap out of it" Tiny slapped him "Ow!... huhn..ow...... f-fuck... fuck-..oph. OH FUCK OH! FUCK!!" "Hey calm d- CALM DOWN its ok! We got you! It's ok-ITS OKAY! KEEP STILL!" Yancy was thrashing, the need to run, but he could barely move now, everything hurt. "Youre gonna pop your fucking stitches calm down- YANCY!" Bambam got up in his face, grabbing his cheeks. "Hey look at me. Look at me... hey.. deep breath..."Sparkles had a hand over their mouth for a while before slowly going over and peeling off the mask from Franks face. ...... "oh my god..... it's Tooth..." Tiny's head snapped around to look and frowned..... Huh.... that gave them some possible leads... maybe? Whatever the glitter would help... They glanced up at the sound of approaching feet.

Frank Anon was dead....

#ooc #ooc post #happy trails shenanigans #smiling-jo #frank anon #the happy trio #lock down #the tiger awakens #ask yancy #markiplier #tw violence #tw blood #character death #heist with markiplier #yancy #yancy the prisoner #ahwm #ask blog #arg blog

[funeral-clown]

merry christmas cassie-bird

for @aquamattel

The first moon in the prison was agonizing.

Oliver’s mind was furry and his heart had teeth. He wanted to run, to howl, to hunt, but all he could do was curl up in the narrow cell on his bunk and whimper and whine into the night, grateful he hadn’t yet been given a roommate.

“Volatile”, they’d called him. As if he were some trigger happy half-feral thug.

Oliver was far from trigger happy. Archery required focus. Patience. When Oliver fired his bow, he hit his marks because he intended to hit them, and had the will and foresight to see it to it’s target. A hot temper only yielded poor results. Oliver may be half-feral, but trigger happy was the last attribute to describe him. Cold, perhaps. Methodical. Detached.

Lonely.

Oliver knew exactly what he was doing when he killed. A part of him, the hungry growling part, relished in it.

So when Dante Ramon was placed in his cell, it was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because he was someone to talk to. A curse, because he often didn’t stop talking. He teased and tattled about everything. Despite his droning, Oliver liked him. He liked him twice as much when a shiv that should have slipped between Ollie’s ribs skated across his shoulder instead, shoved by a scowling, towering Ramon. 

The Ramons were an old family. Everyone knew that. Dante was being groomed as the next head, and he certainly had the charm. However, he confided, he didn’t much care for the hazards of the job.

“I just wanna play the piano, man. I wanna make music. All the guns and drugs and shit, it makes money, but damn. It makes danger too. I have mi hermanito to think about.”

Ollie groaned good-naturedly, Of the many things Dante spoke of, his favorite subject seemed to be his sweet genius baby brother.

“ Mi hermanito está aprendiendo a tocar la guitarra. If you play something, we could start a band!”

“Cisco is the nicest boy, all the Tias at mass love to pinch his cheeks.”

“I worry about him, alone. The last thing I was is him getting in trouble without me. He’s going through one of those phases, y’know?”

Oliver knew Francisco Ramon better at that point than he knew his own sister. Despite himself, he felt a sort of affection towards to mysterious kid.

“When I get out,” he said, staring at the top of his bunk where Dante lie, humming a song he claimed his brother had helped to write, “If I get out first, I’ll watch out for him. I promise. I’ll keep him safe and out of trouble.”

“Queen-”

“I owe you.”

Dante peeked his head over the side to stare at him, eyes glittering through the darkness. He took in Oliver’s expression, the healing scar itching under his shirt. Finally, he nodded once.

“You keep an eye on him. We’ll be even.”

“A life debt repaid.”

Dante snorted and rolled his eyes, but still reached his arm out to shake his hand.

“You’re so dramatic, lobo.”

Oliver smiled in the night.

~

The first thing Oliver Queen noticed about Cisco Ramon was his age. He was not, as Oliver had assumed, a scrawny teenager. He was in his mid twenties, from the look of him, and well dressed in black.

The second thing he noticed was his hair. It was smooth and tied back into tight braids, lovely and efficient.

The last thing he noticed was his mouth. His lips were pressed into a firm flat sneer, almost a snarl, as he growled and snapped at the cowering men before him.  Cisco Ramon radiated dominance with the air of someone who had been kicked down a few too many times. His mouth was red and lush and lovely, even choking out orders as it was. The others dismissed, Oliver let himself step out of the shadows.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Oliver grinned.

“Oliver Queen. Your brother sent me.”

Cisco’s face morphed into confusion, and a curious light began to glow behind his eyes.

“Last time I checked, my brother was in the slam, and you were a murderer.”

He nodded once.

“All true. But I have excellent lawyers, and your brother saved my life. I promised I would watch out for you. I intend to keep that promise.”

Cisco glared, scoffing.

“Do I look like I need a babysitter? I’m well on my way to clean up my brother’s fucking mess, and get a little piece of the action for myself besides. I don’t need a watcher, or a body guard. Thanks but no thanks, arrow-man.”

Oliver let himself move in closer, to stand right in front of him. He looked down at the smaller man, who held his gaze stubbornly and held his back straight, demanding respect. Oliver tried not to be charmed. This kid was adorable. 

He smelled good too, Ollie tried to pretend not to notice. Warm and sharp and clean, like leather and good aftershave, and under that something surprisingly sweet. Oliver liked it. His wolf liked it even more.

“I’m not leaving, Cisco.”

“It’s Mr. Ramon,” he snapped.

“I know stories from when you were in diapers. It’s Cisco to me.”

Cisco growled, and Ollie tried not to be too obviously delighted. He let his hand come up to his shoulder, gentle but firm.

“Cisco to me. Mr. Ramon to everyone else.”

Cisco looked at him again, calculating.

“What are you offering.”

Oliver shrugged, letting some fang slip through in his smile.

“I’m offering to take care of you. What that means? Your choice.”

Cisco eyed him up and down, a considering hum in the back of his throat.

“What can you do?”

Ollie’s eyes flashed gold.

“All sorts of things.”

Cisco smiled, teeth sparkling white.

“Alright, then, Queen. Call me Cisco. And I’ll call you?”

“Ollie.”

“Not intimidating. I can think of something better.”

“I prefer to catch people off guard.”

“Not surprised, the way you faded out of the shadows like a dramatic bastard.”

“You sound like your brother.”

“Bite your tongue.”

Oliver stuck his tongue out teasingly, flashing teeth that pinched it softly.

“Well at least you can follow orders.”

~

“Faster,” Cisco snarled, sprawled out across his desk, thighs spread obscenely wide and breath leaving vapor on the wood. “I didn’t call you in here to take your fucking time.”

Oliver huffed against the back of his neck, fingers twisting deeper inside him.

“Is that an order, Mr. Ramon?”

Cisco groaned as Oliver bumped against his prostate, pressing down firmly to make him squirm.

“Fucking....yes, okay? Hurry up, we have a meeting soon.”

He hummed noncommittally, slowing the stretch and spread of his fingers again. “I don’t know, boss. Meetings are pretty dull. I think we’d have a lot more fun taking our time, here. I could take good care of you, no one would end up shredded to pieces...”

Cisco laughed through another moan, skin flush and eyes closed and sweat formed on his face.

“Y-you.....love it....when you get to shred them to pieces....”

“True,” Ollie growled, before finally slipping his fingers out and smearing the remaining slick on his dick. “I like licking the blood off you after even more.”

“Then get on with it, so I can watch you work and we can go home. Maybe if you’re a real good boy, I’ll let you sleep on the bed-”

His words were choked off by Oliver slowly slipping inside, groaning at the tight heat and letting them both adjust for a moment. Cisco might want fast, but Ollie didn’t wanna shoot off just yet.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

“Fuckin’.....born ready, you sadistic son of a bi-”

Oliver rocked out and back in, sliding across his back, lighting up his nerve endings with every brush of skin against skin, muscle against muscle. Cisco nearly purred.

“That’s it, Ollie...C’mon, give me more, I can take it.”

“I know you can, baby. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“I like it when it hurts a little.”

“Course ya do, tough guy.”

Despite his teasing, Oliver picked up the pace, partly to please Cisco and partly to work on the building tension in his own stomach. Hands slipped between Cisco’s legs, stroking and speeding him to his own release. Cisco moaned in abject approval.

“Yes, finally, that’s...that’s good...So good, keep going, Ollie, keep going-”

It took a special kind of person, Oliver noted with fondness, to make begging sound like an order.

“Gonna take care of you, Cisco. Gonna take such good care of you.”

Cisco nodded as the hand on his dick sped up, Oliver’s thrusts becoming shorter and harder and more erratic.

“Close,” Oliver muttered, nosing at the nape of Cisco’s neck, mouthing at his shoulders to taste the sweat and desperation.

“Please,” Cisco finally broke, “Oliver, ple-”

The resulting climax interrupted him as a quiet shout was buried in his shoulder, and Cisco covered Oliver’s fist with come.

“Okay, baby?”

Cisco laughed tiredly.

“Just fine, worry wolf. Now we gotta clean up. The meeting is important.”

Oliver pulled off the condom and tossed it in the trash.

“Yeah, yeah. Working always. What’s so big about it, compared to the last few months?”

“Simple,” Cisco shrugged, a bright grin of genuine delight gracing his face. Oliver tried not to be too moonstruck. “My brother finally got out. We get to go show Dante all we’ve accomplished.”

Oliver looked blankly at his lover, then down at the still blood stained carpet from the last “meeting” Cisco had had. He could still remember the taste of Clyde Mardon’s trachea.

“Oh.”

Fuck.

#cas here is your christmas present! it is also my first time writing smut so eh #yeah this is smut btw #olisco #werewolves and mob bosses and stuff

[ketchupsupreme]

A Rose By Any Other Name

A/N: So I finally decided to post one of my short stories on here. Enjoy reading and if you like it, how about a like or a reblog? Ha look at me, shamelessly promoting myself. Anyways, enjoy and all critiques are welcome!                         

                                                 Phillip

He hated this room. He hated the purple lights. He hated the soft glow they emitted and how they made everything seem washed out and dead. He hated the window and the city that he could see burning outside, smoke and fire turning the sky into an angry red hue. He hated the screaming that he could hear from the streets even though the room was on the topmost floor. He hated the scrabbling and the whirring of the machines that roamed outside, the ones that had turned his existence into a living hell. Most of all, he hated himself. Hated himself for not being able to walk outside that apartment and forget about everything. Forget about the machines. Forget about that other world. Forget about her. He almost hated her. Almost. It was his devotion to her, his obsession with trying to break her free from the world that they had constructed that kept him from leaving and forgetting all about her. Every time he said this lie out loud, he almost believed it. He loved her and she loved him. It was his fault that she was trapped, stuck in a world that she believed was real. He walked over to the chair, the purple lights making her look like a corpse. Her long black hair, greasy and snarled from months of not showering, still looked beautiful to him. It was the first thing that he had noticed all those years ago before the machines came. Then he had noticed her eyes, that startling shade of blue that bordered on neon that for years after they started dating, still fascinated him. Now he couldn’t see them, not when they were covered by the black visor that transported her to the other world. His skin pimpled with disgust as he stared at the wires that were connected to the visor, to her forehead, to her chest. He stared at the heart monitor, the machine beeping. He touched her arm, his fingers tracing over her cool skin. He missed her smile, her laughter, her eyes sparking as if electricity ran through them. He wanted to tear that visor off, to hear her laugh, to see her eyes open and to feel her heart race again. He wanted to tear those wires off her face, to smash the visor to the ground, to have her awake again. He wanted to hug her, to kiss her, to apologize for what he did to her. He knew that there was only one way to awaken her. He kissed her gently, wishing with all his might that that would be enough to wake her. It wasn’t. It never was. There was only one way. He would have to go into the other world and guide her through it until the end. That was how he had woken up. That was how he would wake her. Then they could escape this room and try to live a life away from machines. He grabbed the second visor, the one that lay next to her. He slipped it on, his breathing becoming erratic, fingers trembling as he thumbed the right switches, pressed the appropriate buttons. He settled down next to her in the other chair, his entire body screaming at him to tear visor off, that he could get trapped again, that he wouldn’t be able to come out. He silenced them and he pressed the final button, his vision tunneling as his brain and his consciousness were transported to another world. His body slumped as the purple lights in the room flashed and then dimmed again, the quiet humming noise drowning out the screams that flowed up from the street.

                                                 Talia

“One more game and you owe me all the money in your purse Lyle,” I said, chuckling as I shuffled the cards, making sure that I slipped a few choice cards into my sleeve. I placed the deck on the table, dealing them and squashing a grin when I saw the hand that I had been dealt. I placed a few coins on the table, all of them gold.

“Listen to me, girl, I have never lost a game of cards in this tavern and I don’t plan on losing now,” the old man said, grinning as he placed a winning hand down on the table. Well, a winning hand in almost any situation… except this one.

“I’ll expect my gold tomorrow at the latest,” I said, pretending to stifle a yawn as I placed my cards down. I stood up, cracking my back and working out the kinks in my neck. Lyle stared at the cards in disbelief, his face changing from an interesting shade of red to a horrified white.

“You cheated,” he said, his voice cracking as he stared at the cards. “You must have cheated! No one can draw cards that good on just luck!”

I laughed again, tying my long black hair back in one quick fluid motion. In that motion however, the cards that I had put into my sleeve fell out. They fluttered down to the table, Lyle’s bulbous, watery grey eyes following the cards descent to the table. A weak chuckle escaped my lips.

“Listen, Lyle, you know what never mind about you owing me your gold, let’s call it even and say our goodbyes now,” I said, backing away from the table.

“CHEAT!” he roared, throwing a glass full of ale directly at my head. I ducked, scrambling for the stairs as he flipped the table over. With that simple flip, the entire tavern exploded into chaos. Men began swinging at each other, ale and wine flying everywhere. It didn’t matter what the fight was about. Once a glass had been thrown, everyone in the tavern was fair game. Women smashed bottles into the sides of random heads, and windows were broken, glass showering onto the wooden floor. A thud sounded from one of the bedrooms upstairs and I wondered if some playful couple had fallen out of the bed. As I laughed silently at the mental image, Lyle grabbed me by my hair, snapping me out of my fantasy, and pulled me back into the fray, letting go when I slammed an elbow into his face, his nose breaking instantly. Sandra, Lyle’s wife, screeched and attempted to rake her nails down my face. I batted her hand aside, laughing when the barmaid slammed a glass onto her head. She crumpled to the ground, next to her husband who was sporting a bloody and broken nose. He glared up at me and pulled out a small knife. Shit. Seemed like someone had not listened to the “No Weapons” rule within the tavern. To be fair, I hadn’t either, but that was neither here nor there. I pulled out my own small dagger, the red crystal embedded on the pommel glinting in the candlelight of the tavern. I wasn’t going to kill him of course; I was just going to make sure that he knew never to cross me. As I got into position for a knife fight, I felt the entire bar freeze. Everyone froze where they were, including me, and it wasn’t a voluntary action. We were all quite literally frozen in place. I was lucky enough to be facing the stairs when my body froze so I knew exactly who would be coming down those stairs. That was what that thud had been. He must be awake already.

“What in the hell is this?” he asked, his hand outstretched as he worked his magic on the bar. Phillip walked down the stairs, releasing us all with a twist of his hand. As the spell broke, the occupants and I collapsed to the floor, the spell having stopped all momentum in our bodies. Phillip walked over to me and extended a hand. I reached up and grabbed it, letting him pull me up. He tossed a couple of coins onto Lyle’s prone from with a whispered apology and motioned for me to follow him outside. As he walked out the door of the tavern, I walked over to Lyle, crouching down in front of him.

“You still owe me Lyle,” I said, swiping the coins off of his chest and depositing them into my own purse. “Consider this my payment.” I flicked his nose and ran out the building.

                                                         ////

Phillip was outside the bar, waiting for me to emerge. The minute I did, he began scolding me.

“Are you stupid? What if you had gotten yourself killed? What then? I can’t heal the dead, Talia! You have to be more careful” He paused, taking a deep breath as he calmed himself.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hanging my head in mock regret. After a few seconds of not saying anything, I peeked up at him. What I saw in his eyes startled me. It was almost like grief. I hugged him, feeling his body stiffen, and then after one long second, hugging me back. “I’ll be more careful, I promise. Besides, it’ll take someone stronger and faster than Lyle Skane to take me down. Don’t worry so much.”

He chuckled and disengaged from the hug. He began walking down the road towards the outskirt of the village and the forest beyond, motioning for me to follow him. I felt excited. After two days in this dreary village, we were finally moving on.

“So what’s next?” I asked, falling into step next to him. “We’ve already cleared out the bandits in the Aloon Settlement, we’ve purged the werewolves from the forests of Kessig, and we’ve reunited a lost princess with her family. What else do we have left?”

Phillip stayed quiet for a second, pushing open the gates that lead to the outside of the village.

“I couldn’t see,” he said, his voice growing quiet as he headed towards the forest where we had hidden our weapons. Just like the tavern, the entire village had a ban on any weapons, physical or magical. If some type of law enforcement had found me with that dagger, I would have spent a few weeks in a cell.

“You couldn’t see?” I asked, surprise making my voice go high. It was rare for Phillip to be blind to the future. In all the years that I had known him, he always had a plan, a move that would set us one foot closer to a goal. We had met a few years ago when I, almost out of money and food, had taken to robbing a carriage as it passed through some woods that I used to live in long ago. As I was planning my robbery, he had emerged from the woods unbeknownst to me. I had no idea I wasn’t alone until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I flipped him over, scrabbling on top of the stranger that dared touch me, a small shiv of wood in my hand.

“Who are you?” I had snarled. I was angrier than I should have been, but at that time in my life, I was used to doing everything for myself and for someone to sneak up on me like that left me feeling vulnerable, especially since he caught me as I was humming a small tune to myself.

“My-my name’s Phillip,” he had said, choking off every syllable as I continued to crush his windpipe. “I came to stop you from robbing that carriage Talia!”

“How do you know my name?” I said, jamming my arm further into his throat. His face turned purple, the lack of oxygen leaving him weak as he tried pathetically to move my arm. I relented at the last second, allowing him a sniff of air before I tightened my grip on his neck, being careful to not almost kill him this time.

“I saw you in a dream,” he said, voice growing hoarse and desperate. “I’m supposed to help you! I’m here to make sure you don’t rob that carriage and that you reach your destiny!”

“That carriage is a one way ticket to a better life for myself! You, with your silk robes and your jeweled necklace no nothing of the hunger that I face!”

“If you rob that carriage you will die!” he yelled, throwing me off of him. I scrambled up, crouching into a fighter stance as he dusted himself off.

“If I don’t rob that carriage, I’ll die anyways.”

“That carriage belongs to a powerful necromancer.” Of all the forbidden magics, necromancy, the art of raising and controlling the dead, was the most feared. “If you attempt to rob that carriage, she will kill you and add you to her army of the dead. I’m just trying to help you!”

“How do you know this?” I asked. Some stranger that I had never met was trying to convince me that it was because of his good heart that he was trying to help me. No. From my experiences, this world was full of liars and cheaters. What did one good deed matter when five others would spit on you for the color of your eyes? Devil eyes. Monster. The monster with electric blue eyes. That’s what they called me. My own parents had thrown me out, afraid of both me and the anger of the other villagers in the village that I had grown up in.

“I’m telling you, I dreamt it! I saw you in my dream, dying and becoming a walking corpse!”

I didn’t believe him. Maybe that’s why I slammed the rock into his head. Maybe that was why I attempted to rob the carriage. Maybe that was why I was so shocked when I faced the full fury of a necromancer. He had told me the truth. I had accepted my death, closing my eyes and hoping that my spirit would find a good afterlife, when I felt what I would soon recognize as the feeling of his magic. When I eventually opened my eyes, all that was left of the necromancer was a burning husk. The stranger-Phillip-was crouched in front of me, and what I saw in his eyes that day still rocked me to my core. I saw worry. I saw things that I never felt even when I lived with my family or when I was alone for all those years. As he grabbed my hand to heal a small cut, I knew that I could trust him. Because of that failed robbery, because of all the time we spent together after, I was here, surprised at the fact that his dreams had failed him.

“I saw flashes. Nothing concrete. Purple flames. A cavern. Darkness. That was it,” he said, his frown marring his good looks. “I couldn’t see the enemy. All I could see was a road that would lead us to the cavern where he or she is. It’s near this village.”

I led the way to the clearing where we had hidden our weapons. To anyone else’s eye, the clearing would look empty. It would look like a picturesque forest, bright crocuses sticking out of the ground, puffy white clouds rolling gently across the azure blue sky. The smell of the pine trees permeated everything, and if you listened closely, you could hear the babbling of a far off creek. One word from Phillip however, and the supposedly empty clearing would flicker and our small encampment would appear. Our two tents, a small fire pit, and best of all, our weapons chest. Well, more like my weapons chest. All Phillip had in there were a few books. I walked over to it, feeling the rich supple leather under my fingers. I opened it, and pulled out my sword and shield. The sword, a fine long blade, had a briar design on the blade and handle, ending with a simple rose on the pommel. My shield, a simple kite shield, bore a simple design of a cross surrounded by brambles of thorns. I placed these to the side and deep inside the chest lay two of my most treasured weapons. The third was in the holster on the side of my leg. I pulled out the two small daggers and added the third one to the dagger belt that held them. The three daggers looked identical, with one small difference. They each had a different stone on the pommel: a ruby, a sapphire, and an emerald. My Fairy Blades.

As I pulled on the armor that was on the side of my tent I reminisced about how I had gotten the fairy blades. Last year, three small forest fairies were being chased by a pixie, a notorious eater of their kind. After killing it, they granted me these blades, saying that they would never fail me. Sure enough, these blades never missed their marks, finding each and every vital point whenever I threw them.

“Talia.”

I turned around, jumping back when I saw a huge, white stallion in front of me. For one second I seriously thought that the horse had spoken to me, until I saw Phillip shaking with suppressed laughter. I tried being angry with him, I swear. In the end I ended up laughing as I always do whenever I saw Phillip laughing.

“Talia, I’m going to go to sleep again.”

“What? No, you just woke up! Don’t we have to go to this cave and defeat the thing inside?”

“Yes we do, which is why I summoned this horse. The cave is one day’s ride from here. I plan to sleep and try to see if I could collect anymore clues about whatever’s in there. I’ll be awake before we get to the cave I promise. I’ll be tied to the horse and you’ll lead him towards the cave.” He placed the tips of his finger on my temples. I instantly knew where to find the cave. “I will be back.”

As he settled himself on the horse and drifted off to sleep, I stared the horse straight in his eyes.

“Oh sure he gets to sleep while I do all the work. Typical. Anyways do you have a name Mr. Horse?”

The horse neighed in reply.

“Well, how about Samson? Yeah I like that. Samson the Horse.”

                                                   Phillip

He woke up with a start, ripping the visor off of his face. How could he be blind now, now when it was so crucial that he keep her alive? How could he not know what they were going to face in that cave? He paced around the small room, wanting to smash the bulbs of the purple lights. The screams down on the street had stopped. He wished they hadn’t. The screams at least kept him from being alone with his thoughts, because even though she was in the room with him, he was alone. He would be alone until he woke her. This was his final chance. He wasted her lives in the game before, trying to break her free from her prison. When they had built the machine, they both agreed on a maximum five lives before the game would kick you out and force you to start over. It would serve as a break from the horror that their lives had descended into. What they had not planned on was the game trapping them in there with no recollection of how to get out or who they were. He had not even known that he was passing the game when he killed that final boss. But kill it he had and woken up he had, alone and without her. He tried all he could to wake her, eventually recoding his visor so he would remember who he was and be able to get out whenever his character fell asleep. He jammed it on, finding her in the world that they had built. He wanted to tell her the truth that the world she was in wasn’t real, that they had created it but he couldn’t. It would shatter her mind and he would never do that to her. So instead he helped her. He tried to stop her from taking on enemies before she was ready. The Necromancer. She didn’t believe him and because of that, she lost one of her precious lives. She didn’t know it of course. She thought that she had just closed her eyes. He took care of the beast, and from that moment on, took on the role of a prophet, leading her past certain doom, and making her stronger. No matter how hard he tried though, sometimes it wasn’t enough. The Aloon Settlement, the wolves of Kessig, the traitorous brother of the princess… She was on her final life, and he didn’t know what would happen if she lost that final life. The game hadn’t worked the way it was supposed to in the beginning, why should he trust it to work at the end? She would need all of his help this time. He knew why he couldn’t see the next boss. It was the final one. He didn’t remember what the final boss had been; he just remembered the fire and the cave. That would have to be enough. He slipped the visor on. The lights flashed, his body slumped, and the room was empty once again.

                                                 Talia

I was pulling my sword out of the wolf that had attacked me when I heard Phillip waking up.

“I told you, you have to be careful!” he said, voice cracking from frustration.

“Well I’m sorry that I had to defend both of us while you took a damn nap!” The barb hit home, and the look of anger was replaced with a look of guilt as his face reddened from embarrassment. I felt guilty for throwing that in his face, but I also wasn’t about to be scolded for defending both of our lives. “Look, we each have important abilities that we contribute to our little group. You dream. I fight. That’s how it’s been since we met and I don’t plan on changing now.”

He was quiet for a minute. He knew I was right. Yes he had magic, but I was the one who risked my life in order to protect us. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking me square in the eyes. “You’re right. I just—I worry about you alright.”

“You don’t have to. I took care of myself long before you showed up. Don’t underestimate me.”

I extended my hand, leaving it up to him if whether or not he was willing to let bygones be bygones. He gripped my hand instantly and I knew that we would be alright.

“So where are we?” he said in a jovial tone, peering into the dark woods around us. I knew that he wanted to forget about what just happened so I decided to follow his lead.

“We’re just outside the cave mouth. I was going to go explore inside, see if I could find any clues about what lay inside, but all I found were these shiny scales.” I lifted them up, the dull purple scales glittering in the fire light.

“Hmmmm… could be some type of bug creature in there. These scales don’t look familiar,” he said, examining one with his finger.

I shivered. I hated bugs. I had fought giant spiders before, in the Aloon Settlement, and that was an experience I did not want to repeat. I still had nightmares about the giant furry body that had sprang at me. If Phillip hadn’t thrown a fireball at it, I would have been a goner. I gathered my courage and turned toward the cave.

“Let’s go.”

                                                       ////

It was dark. Well obviously it was dark, but it was a darkness that was absolute. I waved my hand in front of my face and I swear for one second I thought that I had closed my eyes even though I knew that they were open.

“Um, Phillip?”

“I got it.” A seed of light bloomed in his hand, getting bigger and bigger till it was the size of my fist. The cave was thrown into sharp relief. “That’s better.”

I fanned myself with my hand. “It’s hot as all hell in here.”

We looked at each other. The heat and the unfamiliar scales that I had found and his dreams of purple flames were forming a terrifying picture.

“It can’t be,” I said, voice hitching in fear. “They all went extinct centuries ago.”

“It appears one survived,” he said, voice trembling. “And it’s in here.” A faint roar echoed throughout the cave.

There was a dragon in this cave.

“We can do this,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “We’ve trained for this. This is what all of those battles have been for. We can do this.”

We smiled at each other. As I turned around to walk farther onto the cave, Phillip hugged me from behind.

“Be careful,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you.”

I grasped his hand, squeezing it affectionately. This was neither the time nor the place to speak of the underlying feelings that I felt. There would be time after.

As we walked, I prayed that each corner we turned wouldn’t lead us straight to the dragon. We had to fight it yes, but that also did not mean that I was looking forward to it. Despite my past actions, I didn’t have a death wish. I really really wanted to live into my old age.

As we walked, I noticed small purple crystals jutting from the top of the cave.

“Wow, those are really pretty,” I said, reaching out to touch one. They were almost hypnotic. I could swear they were calling out to me. As my hand neared the closest one, Philip grabbed my hand, a look of disgust crossing his face.

“Don’t touch them,” he said, pulling me forward. “We have no idea what they are or if they could be used to alert the dragon.”

I stared at the crystals, allowing myself to be dragged away, the crystal’s song fading the farther we got away from them. “That was odd,” I said, feeling more like myself the farther we got from the crystals. “What were they?”

“Probably sensing crystals,” Phillip said, peering around the next turn in the cavern. “The dragon probably has them everywhere to warn him of intruders.” He didn’t sound convinced though, his hand trembling as he pulled me forward.

“Well—,” I began saying, when the cavern began shaking. My first thought was that the dragon had found us, but when I heard the song in my head, I knew what was coming. I saw the first purple point poke through the earth, the point becoming fine like a needle, extending towards me. More and more crystals exploded from all around the cavern, crystals jutting forth from the ground, the walls, the ceiling. The song became overwhelming, driving me to my knees as the crystals reached towards me. I gripped my head, trying to block out the cacophony as images flashed through my head. I saw myself, strapped in a chair. I looked dirty. I saw a city on fire, people dying on a strange looking street. I closed my eyes, trying to process these images. I could hear Phillip calling to me, trying to reach me as the crystals separated us. Suddenly the music stopped. I opened my eyes, and I saw Phillip trapped behind a wall of crystals. He was shouting something, but I couldn’t hear him. Once again, I noticed a crystal that was as sharp as a needle, and I could hear it calling to me, beckoning me to touch it. I reached towards it, the crystal filling my vision as my finger neared the point. The minute my finger touched it, it pricked me, drawing blood.

The second my blood spilled on the crystal, my brain exploded with images. I saw myself with Phillip, building the machine. I saw me getting trapped in the game, Phillip and me forgetting who we were. Us reaching this same cavern and fighting the dragon. Phillip abandoning me as he ran for the exit. The dragon killing me. The necromancer killing me. The wolf, the spider, the Prince… all succeeding in cutting me down. And Phillip. Always Phillip. The mastermind. The man who said he would never abandon me even when those monsters attacked in the other world.

I opened my eyes, surprised to see all of the crystals suddenly gone. Phillip was kneeling next to me, feeling for a pulse. My heart filled with anger as I saw him, acting as if he truly cared about me. If he cared about me, he would have never have abandoned me. I slammed my fist into his face, catching him by surprise as he tumbled to the ground.

“You bastard,” I said through gritted teeth. I swiped away the tears that had suddenly began falling. I drew my sword, pressing the tip lightly into chest. “How could you? How could you do this to me?”

“Talia, what are you talking about?” he wheezed, trying to squirm out from underneath the blade. “It’s me, Phillip!”

“I remember. Everything.”

“His face drained of blood. He stopped moving, mouth moving soundlessly. “You remember? Even…about the other world.”

I threw the blade aside, grabbing him by the neck of his robe. “Yes. But especially, I remember the last time we were here.”

His eyebrows snapped together in confusion. “What do you mean? Last time we were here?”

“Oh you don’t remember?” A sarcastic chuckle escaped my lips. “You left me here. That’s why you remember everything. You’re dreams aren’t visions of the future. You’ve done this before. And when we reached this place together, you left me to fight the dragon while you escaped and woke up.”

“Talia, please. I—I was scared. I thought that maybe if I passed the game, we would both wake up. I thought I was saving both of us!”

“You left me here to die!”

“No! That’s why as soon as I could, I came back! I tried to make sure that you could pass the game so you could wake up! I’m trying, please—“

A roar echoed throughout the cave, shaking me to my very bones. The dragon was near.

I could kill Phillip now, or have him help me wake up. He had already proven to be a coward. Could I trust him to not abandon me again? My instincts screamed at me to kill him now, to end this miserable coward’s life. But I couldn’t take on this dragon alone. I would need his help. My mind made up, I threw him onto the ground.

“After this, you and I are over. When I wake up, I don’t care, but you and I are done.”

“Talia, please I’m—“

“If you apologize to me, I will beat you to death.”

With that I turned my back to him, leading us through the cavern, the heat getting more and more unbearable. Phillip trailed quietly behind me, and every now and then I could hear him sniffling quietly. I ignored him, not in the mood to console him. He knew what he had done. I wasn’t going to coddle him and absolve him of this. I had a dragon to kill and a game to wake up from.

The tunnel widened, eventually leading to a stone bridge that led to a giant stone dais. I peered over the edge, seeing nothing but blackness. How long would someone fall if they fell over the edge? I glanced over at Phillip, my mind jokingly toying with the idea of throwing him over. I quelled the idea, and walked onto the dais.

“Where’s the dragon?” I asked, not looking at him. “The cave doesn’t go any further so it should be here.” I glanced around, seeing more of those dull scales that I had found near the mouth of the cave.

A roar from above answered my question. My head snapped upwards, and I saw the beast on an outcropping of stone high above the dais, examining us with toxic green eyes. Its body was coiled, black and purple body rippling with powerful muscles. Curving horns extended from its head, giving it another form of attack. A pale yellow tongue slithered out, tasting the air. Its eyes were so huge that I saw its pupil pinpoint and I knew it was going to attack.

“Move!” I bellowed as the dragon’s wings burst out of its body. It flew into the air, gouts of purple and green flame exploding from its mouth. Phillip and I dove behind a rock, the rock beginning to melt under the heat of the flames.

“We need a plan!” I said, peeking over the rock. The dragon was on the ground now, its long, red nails raking the ground. It left behind long furrows and I knew that my armor would be as useful as leaves in defending myself.

“A head on attack won’t work,” Phillip said. “It has scales meant for defending against any attack, physical or magical. I doubt my magic would even work on it.”

Another earsplitting roar shook the cave, and I knew the dragon was getting bored with this game of hide and seek. I pulled one of my Fairy Blades from its sheath and I looked at Phillip.

“We are going to defeat this thing and I am going to wake up. No matter what, I am escaping this world.”

I sprinted out from behind the rock, throwing my dagger. The green jewel glinted as it sped fast and true right into the beast’s neck. It embedded itself into it, hot blood pouring out and melting the rocks underneath. Sadly, the dragon was still very much alive as it breathed more fire onto the ground below. I lifted my shield, the blessed metal holding against the dragon fire. Once I had the chance, I dove behind another rock, examining the wound I had left on the dragon. As it spewed more fire, I noticed flames also emitting from the wound my dagger had created. The dragon began smashing rocks as if it was hoping to drive Phillip and me out of hiding. I was tired of hiding.

I leapt out, brandishing my sword as I let out my own roar. The dragon sped towards me, flames exploding from its nostrils as its giant mouth opened. I dodged, slamming my sword down on its face. Nothing. It swiped at me with its claws. I rolled beneath the claws, knowing that if I miscalculated a roll, the claws would kill me. Lift my shield at the wrong moment and the flames would cook me alive. Do even one wrong movement, and the teeth would tear me to shreds. Every time it missed me, it would strike the dais we were on and more and more would crumble away into the everlasting darkness below us.

“Talia! Aim for the neck!” I heard Phillip cry. I looked at him for one second, and in that second the dragon slammed its claw down on me. Blood exploded from my mouth, a sure sign of internal damage. The dragon let loose a shriek of victory, bringing its face down to examine me. This was it. I was going to die. It opened its mouth, revealing thousands of needle fine teeth. I closed my eyes, waiting for that bite that would end me. When it didn’t come I opened my eyes. The dragon was frozen. I saw it straining against the spell, trying with all its might to break free.

“Talia! Do it now!” Phillip walked towards the dragon, arm outstretched and sweat pouring down his face. “This spell won’t hold for long!”

Already the dragon was snapping its jaws, body breaking free of the spell bit by bit. I squirmed out from beneath the red claws and stood up. I ripped my dagger belt off of me, tying it to my sword in one quick fluid motion. I tossed my shield aside, praying that I was correct in my theory. Phillip collapsed, the spell breaking, freeing the dragon. It reared its head, poised to kill Phillip.

“HEY!”

The dragon turned to face me. I launched the sword above my head, my two remaining Fairy Blades guiding the sword straight into the wound I had made earlier. As the sword entered the monster’s body, it shrieked in pain as the fire it had inside began exploding out from it. It fell, the whole cavern shaking as the monster died. The dais we were on, crumbled as it was, began falling apart huge chunks falling into the fathoms below.

“Talia! Come on!” I heard Phillip scream as chunks of rock began falling from above. The body of the dragon fell as well, taking my sword and Blades along with it, a red, blue, and green twinkle the last I saw of them. I began running for stable ground too late, the stone beneath me falling. As I fell, Phillip jumped and tried to grab me, missing by the tips of his fingers. I fell down into the darkness.

                                            Phillip/Talia

His consciousness roared back into his body. He screamed in anguish as he ripped the visor from his eyes, throwing it aside. The game had thrown him out and that could only mean one thing. He looked at her motionless body, sorrow knifing his heart as he broke down, sobbing and apologizing to her lifeless corpse. He had failed her and finally for the first time, he could see her as what she was—a corpse. He knew that she wasn’t coming back. Yet he couldn’t leave her. He had sworn that he would if he couldn’t wake her, but now that it was time to act, he couldn’t. He knew what to do. The game was surely rebooting, erasing Talia, but he could save the game’s memory of her. He could live with how the game remembered Talia; it wouldn’t be the same but he would still be with her.

I was falling. I don’t know for how long but when I finally hit the floor, it didn’t hurt. It welcomed me, soft and enveloping. Is this what dying felt like? An eternity in darkness? Alone? I began crying softly, afraid of truly being alone. I cried because to be truthful, I didn’t blame Phillip for what had happened to me. I had been angry; I didn’t hate him. I had just been so angry…

He was close. He just had to rewrite a bit more of the code and he would be with her, wherever she was…

I don’t know how long I floated in the darkness. It could have been seconds or eternities. All I know is that when I saw that sparking purple light, I thought it was a trick. Then I saw the red, blue, and green lights join and they began sparking and fizzing, creating a perfect circle.

He rewrote the piece of code that erased his memory. He wouldn’t need it anymore, just enough to find Talia…

The lights called to me. I walked or floated or swam to it. I couldn’t tell you which. The closer I got to it, the more I could see fuzzy images. When I was right in front of it, I gasped. I could see Phillip in the other world.

He destroyed the purple lights for good measure. If he was leaving this world for good, at least he could do one final thing that brought him pleasure. He grinned as the broken glass showered the floor.

I knew that if I touched the light it would awaken me. I would be back in my body, back in the real world. I would be with Phillip. All I had to do was touch it.

He placed the visor over his eyes. He would see her soon.

I touched the light.

He flipped the switches.

I’m coming. Wait for me Phillip.

I’m coming. Wait for me Talia.

The End

Any and all critiques are welcome!

#writing #fiction #sleeping beauty #short story

[scottishvix]

299 Days 1: An Explosive Meeting

A few of you asked, so here is session 1 of our D&D campaign 299 Days (I don’t know why it’s called that, you’ll have to ask the DM). So many thanks to @littlesnowarrow, @rhetoricalrogue, and @alittlestarling for creating Valka, Brie, and Meera to play with Elenia. Thank you to @uriellactaea for the wonderful portrait of Elenia. Biggest thanks of all to @novamm66 for creating this sandbox for us to play in and guiding us through it.

Purl is a small seaport, basically a hub or switching point. Boats come in and boats go out. There isn’t much land transport. The town is small, a village really. There’s a general store, a fishing fleet, and about 20 houses. There are two inns in town; the classier inn is The Clipper and the commoner inn is The Sailor’s Anchor.

Purl is where the adventure started.

Briel Morningstride, a half-orc cleric and blacksmith, arrived in Purl travelling with Magistrate Martin Kirkoff as his bodyguard on the road. He took up lodging in The Clipper, telling Brie that he wouldn’t need her until it was time for him to leave again. Until then, she was free to do as she liked, including making her own accommodation arrangements.

Valka Delahunt, an elven Druid, and Meera, a human Paladin, arrived in Purl on the same boat. Valka ran off to sleep on the beach as soon as it docked. Meera, noticing the elf seemed twitchy and troubled on their voyage, followed to ask if she was okay.

“Yes.” Valka’s answer, was short and sweet. She barely looked at the human checking on her.

“Would you like a drink? Maybe a meal?” Meera tried again.

This time Valka looked at her. “If you’re paying, yes.”

“Oh.” That hadn’t quite been what Meera had meant. “Um… sure.”

Valka quickly stuffed the few belongings she had unpacked back into her bag and the pair headed back up the beach.

Elenia Oceanweaver, a half-elf Bard, was performing on her lyre at The Sailor’s Anchor. She wasn’t on her game but she got a meal and a corner of the kitchen to sleep in exchange. It was far poorer accommodation than she was used to, but she supposed it was better than nothing. She should have thought about grabbing more money before leaving home, but life was more expensive than she had anticipated.

Brie, Meera, and Valka all arrived at The Sailor’s Anchor to eat. Valka and Meera talked over their meals. Well, Meera talked and Valka said as little as she thought she could get away with, given that the stranger had bought her a meal. Valka was on a personal quest and wanted to see a sea storm. Meera was on a quest to raise money for her Temple.

Brie, sitting at the next table, overheard them talking and turned her chair to ask Meera about her money raising. Meera explained that she came from the Temple of Helm, who is the God of Protection. The Temple was in need of repair and the priests had sent her out to try and raise funds to pay for it.

Valka snorted quietly to herself. “He can’t be a very good god if he can’t protect his own Temple.”

Brie ignored the elf. “Here,” she told Meera, passing her a silver. “I’m a cleric of Chauntea myself.”

As they talked, Elenia continued to play, improving as she warmed up, fingers flying over her silver lyre. A couple of patrons tossed her 10 copper in tips, and she flashed them a smile, green eyes peering out from dark lashes.

Brie called the innkeeper over and asked her whether there were any blacksmithing jobs in the area.

The woman considered for a moment “None in town, dear, but there might be something at the shipyard.”

Meera gazed curiously at her new companion. “How can a cleric also be a smith?”

Brie smiled warmly. “I was taught by my Da. I’m only an apprentice but I could do with the work while I’m here.”

As they discussed their lack of travel experience. Brie noticed that Meera was very naïve and looked around to see if anyone less kind had noticed she was a potential target. She also offered to share a room with both Meera and Valka. Meera happily accepted but Valka declined, saying she would sleep on the beach.

The inn started shutting down early. Brie asked the innkeeper if this was normal. The innkeeper said yes because people are back at work tomorrow. Brie and Meera rented a room to share. Elenia bedded down in the kitchen nook. Valka found a large flat rock on the beach where she could meditate.

Something woke Brie in the early hours of the morning. There was no noise but something felt off. She lay quietly and listened but couldn’t figure out what was wrong. She crept downstairs to see if she could find out what it was. A fog has rolled in but she couldn’t otherwise see anything.

At the same time, a little further down the bay, something pulled Valka out of her trance. A fog had rolled in and she felt something was wrong. She could hear an unsettling clicking coming from town. She packed up her camp, pulled out her dagger, and snuck towards the town.

Brie opened the tavern door and the fog rolled in. It felt weird, clammy, and icky. She quickly closed the door, shutting out the foul night air.  

As Valka entered town, a couple of boats and warehouses exploded. The whole town was awake in an instant. Meera grabbed her sword and shield and ran downstairs in her nightgown. Brie ran back up to grab her mace and ran back down. Elenia rolled out of bed, grabbing her dagger and dashed into the main room.

Valka seeing fire, her greatest fear, turned and ran straight into an intangible wall. It knocked her out cold.

Elenia met Meera in the main room of the inn. The innkeeper had already blown through and the front door was wide open.

“Is this normal?” Meera asked.

“Do I look like I’m from here,” Elenia replied. “I don’t fucking know!”

Meera and Brie ran out of the door together. Elenia followed more cautiously, peering out the door. All she could see was moving shadows and smoke.

As Meera reached the middle of the street, she saw an armoured skeleton run a woman through and zombies roaming the town. Brie couldn’t quite make out what was happening through the smoke but did see Meera freaking out, so she knew it wasn’t good.

The skeleton turned to Meera and struck her with a rusty sword, cutting her. Meera swung back with her sword but missed. Elenia saw this and used her Vicious Mockery enchantment to shout, “You smell like a corpse that’s rolled in shite!” psychically damaging it. Brie ran up and walloped it with her mace.

Meera heard the nearby screaming stop and as she dodged another blow from the skeleton shouted towards Brie, “There’s more coming!” She swung back at the skeleton, killing it.

As she crept closer, Elenia saw the slash wound on Meera and sang, “And when you get that feeling, you need Bardic healing,” healing Meera and inspiring Brie.

Brie ran up to a pair of approaching zombies and hit the closest one with her mace, injuring it. Meera swung for the other one, hurting it. Brie’s zombie swung its shiv at her and missed her but Meera wasn’t so lucky and reared back in pain from the zombie’s attack. Elenia concentrated and cast her Bane enchantment on them.

Brie swung again at the shiv-carrying zombie, making it hurt. Meera swung and missed again. Both zombies swung and missed. Elenia laughed at them and cast Vicious Mockery, asking the zombie attacking Brie, “How does it feel to always be the ugliest person in the room?” Brie used the distraction to strike the zombie and kill it.

Meera struck the other zombie hard, really hurting it. It swung and missed her but ignored Elenia trying to mock it. Brie also swung at it, killing it, but it stayed standing. Meera sliced through it, knocking it flat.

Brie suddenly remembered her boss, Magistrate Kirkoff and ran to The Clipper, where he had been staying. Meera and Elenia followed her. By the time they arrived the place was in chaos. The upper floor was in flames and there were a lot of zombies filling the courtyard. Brie saw the Magistrate fighting a well-armoured, well put-together skeleton-like creature with burning eyes. The Magistrate was fighting well but was overwhelmed by the creature and Brie cried out as she watched him run-through.

The Thing he was fighting turned and looked at the three women. Everything went black.

Brie woke up in a small 8x8 cell, stripped of everything but her nightgown. She tested the door but it was locked.

Valka woke next, hearing the rattling of bars.

Elenia woke up and looked at her surroundings. “Well, this is shit,” she commented.

“No kidding,” Valka retorted from across the way.

“Owww, my head,” groaned Meera as she woke.

As they all started complaining about their circumstances, Elenia leaned as far forward as she could in her cell. She could see the door at the end of the hall. There was torchlight flickering under the door but no noise.

Brie kicked her lock, making it shake. She asked if anyone could weaken the lock. Valka said she had an idea. Elenia inspired Valka and she cast Frostbite on her lock. She tried to kick it but she wasn’t striping enough. Brie continued kicking at hers until it broke. Meera tried to kick hers but, still disoriented from blacking out, only succeeded in falling over.  Valka tried to freeze her lock again but missed, giving herself an ice burn.

Brie, now freedom helped Valka get her door open, then went to help Meera open hers as she was still kicking at it. Valka moved over to Elenia, freezing her lock. She called Brie over, and the half-orc gave it a kick, freeing the Bard. With one final kick, Meera got her cell door open.

Valka moved to the main door and peeked round it to see stairs and another door. She wanted to leave but the rest of the group wanted to see if their stuff was in the other room. Elenia snuck over and peeked in. Their things weren’t in there but there were other weapons and armour. They all armed and dressed themselves and prepared to see where they were.

#d&d #299 Days #elenia oceanweaver #valka delahunt #brie morningstride #meera #Vix writes

[xekstrin]

Shrouded (Blake/Yang)

A/N: A fluffy request for my patron and dear friend @guiltyfandoms. 

As kind as she is, Yang sometimes comes across as oblivious.

But that's not quite right, is it?

AO3 Link Become My Patron!

The rain fell down in heavy gray sheets, so thick she could barely see further than the length of her palm. Clouds black as burning smoke... and fog on top of rain. It never made sense to her that rain didn't wash away the impurity in the air.

More than gloomy weather, it put her on edge because it dampened her sense of hearing. She was used to relying on her ears more than her eyes. With the ribbon locked tightly on top of her head, it became twice as hard to navigate the world.

She felt blind.

She didn't like it.

"Hey!"

A tap on the small of her back made her stand up straighter, spine going rigid with fear. As always half her mind was preoccupied with her ears. Don't twitch, don't betray. Once she schooled herself to be as neutral as possible, she intoned back. "Hey, Yang."

"Well don't sound so happy to see me."

Yang slid beside her, the smile on her face making it clear she wasn't offended. As always Blake had to bite down the instinct to explain it, that it wasn't personal, that it was just who she had to be now.

It was hard to remember a time when she just allowed herself to feel. Everything came through that heavy curtain of self control, the layers she hid behind.

With a click and woosh of fabric, Yang unfurled a large umbrella and offered her arm.

"Need a lift home?"

Blake relaxed a fraction, without meaning to. Yang always had a way of melting her down. Anyone who knew her well would be hard-pressed to describe Yang as "laid-back"-- the anger issues, the hair-trigger temper, the wicked sense of humor all made obstacles to navigate around.

But there was something very calming about her, too.

Blake linked arms with her, allowing herself to lean against Yang's shoulder and sigh in relief. "Yes, please."

"I don't like getting wet, either."

Emotional intelligence was not Blake's strong suit, and she was constantly mystified by how Yang could find something to talk about with just about anyone she met. When her eyes didn't bleed red, she was remarkably skilled at getting people to trust her, to talk to her, to like her.

At the same time, she knew to respect the silence that Blake cherished. Not another word was exchanged between them, but at the same time, she felt like they'd just had a long, warm conversation.

They walked from the library to their dorm rooms. Shaking the umbrella off, Yang opened the door and strode in. Her boots got kicked off to a corner, and before Blake locked the door she was already stripping.

"Ughhh, everything is so soggy," Yang whined, shaking her hair free of her shirt collar. She balled it between two fists and tossed it into the laundry basket before rummaging around for a sweater.

They were all accustomed to a certain amount of nudity; you don't sleep in the same space without eventually getting lax about how dressed you were. Still Blake kept her eyes averted until she was sure Yang had finished getting changed.

"Need a jacket?"

"I'm not cold." She smiled. "And I'm not wet either, thanks for sharing the umbrella."

"Anytime!" Yang flopped onto Blake's bunk, grabbed one of her books, and began reading.

She wondered how Yang would navigate through the world if her senses were as sharp as Blake's, if she knew how she rubbed up against everything she owned until it smelled like her. At night Blake would fall asleep in her own bed, nose pressed to the pillows, and her scent would be so close she could pretend they were together.

Clearing her throat, she worked again to keep her ears from betraying her. At least until...

"Hey," Yang said, eyes still focused on the borrowed page. "You know you can relax too, right? I'll keep the door locked."

The idea was pretty foreign, she had to admit. Even in her sleep, she kept on guard, dozing rather than sleeping. Every stray sound woke her, more now that she knew she could sleep without the ribbons.

After a moment of hesitation, Blake undid the binding on her ears. When the black silk slipped free, the world was put into sharp relief again. She could hear everything, even over the downpour outside.

She closed her eyes, listening for it. For the sound she missed.

Yang’s heartbeat thumped, slow and steady.

"Now get over here.” She peeked at Blake over the edge of her book, grinning impishly. "You say you're not cold, but you're shiv-er-ing!"

"...Okay. Okay." Blake shook her head, pocketing the ribbon and curling up next to her. "You know... You're more perceptive than you let on."

Yang tucked an arm around her, pulling Blake close. "I'll take that as a compliment."

#bumblebee #rwby #fanfiction