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professional-yearner · 7 months

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ACE

Yandere male x F! Autistic! Reader

TW: taking advantage of nievety and loneliness, murder, family disfunction, people around you believing an abuser over you, rich people, sociopathic and narcissistic behavior, pretending to be someone's friend, taking advantage of the systems you were born into, gut feelings, non-con touching, boners, self isolation due to an abuser, abuser coming back into your life forcibly, manipulation of friends and family, General manipulation, predatory behavior, and break-ins.

General information

Born the middle brother to a family worth millions, having the face if a model, and standing at a good 6'8, Ace is more than savvy in the ways of interpersonal relations.

(He's socially gifted)

Does he actually like any of the people he surrounds himself with? It's up for debate, but ask any of them and he's the best guy you'll ever have the privilege of meeting.

His home life is and was…complicated.

His mother was sweet as pie, if not a bit ditzy, but that's exactly how his father liked it. She was his sweet little trophy wife, content to spend his money and occasionally watch the boys while not asking too much else of him.

His father was near the opposite.

Charming and easygoing to all who met him, Ace's father behind closed doors was a different story.

The man ruled their household with a cold and uncaring grip, but took Ace especially under his wing.

He taught his middle child how to talk his way out of any situation, to carry himself in a way that made people comfortable.

That was, until he got sick

During the final months of his life and when Ace had turned sixteen, Mr. Landry took only his middle son on a hunting trip into the mountains (on their private land of course)

It all seemed normal to a young Ace, boring even, but he withstood it as always.

Until the last day, when his father ushered him further into the brush, the boy commenting that they were getting close to another family's range when the older man hoisted his rifle, seeming to lock onto his target with a steely precision Ace had never seen.

When the shot fired, he heard the thump that was usual for a fallen deer, but something was… different.

Pushing back the brush, he was stunned to see a man lying face down in the foliage, completely still.

He looked back to his father, who gave him the most honest smile he had ever seen on the old man.

Nothing ever came of it, nobody ever came forward about it, nobody seemed to care what his father had done.

It had been his final lesson, one that Ace took in stride

Only weeks later, after their father's passing, the eldest, Sam, became the head of the house, their mother too distraught over the loss of her the man her life had revolved around for years to do anything but dote on her sons in the way she had been taught

Ace didn't mind too much, he focussed on school and his "friends" until the time he went off to college, finding that much more his speed

College fraternity was a popularity contest, one that he won with close to no effort.

A couple of years into college, he took an interest in nascar

He had always had an interest in sports cars, his first car had been a Porsche 911, and he had recently taken to drag racing his friends, so it was a sort of natural progression.

It was casual at first, but over time and with much enthusiastic encouragement from his buddies, he really started to consider it as a career.

Some expensive schooling and a few entry level races later, he had finally gotten scouted.

After his first discovery, the mix of his seemingly magnetic personality and genuine talent won him sponsor after sponsor until he was racing on live television.

Romantic headcannons + snippet

When Ace met you, he definitely didn't know what to make of you.

Your eye contact was measured, as if you were counting when to look away and look back. You were pretty, of course, but had some of the strangest interests. And strangest of all, you didn't seem to want anything from him.

Or even really want to be around him.

You didn't look to be uncomfortable with him, but you also didn't go out of your way to find where he was or seek him out to talk again like many of his acquaintances did.

Everyone he's ever known has wanted something from him, so what makes you so special?

It eats at him to the point he starts seeking you out, eventually befriending you through faking interest in your hobbies and just being his usual charming self.

He ensures that everyone around you loves him too, sweet talking his way into the hearts of your parents, friends, and even coworkers

He's sure that if he digs enough, he'll find exactly what your after

He asks probing questions that are made to sound casual, but they still strike you as strange.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

"Why do you like (insert interest)?"

"What do you think is my best feature?"

You answer as you usually would, straightforwardly, but at the same time, it almost puts you on edge the way he asks these seemingly innocent questions.

Looking deep into your eyes, a good distance away but so intimately it feels like he's too close for comfort.

You like Ace, you're thankful for such a good friend, but he makes you… nervous.

He doesn't even notice as he begins to lose interest in studying you, as he starts to actually listen to your ramblings, as he starts to become touchier with you, starts to move closer every time you're together.

He can reconcile his attraction to you. Again, you're pretty enough, with an above average body, lovely hair, pretty expressive eyes, kissable lips… nice grabbable hips-

Anyways

He goes for it, one day, putting a hand on your thigh while he's driving the two of you somewhere, pulling over and going in for a kiss and expecting you to lean into him

But you don't

Instead, you pull your leg away quickly, panicked when you see him coming closer

You are attracted to him, somewhat, but this feels… off.

Confused, he tries again, but this time you push him away, telling him to stop, you don't want to.

He laughs it off at the time, apologizing, but inside he's fuming.

Do you know how rare it is that he go after someone?! And you just threw it back in his face with that stupid adorable pout he's found himself thinking about more and more.

He'll have you. He'll have you running back to him.

It takes you a while to warm up to him again, but he's persistent and measured with his attempts to reconnect once he's gathered himself.

Soon, you're back to hanging out on a regular basis

But he's different.

He's still as physically affectionate as ever, but his touches are lingering, like he's trying to get the most out of each passing gesture that he possibly can. He's taken to pulling you onto his lap, pretending not to notice when you try to get up, panicked when you feel him… pressing into you.

He really doesn't seem to like your other friends, he just ignored them before, but now he actively talks down on them, scowling when you bring them up in conversation

And most of all, he stares. Openly. You can always catch him out of the corner of your eye, just gazing at you in a way that makes you feel like you're on the menu.

You try not to notice, Ace is the first friend in a long time that has wanted to spend this much time with you and you do genuinely care for him, but every time he comes around you start to feel sick to your stomach.

No one around you will hear it when you come to them with your plight

"You should feel lucky to have a man like that in your life! If he were my friend I would show some appreciation!"

"Oh, honey, I dont think it's anything like that, I know Ace, he's a good man."

"Have you considered that he might like you? He's a good man, I know you're a little awkward around dating but you should really give him a chance!"

You're so fucking tired of hearing how good a man Ace is.

You try to distance yourself, not replying to his texts or phone calls, especially not the ones offering to hang out.

You hope he'll get busy with work, get a girlfriend, a pet, anything that will keep him and that sick feeling he brings with him away from you.

He reaches out to the people surrounding you for support and you're bombarded with angry and concerned messages from the people you thought you could trust to be on your side.

So you ignore them too, completely isolating yourself

It works, and you almost feel peace for the first time in months, turning off the TV every time he comes on promoting something and reflecting back on how unhealthy the friendship was. It works for a month.

A month of no connection outside of work. No friends. Nothing outside of going to work, coming home, and going out alone.

Until, on one chilly autumn afternoon, he shows up in front of your apartment.

You called your land lady, frantically asking how he could have gotten past the doors to the complex without a key, heart dropping when she answered sunnily how he had explained that he was your boyfriend, how you had been isolating yourself recently and how he was there to check up on you.

You tried to explain, ignoring his demands to be let in and the banging from the other side of the door, that he was not your boyfriend and that you didn't want him anywhere near you, but she stopped you,

"Your boyfriend really cares about you, miss (l/n). Self isolating won't fix whatever you're going through. It's obvious he wants to help you, you're lucky he's such a good man."

You hung up, dropping your phone on the carpet as he finally got through, walking in with a couple of your concerned neighbors crowded in the doorway.

He looked down at you, giving you a positively chilling smile, "Sweetheart, I'm so glad you're okay, you had us all so worried!"

He embraced you tightly before you could back away, too tightly. He was angry, but he couldn't show that in front of them. You broke down into sobs, burying your face in the rough material of his jacket, and his grip loosened ever so slightly.

"There we go." He grumbled, sounding almost relieved as a chorus of 'Aww's and happy sighs sounded from the crowd, "There's a good girl."

You found yourself hugging him back, seeking any sort of comfort as he stroked your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

He turned slightly, not letting go of you, "We're all good here folks, thanks for your help, again."

There was some light chatter before they moved on, going back to their apartments.

Ace took your face in his hands firmly, fixing you with a stern expression, "Now, was all that really necessary?"

You shook your head, empty.

He'd done it, he'd broken you.

And you had helped him.

You had pushed everyone else out of your life in fear of him and now the comfort and familiarity of his touch seemed like the only thing that could save you.

"You can have it all back." He whispered, face coming closer to yours, "Your family, your friends, your life,"

He smiled, the most genuinely you had ever seen him, "And me."

You hesitated, but nodded slightly, squeaking when he pressed his lips to yours in what felt like a split second, deepening the kiss almost instantly and sending both a pang of fear and a bolt of arousal down your spine at the same time.

To your surprise, after a minute, he pulled away.

"That can wait, honey. It's time to bring you home, now." He chuckled, hoisting you up into his arms.

You watched from the passenger door as your home got smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror, something in you finally giving up and withering away as you slumped against the expensive leather seat.

He reached over, placing a familiar hand on your thigh, a grin tugging at his handsome features when you made no effort to move away from his touch.

"I love you, (Y/n)."

And with a nauseous ache taking hold in your stomach, you knew he meant it.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #dead dove do not eat #yearner's oc tag 🦢#it gets worse #original character #yandere original character

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bibliocratic · 3 years

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muddle along or: the Pokemon / TMA crossover I’ve been promising @speakerunfolding for AGES jonmartin early S4

Jon considers the knapsack left for him.

Exhaustion is already feasting on any clarity he might have obtained in the near quiet. His body stiff, unused to the casual labour of his bones. The storage room, its shelves overburdened, the air vents popping like cracked knuckles, has gained nothing in his absence except a resurgence of dust and, in a dismal corner, a pile of boxes and a suitcase. A pathetic truncated shrine to his thirty odd years of living.

They moved his possessions here, when his rent went unpaid, when his water bills and council tax and internet payment reminders piled up like demanding snowdrift on his mucky welcome mat. Mutely, he glances over the hastily sellotaped boxes that now form his packaged-up life with all the distance that six months of bad dreams have afforded him.

He wonders who packed up his kitchenware, despairing at the mismatched cutlery harvested from student halls and charity-shop finds; clucked their teeth at the bread freckling mouldy in the barren landscape of his fridge; folded his clothes neatly into the suitcase he always kept stuffed under his unmade bed, even pairing up his socks; who took the books off his shelves in the belief he might thumb through them again one day.

He wonders if it was Martin.

Basira gave him the knapsack some hours ago. When he’d found some semblance of normalcy in the dull weight of a sandwich coating his stomach, dressed in clothes that now hang like rags off a coat hanger, sat at the table in the otherwise empty staff room with the heat of a cup of tea cactus-prickling his palms.

“He asked if you’d look after them,” she’d said. The strap of the bag held securely in the jaw of her Absol. “While he’s – well, you know…” She waves an exasperated done-with-it hand that manages to express a multitude of emotions that refract and merge like the morphing shades of a bruise. “Doing whatever the hell it is he’s doing. Or he thinks he’s doing.”

Jon wishes he knew.

He sits cross-legged in front of the storage room door, a sharp-boned barricade, thrumming like a struck tuning fork with the thought that even here, he will not be safe.

Gardevoir is a heavy weight against his shoulder. She’s quieter than he remembers, solemn and sombre in her new form. She used to demand being lifted up when she was Ralts, her flat red horns digging into his chest and leaving impressions, scrabbling down to shelter half-behind his legs when strangers approached. He left for the Unknowing and she’d been Kirlia, her face set and her cries insistent and infuriated, trying to push her Pokeball into his hand to make him bring her with them. Tim hadn’t asked where she was, when they all piled into the rental car, Houndoom taking up one of the seats in the back but snarling when Basira suggested putting her in her ball.

Jon doesn’t know when she evolved. It pains him, a dull-knife strike of thought, another wave against his tide-bashed flood barriers, to have slept through such a moment in her life when every other milestone they shared together.

“Now is a good a time as any, I suppose?” he asks her. His voice traces above a whisper. His Abra has calmed now, drained down from a difficult and teary reunion, and is now breathing deep and slow, curled into the port of his crossed legs. His three-fingered hands are still clenching the fabric of Jon’s shirt.

Gardevoir nods. Then gives him a nudge and a look when it seems as though he’s stalling, when he must be bleeding out apprehension like watercolours seeping through paper.

“Can’t get anything past you now, huh,” he says. She smiles, fond and he manages a short smile back, and it is almost, almost like it was before.

The bag is old, its original function probably for a laptop of some kind. The plasticky outer skin of it has rubbed away, flaking to mesh at the edges, the piping worn down to wires. Jon folds back the front of the bag, and inside there are four Pokeballs, the basic and cheapest red-and-white models. Jon had worked a thankless summer job at a beach-side amusement arcade to save up the money to get Ralts a customised ball, and had done similar when Abra came along a few years later.

To the side of the Pokeballs, ziplocked and labelled, there is a small forest of freezer bags bulging with berries and treats and care equipment. In a plastic pocket, there are precisely written instructions pertaining to each Pokemon and their requirements, and Jon’s throat tightens unexpectedly to see Martin’s looping joined-up handwriting, to see words that seem penned by someone who doesn’t expect to be coming back.

Gardevoir makes a low noise next to him. Her arm alighting on his, a solid weight, grounding. Jon clears his throat and takes out the Pokeball nearest the top, pushing the button on the front so the size balloons to fill his palm.

Most people have one Pokemon, maybe two, unless they’re involved in competitive breeding and training. When Abra came along, he remembers his gran remarking on the upkeep, how it would be his responsibility to feed and care for and train them, and it hadn’t been the cheapest venture but Jon had born the expense gladly. It doesn’t surprise him that Martin has amassed so many in comparison to the norm.

At lunch one day years ago, the weather nipping frost-touched, they’d sat outside a cramped cafe because there’d been no seats indoors, and Martin had confessed that he was always taking them in. Thinking back, Jon knows that Martin was attempting to keep the conversation buoyant, coaxing him away from deeper, darker waters. Jon remembers being irritated, sore-eyed with sleeplessness, his spine strung with paranoia.

“My lost causes, Mum called them,” Martin had said, and his voice had tried for a levity that landed without cushioning. He’d torn off a bit from the end of his panini to feed a hopeful-looking Pidove pecking expectantly around their feet. The cause of the conversational turn, Martin’s newest acquisition, had sat grumpily mewling on the other man’s knee, wriggling and sniping as he tried to feed them some medication he’d got from the vet. Despite himself, Jon had been distracted from miring thoughts of Gertrude by watching Martin’s charade unfold, the man making a show of giving up with a theatrical sigh to scratch the Nidoran behind the ears in a show of defeat, being careful of their spikes. The Nidoran had headbutted his hand whenever his motions slowed to stopping, and Martin had used the distraction to fold a chorizo slice he’d pulled from his panini around the pill, which the Nidoran had happily snaffled from his fingers, gulping it down before returning to demand affection.

“They’ll be all healed up within the week,” Martin had continued, plastering over the continued lull with his chattering. “I’ve taken in a few Nidorans before, they tend to be pretty hardy.” He had scratched under the Nidoran’s chin as his words ebbed with the nudging of an undemanding tide.

Jon had picked at his sandwich as Martin had fold him about hiding Pidgeys and Swablus in an old shoebox under his bed, lined with the nesting material of some of his t-shirts donated to the cause. A chipped-edge bowl borrowed from the kitchen brimming with water and his own early team of Pokemon keeping them company while their wings healed in their splints before they were strong enough to leave again.

These four Pokeballs in the knapsack aren’t just random strays. They’re Martin’s Pokemon. The ones that never left him, the ones that he’s raised and doted upon and taken worriedly to the Pokecentre over every cough and sniffle and fever.

And for the meantime, they’re Jon’s.

Jon presses the release button on the first ball.

There is a chittering surprised coo as an Oddish materialises in a buzz of light and reforming matter. They reform to stand a little higher than Jon’s ankle, only to fold their leaves half over their eyes at the unkindness of the halogen strip light. They totter when they take a step, tumbling to sitting with an affronted noise before, with a determined heft, they rock themselves up to standing again. Jon’s seen Martin’s Oddish before, approaching every walk around the assistant’s office space like a tightrope. Tim had bought them a little plant pot as a novelty Christmas gift once, and they’d unironically loved it, hopping into it cosily and getting specks of soil all over Martin’s desk.

Their leaves are poked through with ragged little holes, like they’ve been nibbled away, the green tinged in places to a sickly yellow. In the bag there is a vial of luminous blue medicine, complete with dropper and application instructions. It’s a stress thing, he dimly remembers Martin had once explained to him. It’s like an eczema, of a sort, that afflicts Grass-types, but it affects Oddish’s balance when it flares up.

The Oddish looks at Jon. They don’t have a neck as such, so they lean their whole bulb-like body backwards on their stumpy legs to study Gardevoir, who gives a reassuring blink. They glance around the storage room and its uninspired treasures of boxes and the unpromisingly weak-seeming metal frame of the cot, with a fretful shake of their leaves. They’re expecting to see someone else.

“Hello,” Jon says. He clears his throat, attempting to present a friendly face, to avoid the grimace he senses forming at his discomfort, his presentation to a critical audience that is already finding him wanting. “I’m… well, I’m Jon. You’ve probably seen me before, I’m um… I’m a f-friend of Martin’s. He’s, well, he’s not here at the moment. But he asked me to look after you. While he’s – he’s away.”

Oddish blinks their beady round red eyes. Their leaves wave uncertainly with the lazy swish of palm fronds. They coo again, a longer sound, plaintive and stretched out in melancholy. They take the opportunity to look around again, a full-body swivel that has them unbalanced, but Gardevoir leans down with a careful hand to steady them upright.

Jon watches them amble off to study their surroundings. Every so often crying out in a searching noise. Gardevoir keeps an eye on them as they rootle around in one of the boxes they can reach.

The next few releases are equally unsuccessful. Skitty reforms only to barrel under the cot as a pink-and-white blur, slinking further back with his tail swishing furiously whenever Jon addresses him. One undamaged ear twitches anxiously. The next Pokemon fails to materialise at all, refusing to leave their ball.

This was a mistake. Martin should have known better, known him enough to see that he would be no good at this, his skills in offering comfort atrophied. He can barely take care of himself, these days. Never mind additional charges who are scared, who need reassurance that is rendered rusty in his throat.

He reaches out to cradle the last ball in his cupped palms. He knows who is inside. The youngest of Martin’s acquisitions, and as far as Jon was aware, full-on adverse to getting inside a Pokeball. Their favoured mode of travel was Martin, using him as a climbing frame while he attempted to work, kicking their little feet against his forehead, clinging giggly to his mop of hair to get a better view, squealing shrill and disruptive and delighted when Martin would playfully shake his head to rock them. He thinks with the uncertainty that memory offers him, that Sasha had loved them, lifted them and pretending to throw them while they chattered and babbled, snuck them berries when Martin wasn’t looking. Jon has paid ear to more than one lecture from Martin on nutrition and proper feeding times and sugar levels. They might have played with Sasha’s own Pokemon, like they had tottered after Houndour’s short and wagging tail when she was out of her ball, like they had ran after Skitty to join in games, but that memory has been scratched from recollection like initials scored out of tree bark.

They were by nature vocal, rambunctious, unthinking and unheedful of danger, a child really, and Martin had been forever apologising when Jon would find them where they weren’t meant to be, carrying them back cautiously and carefully to Martin’s fretful hands. He thinks Martin had thought that they had irritated him. It hadn’t been that. They had been so small, smaller than they should have been for their species, the runt of some litter abandoned or lost by their parent or cracked and emerging blinking from their egg over-early. They had been so curious, and the world of the archives had grown increasingly unsafe around them. Jon had worried, in his own poorly expressed way.

He presses the button, and aims at the ground. Martin’s Togepi manifests in a fizz of red light and sound crackling like champagne.

They turn around with a confused noise.

Jon gets the chance to voice an awkward, low-pitched ‘hello’ before they take one look at him and their face clenches upset, breath starting to bubble with sobs.

“Oh, oh, nonono, hey,” Jon says, scooping them up into his hands. Abra is dislodged, wakes up startled and teleports a few feet away with a ‘pop’ of displaced air. “It’s… nonono, shush, it’s alright.”

Big messy tears fall out of screwed up eyes. Hitching sobs lengthen into wails. Jon looks frantically at Gardevoir as he rocks and shushes the bawling Pokemon against his chest in a way Martin was so much better at.

Martin would know what to do, what to say. How all this could work out for the best. But Martin isn’t here.

Jon’s own eyes dampen.

“Shshshsh,” he croaks thickly. “It’s – it’s going to be alright. I’ve got you.”

He uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the worst of the tears. He strokes the top of Togepi’s head.

“It’s going to be alright,” Jon repeats.

Many hours later, Jon wakes up, cotton-mouthed and his back vengeful for the position he’s slept in. His legs, still crossed, have degraded to numbness that he’ll pay for as soon as he wants to stand. In his lap, he sees the matryoshka doll set up that’s occurred, Togepi exhaling with little whistling breaths into Abra’s chest, Abra’s face planted against Jon’s shirt. Skitty has emerged from his defensive fort under the cot to coil into a ball of heat, curled up in the crook of Abra’s overhanging tail. Gardevoir is half-awake in that dozing but alert way she has, and she must have turned off the light in the room because it’s dark except for the emergency glow from the fire-exit sign that casts the walls and floor in an unsettling green. Jon sees the husk of an opened Pokeball, the shadow of something small and yellow crouched on Gardevoir’s shoulder, and something inside him eases, just a little bit.

Oddish is looking up at him from the floor. Jon moves the only hand he has that’s not squashed under Abra, and when he sets it down they alight with an unsteady gait and he transfers them to the higher terrain of his knee. He rubs a careful finger along their leaves until they sit, their head nodding as they struggle to stave off sleep, although they still glance around with uncertain eyes.

The room has dropped colder. Oddish shivers along with Jon.

“I know,” Jon says. “I miss him too.”

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #jonmartin #pokemon #pokemon/tma crossover #no spoilers #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #things I have been unable to stop thinking about #jon and his ralts #martin and togepi and his expanding collection of wayward charges

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whumperooni · 3 years

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Imagine being such a perfect little angel for papa enji. Always taking care of him. Scrubbing him when he’s in the bath, rubbing his shoulders and drying him off when he gets out the bath. Maybe you even stroke his cock when he’s in there. When you go out with your friends for lunch, you always bring him something back like his favourite cake or something. You make sure he has dinner ready for him when he comes home, sitting in his lap and bouncing on his cock slowly as he eats. Sucking him off after a long day being a hero. Telling Daddy how much you love him, how you’ll always be his as he looks at you with a look that only a father can give his little girl. You always make sure his hero costume is clean and ready for work. You always do as daddy says and he loves his little girl for it 😭😭

Please this makes me so somft ♡

tags/warnings: tw incest, blowjobs, a touch of somft, tw grooming

♡♡♡♡♡

“Daddy, wait! I made you lunch!” Enji blinks and pauses in the doorway, head turning back to find his little girl bounding over to him. You’re still dressed in your bedclothes- a thin, silky nightgown and fuzzy slippers, a robe that’s slipped off your shoulder- and Enji huffs at that, huffs at the sleep that’s still written all over your face. You press a bento box into his hands and a kiss to his cheek- one that he returns with a grunt whenever you peer up at him with expectant, drowsy eyes. “Have a good day at work, daddy! I love you!” “I love you too, little one.”

➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺ “Aw, Endeavor, did your little girl make that for you? How cute.” Enji grunts and he shoulders away Hawks when the boy peers over his shoulder, ignores the pout that pops up on the hero’s face. “You’re so lucky! I want someone to make me lunch,” Hawks whines, trying to creep his hand over Enji’s other shoulder to grab the food. Enji scowls and he shoulders the boy away, finds himself curling protectively around his lunch as feathers begin to shiver. “Hey, come on- let me try a bite!” “No.” “You’re so stingy! That’s not befitting of the number one hero, ya know!” “You have your own lunch,” Enji points out in a snap. “Not one made with love and care! C’mon- just one bite!” “I said no.” Hawks huffs and he plops down next to Enji- crowding his space like he always does, obnoxious wings beating against Enji’s back and making him huff. A little smirk plays across the flame hero’s face as he watches the boy unwrap a store bought sandwich and the usual annoyance of crinkling cellophane goes unnoticed as Enji takes a bite of karaage. It’s delicious- as usual- and Enji smiles as he slowly eats the lunch his daughter had so lovingly prepared for him. ➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺ Hero work is good work- honorable work- but it leads to very long days. Enji is tired by the time he gets home- weary from a day full of catching bad guys and filing endless paperwork, dealing with the expectations of the public and the burden of self-righteousness. You greet him when he gets home as always- a tumbler of bourbon in your hands neat and so welcome, a smile on your face. The kiss you press to his cheek is soft and sweet and Enji hums as he returns it- lips brushing just against the corner of yours. “Daddy, how was your day?” “It was fine.” You nod, accepting that, and follow after him as he heads toward the den- your soft footsteps lost under the sounds of his thundering ones. Enji sits himself in his armchair and you take your rightful place on his lap- hand lightly landing on his chest and your gaze fond as you watch him take a drink. “I made udon tonight, daddy,” you tell him, hand working up to loosen his tie and undo one button, two. Enji hums as your fingers stroke over the scarred, bared flesh of his chest and takes another drink, allows his lashes to lower. “But I can draw you a bath first if you want to relax before dinner.” A bath does sound good- it’s just what he needs to unwind after a long day. “I’d like that, little one.” Your face lights up and you nod- only getting up after you press another adoring kiss to his cheek. Enji watches you leave- dress swishing along your thighs- and he slowly drains the rest of his bourbon, allows himself to relax in the comfort of his home. He has such a good daughter. It’s such a shame that the others can’t be like you. ➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺ “Is it warm enough, daddy?” Enji hums in response- eyes opening and flitting to the side to drink in the sight of you knelt by the bathtub. You have a smile on your face- soft and content- and your hands are just as soft as they run over his body, wash him off with a gentle touch. No one else has ever treated him the way you do- with pure admiration and respect, a never-ending love and a sweet, subservient adoration. You treat him kindly, wonderfully and he knows deep in his heart that he doesn’t deserve it. He accepts it all the same, though. “I’m going to do the shopping tomorrow,” you murmur- fingers kneading along his bicep and working up to his shoulders. You rise, just slightly, with it and Enji’s eyes draw half-shut as your bosom presses against him. “Can I pick anything up for you?” “No, but I need my suit taken to the dry cleaners.” “The navy one? I’ll drop it off.” Enji nods and you hum softly, press against him more as you reach over to his other shoulder. He enjoys your gentle ministrations and he relaxes under your touch, relaxes more when your nails gently scratch through the hair at the base of his skull. “Daddy, do you want me to shave you tonight?” you ask, fingers glancing along his jaw and over the stubble gathered there. “I sharpened your straight razor.”

Enji considers the idea- he does enjoy it; he enjoys the intimacy of the moment, the look of concentration that graces your face, and how you touch him as if you’re afraid that you’ll hurt him- as if you somehow truly believe that your tiny hands could possibly do harm to your six and a half feet tall, built like a brick house, number one hero father. It’s amusing, really.

You’re amusing. “You can do it in the morning,” Enji decides on, leaning back against the bath. Another hum and your hands move down over his chest, glide in slow circles to lather him up. You wash him attentively- loving and sweet with your gentle touches- and Enji nearly sighs at the quiet contentment flaring in his chest, at the fondness that he will never admit he feels out loud. Your hands work over his cock- soft and sweet- and Enji shakes his head when you look up at him, rumbles out a “later” that you simply nod at. “Okay, daddy.” You go back to washing him and Enji closes his eyes, tilts his head back and soaks in your touch, allows himself to feel satisfied over just how well he’s raised you. ➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺ “Daddy, was dinner okay?” “It was good, little one.” A smile pops onto your face and Enji nearly smiles back, hides it with a draw from his cigar. You’re perched on his lap again- dressed in his favorite nightgown, his hand on your soft thigh. You’ve taken a bath of your own and Enji can smell the scent of your shampoo, the light fragrance of your lotion. When he rubs over your thigh, your lashes flutter and his own draw half-shut whenever you curl a little closer. Such a good girl- so loving and kind, so receptive to your father. A darling daughter, a perfect little housewife for him.

You’re the last bit of kindness that Rei graced him with. He should do more for her, thank her more sincerely for gifting him with a beautiful daughter to dote and protect, cherish and fuck and use to soothe all the stress of his career, your less ideal siblings.

Enji takes another draw from his cigar and he squeezes the plush flesh of your hip, relaxes back into the chair as his cock stirs. “Little one.” A blink, a smile up at him, a soft little hum and a brush of your thighs. You nuzzle against him and the soft “yes, daddy?” you let out sets something hungry in his chest, hardens his cock to full mast. “Take care of daddy,” he tells you- casual, eyes running over you and flicking away as he ashes his cigar. “Put your pretty mouth to work.” A tiny noise bubbles from your throat and you nod- lips pressing to his jaw before you slide off Enji’s lap and onto your knees. When his legs part, you shuffle forward and Enji watches as you tuck your hair behind your ear, takes a puff from his cigar when your hands smooth over his thighs and deftly take out his cock. The lick you give has him exhaling deeply and Enji reaches down to pet over your hair as you place open mouthed kisses to his cock, brushes a few strands from your face. You nuzzle into his palm just for a moment- adoring and sweet- and Enji hums when your soft lips graze over the head of his cock, part wider to take him into your mouth. “Good girl.” Lashes fluttering, you mewl around him and Enji soaks in the way your cheeks flush, the way your tongue flicks across his head as you pull off to look up at him an adoring gaze. “I love you daddy,” you whisper- hand wrapping around his cock. “I love you too, little one.” Smiling, you take his cock back into your mouth and Enji’s fingers curl into your hair, his lips flicker with a smile as his sweet daughter swallows him down all the way to the base, lifts a hand to gently rub his balls. Enji smokes and he slowly pets over his daughter’s hair- utterly relaxed and completely content as you take care of your father in the only way a good daughter can.

#enji x reader #rooni's shit #tw incest #Anonymous #tw grooming

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patricianandclerk · 5 years

Text

Chez Bernice Lodging House

Montparnasse, Paris

I don’t know the date, dearest, but it is some time past noon, and the lilacs are blooming splendidly. I am sure, as last I was, that the year remains 1922.

My dear and beloved Ginger,

I write to you from the desk at my lodging house, wherein I shall stay another few weeks, at least, and if not, I shall leave them with a forwarding address, that your next reply should be delivered unto me with the greatest of alacrity. How I ache for your next word, when we are gone from one another, even now – I do like Paris immensely, but her embrace is a paltry ghost of yours, my love, and I should have your arms about me once more, as soon as my work here is done.

Mr Fell and Mr Crowley are visiting here, and Mr Fell tells me when I send my letter that he’ll do his strange bit of working on the parchment of my envelope – I know not what it is he does, nor what connections he draws upon, but he has a way of ensuring no letter is opened and read, nor even looked at strangely, as it makes its way upon its journey, except by its intended recipient. Is that not strange? I think it marvellously so, but such is the way of Mr Fell, as long as it has been. He is the proprietor of that bookshop, you know the one, with those two floors, and the spiral staircase that has hanging baskets hanging from its every step, hosting such splendid, viridian plants? Strawberries grow from that stair come springtime, you know, and it is owing to Anthony’s – that is to say, Mr Crowley’s, but the spirit does rebel at calling him Mr overmuch, for one gets the sense that he is smug about such things – paternal care of the things, for he waters them and feeds them, and I thought for such a time that he spoke to them as some men do, but Mr Fells tells me that actually, he whispers to them vile threats.

Oh, I do hope you remember them, Ginger – you’ve met them in passing each twice before, but my remarks will make so little sense if you’ve forgotten them. Mr Fell – Ezra the name he gives, although his initials are A.Z. – is a portly fellow some ways shorter than me, with round cheeks and eyes that are the hue of the sea in a watercolour painting (you know, husband, what I mean, I hope? That sort of blue-green, rendered dainty by the sun?), and he has blond hair that is lank but somehow rather charming, long strands that he draws back from his face. He wears spectacles, at times, these crescent-shaped things on golden frames that do naught to encourage a youthful reading of his features, but those features are, I will assure you, most well-preserved – the only lines that show on him are the happy crinkles at his eyes, and the furrow in his brow he gets when he reads, which is, of course, very often. He keeps such wonderful hands, you know, and he has taught me all a manicurist would never. Mr Crowley is a tall fellow, gangling in an infuriatingly graceful manner, and with such a handsome face that upon meeting him, one is usually agog for a few moments before one remembers that, much as he looks as one, he isn’t an artistic exhibit – it’s quite strange, you know, for often I find myself finding in his features some curious dimple or movement of the face I have seen in a painting or a sculpture of which I am fond, and yet how his face moves, how expressionate it is! Oh, he is handsome, Ginger, but in the most uncanny way, so much so that it does rather unsettle one, if one lingers on the thought too often. He is possessed of rather too much muscle, which clings to his skinny frame as if he is packing it to smuggle, and he always wears these sunglasses, for he is possessed of a strange condition of the eye. Dark hair, always windswept, but in a somewhat dashing way.

Reading this back, I rather worry it seems I might be in love with Anthony, but you must understand he is quite unbearable, and a wreck of nerves, besides his marriage to Mr Fell, and while he is handsome, that handsomeness is strange and eldritch, in its way, as if it ought perhaps be locked away rather than cooed over, as is my usual wont.

Oh, Ginger, you do remember them, you must.

In any case, I am taken away with them in turns. They are so dreadfully in love, and it makes me pang for the want of you, so far from me, you know. I don’t believe I have ever seen a pair of souls so utterly bound up with one another, and it rather takes me away to see them: they rather treat me as if I am some beloved nephew of theirs, or perhaps a son they have recently come into possession of, although this has always been their manner with me. I rather think that this is Mr Fell’s manner with every young fellow of a certain bent, if you take my meaning, for he is a great patron of the Hyacinth and Vine, that gentlemen’s club on Portland Place, and I rather think he oft has his angel’s wings spread out for young gay fellows to gather under, as if he is an umbrella against the coming storm. He is an angel, in many a way, and so too is his husband: I cannot name a time where we came into contact and he did not bail me out of some spot of trouble, and Anthony is so cruel to policemen, he must be a saint to all with a heart in defiance of the law. I should be rather seduced by religion, if the figures were a bit more like Mr Fell and his young beau, and less with all this business with priests and sacraments and so on.

In any case, I think often on you, when I see them together.

Oh, my love, to think that we might be like that, at one time, together, bound up forever. It is in the way they treat each other, you see, in the little soft mannerisms of a life together.

I asked Mr Fell how they met, and he said to me, “Oh, well, you know, it was… We were both working, and I was guarding the door, er, I suppose I was a receptionist, or something, something like that, and Anthony, he’d done something a bit thick, you know, as is his way. And he sort of crept up to me and rather startled me, but he accosted me with the most enticing small talk – you know, dear boy, about the work, but about the weather, and about philosophy… And it was beginning to rain, so I put out my— We shared an umbrella, and you know, fiendish creature that he is, he came so much closer than he needed to.”

“Did you love him,” I asked, “even then?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, and his watery eyes seemed to sparkle with seafoam, and for a moment I fancied he was a thousand years away from me, frolicking in some place with Anthony in his arms. “Oh, yes, dear boy, I always rather did.”

Oh, they are so superbly in love with one another that it makes one most angry at them. They seem so happy, do you know? One must hate those who are so deeply happy that they find themselves quite unconcerned with the happiness of others…

I have watched Mr Fell with Anthony, and oh, how he besets upon him: he fusses over his clothes and his hair, reaches up to comb it properly, or to adjust his tie or the set of his waistcoat. Several times, I have watched him reach over to remove things from Anthony’s pockets, and use them as casually as he might use his own; he always orders the wine, for Anthony knows little about such things, and he tells Anthony the history of every bottle he touches, and Anthony looks at him with his lips parted and such devotion painted on his face, and surely in his eyes, although I could not see them to judge by. He often asks Anthony if he is too cold, although the weather here is very fine, and sometimes I believe Anthony says yes merely that Mr Fell will fuss over him, and fuss he does: he will draw off his own jacket or his scarf and set it about Anthony’s shoulders, and draw him close to embrace him, that he might share the heat of his body! I don’t know that I have ever seen a fellow cup another man’s cheek with such tenderness as Mr Fell cups Anthony’s, nor seen a man lean so gracefully into another’s palm, that he might bestow a kiss upon his wrist.

I asked Anthony how they met, and he told me, “Well, the first time, it was in this garden, and it was… You couldn’t imagine it, this garden, but it was beautiful. Verdant, luscious, with fruit heavy in the trees and flowers in a meadow on the ground, and I’d had the worst of days, the worst day that had ever been, so far – that I’d ever had, er, I mean, that I’d ever had – and I looked at him at the gate and he just looked so…” He took off his sunglasses, presently, and laid them upon his thigh, and I saw his eyes, which are so very serpentine, when one sees them like this – they are a sort of bright yellow, and the pupil has some manner of coloboma, or something like it, so that on each side they are rather like the eyes of a cat, or a snake. Now, they were misted with memory. “He’s never been handsome, you know. Not… Not like you think of it, he’s not that sort of man. Even if you put a handsome face on him, he’d make it less handsome, just by living in it, you know? But I looked at him, and I thought, oh, don’t you fit in with all this fruit, and all this grass, and all these flowers? Aren’t you a juicy, delicious thing, waiting to be plucked and eaten, and then I got closer, and I… Miles, young man—” (He often calls me young man, although I don’t know that I am so much younger than he is, and yet at times I think he is unutterably old and merely hides the evidence from his face.) “Have you ever seen a fruit on a tree, and it looked so perfect, just the right colour, with the light hitting it right, and so perfectly ripe you couldn’t bear to pull it down?”

“Oh, yes,” I said.

“He was like that,” Anthony said, and he looked so immensely happy that I nearly burst into tears.

Oh, if Mr Fell pays his court to Anthony, now, although they’ve been happily together such years, he pays it back a thousandfold. You should see the way he dotes on this fellow, pays for everything, but the way he looks at Mr Fell as if he is the world and a half, as if he is so immensely beautiful and wonderful and perfect, and he says it all!

He calls him “angel” and whispers in his ear, and brings him such gifts and presents, and kisses him and touches him, holds his hands and kisses his knuckles… He orders his meals, you know, and he eats so little, Mr Crowley, but he always orders desert for himself and only eats a bite, and then slides the rest over to Mr Fell so that he might have two, and isn’t that the most darling thing you’ve ever heard? Isn’t it so awfully lovely?

Oh, my heart is full of them, Ginger – I wish I could be similarly full of you.

Do write me soon, my dearest, my only one, for my heart longs for your handsome hand upon the page (almost as much as I long for it in my own).

Yours (and only yours, always),

Miles

#as defined by dictionary #aziraphale #crowley #miles maitland #good omens #kinda fanfic #??#fanfic

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theheartofpenelope · 5 years

Text

Simple Things : Chapter eleven

Excerpt - “Charlotte would have to admit there were worse sights to wake up next to.... Tom looked so perfectly peaceful and relaxed as he lay there next to her. In her hotel room. In her bed. The white bed sheet haphazardly draped over his legs. His curly hair was a mess and she adored it. Even from where she was resting, she could feel his bodily warmth radiating onto her.” Tag list: @winterisakiller, @devikafernando, @scorpionchild81, @messy-insomniac-bookgirl, @smutsausage, @hiddlesbitch1 @noplacelikehome77 @wolfsmom1 @meh1217 @dina-bln @lilaeye39 @tinchentitri @fairlightswiftly @nonsensicalobsessions @wolfsmom1 @stmeiou @ink-and-starlight @givemecocoaa @profkmoriarty13 @nikkalia @massivelemon @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @argo-shila @emoietmoi @redfoxwritesstuff @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @raining-litter @theoneanna @coppercorn-and-cauldron @turniptitaness Author’s Notes/Warnings: tags will follow later on Anyway thank you in advance for feedback - would love to know what you think…Also on AO3 through this link Masterlist available through here Bonus: click here for the pinterest moodboard (always updated)

Chapter eleven 1. Sunday birthday brunch at Lizzie’s

After ringing Lizzie’s doorbell, Charlotte glanced down at the colourful bouquet she carried in her hands. The sweet aroma of the flowers filled her lungs with happiness and energy, both very welcome because she felt dead on her feet.

When she was greeted with her nearest and dearest friends soft and happy laughter bubbled through the air. Charlotte’s smile was wider than she could have held possible and her heart was simply overjoyed. One by one the group of girlfriends fell into each other’s arms with joy, exclaiming excited shrieks and silly little compliments. Oh, she definitely had missed this, all of it.

As expected, the girls’ respective men were fussing over a BBQ in the garden while two teeny little rascals were attempting to push a ball around in between the two of them. Charlotte sweetly kissed one of the birthday-girls who was patiently cradling her newborn to sleep. Charlotte gladly took a moment to inhale the sweet baby-scent while kissing its head as well, before whispering to her friend how much the little bub resembled its father.

This was nice, this was good. This is where she’d wanted to be… At the annual birthday brunch that celebrated all ‘three summerbabes’ that were amongst the group of tight-knit friends. It was a lazy event, no pressure. It was all ‘put your feet up’, ‘stay as long as you want’, etc. And just like every year they were all there, without fault. There was no question Charlotte would attend as well, conferences or not. She’d gladly taken a night flight out of Edinburgh for it, because she would not (could not!) miss this for the world.

Several hugs and kisses later, Lizzie introduced Charlotte to a new face; a man named Michael. Not someone’s new boyfriend, no, no, not this one. He appeared to be a friend of Lizzie’s husband David, a ‘newly single’ and Lizzie couldn’t resist to point that little fact out and not-so-subtly add; ‘like you.’

Charlotte groaned inwardly as she meekly greeted the man who had turned a deeper shade of pink, just like her.

“Is it just me,” she joked, “or do you feel like we’ve walked into a trap here?”

To her delight Michael smiled and admitted to the sentiment, leaving Lizzie to gasp in fake horror and muttering Charlotte could get her own Mimosa.

Charlotte chuckled, but quickly left the man behind and for good reason; another man, most definitely nòt called Michael, was currently haunting her mind, body and soul.

>>> Charlotte would have to admit there were worse sights to wake up next to....

Tom looked so perfectly peaceful and relaxed as he lay there next to her. In her hotel room. In her bed. The white bed sheet haphazardly draped over his legs. His curly hair was a mess and she adored it. Even from where she was resting, she could feel his bodily warmth radiating onto her. He smelled so nice. And while she wanted nothing more than to nuzzle against his chest and crawl into his embrace, trailing kisses from his collarbone to that spot behind his ear that made him gasp... she opted not to. After all, it was quite early still and he was so tired….

She smiled to herself softly and deftly unplugged the hotel phone so her morning wake up call wouldn’t wake him. Another convention-day had presented itself and Charlotte reluctantly kicked herself into gear; cautiously sneaking out of the bed and into the bathroom. And while she was mindful not to wake him as she showered and slipped into her clothes, she was utterly clueless on how she ought to proceed after that. Does she leave without a word? Surely not. Should she leave a note? Should she wake him? In her mind she knew very well what she would wànt to do… In an ideal scenario she’d crawl back under the sheets with him, so they could wake whenever it pleased them and come to terms with the aftermath at their own steady pace. But this was not that day. She'd never felt so happy, so sated and at the same time so insecure in her life.

At the sound of her cell phone ringing Charlotte sped out the bathroom to silence the damned thing, bumping her little toe against the bed in the process. Charlotte suppressed a series of heavy curses while stubbornly limping on and grabbing wildly at her phone nonetheless.

The tall silhouette in her bed came to life with a jolt.

"mmmm," he groaned, "mmorning," >>>

“Ambush?! What ambush?” Lizzie protested after Charlotte confronted her in the kitchen, “Michael is a friend of David’s. I can't help it if he turns out to be single.”

“Conveniently or not darling, you seem to forget I know your and David’s circle well enough to know that this is absolute bullshit.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes at her friend, “Oh shush! Give him a chance. He's sweet and kind and once you get to know him I'm certain you’ll be forever grateful I introduced the two of you….”

She shook her head at her friend: Charlotte hàd agreed that Lizzie could set her up on occasion, hadn’t she? Well then… ‘Brunch is fun with friends. And he is a friend and so is she. Both single. Huh. Imagine that…’

Charlotte cursed Lizzie internally as she stomped off; her mind now racing at full speed. However she swiftly calmed down once she was outside again. Especially when laying eyes upon Cait and her first born, promenading around, seemingly on cloud number nine. Cait offered her to hold her little newborn and Charlotte more than happily obliged. Admiring the teeny tiny state of perfection, her mind devilishly reminded her that nothing could scare men off faster that women cooing over a perfect little baby… Perfect! And Charlotte cuddled the little one a tad bit extra because of it …

>>> Tom bounced up straight when he noticed Charlotte’s predicament. The sheet tactically held in position he scooted to her side of the bed where he wordlessly held out his hands for her to place her foot into it.

He studies her toes diligently and massaged the pain away.

So perfect, so lovely, so devilishly handsome even upon waking, although a bit confused as to why she was already dressed and seemingly set to go. >>>

Yes, men definitely tend to run at the sight of their girls - prospective or not - fall in love with babies. But not this one. This one did not run off when a baby was diplomatically involved.

“Hey there little bug,” he greeted the tiny baby, while he offered Charlotte a glass.

Michael made a generous attempt at small talk. He was nice, attentive and very clearly dragged in the same predicament as she was. He was compassionate, interested, maybe slightly overdressed but Charlotte was nowhere in the mood for this. This was supposed to be brunch. Casual birthday brunch at Lizzie’s - not some kind of a speed date…

“Yet another summerbug,” he conversed on, “there seems to be a lot of those here.”

He nodded towards her, a question lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Charlotte smiled back good heartedly, “not me though.”

“No?” he sipped from his gin-tonic, “what kind of ‘bug’ are you then?”

Despite not wanting to, she chuckled and bit her lip in utter defiance. She hated it when Lizzie did something right when she so badly wanted it to be wrong.

>>> Charlotte reassured Tom of her good intentions. She was definitely not leaving him without a word. She offered him the cup of coffee she’d made them and felt as if she’d grown wings when he looked at her like that.

He nodded at her appreciatively. And she easily gave into the urge to smoothly slip her hand over the nape of his neck and into his tousled hair; while answering his doting morning kiss.

So last night, he looked up at her with one raised eyebrow. Mischief written all over his face. She chuckled as she met his expression, "m-hm..." >>>

Charlotte, now babyless, jiggled her leg while partaking in the conversations as the group sat around the table in the garden.

“She’s nervous,” David nudged his wife.

Lizzie beamed, “told you this would work.”

‘Charlie why don’t you sit over here, next to Michael’. ‘Charlotte did you hear Michael just got back from Dublin?’ ‘Michael, did you know Charlie just flew in from Edinburgh?’ ‘Oh you two, why didn’t we put you together sooner.’ ‘Oh, this makes sense.’ Oh, there were not enough Mimosa’s in the world to end this trail of suffering.

Charlotte absentmindedly pushed the food around in her plate, before ultimately dropping her cutlery on it. She tried her best to follow the conversation, she really did. But when some friends left the table to put their little kids in their respective cots, her mind has started wandering.

She vaguely detected David’s intonation went up at the end of a sentence. Apparently a question that required an answer from her. She looked up with a kind “hmm?”

“Edinburgh?” he kindheartedly inquired again.

“Oh! Yes, erm quite nice, thank you,” she blushed and chuckled. “Did you know, in August they have this festival?"

"Really?"

"Mhm," Charlotte nodded. She’d though this one through well enough now. "Tom showed me around."

"Tom?” Lizzie suddenly piped up while clearing the plates. Ah finally, she’d caught her attention.

"Yes, Lizzie, Tom,” Charlotte smiled as she slanted her head towards her friend and handing over her own plate.

"I've heard thàt name before!”

Charlotte rose to her feet and collected a bunch of dishes, ready to follow her friend and continue this conversation in the privacy of Lizzie’s kitchen but her friend seemed to have grown roots on her own lawn.

"My god, I knew it!” she exclaimed, a small tower of dirty plates in her hans, “these international conventions are paying off...”

And while Lizzie's mind was brewing up stories, Charlotte could only laugh and shake her head.

Move woman

"Did you have fun?”

"Yes,” Charlotte nodded, “I did actually.”

"You didn't... " Lizzie’s eyes doubled in size.

"Oh but I did,”

Michael slightly shifted in his seat.

Oh. Bad form Charlotte, not in front of the prospective one...

David rolled his eyes, "excuse us would you?"

"Yeah I'm," Michael stammered and pointed to David as he quickly followed in his steps.

"Did he know where everything was??”

"Liz, my god!” Charlotte rolled her eyes as she put the dishes down on the table again, “what are you asking me?”

"Well, you know these days…”

"Trust me,” Charlotte sighed, “he did nòt need GPS-assistance.”

"Oh my god!” Lizzie chirped and tapped her feet on the grass in enthusiasm, “why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Because you simply had no ears for me, love,” Charlotte replied softly.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” Lizzie sighed, “but ugh!! Now what? Tell me. Tell me all of it. Every single dirty detail. Please. I’ll be all ears now, promise… ”

2. Sunday high tea at Benedict & Sophie’s

Tom chuckled to himself when he saw little Christopher dashing around in the garden as he chased the colourful butterflies that fled from the nearby rose bushes. Christopher looked up at the fluttering little animals with big wondrous eyes. Tom found himself envieing that capacity of looking at the world through childlike eyes, always admiring, always exploring and with that unshakable belief that everything and every one was ‘good’ while in reality that really was not the case. Not often at least.

“Such a lovely family,” he shook his head with a smile before looking back at his friends, “I envy you.”

Benedict snorted while following Tom’s gaze. Sophie on her part only sighed as the baby monitor crackled. Baby Hal was definitely awake now. She thanked Tom once more for his attentive first godfather’s gift before scampering up towards her - for now still - littlest bundle of joy.

“So how was Fringe?” Benedict questioned as he reached for his drink.

“Satisfying,” Tom swirled the spoon in his cup of coffee.

Tom was happy but short in his answers today, Benedict had noticed.

“Now come on, out with it.”

“Out with what?”

Benedict flashed him a mirthless smile, he knew his friend better than this. Benedict called out to his son as he sauntered about with his butterfly net, urging him to be a bit more subdued in his actions for fear of him hurting himself. He was met with a witty reply only a 4-year-old could come up with.

They had established the performance had gone very well, the feedback had been tremendous. Tom was meeting up with a renowned director soon for a new play. He’d met up with the friends and relatives. And apparently he had a not-date-like date as well with pleasurable outcome...

“You know, for a man who just got freaky at Fringe,” Benedict chortled at his own joke, “I would expect to see you a tad bit more... upbeat?”

Tom huffed to himself before sipping from his coffee again, which triggered a dramatic frown from Benedict.

“I mean, let’s recap here shall we?”

“You kissed the girl,” Benedict stated, “and I can assume you wanted to kiss this girl, right?”

“Yes,” a firm nod from Tom.

“You slept together,” Benedict squeezed his eyes into two fine lines.

“Affirmative sir,” again a firm nod.

“Then what is with the mood dear friend? I would think…”

Tom sighed gravely, where did he begin…

>>> Charlotte nodded when he repeated her “11 PM? As in tonight? Your flight is tonight?”

"It's a Fringe thing apparently. Night flight or no flight..."

Tom was astounded; their schedule couldn't have been more diverse. When the conference concluded, he was already working interviews and set for performing subsequently. This was no good, no good at all…

He sighed and put his tired brain to work. He suggested a bar right outside the city centre. A cosy remote little place where they could meet up again in privacy after his performance and before her departure. A place where she would be able to catch a taxi easily, almost instantly even. And if his mind didn’t deceive him, they would have a little bit more over an hour. Not much, but so very craved.

To his delight, she instantly and cheerfully agreed and amorously returned the kiss he rewarded her with. >>>

“Hang on,’’ Benedicted waved his hands under closed eyes, “supposed to?”

“Well, I got caught in …”

“No,” Benedict buried his head in his hand and muttered, “Tom, honestly, no.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?”

“Slip out the back, avoid the crowd, explain you have to get somewhere in time...”

“I tried,” Tom protested quietly.

“Well,’ his friend groaned, “not enough it would seem.”

Tom chastised himself and he couldn't blame Benedict when he straightforward spat out it was forever the story of Tom’s life. Forever putting his career, or his reputation, first. Making an effort to be likeable and stay likeable for hoards of fans. To the point his personal life suffered because of it. As if everything else would pause for him as well. Open up your eyes my dear friend! Life goes ever on. If you miss the train, don't expect someone to send the limo back to pick you up. On or off, but decide now.

Tom squirmed in his seat uneasily. It hadn't occurred to him like thàt until now really. But did Benedict really had to spell it out so harshly though? Tom had argued with him initially; saying it had nothing to do with fans or reputation or any of that. He just felt awful because he had left things up in the air between them. And as a matter of fact he was really intent on seeing or speaking with her again. Truly, honestly.

Benedict sighed, clearly not buying any of it.

“So,” he exhaled loudly, “was this a one-night affair?”

“I – I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” he dropped his hand on the table with a dramatic chuckle, “how can you not know?”

“It’s complicated,” Tom disputed.

“Try me,” Benedict dared his friend, “because it’s fairly easy… do you see yourself without her or not?" he paused, "could you continue without pursuing this and look back without regret? In short - what does Sadie mean to you?"

Tom scrunched his nose and shook his head vehemently, "Sadie? Sadie’s not..."

"Well then, there is your answer," Benedict interjected his reasonings. “See? Easy!”

It was no secret Benedict didn't particularly care much for Sadie. In his mind the young actress hung around Tom in all sympathy, but pushed towards a romantic connection in public for more press attention. He could be mistaken though, he did admit this to his friend. But he had also been quick to add he wasn't mistaken about these things very often.

"I meant to say,” Tom interposed on his friend, “that this is not about Sadie, it's Charlotte..."

He noticed Benedict look up at him dumbfounded, his eyebrows raised in complete and utter surprise, “Charlotte?”

It took him a moment before several profanities came falling from his lips.

"Yeah, tried that too," Tom snorted under a mirthless smile before downing the last of his coffee, "didn't work."

3. Sunday birthday brunch at Lizzie’s continued

“So??” Lizzie repeated anxiously, “now what?”

“I don't know,” Charlotte shrugged with a chuckle.

“What do you mean, you don't know,” Lizzie rolled her eyes, “call him, text him, go on. If you have chemistry, you only need one other thing. Timing.”

“Ah, but timing's a bitch. Besides, he hasn't really reached out to me, so I think it's pretty clear that this was all there is…” Charlotte didn’t know who she was soothing more; Lizzie or her own broken heart.

“I just wanted to make clear that setting me up today might not have been the best idea, sweetheart…”Charlotte sighed, “it was a bit much and a bit too soon.”

"But Charlie, you need to get back out there again,” Lizzie contested kindly, “I’m afraid you'll turn from wallflower to wallpaper if you keep standing on the side…”

"Dramaqueen!”

"Truth”

"I know, I know, but, you know… got laid,” Charlotte winked, “I'm getting there alright? Baby steps,” she gestured as she put her thumb and index finger close together.

>>> She arrived at the bar early and fiddled with the complementaries her tea had offered her. She felt as giddy like a schoolgirl waiting of her crush. Only said crush did not arrive upon the agreed hour. 15 minutes went by, then half an hour. This was not good. Charlotte checked her phone for the umpteenth time. The battery was still at 78%

She mentally thanked a colleague of hers who offered her a powerbank in the afternoon when Charlotte had noticed her phone battery running low. One night out of the ordinary and her usual routine had gone right out the window. She never put her phone into flight mode that night, nor did she load up the battery and it showed. She was however desperate not to fall off the radar that day. Because she did not, could not, miss a call from him, or a text, or anything basically.

She professed her eternal gratitude to said lady. Her battery level went up, however incoming messages remained at steady zero. Charlotte didn’t really take too much note of it. He had his own calendar to work through today. But now, well passed their established hour her frustration level came to higher lever….

Maybe he was delayed, she pondered. Maybe this, maybe that. Her mind was fully aware of the pretty realistic fact that he would not show up, but her heart wasn’t ready to believe that yet. Until 40 minutes had gone by. Charlotte rose to her feet and paid for her bill. As Tom had predicted, she got a taxi very easily. She looked left and right once more while the drive loaded her baggage. Nothing.

Getting into the vehicle she softly huffed to herself, "silly girl, what did you expect?"

It wasn't so much his failure to show up that hurt her, it was more his incessant ability to simply not communicate. Promising someone to show up and failing to do so is just so not done. Charlotte would rather have the stone cold truth. Right there. In her face. Don't sweet talk, name the things for what they are. But apparently actors just loved to act… Charlotte rolled her eyes, ashamed for her own gullibility and left for the airport. >>>

“Well, maybe something is wrong with your phone?” Lizzie muttered as she fished out Charlotte’s device out of her purse.

“You've watched too many romcom's sweetheart,” Charlotte muttered whilst washing the dishes in Lizzie’s kitchen.

“Seriously though!” Lizzie insisted, “I texted you this morning.”

“You did not Liz, you think you did but I think we have well established your mind is everywhere except in the present. One year older, one year….”

“You're on flight mode, you dummy!” Lizzie squealed out.

“I’m wha?” Charlotte muttered while quickly drying her hands, “I am not, gimme….”

“I knèw it!” Lizzie tittered on triumphant while Charlotte’s cell phone went into a small beeping frenzy, “there he is,” she added in a sing-song voice.

While Lizzie nagged on, Charlotte’s heart leapt into her throat. Of course! She hadn’t lost all hope on him. Or them. Not just yet. Well, maybe just a little bit. As she quickly scanned for Tom’s messages, her heart swelled and her faith in him restored itself swiftly.

> Thinking of you

> Not much longer...

> Charlotte, wait for me please!

> Nearly there….

> Charlotte, where are you?

> I can't find you...

He’d left her a voicemail. Of course he would! Her heart thudded in her chest and she excused herself, anxious to hear his voice again.

She heard him sigh and hesitate.

You're gone. A pause. Charlotte, I...

Maybe I was too late, maybe I didn't see you or maybe you weren't here to begin with (bitter laugh) sorry about that... I just…. I only wanted to say (a pause) I have no regrets. None (a pause) I … I just feel so awful that I didn't see you again tonight. I wish ... (he sighed). God I wish I could have said goodbye properly. You don't know how I've longed to see you again...

Charlotte's hands clasped over her mouth. One night, picture perfect. And then… the hunt was over. The loot had been collected. On to the next apparently. The puzzle pieces finally slid into place. Her heart sank into her shoes, and she fought back a rush of emotion that fell on to her. Goodbye? Honestly?

“And?” Lizzie tilted her head curiously, “what did he say? When will you see him again.”

“I erm,” Charlotte shrugged, “I won’t.”

“Well,” she sighed dramatically, anxious to switch the subject, “that’s that then. What about dessert?”

4. Sunday high tea at Benedict & Sophie’s continued

Benedict remained mute and slightly dumbfounded after Tom had finished filling him in on the need-to-know details of Edinburgh. Only when Sophie resurfaced with little Hal on her arm, he gestured wildly and managed to mutter to his wife, “Charlotte!! It’s Charlotte.”

“Well of course it is,” Sophie beamed knowingly, “who else?”

“But, but,” he heaved his shoulders up helplessly, “how do you know this?”

“I just do,”

And as Sophie confessed that she suspected there was somethere ‘there’ on Benedict’s birthday party, a reluctant Tom admitted that they had in fact kissed at ComiCon less than 2 weeks prior. Benedict felt like a fish out of the water at this confession, claiming he was there and how could he not know this. Sophie however deftly shut him up by offering him baby Hal and seating herself next to the two men at the table.

“So,” Sophie questioned him, “is there a problem I fail to see?”

“I don’t know. I texted her...I tried calling her but her phone was switched off. So I left a voice message and … nothing,” Tom shrugged.

Benedict offered him a slow clap, which Hal quickly tried to mimic.

“Yeah, clearly, you’ve done all you can…”

“Tom,” Sophie clasped her hand over his, “ignore Bigfoot there. What is it you want?

“It’s stupid, it’s silly, it’s a dead-end. We live miles apart,”

Benedict coughed, “Taylor.”

Hal giggled as he tried hacking and gagging to his daddy’s resemblance. Benedict doted on his youngest boy and encouraged his antics while Tom laughingly urged his friend to shut up.

“Alright, alright, then forget about her. She hasn’t responded to your texts or your one and only - I feel I must emphasize - phone call. Too bad, the joke’s on her, turn around and move on.”

Tom’s eyes drooped down as he came to a full understanding and nodded accordingly.

"I feel I need I repeat my question : do you see yourself without her or not?" Benedict paused, "could you continue without pursuing this and look back without regret?”

“Well, I càn live without her. There is no question about that,” Tom shrugged. “You know the first time we met, I thought she was intelligent and beautiful, and absolutely perfect. And now I’ve come to realize that she isn’t. At all. She is not perfect; she’s got her scars and her emotional baggage.”

“And?” Sophie urged with a smile, “my morning chocolate for the fact that this made matters even worse.”

Tom sighed and looked over at a loudly giggling Christopher in the garden.

“I think that’s your answer right there…” Sophie quietly added.

"You know, Sophie and I didn't happen overnight,” Benedict followed her reasonings to which she snorted.

“And we do not live on cloud number nine. A relationship is work,” she confessed on her turn,

“But I love her so much, that it hardy feels like work..."

“Ah,” Sophie winked in good humour “you see, and it works both ways…”

“When you hesitate, Tom, you take the plunge. Or you’ll regret it forever,” Benedict hastened to say. “Which means you’ll be on my case about it. Also forever.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x ofc #simple-things #I suffered on this chapter #please be nice #forever grateful for postitve feedback

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esotheria-sims · 5 years

Photo

50 OC QUESTIONS - Marcus Blackbird

Got tagged by @thepathofnevermore, whee! :D Thank you for the tag, dear, this was fun! ^-^

01. How old is your sim? My headcanon is that he’s 15 at the start of the BaCC.

02. When is your sim’s birthday? June 28.

03. What is your sim’s zodiac sign? Cancer.

04. What is your sim’s ethnicity? Neo Margitavillean/human with magic ancestry.

05. Does your sim have any nicknames? Mark, and his sister Annika calls him Marky sometimes when they play-fight and she wants to annoy him. He pretends to be awfully offended by the nickname, but it’s more a running gag than anything else; he actually doesn’t mind it at all.

06. Do they have a job? Not at the moment.

07. Where does your sim live? Wyvern’s Bay since recently, Neo Margitaville before that.

08. Who does your sim live with? His dad Gabriel and his little sister, the aforementioned Annika.

09. What environment did your sim grow up in? (strict, loving, cold etc.) He was brought up in what could be considered the ideal familial environment - a friendly, safe neighborhood, a snug and cozy home, parents who doted on him… But his mom passed away when he was only 6, which came as a huge shock to everyone in the family, Marcus most of all. He managed to bounce back from the loss eventually - his dad was a huge source of support for him and his baby sister proved to be a wonderful distraction - but it took him a good amount of time to process it all, and even though he’s fine now, he still misses her dearly and feels her absence.

10. What is your sim’s favourite food? Pizza… and Watcher, what he wouldn’t give for a slice right now. Did you know that Wyvern’s Bay doesn’t have any pizzerias??

11. What is your sim’s favourite drink? Water.

12. If they have one what is your sim’s favourite color? Blue.

13. Does your sim believe in any clichés? (love at first sight, etc.) He firmly believes that “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”. And before anyone asks, no, he’s not the most ambitious of sims. :P

14. What is your sim’s sexuality? Heterosexual.

15. What is your sim’s gender identity? Male.

16. Is your sim type a or type b? Uh, what the hell is type A and type B…? Next question!

17. Is your sim introverted or extroverted? Introverted.

18. What is your sim’s favourite woohoo position? The kid’s still a virgin, so who the hell knows.

19. Is your sim a pet person? If so what is their favourite animal? Yes, he loves animals! I think he’s more of a cat person than a dog person, though he likes both well enough. He’s also very partial to small birds.

20. Does your sim have a best friend? His sister Annika, and since he came to Wyvern’s Bay, Phillip Gladwyn.

21. What is/was your sim’s favourite school subject? Back when he went to “regular” school it used to be Art, Biology, and Literature, and after Dominick Irving took him and Annika in for tutoring, his favorite lessons were in Robotics and High Elvish.

22. Is/was your sim a high, mid or low achiever in school? He was an overachiever in both elementary and high school, but due to unfortunate circumstances (read: a hoodpocalypse) he was forced to cut his education short. Now that Mr.Irving has taken him under his wing, though, he continues to excel in his studies. Once a nerd, always a nerd! 😁

23. Are they planning to go or have they already been to college? If so, what would be or what was their major?

He’d really love to be able to go to college, but the way things are now, it’s highly unlikely that’ll ever happen. :/ Wyvern’s Bay doesn’t have a university of its own, and any other universities are completely out of his reach. But if he could go to uni (dreaming is free, right?) he’d probably major in Biology or Art.

24. What are your sim’s political beliefs? He doesn’t have much of an opinion on the matter.

25. What is one thing your sim wants to do before they die? Just one thing? D: Marcus is so young, there’s so much he wants to do with life! Like find the love of his life, get married, start a family… it’s a long list!

26. Does your sim have a favourite TV show (cable) and/or movie? He doesn’t have any particular movie or show he considers his favorite, but he generally enjoys comedies, superhero films, and documentaries about ancient civilizations. Or well, used to enjoy. He doesn’t get to watch much television these days…

27. Is your sim a Netflix viewer? No.

28. Does your sim like books? Yep! He’s a complete bookworm!

29. Does your sim enjoy video games, if so what is their favourite one and do they play on PC or console? He’s not a hardcore gamer by any stretch, but he used to love playing video games as a kid and younger teen. He had a PC at home that he’d play on, and one of his friends from school (who had a console) would sometimes organize game nights. When he played on his home PC, it’d usually be single-player offline games, and when he played with his friends on console, they’d go for multiplayers.

30. What is your sim’s personal style? He’d describe it as “comfy & casual”, but these days it’s closer to “wears the same old rags every day and will continue to do so until the clothes literally fall apart”. It’s not easy to be fashionable when you live off grid, in the wilderness.

31. Does your sim have a lucky charm? Not per se, no… but he used to dry press four-leaved clovers whenever he’d come across them. He called it his “lucky collection”.

32. Is your sim religious? Nah.

33. What kind of music does your sim listen to and who is their favourite artist? He doesn’t have a strict preference re: music genre, but he likes ballads, anything with an acoustic guitar in it, and also rock, when he’s in the right mood. His favorite bands are The Beatles (got the love for their music from his dad) and The Police.

34. Is your sim a festive person? If so what’s their favourite holiday? If asked he’d probably say that he is, but to him it’s not so much about the holiday itself as it is about having a chance to get together with friends and family.

35. What is your sim’s favourite type of weather? He doesn’t have a preference, he enjoys all sorts of weather: warm, sunny, rainy, snowy… As long as it isn’t anything extreme (e.g. rainstorms, overly hot, heavy snowfall), he’s happy.

36. Does your sim prefer to start fights or finish them? He’d like it best if there was no fight to begin with!

37. Does your sim have a dream job? A professor, researcher, or any similar vocation that is intellectual in nature and allows for acquisition of new knowledge. As a kid, he’d always say that he wanted to become an archaeologist when he grows up… and while this isn’t necessarily something he’d consider his “dream job”, he probably wouldn’t mind being a stay-at-home dad.

38. Does your sim have any siblings? I’ve probably mentioned her like, what, ten times by now? Annika, his younger sister. He loves that kid to bits.

39. Does your sim get along with their family? He does, yes. His dad and sister are all he has left and he cherishes them above everything else.

40. What is your sim’s favourite hobby? Fishing! He started doing it out of bare necessity after his family got stranded in Wyvern’s Bay, but he really came to enjoy it as a hobby as well.

41. What does your sim look for in a romantic partner? Kindness, respect, loyalty, and above all, a lot of love and affection. Marcus’ ideal partner is someone who isn’t afraid to shower him with love and who will, in turn, allow him to love them just as much.

42. What is a secret about your sim? He cries like rain to sad movies, which is why he avoids watching them in the company of others… he may be a certified softie, but he still has his dignity.

43. What is a wish your sim has? For his family to find a safe place to live. That’s all he asks for, really. ;_____;

44. What is a flaw your sim has? He’s very emotional and tends to let negative comments get to him a bit too easily… He also has a tendency to get overly defensive when he’s been hurt.

45. How do others generally perceive your sim? Very nice, soft-spoken, a bit shy.

46. Does your sim have a greatest achievement? Surviving the total annihilation of your hometown, surviving a shipwreck, AND surviving in a fiendish new environment is a pretty big achievement, I’d say.

47. If they have one, what is your sim’s greatest regret? Not spending more time with his mother while she was still alive. Or rather, not making the most out of the time he had with her.

48. Does your sim have a favourite emoji? Long gone are the days when he used to have a phone for texting… but back when he did, his most used emoji was a plain old smiley face.

49. Does your sim use simstagram? No electricity, no social media. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Though he was never much of a simstagram user even when he had the necessary equipment… he only had an account because all the other kids had one.

50. What is the last text your sim sent (and who did they text)? “I’m gonna b late. Sorry” - sent to a classmate he was supposed to do a school project with. Needless to say, they never got to meet up for that project…

#sims 2 #ts2 #sims #blackbird #marcus blackbird #tag meme #BACC #wyverns bay extras #mine

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wannawritefast · 6 years

Text

The Crown of Brooklyn

A/N: Hey! I have recently become obsessed with the mobster!AU. And I haven’t written for our beloved Cap in a while. So I did a thing. I hope you like my thing. I certainly like this thing. I’m tagging @caplansteverogers cuz I love her and she inspired me to write this! Feedback is appreciated and, once again, requests are OPEN. xoxo, Echo

Warnings: Death (including death of a single mother of a young girl), blood, violence, alcohol use, mentions of sexual harassment and rape, attempted roofie

You grew up amongst crime. Your father was involved in a mob in Brooklyn and your mother worked as a spy for them. Your parents would have been more surprised if you didn’t enter into the life of crime in Brooklyn than if you had.

Unfortunately, they died when you were in your teens but it came with the territory and you easily made peace with the fact that they had died doing what they chose to do. And you made easier peace with the fact that you wanted in.

Somehow you infiltrated the mob that had taken out your parents and investigated their deaths. But rather than take out the boss you became family of sorts to him.

He never had children and always wanted kids of his own (something about scaring any possible wives away with revealing his job). He held you close as he got old. He doted on you as if you were his own daughter and you were the little princess of the mob. When he passed away he passed his job to you: his only child and the young queen of one of the most powerful mobs in Brooklyn.

As you rose to power you evolved the mob into something different, something unprecedented; you focused your mob on the women. You cleaned out the plague of oppression in strip clubs still keeping them standing but actually taking care of your workers and recutting their pay to be fair. The strippers enjoyed their jobs but not the harassment that came with it.

You swapped out your heist squad with inconspicuous girls. Overall you found that they just did the jobs better.

You didn’t kill the men or condemn any of your girls that wanted to pursue relationships. But any men that continued to treat you or your girls like garbage after fair warning to change their ways were taken out immediately.

Your numbers grew quickly. Women on the streets of Brooklyn were terrific allies. You became a guardian angel of sorts to the women that had been taken advantage of, harassed, and violated. Even though Brooklyn was high in crime, the numbers for rape, sexual harassment, and domestic abuse went down and the perpetrators were dealt with seemingly overnight. Even when you left Brooklyn to travel, your destination was cleansed of their sexual assault perpetrators. Your reputation traveled around the world as much as you did and you became influential.

The archetype that women were catty and two-faced was only true in movies as far as your experience was concerned. You took care of your girls and they helped you in many more ways than you could have possibly imagined. Who knew girl positivity and togetherness could be so powerful?

Your team was built of the most boss women you had ever possibly met. As it turned out you had assembled the best weapons engineers, self defense trainers, and hackers the city had seen and it was all underneath everyone’s noses because you were girls. And they were your girls. The mutual dependency made everyone close and your sisterhood type of bond rivaled that of sororities. Let’s just say Elle Woods would be proud.

Under the moniker of Juno, the queen of the Roman gods, you made it a point to learn hand-to-hand combat (anything with a blade became your new favorite) and trained those in your care. Soon enough, grown men cried in fear of the women they so commonly threw aside in their pursuits of power. Bitches had never been so feared in all of Brooklyn.

The Bitches specialized in diamonds. Your black market sales made incredible amounts of money and you made sure that your girls were paid before you were. Your new weapons became something that the other gangs sought after and, in exchange for providing arms, they offered protection and backup when jobs needed to get done.

The gangs of the world soon had a soft spot for The Bitches and the scariest mob bosses took you under their wings. You joined them for family dinners and to much of them you were like an adoptive daughter or sister. They understood that you didn't get involved in bad blood feuds between the other gangs but saw you as family nonetheless. Enemies were powerful but nothing beats the power of friends. Naturally it came as no surprise when your gang became the most successful in all of Brooklyn.

Well… Steve Rogers and his goons wouldn’t agree with that. But who gives a fuck about him?

The two of you hated each other. Although you never dared attack the other, it was abundantly clear that you were oil and water. You didn’t mix. Something about power-crazed mob leaders that had equally large egos and self-assurance in their abilities. You never interacted with him and you liked it that way.

Your assistant pinged your BlueTooth earpiece in the middle of a meeting. “Juno, we have a situation.”

With your codename ringing in your ear (in case your lines were tapped), you raised your manicured finger to the businessmen in the room, demanding a moment. “Can it wait?”

She took a deep breath. “Not really…”

“Why?” You asked suspiciously.

“It’s Rogers…”

“Fuck him,” you said, with no hesitation and returned to speaking to your audience again.

“He’s here.”

You paused. That made you stop in your tracks. Your skin prickled and blood boiled at the mere sound of his name. “He’s here? Why the fuck is he here?” You spat. The people around the table all jumped.

“It’s one of our girls.”

Oh hell to the no… Without a second thought you slammed the projector remote into the table and shattered it. A part of the glass table rained down with it as you stalked for the door.

“Meeting dismissed,” you growled as you threw open the door and it banged against the wall. The hinges snapped off the threshold. “I have a dead motherfucker to deal with.”

You smoothed your white jacket and pencil skirt and cracked your neck as you unholstered your vintage pistol.

Your assistant met you down the hallway. Victoria was your temper control, thank god for that.

Seeing your warpath, she immediately slowed you. “It wasn’t him or any of his men.”

It sated you a little bit but you were still fuming. He knew better than to just show up uninvited, unannounced. What kind of bullshit was this? “Then who’s responsible?”

“I didn’t tell you who was taken out…”

“Doesn’t matter. Whoever did it is going to pay with their life.” With that, you pushed past her and into the room where Rogers and his boys presumably were. You couldn’t believe that he thought he could just waltz in here on your turf as if he owned the place. You shoved the door open and were met with four men all looking at you, two out of the three startled.

“Well, hello to you too,” James prompted. Your eyes immediately landed on Steve, the bastard. He only blinked casually at your storming.

“Shut it, Barnes!” You snarled. “Start talking Rogers. Why the fuck are you here?”

Your rival mob boss stared you down cooly. Two alpha personalities in one room created a volatile environment. Especially with Steve motherfucking Rogers. “Cursing isn’t becoming of a lady,” he mocked.

“Well, it's a good thing that I’m not a lady, Rogers. I’m your worst nightmare.” You got in his face, the white of your suit contrasting the volatility of your temper.

“I’m the King. I’m your worst nightmare.” He got in your face right back and stared you down right back with his light blue eyes that contrasted his pitch black suit.

“Yeah, you’re both nightmares. Get a room some other time,” your jaw dropped as your head snapped to one of his cronies… Sam. “Meanwhile we have a real problem.”

You bristled a bit and you weren’t sure if the wave of heat that washed over you was embarrassment or anger but you brushed it aside. “Please! Steve wishes he could.” You glanced at the boss standing next to you. He narrowed his eyes at you. “That’s not important right now though.” Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself for the damage and nodded at Victoria to fill you in.

“There were two bodies discovered at 3 AM this morning at our docks. One of them was a Rogers cronie… a man known as Phillip.” Steve gulped beside you as Victoria continued. “The second was one of our own… Cleo.”

Your heart dropped at the announcement but you took a deep breath. “What were they fighting over?”

Victoria shook her head. “They weren’t fighting.” You cocked an eyebrow. “They were sniped. In fact, our intel tells us that the cron- uh- Phillip was planning on proposing later that evening… to Cleo.”

You needed to sit down. Cleo had disclosed to you that she was dating someone new. Someone who actually loved her… and her daughter. Her daughter… She didn’t tell you he was a Rogers goon. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Her daughter is with a social worker. I sent Florence over there already to get her situated in the meantime and I… um… I have custody papers when you’re ready to look over them and-”

You cut her off with a motion of your hand. That was a matter you would take care of later. “Any word from our private investigator?”

“Actually,” Sam interjected, “we sent in our P.I. as well… And there’s reason to believe that there’s a new mob in Brooklyn and they want your titles.”

“‘Titles?’ What do you mean ‘titles?’” You interrupted Sam.

“We mean they want you and Steve…” He drew a line with his finger across his neck.

“We don’t… We aren’t working together. Does this new gang have any brains whatsoever? Do they know that we’re not allied?”

“Yeah.” James spoke this time. “They just don’t care. And they’re getting bolder.”

Steve crossed his arms and spoke. “They took out one of our artifact ships last week. It was leaving our harbor on the way to pick some up and they exploded it. 150 meters from the docks. It was a power play.”

You took a deep breath. “What does this mean for us?” You asked. “Why do I care? For all I know this is a ploy by you to take me out.”

“Y/n,” he addressed you, softer than usual. Steve always called you by Juno when he did talk to you. This was serious. “There were two bullets… in each.”

You gulped. One would have been a coincidence. Two… was not an accident. Especially if Phillip was sniped. “You’re sure it's the new gang?”

“They signed off on the deaths. They took credit for it,” Sam interjected.

“I wouldn’t be asking for help unless there was a real threat here…” Steve turned to you, his face dead serious. “In fact, you’d probably be the last person I went to in conflict. They want my crown and power and will do anything to get it. Including take down threats, like you and me. I will not let them tread on innocent bystanders and pull civilians into the crossfire.”

His eyes held a certain plea. You hadn’t seen any expression close to this one cross his features. Ever. Although you would rather be arrested than help Steve under normal circumstances, this was not normal. And deep down you knew that you needed his help just as much as he needed yours, if the speculations about the new gang were to be believed. No matter how much either of you would want to deny that you needed help at all.

“Fine,” you agreed, “I’ll help.” A smirk pulled on the corner of Steve’s mouth. You pulled the whiskey in the glass vial off the alcohol shelf in the room and, after taking a swig, you poured it into five glasses. You maintained eye contact as you offered a glass to the mob boss standing in front of you.

“If your men or their families don’t feel safe, I can set them up a space. Just say the word.” Everyone in the room now had their glass. Victoria merely held hers respectfully but didn’t drink. She was never any fun. But Steve downed it in one go and returned the glass to you to be refilled. “It’s nothing Juno can’t do. But there’s something you should know, Steve.”

You refilled it generously. “I wear the crown here. Not you…”

“I hope you know, Steve, that this doesn’t mean I trust you.” You were seated in the booth of one of Steve’s restaurants: a swanky joint with invite access only. Tonight it was empty except for you, Steve, and the “up and coming” mob boss who was running late.

You smoothed your long red dress and subconsciously ran your fingers over your garter knife holster, just in case. Tapping your painted fingernails on the white-clothed table you took a sip of the red wine offered to you. The diamond necklace perched on your collar bones was a comforting weight but still did little to calm the small bout of anxiety in your system.

“I know it doesn’t. I still don’t trust you either.” Steve unbuttoned and rolled the botSteves of his shirt sleeves. He adjusted his red handkerchief. The two of you truly hadn’t intended on matching. It just happened. “God, he was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago…”

“Steve,” you started. He turned toward you and for a moment you realized how nice he looked. Only for a moment. “If I die tonight, the hit is going on your head.”

“You’re not going to die,” Steve grabbed his whiskey and took a sip as he reclined back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “It’ll be fine.”

You scoffed as you pulled your pocket mirror out of your clutch, which conveniently had bullets in it, and were reminded of the 1930’s style mini-pistol securely lodged in the middle of your chest. With the mirror flicked open you dabbed at your lipstick delicately with your finger.

“You look good. I have no idea what you’re fussing over.” Steve commented as he lightly scratched his nose. Was that a compliment? Your eyes shot to him in shock.

“Did Steve Rogers, the second best mob boss in Brooklyn, just compliment me?” You hovered a hand over your red lips in exaggerated surprise.

He rolled his eyes at you and was about to respond when the door to the dining room was thrown open. Steve and yourself stared at the swaggering young man who strode to your table.

“Sorry I’m late,” he breathed, but there was no apology in his tone whatsoever. “Traffic.” He snapped his fingers at one of the waiters and ordered vodka. The young man briefly sized you up by running his eyes unabashedly up and down your frame before turning to face Steve. What a pig… “So what seems to be the issue? I was invited here by the esteemed Steven Rogers with no explanation. I’m not complaining, by any means. But I do think you called me here for a reason,” his eyes landed on you again. “The eye candy is incredible by the way. How much is she?” He leaned forward with a smirk. Your jaw dropped in disbelief. Who did he think he was?

“She’s not for sale, asshole,” Steve asserted. He had his eyes narrowed at the little shit. The blood roared in your ears as the man’s vodka was set on the table. Your temper was no longer amiable. There was blood in the water now and you and Steve were honing in on your prey like you had a thousand times before.

You patted one of Steve’s clenched fists that was resting on the table. “Don’t worry, Steve. I’ve got this…” Your fingers wrapped around your wine glass and brought it to your matching lips. “Darling, you wish you could afford me.”

The man chuckled darkly as he ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, I see. No, don’t worry. I can respect an arrangement. Hey, sweetheart, tell your-”

“I’m not a messenger,” you sipped your wine. “And Steve and I have no arrangement. But I’ll tell you what can be arranged: a bounty on your head… or a hit. Your choice really.”

The man leaned forward threateningly. “I’m sorry but are you in any position to be making threats, whore?”

You blinked slowly and ever so slightly pulled down the top left side of your dress to reveal a tattoo of a minimalist crown: your unmistakable emblem of power. His reaction went from anger to lust to nervousness in mere seconds. The man gulped harshly as he downed his vodka and strained to keep his eyes challenging. You pulled the fabric back up and tapped Steve’s hand again. “I’ll let you cut back in, Steve.”

It was your turn to lean back once Steve took the reins. As he leaned forward you saw the amused sideways smile he had directed at you before it turned bloodthirsty. Something about watching it happen caused you to stir a little.

“You should really think about who you threaten before you do it. But you won’t have to worry about that anymore.” Steve poured himself more whiskey.

“Why-why is that?” The man stammered as his hands found his lap. This guy thought we wouldn’t retaliate…

“Because you’re going to shut down your sorry charade, pack your things, and leave Brooklyn.” Steve stared the man down. “And never come back.”

A waiter set down a tiramisu in front of you, Steve, and this sad excuse for a gang boss looking like he was going to wet himself.

You decided to speak up again. You stuck your fork in the rich slab of custard, coffee, and pastry. “Did you think you could take out my best programmer, yank her daughter away from her only stability in life, and not deal with the wrath of her aunties, one of which is Juno, the Mob Queen of Brooklyn?”

“I-I have a-uh-a sniper.” The man stuttered. He was grabbing for straws.

“I’m sorry,” Steve piped up. He stretched his arm closest to you out and laid it on the rim of the booth. “But are you in any position to be making threats, you son of a bitch?”

You chuckled at Steve’s response. “You’ve got two options: my way or Steve’s. Which one would you prefer?” You swirled the dark liquid in its glass.

“The latter.”

You nodded in agreement. “I thought so.”

The scoop of tiramisu on your fork tasted delicious. You watched the man in front of you wear regret on his face. This man was not cut out for the mob life. He wore his emotions too outwardly. You were doing him a favor really.

“Did you honestly think that you could threaten the two most powerful people in Brooklyn and get away with it?” Steve asked as he began eating the dessert in front of him.

The man only stared at his dessert contemplatively. You went back to your clutch to check your phone. But before the screen could even turn on, there was a clatter at the table in front of you.

You, startled by the sudden commotion, looked back up. The man’s hand was hovering over your wine glass with a tiny vial clutched in his fingers. A roofie bottle. Steve had one hand wrapped around the man’s wrist and the other had a gun pressed against the man’s temple. Steve was staring the man down, a deadly look in his blue eyes.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shaking with rage. In one swift motion you pulled your pistol out of your dress and stood up, knocking the table over. It toppled to the side noisily and the sound of utensils, plates, and glasses hitting the tile floor echoed through the empty room.

You pointed the gun at his forehead and a humorless laugh escaped your lungs. “You motherfucker… Looks like we’re doing this my way. Any last words?”

The man looked at you like he was a man with nothing to lose: the most dangerous look in the world. “You’re a bitch,” he spat. Quicker than a blink he drew a knife from his jacket and stabbed it into your outer thigh.

You screamed in pain and your leg began to give out for a few seconds. You supported yourself before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I am.” And with those words you fired your gun.

The man slumped lifelessly in the booth and rolled to the side onto the floor. You dropped your pistol to the booth and fell back into the seat. You stared at the knife protruding from your leg with a wince.

Steve stepped over the legs of the fallen table and got to the other side of you. Your head was now thrown back against the rim of the booth, trying to manage the sharp pain running up and down your right leg. Maybe if you didn’t look at it it wouldn’t hurt as bad.

“Are you ok? Can you walk?” His voice sounded. Your eyes were clenched shut in pain.

“I have a knife in my leg, Steve… What do you think?” You brought your neck back up. There was a knife in your leg. The only thought going through your head is that it would be a good idea if the knife was removed. You reached your hand to grab the handle. But Steve’s hand grabbed yours to stop it.

“You’re not thinking right. Don’t touch the knife or you’ll lose more blood,” You nodded in agreement. That made more sense you supposed. He yelled for his guard to call one of his medical cars. His guard raced off noting the urgency of the situation. “You need to lie down. Come on. Let’s get you to the floor.”

You nodded through the nausea and lightheadedness that was seizing you and helped Steve help you to the black tile floor. Keeping your leg as still as possible, you used the rest of your body to slide off the booth.

“It’s gonna be a few minutes,” Steve remarked softly. You were laying on the ground now and your vision was starting to sparkle a little bit. “Let me get you more comfortable.”

Steve was remaining calm as he took off his jacket and threw it over your torso. He began unbuttoning his dress shirt leaving him in a wife beater. His dress shirt was quickly rolled up and stuck underneath your head. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, not daring to look at your thigh.

“Steve?” You inquired. You could feel yourself slipping out of consciousness.

“Yeah?”

“Can you take off my heels please?”

“Yeah…” You felt the shoes get pulled off your feet but any pleasure that it may have provided was overpowered by the agonizing pain in your leg.

“Steve. I think I’m going to pass out.” You warned. Your hand latched on Steve’s. His opened to accommodate yours. It felt nice.

“You’ve gotta stay awake or… I’ll… I’ll take your crown.” He offered. His tone wasn’t serious but you appreciated the effort.

“If I wasn’t able to wear the crown,” you opened your eyes to look at him. His blue eyes looked into yours with something that looked strange… Worry, maybe? That couldn’t be right. Your mind was playing tricks on you. “I’d be more than happy for you to wear it.”

You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you blacked out.

You woke up in an unfamiliar room. It was a bedroom with typical furnishings but it had hospital equipment next to you instead of a nightstand. You stared up at the canopy draping over the top of the bed for a few seconds.

The silkiness of the sheets felt smooth against your skin. Remembering what happened before you went unconscious, you gingerly hovered your hand over your leg from above the covers.

“And Juno lives,” a voice sounded from the doorway. Footsteps moved along the carpeted floor and they stopped at your bedside. You turned your head and saw Steve standing with his hands in his pockets.

You groaned groggily. “Are my girls ok?”

Steve smiled at your question. It wasn’t a vicious smile but a kind one. One you hadn’t seen him wear before. Your heart didn’t skip a beat… did it? “You got stabbed with a knife in the thigh, passed out, had to get stitches (which I ever so graciously covered for you) and you’re asking if someone else is ok?”

You shrugged… it’s all you had the energy for. “Well, are they?”

He chuckled and shook his head at you. Maybe the nurse needed to look at your cardiac vitals too… “They’re as good as when you left them. You need to rest.”

“I can’t rest. I have to-,” you attempted to sit yourself up. Steve only put his hand out to stop your shoulder when it reached his palm. It felt like he had pushed you full force back into the mattress. “I have to lie down… For a while.”

“Is there anything you need that I can bring you?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he peered down at you.

“My pistol, my phone, and three shots of tequila.” You listed earnestly. “Please.”

“I can get you one of the those,” he responded before leaving the room.

You whispered to yourself. “Please be the tequila…” He sauntered back in with your phone and you reached for it longingly. You figured you would just have to settle for next best.

It touched your fingers and you unlocked it immediately to dial Victoria. But before you could touch ‘call’ Victoria herself appeared in the doorway.

“Oh thank God you’re alright!” She rushed into the room and hugged you tight. “I thought you had been taken out when Steve called and said you’d been stabbed.” He called them personally?

“Well, unfortunately for Steve, this bitch is still alive and kicking.” You winked at Victoria playfully and turned your gaze to Steve briefly. “Sorry, darling, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” you joked.

“Damn,” he cursed exaggeratedly. His eyes glistened humorously. “I can not believe you foiled my elaborate plan.”

You shifted the tone of the conversation and forced yourself to sit up, a little stronger than when you had woken up. “I suppose I’ve overstayed my welcome.” You yanked the blankets off your torso and shifted to move off of the bed.

You finally saw your leg since you had been ever so rudely stabbed in the leg. There were bandages wrapped from the base of your hip to the top of your knee. Your thigh was officially sans knife. The small use of your muscles sent a hot shockwave of pain through your leg and up to your lower back. Your expression soured instantaneously as you took deep breaths and steeled yourself to stand. Nausea welled up and punched you in the gut but you weren’t going to let a tummy ache stop you.

Victoria and Steve alike rushed forward to force you back to laying down. “What are you doing,” Victoria scolded, “Your leg isn’t even close to being healed.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Lie down, Y/n.” Steve ordered you. You knew he was probably right but the dominant part of your ego didn’t take orders from anyone, especially Steve. Defiantly and weakly, albeit, you pushed him to the side with the back of your hand and stood to your feet.

Or at least tried to. Steve had been right. The moment your injured leg was standing was the moment your knee buckled and you started to fall to the floor.

Your hands scrambled for the closest thing to hold onto to stop the impact. Your fingers wrapped around the IV stand but it wasn’t enough. Fortunately for you, Steve had better reflexes and caught you as you continued to fall. He swiftly grabbed your torso and secured you from falling further. With his calloused hands on your waist and your hands on his muscled biceps you stepped backwards and sat back down.

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” He asked as he pulled away slowly, uncertain if you still required his assistance.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Does this face look like it follows orders?” He cocked a challenging eyebrow at you. “The answer is no, Steven. I don’t follow orders. Besides you don’t want me here. We’re rivals. Remember?”

“Yes, I do remember. But I do also remember you getting stabbed in the fucking thigh in front of me. In my restaurant. While carrying out a plan of my volition. I am responsible for you getting injured. You need to heal and you are going to stay here to do that.” Steve had his hands on his hips.

“I have my own doctors, Steve. I can heal at my headquarters. I have power here too.” You leaned forward with as much dignity as you could muster.

He clutched his forehead in frustration. If nothing else you were glad that you were still able to piss him off while minorly incapacitated. “This isn’t about power, Y/n. This is about you being hurt. And I don’t think Victoria’ll let you leave here until you’re healed if I ensured your safety. Which I do.”

Your head snapped to Victoria who looked conflicted. She visibly squirmed at the equally scrutinizing looks you and Steve were giving her. “He has a point, Juno. Us moving you would do more harm than good.” You could practically feel Steve’s infuriating and victorious smirk. “Joan and I can handle it. We can send you documents and you can sign them on your tablet and send them back to us.”

“Victoria…” You started. This was NOT happening.

“It’s better that you get a break any way. God knows you need it.” She fiddled with her nails. Then she began to move for the door. “Getrestandfeelbetterbye!”

“Victoria!” And she ran out of the room shutting the door behind her. You were gaping like a fish.

She just… She just left you.

Alone.

At your rival’s headquarters.

While you were at a physical disadvantage.

You slowly turned your head back to the man standing in front of you. “Told you,” he chided.

“There’s no need to gloat, asshole,” you glared at him. “I hate you,” you mumbled.

“No, you don’t. Not anymore. You’re just angry.” He took a deep breath. “What kind of entertainment do you like? TV, movies, card games…” Steve suggested.

“You know what would be great?” You clapped your hands together in faux enthusiasm. “If you located the nearest cliff and took a long walk right off of it!”

He winced apathetically. “Sorry, doll, no can do.”

“Don’t patronize me.” You moved to lie down and tried to use your muscles to pull your hurt leg back over onto the mattress. But they either didn’t want to comply or they clawed at your nerve endings violently.

Steve’s hand found the underside of your partially bandaged knee and lifted it gently onto the bed. You weren’t sure whether to thank him or snap at him. “I still don’t like you, Rogers,” you jabbed as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared at the shut door to the room that seemed to mock you. “But I do like Netflix.”

“Really? You tell me you hate me and expect me to give you something after that?”

“Yes.”

“No. That’s not how this works. I’ll help you get healed but if you’re going to be rude then I don’t think I should help you pass the time.”

“Are you seriously wagering with a cripple right now?” You asked incredulously.

“Yes.” God, you wanted to rip his pretty eyes out of their sockets!

“Fine,” you growled. With gritted teeth you apologized. “Thank you for treating me and…” Your voice trailed off into a murmur, “I’m sorry for being difficult.”

“What was that?” He asked obnoxiously with a hand to his ear. This asshole.

“I’m sorry for being difficult.” You enunciated venomously. You pressed your lips together and crossed your arms as you stared at the wall rather than him.

“Now… was that so hard?” Steve’s voice was maddeningly smooth and his blue eyes glittered tantalizingly.

“No. It wasn’t actually.” You spat.

“Good. Then you’ll have no problem doing it again in the inevitable future.” Your anger began to bubble like lava.

“Can I have my Netflix now?” He raised a brow. “Please.”

“Why yes you can!” He over enthusiastically responded. Steve produced a remote from his suit pocket and pressed a button. An LED TV began to slowly lower from a slot in the dark ceiling.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my pistol, jerkwad. I would’ve shot the ballsiness right off of you.”

“I bet,” he agreed amiably as pressed more buttons on the remote nonchalantly.

You huffed a deep breath. “Dammit, Steve. You’re supposed to respond to me with witty repartee. You’re not being any fun.”

“Mmhmm.” The screen was open on the Netflix main screen and he tossed you the remote. Steve dragged a lounge chair to the side of your bed and reclined in it. Suit and all. “What are we watching?” He prompted.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “What?”

“Did I stutter? I asked ‘what are we watching,’” He answered matter-of-factly.

“Why? Don’t you have your mob to run?” Your brows were furrowed.

“I’m the mob boss. I can do whatever the fuck I want. And I want to watch something.” Even though you couldn’t quite argue with his logic your jaw was dropped and you didn’t move. He huffed and snatched the remote out of your hand. “I’ll choose then.” He clicked on the arrows and settled on a crime tv show.

You were still staring at him. He was contentedly facing the screen. He turned to face you, his blue eyes looking into yours. A stray blonde curl fell out of his gelled do. It was endearing. “What are you looking at?”

You shook your head and faced the screen. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing…”

The two of you simultaneously inhaled and exhaled a deep breath.

Halfway between episode 3 and 4 and making jokes about the the criminals, you fell asleep. It was exhausting, what could you say… You had gotten stabbed not even 24 hours before.

Steve hadn’t noticed you had fallen asleep initially. He thought you were ignoring one of his comments. It wasn’t uncommon. When you hadn’t responded after a few repetitions, he opened his mouth to give a biting remark and expected you to respond in like fashion.

But when he looked over at you, head lolled against the pillows, hair askew, and mouth slightly ajar, something weird happened.

Steve smiled to himself.

Not because of how vulnerable you looked (maybe that was part of it) or even because there was a little bit of drool seeping onto the pillow but because one of the most vicious and vengeful and ruthless people he knew slept looking like an angel. There were bags under your eyes and there were spots of imperfections on your skin. He couldn’t tell if it was despite them or because of them but he thought you looked… dare he say… well, beautiful.

He looked away. It felt oddly intimate watching you sleep if only for a few seconds. A little bit of an invasion of privacy. Steve gently readjusted your awkwardly flayed arms and pulled the covers up to your shoulders, careful not to wake you. He stood silently from his chair and walked noiselessly to the door. As he closed it shut, Steve took one more peek at you.

You only scrunched your nose momentarily in your sleep. Deadly, he thought.

But in that moment, Steve knew that he was completely, irreversibly and undeniably fucked.

The following days and weeks were nice. Startlingly nice. Every morning Steve dropped off a coffee for you and checked on you, if only for a few minutes. And every night, after he was done with his work for the day, you fell asleep watching that horrid crime show on Netflix with Steve. Like clockwork.

For meals, he would help you limp down to the dining room when you were finally able to move out of bed rest. He would visit you on his breaks. It didn’t matter if you were engaging in conversation with him. Steve would still sit in the room while you were communicating with Joan and Victoria. It wasn’t invasive at all… It was nice just to have his presence in your room.

You weren’t sure when the two of you began helping the other problem solve but the two of you were certain that you should have brainstormed together earlier. Neither of you were willing to admit, however, that the fault was with your pride… What? Steve’s ego couldn’t even fit through the door sometimes.

But you guessed you could say, at the very least, that you were on friendly terms now…

“Joan,” you switched your phone from one ear to the other when Steve poked his head into the threshold and rapped on the wood with that signature smirk on his face. You smiled at him reflexively and waved him in. “No, I agree we’ve given him plenty of time to pay. You have my stamp of approval to send in the Valkyries….”

Steve meandered into the room and fell back into his recliner. Joan’s tinny voice sounded on the other end. “Will do…” The sound of a keyboard typing filled the silence for a few seconds. “Your order is in.”

“Great! Let me know how that goes. I want a mission report emailed over immediately after …Oh! Is Phoebe there?” You asked hopefully.

“One moment…” The sound of Joan calling Phoebe to the phone was faint but still exciting for you.

“Hi, Anthie Juno.” The voice of Cleo’s three-year-old came on the line. Your heart warmed instantaneously.

“Hi, darling! How was school today?” You asked enthusiastically.

“It was fun! I went on- I went on the swings!” Her little voice informed you excitedly.

“Oh my goodness! Did you go so high?”

“I did, Anthie Juno. I was like a bood!” She giggled as she finished her semi-mispronounced sentence and the sheer adorableness that you imagined was happening on the other side of the line made you hold your chest.

“I bet you were,” you were beaming through your words. “I miss you so so much, Bee.”

She giggled again, at her nickname this time. “I miss you too. When can, when can I see you?”

You glanced over at Steve. He was smiling in your direction and your heart jumped a little bit. There was no doubt he could hear Phoebe speaking. The little girl practically yelled in the speakers whenever she was on the phone.

“I don’t know, Bee…” You wanted to see her but you didn’t want to overstep your bounds with Steve. He had already been so helpful. You almost felt indebted to him.

Steve spoke up. “She can come tomorrow if she wants…” He sat up in his seat.

Your eyebrows shot up. You put your hand over the microphone. “Are you serious?”

He nodded nonchalantly. “Absolutely…”

Your spirits soared. “How does tomorrow sound?”

The squealing on the other side of the line was answer enough. “Ok! Ok…” You could practically hear the gears turning in her little brain. “I’ll- I’ll see you tomowow! I love you! Bye!” The moment before Phoebe hung up you heard the beginning of Joan calling to her.

You chuckled and shook your head as you put your phone down next to you. “I’ll have you know, Steve. She is very excited to come over tomorrow.”

The smile on his face matched yours and his eyes crinkled. “I certainly hope so. I’d miss you if I hadn’t seen you in that long.”

“Steven, no one could ever get tired of this face.” You framed your face with your hands comically.

He jokingly winced to himself as he stood from his spot. “I don’t know about that.” Steve offered his hand when he arrived at your bedside.

You dropped your jaw dramatically and swung your legs over the side of the bed and took his hands. Making sure that you were standing securely on your uninjured leg, you placed a light amount of pressure on your stabbed leg. You could only stand on the ball of your foot before it began to hurt.

He, almost instinctively, wrapped your arm over his suit-clad, muscled shoulders. You hobbled through the bedroom on your way to dinner with Steve supporting you at your side.

“You know…” You pressed your hand against the wall of the hallway to hold yourself up as you addressed Steve. “You’ve been so nice to me that I feel like you’re buttering me up for something.” You were only half joking.

“The King of Brooklyn? Butter you up?” You rolled your eyes at his self-proclamation. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, slowing his pace to allow you to strengthen your muscle a little bit. “Now where would you get an idea like that?” Steve resupported you, this time with one hand on your waist and the other grasping your outstretched hand.

You just glanced at him from the corners of your eyes as you continued to limp to the dining room.

“I am not buttering you up, Y/n,” he corrected. “If I wanted something from you, I’d tell you. Honestly. Like how much your hair needs a brushing.”

Your jaw dropped as you scoffed at him. “Well, I don’t exactly have the materials to look presentable, Steven. I don’t need to spend much time like you do but I do need the proper instruments.”

It was part of your banter to roast each other.

“I can send someone to the store to pick up some stuff for you?” Steve suggested.

You smiled at him gratefully as you continued to limp along. “That’s alright… I can have Joan send some stuff over when she drops off Phoebe tomorrow.”

“You’re sure?” He asked.

You nodded assuredly. “I owe you big time, Rogers. Seriously, thank you.”

He only shook his head and smiled at the floor… bashfully? “You don’t need to thank me. I was being decent.”

“Steve, mobsters aren’t decent. I know a handful of bosses who, if I were their enemy, would have let me bleed out or took me out while I was down.” He looked up at you once again and you, in turn, looked straight ahead as you paced yourself down the hallway. “So, yes. I do owe you, Rogers. I owe you and then some. When you figure out how I can make it up to you, let me know and I’ll be there. Anytime.”

He smiled genuinely at you. “Anytime?”

“Anytime,” You confirmed without hesitation.

He chuckled to himself and your heart lifted a little bit. Just a little.

After a few moments of silence, Steve spoke up again. “I know how you can make it up to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he took a deep breath. “Dinner.”

“‘Dinner’?” You were confused. “Is that a code for something that I’m not aware of or-”

“It’s code for,” he lowered his voice, “I want to take you out to dinner after your leg is healed because I like you, Y/n.”

You halted in your tracks as your heart did a tap routine. He liked you? You had had your suspicions but there was no way you could have been absolutely certain until now.

“What if I said no?” You inquired. You weren’t serious. You definitely wanted to go on a date with him but you made it a point to see how a man would react to rejection before pursuing a relationship with him. Just because you really liked him didn’t mean he was exempt.

“I’d be disappointed but I’d respect your ‘no.’ You’re busy and you’d have your reasons, I’m sure.” He shrugged and aided you as you continued to limp to dinner.

“And if I said yes?” You prompted.

A goofy smile graced his features again. “Then I’d be excited and plan the best damn dinner you’ve ever had.”

“That’s quite the claim, Rogers.” You teased with raised eyebrows.

“You can see if it has any merit if you decide to go to dinner with me.” He smirked at you cheekily.

A sideways smile of your own moved your cheeks. “It seems like I’ll just have to.”

“It’s a date then.” He declared. You pretended not to see the kick in his step as the two of walked to the dining room. Steve supported you as you trekked to the dining room, his hands holding yours.

You supposed that’s how it was always meant to be: the two of you working hand in hand.

After all, you knew the value of a good relationship with others…

Especially one with your future husband.

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #mobster!steve #mobster!au

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the-golden-times-archived · 6 years

Text

Leaving the Den

(Ey, back with another Chapter! Tagged for dead bodies and mention of abuse. Under the cut for length)

After the deal had been struck, Belzebub had settled quickly into his new life within the studio. It was rather jarring to go from wandering the world to having a somewhat routine. He had basically made himself a nest on one of Benny’s couches, sleeping there during the night. During the day however, he often would shadow Sammy or Norman, learning of his new home or he was at Benny’s side. The older demon treated him in a way that he never had been before: gently. It was strange, leaving this odd fluttering sensation in his chest, but he found that he rather liked it.

It was a far cry from his father’s cutting words and even his more physical punishments. He was sure he still had a few scars here and there from them. Lucifer was many things, but a kind father was not one of them...at least not to him, the weakest of his children. Demons valued power above all else, and while his other half siblings had it in spades, he was the one who had been cast out of Hell by his father up to the realm of mortals. He still didn’t understand why, but he was so happy that he had found Benny.

Ever since he had been taken under the elder demon’s wing, Benny had nothing to give but soft words, gentle touches and even gentler lessons. He was kind, spoke lightly and showed him all manner of things, though his least favorite part of the week was when he had to take his dose of power from Benny’s palm. Though the red ink was disgusting, the feeling that it left behind was slowly starting to lessen. It was such a strange sensation when he drank of the other...the red ink sank into him, making it feel as though he had insects with pointy little legs crawling all through his insides. It was enough to make his skin crawl, but he did notice that he was feeling...stronger because of it.

He could see things easier, hear things that he normally wouldn’t have been able to, his sense of smell was sharper and he was even starting to be able to skim the surface thoughts of Sammy and Norman, (under Benny’s careful guidance of course). It was an exhilarating feeling to know that even though it wasn’t an instantaneous process, that progress was still being made; progress that was praised every step by the demon that now served as his mentor. Seeing the grin on the smaller demon’s face made his chest swell with pride, his cheeks warm as Benny would tell him he’d done a good job and often playfully ruffle his hair, or give him a pat on the wing. Such small things were so reassuring to him….just like Benny wanted them to be.

The little demon had plans for his new subordinate, though he could easily send Sammy out into the world for what he needed, the man was a bit too...obvious. What he needed was someone who could get what he required and get out, a quick means of escape from prying human eyes. Who better to send than the demon that could actually fly hm? Benny recalled the truth of the situation: the pickings were getting slim, humans were growing more and more wary of the studio. Fewer and fewer came to try and plumb its depths for some sort of ‘treasure’ or whatever urban legend had been spread among the masses, and that was a problem. He needed those souls. Benny had plenty in reserve yes, but he was no fool...eventually his store would run dry and he’d be forced to consume his servants and that was the last thing he wanted.

Human souls did well to sustain him, but what he was after was something much more rare: demonic essence. Demons didn’t have souls perse, lost when they were cast from heaven, but their being, their powers, what made them demons was their essence; the pure unfiltered power was what sustained Benny. There was a reason why he had Sammy and Norman study demonic rituals….every once in a while he needed a meal that was a bit more...substantial, and how better to get away with cannibalizing your own kind than to do it in a place where even Heaven and Hell didn’t care to look? Now was the time for action, the time to move forward and find himself a new more sustainable hunting ground, and to do that, he needed to know just how the world had changed since all those years ago.

That was where the young Princeling came in.

When he was confident that Belze would be up to such a task, Benny sent the lad out to collect what he could. Books, newspapers, anything that recounted the past nineteen years since his studio had been shut down. Of course he knew bits and pieces from the radio broadcasts, but to getting the information from writing would be much much easier for him. Now all there was to do was wait for his return, wait and plan. Things had to be taken carefully, humans and subsequently toons had their own ways of doing things, and if he wanted things to go smoothly he would have to play by their rules. He leaned back as he went down the mental list of things that he would need for them, creation certificates were the first thing honestly, then, he needed money...from there, with the right funds, he could secure himself properly.

While Benny pondered his plans, Belze was nudging his way back into the studio. He had completed the task he can been sent for, but not without injury. He didn’t really understand how the human world worked, but he did know that Benny had wanted very specific things, so he had found them and simply taken them. The humans didn’t respond too kindly so such things, his tail smarting from where one shopkeeper had yanked it rather hard to try and prevent him from taking the books. Belze was determined to follow his orders though, and if an achy tail was one of the things he needed to endure to do so, then he certainly would. It was the least he could do for Benny, especially after the older demon had been so kind to him.

His outing had gained him a veritable pile of information, which he precariously balanced as he made his way through the studio. Three large books were in hand with a large stack of newspapers on top, along with two more books held lightly in the grasp of his tail. Belze hurried along, his mind racing about Benny’s reaction to the completion of his task, so eager to be praised, he failed to notice that he was leaving a rather neat little trail of fallen pages behind him. Sammy had come to greet the princeling, and it was all he could do but chuckle at the mess that Belzebub was making as he hurried down the halls towards Benny’s office. Carefully, he pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and slipped them on, plucking up the trail of papers dutifully as he followed along behind the young demon to Benny’s door.

Once there, Sammy lightly shuffled them back into a neat stack before placing them back on top, a chuckle in his voice. “You might need these Little Lamb.” He murmured fondly to the young demon who beamed up at him with a smile, the look slipping down into a sheepish grin. “O...Oh! I didn't notice that they fell down. Thank you Sammy!" It was odd how this felt a lot more like family rather then his real one. Norman was kind to him, as was Sammy, they both looked after him, showed him things that he’d never seen or heard of. Norman had let him hover over his shoulder as he fixed the projector, Sammy allowing him to play around with the instruments. Benny himself was almost like a doting father, or maybe best friend, perhaps even something else that he couldn't quite place his finger on.

Sammy smiled faintly behind his mask, lightly opening the door to the office for Belze, who carefully hefted his armload and made his way in. He gave a small nod to Benny who merely returned it and gave a casual wave of dismissal, eyes glued to the stack of information his charge was bringing him. The young demon took careful steps as he couldn’t really see where he was going over the stack of literature in his arms, "I'm back, Benny! I tried to get as many different ones as possible. S... Sorry If I took too - AH!" With no way of seeing what was in front of his feet he stumbled over the edge of one of the rather nice persian rugs on the floor and even the hasty flapping of his wings couldn't save him as he toppled over with the books and the newspapers. He grunted as he landed face first on the floor with papers and the books scattered around.

Benny winced as Belze’s face contacted the floor, his tail flicking a moment. “Yowch, you okay kid?” He asked as he slipped from his chair to walk over to the downed prince. Carefully Belze picked himself up, a hand covering his hurting nose as tears sprang to his eyes. "I... I'm sorry! O...Oh gosh u...uh I'll try and get everything in order again!" His voice came out muffled through his hand. The throbbing of his sore tail returning to haunt him as well as if to add even more insult to the injury.

The smaller demon gave a little laugh and shook his head, stepping over the pile of papers easily to get a bit closer to Belze. "Ah don't worry about those, lemme see ya...move yer hand for me..c'mon.." Benny gently coaxed him to lower his hand and studied the bright red on the other’s face. “Heh, I couldn’t see in front of my feet..”, Belze explained, about to get up when his mentor spoke once more. "Hm, you got yerself good kid...hold still.." Benny murmured, gently rubbing at the young demons injured nose, soothing the pain away. It was easy to heal injuries to vessels such as these, those made of ink responded to his touch and control just like any other ink. The injury mending itself under his touch and earning a soft awed little noise from the younger demon as the pain melted away. Belze gave a little smile as the other withdrew his hand, his wings flexing just slightly as he made to get up.

“Not done yet…” Benny said softly as he lowered his eyes to the other’s tail. “They gotcha there too huh?” He could sense the low thrumming pain through the mark, Belze’s open mind laid everything to bare to him through the brand.“Ah?!” Belze jumped as a strange sensation enveloped his tail, looking back to see thick black ink seep up through the floorboards and wrap about the appendage almost as if it was a living thing. “Shh shh….just give it a moment..” Benny chided him gently, the words comforting to him. It was a strange sensation, feeling extremely warm and all the world like numerous fingers were trailing along its length. Belze shivered slightly as he felt it pressing and pulling against his tail, the throbbing pain slowly fading away. "It was a human shopkeeper. He almost pulled my tail right off when I took one of the newspapers..." he explained, glancing back to Benny as the smaller demon nodded. “I see...heh, you had quite an adventure eh? Annnnnd there we go..good as new~” Benny grinned, pinching the young demon’s cheek who gave a little snicker and a curl of his newly healed tail as it was released by the ink. “Good job kid, this was exactly what I was looking for,” he hummed, moving away to study the fallen papers, plucking a few up and arranging them neatly in his hands.

Belze turned his attention to his tail then, the dual tips flicking experimentally before he laughed in disbelief. It didn’t hurt at all anymore! The older demon truly was a marvel. “W-wow! That really helped...Thank you Benny!” He chirped before he realized just what was happening, his eyes widening a bit to see his mentor lightly gathering up the papers. Benny hummed lightly as he riffled through a few of them, “Hm, yer welcome kid. If ya ever get hurt again, lemme know. Heh, can’t have my star pupil gettin’ himself all banged up now can I?” The older demon mused, lightly rearranging the papers and reaching down to grab another.

Pulling himself from his momentary stupor, Belze scooted over on his knees to start to pick up some of the pages himself. “H-here let me, I’m the one who dropped them in the first place, so I should pick them up!” Belze exclaimed as he tried to pick up the papers quickly so he could sort them, feeling silly for having been so clumsy in the first place. While he was fumbling with trying to sort them by date, Benny laughed softly. “Ah don’t worry about the order kid, I can sort ‘em out, just bring ‘em over here fer me.” He said as he strolled towards his desk, flipping through the papers before tossing them lightly on the surface of the desk, hopping into his chair.

Belze nodded eagerly and gathered everything back up, carrying the stack to his mentor’s desk and placing it on the edge, sliding them over so that they were securely stacked, peeking around them as Benny spoke. "After I catch up on my readin'...I'm gonna figure out where we're gonna go. I can't stay here fer much longer...th' huntin's getting slim..th' humans are gettin' more and more wary by th' week. I need somewhere...that I can settle in and have a good stocked larder fer a while." The little demon gave a small grin as he reached over and grabbed a couple of books and pulled them close to himself. “And you an’ the boys are comin’ with me..I just gotta find the right place is all,”

Benny noticed how the boy’s eyes widened in surprise at the declaration, amusement shimmering in his own eyes at the expression. It had honestly been almost too easy to get this boy within his clutches. All it took were gentle words, soft expressions of physical touch, and the kid was putty in his hands. Some son of Lucifer...no wonder the big guy had sent the kid topside...he knew for a fact that if his brothers or sisters got ahold of him, the boy wouldn’t stand a chance. He was safer...relatively speaking, up on the mortal side of things, though he doubted that Lucifer accounted for his son coming to actively find him of all people.

The young demon leaned forward, his hands on the desk, his tail and wings up with his delight. “Can...Can I really come with you?!” He asked hopefully. Benny glanced up from his papers a moment and chuckled with a nod "Of course you can kid, I promised I would teach ya...I ain't gonna leave ya out here t'fend fer yourself. Only some kinda heartless monster would do that....besides...we made a deal~" Benny smirked as he glanced back down to the papers before him, feeling the slight twinge through the mark. It was a bit of a bittersweet feeling, seems that he had hit a nerve~ The youth shifted on his feet a moment before he smiled, his cheeks pinked slightly as he spoke up, his voice ringing with his delight, “Y-yeah, you’re not heartless!” He exclaimed happily, his tail swishing eagerly behind him.

Benny chuckled softly and smiled a bit. “Hm, thanks kid, I do try.” he said with a modest tone before he turned his attention back to the books before him, narrowing his eyes in concentration. Taking a deep breath, he sighed it out slowly, his gaze lowering as the red sparked to life in the slits of his eyes. The documents and books seemed to almost shiver as he reached out, trailing his fingers along them. Being an Ink demon, he could easily obtain information from any ink on anything really, paper, books, hell even money. He pulled at the ink, hearing the words whisper into his mind, the information, the news of nineteen years being handed to him all at once. Seems a lot had changed since then, he had to do a bit more digging before making his choice though he’d handle that in a bit. There was another matter that needed to be addressed, and that was his outfit.

Slipping from his chair, the little demon hummed as he strolled towards a nearby wall, aware of Belze’s eyes on him as the younger demon turned to regard him with those wide curious eyes. A wave of his hand and the wall rippled and shifted, a black rectangle on ink appearing on its surface before the blackness dripped away to reveal a mirror. “Hmmm..” He studied himself a moment, turning this way and that before he spoke. “Now if I'm gonna be goin' out inta th' public...I need a new look...can't be goin' around like this an' expect people t'take me seriously.." Benny glanced into the mirror to meet Belze’s gaze, “What do you think kid?” He asked curiously.

Benny had to bite back a chuckle as Belze startled from the question, merely watching the boy’s reflection as he tried to recover and after a moment, he spoke a bit nervously. “Maybe...a suit works? I've seen a lot of humans wear suits?” Belze gave a soft huff and seemed to gather his confidence before continuing, his tail flicking behind him happily. “If you wear a suit, they will take you seriously... you're strong! And powerful! And you know a lot!" He exclaimed, much to the older demon’s delight, a low laugh ringing in Benny’s chest as he pulled his gaze away from his ward’s reflection and back to his own with a thoughtful look. “A suit eh? I think I can manage that...let’s see here…” He murmured, his eyes glinting red as he began his work.

Ink pooled at his feet and slid upwards over his small frame, shifting and bending easily to his will. His shoes went from plain black to a rather stylish pair of black and white wingtip shoes, creeping upwards towards his neck in the rough shape of a suit, properly cut of course. He tilted his head and nodded, giving a slight snap of his fingers to solidify the shape, the ink dripping away to reveal a charcoal grey suit with bright red pinstipes and a crimson pocket square. Beneath the jacket was a solid dark grey vest with a crisp white dress shirt underneath, around his neck a solid black tie with a rather tasteful ruby tie pin. “There we go~” Benny sighed as he rolled his shoulders, shaking his arms out and adjusting the fit of the jacket lightly. He grinned at his reflection, adjusting his tie and tilting his head a moment, taking in not only his look, but also the awed expression of Belze behind him, he had to admit, he did love showing off~

“Hmmm close...but...still missin’ something..” He muttered, looking himself over before he gave a snap of his fingers. “A-ha~” Benny reached down at his feet, his fingers dipping past the floor into some unseen, unknown depths and plucked up a rather stylish fedora, dark grey like his suit with a bright red band that matched the stripes of his outfit. Easily he plopped it on his head, smoothing the brim with his fingers. “Perfection~” Benny hummed as he tugged at his lapels, smirking over his shoulder at the younger demon before turning to hold his hands out, presenting himself in his new outfit. “Watcha think kid?”

After shaking himself from his awed stare, Belze gave a delighted clap of his hands with a wide grin of his own. “It’s good! You look amazing! A lot better than humans! Everyone will take you seriously I’m sure!” He chirped, thought Benny figured that bit about humans was due to the rather unfortunate incident from earlier that day. Ahhh the kid was so simple sometimes, it was adorable. Benny chuckled and smirked just a bit as he tugged at his lapels, “Yeah? Well good t’know. Now that that’s outta th’ way, all that's left is ta decide where we're goin' and make preparations...sadly I can't just pop outta nowhere..." he hummed a little as he turned and regarded Belze with a small grin. "So kid, I'm gonna teach ya somethin' t'day...how t'make a new person outta thin air."

The prince blinked a moment, giving a curious tilt of his head. “A new person? Like the servants?” He asked curiously, recalling the beings that Benny sometimes used to do his bidding. They weren’t like Sammy or Norman, they looked..almost like skeletons doused in ink, always so sad with pleading golden eyes. They often never spoke when in the demon’s presence, but he had stumbled upon a few quietly sobbing in the halls and one that seemed to enjoy banging his head against a wall for hours on end. They were such curious things and he had asked Benny about them. The older demon had told him that he had made them, souls that he had in storage given form to serve him. To Belze, it was an amazing show of power and an even stronger confirmation that he had chosen the right demon to learn from.

Benny chuckled and shook his head. “Hm, not quite kid...I’ll eventually show ya how t’do that but this time around...we’re creatin’ ourselves.” He explained as he walked towards his desk, already feeling the confused gaze of his student against his back. “Basically kiddo, humans have a certain social structure...runs of good ol’ fashioned paperwork. If ya got th’ papers, it’s legal. We don’t technically exist...an’ we need ta fix that. Well..-I- do….but you don’t, which is a very large problem if we plan on gettin’ outta here.” He hummed as he eased into his chair steepling his fingers lightly.

The young princeling’s tail and wings drooped a bit at that. “How...are we going to fix it? Can we fix it?” He glanced to Benny, his face was scrunched just a bit with his worry, though the expression loosened when Benny gave that low soft laugh of his. “Relax kiddo...I’ll handle it...all you gotta do fer me...is think back. Think back t’when ya first came inta this world...try an’ remember everything you can about it. It’ll give me a good place to start..” The older demon advised, his voice calm and gentle as always. “A-alright, I’ll try…” Belze said nervously as he closed his eyes and took a breath, sighing it out as he thought back, attempting to recall when he first awoke in this plane.

Benny watched him carefully as the boy went to think back, unaware that he was right there with him the whole while. It was child’s play really, Belzebub was an open book anyway, the mark on his hand making it even easier to access his mind. Benny hummed as he reached through his mark, the slits of his eyes shining a soft red as his view shifted in a slight blur. As Belze remembered, Benny saw the memories as well albeit with a red hue, the young prince voicing them to attempt to make them more vivid to himself. “I found a human toon, a boy...but he was empty, no soul.” He said lowly, Benny watching as the scene came to life, there was the distinct sound of a heart restarting, a bout of heavy coughing from the vessel. Seems the vessel the young prince had chosen had passed away and then was reanimated by Belze taking control of it. It wasn’t unheard of honestly, many demons did the same thing. “I was...in some dark room where a lot of others like him where..it was cold.” Belze’s voice was far away as Benny followed his apprentice’s gaze about his memories.

The room was indeed dark, but after a moment, the vessel adapted to the demonic power within, pain radiating as the form shifted to properly contain Belzebub’s presence. The place he was in though, Benny recognized as what the humans called a morgue. It was where they stored their dead until it was time to collect them for funerals and what not. There were tables full of bodies covered with white sheets, some were slightly uncovered or even fully uncovered. All were still and silent in the chilly darkness of the room. “I found my way outside…” Belze continued, the memory progressing to him stumbling down a stark white hallway. It seems he was wearing the clothes the body had been wearing when it passed away, rather suddenly from a gunshot wound if the hole over the heart was anything to go by.

There were two double doors that shaking hands pushed open, the lights blinding him a moment as the boy continued. “There were...a lot of skyscrapers..and bright lights! Lots of cars and people too.” Indeed, it was a busy hive of activity, cars driving by, people bustling about, Benny following along with the confused panicked gaze as it flicked over the bright neon that drenched the city, then he saw what he needed a newspaper in a nearby boy’s hand, who was calling out for people to come buy one, “Star Ink Chronicle”, the title read.

Ah-ha~

With that tidbit in mind, Benny gently withdrew, blinking the shine from his eyes as Belze opened his and looked to Benny apologetically, rubbing at his mark with his thumb. “That’s..all I can remember..” He murmured. Benny laughed brightly then, startling the young prince before he grinned lightly. “Oh kid, you did fine...I know where ya come from..and now I can set t’work on what we need. Now, I’ve got a creation certificate..but you, Sammy an’ Norman need yer own.” He said lightly as he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out three blank sheets of thick paper, placing them carefully in front of him.

Belze watched his movements, tilting his head in confusion at the new term. “Creation certificate? What’s that?” He asked moving closer to his mentor’s desk to peek over as the little demon chuckled and flexed his hand. The ink from the nearby well followed his call, slithering out to coil up his arm almost like a snake and pool in his hand. “A creation certificate is a lil piece’a paper that humans give ta toons after they’re created or born...I got an older one since I was th’ very first toon ta be brought inta existence~” Benny said with a proud grin as he shifted his hand, placing it palm down on the paper and swiping upward with a quick expert flick. The ink smeared over the paper, but only stuck in certain places leaving behind a rather official looking document, completely filled out and even signed in the bottom corner. The little demon smirked as he heard Belze’s exclaimation of “Wow..” in front of him, not glancing up as he continued to make the other two documents.

The ink slithered from his hand back into the nearby well, Benny scrutinizing his work before he nodded lightly. “And there we have it...now you, Sammy an’ Norman exist in th’ eyes of human society.” he said with a grin, laying the documents aside. “With that outta th’ way, now we’re gonna be takin’ you on a trip back home~” Benny smiled as already, his mind was picking through what the books and newspapers had told him about Star Ink. A site set up right next to Hollywood, and he was fully aware of what that meant. When he had been brought into this world, he learned quickly of Hollywood from Joey and Henry, a place where humans went to fulfill their dreams, to become rich, famous, to do whatever it took to come out on top...a perfect place for a little demon like him. He was pulled from his musings by Belze’s voice, and it sounded...disappointed, “O-oh? I’ll….be going home?” Benny glanced up to see the young prince looking at him sadly, wringing his hands slightly. “I...I’ll see you again though...right?”

Feelings slithered through the mark catching his attention: sadness, disappointment and above all...fear. The boy thought that he was going to be taken back to Hell and left there...now that wouldn’t do. Benny smiled and shook his head with a chuckle, “Ah, shoulda explained that a bit better. We're gonna be going back t'where you snagged yer little vessel there." A gesture toward Belze’s before he give him a reassuring look. "Don't fret kid...I'm not gonna leave ya behind anywhere. I got stuff t'teach ya, we made a deal after all." He said gently, having to bite back a smirk at the feeling of sheer relief that flooded through the mark. Benny glanced up at the young prince’s face to see him much more relaxed, almost like he wanted to jump over and give him a hug for the reassurance.

“Now we just gotta put these in a safe place and then we ken work on th’ next part...which...I’m gonna need yer help with kid..” he mused, opening his desk drawer and pulling out another certificate, his own this time. Gathering the papers, he lightly tapped them into a neat stack and placed them into a folder that he tucked back away. They would need these upon entering Star Ink, as no toon was allowed to travel without one. To do so was to be deemed a “Stray”, these were the toons who ran away from their sites when they were first created so that they had no proper documentation. These toons were seen as traitors in the eyes of the government and were often times jailed for this offense, some were even flat out ‘erased’, a term the humans used to make it seem like they weren’t just killing someone for them not wanting to fight in a war they knew nothing about. It always amused him how humans did their best to try and make themselves out to not be monsters.

Belze watched his mentor with relief, but when he mentioned that he could actually help, he perked up right away. “R-really?!” There it was again, that strange fluttering that swelled up in his chest every time Benny spoke so gently to him...every time that the other praised him or put him to some task. He couldn’t quite understand it, but he did rather like it. “I-I’ll do my best Benny!” He exclaimed, his tail whipping around behind him in excitement over being able to actually help his teacher. “What do I need to do?” Belze’s voice was excited but determined, his heart doing that strange fluttering flip when the older demon looked back at him with a fond smile.

Benny of course felt that strange elated twinge, chuckling as the other eagerly pleaded to know what his role would be. “Well...y’see kiddo...t’make it in th’ human’s world...ya gotta play by their rules ya see? Y’gotta have th’ proper paperwork and above all...y’gotta have money.” He opened another drawer on his desk and pulled out a heavy cloth bag that jingled slightly when he put it down on the dark wooden surface, his tail flicking happily as he prepared to set his plan into motion. “Now..let’s get started shall we? We gotta empire t’build~” Benny said with a grin.

The task that the little demon had in mind was neither simple nor easy. He wanted to make sure that he had a very good foothold in Star Ink before he arrived. Belzebub served as his public proxy, it took very little to change the kid’s appearance to that of a normal human, though of course Belzebub was a little uncomfortable with it. Still, the kid took it like a champ, in charge of running paperwork to the banks, opening accounts, transferring the ownership, depositing the sums of money and picking up mail. Though it seemed like simple gopher work to most, it was key in creating his new den. He handled most of the phone calls himself, though he did have Sammy use that silvery voice of his to handle a few that he knew would be difficult. All it would take was time...and patience, and he had plenty of both.

Through his servant and his ward over the next six months Benny managed to pick at the frayed edges of Star Ink. There were apartments full of toons set to be condemned due to safety hazards, the banks were desperate to either sell them or knock them down. All it took was a phone call and a check, and they were all his, the deeds now sitting prettily in his folders. Businesses that had great potential but struggled, were also nipped up in the same fashion, carefully negotiated and bought with great care to keep the owner happy and the business booming. The name Benny Collins coming up more and more as here and here donations with that name were made, to hospitals, schools, churches. He had even done a phone interview or three with eager journalists who wanted to talk about this mysterious benefactor that was making his mark in the city.

The last few pieces fell into place easily for Benny, having secured himself a lovely luxury penthouse apartment in the city as well as a new vehicle which would be arriving shortly. Benny hummed as he counted out the last stack of bills and placed them in a neat pile, securing them with a rubber band. Belzebub in his human guise shifted with a small huff, as much as he knew it was needed, it was always rather uncomfortable, since he could almost feel his wings and tail itching to get out from under his skin. Sensing his discomfort, Benny glanced up with a low chuckle. “Don’t worry kiddo...this’ll be the last time..I promise.” He reassured him, Belze giving a sigh of relief at that as he reached out and took the stacks of money, holding them close. “I’m glad...this makes me itchy..” The young prince pouted, earning a charmed laugh from Benny. “I know kiddo I know...but now...you go out there an’ meet ‘im and when he’s gone, you’ll be back t’normal.” Benny reassured him.

With a nod, Belze smiled and turned on his heel to jog lightly out the door towards the front of the studio...the sooner he got this over with the better. Sammy was waiting for him and opened the door out into the empty parking lot of the studio. It had seen better days to be honest, the asphalt was long since cracked and full of overgrown grass and weeds, but it Belzebub..it was just another aspect of his home..one he would miss honestly. He checked the watch that Benny had given him, tapping his foot lightly in impatience, but he didn’t have long to wait. Soon two cars pulled up, Belzebub perking as they entered the lot. One seemed to be an older car, but the newer one, that was the one that Benny was buying. It was a sleek vehicle, a 1951 Rolls Royce Silver Wraith limo, the paint job pitch black with crimson red highlights. A slight crane of his head and he could see the interior which was also that bright red color, a tasteful but sharp contrast to say the least.

Belze felt it then, a strange fuzzy sensation in the back of his mind, an itch in his palm as he felt himself move, but not of his own accord. It was always scary when this happened, but he relaxed, feeling Benny’s presence press against his own. It was always so close..so...strangely intimate...he rather liked it despite how odd it felt. From his mouth came silver words that were not his own, laughing and joking with the two salesmen as they offered him paperwork that he signed with a signature not his own, but his teacher’s. The money was handed over, the paperwork properly exchanged and with a handshake and a grin, he sent the men on their way. Only when the other car was fully out of sight, did he feel the imposed transformation fade. It was like being let out of a jacket that was too tight and he sighed happily, stretching his wings and tail out as far as he could to just get used to them again.

There was the sound of the studio door opening, and he turned to see Sammy and Norman making their way out with a simple steamer trunk between the two of them, but there was something different about them. Both of them were dressed rather sharply, a contrast to their usual outfits. They both wore black dress slacks with shiny black shoes, sharp charcoal grey waistcoats with red pinstripes. Beneath that, crisp white dress shirts, though they both had the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, grey leather gloves on their hands. They looked...so fancy. Belze paused to stare at them as they put the trunk down, feeling a sharp twinge of envy and anger. He knew that Benny had to have given them such fancy clothes and he wished that he could have something that nice too.

Belze fought to swallow the sharp bitter feeling as Sammy approached him and held out his hand. “Let me see the keys Lamb...Our Lord is waiting for you in his office...he has something important for you.” Sammy said softly, his voice gentle and fond as it always was when approaching him. It honestly made him feel bad for the flare of anger that had risen up from his chest, and he nodded, placing the keys gently into the prophet’s palm. “Alright…” With his tail swishing behind him curiously, he hurried back into the studio to see just what his mentor had in store for him.

Benny was waiting for the young demon, perched on the edge of his desk with a small amused look on his face and a garment box next to him. He had felt the boy’s spike of emotion rather easily, and honestly it was rather cute. Belzebub was still so young, still so eager to please him...he could play the kid like harp if he wanted to and often did. He grinned as Belze knocked and peeked in, perking up when he saw the box. Benny chuckled and give a slight wave of his hand to beckon him in. “C’mere kid..I got a present for ya..” He plucked up the box, holding it out to the young demon who then lit up like Christmas. “T’thank ya fer all yer hard work...now..y’don’t gotta put it on now, but...I thought y’would like it.”

“A present? F-for me?!” Belze chirped in his excitement, eyes wide as he carefully took the box that was handed to him, his tail flicking and wagging happily behind him. He eagerly tore the lid off of it, staring in delight at what was inside...a suit..and this one looked just like Benny’s! “I get one too?!” He squeaked in delight, looking up from the clothing to his mentor, eyes shining in happiness. “I’ll put it on right now!” Hastily, he gathered the clothing from the box and zipping off to the bathroom that was off the office, tucked behind a well concealed door.

Benny chuckled as he went, smiling fondly after the young princeling he hurried off. Ahh it was so easy to keep the kid happy...and if he was happy, then he would want to stay...well...not that he had much of a choice. He smirked slightly as he glanced down at his hand, flexing his fingers slightly. It had been a busy week, so he knew that he’d have to give the kid his dose soon, probably before they reached Star Ink. It was a delicate balance he had to maintain….the kid’s dependence on him was paramount and it had been one of the easiest tasks he’d even undertaken to seat himself in the center of Belzebub’s world. It was always nice when things went according to plan.

As Belze was getting changed, there was a knock at the door, Benny glancing up and smiling as Sammy stepped in, bowing slightly at the waist. “We are ready to depart My Lord…” he said softly. Benny nodded and smiled towards the partially opened door. “Excellent...now we just gotta wait on th’ kid and we’ll be set t’go..” He settled on the desk, waiting patiently and soon enough Belze stepped out in his new attire. A nicely cut charcoal grey suit with red pinstripes, like Benny’s, a dark grey vest and white shirt, though the black tie was in the boy’s hands rather than around his neck. Sammy spoke first, his eyes soft behind his mask as he did so, “You look quite fetching Little Lamb..” He said politely, smiling as Belze beamed at him and then looked to Benny for his approval as well. Benny give him an appraising look and nodding with a grin on his face, “Heh, look-in' sharp kid! But ya ain't done yet..” He glanced to the tie and giving a slight tilt of his head. “Need a lil help?”

At the mention of the tie, Belze give a sheepish smile and nod, "Y....Yeah...I don't know how to tie it...I only know how to tie a ribbon because another toon showed me once..." Despite his inability to handle formal neckwear, his tail stilled wagged in his delight. He was smiling from one horn to the other as Benny shifted to stand on his desk, motioning the lad over. “C’mere, I’ll tie it fer ya.” There was little hesitation as Belze all but bounced over to his teacher, eyes shining in his joy. “Yes! Yes please! I love this suit! It's so soft and comfortable! And it looks like yours Benny!” Belze was so very grateful, handing over the black silk tie to the smaller demon.

Carefully palming the bit of silk, Benny chuckled as he carefully flipped up the other’s collar tossing the tie over his head. “So, y’excited kid? I could get us there quick, but I figured a nice trip’ll be good fer ya..” Benny chuckled lightly as Belze nodded vigorously all but bouncing in place. “I am! I didn’t get to look around much before I came to you..and I’ve never ridden in a car before! I can’t wait to see everything!” He chirped, Benny leaning back with a teasing grin. “Heh, and you will, buuuut I can’t tie this with you bouncin’ up an’ down like a jack-in-th’-box kid..” He teased.

Sammy chuckled and stepped forward, gently placing his hands on the young prince’s shoulders and giving a squeeze to help calm him, “Be still Little Lamb, so that Our Lord might work..” He said softly to him, Belze giving a sheepish smile to the music director and nodding apologetically. “S-sorry..” He murmured, calmed by the man’s warm hands and gentle voice. Sammy always had a very soothing presence to him, just like Benny and Norman honestly. With the other’s scent in his nose, he felt himself calm, his bouncing slowing to a halt, his tail still wagging happily to show his delight.

“Thank ya Sammy..” Benny hummed as he worked, working the tie into a standard windsor knot, his tail flicking behind him as he did so. “Ah and don’t apologize kid, yer excited, s’normal fer a kid goin’ on his first road trip. I’ll answer any questions ya got so don’t hesitate to ask yeah?” He glanced up at Belze, the young demon nodding earnestly as he put the finishing touches on the tie. “I won’t! I’ll ask lots of questions, so I can become just as smart as you Benny!” Belze exclaimed in reply, earning a chuckle from Benny as he slid the tie up into place. “Heh, that’s a good idea kid, y’won’t learn if ya don’t ask questions.” He replied, giving a final adjustment before he nodded and leaned back, eying his work. “Annnnd there we go! All done..”

Sammy slightly turned Belze’s shoulders towards the mirror that was brought into existence on the nearby wall, a small smile on the prophet’s face as their Lord spoke once more. “Not too shabby if I do say so myself...What do ya think kid? Do ya like yerself?” He asked with a slight tilt of his head. Belze admired himself with wide eyes, pulling from Sammy’s gentle grasp to turn this way and that in front of the mirror to take in the whole of his new outfit. “It’s amazing!” The young prince all but crowed, smoothing a hand along the suit, taking care to mind his claws so as not to snag the fabric, his tail wagging happily. “It’s so soft! Thank you again Benny!” He said in elation, turning to watch the little demon hop off his desk and onto the floor with a small grunt.

"Heh yer welcome kid...if we're goin' to the big city, ya gotta look th' part y'know?" Benny gave a slight snap of his fingers, grinning slightly as Belze returned to admiring his suit, nodding eagerly at the mention of the city. “I can’t wait to see the bright lights again!” He chimed, bouncing lightly on his toes once again. Benny smirked and give a light motion of his head towards the doorway. "Well let’s not keep ‘em waiting...let's head out..." The little demon turned on his heel and made his way toward the door, humming a low tune as he did so.

Sammy watched Belze who returned to the mirrior to preen a moment longer. Something akin to fondness bloomed on his face but he knew that they needed to follow their Lord’s orders, Belze could admire himself more later. "Come along little lamb....our Lord is waiting.." He said gently, putting a hand on small of Belze's back and ushering him out towards the door. Belze flushed faintly as Sammy’s hand settled against him, a warm spot just below where his wings rested. Again, a strange sensation in his chest that made him sort of lose his train of thought, though when he saw the car again, it was renewed. They were leaving! Going back to the city where he had come from! It was going to be so exciting!

As they stepped out, Belze noticed that Norman was waiting as well, but despite his height, he looked comfortable in the passenger seat of the car. The little demon was already comfortable in his seat, sighing happily in the cool air conditioned cab, smiling faintly as the two left the studio and headed towards the car. Sammy opened the door for Belze, allowing the young prince to scamper in and settle next to Benny, busily gawking at the interior as the prophet made his way to the driver seat and soon, they were moving. The little demon bit back a chuckle as Belze eagerly pressed his face to the glass, eyes wide as the landscape rolled on past.

Benny glanced behind him as the studio grew further and further away, a small almost melancholy smile on his face before he settled in. That place would always be his favored den, the place where he changed the world, where he made his mark. Now it was time to make more marks, and he already knew that he'd probably be met with a reaper when he finally got to Star Ink...he was on the move, something the powers that be probably didn't expect. The little demon gave a wide grin to himself as he lightly pulled his hat down, his fingers threaded together and resting lightly on his stomach comfortably. It was an uneventful trip thankfully, they only really had to stop for gas for the car. Being what they were, Benny and Belze didn’t need things like sleep, Benny feeding Sammy and Norman the energy they needed to keep on going. All the while, Belzebub had questions, so many about what buildings were, what that human was doing, what was that strange four legged creature on the side of the road? All of them were happily answered by the elder demon as he lounged in the back of the car, but he did made sure to give the kid his dose of Ink while they were on the way. As usual, the boy’s body shut down on him, Belze snuggling down in the backseat with his head on Benny’s leg as he slept, his body adjusting to the strange power that had been fed to it. As another day, a night and one more day slipped past, Benny kept watch over his ward, glancing up as night slowly slipped over them and the bright neon of Hollywood reached out to them through the darkness.

Reaching the gates of Star Ink, it was a simple matter of handing over their papers and the guards gave them a glance over before returning them and waving them through into the city. Benny’s eyes shone in delight as they drove towards the neighborhood where their new penthouse awaited them. He was here now, his own little empire neat and tidy and just waiting for him to step in and expand...it would only be a matter of time before he would have what he wanted...what he needed. Soon, he would have no want of souls and who knows, he might end up making a few people happy in the process. After all, who was he to deny someone if they were willing to give him their soul in exchange for their success? Their happiness?

Why, he’d be some sort of monster to deny someone that~

#Benny's Story #tw: dead body #And with this #Benny has officially relocated to Star Ink City #The Golden Age #I finally finished this holy shit I CRY #this shiz is 14 pages -wheeze-#Sammy Lawrence #Norman Polk #Belzebub #Benny #tw: abuse mention #Mod Tea #story

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