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bidisasterevankinard · 10 months

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Oh man, I wanted to request every single one tbh 😂 but if it sparks joy will you write 21 for buddie please? 🖤

Hi, Dj 💙💙💙💙😘😘😘You can ask about as much as you can🫂🫂🫂

Here is Eddie insecure about his scars (btw I have idea for Buck's one. Want to be tagged if I will write it?) My hand is slipped so it's like really angsty, but don't worry Buck takes care about Eddie

…on a place of insecurity. From kiss prompts

show me your scars (so i can love them too)

(oh what it is ? another title I made myself?)

buddie / T / 1085 words

Eddie never was insecure about the way he looks. He knew he was attractive. He knew people would find him hot. Shannon always made comments about how he could easily make a career in modeling or acting just because of his look. The thing that he liked to work out helped too.

He also had pretty much a lot of things to be insecure about, more meaningful like being a bad son, not mature enough, not masculine enough, not a good husband, awful dad, and so on. So Eddie never felt insecure about his body.

Until one day, a month after he was shot on the street in LA, he looks in the mirror and sees two very similar scars on the shoulders from bullets. And he knows on his back he had another two. It makes him run away from the mirror and throw up everything that Buck made him eat in the morning. He looks awful, disgusting, but most importantly weak. He’s just so weak. Can't even protect himself, let alone protect his family. By a miracle, Buck was not injured that day.

Eddie doesn't understand how Buck can still be around, and look at him as before, when Eddie literally wears evidence of his worthlessness on his skin. All the things his parents told him. He drags Chris and Buck with him into the darkness.

Eddie continues to sit by the toilet, trying to calm his breathing, beginning to doubt that it is knocked down only because of vomiting. He doesn't hear Buck coming home and going into the room looking for him, but he hears Buck coming through the door, which he left open when brushing his teeth in front of the mirror.

“Hey, are you Ok? You need something?” the gentle but very worried voice of his boyfriend comes to Eddie and he tries to stop the tears, but loses the fight and feels like tracks of tears are rushing down his cheeks, and there are real oceans in his eyes.

He sits down leaning into the bathroom, pulling his knees up his chest, and trying to hide. He wants to run away so far to hide all the pain and self-hatred that is in him from the best person in his life. A man who loves him, but Eddie doesn't want Buck to see him like this, he doesn't want Buck to be disappointed in him and leave.

But Buck just sits with him and lets him cry as much as he can, hugging him tight. They sit like that in silence, Eddie cries his eyes out, and Buck hugs him. When Eddie is done, he gets to his feet and washes his face with cold water, feeling the look of Buck, who also got up and stands behind him, but he is afraid to approach, touch, to do something wrong. Eddie hates himself a little for upsetting Buck.

“Will you tell me now what’s wrong? Is that something with your shoulder? Your doctors called you? Something is wrong?” Buck plies him with questions as soon as Eddie turns to face him.

“Nothing is wrong, Buck,” Eddie hopes that's enough. He can't and won't tell the truth, the truth will push Buck away, show how much he deserves more than Eddie, and Eddie egotistically wants Buck to be only his.

“People don't have breakdowns in bathrooms when nothing is wrong,” Buck says and Eddie puts up with the fact that he won't back down. After all, it's Buck. He never gives up. That's why Eddie loves him, but now he really hates this trait of his partner a little.

“Please, Eds, tell me what’s wrong. We had a good morning together, all three of us. I took Chris to school and when I came back home you were crying near the toilet. It makes me scared, babe, please,” Eddie sees how blue eyes are getting red and wet and breaks.

“I saw my scars. From Afghanistan and from the sniper. They are almost identical. Four scars from two bullets which makes me feel sick because I was so fucking weak. I look weak. I’m weak. And look disgusting.”

“Don’t say that,” Eddie tries to stop Buck and his attempt to calm him down. “No, shut up, it’s my turn to talk. Your scars are not disgusting. They don’t show your weakness. They show what …” Buck is crying and his breathing is erratic, but he continues.

“They show that you two times were so close to dying because people are awful and like violence. They show a little boy who was too young to be in the army but he tried his best to support his family and a still young man who cared about the little boy he met once too much to come to rescue him. They show that you were so fucking strong and two times fight death to come back to life. This one,” Buck points to his shoulder, which still has a fresh scar from a sniper's bullet, a scar that Buck saw how was inflicted, “this one shows that you fought to come back home to me. And that I was fast enough to save you. Don’t say they are disgusting,” Buck walks up to him and looking into his eye leaves an insanely tender kiss right on the scar.

“Don’t call yourself disgusting,” another kiss. “Or weak,” another kiss. “Because you’re not. You’re not. Please believe me you’re not,” more kisses around his scar.

Buck then joins their foreheads and gives Eddie the right to decide what he wants to do next. Eddie hugs him tight and tries to convince himself that Buck's words are true. Maybe he needs help. Hell, he probably needs therapy, but he's willing to do it if it lets him one day see his scars the same way Buck sees them.

A year later, sitting on the beach on their honeymoon, Eddie takes off a T-shirt that hides his shoulders. He is proud to know that he has scars from the time when he fought for his family as best he could. But he feels even more proud of the scratches from Buck's nails all over his back. He wants them all to be seen and envied. And well, Buck blushes so sweetly every time he looks up to look at them. Eddie can't wait to get back to the room. In the end, you can sunbathe in LA. That's not what he's on his honeymoon for.

#it will be on ao3 as soon as it works #my fics #buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 #911 abc

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heliopauseentertainments · 2 years

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Unorthodox Recruitment Strategies

For MegaStar Week 2022

Day 1 Prompt: AU / Fave Incarnation

Continuity: General/Unspecified Rating: Teen Relationship: Megatron/Starscream Characters: Megatron & Starscream AU: Role reversal, canon blending Warnings: Brief, graphic depictions of violence. Suggestive themes/content. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags.

Summary: In which Starscream, a minor noble, pays off a gladiator’s debts.

Crossposting: AO3 | DreamWidth | Pillowfort

Fic chapter under cut

“Surely there have to be more suitable venues than this hole in the ground—“ The complaint was cut off with a wave of Starscream’s hand.

“Shut up, Thundercracker.”

Thundercracker slumped down into his seat, crossing his arms. At least in this private box, the chairs weren’t covered in paint transfers from mechs who couldn’t afford fixative.

Though, Starscream thought, Thundercracker had a point.

Vosnian aristocrats weren’t generally common visitors to arenas of this caliber: small private boxes, poorly maintained, filthy, thick with the smells of spilled energon and oil. The stands below were packed with grimy mechs who either worked for a living or gambled or plied arguably legal trades. They jostled each other, screamed, laughed, and traded money when they weren’t spilling their cheap engex.

Starscream could still remember a life like that, struggling to get by and finding entertainment when and where it could be found, quality being of little import.

A roar went up from the crowd as a pair of minibots, one with drills in their arms and the other with some sort of ground-shaking equipment, brought down a mech several times their size. Energon, still activated, flowed out of the wounds as he fell to his knees.

A good show. A shame about the circumstances, dying for entertainment, but that mech would have died whether or not Starscream was looking. Might as well.

As expected for mechs of his current station, Starscream would be expected to patronize fancier coliseums, such as the hovering arena in Vos, with valorous champions and money bet for pleasure, not income. But not this one, not this literal pit in the ground with the dressings of a legal mutual combat establishment.

The one in Kaon was known for neither glamor nor honor nor fighters there of their own free will, most being either prisoners serving out their sentences or desperate indentured servants trying to earn winnings to pay off their debts to the pitmaster. The only socially powerful mechs who came here were the local senators and the aristocrats who claimed to oversee the provincial settlements out beyond the city’s walls. The duke at Kolkular didn’t even come here, even though the arena was quite the tourist attraction.

All of that was precisely why Starscream had come here.

Landless but with a title—barely—and a few resources, he had seen an opportunity in the social discontent. He was certainly closer to it than his so-called “peers.”

He’d been granted his dignity (and a luxurious apartment) as a reward for alerting the Winglord of Vos to an assassination plot that he had obviously had nothing to do with and had been so loyally and conveniently nearby to overhear. Before that, he, along with Thundercracker and Skywarp, had always been a wire’s breadth away from being just like the poor bastards in the arena below. Now, however, he had his foot on a rung of the ladder and he had no intention of letting go.

Thundercracker grimaced in his seat next to Starscream, turning his head away but not attempting to cover his optics.

“I don’t see what’s so fun about this.”

He had always had less of a taste for gratuitous violence than either Starscream or Skywarp. But they all knew that when push came to shove, he would fight just as fiercely as the rest of them.

“We’re not here for fun,” Starscream reminded him, idly checking his hand for chipping paint as the crowd cheered for the victors on the fuel-soaked sand below.

The announcer, already barely audible at best, was drowned out by the din.

The minibots were escorted off the field and the defeated combatant was hauled off to… wherever they hauled the bodies. He doubted they had a proper morgue on the premises. They would probably just scrap the loser for parts and melt down whatever was left.

If he could just… tap into that wellspring of discontent and harness it.

And he knew just how to do that.

The announcer called what was probably a name for the next bout. The only way Starscream could really be sure who was coming out was to look, especially as the crowd roared again. The regulars likely recognized the vague mumbling as something intelligible, but he had no intentions of coming back here after today.

There was one specific fighter that Starscream had come to see.

He had already sent Skywarp down to the pitmaster to negotiate paying this fighter’s debts. Skywarp was, for all of his flaws, a cutthroat negotiator and Starscream was glad to have him on his side.

Hopefully soon he would have yet another powerful force in his corner.

The hulking shape of what was visibly a manual class mech, despite the missing hazard paint, walked out of the tunnels that fed into the arena floor, seemingly unarmed.

Bold.

Especially since the arena staff were pulling a pack of very agitated lupanoids out of the opposite tunnel.

He was either being punished or showing off.

Leaning forward, his elbow on the railing for a better view, Starscream couldn’t wait to see which it was. Hopefully his investment would be worth it.

The last of the lupanoids crumpled to the ground after its head came loose from its body.

Megatron tried not to wonder whether the lupanoids had been actual mechafauna or “domesticated” beast-formers. Both options were equally likely and similarly cruel.

Regardless of the circumstances that brought him his opponents, his own choice was limited to either killing or dying… and so far, he had not considered dying to be a particular viable way forward.

He was yet another cog in the machine designed to crush the lower castes. Even if after the revolt he had escaped his originally assigned role and the striped paint that used to mark him, he was still stuck here, keeping the machine alive and well. For all of his pacifistic political activism in the past, for all of his controversial, inflammatory polemics, this was where it had gotten him… indentured servitude and the same choice every single day.

Kill or die.

He threw the dripping head, limp tongue lolling out, away as the crowd above cheered the death.

It bounced on the sand before rolling away, leaving a trail of sticky fuel in its wake.

At least he would get to walk away from this fight with a small measure of money in hand, after the pitmaster took his cut of the winnings.

Tomorrow, Megatron knew as he followed the staff back down into the dark bloodworks, he would do it again. Some other unlucky opponent, be they mech or beast.

Kill or die.

Megatron hadn’t expected to be called to the arena entrance, after the crowds had dispersed.

He had just barely had time to get all the lupanoid fuel off his plating.

Gladiators were usually left alone between fights unless “rent” was due. The meager lodgings and rations at the arena cost him most of what was left over after the pitmaster took his “share” of the winnings. Megatron, while not particularly caring for most aspects of his current employment, did enjoy the almost complete lack of supervision.

The pitmaster, Outback, a tall, scarred, elderly mech with heavy armor who had once been a gladiator himself, looked incredibly pleased with himself. Quite the feat for someone who had a visor and face mask to obscure his features.

Then again, he was holding what looked to be his favorite thing: the datapad he used for processing transactions.

If not for the ever-accruing debt of lodging, he would have sought refuge elsewhere. The “rent” fee was only ever a fraction of what was actually owed as part of his “contract” and he could put more of his personal money towards the principal of his debt. The amounts were just so astronomical that signing on was essentially selling oneself until either death or a miracle.

Still, it had been better than starving in the street. No one else was willing to hire a large ex-miner on the run for starting a revolt. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all.

That, and Outback had been willing to buy off local authorities who might have wanted to haul Megatron in… on the grounds that he kept winning, of course.

Megatron also hadn’t expected the pitmaster to be standing there with three mechs, slender with broad wings and beautifully embroidered jacquard, colored to complement their paint, hanging from their wings. Vosnians, wealthy ones, if he could guess by the clothing.

Fragile snobs.

Given the drapery, they likely almost never flew.

Well-to-do wastrels then.

Had he managed to somehow offend them? Were they offended on behalf of the lupanoids?

“I assume there’s a reason you called me out here,” Megatron said, approaching the group.

He half-expected the Vosnians to back away, but they didn’t. All three stood their ground.

The blue one stood stock still with a straight back, arms folded professionally behind his back. The black and purple one ignored him, swiping a card through the reader on the pitmaster’s datapad, purchasing… something. Or maybe getting a refund—No, Outback wouldn’t have been nearly so pleased about it in that case.

The third one, predominantly red and white, grinned at him. No, perhaps not “grinned.” It was too sharp, but not quite a smirk. Decidedly not “friendly.”

“Yes, Megatron, you’re out of here.”

“What?” He turned to face the pitmaster, shoulders hiked up. “What reason do you have to throw me out? I still—“

“Oh, no, no, you misunderstand. These nice Vosnians have cleared your debt.” Outback brought the datapad up to his visor, his eyesight not quite what it used to be after sustaining an injury to the face years ago. “And then some. Your contract is complete and you are free to go.”

Free to go and get arrested or murdered in a back alley.

“And since you don’t have any personal possessions, there’s nothing you need to clear out from downstairs so… off you go.”

Megatron opened his mouth to protest about what in the hell he was supposed to do now, but the Outback had already started walking away.

“You’ve been a champ but money makes the world go around, you know. If you ever find yourself down on your luck again, you know where to find me.”

And just where to stick a blade, he thought, watching the door slam shut behind the old mech’s back. If he came back, it wouldn’t be to sign another one of Outback’s predatory contracts.

Then again, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Outback had always loved money more than his own array, so why would Megatron, desperate and on the run from the law, be of any higher value?

Jaw set, Megatron turned back to face the Vosnians. They had a lot of explaining to do, wealthy or not.

The blue one remained unchanged, though perhaps there was a flash of worry in their optics. The black and purple one smirked like he knew a secret. And the last one, whom Megatron presumed to be their leader, stepped forward, unafraid.

“Now, I suppose you must have a great many questions—“

“Why did you pay him off? I cannot be bought!” Megatron pointed an accusing finger right at the mech’s nose. “Even if you’ve cleared my debt and gotten me thrown out, you cannot buy me!”

“Buy you?”

The mech scoffed, putting an affronted hand to his chest before ducking right around Megatron’s arm to draw close. He even placed his other hand right on Megatron’s arm, sliding along the length to move the arm away. It was as though he had no sense of the danger he could be in.

“Nonsense. What I want… is to hire you.”

The transport had already been… modest in size, but now that they had stuffed a huge manual class mech in the cabin, it was practically claustrophobic. Skywarp and Thundercracker had vacated the interior to ride on the driver’s bench on top. Thundercracker was given command of the controls as Skywarp was terrible at avoiding collisions.

That left Starscream alone with their new… “friend” inside the transport.

That was fine. Perhaps a little privacy would put the tetchy oaf more at ease.

Megatron hadn’t agreed to anything yet, of course, but had consented to getting in the transport and hearing out their offer after a brief introduction. He still seemed none too impressed with his liberators, but that was to be expected. Mechs from the lower castes were understandably mistrustful of those above. Plenty of reason to be. He probably only got in the transport because it was safer than dodging the authorities on the street for however long this little ride would last.

That was fine.

Starscream knew he would have the deal sealed before long.

If only Megatron would stop silently glaring at him.

“I imagine you’d like to know just what I want to hire you for,” Starscream said, crossing one leg over the other at the knee while he reclined against the cushioned backrest of the transport.

It was cheap as far as private transports went, but it had been within their budget when they had purchased it second-hand. It probably still looked like a lavish luxury to Megatron, who seemed unwilling to relax into the comfort around him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to spit it out, yes.” Such venom. That could be useful later.

Starscream grinned.

“Good.” He made sure to flash his polished teeth, showing off the points of the purposefully sharpened ones. It was street mechs who commonly sharpened their teeth. An edge to defend oneself if otherwise disarmed. Starscream had kept up the practice, a link to his more humble origins. “We have a lot in common, you and I. I think we could get along.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed at him, scrutinizing, but he said nothing and did not move from his stiff posture.

“You see… I wasn’t always alt-mode exempt. I wasn’t always so blessed as you see me now.”

So far, so good.

“You see, that sort of thing—rising above one’s ‘Primus-given station’—can attract enemies. I wanted to hire you to protect me.”

Megatron scoffed but remained otherwise rigid. Disciplined. Very good. Starscream could use that.

“No, no, don’t be so quick to judge. It’s you specifically I’ve sought out and not just for your… martial prowess.” Starscream wagged a paternalistic finger at him, as though scolding a misbehaving new-build. “I’ve read your writing and, you see, I agree. What I want is to help other break their chains like I have, like you have. I need your help.”

Freeing the masses would earn Starscream their undying love and adulation. He would have power and resources… and no one would be able to oppress or control him again.

“I see why Sentinel Prime is so frightened of you, rightfully so, but he won’t come for you in Vos. He can’t stand the Winglord.”

He watched as Megatron’s optics shifted, from a stern glare to wide in confusion, like he hadn’t expected this, not from a comparatively wealthy aristocrat.

“If you help me, if we help each other… we can make that happen. While I have resources, you have the sparks of the downtrodden.”

Starscream’s grin grew wider, knowing that his words were sinking in.

Any moment now, Megatron would realize what was being offered: everything he could ever have wanted.

“I want you to be my second-in-command, but before that can happen, while everything is still put into motion… there is an intermediary position available to hold us over.”

He sighed theatrically and dramatically slid down the seat of the transport, throwing the back of his arm against his forehead in faux dismay.

“My beloved bodyguard died in a tragic accident last month and I’ve been inconsolable ever since.”

For many upper caste mechs, a “bodyguard” was often synonymous with a “lover,” in addition to the expected protection duties. It was a sneaky way to find an official posting for a partner that wouldn’t have been socially acceptable.

Starscream, having ensured that he had spared no expense on personal grooming today specifically, hoped that wouldn’t be too off-putting. After all, who could resist the lightly perfumed wax he had used? Or how it made his natural paint colors shine with a glossy finish?

Besides, he was sure even a paintless guttermech like Megatron could clean up nice too… or he could stay covered in the spilled fuel of their enemies like a ruffian if he really felt like it, if the mood called for it. The lupanoid fuel at the end of the day’s match had been quite charming in its own… homey way. It reminded him of his own days of fighting for his next meal, though it was more keeping it from thieves rather than for public consumption of glorified violence.

Starscream was flexible.

Either way could be fun.

Of course, that would all be voluntary aside from maintaining the pretense in public. Though it needn’t have been a pretense.

“I’m afraid it keeps happening. The poor things drop like flies. I may be cursed to perpetual sparkbreak, but surely… surely that won’t happen to you? I certainly hope it doesn’t.”

Starscream winked, hoping Megatron was clever enough to pick up on the ruse.

A cover story, an official narrative.

All so convenient to explain why a towering mech with a reputation for skilled violence would be dutifully following Starscream around. While Starscream didn’t really need “protection” as he was sure Megatron would doubtlessly soon see with his own optics, it was the story that mattered, for the public eye.

All he saw, however, was Megatron skeptically raise an optical ridge.

Ah, yes.

The benefits.

He would want those, an essential part of any self-respecting job offer.

That was probably the source of the hesitation.

“Of course, you’ll receive a regular stipend, with included in-house room and board, and access to the finest medics in Vos.”

Still reclined, he waved his free hand in the air.

“And if you’re feeling a little pent up, you might find your duties could include some voluntary late night shifts. Flexible ‘scheduling’ is one of the perks.”

Starscream flapped his wings enticingly—as much as he could while practically lying down anyway—to underscore the point, the jacquard smoothly sliding across his polished plating.

Megatron finally moved, leaning away as though insulted at the insinuation that interfacing might be expected of him in exchange for his freedom.

“I’m not a buymech—“

“No, no, of course not,” Starscream interjected. “Entirely optional and has no bearing on your compensation, but with you as my personal ‘bodyguard,’ it will be assumed by outside observers.”

He finally sat up, shifting a little to keep his legs crossed for comfort.

“So what do you say? Do we have a deal, tough guy?”

There was a reluctant sigh from the other side of the transport.

“Very well, you have a deal.”

“You see, I knew we could come to an understanding.” Wings canted high with pride as he stretched out a hand in a wordless offer to shake on it. “I look forward to seeing how you perform. You can start immediately.”

#fic #one shot #maccadam #megatron #starscream #megastar #megastarweek2022

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sofiamantegafan110 · 5 months

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NEW X-MEN EPISODE 6

EPISODE 6- MURDER MYSTERY AT XAVIER'S

THE USS O’HALLAHAN IS A SUPER YACHT, USED TO HOST THE FAMED CHICAGO SINGER AND SEDUCTRESS, CESSILY O’HALLAHAN’S MOST EXCLUSIVE SHOWS. RIGHT NOW, IT PLIES THE WATERS OF LAKE MICHIGAN WITH A BEVY OF EXCLUSIVE CLIENTS ABOARD.

CUT TO THE MAIN PERFORMANCE HALL, A LAVISH AND SPLENDID ROOM WITH A SPARKLING CRYSTAL CHANDELIER THAT HANGS ABOVE THE CENTER OF THE ROOM WITH DINETTE TABLES LITTERING THE FLOOR, ALONG WITH SEMI-PRIVATE BOOTHS ALONG THE EDGES. THE VIPS ARE ABLE TO SIT UP IN BALCONIES PLACED ABOVE THE OTHERS WITH ALL OF THIS, OF COURSE, FACING THE ORNATE STAGE WITH ITS HEAVY MAROON CURTAINS AND ROBUST MOOD LIGHTING. FRAMED PORTRAITS LINE THE WALLS AND THE TABLES ARE SET WITH REAL SILVER AND CRYSTAL.

CUT TO THE BACKSTAGE OF THE THEATER, WHICH IS A BIT MORE SUBDUED. A ROW OF MIRRORS AND VANITIES LINE ONE WALL WITH ONE IN PARTICULAR BEING LARGER AND SET APART FROM THE OTHERS, DECORATED WITH THE FLOWERS OF CESSILY’S ADMIRERS. HER PURSE SITS ATOP IT, ALONG WITH A FEW DRAWERS, SOME LOCKED, SOME NOT, THAT HOLD THE THINGS A SUPERSTAR NEEDS TO GET READY. A RACK OF COSTUMES IS LOCATED ON THE OPPOSITE WALL, AND A FEW TRUNKS BENEATH THEM.

CUT TO THE HALLWAY, RATHER SHORT AND NONDESCRIPT. IT HAS SOME PAINTINGS HERE AND THERE ALONG ITS LENGTH, AT LEAST ONE OF THEM WORTH ITS WEIGHT IN GOLD. BEYOND THAT AND THE PLUSH CARPETING, IT MOSTLY JUST CONNECTS ALL THE QUARTERS AND STATEROOMS ON THIS LEVEL, AS WELL AS THE ENGINE AND ELECTRICAL ROOMS, WITH A STAIRWAY THAT LEADS UP ON DECK AND THE BRIDGE.

THE CREW’S QUARTERS CONSIST OF EIGHT BEDS AND A LOCKER AT THE END OF EACH. A SMALL DOOR LEADS TO A LITTLE STATEROOM FOR THE SHIP’S CAPTAIN, WHERE THE BACKUP NAVIGATIONAL PLOTTERS ARE STREWN ACROSS THE DESK. THERE’S A SMALL BOOKCASE THERE, AS WELL AS A LOCKED STORAGE TRUNK AND A LOCKER WITH UNIFORMS IN IT.

CESSILY’S STATEROOM IS LARGER THAN ANY OTHER LIVING SPACE, NATURALLY. THE MASTER SUITE CONSISTS OF TWO ADJOINING ROOMS. THE FIRST ONE LEADS INTO A SMALL OFFICE AREA WITH A DESK NEATLY ARRANGED WITH PAPERS, BOOKS, AND LEDGERS, A FEW COMFORTABLE CHAIRS AND A COUCH PLACED ALONG ONE WALL. THE SECOND ROOM IS THE BOUDOIR WITH A LARGE SOFT BED, A SPACIOUS CLOSET, A LITTLE BATHROOM ON THE SIDE AND SOME PERSONAL PICTURES AND SHELF SPACES IN THE BEDROOM ITSELF.

THE CABINS OF THE GUESTS ARE ALL PRETTY SIMPLE, AND THERE’S ONE FOR EACH GUESTS. WHAT SECRETS HIDE WITHIN THEM? WE MAY NEVER KNOW! EACH ONE IS TASTEFULLY DECORATED WITH A SMALL LOCKER FOR PERSONAL EFFECTS, A SINGLE, BUT COMFORTABLE, BED, A VERY SMALL SHELF, AND A READING LIGHT.

CUE INTRO AND CREDITS

THE XAVIER SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS PRESENTS… A MURDER MYSTERY PARTY: MURDER ON LAKE MICHIGAN! IT ALL BEGINS ONE CALM AND STARRY NIGHT…

NAMELY THE ROARING TWENTIES, ABOARD A CRUISE SHIP ON LAKE MICHIGAN NEAR THE TAIL-END OF PROHIBITION.

ALL THE PARTICIPANTS ARE DRESSED IN PERIOD-APPROPRIATE CLOTHING, AND YET LOOK OTHERWISE LIKE THEMSELVES IN THE PERFORMANCE HALL OF THE CRUISE SHIP. AT THE CENTER STAGE IS CESSILY O’HALLAHAN HERSELF, LOOKING A LOT LIKE CESSILY KINCAID IF SHE HAD A 1920’S COIF AND SHORT CURLY HAIR WITH BICEP-LENGTH OPERA GLOVES AND A KILLER DRESS THAT SHIMMERS IN THE LIGHT WHENEVER SHE MOVES.

SITTING FARTHER AWAY FROM THE OTHERS IS TALIA RICHEAUVILLE (PLAYED BY NOCTURNE), WHOSE EXPRESSION SHIFTS TO SOMETHING VERY MYSTERIOUS. SHE HAS AN EYE PATCH OVER ONE EYE, EVEN THOUGH SHE DOESN’T NEED ONE, AND SHE’S DRESSED IN A LONG BLACK COAT WITH AN ELEGANT CANE THAT SHE HOLDS CONFIDENTLY IN ONE HAND.

GREEN-SKINNED AND MUCH TOO YOUNG TO BE A SHIP’S CAPTAIN IS VICTOR STANLEY (PLAYED BY ANOLE), WHO WATCHES THE PERFORMANCE WITH CURIOUS EYES. HIS CAPTAIN’S HAT IS TUCKED UNDER ONE ARM AS HE CUTS A PLEASING FIGURE IN HIS WHITE UNIFORM, THE EPAULETS AND TAILORED WAIST ACCENTUATING HIS CASUALLY SCULPTED BUILD.

BRIAN NICHOLS (PLAYED BY TAG), DRESSED IN BEIGE SUSPENDERS AND A STRAW BOATER HAT, KEEPS HIS FOCUS ON THE SILVER-SKINNED SINGER AS SHE PERFORMS. THOUGH HER VOCALS TUG ON THE HEARTSTRINGS OF SEVERAL GUESTS, HIS ATTENTION IS PURELY PRACTICAL AS HE GRADES EVERY NOTE, ALLOWING HIMSELF TO SMILE WHEN SHE FINISHES.

ROXY SINERO (PLAYED BY BLING!) SPORTS A SLEEVELESS BLACK FLAPPER DRESS THAT REACHES TO ABOUT HER KNEES. THE STEREOTYPICAL IMAGE IS SLIGHTLY RUINED BY THE AMETHYST SKIN, BUT SHE MAKES UP FOR IT BY CASTING A GRUMPY FROWN IN RANDOM DIRECTIONS. SHE’S NOT PARTICULARLY HAPPY TO BE HERE, BUT HERE SHE IS.

A CIGAR IS CLUTCHED BETWEEN THE INDEX AND MIDDLE FINGERS OF CLARICE LUCIANO (PLAYED BY BLINK)’S RIGHT HAND, AMIDST A SELECTION OF RINGS MADE OF SILVER, GOLD, AND DIAMOND. A FEDORA IS TUGGED DOWN OVER HER EYES, HER PERFECTLY TAILORED GREY PINSTRIPE SUIT HAVING BROADER SHOULDERS THAT ONE MIGHT EXPECT. HER HAIR IS CUT SHOULDERLENGTH FOR THE OCCASION AND A LILY TUCKED INTO THE LAPEL OF HER SUITCOAT, ALONG WITH A KILLER GLEAM IN HER EYES.

THE ALISTAIR SISTERS (PLAYED BY THE STEPFORD CUCKOOS) ARE WATCHING THE SHOW AND ALMOST SILENTLY MURMURING AMONGST THEMSELVES. WHAT? THEY’RE NOT JEALOUS. YOU ARE JEALOUS. OF THEM. BECAUSE THEY’RE GONNA BE STARS! DRESSED IN SLIGHTLY IDENTICAL EVENING WEAR, THEY SIT AT A TABLE NEAR THE STAGE, BIDING THEIR TIME LIKE LIONS CIRCLING THEIR PREY.

JOSHUA SILAS (PLAYED BY ELIXIR) IS CLAD IN A CRISP PINSTRIPED NAVY SUIT WITH PLEATED PANTS AND A SUIT JACKET WITH A CLEAN WHITE SHIRT BENEATH AND A CRIMSON VEST. HIS BLACK TIE IS UNDONE AND A WIDE-BRIMMED HAT MATCHES HIS SUIT AS HE WATCHES IN A SURLY FASHION.

MEGAN MATTHEWS (PLAYED BY PIXIE) DOESN’T TURN TO HER NOTEPAD ON HER TABLE, WHERE SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO TAKE A RECORD OF CESSILY’S PERFORMANCE. HER STYLED CLOCHE HAT IS ANGLED JAUNTILY, AND SHE WEARS A METICULOUSLY-CONSTRUCTED OUTFIT THAT EVOKES A MONASTIC ROBE. GOLD GREEK KEY WEAVES OVER HER BLACK SHEATH DRESS AS RAINBOWS PIROUETTE HER SHARP-LOOKING WINGS.

JULIAN BRICKMAN (PLAYED BY HELLION) IS HERE WITH A PURPOSE. PEOPLE BUY MONEY FROM HIM, PEOPLE GIVE HIM THE MONEY BACK. HIS INTERESTS ARE ON THE LINE TONIGHT AND HE WANTS HIS COMEUPPANCE. DRESSED IN A FINE BLACK TWO-PIECE SUIT ACCOMPANIED WITH A BLACK VEST AND EVEN A POCKET WATCH, HE SITS AT A TABLE IN THE CORNER, KEEPING HIS EYES ON ALL INTERESTED PLAYERS.

SOFIA LORDER (PLAYED BY WIND DANCER), THE MAYOR OF THIS LITTLE OPERATION THEY CALL A TOWN, IS DRESSED IN A WHITE UNISEX SUIT WITH THIN-TIPPED BOOTS, A FIGURE-HUGGING VEST, A LONG-TAILED SUIT, AND A WESTERN-STYLED TIE AS SHE LOOKS FIERCE AND DEFIANT. LORDERS HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO GO FANCY, SENDING THEIR CHILDREN OUT OF TOWN TO STUDY IN THE BIG CITY WHERE THEY LEARN AMONG THE BIG SHOTS, BUT SOFIA HAS RETURNED HOME EARLIER THAN EXPECTED WHEN HER FATHER PASSED AWAY, ALSO EARLIER THAN EXPECTED. SHE SURVEYS THE AREA WITH IN-CHARACTER COLDNESS THAT HIDES OUT-OF-CHARACTER GIDDINESS.

FINALLY, THE SHOW ENDS AND CESSILY SASHAYS BACKSTAGE WITH A HAND ON HER HIP. IMMEDIATELY, ROXY STANDS AND FOLLOWS HER, WITH TALIA MAKING HER WAY TOWARD THE EXIT, VICTOR GREETING PASSENGERS WHILE USING OVERLONG WORDS AND OCCASIONALLY SLIPPING INTO AN UNCONVINCING ENGLISH ACCENT, BRIAN MOVING TO MEET CESSILY BACKSTAGE BUT UNAWARE OF ROXY, THE ALISTAIR SISTERS STORMING OFF WITH MEGAN TRYING TO GET AN INTERVIEW FROM THEM, AND JOSH MEANDERING NONCHALANTLY TOWARD THE HALLWAY AND THE OUTSIDE DECK BEYOND WITH JULIAN FOLLOWING THE GRUFF BOOTLEGGER TO GET A WORD.

SOFIA TURNS TO DON CLARICE AND SAYS THAT SHE’S SURPRISED TO FIND HER ON THE UPPER DECKS AND NOT BETTING ON THE ONGOING BLOODSPORTS AT THE FURNACE. CLARICE SMIRKS, SAYING THAT BLOODSPORTS ARE ONE THING, BUT SHE WANTED TO HEAR HER GAL SING A LITTLE TUNE. SOFIA NODS BEFORE MOVING BACKSTAGE TO DO THE HANDSHAKES AND CONGRATULATIONS SORT OF THINGS THAT GOOD MAYORS DO.

MEANWHILE, CELESTE TURNS AS MEGAN ASKS HER IF THEY WERE THE ONES DOING THOSE JAWDROPPING VOCALS AT REHEARSALS EARLIER TODAY. SHE NODS, SAYING THAT THAT WAS DEFINITELY THEM AS THE OTHER SISTERS HEAD BACKSTAGE. MEANWHILE, TALIA TRIES TO STIFLE A LAUGH WHILE IN THE HALLWAY AS SHE REMEMBERS CLARICE’S CIGAR AND FEDORA. AT ANOTHER PART OF THE HALLWAY, JOSH TURNS TO FACE JULIAN AS VIC JOINS THE CONVERSATION, TELLING THE GOLD ENTREPRENEUR THAT HE DOESN’T WANT ANY TROUBLE ON HIS SHIP.

MEANWHILE, CESSILY IS SITTING IN FRONT OF HER MIRROR WHEN ROXY ENTERS. SHE TELLS THE CRYSTAL GIRL THAT SHE’S SURPRISED TO SEE HER BEFORE SAYING THAT SHE SHOULDN’T BE THERE. ROXY FOLDS HER ARMS ACROSS HER CHEST, ASKING IF SHE REALLY SHOULDN’T BE THERE OR IF CESSILY DOESN’T WANT HER THERE. SUDDENLY, BRIAN AND SOFIA ENTER AND CESSILY TELLS HER MANAGER TO ESCORT ROXY OUT BEFORE NOTICING SOFIA AND TELLING BRIAN TO FETCH HER A DRINK.

SUDDENLY, THE LIGHTS GO OUT. THOSE BACKSTAGE HEAR MOVEMENT, A SCUFFLE, AND SOMETHING HITTING THE GROUND AND SHATTERING. THERE’S A GASP, PLEADING AND PLAINTIVE, AND THEN A FLESHY THUMP AS CESSILY LETS GO OF SOFIA’S SHOULDER AND SOMETHING HITS THE FLOOR.

SUDDENLY, THE LIGHTS FLICKER ON AND SOFIA, ROXY, AND BRIAN STAND AROUND THE CORPSE OF CESSILY O’HALLAHAN! BLOOD POOLS ON THE CARPET AROUND THE KNIFE PUSHED INTO HER BACK. MINDEE AND PHOEBE GASP AS THEY ENTER AND THE LATTER SCREAMS THAT THERE’S BEEN A MURDER, AND ROXY LETS OUT HER BEST DAMSEL-Y SCREAM AS SHE DROPS TO HER KNEES AND ASKS WHY THE DEAD SINGER COULDN’T LOVE HER.

EMMY AWARD WINNING ACTRESS, ROXY IS NOT.

NEARBY FLOATS A BLUISH, SEMI-TRANSPARENT CESSILY KINCAID, WEARING THE SAME CLOTHES AS HER CHARACTER, BUT GHOOOOOOOOSTLY~!

SOFIA: SINERO! HOW COULD YOU?!

YES, SOFIA THROWS ROXY UNDER THE BUS. ROXY, MEANWHILE, ROXY SAYS THAT IF ANYONE DID THIS, IT WAS PROBABLY HER. BRIAN TELLS ROXY TO GET AWAY FROM THE BODY, AND ROXY YELLS AT HIM TOO, SAYING THAT HE DIDN’T CARE ABOUT CESSILY AND JUST WANTED TO MAKE MONEY OFF HER.

GHOST CESSILY: YES. YEEEEES. TURN UPON ONE ANOTHER…

IN THE HALLWAY, JULIAN AND JOSH GASP UPON HEARING THE SCREAMS OF MURDER. VIC TELLS THEM THAT HE KNOWS THEY WERE BOTH THERE WITH HIM, SO IT COULDN’T HAVE BEEN ONE OF THEM. SUDDENLY, TALIA APPEARS OUT OF SOFIA’S STATEROOM AND VIC TURNS TO HER, ASKING WHAT SHE WAS DOING IN THERE, AND ALLOWING JOSH AND JULIAN TO RUN BACKSTAGE. TALIA SAYS THAT SHE JUST GOT A BIT TURNED AROUND AND TELLS VIC THAT SHE’S GOING OVER TO HER ROOM NOW. SHE THEN HEADS OFF INTO ANOTHER ROOM THAT VIC SAYS ALSO ISN’T HERS.

VIC STARTS TO WALK OVER IN TALIA’S DIRECTION AS SHE SLIPS INTO JOSH’S ROOM, BUT HE PAUSES BRIEFLY, GLANCING UP AND DOWN THE HALLWAY. VIC THEN LEAVES JOSH’S DOOR AND JOGS OVER TO CESSILY’S ROOM, OPENING IT WITH THE MASTER KEY AND RUSHING INSIDE. CLARICE FOLLOWS HIM, SAYING THAT SHE THINKS THEY BOTH HAVE THE SAME THOUGHT HERE.

BACKSTAGE, JOSH, JULIAN, CELESTE, AND MEGAN JOIN THE GROUP BACKSTAGE. JULIAN SHAKES HIS HEAD IN PITY WHILE SOFIA TELLS ROXY THAT THEY ALL KNOW CESSILY LEFT HER AT THE ALTAR. WHILE ROXY WAILS TO THE MAYOR OF MURDERVILLE THAT SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT THEY HAD, SOFIA MOVES OVER TO ONE OF THE MIRRORS AND PULLS CURIOUSLY, REVEALING A SECRET DOOR BEHIND IT. JULIAN WASTES NO TIME GOING DOWN THERE, REQUESTING A WORD WITH BRIAN IN THE FUTURE.

ROXY: NO WAY AM I GOING DOWN THERE TO GET STABBED LIKE POOR CESSILY, THE LOVE OF MY LIFE! SOMEONE NEEDS TO MOVE HER SOMEWHERE PRIVATE! WE CAN’T JUST LEAVE HER LIKE THIS!

STEPFORDS: WE CAN’T MOVE THE BODY! WE SHOULD… YOU KNOW… INVESTIGATE! SURELY THERE ARE CLUES UPON HER PERSON!

WITH THAT, CELESTE TELLS PHOEBE TO EITHER GET FINGER PRINT DUST OR GATHER UP EVERYONE ELSE. PHOEBE NODS AND STYLISHLY STALKS OFF WHILE SOFIA TELLS ROXY TO STAY CRYING OVER HER BELOVED OR COME DOWN AND AVENGE HER. SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE WILL DO AND DECIDES TO FIND THE CULPRIT, FOLLOWING JULIAN DOWN THE SECRET PASSAGE. ROXY GLARES AT HER, ASKING WHAT GOOD AVENGING WILL DO IF CESSILY’S DEAD.

BRIAN: YOU THINK YOU’RE SPECIAL BECAUSE YOU HAD A THING WITH CESSILY?! JOIN THE CLUB! SHE’S SCREWED HALF THE SHIP! I STUCK BY HER THROUGH IT ALL! SHE WAS MY GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT!

ROXY: CESSILY AND I HAD SOMETHING SPECIAL!

ROXY THEN LEAVES THE BACKSTAGE IN TEARS (SHE’S NOT ACTUALLY CRYING), WHILE BRIAN, JOSH, MEGAN, CELESTE, AND MINDEE BICKER AMONGST THEMSELVES.

AT CESSILY’S STATEROOM, VICTOR HUNCHES OVER THE RECENTLY DECEASED DIVA’S DESK. JUST AS HE NOTICES SOME KIND OF CONTRACT, HE LOOKS OVER AT CLARICE, SAYING THAT HE SUPPOSES THEY MIGHT HAVE THOUGHT ALONG SIMILAR AVENUES. (HE TRIES TO PRONOUNCE ‘AVENUES’ IN A SORT OF FRENCH ACCENT AND FAILS HORRIBLY) AND LOOKS BACK AT THE PAPER, SAYING THAT CESSILY SEEMS TO HAVE INTENDED TO CUT HER MANAGER OUT OF THE CONSIDERABLE PROFITS FROM HER REMARKABLE TALENT.

MEANWHILE, ALONG THE SECRET PASSAGEWAY, JULIAN NOTICES A SHIMMERING SOMETHING. HE LOOKS CLOSER AND SEES THAT IT’S A NECKLACE. HE THEN REACHES THE END OF THE PASSAGE AND PUSHES OPEN THE DOOR AT THE OTHER END, COMING INTO CESSILY’S STATEROOM WHERE DON CLARICE AND CAPTAIN VICTOR HAPPEN TO BE. CLARICE WONDERS WHAT HE’S DOING THERE AS SOFIA STEPS IN BEHIND HIM.

SUDDENLY, THE LIGHTS GO OUT. TALIA CAN BE SEEN STROLLING OUT OF JULIAN’S ROOM BEFORE THEY DO, BRIAN SUDDENLY MUTTERS THAT HE HAS TO GET OUT OF THERE, AND ROXY GIVES HER BEST HORROR MOVIE SCREAM BEFORE FLEEING TO THE DECK OF THE SHIP.

WHEN THE LIGHTS COME BACK ON, MEGAN MATTHEWS, ACE REPORTER, IS CLUTCHING HER THROAT ON THE GROUND, RED RUNNING BETWEEN HER FINGERS AS SHE STRUGGLES AND GASPS FOR AIR. BRIAN’S HAT LIES NEXT TO HER BESIDE THE KNIFE USED TO STAB CESSILY.

THE MURDERER HAS STRUCK AGAIN.

GHOST-CESSILY SCREAMS IN HER BEST ‘NOOOOO, JENNA!’ VOICE AS A TRANSLUCENT PIXIE ‘GHOST’ RISES FROM THE DEAD BODY. SHE WRAPS HER ARMS AROUND MEGAN IN A BIG HUG AND SQUEEZES HER EYES SHUT WITH A GRIN.

GHOST-CESSILY: OH, OUR POOR MEGAN MATTHEWS! SHE WAS ONTO THE HOTTEST SCOOP OF HER LIFE! WOE! WOOOOOE!

MEANWHILE, TALIA HEADS OVER TO THE CREW’S QUARTERS, MAKING HER WAY OVER TO THE ONE THAT READS CAPTAIN VICTOR STANLEY’S QUARTERS. AFTER COMMENTING THAT THAT’S A STUPID ASS NAME, SHE OPENS THE DOOR AND HEADS ON IN.

BACKSTAGE, JOSH DEMANDS EVERYONE (BASICALLY JUST THE CUCKOOS) SHOW THEIR HANDS AND THE SISTERS STARE AT HIM. CELESTE ASSUMES THAT THE KILLER WAS PROBABLY ONE OF THE PEOPLE WHO RAN OFF AND SAYS THAT FROM WHAT THEY’VE HEARD, CESSILY WAS GETTING AROUND LIKE SOME SORT OF TAWDRY BICYCLE. GHOST CESSILY GETS OUT A NOTEPAD, WRITING ‘DON’T FORGET THE BLOOD SPLATTER!’ WITH A FEATHER PEN.

MEANWHILE, TALIA LEAVES VICTOR’S QUARTERS WITH A TAP OF HER CANE. SHE WALKS OUT AND SEES PHOEBE HEADING BACK TO JOIN HER SISTERS FROM HER ERRAND, HOLDING A MAKEUP KIT AS THE ONLY THING SHE CAN FIND FOR FINGER-PRINT DUST.

IN THE STATEROOM, JULIAN NOTICES BRIAN IN THE HALLWAY AND SAYS THAT THEY NEED TO HAVE A WORD WHILE CLARICE NOTICES SOME PAPERS ON THE DESK AND SMIRKS, SAYING THAT IT SEEMS LIKE THEIR CAPTAIN HAS A CRUSH. SHE THEN SHOWS A SERIES OF LETTERS ADDRESSED TO CESSILY BY VICTOR AND ASKS HIM IF HE DIDN’T WANT ANYONE TO SEE THEM BECAUSE HE TOLD HER HE’D KILL EVERYONE ON THE SHIP FOR HER. SOFIA ‘OHS’ SLIGHTLY AS VIC LOOKS AT THE LETTER IN HIS HAND AND LOSES IT, HIS FACE GOING DARK GREEN.

HE THRUSTS THE LETTER AT CLARICE AND SAYS THAT THERE’S NOTHING ABOUT MURDERS. HE DOESN’T KNOW THAT FOR SURE AND HE’S SURE AS HELL NOT GONNA CHECK. SUDDENLY, TALIA LEANS IN AND SAYS THAT VIC WAS KISSING CESSILY BEFORE THE SHOW BEFORE HEADING BACK OUT INTO THE HALLWAY. VIC DEMANDS TO KNOW WHO SHE IS WHILE GHOST CESSILY BURSTS OUT LAUGHING, SENDING A TELEPATHIC SIGNAL TO VIC THROUGH THEIR PSYCHIC LINK SET UP BY THE CUCKOOS, SAYING THAT SHE DIDN’T KNOW VIC WOULD BE THE CAPTAIN.

SOFIA ARCHES HER BROW, COMMENTING ON THE TITILLATING SITUATION.

MEANWHILE, ON THE DECK OF THE USS O’HALLAHAN, ROXY LOOKS UP AT THE MOON, IGNORING THE SHOUTS AND CALLS FROM WITHIN THE SHIP.

ROXY: THE MOON SPLIT IN HALF AND STARS CRUMBLED. FALLING LIKE FIREWORKS INTO THE SEA. I WATCHED THE WORLD FALL APART, ON THE DAY THAT MY LOVE LEFT ME.

TALIA STOPS SHORT ON HER WAY UP TO THE DECK TO HEAR ROXY’S MONOLOGUE AS THE BLACK-CLAD CRYSTAL GIRL CLIMBS OVER THE RAILING OF THE DECK, YELLING TO THE STARRY SKY THAT SHE AND CESSILY WILL BE TOGETHER SOON.

THEN, SHE JUMPS OVERBOARD, INTO THE LAKE, NEVER TO BE HEARD FROM AGAIN.

TALIA WATCHES THE SITUATION BRIEFLY BEFORE GIVING A SHRUG AND HEADING RIGHT BACK DOWN THE HALLWAY TOWARD ROXY’S ROOM, ON HER OWN AGENDA.

IN THE STATEROOM, VIC ASKS SOFIA TO READ THE LETTERS AND TELL THEM OF THE APPARENT SCANDAL BEFORE INTERNALLY GRUNTING A BIT WHILE GHOST-CESSILY TELLS HIM THAT SHE GOT THOSE PASSAGES FROM THE FINEST OF ROMANTIC LITEROTICA. CLARICE JABS A FINGER AT VICTOR, ACCUSING HIM OF MAKING THE MOVES ON HER DAME BEFORE SAYING THAT SHE DOESN’T THINK ANYONE IS KILLING FOR LOVE HERE.

CLARICE: MOST PEOPLE KILL FOR MONEY. AND THE PERSON WHO STANDS TO MAKE THE MOST MONEY OUT OF ALL THIS? MY DAME’S MANAGER!

CESSILY CHUCKLES BEFORE TURNING OVER TO THE DRIPPING WET ‘GHOST’ OF ROXY. SHE LAUGHS AND HUGS HER GIRLFRIEND, SAYING THAT SHE’S TOO MUCH WHILE ROXY SAYS THAT IT’S ALL PART OF THE ACTING PROCESS. YOU HAVE TO BE DRAMATIC TO MAKE IT MORE INTENSE.

MEANWHILE, JOSH WALKS OUT OF THE BACKSTAGE ROOM TO FIND CLUES WHILE PHOEBE CHASES HIM, SAYING THAT HE CAN’T ABANDON THREE ELIGIBLE BACHELORETTES TO A MURDER. CELESTE HEADS TOWARDS THE STATEROOM WHILE MINDEE RUNS OFF DOWN THE HALL IN VAGUELY THE LAST DIRECTION SHE SAW ROXY GOING.

IN THE STATEROOM, AS SOFIA CONDUCTS HER OWN INVESTIGATION, VICTOR SHAKES HIS FIST AT CLARICE, SAYING THAT SHE ALWAYS TOOK CESSILY FOR GRANTED. CLARICE GLARES AT HIM, SAYING THAT CESSILY CHOSE WHO SHE WANTED IN THE END AND IT WASN’T HIM BEFORE VIC EXPLODES IN FAKE MELODRAMA, SAYING THAT CLARICE ONLY WISHES THAT SHE COULD HAVE LOVED HER LIKE HE DID AND NOW SHE’S LOST HER CHANCE. AS THEY ARGUE, BRIAN AND JULIAN WONDER WHO THE HELL TALIA’S SUPPOSED TO BE AND WHY SHE KEEPS GOING IN PEOPLE’S ROOMS. JOSH HEADS TOWARD THE HALLWAY WHILE THE STEPFORDS TRY TO GATHER EVERYONE.

GUESS WHAT?!

THE LIGHTS GO OUT.

A LOUD BANG COMES FROM THE STATEROOM FOLLOWED BY A THUMP. WHEN THEY COME BACK ON, DON CLARICE LUCIANO CLUTCHES HER CHEST, A REVOLVER LYING ON THE FLOOR. SHE WAS SHOT WITH HER OWN GUN! AND CELESTE IS STANDING IN THE DOORWAY, HAVING HEARD EVERYTHING VIC SAID.

GHOST CESSILY: J’ACCUSE! WHO COULD HAVE DONE THIS?!

AS GHOST CLARICE ENTERS, ROXY GIVES HER A SHOVE FOR STEALING HER GIRLFRIEND. ROXY LAUGHS AND ASKS IF THERE’S GHOST POPCORN AS MEGAN HIGH-FIVES HER. BEING IN THE ASTRAL PLANE (IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY GUESSED), CESSILY CREATES A JUMBO TUB OF EXTRA BUTTERY POPCORN AND HANDS IT TO CLARICE.

IN ROXY’S ROOM, TJ ASKS CESSILY IF SHE WINS AT SOME POINT. SHE SAYS THAT SHE FEELS LIKE PERSONAL GOALS ARE BEING MET HERE AND SHE FEELS LIKE IT’S TIME TO HOP ON HER JET SKI AND RIDE INTO THE SUNSET. CESSILY TELLS HER TO JUST JOIN THE SHENANIGANS, REMINDING HER THAT THEY DIDN’T REALLY HAVE ANY JET SKIS IN THE 1920’S, BUT SHE COULD PROBABLY STEAL A LIFE BOAT.

MEANWHILE, JOSH AND PHOEBE JOIN CELESTE, VIEWING CLARICE’S BODY. SOFIA BENDS DOWN BESIDE HER ‘DEAD’ GIRLFRIEND AND COMMENTS THAT SHE WILL MISS HER STUPID ACCENT. SHE CLOSES THE MAFIA DON’S EYES BEFORE GRABBING HER RIFLE AND POINTING IT AT VICTOR, TRYING TO ACT PARANOID.

SOFIA: THAT IS ENOUGH! I WILL NOT BE GOING DOWN WITH THIS PROVERBIAL SHIP! WHOEVER DID THIS BETTER COME OUT RIGHT NOW AND WE CAN DISCUSS TERMS, OR I WILL START SHOOTING! *TELEPATHICALLY* CESSILY, IS THIS WHAT YOU WASTE YOUR TIME ON WHILE YOU’RE ON THE INTERNET?

JULIAN AND BRIAN WALK IN ON SOFIA BRANDISHING A GUN AS MINDEE AND TJ JOIN THE GROUP. THE TRIPLETS HOLD THEIR HANDS UP AND PHOEBE ASKS HOW MANY BULLETS THE GUN HAS. SHE DEDUCES THAT WHOEVER DID THIS HAS A SECRET TO HIDE ABOUT CESSILY AND THEY MURDERED MEGAN BECAUSE SHE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD FIGURE IT OUT. MINDEE THEN ACCUSES BRIAN OF KILLING CLARICE SINCE SHE WAS THE ONE WHO FIGURED OUT THAT HE WAS THE KILLER.

TJ: EH, IT’S PROBABLY THE BOOTLEGGER OR THE LOANSHARK. BOTH OF ‘EM. I DUNNO. I’VE BEEN BUSY.

JULIAN: ME? THE MAYOR IS THE ONE WITH THE GUN!

BRIAN QUICKLY TRIES TO DEFEND HIMSELF AGAINST THE TRIO’S CLAIM BUT JULIAN AND JOSH BOTH AGREE WITH THEM, SAYING THAT CESSILY INTENDED TO FIRE HIM. IT’S POSSIBLE THAT HE COULDN’T HANDLE IT AND DECIDED TO KILL HER TO EARN PROFIT FROM HER DEATH. IN THE BACKGROUND, VIC TRIES TO GRAB THE GUN FROM SOFIA AND GETS HIS HAND BITTEN IN THE PROCESS. AND OF COURSE, THE CASPER CREW IS JUST EATING THIS UP, WATCHING AND EATING THEIR GHOST POPCORN.

IN THE END, THEY REACH A LOGJAM. THEY CAN’T DECIDE WHO DID IT, BUT EVENTUALLY DECIDE THAT BRIAN, THE MANAGER, HAS A VERY CLEAR MOTIVE, AND PROOF OF SUCH. PLUS, HE WAS PRESENT OR NEARBY FOR EVERY MURDER. NOT TO MENTION POOR MEGAN WAS HOLDING HIS HAT AS SHE DIED.

WHEN THE POLICE ARRIVE THE NEXT MORNING, IT’S A TENSE STANDOFF OF GUESTS BRANDISHING KNIVES, CANDLESTICKS, AND AT LEAST ONE GUN AT EACH OTHER. BRIAN IS CARTED OFF INTO CUSTODY WHILE VIC IS TREATED FOR HIS SOFIA-INFLICTED “BITE WOUNDS”.

ROXANNE SINERO’S BODY WAS NEVER FOUND…

AND THE KILLER… WALKED FREE.

WE THEN ROLL FAKE CREDITS THAT SHOW THAT THE SCRIPT WAS WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY CESSILY AND THE SETTING WAS PROVIDED BY THE CUCKOOS THANKS TO THE ASTRAL PLANE. THEY ALSO SET UP A PSYCHIC LINK SO THE GUESTS COULD GIVE CESSILY THEIR FEEDBACK. WE THEN CUT OVER TO THE END CREDITS SCENE.

SAW-ESQUE FLASHBACKS SHOW THE STEPFORDS IMMEDIATELY STORMING OFF TO THE HALLWAY AND CESSILY’S STATEROOM. CELESTE WAS STOPPED BY MEGAN LEAVING MINDEE TO HEAD TO THE ELECTRICAL ROOM TO TURN OUT THE LIGHTS WHILE PHOEBE SNUCK IN AND MURDERED CESSILY O’HALLAHAN THROUGH THE SECRET PASSAGE THEY LEARNED ABOUT FROM CELESTE’S AFFAIR WITH CAPTAIN VICTOR.

THE GIRLS THEN RUSHED BACK TO THE SCENE OF THE CRIME FROM THE HALLWAY WITH MEGAN, WHO WAS NONE THE WISER. IT WAS THEN THAT THEY SENT PHOEBE OFF TO ‘GATHER FINGER-PRINT DUST’, ONLY FOR HER TO ONCE AGAIN SHUT OFF THE LIGHTS SO CELESTE COULD SLIT MEGAN’S THROAT AND MINDEE COULD PLANT BRIAN’S HAT ON HER, SINCE THEY’D DISCOVERED THAT IT WASN’T CESSILY THAT SUNK THEIR BUDDING CAREERS, BUT HER MANAGER, AND THEY KILLED THE WRONG PERSON! TO GET THEIR REVENGE, THEY PLANNED TO FRAME BRIAN.

ROXY OFFED HERSELF, LIKE A TOTAL BASKET CASE.

THEIR THIRD AND FINAL VICTIM WAS CLARICE. ONCE AGAIN, THEY SPLIT UP, PHOEBE HEADING OUT TO SHUT OFF THE LIGHTS AGAIN WHILE MINDEE SHOT THE DON, WHO WAS LOUDLY HEARD ACCUSING BRIAN JUST BEFORE HER DEATH! ONCE AGAIN, THEY ATTEMPTED TO FRAME BRIAN FOR THEIR CRIMES…

…AND IT WORKED.

WE THEN CUT OVER TO CESSILY’S ROOM AS CESSILY ASKS THE GROUP WHAT THEY THINK. THEY IMMEDIATELY GIVE OFF VARIOUS SOUNDS OF APPROVAL AS CESSILY TURNS BACK TO HER LAPTOP AND ADDS THE FINISHING TOUCH;

MURDER ON LAKE MICHIGAN

BY CESSILY KINCAID AND THE XAVIER SCHOOL THEATER DEPARTMENT.

A XAVIER’S SCHOOL PRODUCTION

~FIN~

#new x men #cessily kincaid #sofia mantega #clarice ferguson #megan gwynn #julian keller #josh foley #talia wagner #victor borkowski #brian cruz #murder mystery

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koosc · 2 years

Text

cambiare (m.yoongi x reader)

warnings/tags: idol!yoongi x florist!reader. lovey dovey yoongi getting ready to propose :D , yoongi reminiscing about his precious buttercup and fluffy stuff :(

genre: fluffyyy~

words: 686 words

a/n: ik no one listens to the song recommendations i put but pLIS for the love of yoongi, listen to me after you by paul kim.

Yoongi can’t figure out when things have changed. He doesn’t know when your coat made home next to his. He doesn’t know when small succulents and delicate flowers made their way into his apartment. His kitchen cupboards used to be filled with bare necessities and now he’s treated to a feast everyday.

Yoongi hates change.

He hates the way it abruptly shifts his peaceful life to a harrowing one. He isn’t fond of its ways, often letting out his frustrations about the topic through speedy raps. Yoongi surprises himself, looking forward to the changes you bring him everyday. He got used to your never-ending chatter, which to him, is true music. Your sweet voice, along with your nimble hands and gratifying smile and to top it all off, your pure and kind eyes. He always asked you how your day was, just to hear your voice. Whenever you asked about his, he would try to reply with a smile all the time because he knew you loved his smile. You both understood each other easily and fit like a perfect puzzle. You were, quite literally, a precious flower in his sight.

You.

Yoongi wasn’t in the right state of mind, as he likes to put it politely, when he met you. He stumbled across your shop when running away from overbearing fans. He had run in and shut the door when he heard a lilting “may i help you?” he whipped his head to find the source of the voice and found you with an arrangement of tulips and pansies in your hand. “just for a while, okay? how do you lock the door?” he said gruffly, irritated that he couldn’t even take a walk for peace of mind. You slide from behind the counter and lock the door behind him. Your floral fragnance isn’t strong, Yoongi notes, somehow not even minding the closeness. He looks at you, your lips moving, talking to him it seems. “…bit of tea perhaps? i know the shop can be a bit overwhelming, sometimes?” He blinks and says surprisingly, “i’d like some tea, please.”

Smiling fondly at the memory, Yoongi focuses at the task at hand. He arranges the flowers in the vase, hoping you’d like it. Tulips and peonies, you had told him one day, was your favourite arrangement. “they symbolize perfect or deep love,” you had said when putting a simple bouquet of tulips on his desk, “a love like ours.” Yoongi fixes the position of the peonies and smiles. When he had asked you about the peonies, you simply said, “love,” looking at him among the vast ocean of flowers in your shop.

He places the elderflower cake on the table and places a tiny, heart-shaped candle on it. He looks around, giving the place a once over, ready for it to become one of your best memories.

Min Yoongi has changed, happily. He loves change because it brought you. He loves how his drab and grey apartment has now changed into a lively one, traces of you all over. He sits, waiting for you and looks around, happy with what he’s done with the place. He’s happy. After he met you, he’s been everything that associates with happiness. He’s happy when you understand his bustling mind, giving him his space. He’s happy when you both have misunderstandings because he understands your intricate mind more. He’s happy he’s able to love you like he wants to. He wonders, more often than not, if you’re happy. You always dismiss the doubt, always finding various ways to show him that you’re happy and content.

Because of him.

He’s grateful for the times you hold him when things don’t go right. When everything’s awfully wrong. He’s grateful for your constant reassuring and back rubs, he likes to admit proudly. He’s changed, for good. He smiles and leans back on the chair and hears the front door opening. He gets up and looks at you lovingly, “hey buttercup.” You look around and smile, “i like what you’ve done with the place. something special?” Yoongi smiles, your favourite one, “yeah, something special.”

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skzflix · 3 years

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[201128] hyunjin | all in

#hyunjin #stray kids #skz #bystay #hwang hyunjin #*skz #*gifs #*hyunjin #please show up in the tags plis plis plis #also look at him he is ethereal #flashing tw

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whumperooni · 3 years

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sick

Pairing: Satan x Reader, Lucifer x Reader

Tags/Warnings: jealousy, cucking, very submissive reader, fingering, violence and blood mention, kinda toxic relationship,

Word count: 3k

A/N: this popped into my head and wouldn’t let go so i had to write it u.u

✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣

It makes him sick.

“You picked the red coat? No, no- darling, go put on the black one I bought you. You look so beautiful in it.”

It makes him sick.

“The Fall? Absolutely not- you’re going with me to Lord Diavolo’s tonight. He wants to see you, kitten, and we’re not going to disappoint him.”

It makes him sick.

“Now, now- that’s enough. You had a big lunch today; you don’t need to gorge yourself anymore.”

It makes him sick.

Teeth gritting, Satan watches as Lucifer fixes a diamond collar upon your neck. Fists clenching, Satan watches as Lucifer runs his gaze over your small form and reaches to adjust the hem of your dress.

“Perfect,” Lucifer murmurs. “You look perfect.”

You blink up at him, docile and sweet, and Satan has to look away from the way you smile at his big brother, has to look away from the way Lucifer places his hand to the back of your neck and nudges you to walk out of the room.

You’re so complacent under Lucifer’s thumb- so content. It makes him sick how easily you bend to his will, how you change your life at his whims and submit to his demands without any hesitation or words of protest.

Lucifer doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve someone so sweet and so obedient, so very good.

He doesn’t deserve you and it makes Satan sick.

A scowl crosses his face and he crosses his arms over his chest, tries to ignore the ugly throb of envy that pulses in his chest.

“Satan? What’re you doin’ out here? I thought you were goin’ to Solomon’s tonight.”

The question distracts him just for a moment and Satan takes a breath, closes his eyes and nods.

Solomon’s, yes. He’s supposed to go to Solomon’s- he should go to Solomon’s.

It would be better to do that than stay at home and stew.

He leaves the room before Mammon can pull him into a senseless conversation and he heads to Solomon’s- brow furrowed and a stormy rage brewing through his mind.

✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣

Two in the morning is when Satan arrives home.

Two in the morning and he’s drunk, fumbling with his keys and shoving off his coat with more force than what’s necessary.

He shouldn’t have let Solomon talk him into drinking. He shouldn’t have accepted the wine that had been pushed his way nor the whiskey that Solomon had plied on him either.

But, he had.

He had and now he’s drunk, risking a hangover in the morning and a long day ahead of him.

Stupid. He was stupid.

A huff escapes him and Satan makes his way to the kitchen, grumbles to himself when he nearly trips over a rug.

It’s quiet in the kitchen- blissfully quiet, blissfully without any brothers scrounging around for a late night snack. Satan goes straight for the fridge and he gets himself a bottle of water, cracks it open and downs half of it in one go.

His head throbs whenever he finally stops drinking and Satan presses the bottle to his forehead, sighs as his eyes fall shut.

He’s so tired and the world is so fuzzy- he hates feeling like this.

He hates feeling likes this, but he hates more so whenever there’s a small sound behind him and he turns around to find you.

You wearing a silk nightgown and one of Lucifer’s shirts over it. You with a sleepy face and marks on your neck that your collar can’t quite hide. You who looks at him and then looks away, bites your lip and lowers your head meekly as his eyes narrow.

Of course- why shouldn’t he run into you tonight? Why shouldn’t he be tormented with the sight of you looking so lovely all wrapped up in scarlet silk, looking so thoroughly owned with his brother’s claims marking your soft body and the diamond studded leather wrapped around your throat?

Satan huffs and your eyes flit to them, flit away in a hurry.

You’re not supposed to look at him. Him, or any of his brothers. Any demon or human or angel, actually- only Lucifer, only Diavolo.

It makes him sick.

You don’t speak- you never speak unless spoken to- and that stokes the rage that had simmered down, brings it up to a dull roar that has his eyes narrowing, his lips dipping into a scowl.

So obedient, so submissive- there’s not a hint of a backbone in you and it makes him burn with anger, sear with frustration and fury.

God, he loathes- loves- how weak you are.

He watches as you squirm under his gaze and he watches as your mouth opens and shuts, as some quiet distress has your fingers curling into your nightgown. It only further serves to his eyes narrow even more and his teeth grit as your own dig deeper into your bottom lip, as it trembles.

Pathetic. You’re so very pathetic.

“Speak,” he finally snaps out, unable to stand the silence any longer.

The word is irritated, but your shoulders relax at it and Satan scoffs at the relieved sigh that sounds from you, the way your lashes flutter but your gaze stays on the floor.

“I- I wanted to get some water...I’m sorry...”

Meek, soft- your voice is so small and so apologetic and there’s no reason it should be. There’s no reason it should be so timid and there’s no reason he should enjoy it so much.

It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting.

“Then get some water,” he huffs, leaning against the counter. “No one’s stopping you.”

A tiny noise and your fingers twitch at your side, your cheeks heat as you take a few apprehensive steps forward. If he were just a bit more drunk, Satan might roll his eyes at the display but he stays silent instead, frowns as you make your way to the fridge.

You’re too close to him as you grab the water from the fridge- he can smell your perfume and he can smell Lucifer’s cologne, smell the faint scent of sex lingering on you.

Vile. It’s so vile.

You take the water and you close the door, but you don’t leave as he expects- you hesitate where you stand and you flutter nervous fingers around the bottle, bite your lip once more as Satan watches you.

“What?” he asks, exasperated by you and your meek little display and the way his eyes can’t help but to linger on your curves.

He hates his brother but, gods, does Lucifer know how to dress you.

“I,” you start- anxious, quieter than before, “I...I...can I have a snack? Please?”

You’re asking him if you can have a snack? You’re seeking permission from him for something so basic?

Satan blinks and he wets his lips as his cock stirs, as you squirm and fret before him.

“...you may.”

His approval brings a tiny smile on your face- something that could nearly be called excited. He hates it and he hates the way it makes his heart pound, hates the shy joy that crosses over your sweet features, hates how it makes his eyes grow hooded and a heady sense of satisfaction thread through him.

He hates the way it makes him want to break from his control, pull you to him and make you look at him, make you submit more to him.

Stupid, weak human- how dare you shake him the way you do. How dare you wreck his self-control when you won’t even be his.

“Thank you!”

Sweet, happy- your sincere words has his fingers digging into his arms, his frustration spiraling all the more.

Lucifer doesn’t deserve you.

You go to the cabinets and you have to stand on your tiptoes as you root around them. You’re just so small compared to him, to his brothers and it’s so very horrid how it has his cock hardening even more as his mind flashes with images of you beneath him, you sitting in his lap.

You’d fit against him so well.

A please noise sounds as you find your snack of choice, but it’s drowned out by a click of a tongue, a disappointed sigh.

“Darling, you know you’re not allowed a snack so late at night.”

Satan’s heart stops and you go perfectly still- back rigid and the snack falling from your trembling hands, a quiet whimper leaving you as Lucifer steps into the room.

“S-Sir...Sir I...”

You can’t even finish your apology, can’t form any excuses. If you were anyone else, Satan may pity you. Instead, his rage is fueled even more so and he’s left near snarling as his older brother bypasses him without so much as a glance spared his way to go to you.

“Who gave you permission to have a snack?” Lucifer asks, murmuring the question as he forces you to turn to face him. Like this, Satan can see your wide eyes and the tears in them, your wobbling lower lip and the shame all over your pretty face.

“It certainly wasn’t me,” Lucifer continues on, hand finding your cheek. “Did my kitten think she could break her rules?”

A tiny whimper, your eyes darting toward Satan, and your head hangs, your small shoulders shake.

And then all of a sudden, Lucifer’s eyes are on him- narrowed, his head cocking, displeasure showing in the way his lips press together.

The aggravation from him has Satan’s scowl shifting into something that’s almost a smirk and he only lifts his head higher as Lucifer looks him over, stares him back down as something vindictive surges through him.

Oh, he wants to rub his brother’s face in it. Oh, he wants to gloat over this small, insignificant victory and have his brother’s smooth facade breaking.

“...ah,” Lucifer says, attention turning back to you. “I see. You thought his permission would make it alright?”

Wide eyes widen even more and Satan huffs as you sniffle, as you bob your head in a tiny nod and admit to your mistake.

Disgusting. Weak. God, can you stand up to him even a little?

(No, no, of course not. Because then you wouldn’t be his and then Satan wouldn’t be aching to have you in his clutches.)

“I- I’m sorry...”

A tut from Lucifer and his hand tightens its hold on your face, brings a noise of distress from you and tears that wet your lashes.

“Darling,” Lucifer hums- softly, dangerously, “you’re so very foolish, aren’t you? Don’t you remember who you belong to?”

A gasp and you’re shuddering, Satan is gnashing his teeth as fingers dip below your collar and tug. Lucifer’s gaze moves to him and it’s so amused, so thoroughly entertained.

He could kill him, Satan thinks. He could kill him.

“Perhaps my kitten needs to be reminded of who owns her,” Lucifer muses. “Perhaps everyone needs to be reminded of it.”

Oh, he is not-

“Y-Yes, sir...”

You’re pulled in front of Lucifer before Satan can so much as blink and his shirt is ripped off of you, your nightgown is tugged above your hips. You’re bare underneath it- no underwear to be seen- and Satan’s fury gets waylaid by shock, by want and greed as your thighs are nudged apart and your hips are made to arch back against his older brother.

“Lucifer-”

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Lucifer interrupts- voice so casual as his hand dips low to run a finger through your slit. “Gorgeous, obedient, and so very eager to please. My good little girl.”

Lucifer’s good little girl.

The words have you gasping softly, the touch has your cheeks heating up. You are gorgeous and you are obedient and you are so very eager- your hips grind against Lucifer’s fingers as he dips them inside you and Satan hates seeing it, hates that his cock is harder than before, hates that his hands twitch with the need to reach out and touch you, feel your silken wetness for himself.

“Ah, sir...”

The soft mewl comes out sweetly, so darling and dear. It makes Satan’s eyes narrow and his teeth clench, but the smirk the graces his brother’s face has him growling in envy, his hands tightening into fists.

Bastard.

“She’s exquisite,” Lucifer murmurs. “Always so wet, so easy to rile up. It feels like heaven sliding into her. And she so does enjoy being filled- don’t you, darling?”

“I- oh- oh, yes! Please!”

Needy- your quiet cry is so needy.

You’re so needy and Satan is so hard. Hard, avaricious, furious at the situation unfolding before him.

How dare Lucifer pull this? How dare he dangle you like a treat never to be savored before him?

Magic crackles along Satan and he snarls, pushes himself from the counter and glares all his rage toward his older brother and the moaning beauty before him.

“Stop. It.”

Lucifer’s smirk grows and his fingers plunge deeper into you, you cry out louder than Satan has ever heard before as you thighs shake and your body tilts forward with a moan.

“What?” Lucifer asks, taunts. “Are you bothered by this? You don’t want to see her losing herself to pleasure?”

He does- god, he does. But he wants to see you losing yourself to pleasure brought on by him. He wants to break you apart and have all your mewling, whimpering pleas all to himself.

“Perhaps you want to indulge in her?” Lucifer muses, thumb moving to grind along your clit. “Perhaps you want to fuck her yourself?”

“Lucifer-”

“Kitten, do you want that? Do you want anyone but me?”

A whimper, a shake of your head- you sniffle and you shake at the question, have to be held up by Lucifer to keep from collapsing onto the kitchen floor.

And Satan- Satan’s heart cracks and his rage explodes along with the cups drying on the counter, the plates stacked in the sink.

How dare Lucifer? How dare you?

The noise of breaking dishes has you startling and the step that Satan takes toward you has you stuttering out panic, but he can’t see it- can’t acknowledge it- as his tail slams against the cabinets and makes their contents tumble onto the floor in rushing, loud heaps.

“L-Lucifer!”

“Shh, darling,” Lucifer soothes- unruffled by the threat Satan carries, uncaring at the volcanic fury threatening to be unleashed. “He knows his place. He knows your place.”

“My place? My place?!”

The words fly from Satan’s mouth before he can think to contain them and his snarl has the kitchen rumbling, has tears dripping down your cheeks and your hips squirming against Lucifer’s hand.

Lucifer only hums and he retracts his fingers from you, licks your juices from them with a sneer.

“Absolutely decadent.”

Satan moves so fast that the kitchen becomes a blur and his hands seek Lucifer’s neck, his claws reach to dig into that arrogant neck and slice it to bloody pieces.

He’s thrown across the room before he can so much as bring a drop and the impact has the fridge denting, food scattering along the floor, and a terrified cry ripping from you.

“Sir!”

Sir? Sir? Even after Lucifer throwing him across the room all you can think about is that bastard?

Disgusting. You stupid little wretch.

“Sir! Lucifer! Please- please don’t-”

A scoff sounds and ebony wings appear, wrap around your trembling form and pull you closer, hide your glittering tears from view.

“Look, now you’ve upset her,” Lucifer huffs. “My poor little darling.”

“Fuck you!”

A whimper, a tut, a snarl. You’re lifted up and you tuck your face into Lucifer’s neck, cling to him like the pathetic, weak, disgusting thing you are. Satan heaves himself out of the wreckage and you flinch as he growls, sniffle and whine as Lucifer’s arms tighten around you.

“Come, kitten, you shouldn’t have to see something so ugly.”

And just like that, you’re whisked away and Satan is left to sweep the counter free from its contents, snarl and rip chunks of marble out of it and hurl them against the wall.

They explode into dust and he heaves, rakes his claws through his hair and shakes with so much rage it has the whole house quaking.

The sounding of running footsteps are drowned by the pounding in his ears and Satan growls as he grips onto the sink, nearly falls to his knees as his fury pulses so thick and bitter it has him choking.

Vile. Disgusting. Sick.

It’s all so sick.

Satan drops into a crouch and he presses his hand to his mouth, tears at his flesh as he shakes and breaks under the weight of his horrid rage and greed and heartbreak.

Repulsive. Weak.

He’s so pathetic- just as pathetic as you are.

Satan squeezes his eyes shut and he grits his teeth as his brothers spill into his room, slams his fist against the floor as a sweet, teary cry sounds from high above.

“Satan?! Satan what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Satan-”

He stands and he wipes the blood from his cheeks, storms past his brothers and to his room, hurls a vase at Lucifer’s door when he passes it and he hears you whimper out a loud “please!”

He doesn’t stop until he gets into his room and he slams the door behind him, collapses onto the floor and buries his fingers into his hair, snarls because his cock his still hard and he can’t get the image of your heated cheeks and stuffed, sweet crux out of his mind despite the rage and the violence and your fear.

It makes him sick.

He makes himself sick.

Satan curls into himself and his tail wraps around his body tight, his heart thuds faster and faster as his frustration spirals with the threat of him lashing out once more.

He’s so sick. This whole house is sick.

The thought that he will never have you makes him sick.

It doesn’t stop him from stroking his cock to the sound of you being ravished, though, and it doesn’t stop him from gasping and growling and coming to the thought of snatching you away from his big brother, fucking you senseless in front of that bastard and putting you in a collar of his own.

Someday.

Someday he’ll make his brother feel as sick as he does.

And Lucifer, you, everyone will rue the day.

#satan x reader #lucifer x reader #rooni's shit #ahahahahahahahhahahaha sorry for this i guess #but not really #had to feed the brain worms

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misterbitches · 3 years

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i had the misfortune of finally watching/getting through what happened in whatever episode where he gets raped so im gonna talk about it and tag it cos that's what a bitch fuckin feels like, got it? i do what i want aint no limit bad ass bitch aint never been timid. woopsie realized i got the nicknames confused oh well lmao

it's just logistically and plot wise like there's literal plot holes in this and i'm taking the production and set-up into account along with the actual content and development. im an ARTIST OKAY im jk i mean i am and i am pretentious and terrible but look. i didnt get that degree and im not in a house worth of debt for nothing ok. it's called writing on tumblr about my grievances of shows that dont matter and do not respect me as a fat black american woman either so it is my fault yet here i am.

anyway it was worse than i imagined and their talk after (with chengren) was even worse. that's what i mean about making the lines their own (the actors) bc teng teng sounded like a straight up motherfucking moron and im like

bECAUSE IT'S HIM EVEN THO IM LIKE WHAT THE FUCK DID U JUST SAY U STUPID BITCH? but then it's like awwww and they also care about his wellbeing obviously??? but no? but it's like ok still teng teng said it even if it's stupid because he is a character and charles puts that forth. the people that fail the most to do that are xing si's family but that's not the actors fault because it's the literal material. you're like wait what but you just said...?

so i know they have no script editors i guess i think i find this season ACTUALLY fascinating because of just how egregious it is. i also went back and watched history: obsessed which i thought i liked because of their chemistry even though god the production....but i tried rewatching it and i was like wow this is worse than i remembered and the production issues were even worse because some of the music was SO LOUD AND BAD HOLY FUCK and their whole rship isssssss a sight to behold lmao

so man i guess it really is the power of anson/charles. which is good cos we love to see it...sort of but also a lot.

i honestly....because i've been able to pay attn more to the aftermath of the rape going back and putting it into more context and focusing (just barely lmao) is hm even worse. the inconsistencies are insane. it's not even just about the act but the writers have zero idea where they are going because they have no interest in exploring it. but the way in which it happens is like fascinating. yong jie literally thinks he owns xing si and it doesn't matter if he was kissing him or not or asked for a kiss on the lips (which dude what the fuck? i'll get to that) because he was plied with "extremely strong drinks" and his mom knew about it....which girl congrats you're an accomplice to the rape of your son by your other son?

but first of all...the kissing thing. in what fucking world would he (xing si) want that unless he thought he (yong jie) was someone else. i can't say their attraction is evident because we are being lead by this team to think so; they create this false sense of sensuality already so to me that signifies that they never intended for them to have a bond as brothers. it just feels cheap and fucking lazy (which it is.) even if he did, which doesn't make sense considering the context THEY CONSTRUCTED, it wouldn't matter because he was so fucking drunk which.... at that point nothing is fun, you feel sick, who wants sex like that? does he not have whiskey dick? did they have a condom? was it not painful for him considering? even if this was something to easily get over like was the dick good? it couldn't have been. and then, on top of that, there's the fact that you can change your mind or whatever but also that people do get aroused in these situations bc it is human nature (that's if they can literally get aroused which if the drinks were allegedly sooooo strong that nigga would be out so....again like even practically here it doesnt add up. have these people ever been drunk? if not, write what you know girl. cos sometimes it's like i think some of u r trying to be cool when u dont have 2 b lmao)

so yong jie coming on to him previously may be seen as like push-and-pull but here's the thing. right after it happens (the rape and it's rape so call it that you'll be okay) xing si gets up and goes home and is terrified and upset. he acts like what we have seen or even felt after a violation. he's scared, clutching his bag, it's like...you know...decently coming off as truly distressing (the actor isn't bad at all and i like that he's dark. i just massively hate this for him but hey at least he can show some chops.) like honestly man that fucking sucks and hurts to see. if we've been there we feel it. or part of it is realizing belatedly what happened. a lot of times that drop in your stomach is the worst.

but somehow for some reason, to which i cannot understand, the three of them begin to talk as if xing si pressured him? which maybe i missed something and that is possible—dont feel like going back to look—but that also made no sense. like what kind of false memory is this? why would he think he wasn't willing? and if he thought yong jie wasn't and that he pressured him how does he remember like...anything about the sex?!?!??!? besides waking up and being with him. like i guess he felt yong jie's MASSIVE DONG imprint but ??!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!??!? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!!!!

god then the logic of the top/bottom thing is like i said i wasnt going to get into it but it's actually really funny. this whole thing was hilarious. honestly because I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANS. he could have totally raped him in that way but how did you get to this CONCLUSION FROM THAT??????? BY YOUR LOGIC THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS? IF HE IS THE BOTTOM AND PENETRATION IS THE ONLY FORM OF TRUE CONSUMMATION AND RAPE BECAUSE APPARENTLY, BASED ON ANATOMY, IF YOU HAVE A DICK IN UR BUTT UR A GIRL THEN HOW. DOES. THIS. MAKE. SENSE. AND THEN

AND THEN

this whole stupid conversation happens so we get to the conclusion that xing si violated him ok cool but that means that something is wrong. that is the CONCLUSION WE CAME TO A SECOND AGO?

also the other rapist is a villain and muren isn't in love with him so, once again, you're breaking the rules of your own world about acceptability which is why most of this is absolutely mind bogggglinG that iit's fuckign comical. like i actually when i can stomach it start laughing or my jaw is slack because it's so insulting as a viewer because there is like 0 logical followthrough.

because whatshisface barges in, kisses him in front of his friends without permission, then says whether you were willing or not which is hm. at that point how u gonna change that around but let's not bother with logic here. i am simply here to point out how this makes no sense according to the rules they set up even outside of the basic rule of life which is hm dont rape people maybe.

so now we know xing si was raped, they believe he was raped, he himself believes he was raped, and whatshisface literally says he doesn't care even if he was willing (he wasn't) so he admits to rape. i don't believe in the police and i hate them (BL industry needs the cops but dont get me down that road) but no one...thought to go?

because according to history 4 logic nothing matters so im sure if he went to the police you could handwave the homophobia since there's no actual context for anything besides their whimsy. but they dont want to do that because they aren't interested in an arc of growth; redemption isn't possible unless he is removed from the family but again no work on thinking this through or thinking about the victim's feelings. because gay sex? who fucking knows. supposedly progressive taiwanese writers of gay shit (like how supposedly progressive the world is. as in it is not and this behavior is the norm and bl perpetuates that) can't think of transformative justice?

and then they gave bad advice so we wont acknowledge that because teng teng doing anything wrong/stupid is frequent but hurts me and also that storyline is not real so i pretend they are not there outside of this post

so all of this is just straihgt up clownery now because it's fucking absurd like logically, practically, human-wise. the kissing thing is inconsequential but it was such a lazy cheap way out lmao cos they really wanted it to seem consensual but that's not how it works. on top of that their attraction makes no sense because whatshisface is just there. he is just there. he's nothing and no one so the sentiments are even more empty and on top of that he doesnt listen to a single request fucking obviously because the basis of their relationship is fucking rape so fucking listening and respecting his partner is not on his list of fucking priorities. he's literally so fucking annoying even without being a rapist it's like someone please beat his ass.

and then after all of that you want us to feel bad? with your horrible writing, poorly misplaced music, stupid costumes (those fucking SHOES THEY ARE HIDEOUS, AND MOST OF THIER CLOTHES DO NOT FIT IT'S LIKE WHY), questionable fucking editing. we're supposed to wnat them together? this sounds literally fucking crazy but bear with me lmao even with the rape they could at least have SOMETHING i mean like i cant believe im fucking saaying this. but like in addicted heroin which is fuckin tragic and awful at least there's a MODICUM of interest but honestly that show s a fucknig drag. idk they lookd good together? here we have 0. nothing. and it doesnt motivate. watching obsessed again i can see why i liked it in the beginning bc they have good chemistry but the acting and production adn like everything about it plus the rape-y vibes it's just too much. you need to pick one thing so if you're going to be a shit writer at least supplement it with something. this thing is nothing.

and even more nonsensical and what boggles my mind frankly out of all this is the mother's involvement and the father's final response. there are NO consequences? theyre all happy?

ok so lets go through this:

1. 2 boys grow up 2gether, one of the boys is fucking psycho, the mother knows but does nothing??????????????

2. one of the sons moves out so his father doesn't get a hint that's he's fucking gay. ok fine. he has 2 best friends, a job, an apt. he is fine.

3. aforementioned brother is obsessed with him for SOME REASON besides being crazy?

3.5 no one has done anything during him growing up to help him not be crazy?

4. mom says to husband who is their father also just in case we forget "im afraid he will lose his humanity"

4.5 again, do nothing. 0. just like oh man hes crazy. guess that's just our son ;)

4. who cares. plies him with alcohol purposefully to rape him. not even dubious (even though dubious is fucked and not okay or is just not. fucking real. these shows are contextless when they want to be or even movies or whatever so it's like largely not up to the task to understand complexity in human rships and then oversimplifies it constantly because that's what we do IRL. but people have fucking feelings you know and we realize when things don't feel good or right to us either very quickly after or having to process it. and once you're eyes are opened you may feel as something was fucking ripped away from you. for the modc couple this would be a very logical conclusion for the high schooler the thirty year old dated but again logic or feelings are up to their whimsy. no one cares bc everything can be counted as dubious so honestly it's a fucking stupid fucking topic like again why are we litigating what is and isnt consent when you could just like idk. read cues? consent? wait? not be a freak? like we all know what is proper human shit so even if we are watching this uncritically which u cant bc it's glaring and stupid it's just even more dumb) so it was honestly a rape plot like he literally planned it soooooooooo??!?!

5. aftermath of rape the victim is like literally fucking bereft and confused. and a rape victim. like that's what they are insinuating and what also he is to be clear.

6. boy tells him "idc if i raped u i luv u lmao"

7. mom ENCOURAGED THE BOY to get him drunk because her other son was too nice? she encouraged her adult son to rape her adult step-son (but her real son because she repeatedly says you are my son and the dad does too THEY GREW UP TOGETHER WHEN THE KID WAS IN AN IMPRESSIONABLE STATE) so THIS ALSO MAKES EVEN LESS MOTHERFUCKING SENSE

8. everyone finds out about his rape and he isnt mortified he's just concerned about himself being gay to his dad?????? except it's not really about his gayness bc now it's about his sudden love for his rapist brother? which? hm ok. understandable the dad is like wow i do not think i like this

9. dad knows all of it is fucked up, everyone does, knows the mother fucked up, knows he fucked up. doesnt like it because he is normal. so we know this is terrible? ok great so—

10. father says "i can't accept this...but i'm willing to give you my blessing" ok see here's the thing. when you write you have to think about the things you are putting on the page and what you have written previously. this quite literally made no sense how the fuck are you going to not accept them but give them your blessing? does this crew know what the fuck words are? i'm assuming they went to some sort of school to obtain jobs here bc there cannot be natural talent or experience. maybe most of them are rich. fuck i do not know but this also makes no sense. just the literal logic of it it's like fucking insane the whiplash.

10.5 apparently this father is also shitty. everyone here sucks and they are basically begging me to think xing si is a fucking idiot so i dont even want to look at him if he is an object he doesnt matter so now i want to kick him. thanks a lot you made the victim get absolutely fucking nothing

they KEEP PUSHING the brother thing it is so insane and it's liek GUYS WE GET IT WE UNDERSTAND THEYRE "RELATED" BUT NOT RELATED SO IT'S OK HE WAS "RAPED" BUT NOT RAPED but you're GOING BACK ON YOUR OWN RULES!!!!!!!!!! WE GET THAT THEY ARE BROTHERS!!! WE'RE OVER IT NOW BUT WHAT IS THIS WHEN WE ALREADY ESTABLISHED SOMETHING? I AM CONFUSION? they flip flop between my son, my brother my actual brother, and cannot fucking distinguish between love for your father and love for your romantic partner? so to me what i see is that the father wants to fuck the son. that's the conclusion i am garnering now considering nothing matters and his love for his "brother" is the same as his love for his dad lmao. they couldnt even do that in a way that made sense. like damn anybody can get anything. these ppl who are doing this have to be fucking rich and/or have connections.

also this guy sounds literally like a textbook abuser like he says constantly "im the best choice" is a rapist is awful holds capital (oh hees "saving" smh ur trapping her!!!!! RETIRE!!!!) also wears terrible shoes so i am like ur alllllllllLLLLL FUCKING CRAZY ur all literally crazy and then they are trying to set rules and boundaries in their fucking house like WHY ARE THEY LIVING TOGETHER EVEN? even tho oh my god they know he raped him and for some reason they are both allowing to live in the house but they dont want them to have sex??!?!?!??!??!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?! i get that this is their house but this is like at this point these ppl are writing anything and now whatshisface is acting like a 2 yr old again and we are supposed to find this cute? like it makes 0 sense why do u fucking care u literally encouraged ur son to rape him so they cant have consensual sex under your nose now and have to wait four years? this is coming from the son who couldnt wait until someone was sober enough to realize hes fucking psychotic and should be killed also the fact that they act like being 20 means u have no fucking brain like this kid is in med school supposedly how do we know like hes a liar and an idiot so. also wait do they mean undergrad? how are you in med school at 20? is he a genius? girl i dont care lmao i guess i missed that but it's not like it matters so whatever

even if we ignore the stupidity of the literal acts, the grossness of the content, the absolute inability to write coherently or even remotely in a way where we would even want to see them together which is like....u set it up at the beginning so he punches "the love his life's best friend" also holy fuck im sorry remember when he punches muren because xing si got too drunk. so i'm guessing whatshisface is that good of a bartender that he makes super strong drinks and gets xing si drunk but his alcohol is magical therefore it doesn't make him sick. his alcohol is the type that gets you drunk but somehow doesnt get to your liver even though that's how we get drunk but dont ask guys he's only in med school and a bartender so i think he knows best (seriously have the main writers had a day of fun in their lives? have they ever been drunk? are they toddlers? drunk babies could probably do better tho.) i get that he was also jealous but if this kid is SOOOOOO genius (he understands social cues lmao he has the cpacity to project onto his victim so im like miss me with the not understanding shit. go to a fucking therapist like seriously did no one care abt this kid? his mother thinks he's like almost a goddamn murderer. how is she not dead? how are they all not dead? how do any of them know how to drive with this type of brain?) then he would understand that they are very clearly friends since he watched them part in a very platonic way and since he apparently knows what love is cos he thinks....he can....make someone fall in love with him bc he loves them? again, i wouldnt know hes 20 and taiwanese and im 29 and black from AMERICA so im WESTERN* so you know. different life experiences i guess XD

even if we do mental gymnastics to get it to a place where they "had sex" and he didnt rape him there's 0 ZERO ZERO ZERO ZERO ties to the literal story they wrote and the rules they set up. i'm going ot assume they dont know wtf theyre doing and i know for a fact we all care more about their dumb show than they do but it's actually startling how piss poor this is it's like idek what to compare it to. the continuity is awful awful awful they needed a script supervisor majorly and they are making bank and are going to make fucking bank fof this shit. and itll just continue like that until IRL material changes and that's facilitated by these very same groups they choose to profit off of and exploit by propelling it into the mainstream and litigating homosexuality through capitalism. and i'm being specific with homosexuality. i dont want a GL market like at all and i know why we wouldnt have it either and that has everything to do with the nature of BL, capitalism, coercion, and the fanbase being young girls and women. i don't think in this day and age we can safely say all the fans are straight; i'm sure a majority but many women or people on the gender spectrum and sexuality spectrum also consume it. frankly, it's possible the women who write it could be or something too. i dont rly believe any1 is str8 lmao but im just saying it's not out of the realm of possibility. but it isnt about that at all. that's why we wont see "good" female characters (like well written) often that's why we won't see trans women or kathoeys or fat people or black asians in it. a lot of it is is a choice we participate in whatever. but holy fuck dude u could at least respect the audience's fucking intelligence. i'm talking about everything i think that is encapsulated in the project but it's even more jarring and worse because it's so insanely inconsistent and poorly done. like how we jump from one conclusion to another is wild to me. even their first "night together" and he wakes up im like girl....u no ur ass felt it. this nigga broke into his house and was like "im gonna have u" like it's getting weird

just make xing si suffer offscreen not us the stupidity is staggering, mind blowing, hilarious.

how wong kar wai, a straight man from HK (or at least married to a woman), or barry jenkins, a striahgt black man, write/do stories well about people they wouldnt knw about their experiences directly is....well thinking like using their brains and like knowing all types of people? the man who co-wrote moonlight is a hOMOSEXUAL, leslie cheung was fucking gay or queer (and he committed suicide and that's important also RIP homie) both are hailed as queer cinema like WKW wanted to do something else and invested time into it, changed the way he played around with structure, moved away from his crime oriented stuff. he THOUGHT about it and this film is about their reality. it's a harsh film, idk how i feel about it (but my fav movies of his are the crime ones or the messy ones where it's clear he didnt write a script lmao fallen angels is one of my fav movies its' abt assassins kinda) but i know it means something. and he didnt like what HK had previously wasnt enough. it is not the only cinema that should be shown since it's such a stark reality and depressing but it is a real depiction so we can have all sorts of stuff. no this isnt WKW level or moonlight level but i know for a fact these people think they are doing something because artists always do i say this as one and someone who is equally as useless. you're making a statement.

i also hate the westerner component of peoples analyses. first of all dont do cultural relativism. we can critique and respect. but second of all how are we going to keep saying "dont put western ideals on this" when that is what is happening anyway because that's part and parcel for soft power and capitalism. how about taiwan's history with the KMT? what about the regimes young people fought about? aided by US imperialism which permeates through society and affects material conditions, views, democracy, identity and that goes into culture and media. hm? what about that? is that reality too fucking western for people? that we are doing the same thing again now? is that okay to talk about or is that only on your time?

then there's the argument that this is just entertainment. yea no shit but the thing is if we r gonna talk about marginalized groups and watch bc of marginalized groups and then be expected to identify then i dont see why i cant put this in context. even if it wasnt fucking serious we'd still judge it. but it's so pompous and again like i wouldnt say EYE think it's art but it is "art" in the literal sense and no self respecting artist would ever go "man this means nothing." of course im not sure if they do respect themselves so hey but u cant just go oh man it's entertainment when it literally rests on the fact that HOMOS are MARGINALIZED. it literally rests on the fact that WOMEN ARE OBJECTS. you either want progress or you dont. i dont understand being so demanding but not beign specific in the demands and not trying to use your brain. if you dont want to use your brain don't. but if you are looking , engaging, and keep making these arguments or telling ppl it doesnt matter whilst complaining about how much others care is hypocritical at best, willfully obtuse at worst. both bad. :)

(also all this + another thing; it is insulting to have this like wedding happen based off of this stupid relationship when people fought so hard and had to push it. now they can use the material conditions to their advantage but it's so ridiculous. also because there is difficulty still in getting married in taiwan i'm honestly like....the boldness of the writers...)

#history 4 #history 4: close to you #*dont call me western ever #a thot

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e-merge-2021 · 3 years

Text

B.R.I.N.G.I.T.O.N

Between all of the interactions that occur on a day-to-day basis, it’s almost inevitable that some brands would end up conversing with others on Twitter. While exchanges between celebrities are generally a heated battle, big brands need to show their humanity through these interactions.

Twitter feuds do occur, but they are not necessarily a negative interaction between the companies involved. Some of them do end poorly or are not done as tastefully as you would hope, but these digital fisticuffs can also show the witty personality of the brand, and bring in a lot of retweets and mentions at the same time.

Task in Hand:

You are the Head of Marketing for the respective TV show that you choose and you are to convince the Board of Netflix to list your show on their OTT platform. This must be done on Twitter and your major objective is not just to market your company, but also to give witty replies to other competitors and ensure that it acts as a mode of marketing. The below excel file is password protected and the answer for the same is hinted at in the task write-up. Once you open the excel file, you will find another link that will take you to the Google sheet, wherein you can choose your TV shows. P.S. The password is not case-sensitive.

Click here to get the attached file

Deliverables:

First Post - A Video Advertisement to promote your show Last Post - A Jingle to promote your show Minimum Tweets - 7... We guess? Maximum Tweets - Unlimited :) Have Fun & Be Creative, Plis

Remember: Please stick to the last and first post format You have to promote yourself and roast the other SHOWS Post Timings - 9am - 2pm, 20th August 2021 Please tag @ fake_netflix for every one of your tweets/posts

Have fun on Twitter!

Also, we wanted to put a creative quote over here, but we don't think it applies to y'all. Prove us wrong? :)

@fake_netflix

Deadline - 2pm, 20th August 2021

For any queries, feel free to contact: . . . Figure it out by yourselves.

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magnoliasinbloom · 4 years

Text

Moodboard Challenge

A huge thank you to @outlanderlush and @iamnottrisha for organizing this. The moodboard belongs to @outlanderlush, the story belongs to you all. Hope you enjoy.

AO3 / Magnolias In Bloom Master Fanfic List

Mayfair

This was not his sort of scene at all.

James Fraser stepped silently behind his colleagues into the smoky darkness of The Mayfair Club. The boys had insisted, to celebrate their law firm's latest contract. The pulsating beat spilled out onto Dover street and Piccadilly, as the hour grew close to midnight.

He'd heard of this place. He'd never had reason to visit it, though. He found his thrills elsewhere: in the courtroom, in a swimming pool, and a few years ago, in Afghanistan.

He imagined he could feel the scar tissue on his back prickling in apprehension as scantily clad serving staff paraded by, balancing loaded trays. It was Friday night and Mayfair was jumping.

Raucous calls greeted the group, as the manager slapped Dougal’s back and set the men up at a prime table in the middle of the club, from where they could monitor all the action. The décor was lush and elegant, as befitted one of the most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs in London. They were immediately plied with champagne in silver buckets; one word from the manager, and Jamie found the group surrounded by swatches of bare skin. Women danced all around them, lively with the prospect of huge tips.

John Grey, an Englishman in the midst of Scots who did not care overmuch for the attentions of women, sat back and laughed at Charlie Stewart and Dougal MacKenzie’s exploits. For once mindful and respectful of the club’s rules, they kept their hands to themselves, but that did not stem their lewd comments and lascivious stares. All of it made Jamie feel slightly ill.

He took a seat next to John, shaking his head politely at a blonde girl who offered to dance for him. Instead, he ordered a whisky neat, crossed his legs, pulled out his phone, and settled in for a long night.

And then he saw her.

He had thought to drown himself in drink, but instead he found himself foundering in her whisky eyes.

She was taller than most, towering even higher on ten-inch stilettos. Her brown curls were nestled under a black bowler hat; her hair reminded him of the different hues of water in a burn, when it ruffled over the rocks. In his native Scotland, he would call her mo nighean donn, his brown-haired lass.

All of this flashed through his mind in a second. She hadn’t noticed him, of course. Her own gaze was focused on the horizon; a horizon that held a gilt-edged mirror, random patrons, and flashing lights. She leaned casually against the bar, seemingly bored.

Dougal caught Jamie’s gaze and smirked. “Interested, are ye, lad?”

Jamie sat up straight and looked at Dougal. “No, Uncle, ‘tis alright. Just tired.”

“Och, Jamie my boy, there’s no need to be shy. I’ll buy ye a lap dance.” Dougal gestured towards the women at the bar, until he caught someone’s attention. A thin blonde waif sauntered over. Jamie could feel heat crawling up his neck as she approached; it spread to his face until he was sure it matched his red hair.

“Uncle, really, I dinna want—”

“Lass, I’d like ye to take care of my nephew here.” Dougal waved a thick wad of notes while Jamie felt he would die of shame.

The woman glanced at Jamie, who refused to glance up from his lap; her eyes gleamed, and spoke to his uncle.

“Perhaps a private room would be better, if you insist on spending that much.” She batted her eyelashes at Dougal and smiled. She called the manager over and whispered in his ear. He nodded and took the money from Dougal.

“This way please, sir.” The last thing Jamie wanted was a lap dance, but he figured it would be better in a private room; he would simply tell the lass he didn’t want her to perform. She could sit and rest for a while, or go do something else. The dance was paid for anyway, and he’d avoid further comments from Dougal. After that, he would leave, no matter what—he was tired and the thumping music was giving him a headache.

Jamie was led down a short hallway to a secluded area lined with small rooms. They had no doors; instead, satin curtains dropped from the doorframes. There was a low-lying table in front of a plush banquette seat; everything was lit in purple tones and soft electric candelabra. The music volume was not as earsplitting here. Jamie took a seat, defeated. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking deep breaths. He heard the manager greet someone and he opened his eyes again.

It was the brown-haired beauty from the bar.

Jamie swallowed hard. This was not who he was expecting. Now she would think he had requested her for a lap dance! He felt his face burn, hot with embarrassment. He tried not to look at her; she had changed her outfit into some sort of dancer’s leotard—except he’d never seen a dancer wear a leotard that was practically see-through, lacy, and black. The hat was still perched on her head.

“Make sure he’s well taken care of, eh, love? He’s a VIP client, mind. Show the lad ‘ere a good time.” The manager—Stephen, his tag read—touched the woman ever so slightly on the small of her bare back. Jamie could see her visibly shudder; she had a glass face that did nothing to hide her distaste. He felt like punching the living daylights out of Stephen, but before he could react, the woman waved the manager away and drew the satin curtains shut.

“Miss, I’m sorry, I dinna want—no offense, but ye dinna have to dance for me, truly—”

She turned to him with a mysterious smile; it stopped the words coming out of his mouth. She pointed discreetly at a CCTV camera tucked in the corner of the room and shrugged; she had a job to do, regardless of his wishes. Sultry, upbeat music burst out of hidden speakers, different from what was playing in the club. This seemed to be a cue for her; she stepped forward and climbed expertly onto the table.

He hadn’t wanted this, it was true; but to say he didn’t find her beautiful and sensual would be a lie. Jamie watched, helpless, when she began to dance.

As the lass moved, Jamie forgot about everything else. Her outfit hugged every curve, so no further removal of clothing was necessary. The high, black patent-leather heels clicked almost inaudibly on the tabletop. Her hands were everywhere: trailing down her neck, tracing the contour of her breasts, tracking the outline of her hips. When she turned, the shape of her derriere made a perfect inverted heart shape, covered in the lacy material.

The woman swayed in time to the music, occasionally twirling and dropping the lower half of her body, only to rise up in a fluid motion that reminded him of ocean waves. Her whisky eyes never met his, preferring to keep her gaze on her feet. Her scent—sweet jasmine—enveloped him. Jamie was completely mesmerized, almost forgetting his previous objections to this moment.

Almost.

The vibrating beat changed, now pounding out a staccato bass. Jamie felt an overwhelming sense of dread wash over him, skin tingling. A hole opened up in his chest, sucking the air from his lungs. He could feel his heart sprinting along, trying to pump enough blood to keep him from fainting. The music, pounding like gunfire, triggered the familiar wave of memories from the battlefield six years ago.

James Fraser curled his hands into fists; head between his hands, willing himself to remain conscious, he called out to the dancing woman with beseeching urgency. He thought he was screaming, but it was barely above a whisper.

“Please. Stop.”

- - -

Claire thought he was dying.

She had heard stories about men who suffered heart attacks and collapsed in the club. Fortunately, it had never happened during her performances—until now, it seemed.

She heard him calling in spite of the music. She heard the word stop.

She halted mid-step, arms raised above her head; she watched him for a second, disoriented and sweating rivers, before Claire Beauchamp, nurse, sprang into action. Clambering off the dance table, she landed gracefully on her stilettos. She was at his side, ready to assess and aid the red-headed man before she remembered.

No touching or contact exchange between performers and patrons.

Claire hesitated for a second before recalling Geillis’s trick when she wanted to flout the rules a bit. She pulled the bowler hat off and stepping carefully onto the banquette, draped it over the CCTV camera. It would buy her at least ten minutes, she thought.

The red-headed man was keening softly, rocking back and forth in an attempt to get himself under control. This was some sort of panic attack. His tightly fisted hands trembled as they rested on his knees. Perspiration stood out on his forehead, red curls sticking to his skin. She sat next to him, as close as possible without actually touching him. She wasn’t sure how he might react to her attempts to help.

“Breathe.” Claire’s voice cut through the music. His back and forth motions slowed, as he registered her words. “Just breathe.” She stretched her hand towards him carefully, so he would be aware of her actions. He gulped for air as she gently loosened his tie and opened a few buttons on his shirt.

“What’s your name?” she asked kindly, her hand on his shoulder as he inhaled and exhaled slowly.

“J-J-James.” Pause. “Jamie.” Another pause. “Fraser.”

“Alright, Jamie. I’d like you to tell me five things you can see around you.” Claire’s hand remained on his shoulder, the touch feeling as forbidden as it actually was.

“Five. Things. I…” Jamie took another deep breath, panic his eyes. “I see the table. The curtains, the lights. The seat. You.” She was surprised at the soft Scottish burr of this tone. His eyes blinked slowly and met hers in a calmer gaze, an intense blue she only remembered having seen in nature. The Cornish coast, perhaps.

“Well done. Tell me four things you can touch.”

Jamie glanced at her hand, and Claire quickly pulled it back.

“I’m sorry, Jamie, we’re not actually supposed to—”

“No, it’s fine, lass.” His voice was still stilted; he was still trying to pull the reins of his control. “It was yer touch that helped, at first.” He smiled shakily. “And yer voice, of course.”

The panic seemed to subside. They sat still for a few minutes, until Jamie broke the silence. “Will it cost yer job? I’d be happy to speak to the manager, if ye like.”

“No, I—don’t worry. I took care of it.” She gestured at the CCTV camera once more, and Jamie chuckled at her improvisation.

“Would it help to talk about it?” Claire asked softly,

“I dinna ken.” Jamie hesitated. “I dinna ken if I… can.”

“Was it something I did? If so, I apologize.”

“No, lass, it wasn’t anything ye did. Nothing ye could ever do. It was the song, it brought back… memories.”

Claire nodded encouragingly. Jamie was quiet for a minute before launching into his story.

It was 2013. Lance Corporal Gavin Hayes playing this song on his phone as they cruised through Kandahar.

The convoy in front of them, exploding into clouds of fire and smoke.

His own tank, turned on its side from the blast of a land mine.

The searing pain on his back, the screams of his fellow soldiers, the endless rat-a-tat of shots ringing in his ears. Cries of “Major Fraser!” all around.

“I graduated from law school and I served in the military. My da died from a stroke while I was on active duty. I flew back for a few days from Afghanistan, to attend the funeral, but I had to return. Then the attack happened.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Jamie. About your father and your men.” Claire wanted to touch him again, squeeze his hand, his shoulder, anything to show her sympathy. Noise from the hallway had her jumping up hastily, climbing back up on the table to place the hat back on her head. She began to dance again, her hips swaying in time to the beat. Jamie—James—fixed his stare on his lap, refusing to look up at her.

Claire felt strangely gratified; she was used to men ogling her, to their vulgar comments, and occasionally, men trying to touch her despite club rules. It inspired her next words.

“I’m a nurse.”

Jamie did look up at that, shock on his face. Claire smiled, continuing her sinuous motions.

“I do have a day job, you know. I applied as a dare, but the money is good. I’m used to being up at night, so I pick up shifts here and there.”

“I didna think—that is to say, I wasna—”

“Men would be surprised to know, that’s all. But I don’t think you’re like most men, anyway.” Claire turned, looking over her shoulder at him. “I’m booked for a full hour. What do you want, Jamie?”

Jamie swallowed visibly. “To talk. For ye to come with me, away from this place. And one more thing.”

“What’s that?” Claire touched the brim of her hat, with a glance at the camera that was always watching. Jamie stood.

“Tell me yer name.”

Claire paused, regarding him seriously. She always gave a fake name appropriate to men’s fantasies. She considered the usual (Eliza, Lizzie, Candy, Clara…). She thought about walking out, taking him with her, just to talk. Responding to instinct, she smiled.

“I’m Claire. Claire Beauchamp.”

“Well then, Claire.” James Fraser reached out, their hands entwining as he helped her off the table. “It’s a pleasure to meet ye.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.” Claire gripped the lapel of the coat Jamie had draped over her. He buttoned it up to the neck; the sleeves were too long on her so he folded them over her wrists. He gestured for her to go through the curtains first; he followed her down the hall, pushing the emergency exit door out into the cold night.

Jamie and Claire, hand in hand, left The Mayfair Club together and didn’t look back.

- - -

Claire’s first dance Gavin Hayes’ song Claire’s last dance

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander au #jamie and claire #mayfair #moodboard challenge

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demigodsanswer · 4 years

Text

Once Upon a Point - Chapter 4

Story Summery:

“Annabeth, you’re with Percy,’ Chiron said. Annabeth. She looked like the figurine in a little girl’s music box had come to life to dance in City Ballet. Percy felt like every opportunity to dance with her was a privilege. Just don’t forget the choreography, Percy thought as he got into the right starting spot for the wedding pas de deux. Don’t forget the choreography, and don’t drop her.”

Percy, a soloist with the ballet company, and he is offered one chance to dance with Annabeth, one of their star principals. If he nails the choreography, he might just earn a chance to dance with her. And, if he’s really lucky, he might get a date out of it as well.

Chapter Title: Awakening

Read on AO3

Start from the beginning

Story notes - PLEASE READ

The tags for this story have been updated to reflect the content that is in this chapter and the next chapter. Please check AO3 for the full list, but they do include verbal abuse and non-consensual sharing of nude photos.

(If you have checked the tags, and nothing is a particular trigger for you, the rest of the note may spoil this chapter)

This chapter starts to feature some minimal verbal abuse, as well as consensual sharing of nude photos. The verbal abuse is about halfway through when Luke shows up. That section is marked off with *****. The photos are the last section of the story when Percy is home. That section is marked off with ~~~~~ and goes until the end.

After these two chapters, things will go back to fluff, as well as some hurt/comfort.

Percy slipped into his tights and doublet before slicking his wild hair down with enough gel to make sure it held throughout the ballet. He jumped up and down a few times, shaking his hands, trying his best to get rid of some of his nerves while keeping his muscles warm.

Their dress rehearsal started in a few minutes, but he had plenty of time; he didn’t go on until act two. Still, he wanted to feel ready – to be in his costume, hair, and makeup before anything started. It was safer for him that way. Sometimes large chunks of time just disappeared from him, and if that happened during a show or a rehearsal, he could be caught, literally, with his tights down. Despite this being a recurring stress-nightmare every time he approached a show, it had never happened. Still, he liked to be ready.

He left his dressing room and began to wander backstage, telling passing dancers to break a leg. He didn’t realize how much he wanted to see Annabeth until he ran into her. She was fully costumed-up too – pink, rose-adorned tutu, shoes on, hair back, makeup insane up close but probably perfect from the seats. She was just doing some basic plies and tendus, using a stray folding chair as a barre.

She smiled when she saw Percy, stopping her warmup. “Well, look at you, Prince Charming,” she said, smiling at his costume. It was the first time either of them had seen each other in these. Percy knew what the Aurora costume looked like (the company had used the same design for decades), but it looked like it was suited for her, like she was the only one who had ever, would ever, or should ever wear it. The tutu and leotard were a light pink color, with roses embroidered on the tutu, which held its shape with layers of perfectly constructed tool that, even though it was a pancake tutu, gave the illusion of a beautiful classic ballgown. The top was the same color, with more little roses snaking their way up the straps. The costume didn’t have sleeves, but she did have little ruffles around her upper arms. And for the full princess effect, of course, she had a tiny, rhinestone crown that would glitter fantastically in the spotlight. She looked beautiful.

“You look great,” he said.

She smiled. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Well,” he said, crossing his harms and putting on an ironically cocky attitude, “who isn’t into a man in eyeliner and tights?”

Annabeth smirked. “I think it’s a great look that more men should embrace.”

Is she flirting with me? Percy’s heartbeat with an unexpected excitement.

He was going to say something back to her, when the stage manager announced there were only two minutes until they started. Annabeth looked at him, her gray eyes wide with anticipation.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Percy said.

“Are you going to watch act one?”

He nodded. “At least your part. I might skip the fairies.”

She took a deep breath, before going up on pointe. Percy looked at her, confused by what she was going. They were the same height when she was on pointe (it was one of the reasons they made good a duo). She looked him in the eyes, and for a moment, Percy thought she was going to kiss him, but she just leaned in and hugged him, resting her chin over his shoulder so she didn’t mess up her makeup before the show had even started. He hugged her back, wrapping his arms around her to keep her close to him and to help her keep her balance.

She pulled away after a few moments, smiling at him. “I’ll see you at intermission. My chair and I are going to try and stay warm in the wing.”

Percy nodded. “Break a leg.” He said as she walked off towards the stage.

*****

As the overture started, Percy headed back to his dressing room for his pre-show ritual of freaking out. His entire body buzzed with excitement about the idea of finally having the show up on the stage, but with terror at the possibility that he could fuck everything up.

He headed past the stage door on his way to his dressing room but paused when he saw two familiar faces arguing in the doorway.

“Please, I just want to see her.”

Percy’s breath caught when he saw Luke, standing half inside and half outside of the theater, well-dressed and clean cut as always, fighting with Beckendorf, who, despite being on crutches, was holding his own against the other man.

“I don’t think she wants to see you,” Beckendorf told him. “Leave her alone.” He reached for the door, and tried to close it, but Luke put his hands out, stopping his efforts.

Luke’s face turned dark, no longer politely pleading to see his ex-fiancé. “Oh please. You think I can’t get past a cripple?”

Percy knew Beckendorf – he was a calm, level-headed man, but he could get angry and protective of people he cared about. The last thing Percy wanted was for the two of them to start really fighting backstage.

He walked up to the two of them, putting himself between them, forcing Luke further out of the theater. “What’s going on?”

“This asshole,” Beckendorf said, point at Luke with one of his crutches, “was trying to sneak in and cause trouble.”

“I’m not causing any trouble. I just want to see Annabeth,” Luke protested. He looked at Percy, trying to seem innocent, but Percy trusted Beckendorf’s opinion on Luke. Before Percy could say anything, Beckendorf shot back.

“You think that won’t cause any trouble?” Beckendorf yelled.

“She’s got a job to do,” Percy added, looking at Luke. “She doesn’t need you getting in the way.”

Luke laughed at him. “Heard you’re the prince. You think that means something? You think that means you’re a good dancer?”

“I am good!” Percy said, forcing a confident tone. He could feel his face flushing with embarrassment and anger rising in his chest.

“Come on,” Luke said, smirking at him in a way that made Percy’s stomach churn with anger, “I’ve been in class with you. If you’re the principal here, it’s only because Annabeth wanted a partner who she knew wouldn’t upstage her.” He looks like my Gabe, Percy though. Luke might have been thin, washed, and handsome, but his tone, the look on his face, like nothing would make him happier that to see that he hurt you, was a look Percy has become well acquainted with in the decade he lived with Gabe. Percy remembered some of the passing comments Annabeth had made about him and wondered if he had ever turned this tone on her, or worse.

Percy wanted to hit him, to ruin his perfect smug stupid face, but he held back. He thought about telling Luke that no dancer, not him, not Beckendorf, and certainly not Luke, could ever upstage Annabeth; that she was fantastic all on her own and better off without him. But the last thing he needed was for Luke to catch wind of his affection for her.

“I saw you two dance Diamonds together last year,” Luke continued. “You think I didn’t notice how much you wanted to fuck my fiancé?” He asked. Percy snarled and got ready to hit him, but Beckendorf held him back.

“She’s not your fiancé anymore, and you have no business being here,” Beckendorf told him.

Luke frowned. Percy thought he might just force his way into the building. Instead he just took a step back. “Fine. Who’d want to watch this shitty production anyway? With such a weak partner for a prince, I’m sure it’s going to be just once disaster after another.” He turned around and headed away from the theater. Percy wanted to chase him out and get him back for what he had said. But he couldn’t do anything that would cost him his job or get him arrested, so he held back, staying the theater, fuming with rage.

“None of what he said was true,” Beckendorf said, resting a hand of Percy’s shoulder. “You’re a great dancer, and you earned your role.”

Percy brushed his hand off his shoulder. “I only got it because you’re injured.”

Beckendorf shrugged. “You still beat out all the principals and other soloists.” He said. “And you know Annabeth has no say over the casting. Doesn’t matter who she’d want to dance it with. Chiron picked you.”

Percy nodded, unconvinced. He headed to the stage, two voices ringing back and forth in his head – Do your job, Annabeth’s voice told him. Annabeth wanted a partner, she knew wouldn’t upstage her, Luke said to him.

He got to the wings of the stage as the prologue was completing. He saw Annabeth, standing in position, ready for her entrance. He didn’t go up to her. He couldn’t. He knew she’d know something was wrong right away.

He hung back in the shadows, trying to calm down, as he watched act one. She looked happy and perfect as she flew across the stage.

You think I didn’t notice how much you wanted to fuck my fiancé? Percy shook his head, trying to get rid of Luke’s voice. What an asshole, Percy thought.

Percy watched as Aurora took the spindle from Carabosse, pricked her finger, and fell into her magical deep sleep. Jason, one of her four princes, caught her, and lowered her to the ground as she ‘fell.’ Percy laughed as he watched Annabeth gracefully and subtly lay a limp hand on her tutu to hold it down as she was lowered onto her back.

With such a weak partner for a prince, I’m sure it’s going to be just once disaster after another. Luke’s voice reminded him. Percy’s heart rate picked up as Chiron yelled “Curtain!” Signaling the end of act one. He went on soon; they just had intermission. Do you job, he told himself. That’s all you have to do.

“You are going to be great,” Beckendorf said, coming up behind him. “You two are great partners.”

Annabeth made her way off the stage and back towards him and Beckendorf, smiling wide.

He couldn’t tell her about Luke. At least, not right now. She didn’t need any distractions.

“Annabeth,” Beckendorf said, “perfect as always.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes as she started to rattle off all the steps, she had to quickly adjust to keep from losing her balance and the turns she overshot or landed out of time with the music. Percy barely listened though. You think I didn’t notice how much you wanted to fuck my fiancé? Luke right about that, Percy admitted to himself. But he didn’t want it to end there, or even start there. He watched her head back to her dressing room to get into her act two costume and change her shoes, wondering how an asshole like Luke had ever had the privilege of dating her.

~*~*~

The vision sequence went well; there were no major catastrophes, which was all they could really hope for. Percy rode out of the scene on the Lilac Fairy’s gondola, as the scene changed to Aurora’s room. Annabeth, back in her act one costume, was brought out on her bed, surrounded by her sleeping court. Scrims covered in branches and cobwebs fell, making the stage dark. Percy entered again, staring in awe at Annabeth, before going to Piper. What should I do, she’s asleep? He mimed to her. Kiss her. Piper mimed back. Percy blew a kiss to audience, a way of saying: Of course! I’ll kiss her! Before making his way to her bed.

There was no way to fake a kiss on stage, but the kisses were always gentle pecks. And the almost-nearly-dead Aurora wasn’t supposed to kiss back. But when Percy leaned over and kissed her, he could have sworn she began to kiss back, just for a second it felt like her lips moved to meet his. It was so fleeting, he worried he might have imagined it.

You think I didn’t notice how much you wanted to fuck my fiancé?

Maybe he had imagined it. Or maybe it was an acting choice; it was a sign that Aurora had come back to life, and that she remembered him.

Percy didn’t have time to dwell on this kiss, though. The scrims began to lift, the lights came back to the stage, and Annabeth rose from the bed. The Lilac Fairy re-introduced them, and act two ended.

~*~*~

Percy stood backstage, sharing one last quiet moment with Annabeth, now changed into her white wedding tutu, before entering for the wedding scene. He had a few minutes to make it to the other side of the stage where he would enter, but he couldn’t dally for too long.

“Back where we started,” she said, smiling. He couldn’t help it, he smiled back. Percy looked at her. She had changed into her final tutu – a stunning white beaded costume. His costume was similar – all white from head to toe, but less sparkle. They were about to do the wedding pas de deux, the first dance they had done together for this ballet. But in their white costumes, they almost looked like diamonds. Like diamonds, Percy realized.

At the dress rehearsal for Jewels, Annabeth had run off the stage half-way through their pas de deux, and he never found out why. Luke, he thought. They had both left the company shortly after that.

Percy wasn’t a religious man, but, as he looked at Annabeth, who, even in the darkness of the wings was positively radiant, he sent up a prayer to any god that might listen, begging them to keep her on stage the whole time.

He decided not to remind her that last time they had a dress rehearsal she ran out on him. He figured she remembered well enough on her own.

“How are your legs?” He asked.

She sighed. “Oh, about ready to fall off, but I think I can get through one last dance.”

Percy took her hand and squeezed it. “You’ll be great,” he said.

She squeezed back. “So will you.” It sounded like she really meant it, like she believed in him. Percy tried his best to trust her, but his confidence wavered as he walked off to his position.

He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter what he felt right now, he thought as they entered the stage, he had to be confident in this moment, or else Annabeth would literally fall on her face.

Partnering with a woman in a tutu was a challenge, because it was hard to see her legs. Percy just had to try and sense where her balance was as he pressed her into the air before setting her back down on her toes. He had gotten a good sense of her balance back when they had done Diamonds, and he had become even more familiar in the last few weeks. All thoughts of Luke left his head as the music began. All the mattered was that he and Annabeth danced together. Not as Percy and Annabeth, but as Aurora and the Prince. Artistry, technique, and passion mattered right now, not some asshole ex-fiancé.

By the time they got to the first fish dives, Percy’s confidence had returned. They had spent time in rehearsal practicing these until Percy could do them one handed. Chiron insisted he do them one-handed, because Beckendorf always had. Percy didn’t think that was fair; Beckendorf was the best in the business. Percy was just in the business. But after weeks of rehearsal, they felt natural. He trusted Annabeth and she trusted him.

Annabeth would pirouette with Percy’s hand on her side. As she finished her last turn, he held onto her tight, lifting her up as she sent her face down and forward and her legs up and back. They paused like that for a moment, before he lifted her back up for the second and third dive. They had to trust each other completely in these dives – if she hesitated, she wouldn’t get down fast enough. If he hesitated, she could lose her balance and get hurt. And City Ballet’s tempos were faster than classical companies, even when they used classical choreography; Annabeth had to spin and drop fast, and Percy had to be ready for her.

But the two worked in perfect harmony, hitting every dive on the music. When Percy lifted her out of the last dive, they had a moment where they stared at each other, communicating to the audience that they were completely in love. Annabeth smiled wide at him, her face full of joy to communicate not just that Aurora loved her prince, but that she knew they were doing well. Or maybe, it was just joy at the fact that the ballet was almost over -- relief at knowing she’d be able to rest soon. It didn’t matter. She was happy and not flat on her face on the stage. That was all Percy wanted.

They finished the dance with the final fish dive. This time, Percy had to lift his hand off her waist, as she held herself up by wrapping one leg around his torso and squeezing every muscle in her leg and core as hard as she could. It was amazing move to see from the audience, and Percy knew they had nailed it. He lifted her up, back onto her feet, as they went into their solos and the coda.

~*~*~

When the ballet ended, Percy had a moment backstage to catch his breath and dab some sweat off his forehead before running back out for the bows. After bowing to an audience of Chiron, a few company members, and a few ballet masters, he stepped to the side of the stage and watched as Annabeth entered for her final bow.

When he saw her, he felt his chest tighten with anxiety. The ballet had taken his mind off of Luke for long enough, but there wasn’t any avoiding it anymore. He had to tell her that he had come by to see her.

The memory of the conversation brought back doubts about his own abilities; sure, the rehearsal wasn’t perfect, and performances weren’t really ever perfect either, but he felt like he had done a good job. Well, except for the one set of turns during act two, and the quick choreography adjustment during his solo. Not to mention his near stumble during act three. He started quickly running through ever minor mistake he had made, sure that Chiron would rip into him during notes. He looked at Annabeth again. She had been nearly perfect – as perfect as a dancer could be. Of course, Luke was right, he though.

Percy felt a familiar rage bubbling inside him; it was the same feeling he use to feel around his stepfather or class bullies, like he wanted to pick a fight, to yell at someone, to get even, to prove himself. He took a deep breath, trying to calm those feelings, but his efforts barely succeeded.

“And curtain!” Chiron yelled from the audience, in place of taking the effort to actually lower the curtain. “Good job everyone. Principal and solo roles be back on stage in half an hour for notes. Corps, expect your notes in an email later.”

Everyone nodded at the instructions and headed off the stage.

Percy headed off, but he felt someone grab his hand. “Percy, wait up,” he heard Annabeth say.

He turned around to face her, and her smile fell. “Are you okay?” She asked.

“Can I talk to you?”

She nodded and led him to her dressing room. Once they were inside, she closed the door, sitting in her vanity stool to take off her pointe shoes.

“What’s up?” She asked.

Percy took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, which took some effort considering how slicked back it was for the performance.

“Luke was here earlier,” Percy said.

Annabeth sat up straight, leaving one shoe still on. “Oh.”

Her face was expressionless, like she was waiting for Percy to continue before she let her guard down.

“Beckendorf stopped him at the stage door. He – Luke – wanted to see you,” Percy continued. “Beck didn’t let him in.”

Annabeth nodded, bending down to take her other shoe off as she asked: “Did you talk to him?”

“A little, yeah,” Percy said. Annabeth looked up, her dead pointe shoes in her hand. She looked right through him; her gray eyes were emphasized by the exaggerated stage make up. Her mouth was set in a straight line, like she knew he wanted to say more, and she wouldn’t say anything herself until he did.

“I, uh, just figured I’d let you know that he came by. It was before the rehearsal, so I figured it would be distracting to tell you then.”

Annabeth nodded slowly. “You were right to tell me.” Percy let out a breath. “Did he say why he …?” She trailed off.

“Just said he wanted to see you,” Percy told her. “I joined later in the conversation. Beckendorf might know more.”

She nodded again. “I’ll talk to him about it.” She paused. “Thanks for not letting him in. And for waiting to tell me.”

Percy nodded. The room felt tense, like he couldn’t say anything else, but he couldn’t leave. Annabeth stayed sitting, and Percy stayed standing on the other side of the room.

Finally, Annabeth spoke. “Did he, um … did he say anything else about me?” Her voice was tense with anxiety. Percy remembered the way Luke spoke to him as he looked at Annabeth, her face expressionless and starting forward at the wall of her dressing room. Percy didn’t know if she was trying to control rage or fear.

You think I didn’t notice how much you wanted to fuck my fiancé? “No,” Percy said. “Just talked some shit about the show.”

She looked at him, curious. “What did he say?”

Percy shrugged. “Just some shit about how the production was going to be bad because I’m a weak dancer.”

Annabeth stood up, indignant. “Don’t listen to him,” she said, walking over to him. She shook her head and stared at his chest as she spoke to him, like she couldn’t look him in the eye if she tried. “This is what he does, he wants you to feel small, and weak, and like you’re nothing. Just don’t …” paused for a second, before finally meeting his gaze. “Don’t listen to him. You’re a fantastic dancer, Percy.”

Percy nodded. One side of his brain told him to believe her, to thank her, to kiss her; the other side of his brain told him she was just being nice and that she was in costume changes for all of his solos.

She was staring at his chest again, not looking up at him. He wants you to feel small, and weak, and like you’re nothing. Percy had a feeling she hadn’t just been talking about his experience with Luke. He wanted to find Luke again, and hurt him really bad, make him bleed, make him apologize, but he took a few deep breaths, trying to rid himself of his anger. It wouldn’t help Annabeth.

“Are you okay?” Percy asked.

She looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she admitted after a moment.

He wanted to hug her, but she had her makeup on still, and his act three costume was pure white. He wanted to kiss her but kissing a woman after talking about her ex-fiancé seemed like the wrong time.

But she was still looking at him. Her confusion and sadness blended with the confidence and pride he loved about her. She licked her lips just a bit, and there was suddenly a new tension in the room. Kissing her first would be a bad decision, he decided, but if she kissed first …

He felt the edge of her tutu brush against his legs, and he held his breath. He knew that if he took a single step closer to her, he would --

“Annabeth,” Percy heard Piper say, knocking at the door of the dressing room. “Chiron’s starting notes in a few minutes.”

Annabeth took a step away from him. “I’ll be right there,” she yelled back. “I have to get changed,” she said to Percy, looking down at her white tutu.

Percy nodded. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

He stepped out of her dressing room, and saw Piper waiting for Annabeth in the hall. She was scrolling on her phone, so Percy tried to sneak past her, but the sound of the dressing room door closing caught her attention.

She gave Percy a sly smile when she saw him, and Percy felt his ears get red. “Oh, okay.” Piper said.

“Piper, please don’t – nothing happened –” he stammered.

She put up her hands. “I won’t tell anyone. Scouts honor,” she promised. “But time these things a little better. People will notice if you’re both late.”

Percy nodded, figuring that was the best he was going to get.

~*~*~

Percy stole a few glances at Annabeth during notes and corrections. He never caught her looking back, but he figured she was too proud to look his way.

He offered to walk her to the subway when they were done, but she shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m going to call an Uber. My legs are so tired I don’t think I could make it up the stairs.”

Percy laughed. “That’s fair.”

She stopped when they got to the curb. She turned towards him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Seriously, Percy, don’t dwell on what Luke said,” she was looking at him in the eyes this time. “You’re really fantastic.”

He smiled. “So are you,” he said. “When you’re on stage, no one can take their eyes off of you.”

She shrugged and brushed him off. “That’s just because I’ve got the crown and big tutu.”

“No, it’s not,” he told her.

She smiled and adjusted her dance bag. She looked like she was about to say something else, but her Uber pulled up. “Well, enjoy your few days off,” she said. “I’ll see you at the show.” She smiled and waved goodbye as she got in the car.

“Get home safe,” he said to her.

He didn’t wait for the car to leave this time; instead, once the car door closed, he turned and headed towards the subway, his legs aching with each step.

~~~~~

His infinitely kind mother had a bucket of ice ready for him when he got home. He sat on his bed, ice packs on his quads and his feet in the buckets, his back flat against the mattress. He took a few relaxing breaths, running through the high parts of the rehearsals – the solos he had done well, the compliments Annabeth and Chiron had given him. He also took stock of some of his corrections, noting some things he might work on in the couple of days before the show. He tried to keep Luke’s voice out of his head as much as he could as he ran through the notes, trying to focus on Annabeth. You’re really fantastic, she had said to him.

He checked Instagram and Twitter, liking a few photos company members had posted of themselves in their costumes.

Annabeth had posted one. It was her, standing on pointe in her dressing room mirror in her pink act one costume. “All ready for my 16th birthday! Can’t wait to see who shows up!” The caption read. Percy smirked and liked the photo. He tried to think of something clever to comment, but they all sounded corny. Finally, he typed out “You’re my dream girl!” He laughed at his own joke but deleted the comment before posting. There was a better moment he could use that line, he realized, saving it in his memory for later.

When he ran out of social media to scroll through, he opened his email, hoping there wasn’t anything that needed his immediate attention.

He had a new email from an address he didn’t recognize. There wasn’t a subject or a body. Percy thought about deleting it right away, figuring it was spam or a virus, but the attachments caught his focus.

Annabeth 18 the first one of them read. There were at least six other attachments, all with her name on them.

Without thinking much about it, he clicked on this first attachment.

He sat up straight when the photo loaded: it was Annabeth for sure, but she was much younger. Percy thought he might throw up when he realized that 18 didn’t number the photo, it was her age in the photo. He didn’t look at it long, but he saw it long enough to know she was topless in it, posed on a bed as someone took the picture of her.

Percy’s hands shook as he deleted the email and emptied his trash. He opened his messages and scrolled to Annabeth’s name, but closed the messaging app, opening the phone instead.

He waited for her to pick up, worried that she might already be asleep, but she answered after a few rings.

“I know you’re a gentleman, but you don’t need to call me to make sure I got home okay,” she teased.

“Sorry, I didn’t … I mean, that’s not why …” he couldn’t put his words in order. He hadn’t thought about what he would say to her.

“Is everything okay?” She asked.

“Did you just send me an email?” He asked her.

“No,” she said. “Why?” She suddenly sounded nervous, the playful tone gone from her voice, like she knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“Because I think someone just sent me something you wouldn’t want me to see.”

#once upon a pointe #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #luke castellan #charles beckendorf #Piper McLean #chiron #im very stressd about posting this chapter and the next one #send love if you liked it #cause i need it

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thatanimenerd101 · 4 years

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Powerful Love

Paring: Kirishima x female reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of surgery, hospitals and angst. You may or may not cry.

Note: I will be taking a break from Hawks.

He fell in love the moment he first saw you. You were interning with another hero at Fat Gum’s agency. You were walking out of Fat Gum’s office and he bumped into you.This sent the papers you were carrying flying to the floor Your hair was in a messy bun and you weren't in your hero costume.

“I am so sorry.” You bowed and apologized again. He smiled brightly at you.

“Don't worry about it. Are you alright?” He looked at you to make sure you were not hurt.

You nodded. The boy with red hair bent down and started to pick up the papers that were in plies on the floor.

That day was almost two years ago. You were waiting outside the male locker room for your boyfriend, Kirishima. He'd gotten taller, he was almost six feet tall now. He'd also gotten stronger since his first year at UA. You sat on the bench playing some game on your phone. Kirishima had promised to take you to a movie and a nice dinner. You put your phone in your pocket, ‘am I wearing nice enough clothes. All I’m wearing is jeans and a nice t-shirt.’ The t-shirt was red roit merchandise and Kirishima loved it when you’d wear something with his hero name on it. Even though he was still Fat Gum’s sidekick. He had a few things out to the public.

“Hey pebble.” You look up to find your boyfriend looking down at you.

“Sharkie!” You threw your arms around him. He chuckled.

“Are you ready for tonight babe?”

You held his hands and kissed his knuckles. This made his face turn the color of his hair.

“Of course I am. My boyfriend always knows how to show me a good time with whatever we are doing.”

“Aww, Red Riot is blushing.” A deep male voice said behind you two. The both of you turned around and saw Fat Gum.

“Hi Fat Gum!” You said at the same time.

“Unfortunately Kirishima, you're needed out in the field. I just got the phone call, they need you in the southern district.” Fat Gum paused. “You are also needed in the northeast district h/n. I’m sorry about your plans, but we are heroes and the people need us.” You quickly gave Kirishima a kiss on the cheek and went to get back into your hero clothes.

Kirishima frowned, he was going to ask you a special question. No not to marry you, but he wanted to give you a promise ring. It’s not common but he still wanted to give it to me because it was kinda like an engagement. But a pre one. The poor boy didn’t understand the meaning behind it but Mina said it would be cool. Fat Gum looked down at his sidekick.

“I’ll pay for you two lovebirds to go to the restaurant across the street. The one with chocolate cake.” Fat Gum smiled down. “Have you given her that gift yet?”

“No, I haven’t yet. I’ve tried several times but I mess up my words and it’s really unmanly of me but I’m scared she’ll say no.”

“Say no? You love her and she loves you. It’s as simple as that. Now we got people to save, be ready in five minutes.”

You had finished evacuation and were ready to go back to the agency. Until you looked up at a tv in a storefront window. The headline read ‘The Stredy Hero Red Riot was injured in today’s events, he’s currently on his way to the hospital.’

Once you were given the clear to leave you ran to the hospital. You didn’t care that it was far or what anybody said or did. You had to know if he was okay. As you were running you bumped into people, you didn’t stop to apologize because you didn’t care. Time stopped and wouldn’t come back until you knew he was okay.

The next think you knew, you were standing in the hospital. Covered in sweat and you were breathing heavily. Looking around, your eyes made contact with a certain hero. Fat Gum in his not fat self. You ran to him.

“Where is he?!” Your tone sounded more demanding than what you wanted. A few looks from the staff.

Fat Gum pated the chair next to him. “He’s about to be taken to surger-“

“Surgery! What the hell happened out there?!” You felt your chest tighten and it became harder to breathe.

“L/n you need to calm down.” That’s the last thing you heard before everything went black.

“Hey kid! You okay?!” A nurse was trying to wake you up. You shot up from the floor. “Where is Kirishima Eijirou? I need to see him!”

The nurse pushed you back on the floor. “Don’t move, you hit your head when you blacked out. Do you feel any pain?”

“No.” You lied, your head hurt. “Even if I was in pain I wouldn’t care, I need to see my boyfriend now.” Your eyes watered. “He’s hurt, I saw it on the news, I need to know if he’s okay.”

“I’m his nurse, he’s okay. He will be out of surgery in a few hours. Now please go to the waiting room on the sixth floor.”

The next few hours didn’t feel like hours, it felt like days. Fat Gum waited with you, he tried to get you to eat but you refused to eat or drink.

“He’s going to be okay l/n, he’s tough and you know it. I also know that you’ll take good care of him at home.” He smiled as he tried to cheer you up.

“I will take good care of him, but I’m scared. It hurts sometimes because you never know what can happen or if I’ll ever see him again.” You were holding back tears.

“Kirishima Eijiro?” A Doctor with blue scrubs walked in the room with her clipboard.

“Yes.” You and Fat Gum stood up.

The doctor looked up at the two of you with sadness in her eyes.

“He’s still in surgery, the wound he received went deeper than we thought. We have a specialist on their way, his liver and right lung have sustained more damage then what our scans showed. Is there anyone else you can call for him?”

You couldn’t speak.

“Yes, I’ll call his parents.”

“Now, all we can do is hope for him. But do not worry our team will do our best to save him.”

Four hours later

The surgery was a success, but he was still sleeping. His parents were sitting by his hospital bed. Everything was white, the walls, the bed, everything. The only thing that had color in the room was his messy red hair. His mother and father stepped out of the room, they wanted to give you a moment alone with him. You held his hand.

“Remember our first date? We were walking in the park and you tried to pick up that flower and it turned out to have a bee on it and it stung you?” You looked down at him with tears starting to spill. “I love you so much Kiri, you mean everything to me. Without you is like a world without fun. I have fun with my friends but you have given me more joy than anything. I know we fight sometimes, but it’s normal. You have so much to live for, we are only teenagers and we have our whole lives ahead of us.” You looked down at him again, he was waking up.

“Y/n?” His voice was strained.

“Yes, it’s me Sharkie. I’m here for you.” You kissed his forehead. “I’m so happy your alive, the doctors thought you weren’t going to ma-“ He cut you off with a kiss on the hand.

“Can you grab me the bag with my belongings in it?” You tilted your head in confusion but gave him the bag. He searched through it and pulled out a small red velvet box.

“Y/n, I know this isn't a romantic place but I just punched death in the face so I won’t be unmanly anymore. Y/n l/n will you accept this ring as a promise to each other that one day I will give you a diamond ring. I have loved you since the moment I laid my eyes on you and I will love you no matter what happens.” He opened the small box and inside was a ruby ring with your initials engraved on it. You sat down on his bed, if your jaw could touch the floor it would be at this moment.

“Yes Eijirou, I will!” You let him put the ring on your ring finger.

“I feel kinda weird right now, like I can’t feel my stomach or as Chargebolt would say high.”

“It’s just the pain medication Sharkie.” You both laughed.

His parents were happy to see him awake and the doctors were shocked that he even had even lived. But love is more powerful than anything else in the world. Love saves everyone.

Tags

@tryna-imagine @zyrielwolf @tooloudarts @queensynderella

#mha x reader #mha #fluff #kirishima x reader #mha x y/n #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha x kirshima #kirshima eijirou

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alleiradayne · 4 years

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Cowboys and Angels

A COCKLES X READER RPF SERIES

Filming for the last season of Supernatural is underway and Y/N, long-time set photographer, finds herself the center of attention for two of her co-workers, Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles. A roller-coaster of emotions ensues over the year as the three of them attempt to balance work, the end of an era, and experimental love.

Part III - Mutual

Summary: A night at the club Warnings/Tags: Fluff, flirting, sex, threesome, voyeurism, light bondage. Characters/Pairings: Misha Collins/Female Reader, Jensen Ackles watching Word Count: 4,509 A/N: Once again, please assume everyone involved is consenting and polyamorous. No spouse hate. No wife hate. No Cockles hate. No Misha hate. No hate whatsoever. If you don’t like RPF, don’t read it, and don’t complain to me about it. Update: The oh-so-lovely @atc74 made this stellar aesthetic for me in hopes that it wouldn’t get the Tumblr Ban Hammer™. Let’s test it.

It wasn't as though Vancouver's nightlife lacked anything Y/N had hoped to find that weekend. But when the SUV lumbered to a halt in front of the club, a chill numbed her toes and fingers as a sinking sensation soured her stomach.

Beside Y/N, Jensen’s gaze drifted from the window to hers. Too pretty by half, the neon lights glowed an eerie blue green in his eyes. When he remained silent, she asked, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, we come here all the time,” he reassured as he opened his door and stepped from the truck. “Misha’s already here, got us a booth.”

Already there? How much had they planned that evening? Y/N shook her head as his door slammed shut. She opened hers with a pop of the handle, and Jensen held out his hand as he held the door wide for her. “Do you…” She paused to focus on her step, her hand in Jensen's surprisingly smooth palm. “Why a booth?”

“Safe spot to catch a breather,” he explained as he offered his arm. When she took it, he smiled. “Or some privacy.”

Privacy. Why would they…

Shit.

“I think I need to make a couple clarifications,” she said.

Jensen waved at the bouncer as he led them through the doorway. “Lay it on me, darlin’.”

Darlin’.

The clubs thundering bass hardly drowned out her racing heart. “I’m… nervous. You probably have some expectations and I—”

“What kind of expectations?” Jensen asked he navigated the crowded bar.

“The sexual kind. To be honest, I thought you weren’t interested,” Y/N said as she followed him up to the bar. “Misha, on the other hand…”

A bewildered shake of his head preceded Jensen's feigned offense as he navigated through the club. His laughter followed hot on the heels of her shock, overpowering the club’s thumping music, and his bright smile washed away her concerns. “I am interested, but I would never presume such a thing. And I think you know me better than that.”

Relief, saccharin sweet, soothed the knots in her stomach. “I do,” she replied, “but I had to get it off my chest.”

“Oh, you got it off your chest alright,” he quipped as his eyes flicked down and back up. “Misha?”

The bartender interrupted her thought before it reached her lips. With their drinks ordered and the bartender busied, Y/N spoke. “Sure. Didn’t realize it was mutual.”

“It is,” Jensen said as he slid a credit card across the bar and waved to the bartender. Drinks in hand, he motioned her towards the rear of the club. “It’s not like Misha to be forward.”

She sidestepped a gathering of young co-eds crowding the door into the dance room. “So, he sends you to do the dirty work?”

Jensen’s hearty chuckle echoed through her chest like the muted bass from the club. “This is a first for us. It might not work. It might be a complete disaster. No expectations. We will do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Whatever she was comfortable with. She sipped from her drink to let the thought settle. “I think I’m okay with that.”

Before they crossed the threshold into the dance room, the span of Jensen’s hand smoothed along her spine to the small of her back. The nearness of him enraptured her, his breath hot on her ear as he said. “No rush. If you change your mind, just let us know.”

Betrayed by a shiver, Y/N did her best to maintain her composure. She opened her mouth to respond but a wall of sound drowned her out as they entered the club’s main dance room. She looked over her shoulder and Jensen pointed to the far corner of the club, across the crowded dance floor. The warmth of his free hand enveloped her palm as their fingers laced together, and she led the way.

True to his word, a row of private booths, shielded from the club’s massive speakers, sat hidden behind a large wall through a curtained entryway. All of them were empty but for one, where Misha sat and spoke with an employee of the club. But then his eyes slid to hers and Y/N felt the world lurch to a sudden halt as that muted blue pierced her gaze. His bright smile spread across his full lips as he slipped from the booth with a quick apology to the club employee, then greeted Y/N with open arms.

The gap in time between spotting Misha and crossing the space to his table raced to catch up with her, snapped forward like a rubber band stretched too far. His warmth washed over her in a wave of reality as he embraced her in a confident hug, tender as he was firm. And then, as he held her out at arm’s length, his gaze consumed her, head to toe and back.

“Don't you clean up something fierce.”

Though the compliment was appreciated, Y/N scoffed as she gave Misha a playful shove. “Shut up.”

“He's not wrong,” Jensen added with a teasing touch at the small of her back. “When you opened the door at your apartment…” He shook his head. “I thought I had the wrong address for a second.” He grinned as he looked her up and down as Misha had. “But then I realized it had to be you. Nobody on set has legs like that anymore.”

“Well, nobody except for me,” Misha teased. “Which, if you’re lucky, you might see later.”

“Wow,” Y/N said as she regarded Jensen. “Is he always that awful?”

“Yeah, I've gotten used to it. I hardly notice it anymore.” He sipped from his drink, then set it on the table. “Should we get out on the floor?”

Y/N followed Jensen’s lead and took a long pull from her drink. “Sooner the better, I’m not going to last long in these shoes.”

As Misha took her hand, a shiver ran down her spine. “I’ll take care of those later. If you would like.”

Jensen led them back to the dance floor and Misha followed, Y/N by his side. “Is that an invitation?”

“It is,” he started. “But only if you’re sure.”

She regarded Jensen over her shoulder. “What about…”

“Jensen knows he’s more than welcome,” Misha said.

Jensen shrugged as they rounded the corner to the dance floor, and she regarded him. “Up to you, Y/N,” he said over the thunderous music.

Several hundred questions tumbled through her racing mind, hardly able to process it all. Instead, she listened to her heart, and she made her decision with surprising ease. A wordless nod, vigorous in her intent, informed them both.

A devious grin spread across Jensen’s lips as he pulled her onto the dance floor and into his arms. The shock of his lips at her ear jolted down her back and straight to her core as he spoke.

“I’ll watch.”

Fuck.

The hours drained through her fingers like water. At first, only a trickle managed to escape, but after a few drinks and several songs, all concept of time ceased to exist. For Y/N, she knew three things: music, Jensen, and Misha.

Make that four.

Dancing, music, Jensen, and Misha.

It wasn’t until Jensen dragged them both to the front door that Y/N noticed the late hour. “I haven’t danced that long in ages. College, probably.”

Outside, the SUV awaited them. Misha climbed in and slumped into the spacious backseat. “So, like three years ago?”

“Misha, how old do you think I am?” she asked as she clamored in beside him.

Jensen chuckled as he followed. “Don’t answer, it’s a trap.”

A devious gleam in Misha’s eye defied Jensen’s warning. He leaned close, his lips on her ear and whispered. “Old enough.”

“Okay, that’s just creepy,” Y/N said as she shoved him away.

Jensen’s barking laugh filled the cavernous truck. “See, I told you, any answer is the wrong one.”

Y/N rounded on him. “That is entirely untrue.”

She was about to continue when Misha whispered under his breath, and Y/N barely caught him. When she turned back to him, the driver pulled the SUV away from the club and headed down the road towards Misha’s apartment. “How do you know that?”

“I know quite a few birthdays on our crew,” Misha stated.

Y/N opened her mouth to reply but the warmth of his hand slipped over her thigh. Words crashed together on the tip of her tongue and a string of half-finished sentences dribbled from her lips.

“Start over,” Misha teased as his fingers plied the inside of her thigh. “Speak slowly. Enunciate.”

She gaped, jaw working as she tried to form a coherent thought. “I don’t remember what I was going to say.”

“Aw,” Jensen pouted. “I was hoping for one of your smart-ass remarks. Put Misha in his place for once.”

Misha snorted as he looked to Jensen. “You know, you and Jared regularly put me in my place on set. I don’t need Y/N piling on.”

Y/N turned to Jensen as he laughed again. “I imagine it’ll be more enjoyable coming from her. Would you like to put Misha in his place, Y/N?”

Christ. Would she ever. She turned back to Misha to find an inquisitive quirk to his brow. “I… yes. So much.”

Misha leaned in once more, fingertips biting into her thigh and breath hot on her ear. “And how would you do that?”

The SUV lumbered around a corner and slowed as it approached Misha’s apartment. When it stopped, Y/N said, “I could show you.”

Misha gestured towards the door. “By all means. I’m right behind you.”

Jensen popped the door open and swung it wide as Y/N climbed out, grasping his shoulder for balance. Though she had seen Jensen shirtless many times before, it had not prepared her for the dense, corded muscles she felt beneath his shirt.

Once free of the truck, she looked over her shoulder to find Misha right behind her, his grin far too wide.

“I think I’d enjoy following you anywhere.” His gaze drifted down to her backside and lingered there, head tilted as if to see her better. “Perfect.”

Long, lazy strides bore her towards the front door of the building. Over her shoulder, she spotted both men staring openly at her rolling hips and swaying backside. When neither of them moved, she asked, “Do I have to kick the door in Winchester-style or are you gonna let me in?”

Misha startled as he dug in his pocket for his keys, but Jensen beat him, a small key ring glinting in the moonlight. “Got it.”

“Of course, you have a key to Misha’s building,” Y/N stated.

“And his apartment!” Jensen quipped with a wild grin as he jingled the key ring. “Relationship perks.”

At the elevator, Misha joined them as he wrapped a thick arm around her shoulder. “Speaking of relationships,” he started, “are you sure you want this? We’re not taking it lightly.”

The elevator bell rang as the doors opened, and they entered. Fifth floor selected, the door closed, and Y/N said, “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

Jensen took her hand and his calloused thumb smoothed over the back of her fingers. “We have some ground rules, but we’ve been… searching for a while.”

The elevator bell rang again as the doors opened on the top floor. “Searching? For?”

“Our third,” Misha stated as he led them to his door. Unlocked, he pushed the door wide and ushered them through.

Not unlike her own, Misha’s modest apartment featured a modern living room, kitchen, dining room, and foyer. “You both wanted a third… partner? Lover? I don’t know what to call it.”

“Those fit,” Misha said as he closed the door. That warmth of his hands returned to her then, enveloping her bare shoulders as he leaned close. “I’ll admit, I’ve been wondering about you for a while. Didn’t have the guts to say anything at the end of last season. And I wanted to talk to Jensen about it first. At length.”

She regarded Jensen. “What did you talk about?”

“Basically,” Jensen began as he kicked off his shoes, “wants and needs. We’re both bisexuals. We both miss sexual experiences with women. But we didn’t want to just go out and sleep around randomly, or without each other. So, we were hoping to find someone interested in us both.”

“That was the easy part,” Misha started with a laugh. “It seems that for quite a few women, if they dig me, they very much dig Jensen.”

“Shut up,” Jensen retorted. “It’s the other way around, and he knows it.”

A threesome then. Y/N thought a long quiet moment before she spoke. “So, you… aren’t looking for just some random fling tonight? Not some kinky cuck thing. A real, honest-to-god, polyamorous relationship?”

“No flings,” Jensen said as he shook his head and grimaced. Then his stare snapped to hers from beneath his brow and his grin returned. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t pretend there’s an element of cuckolding going on tonight.”

Misha’s hands slipped down her back to her hips. “It’s up to you, Y/N. And you can back out at any time. But once we get started tonight,” he paused as his lips plied the crook of her neck with a long, wet suckle. “Jensen’s in charge.”

Try as she might to focus, the room spun in a dizzying rush and her knees nearly buckled. Misha’s grasp of her hips firmed as he held her upright, her back flush to his chest. So close, Y/N felt everything, every ripple of his muscles, every beat of his heart. And lastly, she felt the distinct bulge of his erection as it pressed between her cheeks. A high, squeak of a moan escaped her lips as they parted, her jaw dropping and head tilting back.

"We need an answer—”

“Fuck me, Misha.”

A thousand stars burst alight in Jensen’s wicked glare. “Stop.”

Misha froze at Jensen’s command as though a switch had flipped. “Yes, sir.”

“We’ll be taking this to the bedroom,” Jensen stared as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Maybe next time we’ll try standing in the entry.”

Without any warning, her feet left the ground in a rush, Misha scooping her up into his arms as though she weighed nothing. “Bedroom has the best toys anyway.”

The ache between her thighs pulsed at the prospect of Misha relentlessly teasing her with a vibrator. “Toys for me, too?”

Jensen’s wicked laughter rumbled from his chest. “Toys for you, too, darlin’. But for our first time, I think we’ll take things slowly. Misha will have to satisfy you with whatever he’s got on him.”

In the bedroom, Misha set her on the bed and Y/N spotted something Jensen might not have anticipated. “Misha’s wearing a belt.” As she spread her thighs, she grabbed his belt and hauled her to him. “Can he restrain me, Jensen?”

“I think I would like to see that,” Jensen said as he tore his shirt from his shoulders and tossed it aside. “Misha, tie her up however you’d like.”

As Jensen dragged a chair from the desk, he turned to watch. Y/N returned her gaze to Misha, towering above her, all shoulders and hips, as he stripped himself of his belt. When he held it in both hands he said, “Stand up, please. Turn around.”

Y/N did as asked, and, without a request, brought her wrists together at the small of her back. “Here?”

“Perfect,” Misha groaned. When he said nothing, Y/N checked over her shoulder to find him waiting for Jensen.

Stripped of his own belt, he tossed the strap to the bed, then unfastened his pants. They fell to the floor in a pool of fabric, and he kicked them aside with his socks. Thin, conforming boxer briefs left little to the imagination; Jensen’s erection strained against the waistband, twitching as he sat in the chair and stroked himself. “Take off her dress.”

Misha turned back to her and asked, “May I?”

She nodded in vigorous agreement. “Please.” She couldn’t be free of the fabric fast enough, every inch of her skin prickling with want. The zipper fell as Misha tugged, maneuvered around her bound wrists, then tugged the fabric to the floor.

“Leave your shoes on,” Jensen stated as she slipped from one heel. She wriggled back into it, then arched her back. “You’ll be off your feet soon, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, sir,” she quipped with a smirk.

“A quick study,” Misha whispered as he tore off his shirt. “Not too submissive, but not controlling at all. I think you’ll fit in with us spectacularly.”

“Depends on what I’m fitting where,” she teased. “Are you packing as much as Jensen?”

“More,” he started, “but I’m not gonna whip out a ruler to prove it.”

“Will you shut up and take your pants off already?” Jensen demanded. “I’m not gonna come by watching you two babble.”

Misha dropped his pants and kicked them aside. “Please sit, Y/N. Face me.”

She did as ordered. “Here?”

Misha’s strong hand cupped her jaw and a violent shiver coursed through her body, echoing the spasm between her thighs. “Yes. How do you feel about oral?”

“Giving or receiving?” she asked as her gaze slipped to his erection still enveloped by a similarly tight pair of boxer briefs.

“Both,” Misha replied.

She eyed Jensen a few feet away as he stroked the back of his cock through his boxers. “Answer the question, Y/N.”

She hesitated with a lick of her lips. “I enjoy it, but don’t think I’m any good at giving.”

Misha hooked his thumb into the waistband of his underwear. “I’ll be the judge of that.” A rough tug of the fabric freed him, the hard length of his cock falling free to stick straight out from his groin. “I have no expectations. You do whatever you—holy fuck, Y/N!”

Her lips parted as she reached with her tongue, drew the head into her mouth, and sucked him into the back of her throat. A strong reflex reared her head, and Misha jerked his hips, but left the crown of his cock in her mouth.

Jensen groaned as he said, “Liar. You don’t deep throat a cock that size and get to be humble about it.”

“Fuck, Y/N, do it again,” Misha begged.

“Do not,” Jensen ordered as he stood and stripped himself of his boxers. “You’ll go at my pace,” he said as he took himself in hand. “Follow me.”

Long, languid strokes from base to tip and back again guided Y/N. She matched his pace, his lazy grip with her gentle lips, and teased ever so slightly with her tongue. Misha’s grasp shifted to the back of her head where he held her by the hair, and with every one of his grunts and groans, Y/N felt how hard he restrained himself. She could taste it on him, the desire to throw all control aside and fuck her mouth as hard and fast as he could until he came. And Y/N would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t want it as much as he did.

“Son of a bitch, that’s so hot,” Jensen growled from his chair. “I’m not gonna last very long at this rate. We’ll have to revisit this someday.”

“Jens, please, I’m… I have to,” Misha whimpered. “I’ll be able to keep going, but I need to let this one off.”

Jensen leaped from the chair and rushed to his side. “Come, then.”

Misha took over then, his hips thrusting into her mouth, but he lasted mere seconds. His pace stuttered as his cock twitched, so swollen with arousal until the hot surge of his cum filled her mouth in one hard spurt. His head tilted back as his jaw dropped and he cried such a pathetic whimper, Y/N hardly knew what to make of it. But then his relieved gaze found hers, smile wide and still so hungry. “God damn, Y/N, that was—”

He froze when she hollowed her cheeks and pulled back, sucking him clean. One swallow emptied her mouth, and she licked her lips, lapping up an errant drop of his cum. “That was incredible, Misha.”

He remained silent for a moment as he stared at Y/N. When the quiet stretched, Jensen asked, “Would you like to continue?”

“Yes, sir,” he breathed.

A delicate brush of his fingertips along Misha’s hip sent a shiver through his body. Jensen leaned into his ear and whispered. “Would you like to fuck her somewhere else?”

“I want to see how wet she is,” Misha replied.

Jensen turned to her and said, “You heard the man. Show him.”

Show him. Present herself to him like some sort of animal? Like some sort of depraved, horny beast in the throes of her heat?

She could do that.

Y/N stood and turned, then bent over the tall bed at the hip. Her back arched and her thighs spread, cool air teasing her sopping wet cunt. “Like this?”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, you really get it,” Misha mused as he grasped her cheeks and spread her. “I… can I taste her first?”

“This time,” Jensen said as he backed off. “But you know what I prefer.”

“Next time,” Misha said as he knelt behind her. “I promise.”

“I won’t forget,” Jensen teased. “Now, return the pleasure she gave you so well.”

Of all the oral she had ever received, Y/N had never done it with another set of eyes on her. And that did as much for her as Misha’s tongue. Knowing Jensen watched as Misha feasted on her flesh, stroking his cock until he could hardly stand to touch himself, aroused her unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Not to mention Misha ate pussy like a starved man. He ravished her cunt, sucked her clean, then focused on her clit with firm, fast circles. That familiar warmth roiled in her groin until it spread through entire body, weakened her knees, spun the room, and numbed her fingers and toes. Soon, that heat boiled over until she could no longer see straight, and her eyes squeezed shut as her orgasm crashed over her, a tidal wave of sensations. Her own pathetic cry of release muted by the bed, and Misha continued to lick and suck and stroke with unrelenting attention until she begged him to stop, her wrists straining against his belt.

Finally, he withdrew, but the reprieve lasted only a moment. Y/N watched as he wiped his face clean then turned to Jensen for the next order.

There in his chair, Jensen’s determined strokes left him breathless, his chest red and heaving. “Up on the bed. Both of you. I’m… I want to see you finish.”

“Yes, sir,” Misha said as he grabbed her hips. “Get up on the bed, please, Y/N. I’ll help you.”

She hardly had to move. Misha might as well have lifted her entirely onto the bed without her even trying to do it herself. With her wrists still tightly bound, she remained on her knees and bent at the hip, ass held high in the air as her back arched. Misha smoothed her backside with a look of such admiration on his face, Y/N couldn’t help but blush.

“Like I said earlier. You have a perfect ass,” he said, voice hoarse with want. “I can’t wait to fuck it. Next time.”

“Next time,” she sighed, “but for now, I need you in my pussy.”

Misha hesitated, the crown of his cock teasing her lips as he regarded Jensen. “You heard the lady.”

A smooth, slow stroke sheathed him inside her, and he growled so deep in his throat, Y/N felt it echo through him. He wasted no more time, setting a steady pace with his rolling hips. With one hand he held her by a cheek, and the other he teased at her asshole with his thumb, lazy circles drawn around the rim. Y/N moaned into the mattress, thankful for the perfect way it quieted her lust.

As Misha picked up speed, his thumb slipped inside her hole, and she resisted the urge to meet his thrusts halfway. But Jensen saw her struggle despite her efforts and issued a new order.

“Fuck him, Y/N,” he breathed. His strokes matched their pace, speeding up as Misha had. “Give it to him.”

The belt fell from her wrists with sudden freedom, and her hands flew to the mattress. Newfound leverage allowed her to thrust back into Misha’s hips, and he cried out in ecstasy as both hands gripped her hips to hold her steady. “Take it easy on the old man.”

“No,” Y/N huffed as she pushed back again. “I want you, Misha. I want to feel you come inside me.”

He moaned again as he said, “You keep that up and you’ll feel it in a minute.”

Y/N set their pace then, thrusting back onto his cock until a hard flex drew her up short. She looked to Jensen who nodded as he stroked himself as fast as he could. When she turned back to Misha over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you—”

“Jensen, I—”

“Come, dammit, I can’t hold back any longer!”

The shout that burst from Misha’s lips as he slammed his hips into her one last time shoved Y/N over the edge. As he filled her with hard flexes of his cock, the rush of her orgasm swelled once more and released in another euphoric wave of sensations. She moaned through her climax, thighs quivering and arms weak.

And then she heard the whimper from the chair. She looked just in time to see long white ropes spurt from the tip of Jensen’s cock to land on his stomach, his chest, and even his neck. She wondered if Misha had come that hard inside her. It had sure felt like it.

As the aftershocks subsided, Misha withdrew from her and tore into the bedside drawer. From it he pulled washcloths—how domestic—and handed her one, then tossed a second to Jensen. Cleaned as best as she could, Y/N collapsed to the bed and stared at the ceiling, mind blank despite a million thoughts.

Misha joined her before long, then Jensen behind him. There they lay in silence but for their heavy breaths, contented sighs, and soft hums of agreement. As much as she wanted to stay, Y/N forced herself to remain awake lest she pass out for the night and never make it to her own bed.

“I should—”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Misha stated as he wrapped an arm around her hip and pulled her flush to his body.

“I’m making breakfast in the morning,” Jensen added.

Breakfast.

With Jensen. And Misha.

Y/N curled into him and her thoughts settled. “I could get used to this.”

The sounds of their laughter followed her down into the deep, dark nothing of sleep, and there she dreamed of a terrifyingly thrilling future.

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captain-hen · 5 years

Text

frost

Summary: “Before she can blink, Killian takes off his jacket and carefully wraps it around her. Emma grips the fabric, tugging it close and misses Killian’s clenched jaw and furrowed brow.”-After the ice cave, Killian is haunted by visions of Emma freezing to death and begins to constantly worry over the slightest sign of her feeling cold.

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The first time it happens, Emma really isn’t in a state to notice anything and even if she was, she probably wouldn’t think there was anything strange about it, considering what had just happened.

After escaping from the ice cave, in the safety of the loft, Emma’s family wraps her in blankets and plies her with too many cups of hot chocolate to count as Elsa hovers nervously in the background, doing everything she can to help. Killian is by her side through it all, kneeling on the floor beside her chair with his arm wrapped around her, his fingers tracing soothing, warm circles on her back.

As David catches Mary Margaret up to speed on what happened, Emma feels herself shifting in and out of awareness, her head falling limply onto Killian’s shoulder as drowsiness seizes her in full force. She doesn’t realize that Mary Margaret has brought in another couple of blankets until she feels Killian tuck them around her securely.

Emma huffs out a laugh. Her teeth are no longer chattering, nor are her limbs trembling, but she’s so tired that even laughing is quite the endeavor. “A-are you trying to turn me into a human burrito?” she jokes.

Killian is confused for a split-second before his expression gives way to a decidedly unamused one. “Pardon me, love, but I’d like to ensure that you feel as warm and safe as possible,” he says firmly. “After the ordeal you just went through, I’d say extra blankets are certainly a necessity.”

His old fashioned talk is so adorable, is the barely coherent thought that flashes through Emma’s mind at his words. Outwardly, she says:

“I’m fine.”

“No, you are not,” Killian retorts, exasperated. “Your Highness, tell her I’m right.”

Beside them, Mary Margaret, even through her worry, fights back a smile at their bickering. “He’s right, Emma,” she says gently and Emma mutters, traitor, under her breath. “Maybe you should go to bed,” Mary Margaret continues. “You look worn out.”

Emma shakes her head. “Let Elsa take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Elsa looks aghast at the suggestion. “Emma, I couldn’t possibly…!” The look on Killian’s face indicates that he thinks the same. Emma decides to ignore this for now.

“It’s fine, really,” she insists. “Besides, I don’t think I could make it up the stairs in this state.” Elsa only looks further perturbed and Emma reflects that that might not have been the best thing to say.

Fortunately, with a little more persuasion, Elsa reluctantly agrees, and David ushers her upstairs. Mary Margaret prepares the couch and Killian helps Emma onto it, tucking her securely under the blankets. As he stands to leave, Emma grabs his hand.

“Stay?”

Killian hesitates and glances at Mary Margaret, as if seeking her permission. The princess only smiles, and goes to check on Neal. Cautiously, Killian lowers himself onto the couch beside Emma.

“Are you sure?” he whispers softly.

Emma nods. Maybe it’s the after effects of the terrible ordeal she’s been through, or maybe it’s the dim lighting and the fact that she cannot read his expression that gives her a little courage and allows her to be vulnerable. “Please,” she murmurs, tightening her grip on his hand.

He stays.

____________

The next time it happens, they are on their first date and have left the restaurant to take a stroll on the beach. Killian is telling her stories of his many adventures on the high seas, seeming much more composed and relaxed as compared to before.

Emma can barely remember the last time she smiled and laughed as much as she is now, she can’t remember the last time she felt so carefree. Its cliché, really, but she can’t help but wish that this night would last forever.

It’s a slightly chilly night and a sudden breeze makes Emma shiver momentarily. Before she can blink, Killian takes off his jacket and carefully wraps it around her. Emma grips the fabric, tugging it close and is so distracted by how the jacket smells so distinctly like him that she misses the Killian’s clenched jaw and furrowed brow.

“Aren’t you the gentleman?” Emma teases, her mind taking her back to their first adventure.

“Always, love,” Killian replies, but there is something forced about the levity in his voice. Emma’s smile slips from her face and she frowns, reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand.

“Are you alright?”

Killian doesn’t answer, but instead dips his head to kiss her, slipping an arm around her waist and tugging her close. He kisses her with a quiet sort of desperation, something that triggers warning bells in Emma’s head even as she kisses him back, but she can barely get a word out as he deepens the kiss even further, moving to bury his hand in her hair, uncaring of the fact that they are out in the open.

By the time they part, flushed and breathless, Killian is smiling down widely at her and all of Emma’s previous concerns have vanished.

_________

The third time, the time she finally notices and says something about it, they are in the Sheriff’s Station, looking over any paperwork that might lead them back to the Snow Queen. The window is open (left so presumably by David) and when a cold breeze blows in, causing Emma to shudder momentarily, Killian instantly hurries to close the window and turn up the heat, his moments jerky and uncoordinated in his haste.

Emma drops the file she had been looking over back into its stack and gets up. “Alright,” she says decisively. “What’s going on?”

Killian glances at her, looking almost guilty. “What do you mean, love?”

“You know what I mean. All of this-“she gestures around them. “You keep going to the extremes every time I show the slightest hint of feeling cold. Why?”

Killian sighs heavily and sits down on the couch. Emma joins him, taking his hand in hers, running her thumb over his calloused knuckles.

“Hey,” she says softly. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Killian swallows and manages a nod. “Aye.”

“So, what’s going on?”

He sighs again. “Ever since the ice cave,” he begins finally. “I keep dreaming of you freezing to death in there, I keep dreaming of losing you, and I can’t-“he breaks off, and Emma feels her heart ache. “I can’t bear the thought of that. I suppose it’s just become an instinct…to make sure that you never have to feel cold, that you’ll never be in danger of dying like that again…”

Emma tugs on the lapels of his coat, resting her forehead against his. It all makes so much sense now. She can’t believe he’s been feeling like this for so long, that he’s been hiding this from her for so long…

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” she whispers.

Killian cracks a smile. “I suppose I’ve never been too good at talking about my feelings, love.”

Emma manages to grin at his words. “Yeah, I get that. I guess we’ll both have to work on that, huh?”

“Aye, indeed.”

Killian continues to endeavor to keep her warm for the days to come and Emma never protests. She knows this is something he needs, something that haunts him, and if it helps him, well…

…and she can’t help but admit that it’s rather nice to be taken care of, like this, for the first time in her life.

_________

When Emma becomes the Dark One, she feels cold all the time.

It’s the physical type of cold that she is used to. It is an icy chill that seems to consume her from within, that makes her feel like her bones, her heart, the very blood running in her veins-are all freezing over. She supposes it might be one of the many side effects of being consumed by the most powerful darkness in all of history. And it may quite well be the worst.

Emma is no stranger to panic attacks, but with this encompassing cold that grips her mercilessly, the attacks come frequently and violently, leaving her teary eyed and gasping as her lungs seem to refuse to take in oxygen.

Huddled in the solitude of the their rooms in Camelot, Killian attempts to comfort her during these times, holding her until she calms down, until she no longer feels like there is a vice gripping her throat, until the weight that seems to press down on her chest disappears.

“Sorry,” she mutters hoarsely in the aftermath of an attack, curled up on the bed, feeling small and vulnerable. Killian shakes his head fervently, tears shining in his eyes as he presses a glass of water into her hand.

“Don’t apologize, my love,” he waits till she finishes her water before speaking again. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

Emma offers him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do in this case, Killian.”

“Emma…”

“This isn’t purely physical, you know. It’s like it…it’s like the cold is beginning within my body itself, as if the darkness is creating and feeding it. There’s nothing…”

She breaks off suddenly, a tortured light coming into her eyes as she sees Rumplestiltskin again, lurking in the corner of her vision. Killian curses and moves to block her view, gazing into her eyes.

“Hey, Swan. Emma. Focus on me. Tell me what you need,” he’s almost pleading at this point, wanting for nothing more than to ease her pain. “Whatever you need, I…just let me help you.”

“Hold me,” Emma says at last, her voice cracking. “Please, just hold me.”

They lie together in the darkness, Emma wrapped in Killian’s arms, her back to his chest. She trembles against him for a long while before finally; she quiets and turns in his arms to face him.

“Thank you,” she whispers, pressing her lips to his.

“You don’t have to thank me, love.”

She does not sleep, of course, for Dark Ones do not sleep; but she watches him, traces the contours of his face with her fingers, smiles at how peaceful he is while asleep, until her heart and head are peaceful again and the icy chill has thawed.

It’s probably not permanent, Emma thinks, she is sure that the cold, like Rumplestiltskin, will visit again when she is at her weakest and when she doesn’t have Killian, her rock, by her side.

But, it’s a start.

#captain swan #once upon a time #ouat #cs writing #neethu writes #cs fic #cs ff #ouat fic #4x02 #canon divergence #angst #otp: with you i have everything

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queenlegacyproductions · 5 years

Text

Mr. Balor Will See You, Now

Characters: Finn Balor X Riley Carter (POC)

Summary: Riley Carter works in the writer’s wing of Balor Club, Inc, which is owned by Finn Balor. Not only does she writes for the company, she writes for a small magazine in her college dorm where the girls shared their fantasies, sexual or not. One day, she gets over plied with the magazine and the business article for the company that she accidentally sends her maybe or maybe not sexual fantasy about her boss to the company. The same day a few hours later, she is called into Finn’s office and smut ensues.

Notes: What is up, Gang? What is up, Squad? I’m back at it, again. Back with another one. This time with just my fiance, Finn Balor in a 50 shades of grey spin-off. Another pre-Tumblr purge reupload! Sorry for the delay. Been busy with school bullshit and more bullshit.

Warnings: Smut, Dom!Finn Balor, Praise kink, Spanking kink, Oral (Male giving and receiving), A little choking kink, a little Fluff

Tag list: @gold--gucciempress @tacoshu @evilangel84 @ladytea19 @wwevampireamongkpop @superrezzy00 @melinated-moon-goddess @littledeadrottinghood

“Thank God I’m home.” Riley said, sighing and takes off her shoes leaning against the wall.

She just got home from working on a new article for Balor Club, Inc. But now she has to work on the latest issue of “Code Of Silence”. The magazine in the girls’ dorm of the college. She, along with her fellow sisters, Jordan and Michelle started the magazine in their Freshman year, and ever since then, the girls in the dorms have been begging for more issues. She was usually done with the issue before she gets another project but this issue was different. This issue, by popular demand, had to be about the writers which her sisters and herself. Jordan and Michelle had already made their parts for the magazine but Riley still hadn’t due to her job. She changes out of her work clothes into her pajamas and sits down at her desk with all of her work.

“Well, looks like I’m multitasking tonight. God, Tomorrow’s gonna be shitty.” She said as she began to work on both the article and magazine.

“Ri? Ri, wake up! You’re gonna be late for work!” She heard Michelle say as she shook her up. Riley shot up from the desk and gathered her things for her article.

“Shit! I must’ve slept through my alarm. Oh, no…” She said as she quickly got dressed and left the dorm. Jordan shook her head at the door.

“Poor thing. She must’ve been up all night.” She said.

Michelle walks to the desk to look through her part of the magazine. “Uh-oh.”

“What?” Jordan asked.

“I don’t think the girls want to read about the latest account Balor Club, Inc. just closed.”

“Uh-oh.”

Riley practically ran to her office where her assistant, Nia was waiting.

“Ms. Carter, you’re-.” Riley cut her off.

“Yeah, Yeah. I know I’m late. Here.” She hands Nia the folder in her hand. “ Quickly run that to Mr. Zayn. He’ll give it to Mr. Balor.”

“Yes, Ms. Carter.” Nia quickly leaves her office. Riley sighs and sits down at her desk to begin her work for the day.

Towards the end of the day, Riley hears a knock on her door. “Come in.”

Sami walked through the door. “Ri, Finn wants to see you.”

‘Oh, boy.’ she thought. ‘This must be urgent if he sent Sami, his right hand man to get me.’

“OK.” She said. She gets up from her desk and follows Sami to Finn’s office.

“He’s in there. Just walk in.” Sami said when they arrived.

“OK. Thanks, Mr. Zayn.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Carter.” He walks away.

She sighed and walked through, knocking on the door. “Mr. Balor, you wanted to see me?”

He turns around in his chair and stands up. “Ms. Carter, Yes, please have a seat.”

He motions to the chair in front of her desk. She walks on weak legs to the chair and sat down as he did the same. It was silence for a few moments with her looking down at her nails and crossing and uncrossing her legs and with him noticeably looking her up and down. He finally spoke.

“Ms. Carter, do ye know why I called ye in my office?”

She looked up at him. “Is it about the article?”

‘Yes, it is. Can ye tell what the article was about?”

“It was about how you were successful in closing the NXT account with Mr. Helmsley.” He smirks and leans forward on his desk and asked,

“Is dat so? Dat’s not what I read.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What?”

He hands her the folder and spoke,”Ms. Carter, are ye familiar with ‘Code Of Silence: The Secrets Of Women’?”

She reads the folder and puts her head in her hands. “Oh, no.”

“I take it that ye are.” He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“Yes, sir.”

“And I take it that ye know what ye wrote for it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now Ms. Carter. Ye do realize that somethin’ like this, especially somethin’ as inappropriate as this, has its consequences, right? Includin’ termination?” He asked, getting out of his chair, walking in front of his desk and leans on it.

“Yes, sir. I’m completely aware. I was reckless with my work and I slipped up.” She starts to cry. “If you wish to fire me, I understand. I’ll get my things.” She gets out of her chair and starts for the door.

“Did I dismiss ya, Ms. Carter?” She heard Finn say as she grabbed hold of the door knob.

“No.” She hears his footsteps approach her. He stops behind her.

“Did I say ye were fired?” She felt his breath on her neck.

“N-No…” She shivered.

He grabs her hair, pulling it back making her yelp. “Then, sit yer arse back down.” He lets go of her hair as she sat back down in the chair. He tsk’ed.

“Ye didn’t let me finish. ‘m not mad at the fact ye gave me the wrong article. ‘m mad that ye didn’t tell me about yer thoughts about me.” he said, standing behind her chair. She narrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“What?” He chuckled as he walked in front of her. “ ‘ve been watchin’ ya, Riley. Walkin’ around in yer red bottom heels, yer tight short skirts, and those godforsaken low cut tight shirts that shows off those delicious breasts.” He practically growled. She sighed, completely baffled.

“Mr. Balor-”

He puts his head on either side of the chair, trapping her in the seat.

“I would love to fuck ya like yer fantasy, but only if ya want me to, darling.”

She whimpers from under his stare, breathing heavily making her chest rise and fall. “Yes, sir. “

He smiles as he sits back. “Good. Now, what exactly is yer fantasy, Ms. Carter?” She blushes as he reads the article.

“Hmm, interesting…….ye’re very detailed as usual, Ms. Carter.” He smirks at her.

She plays with her hair, blushing harder. “T-Thank you, Mr. Balor.” He hummed in approval as he reads a snippet.

“So office sex, huh? Since it says,” He clears his throat. “’Mr. Balor seems like a Christian Grey type of dude. Sometimes I would imagine, like I would wrap up a thing for the company’s upcoming project and late at night, he asked for me to come to his office and he would take me off guard and bend me over his desk and fucks me nice and hard before fucking me on every surface in his office.’”

She looks down. He puts the article back on the desk and leans forward on his desk, his eyes turning a few shades from his usual blue eyes.

“Stand up and bend over my desk.” She stands and bends over the desk in front of her. He rolls his sleeve up as he walks over to the other side of the desk by her. He raises up her skirt, rubbing her ass.

“Spread yer legs, princess.” She whimpers as she spreads her legs. He groans at the sight of her red lace panties.

“Fook, darlin’. It’s like ye knew ye turned in the wrong ting.” He mutters, rubbing her pussy through her panties. She moans as he fingers her pussy through her soaked panties.

“Mr. Balor.” She whimpered.

“Devitt. It’s Devitt, luv. Finn’s left the buildin’.” he growls as he smacks her ass. She moans. He laughs.

“Does princess like ta be spanked?” He asked, smacking it again. She nods frantically, laying flat on the desk, her ass more so on display.

“Yes. Please, more.”

“More, huh?” He smirks as he smacks her ass harder over and over again.

“Oh, fuck! Mr. Devitt!”

“Such a slut for pain, aren’t ya love?” He chuckles.

“Yes! Yes, I am!” He chuckles at the helpless sight of her. He grabs her curly brown hair and tugs at it back gently, making Riley obey the silent command to stand from the desk. He kisses her neck and pulls her close, her ass against his outline of his cock.

“Such a good girl. So obedient. So submissive.” He grabs her face and moves it so she looked at him, making her whimper. “Yet, such a slut. A very kinky one at that.” He kisses her neck while his left hand slides up her skirt to her soaked panties.

She moans, throwing her head on his shoulder. “Mmmm, Mr. Devitt….”

“Yes, kitten? Tell me what you want.” His hands grabs her hips, whispering in her ear. She shivered at the pet name then whimpers as he rubs up against her ass again.

“Touch me…” She whines, grinding her ass against him, causing him to moan. He pulls away and grabs her slightly pink ass, smacking it once more.

“Sit on my desk, lass.” He commanded.

Without hesitation, she hopped on the desk sitting on it and spreads her legs and bats her eyes at Finn, licking her lips. He laughs as he steps in between her legs. He takes hold of her hips again and kisses her for a brief moment.

“So sexy. Ye’re like a drug, luv. I can’t get enough of you.” He said against her lips. He kisses her neck as he unbuttons her blouse, slowly revealing her red lace bra. He growls as he helps her take it off.

“Fook, lass.” He said, kissing her breasts as he worked her skirt off of her. She giggles as he motorboats her breasts. He chuckles at her giggles and kisses her as he moves her back further on the surface of the desk.

“Devitt, what-?” She breathlessly moaned before she’s cut off by another kiss.

“I want ta eat ya, luv. I wanna taste yar pussy, darlin’.” He kneels in between her spread legs and grins at her wetness between her thighs.

“So wet. It looks so good, princess. Good enough to eat…” He trails off as he licks a stripe from her entrance to her clit and flicks it.

“Oh, Devitt…” She whines as she threw a leg behind his head as he continued to tease her poor pussy.

He chuckles at her reaction as he looks up from her pussy and smirks and moans as he flicks her clit with his tongue doing the alphabet. She begins to squeal.

“Oh, my god! I’m gonna-. Gonna-.” He pulls back and begins to finger her as he taunts her.

“Gonna what?” He moves them faster, making her whine louder. “Gonna cum?” She nodded, whining loud enough to wake the dead.

“Yes! Yes, Devitt! Please!” He smirks and removes his fingers and stands up.

“Too bad.” She lets out a whine.

“Devitt-!” He kisses her, swallowing her pleas for release.

“You’re not cumming until I’m inside you, Baby girl.” He said.

He removes his pants and grabs her legs to pull her closer as he slowly begins to thrust into her. She whines as she feels him fill her up with his cock.

“Devitt….So big….” She whimpers. He smirks as he begins a slow and easy pace so she can adjust.

“So tight, lass. So good.” He said.

“Harder! Harder, daddy, please!”

He grabs hold of her throat, squeezing lightly and thrusting firmly into her.

“Does my baby girl likes it harder?”

She whimpers as he give a light squeeze. “Yes! She does!” She screams as he rams brutally into her and grabs his biceps. He growls as he feels her pussy clench against his cock. “Fook, darlin’. Ye wanna cum, don’t ya? I can feel ye gettin’ there.”

“Oh, Devitt…” She whines. “I’m gonna cum. I wanna cum.”

He chuckles at the pleasure displayed on her lightly sweaty face.

“Baby girl’s gonna cum, huh?”

“Yeah…” She grabs hold of his wrist.

“Yeah, what sweetheart?”

“Sea, daidí. Tá mé beagnach ann…” (Yes, daddy. I’m almost there…)

“Tar ansin, leanbh. Lig dul chun daidí, leanbh.” (Come then, baby. Let go for daddy.)

She squeals as she reaches her long awaited release and squirts everywhere. “Oh, yes! Daddy”

“That’s it, Riley. Fook! I’m gonna cum. Where ye want it, lass?” He releases the hold on her throat.

“In my mouth. I want it in my mouth, daddy….”

He growls and pulls out and smacks her ass. “On yar knees, luv.”

She gets on her knees and opens her mouth as Finn jerks himself to cum in her mouth and on her lips.

“Oh shit, luv.” He growls.

She smiles as she takes him into her mouth and sucks their juices off his cock, cleaning it.

“Fook, ya’re such a good girl, lass. Cleaned me off without me asking.” He pulls her up to her feet and kisses her. “Ye deserve a reward for such good behavior.”

She tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Like what?”

His eyes return to their usual shade of blue before he turns red in a blush. “Like a date, maybe? Ya know, so I can get ta know ya better.” He scratches the back of his head shyly.

She smiled as she nods. “Yes. It would be an honor, Mr. Balor.”

He chuckles. “Call me Finn, baby girl. Mr. Balor is for business. I’m for your pleasure.” He said as he smirks and his eyes got darker once again.

A/N: Let me know what you think.

#wwe #wwe smut #finn balor x poc #finn bálor #finn balor smut #finn balor

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benes-diction · 5 years

Text

This beautiful screenshot was taken by the lovely and talented @cherrytart-ffxiv !

full name. Caelia van Ursus. Since her recent official retirement, Caelia has dropped the ‘van’ in favor of the civilian ‘bas.’ But people still tend to refer to her by the former honorific. pronunciation. SAY-lee-yuh Urr-suhs nicknames. Cae, She-Bear, The Mother Bear, height. 6 fulms, seven ilms age. Caelia refuses to give a straight answer when asked. She is at least in her mid-50s, but in shockingly good shape and health for her age. zodiac. Scorpio languages. Garlean, and conversational snippets of several other languages from the lands Garlemald has conquered--enough that she was able to give orders and speak directly to any conscripts under her command with few misunderstandings. She knows conversational Eorzean, but will be the first to admit that she’s grown rusty.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair colour. White-blonde eye colour. Benes blue. skin tone. Fair-skinned, but with a healthy, natural tan body type. Lean and limber, with naturally-built muscle. Somewhat androgynous. Accent. Thick Ilsabardian. Normally, Caelia has an upper-class accent, but her time amongst her troops (many of whom were not nobility) has given her the tendency to drop into a lower-class one. Dominant hand. Left. Posture. Described by her lover as ‘regal’ and ‘like an empress.’ Caelia tends to stand with her back straight and her head held high, often with her hands clasped behind her back as though at-ease. On the battlefield, however, her soldiers have described her as ‘feral’ or like a predator stalking prey. Scars. A scar on her shoulder vaguely in the shape of a belt buckle. Numerous other small, fairly unnoticeable scars that she’s picked up from various sources over the years. She has a different ludicrous story for each one. tattoos. A small Edelweiss the size of a quarter on the small of her back. most noticeable features. Other than the third eye typical in Pureblood Garleans, most would say it’s her other eyes. Like the majority of Benes descendants, Caelia inherited the infamous Benes-blues, and like her family members, the color usually appears a striking violet when hit with light. However, Caelia herself tends to have an icy gaze, and some of her recruits have described the color as ‘burning ceruleum.’

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth. Garlemald. hometown. A large settlement in a Garlean province, not too far from the capital. birth weight/height. Healthy. manner of birth. Natural. first words. Were he alive, her father would argue her first word was “Dada,” but her mother insists she was only saying “Dat.” It took a decade for them to agree to disagree and compromise with “No.” siblings. Lucius mal Benes (younger brother), Gallus eir Benes (younger brother, deceased), Abelia fae Benes (younger sister) parents: Rhoda fae Benes (Mother), Iovus het Benes (Father, deceased) parental involvement. Very involved. Incredibly strict and, some would argue, abusive, with very little affection to be had. Caelia and her siblings, if plied with enough alcohol in the presence of people they are comfortable with, have horror stories of beatings and verbal, mental, and emotional abuse. Rhoda fae Benes did everything she could to control her children’s lives and ensure they maintained the family’s honor. Caelia, as she was the eldest, received the brunt of this control, even marrying a man she didn’t love and who certainly didn’t love her just to boost her family’s standing.

ADULT LIFE

Occupation. Legatus. While there was no evidence to remove her title and rank, after the death of her husband Acrisius, Caelia was removed from active duty and was placed in charge of training new soldiers. She has recently been strong-armed into retirement. Current residence. Her estate in the Garlean countryside. Close friends. Few. Her best friend is her lover Calliope. relationship status. Widowed. (See also: murdered her husband with the help of her brother.) In a committed relationship with Calliope dus Ceriales financial status. Wealthy enough to be as eccentric as she pleases. driver’s license. Several licences and certificates to operate all manner of magitek weaponry, vehicles, and machines. vices. Loves cigars and good bourbon. Not that she’s terribly picky when it comes to liquor. So long as it’s not the particular wine her late husband enjoyed, she’ll drink it.

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation. Bisexual, but with such a strong preference toward women that she also feels comfortable labeling herself as homosexual. romantic orientation. Biromantic (see above) preferred emotional role. submissive | dominant | switch | unsure preferred sexual role. submissive | dominant | switch | sex repulsed libido. Below average. turn on’s. Soft women with healthy curves, cleverness. The strong-willed men from House Vocitus, if she’s honest with herself. Turn off’s. People who talk about war as though it’s a game. Weakness of character and/or moral fiber. Needless cruelty. Most men. love language. A toss-up between Touch and Gift-Giving. relationship tendencies. Disgustingly cute with her girlfriend. Practically melts in her presence. Calliope really turns Caelia into a big softy. She tends to absently touch Calliope when they are together, whether it’s coming up behind her to hug her and rest her chin upon her head, or lightly scratching her back.

MISCELLANEOUS.

hobbies to pass the time. She drinks and knows things. Caelia also hikes with her hunting dogs Veni, Vidi, and Vici, fences, and shoots targets in her spare time. mental illnesses. Insists she’s fine. physical illnesses. None that she will admit. For all intents and purposes, she appears physically healthy. left or right brained. Left. fears. Losing Calliope or her family. Spiders. Small spaces. self confidence level. Incredible, nearly bordering on cocky on some occasions. Only Calliope knows her secret insecurities. vulnerabilities. Calliope. Her ‘cubs.’ Her former Tribunis. The threat of harm to anyone she cares about is a way someone could possibly get to her... but that’s less likely to make her afraid of you and more likely to put a target on your back.

Tagged by: @resistance-ranger (I debated whether to reblog one of the ones I did for Celia and Caius... but then Dread Aunt happened. Thanks for the opportunity to show her some love!)

Tagging: @istolin @holyja @arcurisrilanox @whispersofawindwitch @eorzeuh @sugar-smash @thesunbound @shur-kha-ffxiv AND YOUUUU. YES YOU. (And feel free to ignore this if you’ve already done it or don’t have the time \o/ No pressure!)

#tagged prompt #The Dread Aunt Caelia #Caelia van Ursus

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