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macfrog · 8 months

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ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

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“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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cheesybadgers · 8 months

Text

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 20)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

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Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,880

Summary: An invitation takes Horacio and Javier back to Medellín, a city that has changed as much as they have since they were last in it. Amongst the celebrations, can they find a way to reconcile the old with the new?

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Emotional smut, religious themes, discussions of canon-typical violence and past trauma, grief, healing, allusions to period-typical prejudices, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: So, this chapter took on a life of its own and ended up a lot bigger than it was originally supposed to be, oops lol. The initial idea was for this and chapter 21 to be chapter 20, but, as you can see, it didn't quite work out like that 😂

The majority of chapter 21 is done, I just need to finish it off but life (and covid...again) have been getting in the way lately.

After that, I just have chapter 22 and a short epilogue to do, then fin. So, I promise we are very nearly there now! Ideally, I'd like it all done by the end of autumn, but that might not be possible...let's see how it goes.

Thank you once again to anyone still reading and waiting for updates, your patience is greatly appreciated (as always, please feel free to drop me a line if you’d like to, I love hearing from you!)❤️

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's quite a few new points for this one, as I ended up doing a lot of research lol).

Chapter 20: Something Old, Something New

Dappled light filtered through the Venetian blinds, splintering across the polished wooden furnishings and along the plush carpeted floor, bathing the hotel room in tints of gold. No traces remained of yesterday’s rain after a warm start to the morning, and the forecast miraculously looked promising for the hours ahead.

Horacio stood facing a floor-length mirror, his fingers wrestling with his jacket and a Cattleya orchid buttonhole until he tutted and gave up. It was the final addition to his outfit: a three-piece mid-grey suit, a pale olive green dress shirt, a bottle green tie and dark brown shoes.

“Come here.” Javier abandoned fastening his burgundy tie, letting it hang untied and loose around his neck. Instead, he took the buttonhole from Horacio and delicately pinned the flower on his left lapel. It matched the one already placed on his navy blue three-piece, which he had teamed with a rose-pink dress shirt and black shoes.

“Thanks. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn one of these. I’m out of practice.” The last wedding Horacio attended had been a friend of Juliana’s, and for some reason, attaching a flower to his jacket was trickier than his CNP lapel pins.

“At least the last time wasn’t your own wedding…which you never actually made it to.”

“Fair point.”

Javier smoothed down Horacio’s lapels, slow caresses on either side, chestnut lost in charcoal as he took all of him in. “Beautiful.”

“Likewise.” Horacio’s fingers slid up to Javier’s tie and worked their magic, managing a knot neater than Javier could ever make. He positioned and repositioned it at the collar until it was symmetrical.

“Satisfied?”

“Hmm, not quite.” He took hold of the length of the tie, pulling Javier down a couple of inches to his height, fresh mint and aftershave hitting their senses as they settled into it, careful not to squash the flowers at their breast.

Javier breathed hard against Horacio’s mouth. “I take it we haven’t got time for—”

“Absolutely not.” Although Horacio was panting as he re-straightened Javier’s tie, the sight of each other in formal wear a distracting novelty. “We’re meeting Steve downstairs in 5 minutes.”

“Shame. I miss Madrid already.”

“Our bed will still be there when we get back.”

“Who said anything about a bed?”

“Come on, we can’t be late,” Horacio reiterated with great reluctance, avoiding the look he knew Javier was giving him. “You ready?”

Javier took a deep breath and picked up the invitation from the nearby nightstand, his eyes scanning over the details one last time.

Juana Marisol Vargas Restrepo

Felipe Gabriel Trujillo Rojas

Con la bendición de sus familias, te invitan a celebrar su boda

(With the blessing of their families, they invite you to celebrate their wedding)

El sábado, 21 de enero de 1995

(Saturday 21st January, 1995)

A las tres de la tarde

(At 3 in the afternoon)

Iglesia del Señor de las Misericordias, Manrique

(Church of the Lord of the Mercies, Manrique)

Recepción a seguir en el Jardín Botánico de Medellín

(Reception to follow at the Botanical Garden of Medellín)

“I think so. Of all the churches in Medellín, though.”

Horacio let out a wry huff to match Javier’s. “I know. The bride’s choice, apparently. Plus, it’s close by for the reception.”

Javier hummed, his eyes still glued to the invitation as if the antidote to the discomfort simmering in the pit of his stomach was hidden between the lines.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. It was always gonna be like this. Wasn’t it? Being back here.”

“I don’t think there’s a way around it. But at least it’s a celebration this time.” Horacio placed a gentle kiss on Javier’s forehead. “And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

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After locating Steve, they shared a taxi to the church, where they met Connie and Olivia on account of Olivia being in a particularly fussy mood.

“I think it’s the travelling and being out of routine. She was up early this morning. So, of course, she’s tired now.” Connie gestured towards Olivia, fast asleep in her dad’s arms, before hugging Javier and Horacio.

“You look stunning, love the dress,” Javier said, noticing he owned a shirt in the same shade of turquoise.

“Aw thank you, you all look so handsome!” Connie stood back to admire them then leaned in to kiss Steve. “And not hungover?” she added with a raised brow, rubbing away the smudge of lipstick left behind on his cheek. “I take it I need to thank Horacio again for keeping you in one piece?”

It took Horacio a second to get what Connie was referring to. But then he remembered a paralytic pair of DEA agents slumped in the back of his car, alongside practically carrying Javier to his bedroom, removing his outer layers and plying him with water, then lying him on his side with a pillow behind his back.

Horacio had been heading for the door when a slurred noise over his shoulder stopped him. One that sounded suspiciously like “Stay.” He couldn’t prove it or ask for clarification. But nor could he leave. So, he stayed until he was reassured Javier was safe and sleeping soundly. Then he tiptoed home, relieved the next day to find Javier had no recollection of any of it.

“I don’t know about that,” Horacio said in the here and now. “We were all on our best behaviour for today.”

“Yeah, Murphy needs his beauty sleep these days. Isn’t that right?” Javier threw a wink in Steve’s direction and wondered if Connie’s choice of words meant what he thought they did.

“Well, some of us actually have to go to work, Peña,” Steve shot back with a self-satisfied curl of the lips.

Connie playfully slapped Steve on the shoulder. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous.”

“Can’t even deny it.”

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Guests began to file up the stone steps into the church, the Murphys following once they had roused Olivia awake, with Javier and Horacio hanging back at the top of the stairs.

Their arms rested over the balcony wall as they surveyed the road beneath. There was no CNP vehicle parked up this time, but instead, a hive of activity with guests being dropped off and a space reserved for the bride’s imminent arrival.

“It feels like a fucking lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

“It was.”

“I, er, never saw her again. Helena, I mean. I secured her a visa – figured it was the least I could do after everything. But she took her kid and ran before I could give it to her. Her neighbour said she was staying with her sister in Peru, but…who knows?”

Javier wasn’t sure if she even had a sister, but he always hoped it was the truth. He always hoped she and her family were safe and that she found the strength to put what happened behind her. But of course, he had no fucking clue if these were comforting lies he’d told himself over the years. It wasn’t love, whatever they had. Far from it. He knew that back then let alone now. But for a short while, they cared in their own way, and as much as their circumstances and jobs allowed them to.

“Probably for the best. It wouldn’t have been safe here.”

“No, I made sure of that.” Javier’s hand dug harshly into the jagged stone, leaving dents in his skin until the subtle and discreet touch of a finger made contact with his own, pulling him out of his spiralling self-flagellation. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t plan on bringing all this up. Especially not today.”

“It’s okay. And it’s not like we ever really talked about it at the time.”

It had been a sore point for Horacio, not that he understood why back then. Of course, he knew Helena wasn’t the first or the last, but he could see whatever they had, however short-lived, went beyond the mere transactional. He’d never seen Javier so worried for an informant, and as it turned out, he had every reason to be. Then, she stopped being a threat and became yet another victim.

“Funnily enough, no. You just took it out on Steve instead.”

A knowing look eased the tension in an instant.

“Could you blame me?”

“Absolutely not. Especially when he was encroaching on your territory.”

Javier couldn’t resist a wink, which caused a muttered “Fuck you” followed by their shoulders shaking in unison.

Once calm was restored, Horacio turned to face the church, the wall bearing the brunt of his weight. “Looking back now, though, I don’t think I should’ve been so surprised by what you did for me in Cartagena and Tolú.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I did the same for you that night here in Medellín.”

Javier joined Horacio; both now stood side by side, their gaze meeting in an acknowledgement of the rich history that existed between them that no words could ever fully convey.

And with the scattered remnants of their past now confined to distant memories they could at last put behind them, they made their way into the church.

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A waterfall of roses, carnations and orchids tied together with matching ribbons cascaded a rainbow of purple, yellow and white down the rows of pews. The flowers were supplied by the mother of the groom, who conveniently was a florist by profession. Every August, Medellín burst into bloom for Feria de las Flores, so if anyone was going to be in charge of the arrangements, it was her.

Candles lit a path from the aisle to the altar, reminding Horacio not only of Día de las Velitas but of his and Javier’s recreation of the festival during their first Christmas in Laredo. He was about to take a seat when he caught a flash of green dress uniform in the wings of the church and a pair of dark eyes picking him out of the congregation.

He excused himself to the sacristy at the side of the altar.

Trujillo peered out to the pews as his hands alternated between fidgeting with the knot of his tie and his cufflinks. “Is she here yet?”

“Not yet.” Horacio straightened Trujillo’s tie knot. “But it’s still early.”

“Yeah.” Trujillo nodded and took a deep breath.

“She’ll be here before you know it. So relax. I think we’ve been through worse.” Horacio’s lips stayed neutral for an impressively long spell until he caved.

“My hand was steady as a rock on that rooftop. But today?” Trujillo held out his hand to show the hint of a tremor.

“You ended something once and for all on that rooftop. Something that needed ending…for your father, Alfredo and Sebastián. For you. For Colombia. But today is the start of your future.”

“I always thought they would have been here for this one day. So, thank you. For being here instead. For coming back...after everything. For all those early morning drills and target practice. And for the free drinks.”

They laughed at the fact Horacio was a man of his word and hadn’t let Trujillo buy a single drink since arriving here.

“It’s the least I could do. And if you ever need anything, Felipe, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Likewise…Horacio. That goes for Javier, too.”

Their silence was an acknowledgement that they had just shared an ending and a beginning of their own, no longer comrades in arms or superior and subordinate, but something different again, something equal.

“I thought my ears were burning,” came a voice from the doorway.

“Great way to kill the moment, Peñita.”

“Sorry. I wanted to wish you luck. And offer you some Dutch Courage, if you're interested?” Javier produced a hip flask from behind his back. “A present from Search Bloc,” was his answer to the quizzical looks he was met with.

“Just a taste, then. I don’t want Juana thinking I’m drunk.” Trujillo took a restrained swig. “Any last-minute advice?” he asked Javier, passing him the flask.

“You want marriage advice from me? Er, don’t do a runner before she gets here?”

“Good one, brother.”

“He did warn you,” Horacio added, shooting Javier a pointed look.

“True. Although,” Trujillo lowered his voice and glanced at the doorway, “neither of you might be married, but…you’ve been through a lot together. And I think it’s made you stronger. So, you must be doing something right.”

A wordless nod and one last swig for good measure were exchanged.

Javier and Horacio were unsure if it was the alcohol or something else causing the heat to rise in their cheeks. But either way, they were in quiet agreement with Trujillo’s assessment.

It wasn’t long before the words “She’s here!” were whispered with barely contained glee from beyond the door, and it was time to take their places.

The ceremony, even the drier elements, passed quicker than most weddings Javier and Horacio had been to. It was the first one Javier had attended since…well, not even his own now he thought about it because he never made it to the church. He never saw Lorraine’s dress either, as, unsurprisingly, she had changed out of it by the time he was forced to explain himself. Not that Javier really could explain at the time. But then, it was much easier to understand something was wrong once he knew what was right.

Between Felipe’s pristine uniform and Juana’s mantilla veil, memories of Horacio's Mamá wearing a strikingly similar black veil to his Papá’s funeral came to mind. But once upon a time, they had also stood at an altar like this with their shared life ahead of them, and even though the injustice of it being cut short would always linger, on this occasion, Horacio chose to cherish the fact it existed in the first place.

Furtive glances travelled between him and Javier as they bowed their heads to pray during the candle ceremony and for the exchange of rings and arras coins. It was a silent confirmation that whilst these rituals weren’t an option for them in the eyes of the law or church, their unofficial versions were no less significant.

------------------------------------------------------

They moved on to the reception at Jardín Botánico de Medellín in the evening, a place Horacio hadn’t been to since his youth. The wedding meal was to be served under a spectacular orchid-shaped wooden canopy in the centre of the gardens. Tables dressed in white linen were decorated with flower arrangements to match those at the church, and favours included coffee beans and orchid seeds.

The newlyweds sat at the top table surrounded by close family and their padrinos and madrinas, the echoes of war still loud and everlasting given the notable absences. Javier, Horacio, Steve, Connie and Olivia sat on the next one, along with some familiar Search Bloc faces and Carlos Holguín staff.

At the adjacent table were Martínez Senior and Junior. Horacio and Martínez Senior had only crossed paths at occasional ceremonies and dinners, even though their fathers worked more closely in the past. As the war on drugs kicked in, it became apparent the two men had polar opposite approaches to their jobs. And whilst Horacio made Escobar his mission, Martínez took a different path, specialising in FARC operations in the jungle instead. Until their paths converged, that was.

“Do you think he knows?” Javier muttered over the rim of his champagne flute after Martínez Senior’s eyes briefly fell on them.

“About us? Why would he?” Horacio replied into the palm of his hand as he scratched his upper lip.

“I dunno. He knew about everything else. And he must have questions.”

“I’m sure he does. But do you think he’ll even want to speak to us? I already know he hates my guts.”

“He might be pleasantly surprised you’re not dead. You never know.”

Their hushed conversation was thankfully drowned out by Olivia interrogating Connie about everything from the guests’ outfits to the flower arrangements and when the food was coming, whilst Steve caught up with Jacoby.

The tables were soon full of plates and dishes bearing carne asada, lechona, patacones, arepas, tamales, milhojas, concadas, cuajada con melao, fruit salads and the centre piece Torta Negra Colombiana, decorated with flowers to match the colour scheme.

The cutting of the Torta Negra followed before the space was re-arranged, guests spilling out into the surrounding gardens, refreshing their drinks at the various pop-up bars or walking amongst the flowers and trees.

By dark, a dancefloor was unveiled in the centre of the canopy with a band playing cumbia, vallenato, merengue, bambuco, salsa and beyond.

Once the bride had thrown her bouquet, the single male guests gathered to place a shoe beneath her dress. Javier managed to escape the ritual in favour of sitting back and watching from the sidelines. But at the risk of inviting prying questions from his former colleagues if he did the same, Horacio reluctantly added his shoe to the pile. Typically, his was chosen by Juana, which, as per tradition, meant he would be next to marry.

From several feet away, Horacio could see Javier’s suggestive eyebrow and overt smirk, and they were even more brazen close up when Horacio re-joined him.

“Should we pick out rings, or…?”

An eyeroll was the only answer Javier was ever going to get to that question, and it came right on cue.

“Because, er,” Javier continued regardless, clearing his throat and casually glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, “seeing you in your shirt stays this morning got me thinking how fucking good you’d look in a wedding garter.”

As Horacio was hit with a barrage of mental images and a dry mouth, a large cheer erupted as the next tradition got underway. This time, all male guests – not just the single ones – were rounded up to remove their belts, the idea being that the man with the longest belt was the winner. Of what exactly, Horacio was never sure when this had played out at past Colombian weddings he’d been to.

He stood opposite Javier as they fumbled with buckles, unhooking the leather straps from their belt loops and pulling them off in one swift motion. Their eyes remained fixed on each other from start to finish, an act fuelled by Javier’s last words.

The sound of cheering pulled them back with reluctance to the proceedings, and even though their belts were probably slightly longer than they used to be, they weren’t declared the winners.

------------------------------------------------------

As the drinks flowed, so did the dancing, regardless of whether the paired-up guests knew each other or whether they could actually dance.

Javier’s next partner was a familiar face, though, who had at least taken a few dance classes to get to know some locals when first arriving in Colombia.

“Is Steve with Olivia?” he asked, grateful for a slower number so he could catch his breath and talk.

“Oh, no, she’s with the Jacobys. She’s made friends with their daughter, Chloe - they’re around the same age.” Connie twirled underneath Javier’s outstretched arm and back around again. “Steve is conveniently helping Horacio with the next round of drinks. He always did have hips as stiff as a board. I had to practically drag him up for our first dance.”

“That…doesn’t surprise me.”

“And what about Horacio?” Connie whispered into Javier’s shoulder as their feet slid across the floor in time with the music. “Does he need to loosen his hips, or is he a dark horse?”

“You should know a man never dances and tells. But…” Javier spun Connie on her heel again, pulling her close so his head was near her ear this time. “I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with his hips.”

“That doesn’t surprise me either. When did you say you were heading to Manizales?”

“In a couple of days.” Javier swallowed hard now the subject had been raised.

“How’s he holding up?”

“Okay. We’ve not really talked about it since Madrid. Figured we’d deal with it after the wedding, but -” Javier scoffed, cutting himself off mid-sentence.

“Now it’s nearly here,” Connie finished for him.

“Exactly. But I guess we couldn’t hide in Spain forever.” As tempting as it was some days.

They somehow made it to the other side of the dancefloor, narrowly avoiding multiple couples before escaping back to their table once the song was over.

“How’re you finding being back again?” Connie asked.

“Weird.”

“Yeah. Definitely weird at first.”

Their shared laughter came like a sigh of relief, a release of tension now they had spoken the truth out loud.

“But different.”

“It’s not like last time, right?” There was uncertainty in her unblinking eyes, a plea not only for reassurance but for honesty as well.

“Trujillo said anyone left from the cartel with half a brain cell skipped town or went underground before Pablo’s body was cold. They’ve been tracking down anyone dumb enough to have stuck around. So, no. It’s not like last time. I promise.”

His tone was soft but he looked Connie in the eye until she nodded, needing the conviction as much as she did.

“I know I never visited Madrid like I said I would – blame your ex-employer for that, by the way – but for what it’s worth, I don’t think Medellín’s the only one who’s different now. So, whatever happens, Javi…”

“I know.”

His hand found its way to hers on the table and gently squeezed. An acceptance that there was no denying traces of the past, as they had already discovered, but a translucent overlay had been placed on top of it now. Whether the two could co-exist in the long run, nobody yet knew, but at least it was finally the chance of a future for them and Medellín.

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Horacio picked one of the quieter bars, reeling off a list of drinks to the bartender and perching on a stool while he waited for his order.

“Thought you might need a hand.”

Before Horacio could respond, Steve had already sat on the adjacent stool, his back to the bar to accommodate his long legs.

“You sure you’re not just avoiding the dancefloor, Agent Murphy?” There was a hint of a mock interrogative tone to his voice as he turned sideways to face Steve.

Steve held his hands up in surrender. “You got me there. Although…” He dipped into the inside pocket of his black suit jacket and pulled out a couple of cigars. “Courtesy of the groom, if you’re interested?”

Horacio broke into a laugh. “He paid up, then.”

“Damn right.” Steve held one of the cigars closer to Horacio, tempting him despite the conflicted look Horacio was giving it. “I won’t tell Javi if you don’t tell Con.”

Horacio sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He put the cigar between his lips and took the lighter from Steve, hovering the flame near the foot until it took.

Steve did the same, a woody haze soon encircling them.

The bartender appeared with a trayful of drinks and once he was gone again, Horacio lifted a beer bottle and slid it across to Steve. “I never got a chance to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“Stechner.”

A scowl stormed across Steve’s pupils, and he took a quick hard swig from his beer bottle, placing it back on the table with a little more force than intended. “It was my fuckin’ pleasure. You should’ve seen his face. Covered in blood and tears in his eyes when my hand squeezed his throat.”

He swapped his beer for his cigar, relishing in that sweet memory as a ring of smoke hovered above his head like a misplaced halo.

Every now and then, Steve still surprised Horacio. Because occasionally, Horacio caught glimpses of the turbulence that raged beneath the surface. It was a clumsier, more unrefined version than he was accustomed to, but he recognised and understood it nonetheless.

“Not sure I’d have been able to stop squeezing,” Horacio confessed.

“It was touch and go for a minute. But rumour has it, the new Country Attaché, Alana Cortés, and Messina were roommates all the way through their Academy days. And for a few years after…before Cortés took an assignment in Mexico out of the blue. But now she’s back.” Steve toasted the air with his beer bottle. “So good luck to our old friend, Bill, trying to pull her strings.”

Horacio raised his glass to meet Steve’s bottle, although there was an ulterior motive to leaning forward a fraction. “I take it you’ve heard nothing else about the photos?” His words were delivered towards the floor in case of the minutest likelihood anyone around them was the world’s best lip reader.

“Not a thing. But I’d handle it if something did happen; you have my word. Cali’s beyond my remit, but I’d put good money on Stechner’s attention being there now he can’t use us anymore.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Oh, and you were right, too.”

“About what?”

“Javi tryin' to shut me out.”

“Well, thanks for not letting him.”

They bowed their heads and returned to their cigars, a surprisingly comfortable silence sitting between them.

“How was he in Madrid?” Steve asked in the end.

“Good, mostly. There were bad days, obviously. But he sleeps better now.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“No. I think there’s a lot of that going around.”

“It’s weird though, right?”

“What’s that?”

“Being back. Like it was all just some fuckin’ dream. Like it wasn’t really me on that rooftop. Like everyone knew it should’ve been you in that photo instead.”

Horacio might not have been there for the final showdown, but he'd seen enough newspapers and bulletins to know that photo well. The one where Escobar’s limp body was held up to the camera like a trophy, now the hunt was over.

“Yeah, well, I made sure it wasn’t me, didn’t I?” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve had to make my peace with it. And so should you.”

“I played out that moment so many times. Thought about all the ways we’d catch him. Over and over, I let it run through my head. But I wasn’t expecting him to look so…pathetic. Like any other son of a bitch criminal runnin’ scared when his time’s up.”

“Because that’s all he was. But it was real. And he’s gone. No matter what happens, they can’t take that away from us.”

“But now what?”

“Now, we live our lives. We don’t forget, but we move on.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Just as they toasted their drinks, they were rumbled.

“Might’ve known this is where you’d be hiding. Found them!” Javier called over his shoulder.

Trujillo followed behind Javier; his police uniform now exchanged for a lightweight guayabera. “Anything to avoid a dancefloor. Blondie, are those my cigars?”

“I think you’ll find they’re mine now, Major. I might have a couple of spares lying around, though.” Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out more like he was performing a magic trick.

Trujillo rubbed his hands together. “Now you’re talking.”

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Once Steve had braved the canopy to pass Connie her drink, the four men retreated to a deserted part of the gardens where pine tables and chairs with canvas covering them were dotted amongst the trees. White lights hung across the branches like fireflies and lanterns lined the decked walkways, the party and dancing reduced to a murmur in the distance.

The quartet sat around one of the pine tables, the first time they had been together like this since the old days back at Carlos Holguín.

“Can you believe we’re finally here?” Trujillo asked, savouring the spicy scent of his cigar as it combined with the fresh floral notes of the forest.

“At your wedding? Barely.”

Trujillo rolled his eyes at Javier’s teasing and shook his head. “You can tick comedian off your list of career options.”

Steve sucked in air through his teeth at their war of words. “See what I had to put up with.”

“Says the white boy who needed me to be his fucking translator 24/7.”

A collective braying sound travelled around the table this time before it morphed into laughter and Steve making use of any Spanish swear word he could think of.

“But in all seriousness...no, not really,” Javier replied in earnest after they returned to their cigars.

“Sometimes when I wake up, it takes me a minute to remember he’s not still lurking out there somewhere.”

“But he’s not.” Horacio’s eyes glowed with steely determination, needing to put a line under this once and for all. “You made sure of that. You gave Medellín a future. And now it’s time to start yours.” He raised his glass to the centre of the table. “To Juana and Felipe.”

“To Juana and Felipe!” Javier and Steve echoed as their drinks clinked with Horacio’s.

“And to Colombia,” Felipe added.

“To Colombia!”

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Once the cigars were stubbed out, Trujillo and Horacio were pulled away for a Search Bloc reunion, leaving Javier and Steve to their drinks.

“I was telling Carrillo about Cortés earlier.”

“How did you find out about her, by the way? You never said on the phone.”

“Just some good old fashioned slightly off-the-record detective work, that’s all.”

“You covered your tracks, though, right? Because they’ll know it was you who gave her my intel. Even if they can’t prove it.”

“’Course. Although it wouldn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure that out. Same with Stechner’s busted face. Don’t think anyone bought it was your handiwork.”

“To be fair, there’s a critical shortage of geniuses in the DEA. Present company included, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Steve retaliated by raising his middle finger in response to Javier’s trademark wink. “But most people hate Stechner as much as we do, so no one came asking. Never saw him around the school again after that, although I’m sure he must’ve been prowlin' about somewhere.”

“More than likely. So, er…no one’s mentioned the photos either?”

“No. And like I told Carrillo, even if they did, I’d handle it, Javi. I promise. There’s more shit on Stechner out there, I fuckin’ know it. Messina was getting too close, remember. I don’t think I’ll have to dig deeper, but look at it as an insurance policy.”

“Makes sense. And thanks, Steve. For Stechner. For the intel. For reassuring Horacio, apparently.”

Javier laughed at the thought of them engaged in something resembling a heart-to-heart. But if truth be told, it brought warmth to his chest to realise the two men could be considered friends-of-sorts these days. Not that he dared tell them that.

Steve gave a lazy salute with one hand whilst the other took a swig of his drink. “Don’t expect that to become a habit, by the way.”

And there it was, right on cue, just as Javier anticipated. “Oh, no, of course not.”

“It was a one-time-only Wedding Special kinda deal.”

“Right. Exactly.”

Javier took a long sip of his drink to hide the smirk threatening to explode into an undiplomatic laugh if he wasn’t careful.

“Any idea when you’re moving back to the States?” Steve asked, seemingly oblivious to Javier’s impressive restraint.

“Not really. It depends on Horacio’s visa. We haven’t decided on the best route yet. I’d forgotten how much fucking paperwork’s involved.”

It was no wonder Javier held such disdain for bureaucracy when the wrong piece of paper was the difference between crossing a border and not. When someone’s life was reduced down to a list of rigid criteria without much consideration for the sacrifice and hardship it often took to get to that point in the first place. It was why he had done his best to help informants get an American visa wherever possible, even if it meant bending rules until they snapped.

He knew Horacio had more options than most – more than his grandparents’ generation did – and they had been lucky with their past visas. But he tried not to think about the fact their future would be in the hands of an officious government administrator. One most likely not prepared to bend any rules in the slightest.

“You got that right. Don’t s’pose he’s thought about law enforcement?”

Javier shot Steve a sharp look. “Hilarious.”

“I thought so. And what about you? Any ideas what’s next?”

“Me? Fuck, I dunno, man. Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“You’ll both figure it out, y’know.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You always do. You’re like me and Con. We’ve had our rough patches, several of ‘em while we were here – and a few more since we left, come to think of it – but somehow, we get through it. Same as you and Horacio.”

“You drunk, Murphy?”

Steve contemplated that as though he hadn’t considered the possibility until now despite the array of empty glasses covering the table. “Fuck, I think I am.” He let out a loud snigger before hushing himself. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“My lips are sealed.” For all of Javier’s stoicism, he stood no chance, and it wasn’t long before they were giggling like schoolboys.

“About the rough patches, though…” Steve said once they had calmed down. “Any tips?”

“Someone once told me it’s okay to not always be in the same boat even if you’re in the same storm. Sometimes, you just need your own boat. But as long as you’re trying to sail in the same direction...and want to be in the same boat as much as possible, you can get through it.”

“Huh. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but that actually makes sense. Who do I need to thank?”

Javier smiled, almost able to smell fresh churros if he closed his eyes hard enough. “Someone a lot older and wiser than us.”

“Figures. And my point still stands, by the way.”

“What point’s that exactly?”

“You might not have worked out the finer details yet, but…” Steve gestured for Javier to move forward as though he was about to share highly classified intel. “The worst’s over now. We don’t forget, but we move on.” He nodded sagely before dropping his voice to little more than an alcohol-infused rumble. “This is your happy ending, Javi. Go live it.”

As they returned to the party, Steve alternating between leaning against Javier and patting him enthusiastically on the back whilst attempting something vaguely resembling Spanish, there was no doubt in Javier’s mind that Steve was wasted and probably had been for most of their conversation.

But when it came to the sentiment behind Steve’s garbled words, something told Javier that didn’t matter.

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Maybe it was Horacio’s age or the quiet life he had become accustomed to, but he couldn’t keep up with Search Bloc’s drinking. The aguardiente shots were in full flow when he left them to it, doubling back towards where he had left Javier and Steve.

He made it past the bustle of the bar and round the corner towards a small rock garden with a walkway to the trees lying beyond.

“So, the rumours were true, then.”

Force of habit made Horacio momentarily reach for where his gun holster used to be as he spun around to face the voice from the shadows of a wooden bench.

“Depends which ones you’re talking about,” he replied in a measured tone now he knew the source of the voice. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“Well, let’s put it this way...you certainly look well for a dead man, Colonel Carrillo.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

“Not at all. Vengeance isn’t my style.”

“Nor mine these days.”

“So I’ve heard. Congratulations on your retirement. I’d say that beats jail, wouldn’t you?”

Horacio scoffed as he sat on the opposite end of the bench, his brow flexing at such an expertly delivered blow. “I guess I deserved that.”

“I think we both know what a man deserves and what a man gets are rarely the same thing.”

“True. But you’ll always be Colonel Martínez: the man who stopped Escobar.”

“Perhaps so. But was death not the easier way out?”

“Easier than what? Vengeance?”

“Justice.” Martínez gave Horacio a long look from his end of the bench. “Gaviria was the one who wanted him dead. It’s no wonder you two got along so well.”

“I did my duty. As Gaviria did his and you did yours. We played the hands we were dealt.”

“Yes, and he dealt mine well when he signed my son up to Search Bloc before offering me your job.”

Realisation slowly spread across Horacio’s face, and without meaning to, he gave Martínez a look tinged with pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I kept him alive. He was transferred to a new intel unit instead…where he intercepted radio transmissions from Pablo the day we caught him.”

A curve of a smile formed on Horacio’s lips. “Funny how it works out sometimes.”

Horacio was reminded of his own double-edged sword of a path to becoming leader of Search Bloc. The journey began with Javier and a briefcase full of cash being deposited in the lap of General Jaramillo, forcing the General’s greedy hand to appoint Horacio as head of the anti-drug squad and make him a Colonel. A job that was already a poisoned chalice on account of his predecessor winding up dead at the hands of the cartel.

Javier using gringo money to buy Horacio a promotion had been a bone of contention between them back then. Too many heated discussions under the influence led to an argument where “Everybody works for somebody" and “Don’t ever mistake me for one of your whores again” were the last words to hang between them in a heavy fog of smoke, whiskey and undefinable tension for several weeks. During which time, Horacio was even more ruthless than usual. And as if to prove a point, Javier practically became a temporary resident at his favourite brothel.

The hypocrisy of the situation had sat uneasily under Horacio’s skin when he had always taken such a hard line on bribery from the narcos. Was this really any different?

But conversely, if he hadn’t been allowed to build his own force of incorruptible men, he would never have led the operation on Gacha. He would never have ended up in those quarters in Tolú with Javier. On his cot with Javier underneath him.

“Yes, it is. I did tell Gaviria I would bring Escobar into custody unless he resisted. But of course, he resisted.”

“Then maybe Escobar didn’t care about justice as much as you think he did. And there’s nothing you could have done about that.”

“Aren’t we supposed to care about justice, though? And I don’t mean the vigilante kind you and Los Pepes were so fond of administering.”

“You sound like the gringos I used to work with.” A surge of nostalgia rose in Horacio’s chest, and he’d have been surprised if it wasn’t showing on his face. Although, of course, it was one gringo in particular he had in mind.

“If you think I wanted Escobar to be extradited to an American jail, you’re mistaken. He was our problem to deal with, not theirs.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a fuck about a corrupt form of justice. How would that have been better than what I did? So many judges, politicians and journalists were bought or killed alongside our men. He wanted Colombia to bleed, and he’d have done whatever it took to make sure he didn’t remain in a cell. You, Trujillo, Search Bloc…you cauterised the wound that no one else could.”

“For now. I think we both know this was something of a Pyrrhic victory. And not the end.”

“Two things we can agree on.”

Reluctant smiles crossed their faces despite everything.

“I think our fathers managed a few more.”

“So I was told at Papá’s wake. How is your father doing these days?”

“He’s fine. Retired now but relieved the hunt is over. I think he hated watching from the sidelines.”

“I know the feeling.”

The distant drumbeat of the live band carried on the gentle breeze through the garden, whispering like ghosts through the plants and trees surrounding them.

“I may not have agreed with your methods, but I was very sorry about your father.”

“Me too. And for what it’s worth, I think my father would’ve been sorry about my methods as well.”

“I cannot imagine how losing a parent so young would have changed my path. And to be clear, this isn't to be taken as an excuse, but by your own ethos, you played the cards you were dealt, did you not?”

Horacio laughed. “Something like that.”

“I must admit, you were a tough act to follow.”

“Was I?”

“Yes. The level of respect you commanded from your men wasn’t easy to replicate.”

“You still got invited here, though.”

“True. And I accepted the invite despite my suspicions the groom was assisting Agent Peña before his departure.”

Horacio’s jaw ticked in anticipation of the treacherous tightrope he would need to tread here. He and Javier were out, done, without their badges or weapons. But Trujillo wasn’t.

“Suspicions or evidence?” he settled on in the end.

“Suspicions based on what I witnessed. But I think there’s irrefutable evidence his and Peña’s unfaltering loyalty rested with you rather than with me.”

“Trujillo also fired a bullet through Escobar’s skull.”

“Yes. An act I don’t judge him for in the circumstances. And rest assured, I have no intention of reporting my suspicions to anyone. Major Trujillo’s motives aren’t the ones still eluding me.”

Horacio swallowed down the dread burning the back of his throat like bile that was in danger of choking him if he didn’t get rid of it quickly. “What are you talking about?”

“You never struck me as a man afraid of death. And whilst I can understand the ambush might have made some reconsider their career choice, I wouldn’t have put you down as one of them.”

“Do you really think there was anything left for me in Search Bloc? My superiors already had your name on their lips to replace me long before I was shot.”

“In Search Bloc, perhaps not. But I’m sure the CNP would have allowed you back once the dust settled. They forgave you for far worse than being shot.”

Horacio huffed sarcastically despite how unwise it was to get sucked into the conversation. “I can assure you my decision was never about them. And it’s nothing you didn’t do for your son.”

That seemed to be the winning blow as Martínez nodded in concession. “True. We can’t afford to be afraid of death in our profession. But when it comes to the people we love, I must confess…I can’t apply the same rule.”

Horacio gripped the edge of the bench and focused intently on his feet, fearing even glancing in Martínez’s direction would fill in the few remaining blanks. He managed a minimal grunting noise in his throat that he hoped sounded like agreement.

“However, many times, I’ve asked myself why a man such as Peña would have destroyed his career so recklessly, and so close to the finish line. But I’ve been unable to settle on an answer.”

It wasn’t quite the change of subject Horacio hoped for. “Well, for starters,” he began, raising his gaze from his shoes at last, not out of a newly acquired sense of bravery but because he knew he needed to be convincing. “I wouldn’t read too much into Judy Moncada’s Get Out Of Jail Free Card.”

“Oh, I didn’t. I know Peña’s role was only a small part of something a lot bigger than he, you or I could control. But I have to wonder what leverage they had over him to make a deal with the devil impossible to refuse.”

Horacio had no intention of engaging further, but it wasn’t the first time he had wondered about the gap he left that was hastily – and bloodily – filled by Los Pepes. Would they even have been necessary if he'd never left? Or would they have tried their luck in approaching him with the offer of an allegiance? It caused his stomach to swoop if he focused too much on the people involved in that hypothetical scenario. But then he thought of Javier, and he knew with every fibre of his being if their roles had been reversed, he would have done the same.

“I’m sure every man has his reasons if the price is high enough.”

Martínez cocked his head in Horacio’s direction with a creased brow, holding eye contact for a fraction longer than Horacio was comfortable with. “Quite.”

Drunken laughter followed by a sniggered hush abruptly cut through the loud silence. The two Colonels – past and present – turned around to be met with the sight of Javier trying to control the swaying bulk of limbs belonging to his former partner.

Javier spotted them first and halted in his tracks, hoping the dim lighting hid the flash of horror on his face at the sight of two parallel universes colliding in front of him on a garden bench.

Steve apparently was oblivious to what they had stumbled across as he carried on along the path back to the party with just about enough of his faculties remaining to reunite with Connie.

“Everything alright?” Javier asked, fingers twitching on his right hand as he looked from one side of the bench to the other, then back again.

“Yeah, fine.” But Horacio’s eyes found Javier’s in the flecks of light from the lanterns hanging amongst the tree branches and told a more complicated story. “We were just comparing notes.”

“Oh yeah? Any interesting findings?” Javier’s eyes stayed fixed on Horacio’s or the floor for the most part, only risking a brief glance or two at Martínez.

“A few,” Martínez chipped in as he studied them more carefully than they were likely aware of. “Some that I will never be able to excuse or forgive, but I think I understand one thing more clearly now.”

“What’s that?” Horacio asked.

“I always believed there were two types of people in this world: those who rely on hope and those who rely on faith. But now, I see some rely on both.”

Before Javier or Horacio could formulate a response, Martínez announced it was time to locate his son as they had early shifts in the morning.

Their farewell involved little more than a handshake, a stern nod and an exchange of “Good luck.” But it was a necessary formality for all parties. A mark of mutual respect that wasn’t quite an offered or accepted olive branch but at least a truce. And that was enough.

------------------------------------------------------

“You okay?” Javier asked once Martínez had disappeared from view.

“Yeah. Well, I guess it was inevitable at some point.”

“Didn’t expect it to go like that, though. What the fuck did he mean? Just before he left. Does he know?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t think he’s telling anyone anything either way.”

“Agreed. We don’t have to stay if you’d rather -”

“No.” Horacio was quiet for a second, craning his ear towards the sound of the band behind the large cluster of trees they had sat amongst earlier. “I’ve got a better idea.”

He looked around them in all directions, twice, to be on the safe side, then took Javier by the hand and escorted him along one of the walkways. However, they branched off in a different direction than before, Horacio surprising himself with childhood memories of the layout of this place that he assumed were lost to the sands of time.

“What are -?”

“You’ll see.”

The path spiralled in circles, leaving them surrounded by greenery until they arrived at a softly lit water fountain in the centre. They were somehow closer to the sound of the music, even though they had moved further away from the party.

As they stilled, Javier looked expectantly at Horacio, who was already removing his jacket, placing it carefully on the ground and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Javier did the same, still not understanding what this was all about, but the look in Horacio’s eye made him want to find out.

Horacio stepped closer, moonlight casting reflections from the fountain, illuminating the spark of hunger glinting in his pupils. “I’ve spent all night watching you dance with half the wedding party.” One hand dropped to Javier’s waist and tugged him forward into his hold. “It’s my turn now.”

Javier’s breath hitched as Horacio pressed them together, his hands automatically falling to Horacio’s hips to steady himself. “You only had to ask,” he said, the smoky timbre of his voice vibrating against Horacio’s ear.

“I thought line-dancing was more your thing.”

Javier nipped at Horacio’s earlobe in revenge. “That was when I was a kid. And you weren’t complaining about my dancing skills on our anniversary.”

Horacio let out an agreeable sigh as he chased the scrape of Javier’s teeth. “No, I wasn’t. But as nice as that was, we were hardly moving.”

“True. And if you must know, the Texas Two-Step got me several phone numbers back in the day. Lorraine’s being one of them. She was more into it than me, but it was actually kinda fun…for a while anyway.”

Memories of Saturday nights spent at old Texan dance halls and barn dances suddenly filled Javier’s mind. The faded aroma of leather and iron rust lingered alongside stale Lone Star beer, cigarette smoke and overpowering perfume as he led his partner across the worn wooden floor in time to the likes of Laura Canales and Hank Locklin.

His gaze would travel around the room – which was easier during a do-si-do – sometimes to make sure they didn’t collide with other dancers, sometimes to give anyone who caught his eye a discreet once-over. If he happened to hone in on a male dancer's tight-fitted jeans and fluid hip movements, it could easily be disguised as admiration for his female partner.

Not that it ever led to any encounters. Not there anyway; it wasn’t anonymous enough. But it was still a temptation. And yet another instance of feeling caught between two worlds: to have the tangible heat and beauty of a woman in his arms whilst fantasising about a mysterious, alluring man from afar, knowing he could never do the same with him in front of an audience.

“Juliana taught me to dance too. Or tried to, at least. She competed a lot when she was younger.”

Horacio smiled at the unexpected memory of them practising in her parents' kitchen, her father watching them like a hawk, glaring every time Horacio put a foot wrong or his hands fell lower than her waist despite the fact she was a grown woman. And his hands had already done much more than that whenever they had the place to themselves. His relationship with her father was the polar opposite of his relationship with Chucho, now he thought about it.

It wasn’t Juliana’s fault, though. And when they were alone on a crowded dancefloor, before his job and life came between them, before he understood the strange, borderline resentment twisting in his chest if he clocked male dancers with a particular look or build, they were content.

One of their favourite clubs ran a cumbia contest on the first Saturday of each month. The prize was tokenistic, free drinks on their next visit, but that didn’t matter on the occasions they came first when Juliana would tell her parents the good news at church the following day. The look on her father’s face as Horacio tried and failed to stifle a smug expression at her side would always be priceless.

“You ever danced any cumbia?” he asked Javier now.

“Some. At parties, weddings, quinceañeras…but that’s going back before I came to Colombia.” There might have been a few hazy nights in clubs and bars over here as well, but dancing hadn’t been his modus operandi in those days.

“So, you’ve never done it with a Colombian?”

Javier’s brow quirked of its own accord, and his tongue swept deliberately across his top lip. “No, er, you’d be my first.”

Horacio kept an impassive expression with his mouth, but his darkening pupils gave him away. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“You know that won’t be necessary.”

Somewhere in the middle of their flirtation, they loosened their embrace, one hand linked in the space between them as their feet stepped back and forth, then side to side, their movements mirroring one another. Quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow.

Without warning, Horacio pulled Javier across his body and under their arms, spinning him around with force, then bringing them face-to-face again.

“Lucho Bermúdez was one of the great musical legends here in Colombia. Still is after his death last year. Mamá and my Abuelas listened to him all the time whenever the whole family got together. Do you know the name of this song?”

Horacio waited until their noses were almost touching to ask as their feet subconsciously glided over the paving stones beneath them.

Javier merely shook his head, their legs intermittently brushing together as their hips popped to the beat before he was spun once, twice, thrice until he was dizzy and out of breath.

“Tolú,” Horacio whispered as they reconverged, his lips skimming Javier’s and his eyes flickering shut as flashes of them on his cot in their shadowed quarters flooded into view.

Javier teased his bottom lip over Horacio’s, moustache swiping back and forth until they shuddered, a different first time as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

But they never stopped dancing. Horacio looped through their arms until he had his back to Javier, one hand each gripped at Horacio’s waist. They shimmied sideways, their free hands entwined by their shoulders to guide them back and forth, switching their hold each time they travelled across the floor. Another spin, another brush of legs, or an electric look making it clear which memories of Tolú they were thinking of.

The song ended, leaving only their charged breaths and the evening breeze rustling through the maze of trees protecting them from prying eyes.

Then, the band struck up again, so they kept dancing. Their bodies and minds synchronised as they paid homage to the country that had brought them together in the unlikeliest circumstances, Horacio interjecting with memories from childhood whenever old classics were played. He was even forced to swear on the cross between their chests that he had nothing to do with the band playing Noches de Cartagena of all songs.

------------------------------------------------------

By the time Javier prised his eyes open, unwelcome rays were already bursting through any gap in the blinds they could find. He craned his neck above Horacio’s still form, his watch on the nightstand reading 8:45am; ouch.

He’d survived on minimal sleep plenty of times, but he couldn’t remember getting home from a wedding past 5:00am before. If he was honest, they were tempted to call it a night once their private party for two ended. But it would have been rude to miss out on the dancers – professional this time – costumes and confetti of La Hora Loca. When in Colombia and all that.

They still had a few hours before they were to reconvene with the wedding party for the ultimate hangover cure of bandeja paisa, so Javier’s nose and moustache brushed over the nape of Horacio’s neck, arms slotting around him from behind.

A serene purr soon followed as Horacio stirred and leaned into Javier’s touch.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Javier’s lips now worked their way to the side of Horacio’s neck, concentrating on a sweet spot below his ear.

“Liar.” Although Horacio’s whole body arched and his head tilted to give Javier what he wanted.

“Surprised I was awake before you, to be honest.”

“It took me a while to get to sleep…all of two and a bit hours ago.” Horacio winced into the pillow at how little rest he’d actually had.

“Everything okay?”

“Hmm, yeah.” He raised his head and shifted so he was lying face-to-face with Javier. “I was just thinking about my family.”

“Makes sense.”

“When we arrived, we were so focused on the wedding. I didn’t let myself think about what comes next. But now…”

“I said the same to Connie last night. But…maybe we’re ready to rip off the band-aid.”

“Maybe. Part of me just wanted to get it out of the way when I was lying awake. But you nodded off in record time.”

“I think you wore me out.”

“But you enjoyed it, though?”

“It was perfect.” Javier closed the space between them, seeking out Horacio’s lips until he was met with a hum of agreement.

Javier pushed his luck, ducking below Horacio’s ear and descending over the column of his throat. Testing the waters to see if Horacio wanted the distraction Javier was more than willing to provide. “And how’s this?”

“Pretty fucking perfect too.”

Their kisses started languorous due to their lack of sleep, building to something fervid as Horacio nipped at Javier’s pout, catching it between his teeth until it was plump and swollen.

Javier retaliated, coaxing Horacio’s tongue towards his with expert flicks, tasting faint traces of last night’s cigars, until he captured it and sucked, long and thorough.

Limbs tangled between bedsheets soon became Javier whimpering facedown into a pillow whilst Horacio dipped and devoured, creating a slick glide between Javier’s thighs, the relief visceral when lining up and pushing forwards.

Horacio experimented with bracing yet measured rotations as he mouthed along the expanse of Javier’s trapezius, lost in a sea of broad muscle. He’d always loved watching the fabric of Javier’s shirts stretch and strain at his upper back, an eye-catching contrast to the narrow hips his jeans hugged oh so tightly. And now, the shirt wasn’t required, and he was the one setting Javier’s skin alight, triggering a visible response to every touch or movement like putty in Horacio’s hands.

Javier loved being vindicated that there was nothing wrong with Horacio’s hips whatsoever. Of being denied any forewarning of what came next from biting down on a pillow with his eyes screwed shut, the only way he could avoid prematurely spilling all over the sheets beneath him. It was a close call several times, calming breaths required to refocus, a request for Horacio to stop or slow down needed before it was game over.

Knowing he reduced Javier to begging because it was too much put Horacio on thin ice, and any more pleas like that would have finished him off. But the throbbing of his cock was in sync with his pulse, loud and insistent, and keeping still wasn’t having the same effect anymore. The salty taste on his tongue as it swiped over the nape of Javier’s neck where the silver chain still remained was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t ignore.

“Fuck me,” he rasped against Javier’s ear.

Without hesitation, Javier flipped onto his back, the loss of contact causing an ache of frustration. But it was replaced by straddling, groping and grinding, propelling Horacio up the mattress until his thighs were encased around Javier’s head.

Now it was Javier’s turn to feast, spreading Horacio with vigour, darting, licking, kissing, leaving trails of saliva, moaning as his cock was engulfed and fingers danced over his balls.

The scratch of nails scored Horacio’s ass as he worked Javier over, lapping with greed, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing his head and switching up the strength of suction, putting everything they had learnt in Madrid into practice.

They pulled off before it was too late, grabbing the bottle of lube and lying supine across the mattress with Javier underneath Horacio.

Javier’s feet were planted flat on the bed, giving him enough purchase to buck upwards with force, one hand holding on at the waist whilst the other roamed freely across the plains of Horacio’s chest, kneading fistfuls of pectoral muscles and skimming over his rib cage down to his thighs.

Javier caressed each thigh in turn, circling and massaging with his thumb, marvelling at how the span of his hand only reached a fraction of the way around them. “I meant what I said last night. About how good a garter would look on you.” His glutes clenched as he propelled upwards for extra emphasis.

The seed was sewn in Javier’s head as he watched Horacio dress for the wedding. It wasn’t the first time Horacio had worn what was a standard part of his dress uniform. A trick of the trade amongst police and military to avoid sanctions for a creased shirt. But it was the first time Javier had seen the shirt stays sitting snugly around Horacio’s muscular thighs. It was the first time he wanted to slip his fingers underneath the neat straps, maybe twang them or pull them tighter with his teeth whilst on his knees. Or as Horacio rode him with his back to Javier, one side of his shirt unclipped, underwear and a single garter tantalisingly removed, the other kept secured in place.

A guttural groan rumbled through Horacio’s chest like he had read Javier’s mind. “What kind?” he breathed out, surprised by his eagerness to indulge Javier and how fast his hand shot to his cock.

Javier choked back expletives at Horacio’s question and the sight above him. “I was thinking something leather…with a buckle…to match your belt and boots.” Each punishing thrust broke up his speech with strained grunts as he spread Horacio’s thighs wider, manoeuvring him up and down at the same pace. “Maybe one on your arm too….and a harness…to go with your hat…cowboy.”

“Fuck,” Horacio panted into Javier’s mouth at an awkward angle on the pillow, stroking himself roughly. Sparks of arousal multiplied with each wrist jerk as he pictured the look Javier gave him during the belt contest. Imagined him buckling the firm yet supple material until it bound tightly against Horacio’s sensitive skin like armour only they were allowed to put on or take off.

Javier’s hand replaced Horacio’s as he let his cock be held in stasis, basking in the heat and comfort of their joined form. His fingers journeyed back to Horacio’s mouth, tracing over it until Horacio parted his lips for Javier to feed two, then three digits inside.

Horacio sucked down, tasting himself as well as Javier as he swirled and licked, swallowing past the knuckles; faster and greedier. But it wasn’t enough.

Maybe it was the false pretences kept up the previous day and night combined with what lay ahead, but Javier seemed too far away. He always did when they were in public, but even more so when wearing a three-piece suit at a romantic wedding that wasn’t and couldn’t be theirs. It was why they still relished the time they could spend alone. And why they had needed Madrid. Because all those hidden looks and blink-and-miss, ‘accidental’ unseen brushes of hands could only be suppressed for so long. Last night, it had spilt out as inadvertent foreplay. But now, they needed more.

“Turn around,” Horacio said after releasing Javier’s glistening fingers.

They lay heart-to-heart, Horacio on his back, legs wrapped around Javier. Javier’s tongue skimmed across the breadth of Horacio’s chest, taking his sweet time working over each nipple, the scrape of teeth causing Horacio to lift upwards until Javier plunged him back down again.

And Horacio didn’t resist, his mind and body in free flight as the weight of Javier anchored him, allowed him to feel each and every nerve vibrate, his arms sliding above his head in complete surrender, offering them for Javier to claim.

Javier plotted a course across any patch of bare skin he could reach, licking up and down Horacio’s underarms, inhaling the musky scent of sweat before switching to his triceps, then biceps. On the left, he mouthed his way along the muscles; any marks left intentional reassurances and promises for their present and future, their bodies mapped stories of their lives.

Along the right, he eased up when he came to the faded scar at the mid-point of Horacio’s shoulder, placing tender butterfly kisses over the blemished skin, blinking away visions of a bullet tearing it open and taking care not to let his teeth make unwanted contact with their past.

He gradually dragged his mouth away until their gaze met, the rise and fall of Horacio’s chest compelling Javier to lay his head on it, soothed by the steady beat and the massage at his scalp.

Satisfied, Javier lifted Horacio’s arms back above them, sweeping over the peaks and troughs of fortified shoulders, forearms and wrists until they slotted through fingers that clamped around his like a vice.

Javier rocked in a pounding rhythm, Horacio’s legs rising higher, pushing Javier deeper as compensation for being unable to reach out and touch. Horacio honed in on the lifeline at his fingertips, the stimulation against his prostate and the safety of Javier’s forehead, all thoughts about the upcoming days put on hold.

But Javier could sense Horacio needed more again. It was written all over the beautiful agony of his face and the silent request in his eyes.

So, hands unlocked to let fingernails brand skin, tug at damp strands of hair and graze over stubble, the metallic ice of the cross contrasting with the fire burning in the core of their chests as they danced more synchronised steps only they knew.

A change in angle caused a slow build of release to skirt the edges of Horacio’s limbs, toes curling as jolts of pleasure transformed into overflowing currents. The fuse was lit, a chain reaction of heat stoking a fire in the pit of his abdomen on the cusp of burning him from the inside out.

Another snap of hips, his own hand jerking his cock in a frenzy, a rush of white noise, shuddering, shaking breaths and a release of molten bliss across their stomachs.

The ripples kept coming as every sound, quiver or fluttering around Javier’s cock pushed him closer to the edge. With one final thrust, he finished inside Horacio, a desperate growl tearing from his throat, the brunt absorbed by Horacio’s left shoulder.

They didn’t move, preferring spent velvet kisses, the world now in slow motion.

Javier concentrated on Horacio’s nose and forehead, pouring everything into each gesture of affection until he whispered, “I love you. And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I love you too. And I know.”

------------------------------------------------------

They dozed a little too long after wearing each other out for the second time in 24 hours, so Horacio went ahead first, leaving Javier to shower and join him afterwards. But it made little difference to the proceedings as plenty of other guests were slow off the mark, too.

Tables were laid out around the nearby restaurant owned by Juana’s parents, leftover flower arrangements used as decorations because it would have been a shame to waste them. It was a much smaller space than the botanical gardens, but not all guests from the night before were expected to attend. A fact that brought immense relief to Horacio because he wouldn’t have to make conversation with a certain Colonel again.

Whilst waiting for Javier, he worked his way through his belated first coffee of the day and took a bite out of an arepa.

“Is there room for two more?”

Horacio raised his head to find Connie with Olivia in tow. “Of course.”

Connie did her best to encourage Olivia out of her hiding place behind her legs. “Come on, sweetie. Do you want something to eat?”

Olivia peeped out from behind Connie, eyeing Horacio with suspicion.

“Don’t mind her; she’s just a little shy and overtired this morning.”

“Some arepas are going spare if that helps?” Horacio kept his voice low and gentle, peering around Connie until he drew a curious expression out of Olivia.

Olivia looked up at her mother, who nodded for reassurance.

“Go ahead.”

Olivia left her hiding place and took the chair between Horacio and Connie, mumbling a thank you as she ate.

“Help yourself, too.”

“Oh, no, thanks. I’ll wait for Steve, whose painkillers should hopefully be kicking in about now. I don’t feel too bad, but I left him groaning into his pillow. Were you and Javi in the same state this morning?”

Horacio fought down a smirk with every strength of his being. “Something like that.”

“I knew it was a smart move to travel to Cartagena tomorrow instead.”

“Where are you staying?”

“A resort just off La Boquilla beach. Steve and I would’ve preferred something quieter, but there’s more to keep kids busy where we’re at.”

“I don’t know the area well, but it is a nice coast up there. With plenty more arepas.” Horacio directed his last sentence at Olivia, who had already made a start on her second.

She slowed her chewing before smiling at Horacio, who had remembered a trick or two from the younger days of dealing with his nieces and nephews. If all else failed, food usually won them round.

“I’ve only seen Medellín and Bogotá, so it’ll be nice to get out of the big cities for a change.”

Horacio cleared his throat and took a long sip of his drink. “Yeah, it will.”

Connie leaned across the table to retrieve a freshly replenished pot of coffee and poured into her cup. “It’s a shame we won’t get a chance to see Manizales this time. But we’ll be thinking about it anyway.”

Horacio was startled out of his own coffee and met Connie’s eye, unsure how to respond before settling on a silent nod of thanks. “Maybe next time if all goes well.”

“I think we’d like that. Breaks like this are few and far between now we’re both back working.”

“How’s Miami these days?”

“Busy now we’re juggling our schedules with Liv’s. And we still have bad days sometimes, of course.” Connie gave Horacio a pointed look when talking of bad days, choosing her words carefully with Olivia in earshot. “But things are better now we’ve got more routine again…more stability.”

“Sounds familiar. I find being in the same country helps, too,” Horacio added with a wry smile.

“Exactly. Now we’re out the other side.”

“Yeah.”

They shared a knowing look, not wanting to say too much in front of Olivia about everything they had been through. It was hard to believe how much had happened and changed in the last few years, and it was clear everyone was still processing it all.

“How’s your arm doing now?” Connie asked in a hurry, keeping the mood light for the sake of her daughter.

“It’s as good as new. Well, almost. The ranch kept me moving. I think I built back more muscle than I had before. And I kept up strengthening exercises in Madrid.”

“Wow, you’re doing better than most of my patients. I never had to tell you off once.”

“I don’t follow many orders, but it wasn’t worth my arm – or life – to ignore yours. So, thank you.”

“Try telling that to Steve...or this one here. But seriously, I’m just glad I could help. Especially when I hear you might be making ranch life more permanent?” There was a conspiratorial tone to her question. A question she clearly knew the answer to already but was having fun asking regardless.

“That’s the plan, hopefully. Madrid was always supposed to be temporary.”

“But it helped?”

“Yeah. It was exactly what we needed. And maybe you’ll find Cartagena is what you need.”

“I think we will.”

There was that look again, one that spoke volumes about their shared understanding, even if their experiences were different.

Horacio’s gaze drifted up to Javier, who still wore his aviators until he flopped down at their table, already reaching for a cup and the coffee pot.

“Morning.”

“Afternoon, Javi,” Connie greeted with a wink.

“Very funny. But looks like I still beat your husband.”

“Don’t suppose you saw him on your way over?”

“Nope. I’m sure he’ll appear once the food does.”

Javier was right, of course. A worse-for-wear Steve arrived as the bandeja paisa was brought to the tables before they tucked into huge hot trays of beans, rice, chicharrón, chorizo, carne en polvo, plantain, avocado, fried egg and more arepas.

They ate in comfortable silence, letting the food work its magic and fill them up for the rest of the day, highlights from the reception still fresh in everyone’s minds despite their current weariness.

Before long, it was time to wave the newlyweds off on their honeymoon to Bequia. Their goodbyes were short and sweet, knowing they would be keeping in touch long after the celebrations were over, especially when Trujillo’s parting words were, “I’ll be waiting for my ranch invitation in the post.”

And even through the loud crowd of well-wishers, he managed to hear the mumbled “Cheeky fucker” echoed back at him in unison.

------------------------------------------------------

Javier and Horacio stayed to finish their coffees once the beeps of the wedding car disappeared into the distance, the majority of the party now dispersed and leaving them sat alone.

“Pops rang just before I left the hotel. Think he wanted to check in before…well, y’know.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. The only bit of news he asked me to pass on was about him being offered first refusal on Ciro’s and Malena’s place.”

The fact the Ortegas were selling up wasn’t a surprise. Javier and Horacio had spent last Christmas in Laredo again, where Ciro and Malena had brought around a fresh batch of sopaipillas over the festive period. In the preceding months, they had gone back and forth on moving, but by December, they were set on putting the farm on the market in the New Year.

Horacio nodded slowly, his brow drawn tight across his forehead as he considered this new development carefully. “Makes sense.”

“Do you think he’ll seriously consider it at his age?”

“I think he has to. We buy the majority of our feed grain from them. Selling to an outsider could risk price hikes and shortages, or the new owners might want to supply to someone else. It’d be a big gamble. But if your father bought them out, then kept their staff on, used their expertise, maybe even increased the livestock with some of the extra land…I think it could be workable.”

Horacio was aware he was being watched and glanced up to face his audience. “What?”

“Nothing.” Although Javier knew his face told another story. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak such fluent cowboy before.”

“I’m not a—”

“Not yet,” Javier finished for him. “And I never said it was a bad thing.”

------------------------------------------------------

After every funeral, an additional service was held exclusively for CNP officers to attend. Whilst gravestones were located across Colombia in countless cemeteries, a modest wooden cross bearing a name was planted for each loss in the consecrated soil around the corner from Carlos Holguín.

Horacio had paid his respects here more times than he wished to remember, but he still wasn’t prepared for how vast the sea of the dead had become since his last visit. It was a silent expanse covering the grass for as far as the eye could see, the sole sign of life the weeds and wildflowers shooting up between the rows he walked through.

He recognised some names and could clearly picture their ashen-faced relatives as though it was yesterday when he stood on their doorsteps, hat in hand and solemn expression fixed in place. Others were indistinguishable from the rest. An indicator of the extent of the collateral damage and how long he had been away now.

As he stood in his civilian clothes, he felt strangely underdressed. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to wear his usual ranch attire since being back in Colombia and had returned to the beige khakis and polo shirts that felt like an unofficial uniform of their own. One that allowed him to get away with wholly unofficial business in the past, but today wasn’t about him. Today was about them. All of them. No matter who they were.

Perhaps against his better judgement, with the help of Trujillo, he had located the graves of Diana Turbay and Carolina García Velásquez. He didn't allow himself to remember Carolina’s name at the time, even though she had been plastered all over the papers alongside mysterious references to an “unidentified officer of the National Police” leading the raid on La Dispensaria. A story eerily repeated with Diana’s death.

He didn’t linger at their gravesides. But on those occasions, just like this one, Horacio bowed his head, recited a silent prayer and made the sign of the cross.

“Lo siento,” were the only words spoken before he retreated from the churchyard.

He had done all he could here for now, and it was time to…not forget but to move on. It was time to face his fears and look to the future. It was time to let old ghosts rest once and for all.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

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prettyinlimegreenboots · 10 days

Text

Taking Comfort (In Your Arms)- Chapter 6

July 20, 1943 - 0900 hours

“Captain Baker, my office.” Harding’s voice echoed through the office causing Josie’s eyes to go wide as she looked at her best friend.

Picking up her notebook and a pen, Addie tried to think if there was anything that she had done that could have angered the new CO recently. Her notes were exceptional and the requests were always neat. Walking into his office, she gave her boss a look as he motioned her to close the door. That was never a good sign, she sighed, doing what he asked before taking a seat.

“What’s this?” Harding held up a piece of paper, handing it over to her. Her eyes went wide as she scanned it.

Meeting Harding’s eyes, she was at a loss of words. A blush crept up her cheeks, taking in the words. On the paper was a request for 1500 units of Twinkies and 2000 units of rubbers in a very distinct male handwriting. “I don’t know, sir. But you know that’s not my writing.”

“Oh I’m well aware. It looks like one of those jokesters decided to slip this into your stack of weekly requests and try to get it approved.” Harding chuckled, giving her a look. “Any idea who’s handwriting it could be?”

She studied the piece of paper again, vaguely recognizing it. “I have a few names that it could be. How are you going to handle this, sir?”

“I was hoping you would have some ideas.” He raised an eyebrow in her direction.

Pondering a minute, a wicked smile crossed her lips. “Would this be base-wide sir or just the flying crews?”

Harding laughed seeing the mischievous twinkle in her eyes, making note never to get on her bad side. “I’m guessing this was from the flying crew so probably just them to start. Though if these requests get more outlandish, then the entire base will probably be invited. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking of a lecture on what's a proper request and what isn’t,” She paused, a wicked smile on her face. “Given by yours truly.”

Handing the piece of paper back to him, she watched him stamp “denied” on it, signing it. “How soon can you have the presentation prepared?”

“Three days?” She inquired, him nodding in confirmation.

“I’ll alert the men. July 23, say 1600 hours.” Harding made note of it on a paper, giving her a grin. “I’ll make sure everyone is there.”

Holding out her hand, Harding immediately shook it, giving her a look. “Let me know if those jokers give you a hard time.”

“I can hold my own, Colonel.” She stood, coming to attention before he dismissed her. “Of that, I have no doubt, Baker.”

Walking out of his office, she cussed under her breath. She would bet anything that Bucky was the one to slip that paper in her normal stack and carry on without a care in the world. She walked back to her desk with an amused look on her face that Josie picked up on. “What was that?”

“We’re surrounded by teenage boys, Josie. The whole lot of them are overgrown teenagers.” She rolled her eyes, sitting down at her desk and starting to rearrange it, moving the requests pile to the other side of her desk. “I have a new assignment and I’m presenting it in three days to 100 men.”

As she told Josie what had transpired, Josie couldn’t help but laugh. The men on base didn’t know what they were in for. “You’ll be there, of course, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Addie.” Josie laughed, shaking her head. “Have you figured out who did it?”

Addie shook her head. “Nope but their co-conspirator is blatantly obvious though. And I'll deal with him in due time.”

July 23 - 1600 hours

Standing off to the side, she was waiting for Harding to make his appearance. Looking down at her chipped nail polish, she heard the noise level raise as the men tried to figure out what was happening. There were whispers from those that had picked up on her presence within the room. For the past three days, there had been various rumors going around based regarding what this secret meeting was all about. Even John and Buck had questioned her to see if she knew. She feigned confusion about the meeting, stating that Harding never mentioned a meeting and she hadn’t heard anything about it.

“Attention.” Came the call as everyone in the room jumped to their feet as Harding came walking up the aisle.

“At ease gentlemen.” He called, stepping up to the podium. The room grew quiet as he looked around the room. “Today we have called you all together to educate you on wartime rations and what are proper requests to be made during this time. I have asked Captain Adelaide Baker to take a few minutes to discuss the proper protocol then we’ll open it up to questions if there are any. Captain, the floor is yours.”

She stepped up to the stage. Glancing around the room, she noted Josie near the back of the room with a smirk on her face. Addie took a deep breath, looking at Bucky, his eyes wide with a bit of fear at her standing there unwavering, amusement and something else outweighed the fear. “Gentlemen, it has come to my attention that an overarching request has crossed my desk. The request in question is one that Colonel Harding immediately denied. To the gentleman who requested 1500 units of Twinkies and 2000 units of rubbers, I’m saddened to say those won’t be arriving in next week’s supply run.”

The boos that broke out at that news caused her to chuckle. Looking at the front row, she saw Bucky wink at her while Buck ran his hand down his jaw chuckling and shaking his head.

“I want to make it abundantly clear that any requests not following proper channels will be swiftly denied. If John Egan slips one more outlandish request onto the pile, it will be denied automatically.” She took a moment to scan the room, the hoots and hollers causing Addie to grin.

Bucky gave her a look before blowing her a kiss, shrugging his shoulders an easy grin on his face. Shaking her head, she attempted to keep the amusement at bay. “I have some reading materials that will be passed out to ensure that proper protocol is followed and this mistake is not made again, understand?”

“Yes Captain.” Came the call from the 100 men in the room, her nodding at Colonel Harding, stepping down, standing to the side as Harding finished the meeting with a few announcements before dismissing the men. The men rapidly made their escape, Addie overhearing a few comments about how scary she was.

Blakely and Demarco slid up to her both giving her a grin. “Just a typical day kicking ass and taking names, huh Addie?”

“Apparently so. Also according to some of the newer guys, I’m scary.” She grinned.

DeMarco threw his head back laughing hard. “You? Scary?”

“I don’t get it.” She smirked innocently, as Blakely clapped his hands in amusement. “I have a sparkling personality.”

Both men laughed, just as Bucky, Buck, Biddick, Bubbles and Crosby made their way over to them.

“You’re a little liar!” Biddick stuck his tongue out at her as she gave him a little shove.

Holding her hands up innocently, she gave the men a look. “I wasn’t going to have you run and tell your groups that it wasn’t a serious meeting. You all needed to pay for the sheer embarrassment I felt when Harding called me into his office.”

“How red was your face when Harding showed you the piece of paper?” Blakely asked, Addie’s eyes going wide.

“My face probably looked like a damn strawberry with how embarrassed I was.” She admitted.

Glaring at them as they all dissolved into laughter, she shook her head, attempting to be pissed at all of them but finding it hard to do. “All of you are dodos and I hate you all.”

“Awww Addie you love us.” Crosby and Bubbles hugged her as DeMarco and Biddick followed suit.

Looking helplessly at Blakely, Bucky and Buck, they smirked before joining the hug with the other men. Rolling her eyes, she wiggled, trying to break loose from the suffocating hug but they just laughed and hugged tighter.

“Men, release Captain Baker this instant.” Harding’s voice was amused, watching the men step back and Addie’s face reappeared.

“I hate you all.” She gave them a look, looking at her boss for directions. “Can I go get a drink at the officers club or do you need me to finish up the day?”

Harding chuckled. “Well done today, Captain. I think you’ve earned yourself an early afternoon. Gentleman, I expect her to be well taken care of tonight.”

Saluting Harding, they watched him leave as Bucky looked at Addie. “Despite throwing me under the bus, you did well.”

“Oh trust me, you still have a lecture coming, Major.” She winked at him, while his eyes went wide with want as the boys oohed at the threat. A promise of later was passed between them while Biddick loudly announced he was ready for a drink.

Slipping her hand into Bucky’s, she followed him and the boys as they headed to the officers club. “Just so you know, you might hear a couple men tell you your girl is scary.”

“They just gotta get to know you, Bluebird.” He quipped back, grinning. “You know I’m proud of you right. Took my breath away when you stepped on that stage. Fully deserved to be called out but you looked confident and sure of yourself lecturing 100 men. How long have you known I slipped that into your pile?”

Squeezing her hand, Addie looked up at him, amused. “Oh instantly, you’re not as sly as you think you are. However, I completely forgot about it until Harding called me into his office on Tuesday morning. Then I spotted the biggest blush on my face while we discussed next steps. But the real question is who slipped it to you? I have it narrowed down to a few names.”

“Tell me the names.” Bucky gave her a look, tugging on her hand to get her to pause, watching all the boys enter the officer’s club.

She shook her head, eyes wide at the mischief in his grin. “No, you’re not going to alert them that I know.”

“I’m wounded that you think I’d tell them instead of helping you get them back.” Bucky placed his free hand on his heart, raising an eyebrow at her.

“You love your boys just as much as you love me, if not more.” Leaning close to him, she threw her arms around his shoulders, leaning up to place a kiss on his lips. “So you’ll help me get whoever back?”

“You, you are the number one love of my life, Bluebird. Those dodos don’t hold a candle to you. Now tell me names, Adelaide.” He leaned forward giving her another kiss, adding a bit more heat to it as his hands skimmed her sides.

Pulling back, she locked eyes with him. “Promise me your loyalty is with me and not whom I’m going to tell you. Just tell me it isn’t Buck.”

A gruff laugh escaped his mouth at her attempt to be tough. “Yes, my loyalty is with you. And no, it’s not Buck, though don’t let him fool you, he has gotten into his fair share of pranks. He’s innocent this time.”

“Alright.” She relented, looking around to make sure none of the men that she had narrowed it down to were anywhere near the club. “Douglass, Blakely or Hamilton.”

Bucky’s poker face broke as she listed the names. He needed to add detective to the list of words he would describe her with. “One of those men is indeed the culprit.”

“Any hint of which one it is? Or is it all of them combined?” Inquiring, she was hoping Bucky wouldn’t just blurt out the name. She had had her fun narrowing it down.

“Not all of them together, no. There’s a solo culprit. But you have interacted with him plenty, especially in the club.” Bucky surmised, giving her a look.

Nodding, she bit her lip. “So that narrows it down to Blakely or Douglass. Hmmm, alright I’ll have to figure out how to get them back.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Bluebird. Now let’s get a drink.” Bucky tugged her hand, leading her into the already boisterous officers club, with a laugh.

July 24 - 0500 Hours

Signing the letter, she put it in the envelope, sealing it shut before pressing a red lipstick stain to the front of it. Easing her feet into her heels, she grabbed her coat and the box on her bed, ducking out into the still cool morning. She tucked the envelope into her pocket, knowing it would be delivered later.

Walking to the mess, she heard the low tones of the boys as they ate. She had enough experience not to mess around with the boys while they were still half asleep.

Winding through the tables, she found who she was looking for, taking note that both Bucky and Buck were a few tables away. “Morning gents.”

“Addie!” The ten crowded around the table called, DeMarco giving her a playful wink. “What brings you here this morning?”

Dropping the box on the table in front of Douglass, she smirked. “You got mail that was accidentally delivered to the women’s hut, Douglass. Didn’t want you to go up this morning without it just in case.”

Douglass eyed her curiously, taking a sip of coffee. He hesitated taking the box from her, not knowing what she had up her sleeve. “Why would my mail be delivered to your hut, Addie?”

“Not sure but it was.” She nudged the box closer to him. “You going to open it?”

The smug look on her face should have been his first clue that she was messing with him but he was too curious about what was in the box. Using the bread knife he tore through the tape, slowly peeking in the box before throwing his head back and laughing. “Damn Addie.”

“Don’t mess with my supply requests again, Douglass or your ass will be in the drink. Understood?” She gave him her best angry face, though she was laughing, he got her message loud and clear.

“Aye aye Captain.” He saluted her, winking at her.

“Make sure you share.” She tapped the table, giving them a look. “Come home later on today boys.”

They murmured their agreement, grinning at her as she took her leave, walking over to Buck and Bucky’s table, taking a seat beside Bucky. “Gents.”

“Causing trouble so early in the morning, Addie?” Buck teased as Bucky gave her a good morning kiss.

Whispering a good morning to Bucky, she shook her head, giving Buck an innocent look. “Me? Trouble? Now why would you think that Cleven?”

“Because that innocent voice doesn’t work, Addie. What did you do and how much am I going to have to hear about it?” Buck squared his shoulders, sticking a toothpick in his mouth, already rubbing his temples.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Getting Douglass back for his prank and you won’t have to hear about it, I promise. Though you may want to pull rank and get one of the treats that I included.”

That grabbed Buck’s attention. “What was in the box?”

“The two items he requested, plus a few feminine products that he has yet to find.” She smirked, knowing it’ll be a bit before he found them. “Just wait and listen for the scream when he does find them.”

Buck and Bucky both laughed, knowing she was right. Bucky shivering as he looked at his girl. “You can be scary when you’re scheming. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Thanks handsome.” She stole a quick kiss from him.

“What’s your day look like today?” Bucky asked, watching her steal a piece of bacon from his plate.

Shrugging, she bit her lip. “Waiting for you boys to come back, same old same old.”

Before long, the call came for the briefing. She promised Bucky she’d be outside the hut waiting afterwards. DeMarco handed her Meatball’s lead before they went in. Unclipping the lead, she found a stray tennis ball, bounced it a few times to get Meatball’s attention before throwing it for him. They played catch, waiting for the men to be released. Just after she had thrown the ball again, the doors were thrown open and men started to pile out, DeMarco in the lead. “Where’s my dog, Addie?”

Before she could answer, Meatball came back with the tennis ball in his mouth, dropping it at Addie’s feet. Grinning, she gave DeMarco a look, laughing. “Ask and you shall receive.”

Watching Bucky walk through the hut’s door, she saw him scan the area looking for her. She met him halfway, tugging on his hand, leading him to a quieter area. “You ready for today?”

“As ready as I can be.” His hands came to rest on her hips, pulling her closer. “Seems like this will be a fairly easy run.”

Her eyes rose, meeting his. “Be safe and come home.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled envelope. “Wrote this for you, read it whenever.”

“You wrote me a letter?” His voice softened, taking it from her and slipping it in his jacket.

Nodding, she beamed. “I did, thought you might want a little something to take up with you.”

Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she stood on her tiptoes, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I love you, come home safe to me.”

“Love you too, Addie.” He murmured. “Date night when I get back?”

Raising an eyebrow, Addie was intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”

“Thinking of some dessert, a blanket for me and you in the middle of a field.” His thumb moved up and down on her side as he stole another kiss.

She gently tugged his neck down, moving to deepen the kiss. Pulling back slightly, she looked into his baby blues. “Sounds like a plan to me. You better go before Buck comes yelling for you.”

“Love you Addie.”

“Love you too Bucky. See you soon.” She grinned, watching him pick up his bag and head towards the trucks.

Just before he jumped in, he blew her a kiss, a grin on his face. She caught it, holding her hand to her chest with a sad smile.

0730 Hours

They boys had been up for about an hour when Harding came rushing into the tower, door slamming behind him. “Captain Baker, I need you to come with me.”

Giving her CO a look, she pushed back from her desk. “What’s going on sir?”

“Come on and we’ll fill you in.” He looked at Addie, starting to walk, fully expecting her to follow behind him.

Giving Josie a look, Addie quickly followed behind Harding. Leaving the tower and heading to the command center, she was utterly confused. The morning had gone smoothly or as well as she thought it could go. There had been no major issues and smooth takeoffs for the men. She had stood on the tower, watching the men fly off, Harding and her father not saying anything.

Walking into the command center, she saw Bowman and Kidd both standing there, their conversation ending as they spotted her and Harding. Her stomach jumped to her throat seeing them there. “Good you’re here, Captain Baker.”

“Sirs, what’s going on?” She attempted to catch her breath, looking between the three men, confusion written on her face. Her first thought was Bucky and if something had happened to him but it would be too early to know that. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulder, anticipating whatever news they would be delivering.

“There was an ATA plane that made an unexpected stop here about 15 minutes ago. The pilot was taken to the infirmary but the plane needs to be delivered to Ratcliff. Obviously our boys are up but it is absolutely dire that the plane is delivered this morning.” Harding paused, giving her a look, one that stated he had no other option. “I need you to take the plane to Ratcliff.”

Addie’s eyes went wide at his words, disbelief in her words. “Sir, you know as well as I do that I was kicked out of the ATA. I was specifically told never to fly an ATA aircraft again.”

“Yes, Captain, I’m well aware of that but that plane needs to get to Rafcliff.” Looking between Bowman and Kidd, Harding ran a hand over his face, looking at Addie. “I cannot stress the importance of that Spitfire getting to that base. It would take too long to get another ATA here to fly it - you’re here and able to do it.”

Shaking her head, Addie’s eyes went wide, with a mix of fear and excitement at his words. As she steadied herself, excitement took over, she’d deal with the fear later. “With all due respect sir, the Air Force isn’t going to be happy to see me getting out of a Spitfire.”

“That’s my concern, Captain Baker, not yours. I will call the base and let them know to expect you.” He chuckled at her frank words. “Now can I count on you getting that Spitfire to Ratcliff?”

Looking at Bowman, worry written on his face, giving her a wink. He had known Addie since she was a child and knew the emotions she was feeling. Addie nodded. “Is there a plane there to bring me back or am I taking a train back?”

“From what I was told, there should be a flight back for you once you land at Ratcliff but you know the drill. Take your bag with you just in case.” Kidd stepped in, giving her a grim smile. “You will need to be wheels up in 30.”

“You’ll let Bucky and my father know?” She didn’t want them both worrying about her when they eventually came to find her.

All three men agreed to let them know. Nodding, she left them, stopping back into the office. She hastily scribbled a note on a piece of paper at her desk, folding it up before stopping at Josie’s desk. “I’m heading out on a mission - taking a Spitfire back to Ratcliff. If Bucky gets back before me, can you give him this?”

“You can’t-you’re going up?” Josie’s eyes were wide with confusion listening to her best friend.

Nodding, Addie bit her lip. “I wouldn’t unless it wasn’t urgent and according to Harding it’s dire that the Spitfire goes back to Ratcliff today. Pilot’s in the infirmary so I need to deliver it.”

“I expect to hear the full story when you get back. Safe travels, Addie and I’ll see you later.” Josie quickly gave her a hug, taking the note from her.

Addie didn’t waste time, immediately heading to the barracks to pack her bag, grabbing her flight book, and change into the official uniform, never having the heart to get rid of it. Within 20 minutes, she was back on the tarmac, making her way to the Spitfire. Throwing her bag in the cockpit, she made her way around the plane doing her pre-flight checks, the steps coming back as if she’d been doing this all along.

Climbing into the cockpit, she put on her headset, doing the remaining pre-flight checks. She mapped her route, figuring out the direct path from Thorpe Abbotts and Ratcliff before radioing the tower. “Tower, this is Able Tare Able 2-5-5 requesting take off instructions.”

Madison radioed back with the instructions, telling Addie to have a safe flight. Starting engines, she taxied out onto the tarmac, waiting for the green flare to fly before taking flight.

Once she was in the air, she relaxed in her seat, the familiar hum of the plane around her. Grinning, she laughed as she guided the plane in a left turn, heading towards Ratcliff. Within an hour, she was radioing the Ratcliff Tower asking for landing instructions. “Tower, this is Able Tare Able 2-5-5 flying a Spitfire, requesting landing instructions, over.”

“Able Tare Able 2-5-5, you are clear for overhead approach. Runway 150 at 1,200 indicated. Winds are 200 at 12. Altimeter, 29.85. Over.” A very familiar voice responded back, as she laughed. “Never thought I’d hear this voice over my radio again. Welcome back, Baker.”

“Thank you Tower, over.” She responded, smoothly landing the Spitfire on the runway. “Spitfire, landed, Tower.”

“Hard stand 18, over.” Came the response as she directed the plane towards the requested hard stand. A sigh escaped her mouth, nerves flaring in her chest at the reception that she would receive when she got out of the plane.

“Spitfire off the runaway and on hardstand, out, Tower.” She responded, flipping off the engine, taking off her headphones. Grabbing her bag, she climbed out of the Spitfire, squaring herself for the next few minutes. Hearing the jeep come closer, she squinted at the driver. “Adelaide Baker as I live and breathe!”

Throwing her bag over her shoulder, Addie’s face broke out in a grin seeing one of her best friends, Anna sitting in the jeep. “Anna! I was hoping to see you.”

She had met Anna and Lydia in Canada when Jackie Cochran pulled the best fly girls in America together to bring a group to Europe to start the ATAs in 1941. They had bunked together, instantly becoming great friends and colleagues. The three of them rose through the ranks and classes of planes, Addie being the first of the group to fly the class 5s, a B-17 with Anna and Lydia following two weeks later.

Throwing her bag in the jeep, she quickly pulled Anna into a hug, swaying her back and forth. “Oh it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“You as well. You’ve got the base buzzing as we weren’t exactly expecting your voice to be over the radio.” Anna raised an eyebrow, climbing back into the jeep, motioning Addie to do the same. “Why exactly are you on my base?”

Addie laughed. “The pilot that was supposed to be bringing the Spit here made an unexpected landing at Thorpes. All the boys are up on a mission today so there wasn’t anyone around to bring her to you. This wasn’t exactly on my to-do list today.”

Anna nodded. “I bet not but you had the thrill of it anyways. I guess that makes sense but the brass wants to talk to you.”

“I’ve been out of commission for five months, I know how this goes, Anna.” She gave her a look. “I’m guessing I’m heading to interrogation before figuring out how to get home?”

“Nailed it one.” Anna laughed. “Lydia and I were both in the tower when you radioed in. We knew something had to be up as you were the last voice we expected to hear.”

“Lydia’s here too?” Addie brightened considerably, not expecting to see both of her friends today.

Pulling the jeep to a stop, Anna stayed seated in the jeep, pointing to the hut. “Her flight got delayed so she’s here. Right in there. The CO and a few others are awaiting you. I’ll grab Lydia and figure out how to get you back to Thorpe.”

“Thanks Anna.” She gave her a nod, climbing out of the jeep. With a deep breath, she took a few steps forward before throwing open the doors, seeing four gentlemen waiting for her. “Captain Baker.”

1030 Hours - Thorpe Abbotts

Walking out of interrogation, Bucky felt the light breeze ruffle his hair. Flanked by Buck, DeMarco, and Blakely all he wanted to do is find his Bluebird, grab some lunch, then relax the rest of the afternoon. “Major Egan.”

Pausing in his steps, she saw both Josie and Colonel Harding yelling after him. “This can’t be good.” Buck muttered, giving his best friend a look, wary of what he did or didn’t do. “You’ve been on the ground for 20 minutes, no way you could’ve screwed something up that fast.”

“You’re telling me.” Bucky gave him a look before looking at the two people coming closer to him. “Sir, Josie, what’s going on?”

“Captain Baker was needed for a mission.” Harding started, giving Bucky a look, not beating around the bush. “We’re not sure when she’ll return but she made a run down to Ratcliff.”

All four men stopped at Harding’s words. If Bucky wasn’t concerned for Addie’s sake, he would have laughed at the various expressions on his friends’ faces. Buck’s jaw had dropped, a cuss slipping off his tongue, DeMarco looked way too excited and happy for his liking, Blakely had disbelief on his face at the words. “She’s down in Ratcliff? She was kicked out of the ATA, she’s not supposed to be flying.”

“We’re well aware of that Egan. However, this Spitfire needed to be delivered today and she was the only one that was able to fly it.” Harding gave Bucky a look. “I called the Colonel at Ratcliff and let them know she was on her way and explained the situation. But you never know how that’s going to be received on the ground. She landed there around 0930, we did get word she’s on the ground.”

Bucky shook his head, his heart pounding in his chest. He had more questions to ask but his brain went blank as his heart stopped. “Why did she need to take a Spit down? What happened to the original pilot?”

Thankfully Buck’s brain was working and asked the proper question Bucky wanted to. He shot his friend a thankful look, Harding looking between Buck and Bucky. “The original pilot had a medical emergency and needed to stop here, still in the infirmary for a few more days. The Spitfire will be shipping out later tomorrow so time was of essence. Addie was the right pilot for the job. She should be back later today or tonight, depending on when there’s a ferry back. Any other questions, gentlemen?”

Bucky shook his head. In the end, he just hoped Addie wouldn’t get into trouble for doing the very thing her CO asked her to do. “No sir, thank you for letting me know.”

“Trust me Egan, if there was anyone else, I wouldn’t be putting your girl in the firing range.” Harding looked apologetic, clasping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving a nod to the boys before taking his leave.

Sighing, Bucky attempted to wrap his head around Addie’s mission. He couldn’t believe she was able to go back up. While he was happy and proud she got to go back up he was more worried about the reception she would receive while at Ratcliff. Looking at the people around him, he found they all were looking at him for the next move. “So this is how it feels while you’re waiting for us to come back?” Bucky looked over at Josie with a grin.

“Your girl is still in England, not crossing the channel Bucky.” Josie gave him a not so amused look. “She’s not going into enemy territory and is guaranteed to come back safe and sound, maybe a little defeated depending on how much shit they’re giving her for flying again.”

“Bucky, you heard the CO - she’s on the ground. I’m sure she’s in interrogation and catching up with her two friends there. Knowing Anna and Lydia, they’re getting the dirt on the men here at base.” The laughter from Josie’s words caused the tension to be released from their shoulders. They had all grown to care for both her and Addie over the last few weeks and were all concerned when something had happened. “Besides, she left this with me.”

Holding out the folded piece of paper, Bucky took it from her, giving her a side hug. “Thanks Josie. Don’t know about the rest of you but I’m hungry. Addie’s going to kick our asses if we mope over her being gone.”

“Calling the kettle black there, huh Bucky?” Blakely called out, while the others laughed.

Smacking him, Bucky motioned them to get going, pausing to read the note Addie had left him.

Bucky, I’m fine. Just had to take a Spitfire down to Ratcliff, you know, a normal day in paradise. I’ll be back before you know it. Love you, Addie

He chuckled at her words, relief flooding his brain. Folding the note back up, he tucked it in his jacket, rushing to catch up with the group, looping his arm around Buck’s shoulder. “You good?”

“I’ll be good as soon as she touches back down.” Bucky smirked at Buck, letting him know that he would be okay.

Walking into the mess hall, Bucky sighed. He just hoped she would be back soon.

Meanwhile at Ratcliff

Walking out of the interrogation hut, Addie shook her head. She met with four men, two colonels, a major and the Air Exec. They questioned her about the pilot and if anything was wrong with the Spitfire. After an hour of their excessive questioning, she asked them how she was getting back to Thorpe Abbotts and they gave her the best case option.

Grinning, she saw Lydia and Anna leaning against a jeep waiting. “Took you long enough.”

“Can’t help that your COs want my head.” Addie shrugged, pulling Lydia in a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

Lydia swayed her, hugging her tightly, pulling back and looking at her best friend. “About gave me a heart attack when I heard your voice on my radio earlier. Anna filled me in on what happened.”

“Not how I thought my day would go, that’s for sure.” Putting on her aviators, Addie smiled. “Can I get some grub before I head back?”

Anna laughed, motioning Lydia and Addie to follow her. “If you tell us about Thorpe Abbotts.”

“What do you want to know about it?” The hesitation was clear on Addie’s voice, causing Anna and Lydia both to look at their friend.

Holding open the door for them, Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Is there something that we should know? You know, your letters haven’t been as prompt as they were in the past. But obviously we want to know about the men stationed there and if there’s some good eligible bachelors.”

“Well . . .” Addie started as both girls stopped and raised eyebrows at her. “There is a guy.”

The squeals that left Lydia and Anna’s mouths caused every single person in the mess to look at the three girls. Addie laughed, pushing Anna and Lydia to a table, taking a seat. “Now that you’re done causing a scene, would you like me to tell you about him?”

As they ate lunch, Addie told them about Bucky. How she fell for him, his sweet moments and the funny moments on base. She confessed that she had told him about the failed engagement and getting kicked out of the ATAs. Confessed about her birthday and how he had made her a cake before they went flying. Lydia and Anna could see the difference in their friend since the last time they saw her in February. They had so many questions about her falling for a pilot and laughed at her presentation in front of them all. She also clued them in on the very eligible bachelors that were available around base. “Well I’m glad you’re doing well and it seems like Bucky is treating you well. When can we meet him?”

“You’ll have to come to Thorpes - you both can fly the B-17s so I’m sure you’ll make a run at some point.” Addie smiled, playing with her napkin. “I have told him about you both, buzzing the tower and that you can fly the big birds with me.”

Anna smiled. “You’re happy, Addie. And that’s all we wanted for you. Sucks that you had to go through all that shit with your fiance and getting kicked out but it seems like it worked out for the best for you.”

“You two have been there for me the entire time.” Addie wiped her eyes, getting emotional at how much the two girls meant to her. “You two, along with Josie. Don’t know how I would have made it through with you.”

They squeezed her hand supportively, silence descending on the table. Until Lydia had a thought, raising an eyebrow. “We never figured it out but how are you getting back?”

“Colonel Rawlson asked me if I could deliver a B-17.” Addie’s face split wide open watching her best friends’ jaws drop. “I cannot wait to see Bucky’s face when I land in that.”

Anna held up a hand. “You’re taking a big bird back?”

“The brass didn’t see the point of one of you taking her to Thorpes when I was already going back. Sorry if I took a flight from either of you but they thought it would be okay since I have to go back anyway.” She explained, shaking her head at the bizarre turn of events. Brass was pissed she was delivering a Spitfire but was over the moon happy for her to take a B-17 back. She didn’t get it but she wasn’t going to argue.

“But what are the brass going to tell ATA when they find out we weren’t the ones to take the B-17 to Thorpes?” Lydia asked, pointing between herself and Anna, eyes crinkling with worry and confusion.

Addie sniggered, a wick grin on her face. “Not my problem. They wouldn’t tell me but they said they would figure it out. I had the exact same question. But I got another flight logged in my flight book so I was happy that it was an official run.”

‘When are you leaving?” Lydia asked, Addie flipping her wrist around to look at her watch. “In 30 minutes, the brass got nervous when I told them I was going to have lunch and catch up with you two before heading back. I don’t think they like me being on base any longer than necessary.”

Pushing back from the table, Addie sighed. She wished she could spend more time with the two girls but she needed to head back. “Walk me to the hard stand?”

“Of course.” They followed her out of the mess hall. Along the way, Addie untied her hair before retying it up off her neck. The girls were quiet, all lost in their own thoughts as they made their way to the hard stand. Only one B-17 was awaiting them “Piccadilly Lilly”. Addie tapped her knuckles against it as she started her pre-flight checks. Circling the plane, she made her mental notes before stopping in front of Lydia and Anna. “Thank you both for today. It was really good to see you both - next time you’ll have to come visit me at Thorpe Abbotts.”

The three girls hugged, wishing Addie safe travels. Before long, Addie was climbing into the fort, starting all four engines, prepping to take off, heading back home, to Thorpe Abbotts and Bucky.

1300 hours

The door flew open to the officer’s club, causing every eye in the place to swing over to the incoming person. Josie hurriedly scanned the area, looking for a few people in particular. “Bucky!”

Finishing off his whiskey, Bucky looked over to see Josie’s wide eyes and panicked look. A shiver crept up his back at her worried expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Your girl just radioed into the tower, requesting landing instructions for a B-17.” Josie took a deep breath, trying to catch her breath. “She’s going to be landing momentarily.”

Slamming down the glass, Bucky’s eyes went wide, both with nerves and excitement. He knew Addie could handle the big birds, it was seeing her do it that made him nervous. He headed for the door with several people behind him, wanting to see Addie in action. Sliding on his aviators, he looked to the sky, seeing the bird land smoothly onto the tarmac, before long pulling onto the hard stand. Not worrying about the others behind him, he headed out across the field, needing to make sure Addie was okay.

A cacophony of sound came behind him, causing him to look over his shoulder to see Buck, DeMarco, Blakely, Crosby and Bubbles all following behind him. Meatball stayed at his side as they stepped onto Addie’s hard stand, just as the hatch opened and Addie dropped out with a wide proud grin on her face. He watched as she reached up, grabbed her bag before pulling her hair down, shaking it out. Dropping her bag on the cement, she crouched down, welcoming Meatball into her arms as he excitedly licked her. She eagerly gave him a rub down, looking up to see her welcoming crew coming to meet her. “Hi boys!”

“Hi yourself, fly girl.” Buck called back to her.

She gave him a look, smirking. “Told you I could fly the big girls.”

“As if I had any doubt, unlike someone in this group.” Buck raised an eyebrow in DeMarco’s direction pointedly. “Just the same old, same old today, huh Addie?”

“At the time we talked, it was supposed to be the same old same, old waiting for you all to return!” She laughed, standing to her full height, watching DeMarco and Buck bicker. Bucky stepped closer to her, pulling her into his arms. “Welcome home Captain.”

She threw her arms around his shoulders, standing on her tiptoes, giving him a kiss. “Thank you. Did you miss me?”

“Scared the hell outta me, more like it.” Bucky cupped her neck as his thumb ran over her jaw, stealing another kiss. “Harding and Josie met us on the tarmac as soon as we landed and told me. Your note helped but it was weird being the one on the ground waiting for you to come back. Now I know how you feel.”

Placing a soft kiss on his lips, she smiled, giving him a pointed look. “I was still in England, I didn’t go across the channel into enemy territory. I was perfectly safe, unlike you when you go up.”

“Good mission, Addie?” Crosby asked with a smirk, interrupting their reunion.

Lacing her fingers with Bucky’s, she looked at the men standing in front of her. “It was - smooth flight down and back. Interrogation with the brass at Ratcliff wasn’t the worse I’ve been in but I definitely think I made them nervous. Got to see my two best friends and catch up with them. All in all, not the day I planned but it was good.”

“You in trouble with the ATA?” Buck asked, arms crossed with an eyebrow raised.

Squeezing Bucky’s hand, Addie laughed. “Worried about me Cleven?”

“Can’t have you go anywhere, Addie. Bucky wouldn’t survive without you.” Buck threw back with a laugh.

“Ahh you’re just looking out for yourself.” Addie raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “You just don’t want to be responsible for him again, huh?”

Buck nodded, a smirk sliding across his lips as he stuck a toothpick in his mouth. “You caught me. So you in trouble with the ATA, Captain?”

“Not at the moment. Took me a minute to calm the brass down - they weren’t happy to have a disgraced ATA fly a plane into their base. Despite Kidd and Harding calling and explaining the situation, they still pressed me, assuming I had stolen a Spit for a joyride. Dumbasses - the lot of them held me in interrogation for an hour before I got released.” She rolled her eyes, causing the guys to laugh at her. A wicked smile crossed her lips. “Though, they asked me at the end if I wanted to fly a B-17 back since it was coming here anywhere - that way they didn’t have to send both me and another ATA pilot back.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of her head with a grin as Blakely grinned. “So you got to be an honorary ATA girl for the day?”

“Hardly.” She scoffed unamused, shaking her head at Blakely. “I got the same lecture that this was a one-time deal and I’m still kicked out of the ATA program. Still a disgraced pilot who just happened to save their asses today.”

“You have to go through another interrogation or are you able to come drinking with us?” DeMarco asked, leaning down to grab Meatball’s lead.

Looking across the field, she shielded her eyes as she looked for her own CO anywhere. “Not sure yet. Any idea where Harding is?”

“Probably the tower. Josie came to tell us that you had radioed the tower to get landing instructions. She didn’t mention anything else or that you needed to report.” Bucky told her as they started walking back.

Addie took a deep breath, relaxing for the first time since the boys left that morning. She had been tense all day, not knowing what the next moment held but as she was surrounded by the boys, home safe, so she was finally able to relax a bit. “I’m going to head to the tower, but I’ll meet you boys in the club in a bit, okay?”

“Don’t get yourself transferred, Addie.” DeMarco teased, giving her a look.

“You just don’t want to lose your dog sitter, DeMarco!” Addie called back as DeMarco quickly agreed, Bucky tugging her towards the tower. “You’re coming with me?”

“And have you face the firing squad by yourself?” Bucky shot back, grinning widely at her.

Climbing the tower steps, she threw open the door, her smile brightening when she saw Josie at her desk. “Josephine!”

She was pulled into Josie’s arms just as quickly, Josie swaying them side to side. “It’s so good to have you back on base. Good flights?”

“Easy peasy.” Addie reached into her flight jacket, pulling out two envelopes. “Mail from Anna and Lydia. They sent their hellos and promised they’ll fly in soon.”

Josie happily took the envelopes from her before giving her another swift hug. “Do you know if Harding wanted to see me?”

“He’s in his office but didn’t mention anything.” Josie said, sitting back at her desk. “Peek your head in and just make sure he doesn't need anything.”

After a quick ten minute debrief with Harding, Addie and John were heading to the club. Linking her hand with John’s, she tugged him into the club, immediately stepping out onto the dance floor, where “In the Mood” was playing.

2000 Hours

Leaning back, she sighed tilting her head up to look at the dusty sky. A grin played on her face as she reflected on her day. A steady to-do list was starting to formulate in her mind as she knew she needed to let her brother and sister know about her day, knowing they would both be proud and awestruck that she went back up. There was a conversation that she needed to have with her father as he was off base this morning and probably wouldn’t be back until the following morning.

But in this moment, she let that all go as she felt the Bucky’s lips trailing kisses up her neck as he sat behind her. “That was a heavy sigh.”

“Still can’t believe today happened.” She admitted, scooting away a bit so she could look at him. “I don’t know if the adrenaline has burned off yet to be honest.”

Bucky reached over, lacing his fingers with hers, squeezing them. “If I haven’t said so, I’m so proud of you. I know you had to be feeling nervous and excited all wrapped into one but you did what was needed and you did it flawlessly. Seeing you land in that fort, that might be a favorite memory of mine.”

“And what other favorite memories do you have?” She got on her knees, leaning back on her legs as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He tilted his head back to look up at her. Shifting forward, she captured his lips in a kiss.

Cupping her jaw, he hummed, pulling back. “The first time we were in the fort and you told me your story, showed me how brave and vulnerable you had been, which led to that first kiss we shared. The care you showed when the boys first went up - you were just as concerned as I was yet you didn’t show it.”

“You’re going to make me cry.” She whispered, giving him a soft kiss. Feeling him move, his hands came up to rest gently at her sides, his fingers softly gripping her waist, pulling her into his lap. She fell, not so gracefully onto him, causing both of them to laugh. “Moment’s gone now.”

“Now Bluebird, it’s still here.” He said laying back, allowing her to rest her head on his chest as his fingers ran through the long strands of her hair. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just didn’t expect to come over here and find a girl. Sure, you hear it happening all the time but I didn’t think it would happen to me. But I’m glad you’re by my side, Adelaide.”

A few stray tears managed to slip down her cheek, as she brushed them away. “Who knew you had a sentimental side, John Egan?”

“Don’t let it get out.” He whispered, tilted her head, brushing a kiss to her lips. “Wouldn’t want the boys to catch wind of that and give me hell.”

She giggled. “They already give you hell, so what’s a little more ribbing?”

“Are you on their side or mine?” He teased, raising an eyebrow as she settled against him.

Placing her hand over his heart, she felt the steady heartbeat underneath. “Yours, always.”

“Want to talk about your mission?” He murmured, his left arm reaching up and nestling against her waist.

Quietly sighing, Addie lightly drummed her fingers on his chest. She smiled as he reached up and laced his other hand with hers, squeezing it gently. “It was a simple up and down. Just wish the politics weren’t included. But it was fun to fly my two favorites today. And I got to see my two friends as well, who know about you by the way.”

“All good things I hope?” He murmured, hand tracing her shoulder.

She hummed. “All good - don’t worry. They want to meet you. Also, they wanted to know about the eligible bachelors on base, so they might be touching down sooner rather than later, if I know them.”

“Well I look forward to meeting them.” He sighed. “Today was rough. Biddick had to make an emergency landing in Scotland - he’s okay but that shook us all.”

Squeezing his hand, she offered him some bit of comfort. “You all were able to help him get down safely. You being the command pilot - you and Crosby guided him to Scotland.”

“Doesn’t feel like enough sometimes.” Bucky sighed.

She held up their linked hand, placing a kiss on the back of his. “You’re a great CO Bucky and you’ll do whatever you can to ensure it’s the best for your boys. And though it's hard sometimes, you’re doing your best. Despite that it may not be enough but you’re doing your best, just remember that. You have a big heart, John and it’s one of my favorite things about you. Just remember, I’ll always be here at the end of a long day with a hug and kiss and comforting words.”

“And if I want more?” He asked, pulling her to sit up with him so he could look her in the eyes.

A crease formed on her forehead, confused by his words. “More?”

“I want to marry you someday, Adelaide Baker, though it would be Adelaide Egan, which I think has a nice ring to it.” He smirked, head dropping to look at their clasped hands, thumb rubbing over her ring finger on her left hand. “Maybe a dog and some kids eventually. A house with a white picket fence. A life we will build together.”

Her index finger tilting his chin up, catching his eyes, a small smile on her lips. “You survive and come home to me and I’ll give you whatever you want, John Egan. That’s a promise.”

Leaning in, he captured her lips in a promise of his own. To come home to her. To the dog he promised. To the future kids he would give her. To the life they’d build together. He mentally added this moment to his favorites - the ones he’d carry with him wherever the future led him.

Chapter 7

Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to see in upcoming chapters.

#addie + john #masters of the air fan fiction #John Egan fan fiction #john egan x oc

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pyrotechnicarus · 9 months

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Blistered Inkwell: Editing Services for Musicals, Stories, and Novels!

Hi! I don’t think people here know about my editing side gig, so I figured I would make a new pinned post about it. I’m currently doing freelance editing to help put myself through graduate school, and I’m so excited to work on your new project- whether it’s a musical, short story, novel, or standalone song!

Background

I’ve been prose editing for literary magazines for six years and counting, including running my own litmag twice, and I’ve edited scripts for plays and musicals for three. I’ve also studied creative writing extensively, most recently at Princeton and now at NYU. My framework as an editor is focused on polishing your piece to help you say what you want to say as distinctly and uniquely as possible.

Strengths

My passion is speculative fiction, which means any story that takes place not in this world. Sci-fi, fantasy, dystopian fiction, myth retellings, magical realism- lay it on me! This isn’t to say I won’t read realistic fiction, just that I feel I can advise speculative fiction particularly well.

As a lyricist I am best with editing musical-theater-style lyrics (e.g. there is a close attention paid to rhyme and meter, a character development happens in the piece, and it is intended to be consumed by a live audience), though I have a passing familiarity with other styles.

Process

For most of the tiers below, I will read your piece several times, give you a marked-up copy with detailed feedback, and meet with you to discuss that feedback and answer any questions you might have. My approach bridges developmental and copy editing, so it's best for pieces that you are still in the process of working on (instead of pieces that you really only want a grammar checker for.) Timeline depends on the length of the piece I’m reading, but it usually takes 1-5 days for the initial turnaround. If you’d like more or less involvement, please let me know in your inquiry and we can work out the right price!

Sounds great! How do I reach out?

Use the form on my website (www (dot) melhornyak (dot) com) to reach out to me and let me know a little bit about the piece you’re working on and what tier you’d like to work with me under (pricing visible under the cut!)

Tiers

Dabble- $10

The Piece: One song, scene, or short prose excerpt that is 3 pages long or less

You receive: An edited, marked up copy of your piece with comments, questions, and compliments.

Who it’s for: If you’re just starting a project, or if you want to see if we collaborate well before you commission me for a bigger tier!

Engage- $25

The Piece: One short story, script, or script excerpt that is 20 pages or less

You receive: An edited, marked up copy of your piece with comments, questions, and compliments AND a 15-minute Zoom or phone call to discuss the edits.

Who it’s for: If you’re ready to polish up your one-act, or you need another eye on your short story!

Indulge- $50

The Piece: One full script of a musical or play OR several short stories OR one complete novella OR one excerpt of a novel that is 150 pages or less

You receive: An edited, marked up copy of your piece with comments, questions, and compliments AND a 30 minute Zoom or phone call to discuss the edits

Who it’s for: If you’ve finished a short work and you’re revising it, or you want someone else to give it a once-over before submitting it.

Explore- $75

The Piece: One full script of a musical or play OR several short stories OR one complete novel OR an excerpt of a novel that is 500 pages or less

You receive: An edited, marked up copy of your piece with comments, questions, and compliments AND an hour-long Zoom or phone call to discuss the edits AND a chance to revise your work and have me read it over and mark it up again! Double the editing and twice the collaboration!

Who it’s for: If you want to work more closely on your piece, you’re still actively modifying it, or you feel like a second round of editing would help your creative process!

Extravaganza- $90

The Piece: One full script and score of a musical or play OR one complete novel OR 5-7 short stories that are too long to fit into the other tiers

You receive: An edited, marked up copy of your piece with comments, questions, and compliments AND an hour-long Zoom or phone call to discuss the edits AND a chance to revise your work and receive more feedback AND another Zoom or phone call to discuss that feedback!

Who it’s for: If you really, really need someone to read your entire 1,000-page fantasy novel, or you want my thoughts on the music of your show in addition to the script and lyrics!

FAQs

What do you mean by ‘Zoom or phone call’?

I personally prefer Zoom, but I know that not everyone is comfortable with a face to face meeting with some stranger on the internet! My availability for phone calls is also generally wider, so I will let you decide whether we call on the phone or via Zoom according to how quickly you want to meet, and what you are comfortable with.

Can I get you to read over my piece for school/homework/a contest?

Please check with your instructor or the contest administrator! Most of the time, I’ve found they are okay with outside editors as long as we are properly cited and credited, but it very much depends on your individual situation. You can also always submit your piece first, and then ask for edits afterwards.

Will you read my fanfiction?

Yes, with two caveats: I can’t guarantee my familiarity with the source material, so if I don’t know the source material I’ll be approaching it as though it is a standalone work of literature. You’ll still receive helpful grammar, style, and arc feedback, but sometimes this means I’ll ask about character development that your main audience would already know from the source. Secondly, I will not read or edit fanfiction of my own creative work. You can understand how the power dynamics of that would be fucked up, right?

About that Extravaganza option- what sort of feedback can you give on a score? Aren’t you a lyricist and a bookwright?

Yes, alas! However, I can read music and work closely with composers. I will not be able to give you as specific edits on your music as I can give lyric edits - for that, I would recommend a professional music director, orchestrator, or composer. However, I can approach your score as a lyricist and offer edits on setting, rhythms, tone, instrument choice, and singability, all of which are vital for the success of your music.

While I’ll listen to demos in any of the tiers if you have them, the distinction in the markup between the Explore and Extravaganza tiers is that I will be making these notes on the actual score of the piece with specific measure numbers instead of on the lyric sheet.

These are measured in pages... can I make my text real small and get you to edit more of it?

Please don’t! The prices are calculated based on the estimated amount of time it would take for me to read each of these, so making the font smaller means you’re underpaying me for my work. I provide some fair general formatting guidelines when we enter a working relationship. If I glance at your document and can see you’re trying to pull one over on me, I reserve the right to return any money you’ve paid me and refuse to read your work.

How much do you actually edit a piece? Will you get offended if I don’t agree with your edits?

It really depends on the piece and what it needs! More edits does not necessarily mean the piece needs more help- I could just have a lot of great things to say about it! I always write a much longer essay-style letter at the end to summarize my overall thoughts, any structural things I want to bring up, and where the next steps are as I see them.

Whether you eventually take my suggestions is fully up to you! I consider myself an audience member, letting you know about my first impressions, and a fellow writer giving you avenues for changing those impressions, but not an equal creative partner or a dictator telling you what to do with your work.

Should I do this if I can’t afford it?

Absolutely not! I know everyone in the arts world is kind of passing the same $20 around, and that getting a professional editor isn’t something everyone can afford. I am not in any dire financial crisis and if you know someone who is, help them first before thinking about any of these!

Thank you for reading, and I look forward to working with you! If you have any questions, shoot them to me here or on my website above.

#writing tips #writers on tumblr #musical writing #musical theatre writing

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ralyks-uwu · 1 year

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Scrooge McDuck x Reader | Unspoken Games (Pt I of II)

A/N: Hi everyone! Been chaotic the past couple months, I promise to be releasing more fics on a consistent basis, I have four separate blogs, but everything is going to be condensed for easy access on my AO3 (link pending). My tumblr is more for rough writings, to get an idea on audience and such. However, this is one of my more polished fics. I hope y’all enjoy <3

Word Count: ~ 1,916

“For the last time Scrooge I am NOT your secretary!” Mrs. Beakly’s slammed her hands down on the kitchen table, all of the kitchenware rattling aggressively. Louie had to catch the pitcher of orange juice before it fell.

“Perhaps it’s time for you to finally

retir-“ Duckworth spoke arrogantly

She picked up a plate and threw it against the wall, successfully going through Duckworth and shattering to pieces. “I can’t help it you can’t multitask—“

“Put a sock in it Duckworth” she spats

“Come now twenty two there’s no need to get—“ Scrooge gestures nonchalantly

“I have someone coming to your office at noon for you to interview to be your new secretary. I am too busy keeping this house together as is, this is the least you can do for me or so help me scrooge I will take all 235 PAID vacation days off starting right now” she glares at him

“You wouldn’t” he points a finger

“Try me” she crosses her arms

“Fine…. LAUNCHPAD” he shouts

“Mr.McD Sir!” Launchpad appears in a salute stance, “Ready the car.” He says exasperatedly, slowly pushing his chair back with a loud screech.

Huey, Dewey, Louie and Webby get up following after him. “Can we come too?!” Webby asks excitedly

He looks back at Mrs Beakly who is staring at him tapping her foot impatiently. “…fine.” He mutters ushering them all out the door.

——————————————-

Unimpressed with the interior of the place you push the elevator button and climb in, gum popping in your mouth as the doors shut. Paying no mind to the two kids on the other side of said elevator, or so they thought.

Webby and Dewey were having a conversation with their eyes, yet physically hitting each other back and forth in disagreement.

Entering the main hall you spot a kid in a green hoodie attempting to get a Pep. “Hey kid, where’s Scrooge’s office?”

“Why should I tell y—“

Swiftly you reach into your pockets, “I’ll give you twenty dollars” before waving the money in his face.

“Down the hall to the left” he shrugs taking the money. “He’s in a meeting right now though” he offers up more information carelessly

“Hm. Thanks Louie” you wave already walking off in the direction of his office.

“Wait how did—“

“Oh that’s definitely Scrooge’s new secretary” Dewey and Webby say at the same time, having followed you out of the elevator quietly.

You knock on his office door quietly, staring at the little packets of mail shoved into a metal file container hanging just left of the door. You glance at your watch before deciding to pick it up and bring it with you inside, taking care to sift through it. “Hm. Death threat, Death threat, a bill, Death threat, invitation?”

The little red one opened the door, “Ah Huey, good timing. Where’s McDuck?” you ask stepping into his office, looking around.

“He’s—“

“Right here.” the man of the hour comes out of the bin and locking the safe swiftly behind him. “ Huey run along dear” You smile at Huey softly. His mouth was hung open in awe at your beauty, “Wow—“

“Here take everyone with you, Go get an icecream or something yeah? 20$ should cover it right?” You hand him the bill, without a second thought, before turning around to face Scrooge.

The door behind you clicked opened and you could hear Huey crash into the wall before managing to slip out of the room.

“Met my nephews have you?” he said, with a thick scottish accent, as he rounded the side of his desk to sit.

“Not formally, no.” you shrug taking a seat across from him, seemingly very relaxed.

“Ms—“

“Y/n, just y/n” you extend your hand across the desk, “a pleasure”.

“Whats a lass like you doing here, trying to work for me?” he asks examining you intensely.

“Mrs. B cashed in a favour, to say the least” you shrug tossing your hair back.

“ah so she hand picked ya did she?”

“mm something of the sort. I didn’t really have much elsewhere to go anyways, and from the sound of it, she was quite desperate for a break” you adjust your position in your seat.

“Yes so i’ve heard” he pouts, “Well my schedule is quite unpredictable. I have zero set dates and everything changes constantly.”

You shrug, “I’m sure you’ll find I’m quite capable” you say plucking a stray feather from your arm.

“And your qualified too, I take it…?” he asks curiously

“Overqualified actually. Some would also say I’m the best at games.” you lean back, having successfully manipulated yourself into the chance of a pay raise.

His eyes widen with interest, “Your hubris will be your downfall”

“State your terms McDuck” you lean forward in anticipation.

“You can pick any game, if I win you have to take a 75% pay cut”

“If I win,” you grin “you’ll double my wages”

“Clever girl, deal” he extends his hand out to you, which you excitedly shake on.

“I don’t suppose you play Go?”

“I do actually”

“Good.” you stand sliding your long coat off your body to reveal a decent sized back pack. Pulling out the whole set with ease.

“Ready? Go!”

—————————————-

Hours and hours had passed and you both were now just walking through the doors of the manor, the kids already having returned home hours ago. “You’re quite the opponent”

“finally met your match aye scrooge?” you wink at him. He rolls his eyes laughing quietly as he adjusts his tie. “Perhaps lass, but don’t let it go to your head” he teases.

“Finally, we were beginning to worry Scrooge” Mrs. Beakly rolls her eyes gently pushing them to the kitchen. “At least you’re on time for dinner, hello y/n”

“Hello Mrs. B, thank you for inviting me” you bow to her

“always a pleasure dear”

You slide off your coat and your bag by the door, carefully removing your shoes as well. Following Scrooge into the kitchen, “Wow dinner looks amazing” you say sitting to the left of him.

It wasn’t anything grand, just an average pasta dish, but to you it looked like it could be from a Michelin star restaurant.

“I should probably have introduced myself instead of ominously saying your names. Though I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now. I’m y/n.” you smile at the kids and Duckworth the ghost butler, prying your hungry eyes away from the feast before you.

“Ms Y/n have you ever been on an adventure?”

“Y/n how did you know all of our names and how to tell us apart?!”

“Where did you get all this money from?!”

“Are you single?”

Everyone pauses at Huey’s question, and stare at him shocked, to which you awkwardly clear your throat.

“Um, yes I have been on several adventures, I can tell you guys apart quite easily actually mostly by hairstyles and outfits, I earned it by selling my inventions, and i am unsure why that is relavent but yes I am single?” you rattle off sequentially, your eyes crinkling shut in joy at their shared interest in your personal life.

Duckworth threw a butterknife towards you like a dart, your eyes snap open and you move your head calmly to the left, raising your eyebrow as the knife embeds itself into the wall behind you. “What a peculiar greeting Duckworth.” You look over at him with amusement twinkling in your eye. “Hm.. Good reflexes Ms. y/n, most impressive for a newbie.”

“Mr. McD, Little ones, Y/n, Mrs. B, Duckworth, Donald” Launchpad nods and sits next to Mrs Beakly.

“Did ya get lost Launchpad?” you grin and he laughs, “Yes I did!”

The evening faded out into a dull murmur from the kitchen, the family felt almost whole.

——————————————-

It had been weeks since you settled in, and your friendship with Scrooge was beginning to blur into the lines of a relationship.

“You are extremely off schedule—“ You pull the giant drapes aside, letting the light fill the room. “darling wake up” You say tugging the covers off of scrooge’s body. “What did you just call me?” he whines sitting up, “Old man?”

“No no, you said ‘darling’”

“Did I?”

“You did.”

“No I didn’t”

“didn’t you?”

“You hit your head or somethin?” you say grabbing his head, snapping your fingers in front of his eyes.

“No, you totally said—“ you try to make him count how many fingers you’re holding up but he smacks your hand out of the way. “For goodness sakes y/n you definitely—“

You put your hand up to his head and sigh, “You’re running a fever”

“What? Scrooge McDuck does NOT get sick”

“Hm, maybe not but you definitely need to rest and relax” you head to the bathroom and begin to get his clothes gathered.

“Honestly scrooge you might as well give me a ring, im like your wife with how much I do for you without pay”, you roll your eyes.

“You’d enjoy that wouldn’t you lass?” he jests halfheartedly as he coughs, stepping into the room.

“Maybe a little bit” You laugh, as you begin to draw him a bath. “Would help me get more money”

“you’re the one that agreed to the pay cut wager on day one” he shrugs looking down as the water slowly fills the tub.

“Aye. A deals a deal” you nod double checking the temperature.

“honestly y/n I’m fine” he whines

You stand up and circle him like a shark, “You’re positive?”

“Completely….” he pouts

“Nope nope, you can hear it clear as day in your throat you’re sick”

“Y/n I have important business—“

“I can take care of it”

“What? Nonsense-”

“Look, nothing too important. The vultures are just looking for a chat, and I’m quite persuasive so I’m sure I can get them to let ya continue doing as you please with the money you earn.” You internally cringe considering how much money he takes from other regions of the world without a penny going to those natives. Capitalistic greedy bastard.

“You’re my star employee, y’know that y/n?”

“Oh please don’t let Duckworth hear you say that” you grin. “Clean clothes, take it easy, relax. I’m going to go make some soup.”

“You could just have Twenty-Two do it—“

“Absolutely not, she put me in charge of all things related to you, that woman needs a break and a raise” you wave him off with your hand whilst walking away.

———————————————————

Is this house ever quiet? You sigh avoiding Webby’s carefully placed traps, and the boys running around shouting. When Huey trips into you, you happened to catch him in one hand, and keep the soup steady in the other.

“Easy red, Webby put a trap in that corridor” you warn with a wink. “Y-Y/n—“ he says in awe

“Jeez kid you make me feel like im a god or something” you tease “don’t be so tense around me okay? I’m friendly I swear “ you laugh

“are you and uncle scrooge?” he trails off

“Hm..Ask me in a week, I think I’m winning so far but we’ll see” you ruffle his hair and replace his hat on his head, leaving him utterly confused.

“Okay, so can we all agree scrooge and y/n are clearly attracted to eachother” Webby says dropping down from the ceiling.

You hear Huey’s scream echo in the corridor and shake your head in amusement.

#scrooge mcduck #scrooge x reader #x reader #uncle scrooge #ducktales x reader #ducktales

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artyartpile · 1 year

Text

I don't sell my art as prints and I really don't have any intention to because a) it seems like a hassle to set up and b) I don't really need the money as I work a full time job which is taking up all my focus and resources on a day to day basis. But just as an exercise, I decided to do some evaluation of how much I would actually charge my previous art pieces.

Now, I wouldn't say I'm an industry standard artist. Like, as far as illustrators go, I think I'd be probably considered a junior. Anyway, my calculations as follows. This is based off my experience working almost 10 years in the creative industry, so I'm just making a lot of assumptions here but here we go.

Assuming I'm at an entry level job, if I was doing this professionally, I'd expect something like $1800 per month over 20 working days, working for maybe 8 hours each day. This would mean that I'd be roughly paid $11.25/hour for my work. I'd round this up to $12 to cover other expenses like idk printing and buying nice paper (which is actually more than $1, but y'know, having whole numbers is easier for calculation.)

I don't really work very long on my art. Most of the time my stuff ranges from 1-2 hours to complete, though on the weekends I usually push it to 3-5 hours. For stuff that I really wanna focus on, I can probably push it for 10-24 hours. Hence, my price range would be as follows, excluding shipping (have I mentioned I live in South East Asia? Shipping is a pain):

Simpler artworks - $12 - $24 More finished pieces - $36 - $60 Polished pieces - $120 - $288

I still don't intend to sell my art commercially, but this whole exercise was to break down pricing as a professional if I really wanted to be paid for my art and like. Earn a living wage so. Y'all. Respect artist prices when they price their work mmkay?

#pricing #just wanted to do a breakdown since i started thinking about it #since two people have asked me if i could give away my prints #and like yeah! idm!!!#but y'know. that's what my prints are worth. imo.#and this is just as a breakdown so that people are aware what goes behind the calculation for artist prices

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nochi-quinn · 1 year

Text

campaign 3 episode 51: like a fucking fiddle

I am Afraid

sam riegel has never played a video game in his life

dslkjfskl he has to read all the disclaimers for the audio-only people

oh nooo

laura you're the main character how could you

"polishing the knobs"

I got distracted playing with my moon lamp

I can theoretically make it red but eh

the monitor I'm watching on trends warm so the lighting tonight is gonna be fun for me

do we need a deep dive on fcg right this fucking instant

donna noble voice: sometimes you need someone to stop you

poor laura

she probably had so much tea that day. or that weird chinese cough syrup they seem to swear by

stop spending all your spells on sending

"that wasn't an accident"

ira's gonna kill xandis and gank the ship

like I'll be very happy to be proven wrong but magic 8 ball says Unlikely

"sam did a lot of pharmaceuticals before this game"

threaten ira with nana morri

sam suffering for his art

sam's gonna fuck with laura about her voice all gd night isn't he

am I the only person old enough to remember Big Guy and Rusty the Boy Robot

I'm a simple bitch, I hear "three-pronged claw" and I think Doctor Loboto

someone get him some tinfoil

him leg too big for him got-dam robit

"how do I see - " "take the glasses off"

samuel

damn, nobody can talk tonight

okay where's the bioshock au fanart

they're ALL gonna fuck with laura about her voice

ashley

sam's fuckin gas can

"traveler's garments" they're all wearing green cloaks

NATURAL 20 OF FUCK OFF

oh shit

dunamis bunny

oh somebody finally commented on the warder/water thing

notohan

not the "son"

oh that's not great

ngl I dozed off until everybody yelled @ initiative

I am saving my attention span for when the moon hatches

"wiz kids exists!"

this can obviously only end well

"I'm going to then shit"

rapidly hiding and scarfing food OR me playing breath of the wild

"massive explosions" found caleb

oh NICE

NOT NICE

it was a good idea tho

PROJECT CHICKEN LITTLE

[puts xandis in a bubble]

pls no break ryn

NO BREAK RYN

not the Guess I'll Die

who left the robot unsupervised

HEY

PUT HIM DOWN

"uh-oh-regard"

UH-OH-REGARD

CAN WE HAVE A KEYLETH PLS

we need the Marisha Convergence

every time with the petrify and the arms

I WOULD LIKE TO ORDER AN AIRSHIP PLEASE

HEY WHAT

HEY W H A T

PUT TIME BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM OR SO HELP ME

YEAH

godDAMMIT

LET US HAVE NICE THINGS

"and that's when scanlan shorthalt arrived" listen I'm still crossing my fingers for kiki to bring grog

fcg! buzzsaw!

oh thank GOD xandis booked it

correct response

fucking reddit atheist bro

MATTHEW

that was a hair you didn't need to split

oh cool now I'm crying

"looks important, better push everything"

WHERE KIKI

IS KIKI??

KEYTEOR???

KEYTEOR!!!

MARISHA CONVERGENCE

matthew

sir

matthew you have to drive home with her

THE BOY

he's gonna be in so much trouble with his mom

BUT

liam piecing his brain back together in real time

"he's just so attractive~"

I need this animated. vax as described in the dalen's closet one-shot but animated

nooooo he was so close

god there's not even half an hour left what happens

MONKEY

"let a monkey end this"

WEREWOLF OUT OF FUCKING NOWHERE

okay that was a good line, I'll give chetney that one

godDAMMIT

like a bird off a windshield

hey I hate it

god I'm so glad my kid's off school tomorrow, no way I sleep after this

noooOOOO

they fucked with keyleth to draw her in bc they knew it'd bring vax in??? is that what fucking happened???

HEY MATT WHAT THE FUCK

NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME FOR GROG

oh we have LAURA book-on-head

that's never good

somebody get liam a goddamn fainting couch

they just got fucking BLASTED

is robit on moon???

they're on WILDEMOUNT???

what the FUCK

okay I mean this very legitimately somebody get liam a bottle of water and a blanket. like shit.

somebody get ME a bottle of water and a blanket.

#critical role #spoilers #crititag #liveblog #reaction post

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wheretheivystillgrows · 2 months

Text

There is so much beauty in this world. It’s overwhelming actually. Freckles, sunsets, flowers, eyes, rivers, happy dogs, laughter. Oh my gosh laughter is one of the greatest gifts we have as humans. Nothing makes me happier than laughing uncontrollably with someone I love. Cakes, pies, old couples still in love, new couples, best friends, new friends, pianos, museums. Clothes, grass, colorful birds, making friendship bracelets, writing letters, singing songs in the car with your friends, dancing, watching movies, making forts, pillow fights, girl time with your sister, sarcasm, books!! Today I sat at a cafe and ate an omelette and a chai latte and read a rom-com book and I smiled and blushed and laughed with every single page. I actually had to stop reading because it gave me too many butterflies.

There is even beauty, somehow, in folding clothes, making your bed, making coffee, driving around town, sitting in class. Mundane things are still beautiful things because we are alive. They might be boring but it is a privilege to have been born and still be alive and have a new chance in this world every day.

Life is so beautiful! People are so beautiful! and interesting! and I love figuring people out! Finding out their favorite movies their music taste the foods they hate their fears their dreams the way their brains are wired! I cannot get over it!!!! Not enough exclamation points to convey how excited I am about humans and the beautiful earth we live on!!!! AHHHH!!!!

Someone help, I think I’m falling in love with life. I used to hate myself and my life and I questioned everyone’s motives I couldn’t believe anything good was real or genuine or lasting. I wanted to die. Now, AHHH!! There’s not enough hours in the day to soak up all the life. I wish I could be an octopus so I could paint with one hand, braid my sister’s hair with another, make tea for my friends with my third hand, put on mascara with the fourth, maybe let my fifth relax, eat chocolate cake with my sixth hand, read a book with my seventh hand, and with my eighth I would hold someone’s hand.

There is always more beauty to be found, to be caught, to be sought, to be danced with, to be loved, to be treasured. Wow. I can’t even contain it in my own heart and mind and body. I need to scream in my backyard how much I love the world. I need to write a letter to a random person in, I don’t know, South Korea and tell them to eat a yummy cheeseburger and have fun. I want to evangelize and tell people LOOK UP LOOK AROUND LOOK WITHIN LOOK LOOK LOOK!! You are so beautiful, with your brown eyes and adorable cupids bow and your contagious laugh and your radiant smile and your old converse that you can’t seem to part ways with and the secret diary you keep under your bed and your chipped nail polish and tarnished necklace and how you take care of your cat maybe better than you take care of yourself and the way you bop your head to your music and stand in line at Starbucks and eat a donut. Wow you’re all so beautiful.

Maybe I’m naive for thinking all this. But I like loving everything so much better than hating everything. I’m enjoying falling in love with every possible piece of life that I am given. If I told that to my 16 year old self she would laugh in my face. But my 20 year old self would give her a hug and tell her it gets better.

💌 Love, Ivy

#fall in love with life #humans are so cute #beauty is everywhere #Spotify

0 notes

faction-art · 6 months

Text

words & Image credit : Eksovichea Tito Hak

Free or inexpensive DJ gear to get the job done... its definitely come a long way since I last checked

It's crazy, I haven't looked into DJ equipment for over 10 years since I exclusively started delving into music production back then, but I was at a place where all my records were stored ('were' being the operative word, since I couldn't find a single piece of vinyl anywhere having spent thousands of dollars on records back then, where I would near ritualistically blow near 80% of my wage on records alone on a monthly basis. Although my two technics turntables were still there, and intact, my backup 4Channel digital hybrid analogue/fully midi assignable Korg Zero4 midi controller was nowhere to be found. In that failed attempt at setting up my DJ rig last night for not being able to find anything, I thought I might as well see where its currently at on the digital front.

Ableton Live

Seems obvious, I used to use it all the time for DJing experimentally after my long foray into using vinyl emulation. Everything else to my mind is just a speed bump as far as DJ equipment is concerned, even CDJ's. The only problem with using Ableton Live though is that you pretty much have to set up a DJ setup work session project within Ableton Live, which can take hours of prep depending how many tunes you want to use (that all need gridding), and what your setup is going to be. It's not simply a case dropping in nay tunes in as you go along. It's not the most affordable option, and would require that you already have Ableton Live (unless you have the pirated version of course). The Ableton Live lite version usually comes free with music hardware, or can be acquired for as little as 20 bucks legit, but it does lack the audio clip manipulation, mix, and remix features that come with the standard, or suite versions of Ableton Live.

Pacemaker DJ device

It's in a box, in pieces. It doesn't work, and was kaput years ago. I didn't want to spend the money on buying another one, especially with having a laptop at my disposal. Surely there must be some laptop software alternatives?

Pioneer WeDJ

In its current form, it's everything that the Tonium Pacemaker DJ device/DJ app should have become on a mobile device for both Android, and iOS. However I don't have a mono headphone monitor, and line out cable splitter on hand, nor could I be bothered ordering one, although I do have one somewhere that I can't find that I bought for the Blackberry Playbook (also now kaput) many years ago. If you have one of Pioneers controllers you can obviously use WeDJ with that instead, which should then give you both stereo pre-mix monitoring, and stereo line outputs to your amp. Pioneer's WeDJ app is completely free to download and use for both Android, and iOS, and is essentially a fully functional DJ app that doesn't require any sort of ongoing subscription for full functionality in order to DJ your music collection.

Native Instruments Traktor DJ 2

Useful if you've got a laptop or a MacBook Pro, and in its most current form is completely free as a fully featured, and highly polished DJ app that functions perfectly for purpose. It's actually shocking how much they actually give you to work with here given that its 100% free from a main competitor commercial brand, but then again with the likes of the open source MIXX DJ app projects giving you way more fully pro features (even a stack of things that many will never even get to using) than this for completely free, I guess they didn't have much of a choice. Although native instruments do have a Pro version of the Traktor DJ app that does come at a premium, which comes with more features than most people would ever even use.

If you don't have a touchscreen to use with it

You'll definitely need an assignable midi controller of some sort to use with it, as well as an audio interface of your own that has a separate set lines for stereo pre-mix monitoring, and stereo line outputs to your chosen amp. Then again, I'm guessing Native Instruments would probably most likely prefer you use one of their midi controllers with it which pretty much gives you a one to one layout. Depending on which you get, there's one with a built in audio interface (which will give you the stereo pre-mix monitor headphones outputs, and separate stereo line outputs you'd more ideally need integrated directly into the midi controller), and one without, but if you were to buy one used from places like eBay, they could be acquired pretty inexpensively for anything between 70 to 150 bucks.

If you have a touchscreen on your laptop

This is probably the ideal, as this gives you the options to 'needle drop', and track scrub via the touch screen, as well as use the controls via the interface, although the GUI controls for the EQ, and pitch within the windows version of Traktor DJ 2 software isn't ideally optimised for touch interactions like it is on the iPad version, but the ability to competently needle drop, and track scrub via the touchscreen, combined with a one of their midi controllers, and an appropriate audio interface would be a killer combination. Something like the Behringer U-Control 222 is great quality as far as its audio is concerned, and can be acquired for around 25 bucks new, However, that won't give you independent headphone pre-mix monitoring, and separate stereo line output compatibility despite the U-Control 222 being equipped with it, where they've most probably rigged it in a way where it Traktor DJ 2 app will only function fully in such a way with one of their own Native Instruments audio interfaces.

MIXX

This has everything that you can find in all the commercial premium DJ application (and more), with compatibility for multiple different vinyl timecode DVS standards too from the numerous different manufacturer brands if you're a vinyl emulation junkie. They've vastly improved the default GUI skin too, that makes it look WAY more professional, and slicker looking than it used to, where it wouldn't look too out of place on a laptop sat next to another laptop maybe running Ableton live on it as part of some sort of sync setup. However, if you're fortunate to have a touchscreen on your laptop, you're a little out of luck here, as it's not really touchscreen interaction friendly optimised, for a fair number of the core control buttons being too small and fiddly on the screen to actually use touchscreen interactions with, so you'll definitely need to have suitable midi controller to assign controls to for this one if you don't want to be stuck using mouse click interactions. Its 100% free to download, and use. It's also the only fully featured DJ app that has a fully functional version for various different builds of Linux too, as well as windows, and MacOS.

RemixLive

It's technically not a DJ app, and if you want to do some fancy stuff with it, it can potentially become quite expensive in order to unlock all its features, but it essentially takes the live remix, and sample based line of approach that Ableton Live can optionally be used for beyond pure music production, and gives it to you within a highly polished, and easy to use touchscreen based application. It's also been created in such a way that you can also use it as a drum machine step sequencer too. You can do some decent stuff with the free features, but if you want to unlock its full potential as an app, you'll have to fork over a fair amount of dough. The app itself is available for both Android, and iOS.

It looks like something from the creators of an app that was originally made for the Novation Launchpad midi controller as a freebie, but greatly further elaborated on, as a separate commercial software product.

There's a lot of potential here…

Using it reminds me of how one might use Ableton Live for stem clip, audio sample based loop music production, but delivered within a very touch based centric package. It's been many years since I last checked it out, and it's certainly come a long way from those plaything like beginnings.

If anything having played with it briefly for a couple of hours earlier this morning via an Android device, with a little more refinement (that’s not to say that it's not actually come a long way since I last briefly looked at it many years ago), it could actually seriously be a much better replacement for the kind of defunct and very expensive Native Instrument stem clip based live remix, and creation controllers, that allows more direct control. It even has full Ableton link sync capabilities within the Android version too. Maybe this was the missing part of development that could have somehow been integrated, and used with something like the stem based Traktor controllers for potential greater success as a product that would have made it less cumbersome in order to simply get things cooking on the fly in a way that's actually fun, and enjoyable without feeling like a chore to get a dancefloor rocking that doesn't require hours, days, or weeks of prep beforehand?

There's a VERY limited selection of free stem packs for it, with the prices for the numerous premium stem packs being very much in line of a chart release track that you might find on Beatport. It's possible to create your own custom combination packs from the packs that you've bought, as well as import your own sample clips too, but they don't make this process as intuitive, or as quick as it could potentially be, as it might be with using something like Ableton Live, or FL-studio mobile for the purposes of creating your own, and using them for quickly putting together a tune off the cuff.

It seems to lack the ability to easily save projects as a separate file save state at any given point which was a little jarring, meaning you need to remember set it up as anew project at the start with its own file name, because if you don't and simply mess with it to come up with something you actually want to save, there's no obvious way to save it that I've found yet.

Touch OSC

If you're a bit strapped for cash, or just simply don't have the space, or need a much more portable fully customisable solution, the traditional midi controller might not be what you're looking for, and particularly if you're limited to android for budget reasons, touch OSC is your friend.

I first came across something like this many years ago, however, back then it was sort of new coming off something called the Jazz Mutant midi controller, which was a dedicated fully customisable midi control surface device, which back then, used to cost a few thousand dollars for the Jazz Mutant control surface device.

However, a few years later, Lemur (the makers of the Jazz mutant) eventually released an iOS app that essentially allowed you to do the same thing with an iPad. I actually got the iPad app, and used it with a hand me down iPad 2 (some time way after the iPad air had been released), and to all intents and purposes it was great, as it did exactly what it said it would do on the tin. I haven't used it since though, nor did I get a replacement iPad after it broke for that specific purpose, since iPads have gotten vastly more expensive where they cost more than a decent laptop these days, and the Lemur app was exclusive to iOS. I never bothered looking into Android solutions, and I do recall seeing touch OSC for android a while back in its very early stages when it was far less user friendly, and limited in features, and wasn't anything like it is today. How is Touch OSC today? The way the application has evolved for Android? It's almost identical to Lemurs Jazz mutant app port to the iPad, with barely any difference. It's perfect for function, and purpose in being incredibly versatile in a DaftPunk wet dream on the command deck of the starship Enterprise kind of way, as it delivers fully customisable midi control surfaces at your fingertips if you have an available Android tablet or smartphone to use it with in conjunction with your chosen DJ software on a MacOS or Windows machine. It's not free, but for such extensive, and powerful features fully unlocked, 12 quid isn't a lot to pay once, and be able to use it as you please for life, for many things, such as any DAW, or DJ app that supports midi. Even if you're using ZeroBug's excellent Touchable Pro app for Ableton Live, you'll still definitely find Touch OSC useful too if you don't want to be moving through layers as often, and have way more room with Touchable for specific control layers always on hand, particularly if you're using VST instruments, synths, and drum machines that are midi control assignable with Ableton Live, but don't have midi control support within Touchable Live pro.

Another sophisticatedly advance multi-tool like feature to add to your smartphone, and or tablet if you often use midi control, that most people would take for granted without knowing of its development, and how its vastly surpassed the capabilities, and versatility of its original high cost premium priced variants…

I suppose this gives you even more incentive to hold onto your old smartphone devices to possibly repurpose them as fully customisable advance modular midi/OSC touch control interface surfaces for your various plugins, and effects modules within your DAW and/DJ software. Obviously beyond midi, as its name suggests, it's all about the OSC, meaning you can also make custom controls for many other things besides DAW, or Video editing software (e.g. national grid powerplant control rooms, etc). Touch OSC running on your Galaxy Tab A7, Tab A8, Tab S6, Tab S7 or iPad 2/3/4 and above via Lemurs original app, whether wired, or more fancy, wirelessly too, it actually provides you with way more advanced features, and capabilities than the original Jazz Mutant controller in a vastly more portable compact device. Even if you had something like an LG V50. V50S, or V60, you'd also be able to plug them into an external touchscreen monitor, and use Touch OSC via the 12/13/14/15 inch touchscreen beyond using it on the actual smartphone device too. You'll probably also find touch OSC very useful to use with MIXX too.

Native Instruments free 'Native Access' apps

'Native Access' is basically their equivalent of the steam app management client, but for all their Native Instruments apps instead. There's mainly premium apps there, but there a number of high quality free apps there too, from synths, instruments, and plugins which you can use as standalone via a midi controller/keyboard, or as a VST plugin for you chosen DAW. Simply do a search for the their free apps on their website.

One app that you won't find there though (although you will need to enter the serial number for it within the Native access client to actually register, and download it after first install the Native Instrument Reaktor 7 player app), is the DP-06+ app, which is basically a faithfully recreated software version of the Roland 606 drum machine that you use like a VST plugin via Reaktor 7. Just head on over to 'Deputi Sounds' where you can buy it for a limited period for the price of $0.00 (you actually have to go through the checkout process to get the activation serial number code for it). I don't know how long the offer is on for, but the temporary offer rolled out yesterday.

#Free or inexpensive DJ stuff #Free DJ software

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storiesofrimbeldal · 9 months

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This might be a weird first chapter, having in account you probably have just read the prologue to this book, but I believe this story, that took place more than a year before I could obtain my actual position, is important for the reader, at the least, to comprehend later stories in this book.

Is because of this, that, with the approval of Gunda to do so, I will tell you the story of how I met this curious girl, and how I befriended her.

It was a cold winter morning. The breeze entered through the cracks in the wood of the shed my adoptive father had left me now long ago. My body wanted to stay in the comfortable warmth of my bed, but my mind knew I had too much to do that day.

In the time this story takes place, I was only 20 years old, but I and Vimac already got as well as we do nowadays. So well, in fact, that he had decided to invite me to one of his reunions with the royal family, so I could meet them, as the Master Alchemist of then was too occupied to come.

This was a very special occurrence for me. At the end of the day, I was meeting some of the most powerful people on the Kingdom, perhaps even in the entirety of the Earth's surface.

Since Vimac invited me, and I had accepted, I had thought of making something special for the royals. In my tribe, they had always taught us children that we should give something special to the important people we meet.

I had decided to make them an ornate piece from wood. I had handcrafted it during the last three months, carving the shapes, from the big to the small, polishing it, and varnishing it with an alchemical mixture I was very proud of, which gave it a brilliant look, and a great protection against Nature's forces.

Some would called it my "Magnum Opus", but, really, it was simply a handcrafted gift to give a good first impression.

For the readers that are curious about the decoration's look, it was a centaur, holding a bow and arrow pointing towards the left. The reading was in Latin, as Vimac told me it was "a fancy language for fancy people". Translated, it said: "My bow is by your side". It was the best phrase that didn't sound overly pompous. It was all then surrounded by flowery details, of vines and roses, growing from the border of the lettering in the bottom.

Vimac had told me to dress as I usually did everyday, so I did, tying my trusty utility "half-kilt" around my waist. It should be obvious what I mean by "half-kilt", but, for the people that might not understand it, remember that we centaurs can't exactly wear normal human clothes.

After dressing, and cleaning myself, I took the present, and bestrided towards Rimbeldal, impatient for getting to know such important figures.

When I arrived to the Tower of Magic, Vimac was sat on a stool, near the big window, with his trusty pipe on his mouth, reading a book, as he usually did. When he saw me enter, he quickly put the book away and got up, greeting me.

I won't go into the details of dialog here, mainly because my memories are dusty, as one can only guess, but I remember he got to talk almost an entire hour about the royal family, before the real deal arrived.

I remember perfectly the look on their face when they saw me. Gunda was behind Ruura, like kids do when they meet strangers, and I remember her taking a peek, looking at me, and opening her mouth, in obvious disbelief.

Her father and mother went through the usual presentations, and I gave them my present, which Ruura obviously loved, though Arion only gave a nod of approval, that, as Vimac would later explain to me, was his way of expressing gratitude.

But the funniest and most memorable thing, was when, after the presentations, Gunda "whispered" to her mother "Did you see? He's a centaur!". It was obviously accompanied by a sush to her and a sorry to me from her mother. I told them it was nothing, and I told the, as I later would discover, 13 year old girl that, yes, I was a centaur, indeed.

The reunion was long, and I can say with certainty, that, for my younger self, it was very much uninteresting. I had to keep myself awake at times to avoid being disrespectful. Too much talk about budgets, about politics… Uninteresting things.

One of the most interesting things, was the girl seated next to me, almost every half minute, peeking at me, "secretly". She seemed very interesting, and I don't blame her. As I have explained, and as the reader must know by now, centaurs are quite rare, nowadays.

When the reunion finished, it was already lunch time, so Vimac decided to invite us all to one of his "magical banquets", quite literally. He always did the joke with the last year students, and I still found it funny. He cast a spell, and food appeared in front of all of our eyes, as was usual. I heard Gunda mutter a "Finally!", as I saw her mother looking at her with a grin.

The food was great, and the conversation was not excluded due to the eating. In fact, now I was also participating, and it was no longer so boring. Ruura asked me where I came from, and how I got here, and I told, over a few drinks, my entire story to the royals.

They were shocked at points, and Arion said he actually recalled the day the notice of the black market arrived to the castle, and he remembered dispatching the guards to investigate and close it.

Following the statement of her father, Gunda curiously asked me if I knew where the other centaurs where. That was something I had actually never looked into, and I sadly had to tell the girl that I didn't know anything about their whereabouts, though Arion told me the guards hadn't seen any centaurs at the black market. This will come back in a later story, but, for now, let's continue.

The food was excellent, and, after eating to our heats' content, we continued talking. When everything was said and done, around four o'clock, Gunda, as always, surprised me with kind of a random question. She whispered it to my ears, like she didn't want her parents to hear, though it was obvious they heard her, when she asked me: "Can I ride in your back?".

The question left us all silent for a moment, the awkwardness and spontaneity of it making me blush a bit, before Vimac exploded into laughter, followed by Arion, both driven by the drinks they had had. Ruura could only tell to Gunda that what she said was rude, but I said that there was no problem if she wanted to.

I asked her if she had ever rode in horseback, and she told me that she in fact had not. She told me she had a fear of the beast kicking her off. I told her she shouldn't need to have those worries with me, and asked her parents if it was good with them if she wanted to go on a ride. They told me that, as long as I was good with it, they were too.

Ruura told her child to take care, and we went down the tower to outside the school. I let the little girl sit on my back, and told her to get comfortable for the ride. When I asked her where he wanted to go, she told me she wanted to go to the forest, so we did.

I started slow, but, once Gunda gained security on herself and on me, she asked me t o go faster and faster, until I was galloping at a healthy rhythm.

There was a point where she got thirsty, so I took her to a pond I knew around the forest, actually not so far from the shed I then lived in. We both sat on the side of the clear water, and drank as we wanted.

After drinking, we were silent for a few minutes, before Gunda broke the ice, with a question I won't forget: "Are we friends?". It shocked me more than it should have. In that time, outside from the people in my tribe, I had never had more friends than Vimac. Of course, I had colleagues, I knew people, but… No real friends.

During my days as a student, no one dared to approach me. And I can't blame them. I was weird, and I didn't fit with anyone. I still remember, when Romeo died, I felt as alone as the day they captured me. Yet here was this little girl, from the royalty, no less, asking me if I wanted to be her friend.

The only logical response was yes. What else could I answer, really? I later was proud of the decision, when she told me thanks and hugged me. Later, I would learn she had been home-schooled all of her life, and she had met no more than the people that lived o the castle.

Many people also looked at her wrong. The nobility thought of Arion as a "traitor to the pure nobel human blood", since he married an Hybrid peasant. And all that anger carried on to Gunda. Nobody wanted to be her friend. But now she had found one.

I don't know how much we hugged each other, but it felt like forever, to be honest. When we finished, we went back to Rimbeldal, and said our goodbyes.

Since then, Gunda came almost every day to visit me. From her visits, and her future as a monarch, she also got to meet Vimac better, and forma bond with him. When she started studying Magic, she always came after class to ask me how had the day gone, and it wasn't rare seeing her until late around there.

For some time, she even became kind of a lab assistant to me. She seemed to make a new friend in school every day, and she would always tell me about it.

She would sometimes ask me to ride in my back, and I would always gladly accept.

But, with the death of her mother, and her acquisition of the throne, she had less free time, and it could really be felt. She didn't come as much, now only twice or thrice a week, and the Alchemy Tower felt empty without her.

With time, she got more time, but things aren't, and probably will never be, like they used to be. That said, every Sunday we go out to the fields and she loves to ride. I'm proud to say I take these opportunities to teach her how to hunt, and she gets better every day.

We will always be friends, whatever happens.

#story #storytelling #literature

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enkairo-designs · 11 months

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A WIP of Akiros new design 👀

I don't usually post WIP's, but I'm 20 hours in to this piece and have just hit the point where I could technically start shading so.... it's getting posted XD I'll link his refsheet if you want the full context but tldr: party member turned evil, killed his soul and is now trying to take over the universe, and he felt like he couldn't face the man with how wild his magic was.

It's been quite the journey with this man, he's my longest run character to date (there have been some gaps between when his campaign was played, so it's been ~3 years since he started off) and is more than likely going to be my first character to lvl 20. This is by far the most work I've put into a redesign but... he's totally worth it in my eyes.

If you have any advice or inconsistencies you see, feel free to drop em in the comments. I've spent a lot of time on this, so why not spend a little more polishing it up ✨️

Hope you're having a great day

Here's his refsheet: https://refsheet.net/Enkairo/Akiro

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#dnd art #dnd aasimar #digital art #oc art #artists on tumblr

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lewis-faith · 2 years

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Trip 3, day 8. A bit of mixed bag with some progress being made for some but not others, and some new challenges on the horizon.

During the morning Harriet was trained up to use the host matching system so she can start finding matches. The system is currently using Google Sheets and is working well enough but we are looking to make things a bit more user friendly. As I'm a programmer I took a look at the full setup, not just the matching part. It looks like we can make some web pages that link to Google Sheets so I'll be having a meeting on Thursday about how we do this. I also took the opportunity to double check all the data relating to people in Warsaw and fixed a few issues.

After a quick shopping run and a hastily made sandwich, it was off to the visa office again. This time to take a mother and daughter for a biometrics appointment and a new family for visa collection. If someone doesn't have a modern biometric passport they need eyeballs / face scanning to get a visa, it only takes about half an hour but has to be done by appointment at a few places in Poland.

Although the appointment was a few hours earlier than the visa office officially opens there were people around to check for the new family. Apparently only one child had a visa ready but they were asked come back in a few hours for more information.

With the biometrics appointment complete I took Olah and her daughter to the bus station, they had travelled up from Slovakia the day before and stayed one night at Heavenly Hostel, they will need to do the same again when their visas are ready.

My mobile phone battery was down to 8% so I decided to try and make the 20 minute journey back to the visa center without satnav. With only two major changes of direction it was ok and I made it with no mistakes. I now have a fairly good knowledge of the major roads running through Warsaw probably better than places I know quite well in England.

When I got back to the visa center there was some good news for the new family, two of them received their permission to travel letters after the admin team arranged for the letters to be resent. No idea why they hadn't been sent in the first place but this system is riddled with holes. They now just needed to wait for the printed visa. The father offered to take his family home by bus so I didn't have to wait around, only when he assured me it was ok I took him up on it and got myself back to the hostel.

I spoke to Ksenia's host about getting more information from her local authority about the long delay. Apparently the local authority have emailed the home office so we'll see what happens there. I also had some more money to change for Ksenia. On the same topic one of the Ukrainian's had setup a Polish bank account but couldn't work out how to transfer money to her card. The letters she had were a bit useless and the app they told her to use was all in Polish. Her English was slim and muddled but we eventually got her show us an IBAN number for her account (that a bank teller had noted for her on a piece of paper). It seems she wasn't given any letters with her bank details on. The note was only partially illegible so I had to ask her to go to the bank again for a new copy.

Shortly after this we found out that Vladimir's mother had received her permission to travel letter so they were good to go. Very welcome news.

The day had been mostly positive, the new family are waiting on one more visa but that will hopefully arrive this week. It's looking like most of the current residents of Heavenly Hostel will be flying out next week. The complication is though that we are expecting a family of 6 tomorrow and another family of 6 on Friday. With no room here and the second accommodation still in the works it will mean some temporary solutions or a stroke of luck to keep things stable.

#ukraine #ukraine refugees #ukraine evacuation

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the-witty-pen-name · 3 years

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The Nanny Pt. 3

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: alcohol/drinking, food, corrupt cop, mentions of prostitution/smut, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, mentions of serial killers/murder, mutual pining,

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: I got inspired re-watching one of my favorite shows and I want to know if anyone else gets the reference I’m using! If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know! This is also unedited!

Taglist Form is in my bio!

Series Masterlist

Your shoulders tensed listening to the radio in the morning. Sitting on your ottoman, you were painting your nails, using the coffee table as your nail station. It was a really bright morning, and you had the curtains pulled open to draw in light. Julie frantically rushed between her room and the bathroom getting ready for her shift at the diner. The newest single from The Beach Boys was playing through the little counter top radio, but at the top of the hour, the melodies playing through the speaker changed to the news. The top story of the morning was chilling.

“Jules,” you said, calling her over hesitantly, putting the cap back on the bottle of polish. “Come listen to this.”

She scurried out of her room while working to tie her apron in the back, and then she stood next to where you sat to listen to the story on the news. The color drained from her face as you both listened to the reporter describe the horrific scene that was under investigation early this morning.

Roy Laferty was an evangelical preacher whose body washed up by the lake very early that same morning. The news report talked about the police investigation, and also disclosed his wife Helen, is also reported missing. They are looking into the disappearance of Helen, as well as opening a full investigation on Laferty’s murder. They also urge individuals with any information regarding the two to call the Sheriff’s department and to provide a statement.

“That’s horrifying,” you mumble, shocked as you try to process the news. Julie nods in agreement but strangely doesn’t seem nearly as affected by the news as you.

“It’s happening again,” she mutters, obviously concerned but her lack of surprise worries you.

“What do you mean again?” you ask.

“There was a string of unexplained murders, all men, like this newest one,” Julie explained, “This was all over the news like two years ago- can’t believe you hadn’t heard about it.” All you could do was shrug; this was all new to you. “Obviously, there was nothing linking their deaths, but there were these five killings a couple of years ago that are still unsolved. There’s no evidence, but the town rumors it was like a serial killer or something. Nothing is confirmed, of course, just a story.”

“What makes people think it was all the same person?” you ask, hesitantly.

“All the people were always the same type,” she shrugs, “Men all in their 20s and 30s. Again, there’s nothing linking them all together. It’s just talk.”

You clicked off the radio, and didn’t know what to do with yourself. Julie patted your shoulder, comfortingly but she had to go on with her day. So did you, and you almost her ability to move about the apartment almost unfazed by the news. You suppose it makes sense, her growing up here she’s probably used to it. You didn’t have the experience or the thick skin she had.

You had decided to go to the library, still preoccupied by the news segment as well as the things Julie had told you about the Sheriff. You spent the better half of the morning looking at the library’s archives of old newspapers. You wanted to read more about the unsolved cases Julie had told you about, so there you sat for several hours looking through the microfilm reader. You even stumbled upon articles that featured the Sheriff.

There he was plain as day on the front page when it was announced he had won the election the first time he ran several years back. You couldn’t help but notice the changes in his appearance and demeanor compared to the man you keep running into. He was a little slimmer, and he looked a lot happier, a little fuller of life, you decided was a good way to explain it. His smile was wider, and you could see the difference in his eyes as well. It was seeing how he was before the stress of the job began to take its heavy toll. He had on the same leather jacket as well, you were fairly certain, even though the one in the photograph hung a little looser.

You continued to skim through articles, piecing your way through the history of Knockemstiff. Little articles in black and white that persevered the history of this dark little town. You were beginning to realize this backwater town was a lot more tangled and complex than you originally believed. It was a tangled history, riddled with crime and unclosed cases, that people seem to have either forgotten or choose to ignore for their own sake. Your mind wandered back to the things Julie had told you about the Sheriff and him being corrupt. You wonder how much of what you read about linked back to him. Though you imagine if he has any sort of political connection, which a man like him must have, the things he was involved in probably didn’t even make it into the paper. The thought made you physically shiver.

You put the large leather portfolios of archives you took and put them back into their proper place on the self chronologically. You grabbed your sweater from the back of your chair, and pushed the chair back into place. Looking up at the clock on the wall, it was only just one in the afternoon. You decided to head down to the diner and grab a bite, and also visit Julie during her second shift. It was a short walk from the library to the diner. Everywhere felt like a short walk here, probably because everything in downtown was not much bigger than a few blocks. The majority of people lived far from the center of town, on their own land and farms.

The little bell on the door rang when you stepped in and Julie waved at you from behind the counter and pointed for you to grab an empty table in her section. You put your bag on the table and took a seat. It was a fairly busy time, most people who worked at the surrounding businesses coming in for their lunch break. Julie brought you over a coffee and then said she’d be back to chat when she got to take her five.

Lee hadn’t been able to go home since the phone call. The symptoms of his hangover were worsening and he was growing more irritable. His five o’clock shadow was still evident on his tired face and his head was pounding. He tried his best to just power through it but the sound of anyone trying to talk to him just made his ears ring.

After leaving the scene, he had to stop by his office and then he was on the phone for the better part of an hour fielding calls from frantic citizens not only of Knockemstiff but also Meade, where Laferty was from. Despite how horribly he felt, he tried his best to keep his temper level and just reassure people he had things under control. He was losing his patience.

He opened up his desk drawer and grabbed his bottle of asprin. Empty. He threw it into the small waste bin and got up abruptly grabbing his jacket off the hook and storming out. He didn’t tell anyone he was leaving and he didn’t care. It was a short walk to the drugstore from the station and he wouldn’t be five minutes. He just needed to do something to stop his head from hurting.

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” the pharmacist greeted when he walked in. He nodded his head upwards briefly to reply without having to talk. He just needed to get in and out. She went back to whatever she was working on when he came in, and he browsed the aisles for what he needed. After paying and walking out, he glanced in the direction of the diner when he was crossing the street. There you were, again. Sitting alone and chatting with the waitress that was refilling your coffee.

He let out a heavy sigh, and then continued walking. He didn’t want you to see him like this, hungover, unshaved, wrinkled uniform and heavy undereye bags from his lack of sleep. You looked- well, Lee thought you were the prettiest thing he’s seen in a while, maybe ever. There was something about you he couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was just because you weren’t from here. You were a fresh face, and not ruined by this town. There was a sweetness and an innocence in how you talked to him, because you didn’t know him like the rest of people here did. He liked that.

Even when he left the station for the day, he couldn’t even go home yet. He had a meeting at the bar with one of Brown’s lackeys. He was just supposed to collect his cut so he couldn’t imagine it would take long, but he was still annoyed. Stepping into the bar he looked around as he took off his hat. It was a little more crowded tonight then when he was here last. The red curtain was closed and his eyes lingered there for a moment before directing his attention to the man he recognized who was waving him over.

“Sheriff,” the man greets and Lee slides into the booth across from him.

“Hayward,” he replies. Without even needing to order, the bartender comes over bringing them a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

“You ever go back there?” Hayward asks, watching as a girl came out and brought a man behind the curtain who had been waiting at the bar.

“No,” Lee scoffs.

“They are amazing,” Hayward says, almost giddy. Lee feels sympathy towards the poor woman who had to take care of him. Lee doesn’t acknowledge the statement and just empties his glass and begins to pour himself a second.

“So, my cut?” Lee asks. Hayward frowns and goes into the breast pocket of his sports coat and pulls out an envelope of cash.

“You aren’t getting full,” the man says when Lee cocks a brow at the thinness of the envelope.

“Still?” Lee asks, pissed. Hayward nods. Lee’s jaw clenches.

“You didn’t keep things tidy on your end,” Hayward reminds him, “You got one job. Keep the cops out of our territory. We had two cruisers drive through last week. The only reason you’re getting anything at all is cause you managed to keep your people off us when we did the exchange with Deckard’s crew.”

The man finishes his drink, and then slaps the empty glass on the table. He pulls out his own envelope, which is much thicker than Lee’s and drops down more than enough for the drinks. He chuckles condescendingly and tells the Sheriff to get a dance. Fuck that. Lee takes the extra money and plans to just put it right in his pocket and go home. He finishes his third scotch and suddenly his headache was back. He felt worse than he did earlier today.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” a feminine voice asks, making him break his line of thought. He looks to his side and he recognizes her as one of the girls he sees bringing men to the back room, behind the velvet curtain. He shakes his head, and instead of leaving him alone, she slides into the booth next to him. Her hand grazes over his thigh. “You seem awful tense, Sheriff,” she says and then bites her lip.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He knows she doesn’t actually want him, and it’s just an attempt to get him to spend money in the backroom. If he doesn’t focus his already hazing vision, maybe she could vaguely remind him of you. He can’t do it, but he wants to. Her hand moves up his leg and he pulls away. He adjusts his pants and she shrugs.

“Maybe next time then,” she winks before walking away. He rests his head back on the vinyl seat and sighs. He grabs his hat and jacket, leaving before he changes his mind. “Ask for Cherry when you come in, yeah?” she calls when he walks out.

You are just everywhere. You’re in his head and he doesn’t even know you. He needs to sleep, desperately, and part of him in the back of his mind hopes you’ll be there. When he wakes up, he doesn’t remember.

“Have you heard about the Church fundraiser coming up?” Julie asks. You shake your head. “It’s a pretty big deal here. Everyone participates.”

“What is it?” you ask, kicking off your slippers so you can sit crisscross on the couch.

“Bid-On-A-Basket,” she says casually, like it’s the most obvious thing.

“Never heard of it,” you reply, “It sounds fun. What is it?”

“All us single gals put together a picnic basket with everything for a lunch,” she explains, “and then all the eligible bachelors bid on the basket and a date with the girl who made it. Last year, the dreamiest guy, Bill Whittier, bought mine- it’s so fun. Me and Bill didn’t work out but it was a good time.”

“I don’t know anyone here,” you say hesitantly.

“Perfect way to get a date then,” she teases. You bite your lip. You aren’t sure about this.

“And what if some creep is the highest bidder?” you counter.

“You get a bad date story for your next date?” she poses. “Please,” she begs, “It’s for a good cause, all the money this year is going to help the Sunday school.”

“What if no one bids on it?” You rebut.

“Look at yourself,” she scoffs, “you’ll get bids. Trust me.” You roll your eyes.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally. She smirks, completely planning to wear you down.

“Remember it’s for the kids,” she reasons, “It wouldn’t hurt to go and participate.”

“I said I’ll think about it,” you laugh.

Time passes and soon enough you get another call from Sandy, and you are suddenly back to taking care of Valerie. You had missed her, a lot actually. You definitely have gotten attached to her, and you think you’ve grown on her too. Sandy was vague this time for how long they’d be gone, but since the previous time went so smoothly, you didn’t worry about it.

About a week after Sandy and Carl left this time, there was another disturbing news report. You were sitting on the floor, changing Valerie and you had the television playing softly in the background. The news told the story of another body, this time found in the woods off of the highway. You finish changing the baby and hold her close, her little chin resting on your shoulder as you watch the news story. It was just like Julie had talked about. Another man, thirty years old. He was shot and his body abandoned. You jump at the knock at the front door.

You peep through the curtains, and you see the Sheriff waiting on the front porch. You wonder if he knows you’re there. Part of you almost wishes he knows it you here and he wanted to see you. It’s incredibly stupid on your part and you know better, but nonetheless, part of you hoped he came here for you. Very stupid. With Valerie on your hip, you open the door.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he says walking into the house. He stops in front of you and presses a kiss to Valerie’s forehead and she squeals happily seeing Lee. You close the door with your foot. “May I?” he asks, and opens his arms. You agree, based on Valerie’s reactions to him whenever she sees him. He takes her in his arms, and she starts playing with his tie. He loosens it so she can play with it and not choke him.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” you ask. He reacts in a way in a way you can’t really read, but you don’t press.

His mind just goes back to the woman a couple weeks back in the brothel who asked him the same thing, and that his mind immediately had gone to you. He just clears his throat and snaps himself out of that thought process.

“Um, I just came by to see Sandy,” he says, “But I can fathom a guess that she’s not here?”

“Excellent deduction,” you joke, and he smirks. Valerie has his tie in her mouth and is covering it in drool. He doesn’t even seem to care.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you nod. “You looked a little scared when you answered.”

“Just watching the news before you showed up is all,” you explain, “They were talking about how there was another man found dead.”

“Ain’t got nothing to worry about,” he says, “We’re on top of it. I’m on my way over there now.”

“Can I ask you something?” you ask hesitantly.

“Of course, darling.”

“My friend, you probably know her- Julie Grady.”

“Yeah, nice kid,” he says, listening but gently pulling his tie from Valerie’s grasp. She starts playing with the flap of the pocket of his jacket.

Kid. You almost grimace. That’s right. Of course, Lee would view someone your age that way. You weren’t. You chastise yourself for even caring, but you decide to continue. You shouldn’t care how he sees you.

“Yeah- well, she told me there have been others,” you continue, “I also read up about it, just the newspapers at the library- but she said people thought it was some kind of serial killer… I just, I want to know what you think.”

“I don’t think know,” he answers honestly, a little taken aback, not expecting you to approach him with something this serious. “I doubt it,” he explains, “Serial killers stay close to home. Now those cases you read about, and these two we are looking at- they sound close together but logistically, they aren’t really. Two of those unsolved were in completely different states- just like this new one.”

“So, no traveling serial killer?” you chuckle, trying to sound lighthearted. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Most people like that stay in one area,” Lee explains, “They work jobs, they have a home, you know? They tend to stay near where they live.”

“That makes me feel much better,” you answer honestly.

“You got nothing to worry about, and that’s a promise,” he grins, although he supposes coming from him that probably doesn’t mean much. Regardless, it makes you smile.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” you offer again. He bites his lip, taking a moment to think.

“Sandy keeps a bag of candy in her cabinet,” he says, walking into the kitchen with you following close behind. He passes Valerie off to you and he chuckles under his breath at the state of his tie. He reaches up in the cabinet and pulls down a brown paper bag, filled with taffies and chocolates.

Something about this man who has a whole time scared of him playing with his niece and then stealing sweets from the cupboard is something you find so strangely endearing. He unwraps one of the brightly colored taffies and then puts the bag in his pocket.

“I gotta go,” he announces, “let me know if you hear from Sandy, yeah?”

“Of course,” you reply.

“Gonna head out to that scene, and do my report,” he discloses, not really sure why he’s telling you. “Then I have a meeting at the rectory about that fundraiser thing. Figure out security.”

“They need security at Bid-On-A-Basket?” you ask, with an eyebrow raised. He smiles.

“You going?” he asks, flirtatiously.

“Just seems weird to have police at a Church thing.”

“There’s been stupid fights,” he shrugs, “some guy will get outbid and cause a fuss. Nothing serious. Probably just gonna be me and a deputy in case. You going?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” you say sheepishly. “Why?”

He walks towards the front door, and you follow seeing him out.

“Cause I gotta know if I’ll be bidding on a basket,” he winks.

“You gonna start a fight if you don’t win it?” you joke.

“If it’s yours? Absolutely, darling.”

Taglist:

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro @pyronack @greeneyedblondie44 @acciosiriusblack @weenersoldierr @teenagemutant @witchybarb @iraot @my-love-darling @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @swiftieandthewintersoldier @letsfly-andbe-free @rebekahdawkins @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @hersilencedscreams @unsaltedalmonds @dangerdolns @vintagepigeon @bluebouquetcupcake29 @goslytherin @captainofallfandoms @buckistan @aynanasstuff @everything-is-all-clear @rosalynshields @tinynshykitten

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #the devil all the time #sebastian stan characters #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x f!reader #lee bodecker smut #slow burn #mystery #lee bodecker oneshot

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 years

Note

Omg I love all your drabbles they are so amazing and brilliant I can’t believe you do that for free! What a blessing you are!! I was wondering whether there would be a part four to the vacation au and if not could you do maybe more jealous Cassian but in your lawyer au I’m obsessed but honestly anything you write has me happy!

This is so sweet I am so glad you’re loving the drabbles! I did a second part to the vacation AU a couple days ago so I’m going to go with Jealous Cassian in the lawyer AU. I already *kind* of did this but I’ve been doing jealousy light lately and this time we are cranking it up to 100. This one is kinda long and pretty angsty and I think I definitely need to smoosh all these lawyer drabbles into a mini story that follows Nessian from meeting while studying for the bar exam and then through snippets of their careers so maybe that’s what I’ll do next.

Actually facing Nesta in court was an extreme rarity. All of her non pro Bono work was strictly solicitor. Drafting contracts and negotiating deals in different chic board rooms with little glass bottles of Perrier and complimentary latte carts trolling the halls.

Nesta thought that she didn’t want to litigate. She thought that people didn’t like her and because of that she was a bad advocate. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Watching Nesta fight for something that she believed in, truly believed in, was the closest thing to a religious experience Cassian had ever known.

“And I would urge you to consider in your decision, your honour, the fact that even if it should apply in this case, the very law my learned friend is attempting to uphold is currently under review by the Supreme Court and may soon be overturned on the basis of being unconstitutional as well as unconscionable.” Nesta took a pregnant pause.

“If that happens. If this law is overturned, as you well know, it will not be retroactively helpful to my client. My client who was born here. My client who grew up in Queens. My client who can draw you a map of which bodegas has the best coffee vs the best sandwiches and their proximity to the nearest train, and if that doesn’t qualify her as an American, and a New Yorker, then I don’t know what does.” The judge smiled a little at that. It was a calculated risk, the emotional appeal. But Judge Miluski was already on Nesta’s side and she was a born and bread New Yorker and she had the rare distinction of being a member of the judiciary with a sense of humour. “If this law is overturned, which we both know is highly likely, then my client will be sent to another country, a country she has never even been to, not because she did anything wrong, but because this trial happened a few weeks too-”

Nesta trailed off, eyes caught at the quietly opening gallery door. A man stepped in. Tall and thin and… greasy. Hair slicked back with so much product Cassian didn’t think he’d feel it if he hit him on the head with a hammer. Which he desperately wanted to do. That brutish, violent, raised in foster homes in Harlem side of him that even a legal education and a closet full of Armani suits could never quite polish out of him lit on fire at the sight of this creep. This asshole who was wearing fucking asics with his $4000 suit. And no tie. Top three buttons of a pinstripe white shirt unbuttoned. What a fucking rube.

Except that this guy. THIS fucking guy, made Nesta lose her train of thought. This guy who walked into court late and had yet to drag his eyes up from Nesta’s ass, had distracted her. Caused her to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and smile a little. This shy, light, cutesy little smile that absolutely did not belong on Nesta Archeron’s face.

When Nesta smiled it was a sly, knowing, victorious thing that curled across her lips and set Cassian’s heart hammering in his chest.

This… this was insanity.

The man smirked, deep and arrogant, as he stood at the back of the courtroom, hands slid into his pockets. Not even respectful enough of the proceedings to sit down.

Nesta gathered herself quickly. The whole mess over in under 20 seconds, but Cassian noticed it. Even as Nesta went on and cited the law and the competing jurisprudence and the ethics and the constitution, he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was that little smile.

Cassian said his final piece, the judge ruled, as they both knew she would, in Nesta’s favor, and it was all over.

Nesta didn’t even gloat like she usually would have. She just stuck her hand out, the absolute picture of professionalism, and shook his.

“Good working with you, Counseler.” She said, as if he hadn’t pulled her around the side of a building and pushed her body up against a brick wall the other day, moulding her into him as they fought over this case. Discussed their future. Their passions.

She’d rejected his invitation to dinner, but she always did. It was a part of the game. A game that Cassian was determined to win.

“Who’s the tech bro?” The sneakers with the suit and the unbuttoned shirt and the general shitty attitude all pointed to that being the only reasonable profession.

“Babe,” the slimy man in question pushed past the swinging waist high half door that separated the gallery and the space where counsel’s desks sat. “Let’s go.” He wrapped and arm too tightly around Nesta’s waist and pulled on her a little.

Cassian curled his fists into his palms so hard his nails bit imprints into the skin of his palms. Babe? Telling her when to leave? The pulling? No.

“I’m Cassian.” He held out his hand. “ADA. What firm do you work for? Haven’t seen you around.”

“Tomas.” The man scoffed, “And I’m not a lawyer. Not interested in all that gibberish you’re type is always spewing. Sounds like pure nonsense to me. I’m a tech investor.”

Yeah. That sounded about right. No actual skills. Not an engineer or developer or even a business manager. Just an idiot with a trust fund throwing money at whatever looked cool.

“Well, Tomas. Do you know why they call that big exam full of all that gibberish you hate the bar exam?” The weasel just raised his eyebrows. “It’s because once you pass it, then you are an attorney. And allowed to cross past this BAR.” Cassian pushed Tomas back out the little half door again. “Which separates the civilians in the gallery from the lawyers making their cases. So maybe learn how to show a little respect.” Cassian scoffed, flicking his eyes to Nesta, “In a few different areas of your life.”

“What the fuck, bro?” Tomas rolled his eyes. “This is why I fucking hate going to your lawyer parties and shit. Jackasses like this.”

“Tomas, please.” Nesta placed a hand on his chest, Cassian tensed, and that seemed to calm Tomas down. Not Nesta’s touch, but another man’s jealousy.

“Why don’t you bring the car around. I have to work out a court date for another matter with Cassian but I’ll be right out.”

“Yeah, ok.” Tomas glared, keeping eye contact with Cassian as he kissed Nesta’s cheek, hand travelling too far down her back. “Hurry though.”

“Of course.” Nesta smiled that same tiny little smile that made her look like a doll on a shelf and Cassian wanted to scream.

“What the fuck are you doing with a piece of shit like that?” Cassian minced no words as he turned to face Nesta.

“Excuse me?”

“Pretty straight forward question, Nes.”

“You… you don’t know him. He’s not like that once you get to know him.”

“Sure he’s not,” Cassian scoffed.

“What is your problem?”

“My problem is that your boyfriend, who I’ve never heard of or seen before today despite knowing you for years, had a chance to see you in court. Had a chance to watch you all fired up and passionate and brilliant and instead he walked in late, stared at your ass instead of listening to what you were saying, and then shoved his way up here and pulled at you to leave like you were some kind of toy he didn’t mind tearing the arm off of.”

Nesta blinked. Huffed out a breath. “We’ve been on again off again for a while. That’s why you haven’t seen him before. And he just doesn’t like lawyer stuff that’s why he’s like that in here ok? Not that it’s any of your business.”

“So you’re dating someone who not only doesn’t recognize how brilliant you are but won’t even let you talk about your job?” That was wrong. That was so wrong. That was… why Nesta was so intense with him. Why she debated and fought and talked for hours. Because she couldnt do it at home.

“Why do you even care, Cassian? Let’s just set a date and-”

“Fuck you, Nesta.” Her jaw fell open. “Fuck you for even asking me that. You know why I care. You can’t play dumb with me like I assume you do with him.”

“You don’t know anything about my relationship!” Nesta defended a little too vehemently.

“I know you can’t yell at him about his take on immigration laws,” Cassian stepped closer to her. “I know you can’t get a little tipsy off your favorite Malbec and go on a rambling tirade about the corrupt judiciary and your twenty three- or twenty five depending on the night- reasons why voting for judges completely undermines the integrity of the legal system.”

The was almost no space between them as Cassian looked down, gently set his hand under Nesta’s chin and raised her gaze to meet his. Burning with anger and passion and barely concealed desire. “I know that he didn’t understand why you were crying when RBG died. Because he doesn’t care about how appointing Supreme Court judges works or what that meant for the future of the court. And because I know that you weren’t with him that night. You were with me. Just like election night in 2016. And the Kavanaugh trials. And when the travel ban came into effect. You found me. Because I get it, and I care about your thoughts on all of those things. I’m devastated by them too. You were with me, Nes. And don’t you dare pretend that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does,” Nesta let her cheek sink into his palm. “It means everything Cassian, but…”

“But we fight,” he smiled. “We bicker and yell and cross ideologies and disagree on all the little things. But not the big things, Nes. Never on the big things. We disagree on how to change the world, not what we want to change in it. Isn’t that what matters?”

Nesta swallowed. “I can’t risk losing you.” She said quietly. “I need you. For all of those reasons, I need you to be in my life and if we… I hurt the people I love, Cassian. So if I let myself love you, I would only hurt you. And I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.”

“So you date him.” Realization was an arrow sailing into Cassian’s chest. “Because you won’t hurt him. Because you could never actually love him.”

Nesta swallowed. “See? See how awful I am?”

Cassian moved his hand to her back, pulled her into his chest. “Go,” he whispered. “Go do whatever you need to do. I’ll be here. And I’ll be waiting for you to realize that I’m not going anywhere. That I can take it. Whatever you want to throw at me, I can take it, Nes.”

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #acosf #cassian #nesta and cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #acotar

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hxneyandespressx · 3 years

Text

the holidate

summary: emily and jennifer pair up to be platonic dates for Christmas and New Year’s. little did they know, real feelings would be caught along the way.

pairing: emily prentiss x jennifer jareau (jemily)

word count: 4.9k

☆。*。☆。

Sitting by the bar, Emily took a sip of her second drink of the night. It was nearing Christmas, and the bar was filling up with lonely singles and a few happy couples. At this time in the night, the bar usually would be packed. Now that it was the holiday season, there was less of a turnout. The noirette had been here for a little while, an hour at most, and was drinking her dread away. She hoped to avoid the questions to come at the upcoming family gathering. Every year, on her vacation to her mother’s mansion, all of her extended family members asked Emily one of the following questions:

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“How’s your career going?”

“What’s it like working in London?”

As she thought about visiting them, Emily sat her head down on the countertop. She had been dreading the visit for weeks. Her family could be a bit much, intense one might call it. There were always arguments between the conservative uncles. Endless gossiping amongst the aunts. Even her grandmother would take her time picking apart all of Emily’s flaws. Never once had there been a quiet holiday without someone (usually Emily) creating chaos, dampening everyone’s festive mood.

Several minutes had passed, her head hanging low from stress, and Emily felt a warm presence standing beside her, leaning against the bar casually. This stranger was able to find a spot due to the bar being at fifty percent capacity. Usually, one would not be able to find a spot to sit down at.

Turning her head at a slight angle, out of the corner of her deep russet eyes, Emily saw the most beautiful woman that she had seen in her entire life. Dressed in a long-sleeved, baby blue mid-length dress with a pair of velvet thigh-high boots, with a black wool peacoat, a petite blonde smiled softly at Emily.

“Drinking your sorrows away tonight?” The blonde said while softly smirking and gesturing at the red lipstick-lined glass. Emily chuckled.

“Sorry. I just hate going back home for the holidays.” Emily sat up from her previous position, gazing into her almost empty drink.

“Don’t worry. I feel the same way. By the way, I’m Jennifer,” the blonde held out her hand, “but my friends call me JJ.”

“Emily.” The women shook hands then JJ took the seat next to the slouching woman. The stranger called over the bartender and ordered a blood orange cosmopolitan.

“A Cosmo. Fancy, aren’t we?” Emily asked with a hint of a teasing tone.

“Liking a fruity cocktail doesn’t hurt anyone.” The bartender hand over JJ her drink and she took a few sips to get the evening going.

Emily shrugged her shoulders and took a long sip of her drink. Indie Christmas music played in the background as the two women sat in silence.

“So… what’s the family like?” JJ decided to start some small talk. What else was there to do at a pub on a Tuesday evening?

“You know… the typical family from the Capitol. A high-powered mother who’s career-driven, a sprinkle of conservative uncles who care about traditions, a dash of gossiping aunts who only cared about themselves, and the cousins whom you haven’t talked to in years. And the crazy grandmother who’s funeral is right around the corner. Then there’s the dead beat dad. And finally, the lonely and depressed single woman who wants to bring someone home for the holidays so then she won’t get pestered by the family with questions. Hint: that one’s me,” Emily shook her head at herself for spilling out the truth of the Prentiss family. “I can only do so much to tolerate them.”

Emily took another sip of her drink.

“Sorry for spilling my guts out. Holidays can be tough, am I right?” JJ chuckled softly and passively waved her hand, understanding where Emily came from. JJ’s home life hadn’t been the best. Her sister died. Her parents divorced. The perfect brew for a lonely middle-aged woman.

“Don’t worry about it,” JJ gently laughed. “I didn’t travel back home for Christmas this year because my mother and I aren’t on speaking terms.”

“Ah…I’m sorry about that.” Emily understood what it was like not having a caring mother. It was difficult to handle, but both Emily and JJ made it through in their own circumstances.

A shared emotion loomed over the pair: the experience of being lonely during the holidays. JJ felt something stir in her heart. Perhaps a sign telling her to go with her instincts. Maybe something new could be starting between them? JJ furrowed her brow, brainstorming ideas to spend more time with the not-so-strange stranger next to her. The gears turned in her mind. She had to take this opportunity, or else it would slip away — to be forgotten forever.

“You know… I do need a partner for a New Year’s Eve party that I got invited to.” JJ said nonchalantly. The blonde was interested in this Emily character. She had to think of a way to see her again.

Emily raised her eyebrows and did her crooked smile.

“I can take you to the party if I get to take you as my friend-date to a Christmas gala that my family attends every year,” Emily countered, “It gets super lonely when you’re the only single, middle-aged woman there.” The brunette set down her third and final drink down for the night.

“Platonic? As in two strangers getting together as friends? During the holiday season?” JJ said, lifting her perfectly coiffed left eyebrow.

“That’s what I’m proposing.” JJ twiddled with her rings nervously underneath the countertop. She did not want Emily to see how anxious she got.

Emily took some time to think about the situation she was getting herself into.

“So… we agree that we are going to be each other’s holiday dates, as friends?” JJ asked Emily as she took a small black booklet and a pen out of her purse. Emily hummed as she sipped her drink, signifying a “yes.”

Writing her phone number down in light blue ink, JJ said, “I guess you can call me ‘babe’ for the weekend.” JJ winked at Emily when she looked up from her mini notebook.

A slight peachy blush formed on Emily’s chiseled cheekbones. The blonde ripped the piece of paper from her little notebook, folded it into a neat square, and placed it in the hands of a blushing Emily. JJ noticed the blush and tried her best to not stare at the gorgeous woman in front of her.

Placing some money as a tip for the bartender, JJ gestured “call me soon” at Emily, leaving the woman sitting by the bar flustered, wondering to herself what she had gotten herself into.

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December 23rd. Dread showed on Emily’s face. She gave herself a pep talk before knocking on the wooden door with the polished brass door knocker. Already regretting her decision, Emily knotted her scarf for the second time to keep the chill wind from nipping her already rosy nose and cheeks. Wanting to keep warm, Emily took out her zippo lighter and pack of cigarettes. She lit one up as she waited out in the cold. 20 minutes went by and Emily noticed a short dark figure approaching the main door.

Taking her last drag of smoke, the young woman dropped her cigarette and stomped on it to get rid of the evidence from her mother. Just to be safe, Emily popped in a few mints to disguise her breath. Then, the door opened, and behind it was Emily’s mother. Elizabeth Prentiss.

“Hello, mother,” Emily snarled with a hint of disgust.

“Emilia.” Elizabeth had a neutral expression when facing Emily. She opened the door wider, letting her daughter in, along with the frosty winter air of December. As she entered the expertly decorated house, Emily took in the scene of the living room. Her little cousins were chasing each other. The uncles were drinking mulled wine and discussing the current events. The aunts were gossiping and making snide comments about their social circle. As Emily walked past her extended family members, a field of judgy looks followed her. Emily sighed, grudgingly waiting for the influx of questions from her aunts and uncles while putting her coat onto the coat hanger, and headed towards the snack bar. While nibbling on some toasted almonds, Emily felt a looming presence next to her. Without hesitation, Emily looked into her mother’s eyes, saying the words leave me alone silently.

“You’re not still smoking, are you?” Elizabeth inquired.

“Uh… no mother, I’m not still smoking. It was just a smoky Uber.”

“No man wants to marry a smoker.”

Emily rolled her deep umber eyes as she walked away from the one person that she resented all these past years.

“Any time I come home for the holidays, I’m showered in a sea of pity and sad glances,” Emily scoffed in anger. “I mean, why is everyone so suspicious of a happy single woman?”

“We just want the best for you, Emilia.”

“Whatever, mother.” Wanting to stay away from Elizabeth, Emily made her home with the home bar.

Couldn’t her mother see how disgusted she was at the mention of “man”? Well, how could she even know her, when Elizabeth Prentiss left Emily, only to be taken care of by a nanny. Since Elizabeth was the US ambassador, she put her career first, family second. Emily always felt she was second to her mother’s career. Well, at least her mother was okay with her being a lesbian. Emily would not say the same for some of the extended family.

Not wanting to get too hung up on her problems, Emily lent out her helping hands to set up the dinner, to be attended by all of her aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandmother. Since Emily’s grandmother was the eldest in the family, she was seated at the head of the table. The setting had to be up to the Prentiss standard: skillfully decorated with garlands, candles, dinnerware, and neatly-folded napkins. The main dish was placed in the center to showcase the work put into it. After everything got set up, everyone gathered around to start fueling up their famished selves.

Not even ten minutes passed before one of Emily’s aunts asked her the dreaded question.

“So, Emily. How are your romantic endeavors going? Found a man yet?”

The thirty-year-old gritted her teeth in frustration. This was the exact conversation that she wanted to avoid. Most of the family acknowledge the fact that Emily Prentiss was in fact, a lesbian. However, they would rather keep quiet about it to remain perfect to their elitist friends.

“I’m dating here and there. Sometimes it does take a while to find the right man for you,” Emily lied through her teeth. She hated doing this every holiday season. Making up lies just to satisfy a person whom Emily only sees on holidays. Emily resented playing the role of “ambassador’s perfect daughter”. She always had ever since her teenage rebellion years.

At her aunt's satisfied expression, Emily felt like she dodged a bullet. She did not feel like starting up an argument or an intervention. She only said that to please her aunt and everyone else. She had learned to say such things to avoid controversy, learning from her teenage rebellion that it never ended well for Emily.

The rest of the dinner went on without an uproar, everyone eating and talking with pleasantries.

Sometime after, the family was sitting around the large living, the fireplace crackling and its warmth filling the room, altogether creating a sense of hygge. One of Emily’s cousins stood up, clearing his throat.

“Could I have everyone’s attention?” Jake Prentiss — an insufferable lawyer that Emily never really got along with — nervously called out. “I have something to say.” Everyone in the room became quiet and gave the spotlight to the man in the middle.

He gently grabbed his girlfriend’s hand, making them stand in the center of the room. Emily mouthed a fuck no underneath her breath, standing underneath the kitchen archway in shock.

“Claire Alexandria Scott, I know it’s only been four months and 8 amazing days,” Jake dropped down on one knee and he took out a small black box, opening it to reveal an engagement ring. “Will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

The whole family cheered in joyous remarks, as the girlfriend-turned-fiancée accepted the proposal and had the ring put on her. Emily groaned at the scene, zipping up her new jacket, hiding her face in the hood. She felt like hiding away in a closet, never to be seen again.

Frustration boiled within Emily. Why couldn’t she find someone to be happy with? Was the universe playing games with her? Emily always felt that life was a cruel witch, waiting to cast a spell to mess with her. However, this year, Emily felt something different. It was like life was giving her a chance. A chance at love. To be happy, free, in love. Does God want me to be with JJ from the bar? I knew that I felt something when I first saw her. Emily snapped from her thoughts, poured some more wine, and left the joyous celebration that was happening in the family room.

Later that night, in her townhouse, Emily laid awake on her bed. She could not sleep as she had a lot on her mind. Grabbing her robe and phone, Emily quietly tiptoed downstairs and entered the kitchen. Usually, when Emily was stressed, she baked. It was the quietness she appreciated as the cookies cooked in the oven. But, her mind was filled too much with anxiety and stress from the holidays, so the brunette chose a simple task.

Few events had happened that day, and everyone expected Emily to find a man and settle down, now that she’s the only one left single and the youngest of those who grew up with Emily. However, Emily usually was not the type to just settle down, even less so with a man. Many thoughts and emotions went through her mind as the young woman silently worked around the kitchen to make a warm beverage to calm her mind.

Twenty-seven minutes went by and Emily checked the kitchen clock. 3:39 AM brightly lit against the darkness. Sitting by the bay window, Emily stared at the winter scenery, sipping on a hot toddy while watching the snow gently coating the evergreen pines. Her mind filled with thoughts. I wonder what would happen if I called her. Would she say no? Oh God, what if after meeting at the bar, she revoked the offer?

Emily worried about being questioned by few family members tomorrow, or worse, being rejected by the one woman she had momentarily shown interest in. The middle-aged woman bit her lips in nervousness. Hoping that she felt the same, Emily unlocked her phone with her thumb and opened the messages app. Her phone teased her with the blinking cursor on the brightly lit screen.

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Christmas Eve. The family was scrambling around to prepare for the Christmas gala that was supposed to happen that night. The event was to be attended by the A-listers, politicians, anyone of importance. Emily stood in the background of the large family room, sipping on her glass of pinot noir while watching the chaos run amok in front of her. One of the cousins was wrapping presents quickly as a last-minute ditch effort. The children were running around the house, playing tag. Emily’s mother was shouting at people to get ready quickly to take a family photo for her social media accounts.

“Come on, people. We don’t have all day,” Emily’s mother said in an exasperated tone. “All we need is one good picture, then we are good to go for the Christmas gala this evening.” The ambassador tried her best to gather the younger children to the family room.

The gala. That’s all that Elizabeth talked about. Emily was getting tired of it. She rolled her eyes, knowing that her mother only cared about looking good for the public. Since Elizabeth Prentiss was an ambassador, everything was about appearance and being “perfect”. This put a strain on Emily and her mother’s relationship, as Emily had a tough time conforming to what the politicians and other elite people wanted.

She sighed in annoyance. Feeling slightly anxious, Emily bit her nails as she waited for her friend-date to arrive at the Prentiss house. Honestly, Emily could care less if a few family members caused an uproar over the fact that Emily was bringing a woman as a date. They knew of Emily being a lesbian, but they abided by the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. One could say that this was Emily’s gesture to finally say “fuck you” to all the conservatives in her family.

Some time passed and the sound of the doorbell rang. Emily walked over to the main door. She opened the wooden door to greet Jennifer Jareau, all dressed perfectly for the gala.

“Wow, um..” Emily felt lost for words. “You’re….uh… beautiful.” She tried to compose herself. What the hell is wrong with me? This is purely platonic. Why am I feeling butterflies in my stomach?

Emily’s eyes did a quick scan to take in what JJ was wearing: a mid-length black lace dress with a high neck, accompanied by a white faux fur shawl, her golden honey locks perfectly curled and set in place.

“You look beautiful as well.” JJ whispered underneath her breath, closing in the space between her and Prentiss. Deciding to be sneaky, JJ quickly pecked Emily’s right cheek. The taller woman stood under the doorway in shock, trying to rationalize what just happened. Friends do this right? I mean I know in Europe they do.

Emily tried to cool her rosy cheeks down as she let in her friend-date. That’s all that it was. Platonic. No strings attached. Just friends attending an event together.

Elizabeth Prentiss saw from the living room archway what was unfolding at the main doorway. She walked over to her daughter to inquire what her plans for the evening were.

“Who’s this, Emilia?”

“Oh.. um... This is Jennifer. She’s my... date,” Emily said. “She’s my plus one for the gala.” A few of Emily’s uncles and aunts huffed and turned their heads away in disapproval. A few of her cousins smiled and silently congratulated her. Clearly, they were eavesdropping on what was happening at the front door.

Elizabeth squinted her eyes at her daughter.

“That’s okay with me,” Elizabeth turned to JJ, handing her phone to the blonde. “Can you take a photo of the family before we all head over to the gala?”

“Uh sure.” JJ took the ambassador’s phone and took a position in front of the Prentiss family. Emily stood in her stance awkwardly, wishing that this predicament had not happened in the first place. After a few quick snaps, JJ took the pictures and handed the phone back to Elizabeth.

“Blurry. Boring. Nope. Nope. Nope,” Emily’s mother said as she swiped through the photos JJ took of the family, also commenting on the “style” the blonde took them in. JJ stood there. She felt like she was being lectured by a school teacher.

“Okay, none of these will do. We will try again tomorrow.” JJ made a neutral expression, almost in disbelief that Emily’s mother would treat her like that. But then again, Emily had told JJ that her mother was like this. Nitpicky, wanting everything to be precise. To be perfect.

After the photoshoot, everyone quickly headed out to their cars parked outside. JJ rode in an Uber with Emily to their destination. During their ride to the event, the two women talked. Oh, how they talked like they were friends from long ago. They stopped talking only when they arrived at their destination.

JJ walked down the white marble steps of the venue. Jazz music could be heard all around the place. Christmas decorations neatly brought the whole ambiance together.

“Wow!” JJ was in shock at the number of people on the floor, mingling and drinking.

“I know it’s a lot… Don’t worry, I got your back.” Emily took JJ from the top of the stairs and straight up to the open bar.

Emily ordered a vodka soda while JJ ordered a Moscow mule. They laughed when they realized they both ordered something with vodka, just in two different flavors. After grabbing their drinks, both the women socialized with the other people at the gala — or rather Emily did, while JJ, who did not grow up in the eyes of politics, watched the scene. JJ stood there, smiling at the woman in her sight. She couldn’t tell if it was because of the alcohol or her own feelings, but JJ felt at peace for the first time in a long time. She felt whole. Complete. Loved.

As she watched Emily Prentiss play the role of ambassador’s daughter, JJ felt a fluttering motion in her heart. It was like the universe was telling JJ that Emily was the one for her. No more second chances. She is the one. And for once, JJ was willing to listen to her heart when it came to this matter. After her four-year relationship with her previous boyfriend, William LaMontagne, ended two years ago, JJ felt she had nothing in the world. A few months after the break-up, the events of her sister’s death and her parents’ divorce unfolded. All of it caused JJ to feel nothing for the next two years. All she focused on was her career. Until that fateful day, at the bar, when she met Emily.

When JJ entered through those wooden doors of the pub, her eyes first laid on Emily sitting by the bar countertop. Her heart fluttered a little, but JJ ignored it, feeling she wasn’t ready to go into a relationship. But, as she got to know Emily more, JJ slowly but surely fell in love with the brunette. It was definitely love at first sight. JJ was not the type to believe in concepts like that. But she was sure about her feelings for the brunette.

The blonde, from afar, stared at Emily working her magic to engage the conversation with her mother and a group of elderly men. All of a sudden, Emily’s voice could be heard loud and clear.

“I’m sorry. You don’t think gay people deserve rights?” Emily questioned while crossing her arms across her chest in anger.

“Well… Just so you know, you are speaking to the lesbian daughter of US ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Yes, I am not the ‘perfect’ daughter, but who cares! Perfect is meaningless in this world. It’s subjective. And I am not sorry for who I am.” Emily stood her ground and walked away from the group she was in with her mother. Elizabeth looked absolutely shocked by that speech. After recovering from the initial shock, the ambassador mouthed I’m proud of you at her daughter.

Everyone in the venue watched Emily as she headed toward JJ.

The blonde held out Emily’s drink to hand it over to her. She also poked Emily’s nose, to lighten the mood.

“You okay, Emily?” JJ asked. The taller woman huffed in frustration. Emily felt like she needed space away from the stuffy elitists.

“Why don’t we get out of here and take a little breather?” JJ offered. Emily nodded her head in agreement and both women took their jackets and walked out through the glass back doors.

They ducked out of the gala quietly. Snowflakes reflected the warm orange lights from the streetlamps. A type of quietness settled between the “couple”. The crisp winter chilled their flushed cheeks, making them sober up a little.

The pair stood in the cold, enjoying the silence. But they knew that this would not last forever, as they would have to go their separate ways once the night ended. Emily and JJ continued their walk around the perimeter of the venue for three hours, just talking about every subject there was to think of. Hobbies. Careers. Art. Music. Hopes. Goals. Dreams. They turned around a corner to arrive back at the gala venue. JJ stopped Emily at the front iron gate.

“Well… tonight’s been fun,” JJ said.

“I agree. This year’s gala was much more bearable having you by my side.” JJ lightly blushed and barely attempted to hide it with her jacket collar. Emily noticed a tinge of color on JJ’s cheeks and softly smiled. The two women had started to fall for each other, twirling around each other like a pair of ivy vines.

Unsure of the time, Emily quickly checked her watch.

“It’s getting late. Want me to drop you off at your place?” Emily offered. JJ smiled happily at the gesture.

“I would love that.”

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New Year’s Eve. The music blared from the stereo system. Lights strobed along with the music. Emily and JJ leaned against the stainless steel railing on the balcony, watching the view below. Many drinks were ordered and downed within the one-and-a-half-hour they had been at the party. The slightly drunk women were playing a game where they made up stories about the people dancing below.

“I think the leather-vest-mate’s up now.” Emily said.

“Oh, okay, he’s an options trader.” JJ pointed at a silver-haired man dancing with his very young date. “Divorced. Two kids at Northwestern. She was his decorator on the new condo, hoping to be wife number three.”

“Very good. Very good,” Emily said, looking at JJ and smiling at her story-making skills.

Both the women turned around and Emily jumped quickly on the scene in front of them.

“Ooh, uh, white satin ruffles. Rented tuxedo. He’s just drenched in sweat. They are definitely getting engaged at midnight.”

“Wow. You’re good.” JJ said.

Emily shrugged at the compliment.

“It’s a gift,” Emily drank some more bubbly champagne, feeling a bit friskier than usual. “By the way, your tits look exceptional in that dress.”

“Thanks. That’s why I bought it.” JJ smiled at the compliment and did a little twirl.

“Overall, you are just beautiful. As always.”

“That’s really sweet of you to notice.” JJ blushed, and she thanked the dark atmosphere of the venue for hiding it. She wouldn’t want her maybe-crush to notice that she was blushing not from the alcohol, but from her burgeoning feelings for the other woman.

Both the women downed their drinks and ordered some more. Once they felt they had enough, the “couple” headed down to the dance floor and had their fun for the night. They danced their feet off. Blew some gigantic bubbles with a long star-shaped bubble wand Beach balls were tossed amongst the crowd. Then the song “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” came on the speakers. JJ looked towards Emily as the taller woman made way and backed up to provide room for the jump from Dirty Dancing.

Emily smirked and said, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” JJ grinned as she shook off her heels and Emily threw off her blazer, showing off her lean arm muscle. JJ speed walked over to Emily and as the iconic line went off, Emily caught JJ in her hands, like Patrick Swayze in the film. Several seconds later, Emily’s arms gave out and JJ toppled on top of her.

After escaping the dance floor, both the women nursed their injured heads on a leather loveseat. Shoes were off, splayed across the glass table in front of them. JJ huffed in annoyance after what happened on the dance floor.

“Nobody drops Baby on her head.” Emily crookedly smiled and whispered “sorry”. Both stayed silent as they were becoming inebriated, surrounding themselves with the noise and action. Forty-five minutes passed, and JJ got bored with sitting and moping in pain, rather than having fun on the last day of the year.

“Wanna head up to the roof? We could take a break from the noise.” Emily nodded in agreement.

They left the crowded atmosphere and climbed up to the top of the building. The chill winter breeze cooled down their flushed cheeks. The stars twinkled brighter against the pitch-black sky. The two women watched the glittering lights of Washington, DC. It was time for the countdown.

JJ ever so slightly turned her head towards Emily.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emily noticed that JJ was looking at her and turned her own head towards her date. There was a certain softness to those baby blue eyes.

“I’m glad I get to spend the last seconds of this year with you. You are incredible,” JJ said. Emily blushed a rosy pink, both from the cold and what JJ said.

“I could say the same about you.”

“I really do hope we get to see each other more in the new year.”

“Why is that?”

“Because…. Um.” JJ felt nervous telling Emily the reason. She worried that it would ruin what was happening at the moment.

“You know what. Fuck it.”

JJ grabbed Emily’s face and roughly placed a kiss on her chapped, pink lips.

A roar of cheers and a chorus of yelled “Happy New Year!” filled the air as the clock struck midnight. The whole city celebrated. JJ took a deep breath as she parted from Emily’s lips.

“Happy New Year, Emily.”

Emily looked at the gleaming girl in front of her and said, “Happy New Year, JJ.”

taglist: @queer-rambling / @voidreid / @homosexualyearning / @babey-jj / @ssaemxlyprentxss / @pumpkin-goob / @iconicc / @fuckshitupm8-deactivated3728 / @blakes-dictionxry / @gravelyhumerus / @foreverxgolden / @abbyprentiss / @lizziechase / @purelyprentiss / @heavenlydevil / @haleymalaffey

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