scantily clad waitress

Birthday Sex

Originally posted by klopehybridss

Request: Omg that last imagine you wrote was amazing *fans self* if you’re taking requests, can you do an Elijah/reader where it’s her bday & he makes her cum repeatedly (vampire stamina woohoo) ;) ;-* thx so much I hope to read more of your sexy imagines in the future


Yes, I will be doing requests, but no ships. 


Your boyfriend of two years appears at the door. You nervously twiddle with your thumbs as he leans against the door frame. “So, Y/N.” he asks casually, suit impeccable and eyes shining. “Ready, birthday girl?”


Your lips quirk into a smile. “You can come in, bloodsucker.” you giggled.


He smirked, stepping over the doorframe and pushing you against the wall. “Loving the new house.” he complimented, staring at the white walls and bare rooms. You rolled your eyes, giggling loudly when he began sucking on your neck. You held back a moan, digging your hand into his shoulders.


“Elijah,” you warned. “Dinner.”


He rolled his eyes, “Of course, we must get to that wretched dinner before we really celebrate your birthday.” You went crimson, hiding your face in his chest.


“After you.” he grinned.

~

Rebekah was quickly at the door, greeting you. “Y/N! Happy Birthday!” she grinned, ushering you in. You coughed awkwardly, seeing Klaus at the head of the table, feeding off a scantily-clad waitress. He tossed her away, wiping his mouth.


“If it isn’t the birthday girl!” he cheered, eyes twinkling. “Elijah’s little pet human.”


Elijah stiffened next to you, pulling you behind him. “Nikalus, if you have something to say, by all means, say it.” he challenged.


You swallowed, you knew Klaus was unhappy about your relationship. It just didn’t bother you until now. Kol glanced back and forth, kicking his legs up on the table. Rebekah hissed, finally joining Klaus and Kol at the long table. “Put your feet on the table and I’ll chop them off.”


He rolled his eyes, standing up and striding towards you. “Y/N!” he threw his arms out, embracing you and kissing your hand with a smirk. “You look sexy as usual.”


Elijah sighed, “Let’s get this over with.”


You cracked a smile, “When you marry the man, you marry his family.” you joked. Your eyes widened at what you said. “I-I mean, not that we’re married. No, uh, we’re not! I mean, not that I don’t want to! Just-”


Elijah smiled widely, “I understand.” he laughed. “Shall we begin the evening?”

~

Klaus pushed his plate away. “So, when are you going to turn Y/N?”


You choked on your chicken, watching Elijah growl. “Niklaus, you worry about Caroline, or Cami, or Hayley- Or whoever captures your attention these days. I’ll worry about Y/N, hm?”


Klaus shrugged, “I mean, she’s gonna grow old one day, might as well turn her while she’s fresh.”


Elijah growled loudly, abruptly standing up. He left the room, using his vampire speed to whisk up the stairs. Rebekah frowned, “I could’ve sworn this dinner was for Y/N? If you wanted to bitch, you could’ve just sent an email, Nik.”


Kol coughed, “I have business to attend to, goodbye.” he smiled awkwardly and left.


You smiled at Klaus, “Lovely dinner.”

~

You found Elijah reading a magazine in his room. He looked up, folding the magazine. “I apologize for this evening. Niklaus, he’s just-”


You darted towards him, kissing him on the lips. He grinned against you, licking your bottom lip. His hands gripped your ass, holding you into him. Your mouth parted, moaning into his mouth when his tongue explored your mouth. You grinded into his lap, winding your hands around his neck. You broke away, pressing your forehead to his. “Elijah,” you breathed.


A cough interrupted the intimate moment. Kol stood at the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets. “Elijah, have you seen my magazine.” he smirked.


Elijah cocked his head to the side. “Yes, I’m afraid it was standing innocently on my bed this morning. Is it the one with detailed pictures?”


Kol smirked again. “Yes, the porn one.”


You gasped, still on Elijah’s lap. And found the magazine Elijah had been reading folded behind him. You flipped through it, dramatically gagging at the pictures of nude women spreading their legs and pushing up their breasts. “Gross!” you squealed, tossing it to Kol.


He saluted, “You can get back to whatever you were doing.”


Elijah slammed the door, pushing you onto the bed, “Well, happy birthday, Y/N.” he purred, removing his suit jacket. Your breathing spiked erratically.


He was going to slow, teasing you on purpose. You yanked his pants down, removing his boxers, and hissing when ran his tongue along your neck. You were panting, digging your fingers into his soft hair. He groaned, tearing through your clothes. You whimpered and clawed at his back when he dug his teeth into you. He slowly fed on you, watching you. Without warning he pulled his blood-stained mouth away from your neck. His hands tugged at your panties, throwing them to the floor. “Beautiful.” he murmured, dragging his hand along your slick core.


You moaned out, bucking your hips and begging for more. “Elijah! I want yo- Oh my gosh!” He had shoved two fingers into your hot, wet cunt. “Ah, fuck! Elijah!” you moaned out, bucking against him. He curled his fingers inside you, smirking when you screamed coming undone.


“Do you love it when I fuck you?” he murmured against her neck. “Do you love being my little slut?”


Your breaths came out in pants. “Do you want to sit on my face?” he purred.


You grinned, lowering yourself onto him, hissing when he kitten licked your clit. He sucked harshly at the sensitive bud of nerves. You tangled your fingers into his soft hair, pulling at it everytime he licked. Without warning he shoved his tongue inside you, groaning when you pulled at his hair to control yourself. It was too much for you, the pleasure. You rode his tongue, swiveling your hips to gain the most from the mind-blowing pleasure.


His tongue didn’t stop moving until you came, screaming and moaning for Elijah. He greedily took everything you gave him. You climbed off his face, staring at the mess you made. “Sorry.” you blushed, hiding your face in his chest.


He cocked his head, climbing over you and positioning his member at your cunt. “I’m not done, Y/N. What kind of birthday sex would this be without my big cock filling you up?”


You moaned when he teased your slit, running his cock along you. “I want your big cock filling me up, and making me cum. I want it, Elijah! I want it!”


“As you wish, birthday girl.” he shoved himself into you, hissing when you clenched around him. “You’re such a dirty slut, so hungry for my huge cock.” he shouted, thrusting into you over and over.


“Yes, yes! I’m so hungry for your thick cock! Pound into me! Destroy my pussy!”


“Do you like my original cock?!” his hands were holding your hips down roughly, sure to leave a bruise. “Do you like my big, original cock pounding into your cunt, you little slut?”


“Yes, I love it! I love it!”


You bucked your hips against his, swiveling your hips again to get the most out of your orgasm. He shot his hot seed into you, moaning as he did so. He smirked at you, pulling you into his chest as he laid beside you. “Round two?” he grinned.


“I’m tired.” you pouted.


“Well, that won’t be a problem.”

anonymous asked:

pretending their not together or vegas marriage

Thank you for this prompt! I hope you enjoy this, I kind of ran with the Vegas element, and some early development CS had. You can also read this oneshot on a03

The night came back to her in blurred flashes, reminiscent of cinematography from Martin Scorcese; the tinkle of quarters as they were released from fruit machines, the blinding neon lights, scantily clad waitresses, a stream of drinks that continued like a soda fountain. She vaguely remembered one of The Black Keys’ songs playing as they made their way back to the suite. Wait, their way back…? Oh yes, that’s right. She had gone and gotten herself hitched to that cocky asshole she’d tried to leave at the top of the beanstalk.

Only she would have the worst luck when it came to a Vegas wedding to a guy who wasn’t particularly bad looking, nor did he have an awful sense of fashion. In fact, Emma had somewhat semi-consciously regarded all his pros within a few seconds before the impeccably timed, “Swan, come on! The chapel’s just over there! When you chained me to the beanstalk, I knew it was code for you just wanting to be attached to me a little while longer.” He had dragged her, literally to the Chapel at the opposite side of the casino they had been staking out.

Keep reading

Private Dance

Spencer Reid x Reader One Shot

Word Count: 1569

A/N: Hello, I’m a new criminal minds writing blog! This is my first published fic so please feel free to send me any prompts or requests if you like my writing. Enjoy!


Summary: Spencer spends his Saturday night at a strip club. Shenanigans ensue.


Spencer was very uncomfortable - and understandably so. While the young doctor would usually spend his Saturday nights holed up in his living room with tea and a novel (or seven) to read, tonight was not one of those nights.

No, tonight, Dr. Spencer Reid was at a strip club.

From his vantage point at the bar, Spencer had full view of the debauchery before him. The daring (and usually much drunker) men sat right at the edge of the stage, waving their dollars bills at the dancers and hollering loudly over the sultry music. Some of the men preferred to watch from afar, instead sitting at the tall tables spread throughout the club, waving over the scantily-clad waitresses for a drink. Others disappeared behind curtained booths for a private dance. Occasionally, Spencer’s eyes would sweep over to the action on stage, sending a slight blush to his cheeks whenever he caught a glimpse at the girls in varying stages of undress.

Speaking of girls… one seemed to be heading right towards him.

The doctor casually looked over to the sides, checking if he actually was her intended target. When he glanced up again, making direct eye contact with her, her lips curled up into a wanton grin. Spencer gulped at the sight of the mischievous gleam in her eyes, trying to discreetly wipe his sweaty hands on the tops of his thighs.

She stopped in front of his bar stool and leaned in close, giving him an eyeful of the soft skin not-very-decently encased in delicate pink lace.

“Hey there, pretty boy. Wanna go somewhere a little more private?”

Spencer inhaled sharply, getting a whiff of her minty breath and sweet perfume. What would Derek Morgan do if he were in his shoes? “Um, I-” Oh geez, was that a crack in his voice? He cleared his throat. “Y-yeah. That’d be… great…?” Okay, so maybe Derek would’ve been way smoother but hey, Spencer wasn’t exactly sure how you were supposed to accept the offer of a private dance from a stripper, but his answer seemed good enough for the woman in front of him. She held her hand out to him in a way that was surprisingly coy for a lady of her profession. Despite the hundreds of facts about the transfer of germs through hand contact running through his mind, Spencer slipped his hand in hers, allowing her to lead him in the direction of the private booths.

She let go of his hand, allowing him to settle onto the velvet seat, but not before brushing her fingers against his fluttering pulse point as she pulled away. She started tugging the curtain shut, giving Spencer a very nice view of her… er, backside. As if she could feel his wandering gaze, she shut the curtain with a final flick of her wrist and turned back to him, hips swaying in time with the bass every time she took a step closer.

Spencer closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart, and next thing he knew, he had a lapful of pink lace and hair that smelled like flowers. Her soft skin and teasing upturned corners of her mouth were almost a little too much for him to handle.

“Hey now, don’t worry, pretty boy. I don’t bite… unless you want me to.”


| Your POV |

You grinned down at the nervous man underneath you, enjoying the situation maybe a little too much. From the way his eyes flickered everywhere but you, you could tell just how on edge he was. You stifled a laugh, unsure of how long you should keep this up. But before you could really get down to business, a small voice in your head stopped you. Literally.

“Alright princess, you can give up the act. Garcia says you’re clear of any cameras in the booth and I think pretty boy’s about to have a heart attack.”

You snorted at Derek’s words, swinging your leg off of Spencer and plopping down next to him. “Aw, just when I was starting to have fun…” You could almost feel Spencer’s slight glare as you adjusted the lace on your chest into a slightly less compromising position. “So,” you started, turning to face your co-worker, “still convinced I wouldn’t be able to do undercover work?”

When planning for this mission, Spencer had fought tooth and nail against you working undercover for this case. But between JJ, Emily, and you, you were the closest to fitting the unsub’s type, making you the best choice for the job, despite Spencer’s many protests.

“It was a question of safety not a question of whether or not I think you can do undercover work,” Spencer corrected. “And for your information, Morgan,” he said, directing the conversation towards the man on the other end of your earpieces, “I wasn’t going to have a heart attack. I was simply playing a character.” The unsub was an alpha male so the team knew that sending Spencer in as your immediate backup wouldn’t threaten him into action if you and Spencer needed to go somewhere private and talk about the case.

You snorted, interrupting the boys’ teasing banter and directing their focus back onto the case.

Spencer pulled out his cellphone, calling Derek so the two of you could fill him in on what you had learned while chatting up patrons and employees of the club. You’d been there most of the evening, taking the time before opening to talk to the girls about the missing dancers.

“Okay, kid, you and Y/L/N finish up the night at the club and I’ll let the rest of the team know what you found out. Look’s like you’ve got a little time before your private dance should finish up, so why don’t y’all have some fun,” Derek teased. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

The line went silent before you could give him a witty response.

“Like Morgan would have any limits on what he’d do with a beautiful woman in a private booth…” Spencer rolled his eyes, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“You think I’m beautiful, Dr. Reid?” you asked. Your light, teasing tone told one story, but the butterflies in your stomach told another. You and Spencer had this weird non-relationship relationship that had half the flirtiness of Derek and Penelope’s relationship had, but maybe double the amount of seriousness. The two of you often found yourself toeing the line passed friendship and tonight’s smoky location and sultry background music seemed to have blurred that line just a little more than usual.  

Spencer blushed and cleared his throat, a sure sign of his discomfort. “Um, I- I…” He broke eye contact, looking down at his lap. “You know I do, Y/N,” he said softly. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered wildly and you felt yourself blushing. “That’s why- that’s why I didn’t want you to do this mission.”

“Huh?”

He took a deep breath before meeting your eyes shyly. “With you looking like that, all dolled up, with the lace and the pretty hair and all that soft skin… I didn’t want to have to share that with anyone else. Not that I think you’re an object that can be shared or anything like that!” He injected suddenly. “And it’s not like I have any right to say who can and can’t see you in whatever way since I’m not- since we’re just… well I’m not quite sure what we even… I, um -”

“Spencer!” You cut off his rambling, really hoping he was saying what you thought he was. Unsure of how to proceed, you hooked your pinky to his, biting back the smile threatening to take over your face. “You don’t have to share me, Spence. You already got me.”

He let out a breathless laugh, boldly intertwining your fingers. “Y/N, I-”

You suddenly heard a short cough in your ear, cutting Spencer off abruptly.

“Y/L/N. Reid.”

You both froze at the sound of boss’ voice.

“Hotch! Sir! Um…” You stuttered, realizing that you and Spencer were having this conversation in a private dance booth at a strip club.

“As happy as I am that you’re finally talking about whatever is going on between the two of you, perhaps you can continue it some time later. I need all of my team focusing on the task at hand,” Hotch said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, of course. Uh, sorry,” you apologized hastily and exchanged sheepish grins with the man still holding your hand.

Later, Spencer mouthed, squeezing your hand slightly and pulling you to your feet.

A shiver of excitement ran through you and you couldn’t help yourself. You grabbed at the front of his shirt and planted a quick, but searing kiss onto his surprised, but eager to comply, lips. You pulled away slightly, chuckling against his mouth. But it seemed like Spencer hadn’t gotten enough. He initiated the second kiss, hands dropping to the curve of your waist to pull your closer. Your hands snaked up to the nape of his neck, tugging slightly on his already messy hair.

Ahem. When I said later, I meant after the case is over, agents. Get back to work.”


Hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to send me any thoughts, questions, or requests!

Fifty Pounds, or the MMFD Cabaret Fic

Inspired by Moulin Rouge, a fantastic drag show I recently attended, that one Christina Aguilera Burlesque movie, and 200 pounds of beauty, I present the MMFD Cabaret fic. 

Let’s pretend that it takes place in mid-2000s, mostly so I can get away with having cool technology and, well, internet. Also the song choices are completely irreverent of time. This is mostly because I’m lazy and don’t feel like looking listening to a bunch of 90s music.

**

“C'mon now, Finnley, don’t look so put out, you grumpy sod.” Chop nudged Finn in the side, nearly knocking him out of his chair and into the path of two scantily clad waitresses, who tittered flirtatiously before wagging their feathered behinds at him. Finn cleared his throat and turned away, taking a long sip from his wine glass.

“’M not put out,” Finn grumbled, “Just tryin’ to figure out why I’ve spent twenty quid on a table at this…” He looked around and made eye contact with a woman with her eyebrows drawn in in spirals, “…establishment when I could’ve gone to the pub for free.”

“The birds, Finn, the birds,” Chop proclaimed. “Aren’t they lovely?”

“Plenty of nice-looking women at the pub,” Finn said, even while his eyes lingered on a particularly busty waitress’ ample bosom. Embarrassed, his eyes cut away, and he looked down sourly into his drink. 

The Grand Theatre had gained notoriety in Lincolnshire as the first cabaret club to open in the sleepy county, and despite the protests from the more stuffy denizens about how it was degrading the moral standing of Stamford, attracted large crowds of well-looking gentlemen and ladies every night. The performers were said to be the greatest beauties in Europe, talented, lithe creatures who could sing and dance a man’s coin right out of his pocket. All of the singing was done live, and apparently the stunts were real, too. Chop had been badgering Finn about the club for the last two weeks, trying to convince him that the performance was the kind of once in a lifetime experience he could give up a day’s wage for. He’d finally given in, and thus far, he was not convinced it’d been worth it.

“They don’t sing for you in the pubs though, do they now?” Chop said with a wink and a grin so wide it nearly split his face in two.

“Chop,” Finn said darkly. “I hear girls sing all the time. It’s my job to hear ‘em sing.”

Chop pouted at him. “Come now, you know that don’t count-” the lights dimmed, and Chop’s grin returned in all of its shining glory. “The show’s startin’!”

A voice rang from through the room, it’s owner invisible for the time.

“Welcome to the Grand Theatre, ladies and gents! Prepare your eyes-”

The spotlight swung off stage for a fraction of a second to somewhere near the ceiling, where they briefly caught sight of a heavily made-up woman flashing her gold-lined eyes open from amongst the curtains. 

“And your ears-”

It swung again to a barrister on the side of the room, where three of the waitresses with large, brightly colored feathers in their hair and behinds clustered together and sang out a high, lingering note together, then to another girl in the center of the room who added to the sound with a seductive little shake. 

“…For the most captivating show on Earth! With your charming host, The Great Archibald!”

The spotlight swung at last to the stage, where an attractive blond man in a top hat, waistcoat, monocle, and leather high waisted corset now stood. He was quite shirtless under the coat, and his straight pants were at least a size too tight. The women of the audience, and some of the men, positively lost their minds, throwing the provided carnations up onto the stage. 'The Great Archibald’ snatched one of the flowers out of the air, then bent on one knee on the stage and took the hand of the nearest woman, kissed her knuckles, and tucked the carnation behind her ear with a roguish wink. The woman gave a high, keening moan that could almost be heard over the raucous applause and hoots from the crowd, and the Great Archibald clambered back to his feet.

“Good to see such a positively lovely crowd this evening,” The Great Archibald proclaimed, though with the light in his face it was highly unlikely he could see anyone at all. “I’m sure we’ll have a,” he smiled beatifically, “truly beautiful time together tonight.”

There were several wolf whistles directed at the stage. Finn wondered whether the entire night would be wrought with sexual innuendo, or more than. He’d heard of burlesque shows in cinema; he wondered whether this was what the Grand Theatre was, a hyped-up burlesque show. That cost twenty fucking quid a seat.

With time and some wine, though, Finn started to enjoy himself. The acts that he’d first thought were too over the top soon became artful, and he found himself shouting along with the crowd as a fiery redhead in a multicolored, silk dress slid into a split while singing a Lana Del Ray song in a pixie-like voice. The stage was transformed entirely with every act, and Finn marveled at how they managed to turn moonlit cityscapes into African Savannas out of cleverly draped fabrics, colored lights and carefully cast shadows.  There’d been some pretty memorable outfits, his favorite currently belonging to a blonde who’d come in dressed like a peacock, with billowy royal blue sleeves and a tail that fanned out when she pulled a string at her waist. Their voices hadn’t been half bad either, with good range, though most of the songs chosen wouldn’t have been particularly challenging for anyone who could carry a tune. Chop had been right- it was an experience.

The last act was announced, and Chop sat up straighter in his seat, jostling Finn’s shoulder.

“This one, she’s supposed to be a sight. Loveliest of them all, and could sing a mockingbird out of its profession! Reckon even you might be impressed.”

“We’ll see,” Finn said. He’d been told some iteration of 'this voice will blow your socks off’ enough times to know that it usually meant his socks would stay decidedly on. He’d given his life to music; he could make an opinion for himself.

“Please put your hands together and give your most enthusiastic welcome to the Belle of Lincolnshire, nay, the Beauty of All England…the lovely Aphrodite!”

The woman who came on stage truly was a sight to behold, with bright, slightly wide set eyes and a figure that managed to be both willowy and curvaceous. Her backdrop was markedly simpler than her predecessors, a night sky full of glittering lights, and her dress seemed to be made from stars. She positively glowed from head to toe, and the audience seemed awed into silence, transfixed on the sight of the woman before them. She licked her lips almost shyly, then flashed a small smile before bringing both hands to rest on her bosom. It was clear she was being marketed differently from the other performers, who had all been gaudy, over the top, and constantly in motion. Aphrodite almost seemed shy.

Then she opened her mouth, and the sound that came forth sent a jolt through Finn’s body. 

it’s been seven hours and fifteen days

Since you took your love away

He’d never heard anything like it. Her voice was sultry and steady, unwavering and strong even when soft. And when she reached the chorus and her voice rose to a belt, he could feel her words beating against his chest, forcing him to pay attention, demanding that he hear them.

He’d seen talent. The flow of hopefuls who came through the recording studio where he worked as a producer was almost endless, and he’d seen the entire gambit, from delusional boys in badly named bands to future starlets with voices smooth as silk. But he’d never heard anything like this. His fist was curling against the chair. How was this woman performing in a seedy little cabaret club when she could have been gracing the cover of every magazine in the country? How could the world have completely missed her, when hundreds of denizens flocked to The Grand Theatre every week? Introducing her to his bosses might get him on their good graces. Maybe they’d let him get a single out, at least, prove himself marketable. His heart began to race; he’d found his meal ticket, this beautiful girl with a voice of a warrior angel, who’d slain him in his seat after only a few bloody notes.

Before the song was over, he knew he had to meet her. He turned to look at Chop, jostling his shoulder. 

“Wha’?” Chop whispered harshly, tearing his eyes reluctantly from the stage. “Give it a second, mate.”

“We’ve got to meet her,” Finn said. “Aphrodite. We’ve got to meet her.”

Nothing compares

“Finn. Fuckin’ put a sock in it.”

Nothing compares to you

Nothing compares

Nothing compares to you 

The applause was thunderous, and Aphrodite gave a small, graceful curtsy, as if she’d performed a stiff waltz across stage instead of blown everyone’s minds away by singing a Sinead O'Connor song better than fucking Sinead O'Connor. Finn didn’t bother paying attention to Archibald’s closing remarks, instead leaned down into his chair with his head in his hands and wondered just how much money he’d have to part with to bribe someone into letting him meet her.

He waited until most of the patrons had started to clear out of the dining and entertainment section and into the adjoining dance floor before calling over a waitress. Chop looked at him in disbelief, but also with a bit of smugness- he’d been right of course, Finn had enjoyed himself in the end, maybe too much. 

“'Scuse me,” Finn said, “But would it be at all possible to… meet Aphrodite?”

The waitress smiled with bright white teeth that contrasted sharply with her dark skin, which in turn contrasted with her thick, gold lipstick. 

“I get asked that question every weekend,” she said, a touch of condescension in her tone. “Sorry, but Aphrodite doesn’t do all that.”

Finn furrowed his brow when he realized what she was insinuating. “No, um, that’s not what I meant, I just thought…” Then he paused, set his mouth in a line. “Fifty pounds. Just to meet her once. And other people can be there, whatever.”

Chop sucked in his breath behind him. The waitress raised her bedazzled eyebrows. She looked him over once, and then seemed to reconsider.

“I’ll…go ask. Be back in a minute; you stay put.”

Before her turquoise feathers were out of sight, Chop leaned over and put his arm over Finn’s shoulders.

“Love at first sight,” he sneered, one eye closed in an extended facsimile of a wink. “Told ya.”

“Nah, s'not like that at all-” Finn was protesting, but the waitress was already sauntering back, a bemused expression on her face.

“Sir,” she said, stopping some ways away from him in the center of the room. “I’m gonna need you to come over here.”

Throwing a look at Chop, Finn shrugged and walked up to her. The waitress positioned him carefully, placing her hands on his face to straighten his head. She stepped back a step, then peered out toward the stage as though waiting for something.

About thirty seconds later, a green stage light flashed three times, and suddenly Finn understood - he was being appraised.

“All right, I’ll take you to the back to meet her. Show me your cash first, though.”

Finn dug his hands into his pockets, pulling out his wallet and producing the 50 pound note. He’d withdrawn it in case of an emergency- namely, in case he drank too much and couldn’t get himself home- but this seemed to count. 

The waitress seemed to find this satisfying, and set off toward the stage. Finn followed, throwing Chop a thumbs-up before he disappeared behind the curtain.

**

“So what’s your name?” The waitress asked as they walked down a set of stairs that Finn assumed led to the performers’ dressing rooms. 

“Erm…Finn,” he responded. “Yours?”

“Samira,” she said simply. She’d unclipped the large neon feather from her hair the moment they’d stepped backstage and had been steadily removing her bobby pins, and with her hair loose and fluffy, she looked more real and less like a Grand Theatre apparition.

Samira looked at him from the corner of her eye, one perfectly penciled eye raised. "So, Finn. Love at first sight, then? Witnessed the 'lovely Aphrodite’ on our old stage and knew you’d seen your soulmate?“

It hadn’t even been ten minutes, and he’d heard that same nonsensical phrase twice. Love at first sight. What a load of bollocks. "It’s honestly nothing like that,” he insisted.

The waitress shrugged. “Wouldn’t judge you for it. She’s a beautiful woman, you wouldn’t be the first guy who wanted to get to know 'er after curtain call. She usually don’t let anyone come back though.” Her eyes flicked back to him again. “Good for you that you’re fit. If ya don’t mind me sayin’.”

She didn’t seem to be hitting on him, so Finn took the compliment graciously. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Aphrodite is a good-looking woman, but I promise ya that’s not why I want to meet her.”

“Why else, then?” Samira asked. They were getting close, Finn could tell- they’d passed a number of curtains that he assumed were makeshift dressing rooms.

“I’m in the music business. And she…she’s got this incredible voice, so–”

Before Finn could continue any further, Samira whipped around to face him. Her eyebrows rose comically, and then she burst out into loud, unbridled laughter. It had been the last reaction Finn had expected, and he blinked back at her, too alarmed to be properly offended.

“Was there a joke?” He said, when she finally seemed to be catching her breath. 

Samira wiped the corner of her eye, her shoulders still shaking.

“You’ve got no idea.” She jerked her thumb at the next curtain, labeled, quaintly, “Gemmel.” Then, she knocked, hard, on the narrow strip of wall separating one curtain from the next. “Chloe! Your…fan is here!”

Finn winced; Samira may as well have announced to the entire entourage cast that he was some creep. Sure enough, a few other curtains parted, and a handful of other performers surfaced from behind them, barely recognizable with half of their makeup washed away, their clothes half in disarray. He noted, bizarrely, that the peacock girl was amongst them, lounging against the wall in just her bra and panties, only recognizable for her plum lipstick and blond hair. A few feet away, he caught sight of a girl who looked rather out of place among all of the glitter and glamour- she was tall and sturdy, dressed in jeans and a band tee one wouldn’t go clubbing in. They made eye contact briefly, and she pursed her lips before glancing away sharply and disappearing down the hall.

Then, without preamble, Aphrodite…or Chloe, it seemed, stepped out of her dressing room.

She was a little taller than Finn had imagined, and though far less otherworldly in her purple bodycon dress, no less beautiful. She snuck a disapproving smile at Samira, and then scowled at their audience.

“You lot have nothing better to do with yourselves than nose about other people’s business, then? Piss off!”

Her impassioned words had exactly no effect on her costars, except to make a few of them chuckle. Finn cut his eyes away from her, not so much embarrassed to be in her company as he was to be so much under the spotlight.

“Not all of us have got fans like you,” the peacock girl said, rolling her shoulders. She looked directly at Finn and tilted her hips toward him salaciously. “'Specially not ones who look like him.”

“Piss off, Stacey,” Chloe spat at the peacock girl. Then she turned to Finn, her smile suddenly beatific. “Now, what’s your name?”

Finn introduced himself awkwardly, heat rising to his ears. “I…erm…I was blown away by your performance,” he explained. “And I wanted to ask you…if you’d ever thought about a music career, beyond the Grand Theatre?”

He sounded like a gigantic prat, and he knew it, but did they really all have to laugh at him?

Chloe’s smile wavered for a split second, and when it resurfaced, it didn’t meet her eyes.

“A music career? I…erm… I don’t know too much about that. Much more of a performer, myself.”

That made no sense; on stage, she’d done the least amount of performing.  She’d quite literally stood there and let her voice and dress do the work for her. Finn furrowed his brow. 

“Really?” He said, “but I heard you up there. Your voice…you sounded amazin’! And I’m not just some arsehole comin’ here to…to salivate over you or anythin’- I work at a record company.” He reached into his back pocket and produced his card, showcasing the Zero for Starters label.

Chloe turned white, barely glancing down at the card.There were snickers from the other women in the dressing room. Stacey in particular barked out a very self-satisfied “ha!”

“All right,” Finn said, exasperated. “I’m obviously missin’ somethin’. Any of you lot wanna fill me in?”

The hall went eerily silent, and even Samira, who’d been watching the whole spectacle with an entertained grin on her face, looked away bashfully. 

It was Stacey who broke the silence, her lip curled spitefully.

“What if,” she sneered, “Miss Aphrodite here can’t sing a tune to save her life?”

Since we just met a Sidney in last week’s episode, I thought I’d discuss the other Sid on the show a little bit.

I’ve written before about how Dean and Lisa’s relationship was never meant to come across as ‘greeting card perfect’ from the point of view of the end of season five, but upon rewatch it became obvious that they also made it pretty clear at the start of season six.

The episode Exile on Main St. (named after a Rolling Stones album with some familiar titles like ‘Torn and Frayed’ and ‘Soul Survivor’) begins with a shot of Dean Winchester in some kind of internal pain, awake before his alarm clock goes off. He’s not a happy camper. He seems hollowed out.

Between this scene and him screaming the words “Good for who?” to Bobby after the latter told him that it was better for him to be out of the life with a woman and child and not be dead before the age of thirty, we start to realize that Dean is far from alright. 

Bobby Singer did not know what Chuck had told us at the end of Swan Song: that every fiber in Dean’s body either wanted to die, or to join Sam in the Cage. These are two different things, wanting to die and wanting to join Sam in the Cage. Dean explicitly tells Bobby that he went to Lisa and Ben because Sam asked him to. It was not what he wanted. What Dean Winchester wanted, was to die.

But between these scenes, we see something interesting. We see Dean’s routine in Suburbia: breakfast for Ben, packing and driving for work, working construction, beers with his neighbour Sid while ignoring the woman he’s shacked up with, teaching Ben how to fix a car, checking the house and locking up at night, drinking whiskey, and glancing out of the window to Sid’s house to Sid having wine with his wife and turning away as though the scene causes him pain.

Why does the scene of his neighbour with his wife cause Dean Winchester pain?

If the quaint suburban scene was something that Dean desired, all he had to do was grab a couple of wine glasses and find his woman upstairs. It’s not the scene that caused him pain.

He had a crush on Sid’s wife, then? Sid’s wife is nothing to him, we barely see her. Sid’s wife isn’t important.

What it is that causes Dean Winchester pain as he glances out of his window to his neighbour’s house – and we are lead to believe that it is every night he does this – is Sid himself.

So, we come to a scene of Dean and Sid sitting in a bar. This is an important scene, it follows directly after the cold open. They do this often. Dean has been living in the neighbourhood for a year. Sid tells Dean that he has been buying him beers for a year. It’s normal if you buy a guy a round now and again and he returns the favour, even steven. But that’s not what Sid says. Sid has been buying Dean beers for a year.

Let that sink the fuck in.

Intense eye contact, licking of the lips, just another day in the life of Dean Winchester.

Dean also does not look at any of the sexy, scantily clad waitresses in the bar. He’s there for Sid. He’s there for Sid with the very blue eyes who also has some kind of past that makes him not fit in to suburbia. He affirms Dean. He thinks Dean is the bee’s knees. He’s willing to sit down and have a drink with Dean Winchester, and from what we can tell, does it often.

We see the El Sol sign behind Sid. The sign we saw behind Gary the teenage witch headed to MIT in Swap Meat who was fulfilling a role similar to Sid’s. A role similar to Nick the Siren in Sex & Violence. The sign that has been attached to his sun, Ash-shams, in every one of its appearances for the past four seasons. It might just be co-incidence, though.

But do you remember how in the end of Swan Song, Castiel asked Dean whether it was peace or freedom that he was looking for? Well, next we see Sid wearing a winged Nirvana shirt. It’s there not only to tell us that Sid – like Gary and Nick – has a similar taste in music to Dean, but that nirvana – peace – is something that Dean desires.

Dean himself has but one wing.

While Dean was with Lisa, there was a side to him that was pulling him across the street to Sid. No, I don’t think he ever tapped that. He was pretty adamant about playing the part of 'being taken’ as he shredded the phone number given to him by a Djinn at the bar (but note also that he made sure his friend knew that he was faithful, not that his lady friend knew). But we see him look out of the window to Sid’s living room wistfully, and it becomes obvious that he desired something from Sid. Also brotherhood. Also friendship. Because Sid also looks like Sam and Castiel.

But that was not the only thing he wanted. He wanted companionship.

The Djinns were there to get revenge on Dean Winchester specifically. They wanted to hurt him personally. Dean got Lisa and Ben out of harm’s way by sending them to Bobby. But instead of coming at Dean and Sam, the Djinns decided to visit the neighbours and kill Sid and his wife instead.

Sure, the Djinn saw Dean with Sid in the bar, but why would they think killing Sid would hurt Dean like killing Lisa and Ben would have hurt Dean?

Regardless, as soon as Dean sees the Djinns attack Sid, he throws all caution into the wind and rushes in to try and save him. Alas, too late. Sid is killed. Bye, Sid. We hardly knew ye.

I do feel obliged to point out that Dean rushing to the body of Sid has a parallel in a little episode called I’m No Angel. You know, the one where he sees April stab Castiel. So we can conclude that Castiel is like a neighbour to him. Or we can conclude something else.

Note also that it is Azazel, the Yellow Eyed Demon, that the Djinn poison makes Dean hallucinate. Not Lucifer who killed Sam a year previously. The Yellow Eyed Demon, who in his hallucination gets Ben-(Sam) addicted to Demon blood and burns Lisa-(???) in the ceiling, surrounded by stars. That is the horror that Dean’s mind conjures up. That had been the most painful moment in his life, hell and high water.

In the episode, Lisa tells Dean that in spite of their difficulties, the time they had spent together had been the best year of her life. I always felt the negative space in Dean’s lack of answer to this, but thought 'But it was the worst year of mine’ would have been too cruel.

But as we remember that every fiber in Dean Winchester’s body wanted to die, or to join Sam in the Cage, the year he spent in Suburbia reveals itself as exquisite torture. Especially with Sid there across the road, in sight but out of reach.

The cage

WELP i promised cage fighter/exotic dancer AU ages ago. Finally fleshed it all out last night, with an omegaverse twist. There will be more (there’s more than this posted here too; it just got long), on my Ao3 here. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.


Jack was triumphant as he walked down the sidewalk, itching to expend some energy of a most worthy nature.

Hyperion had broken into the big leagues. The very big leagues. He’d single handedly crushed Dahl– bankrupt them- made his investors very rich indeed, and made a name for himself as one of the quickest rising alphas in the business world.

Hyperion was one of the big boys now. Serious competition with a stock symbol and everything. And Jack preened at the fruits of his labor, eating up every bit of praise and notoriety he had gained with his efforts. And he was all about treating himself to some of his baser instincts tonight.

Jack came to a nondescript door, paint chipping to reveal the steel beneath the facade. He knocked three times, awaiting entrance to the hidden club within; a club only the wealthiest high-rollers had access to.

A slide bar opened to reveal the brown eyes of the bouncer, a man who gave the alpha a once over before closing the peep hole and letting the man in.

He knew Jack; if not personally then by appearance alone. The inverted V from a knife fight scarred into the man’s face only worked to bolster his fierce reputation– a reputation well-earned.

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anonymous asked:

Destiel. "Wait a minute, are you jealous?"

“Wait a minute, are you jealous?” Castiel turns to Sam with an aghast expression; he can already feel the blood rushing to his cheeks in embarrassment.

“I am a powerful celestial being, I don’t get jealous of carnal relationships between humans,” he sputters, trying to ignore the way Dean is leaning toward the scantily-clad waitress at the bar. 

“Uh-uh,” Sam says doubtfully. “I think the jealousy of an angel is what got us in this whole hunting thing to begin with.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” he adds as he leans toward a pouting Castiel, “I think he’s trying to make you jealous.”