#and the bravery to step out of the comfort zone once in a while
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Sometimes writing is so hard it's worse than pulling a tooth out without anything to numb the pain.
And sometimes writing is stepping out of the comfort zone, writing something completely different than your usual work and finding out you actually kinda love it
#writerslife#sometimes writing is like#writing#it's all about the journey#and the perspective#and the bravery to step out of the comfort zone once in a while#there might be something good on the other side
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Things that STRESS each Zodiac Sign
It's been said that stress is the great plague of the 21st century, and there's a very good reason for that.
These days, stress-related things are at their highest, and while we can't make stressful situations disappear, we can all learn what triggers our anxiety and what we can do to cope with it.
That's why, today, we're taking a look at each of the Zodiac sign's greatest stressors and what they can do to deal with them.
Aries
As one of the most dynamic and energetic signs in the Zodiac, Aries thrives when they have a series of tasks to accomplish.
The issue arises when they can't accomplish these things as quickly or efficiently as they'd like, which leads to stressing and anxiety.
While the go-getter attitude will help Aries throughout their life, it's important to learn how to take a break and relax.
Taurus
Taurus enjoys being perceived as competent in achieving any task, which means that when things don't go their way, they tend to get stressed.
The more stressed a Taurus gets, the more likely they are to doubt their abilities and worth, which in turn makes them more stressed, and the cycle goes on and on.
The best thing for Taurus is to learn how to identify this stress spiral, stop doing whatever it is that they're doing, and turn towards others for help.
Gemini
Big things hardly phase Gemini, but a bunch of little things one after the other is a sure way of sending their stress levels through the roof.
To others, a stressed Gemini might appear to overreact, as they seem to get upset over something inconsequential; To Gemini, however, the stress can feel very justified.
The best thing to do is take up a hobby where they can unleash the stress brought from those small annoyances before they get too numerous to handle.
Cancer
Cancers thrive in stable environments where they can move around confidently, which means they rarely handle it well when those things are gone.
The thing that stresses Cancer the most is, unsurprisingly, family problems, particularly in the form of tragedies, as Cancers will attempt to deal with their stress and everyone else's.
For Cancer, the best thing to do when stress gets too much to handle is to turn to others and ask for their support.
Leo
Leos are controlling individuals by nature, so any situation where they lose all control will be a stressful one for them.
In fact, their bravery and willingness to tackle problems head-on is a sign of this very thing, as they'd rather be on the battlefront attempting to control things than on the safety of the sidelines as a powerless spectator.
For Leo, the best thing they can do is to slowly expose themselves to situations where they have no control in order to familiarize themselves with the feeling.
Virgo
Overthinkers by excellence, Virgos are their own greatest stressor.
They enjoy sticking to their routines because it minimizes overthinking, which in turn minimizes doubt.
The problem with living in this comfort zone, though, it's that it's very small, and as soon as they step out of it, Virgos will overthink themselves to death.
Since Virgos can't stop overthinking, they should instead direct those thoughts towards more positive things and build on positive scenarios instead of negative ones.
Libra
Because Libras crave balance, the lack of it can be incredibly stressful, and Libras will go out of their way to try to fix this.
Of course, this task becomes way more complicated when there are other people involved, and Libra's need to play a conciliatory role only adds to the stress.
For Libra, the best thing to do is to let others handle their own problems for once.
Scorpio
Scorpio's home is their castle, which means that anything that threatens their space will be a stressor.
This can be something as simple or small as loud noises or as annoying as a guest that just won't leave.
Whatever it is, feeling like their space isn't being respected will shoot Scorpio's stress through the roof.
Setting clear, yet reasonable boundaries and enforcing them is the best thing Scorpio can do.
Sagittarius
Sagittarians are dynamic, energetic, and impatient, which means that making them wait unnecessarily will almost certainly stress them out.
They also intensely dislike any kind of social situation where they need to reign themselves in and act as a subdued version of themselves.
Life being what it is, no one can avoid having to act a certain way at times, so the best thing Sagittarius can do is find an activity that lets them release all that stress when they finally have some free time.
Capricorn
Capricorns demand a lot of themselves and get stressed when they don't meet their own expectations.
While this go-getter attitude can certainly help them in their personal lives and their careers, they need to learn how to take the bad with the good and not torture themselves over their failure.
No one in the world expects as much of them as they do, so it's okay to let themselves down a little.
Aquarius
Aquarians hate it when other people attempt to control them, and they'll get irritated and stressed when they feel others are encroaching on their choices and lifestyle.
The key to a happier, more relaxed Aquarius is learning how to differentiate constructive criticism and offers to help from attempts to control their choices and their lives.
Not everyone is out to control them, and learning that will go a long way towards a more peaceful life.
Pisces
Though they can be very self-assured and extravagant in intimate settings, Pisces tend to get stressed out when they need to put themselves out there in front of large crowds.
Feeling exposed is a sure way of triggering a Pisces anxiety, especially if they weren't expecting the scrutiny, so the best thing they can do is to minimize situations where this can happen.
No one can avoid stressful situations forever, though, so the next best thing for Pisces is to enjoy plenty of alone time after stressful events, as this will help them get back to normal.
#Zodiac#Zodiac Signs#Zodiacs#zodiac facts#zodiacsign#astrology#astrology signs#Aries#Aquarius#Cancer#Capricorn#leo#libra#Gemini#virgo#Pisces#Sagittarius#taurus#scorpio
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It Wasn’t Just a Dream
Spoiler Warning: Attack on Titan’s second part of season 4
Jean storms away from the campfire, his fists bloodied from beating Reiner’s face to a pulp. Of all the people to come looking for him, of course it was (Y/n) - one of the four Warriors who’d betrayed Paradis. What better time to have a heart-to-heart talk with your enemy than when the world is about to end?
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What does it mean to be brave?
The definition of bravery is someone who’s ready to face and endure danger or pain; it’s defined as a show of courage. That is the most common perception of bravery, but is that all it means to be brave? Of course this definition is sufficient, but one can’t help but wonder if they really are brave. One can’t help but ask if they truly display bravery.
Someone who sleeps with the lights on might consider someone who sleeps with them off, brave. People who are afraid of spiders take someone who can kill a spider as brave, but people who keep spiders as pets are deemed crazy. Where is the line between the two?
What is the difference between being perceived as brave and being perceived as a fool?
This question was a familiar one for Jean. Back in his youth, he often wondered what bravery was. He believed he knew what it meant to be a coward, but that didn’t necessarily mean he knew what it meant to be brave.
There was once a time where Jean equated honesty with bravery. To speak your mind bluntly without being scared of another person’s judgement had certainly seemed brave to the young soldier - especially since he was someone who wasn’t afraid to say what he wanted.
In his youth, Jean considered himself brave because he wasn’t afraid to admit when something seemed ridiculous or outlandish. Everyone in the 104th Cadet Corps knew of Jean. He was the one who ‘courageously’ declared that he would be joining the Military Police as soon as he graduated. Unlike the people who were set on joining the Survey Corps, Jean was working hard to earn a life of luxury. He believed that being scared of death didn’t make him a coward, it made me smart. Maybe the praise from his peers went to his head, but for a while Jean really considered himself as brave.
An honest person can certainly be brave, but being honest didn’t always imply bravery.
After seeing Titans with his very own eyes, Jean once again began to question what it really meant to be brave. Honest words weren’t going to drive away the Titans. He wondered if being brave was putting your life on the line for others, but risking your life so someone else could live had seemed stupid. Why would anyone risk their own well being for someone else? It hadn’t made any sense to the young and naive Jean.
Maybe in the eyes of others, risking their life was a way to prove something - to prove that they were above others enough to put their lives on the line. Yet in Jean’s opinion, it only felt like they were brave enough to do something as stupid as die for nothing.
Putting your life on the line is certainly brave, but it’s really only perceived as brave when it’s your life for the many.
In both of these cases, and for a majority of his life, Jean considered bravery to be someone who goes out of their comfort zone. It wasn’t always something as extreme as sprinting into battle to pull a comrade out of the line of fire, but it was something new. Doing something that you wouldn’t have done before or that he himself could not do was what he thought bravery was.
When Jean was someone who hid behind the goals of joining the Military Police, he considered himself as brave. When he was stranded in the middle of Titan infested streets and only Mikasa stepped up to fight them, he considered her brave.
So what about now? What does it mean to be brave?
Jean’s eyes traced the outline of the fire. It cracked as it crumbled under his gaze. He sighed before taking another log and quickly dropping it across the surface of his fire. It was the last of what he’d gathered before. He knew he’d have to go and gather some more eventually, but right now, all he wanted to do was rest. He didn’t want to have to think about… anything really.
Tonight was a particularly cold night. A cold night for a regular human like him, anyway. He’d heard from Armin that Titan Shifters have a higher body temperature than regular people. It was strange though. For some reason, he felt like he knew this even before Armin told him.
The memory was more like… a dream.
That night had been a cold one too. Jean couldn’t recall what his room looked like, or how the moon had looked, or even what time it had been, but he remembered that it had been the day before Annie’s capture. Is that why he remembered it?
Was he remembering a night like this because of the similarities it had to this one? What a joke. He knew for a fact that he was remembering because of her. It was always her.
“Kirstein? Are you still awake?”
Speak of the devil and thou shall appear.
Jean leaned against a tree for a while. He hoped that (Y/n) would make a decision on her own accord, but she didn’t. She didn’t attempt to leave nor sit. She didn’t even try to check whether or not Jean was sleeping. If Jean waited long enough, she might leave. Then again, she might stand there all night. But alas, Jean was the one to break first.
With a deep sigh, Jean replied. “If I say no, would you leave me alone?”
“Wouldn’t it be cruel for me to leave you while you’re lonely?”
“I’m not lonely.”
“But you are alone.” (Y/n) placed a small pile of dry wood beside Jean before sitting down beside it. Both of them were quiet for a while. (Y/n) was content with this, but Jean was not as content as her.
To say Jean felt conflicted about working alongside the Warriors would be an understatement. Even before he knew that basically all of the Warriors were responsible for Marco’s death, teaming up with the Warriors wasn’t something he would’ve imagined. They were the reason for so much death. It wasn’t even limited to Paradis! It was everywhere. He’d seen it with his own eyes.
How could she sit beside him right now? How had she ever sat beside him knowing all of the things that she had done? How could Jean let himself sit beside her now, knowing the things that he had done?
(Y/n) picked up one of the small kindling she had brought and slowly placed it across the fire. Steam rose from the girl’s hand as she pulled it away, but her face showed no signs of discomfort.
“Didn’t that hurt?” Jean wondered.
“I’ve gotten used to the pain. We all have.” replied the Crystal Shifter. She held her hand up for Jean to see, and he watched as the steaming parts of her hand turned from red back to their natural hue. “You know, the punches you threw at Reiner were pretty ruthless. If you had used that kind of force with anyone other than a Titan Shifter, they likely would’ve died.”
Jean turned away. He didn’t feel like taking a lecture from anyone right now. Especially not from (Y/n). “Why are you here, (Y/n)?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“To make sure I’m not contacting Floch or something? I don’t know.”
“That is a valid reason, but no. I have no reason to suspect you of working alongside Floch. Even if I did, I have no right to tell you what is and isn’t right.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question.”
“Which was?”
Jean leaned back and gave (Y/n) a look as if to say ‘really?’
The girl chuckled to herself before meeting Jean’s gaze. “I came out here to make sure you were okay. Do you see me as such a manipulative person that you assume I have ulterior motives for checking up on one of my comrades?”
“A comrade, huh?” Jean teased. “Not even a friend anymore?”
“Did you want me to consider you a friend, Kristien?”
“Not really, but it’s… complicated. I’m definitely not the same kind of comrade the Warriors are to you, but I’m also not the same as Armin or Connie.”
“And how did you come to that conclusion?”
“Well for starters, you’ve already gone back to calling Armin and Connie by their first names, but not me. As a matter of fact, I’m the only person who you refer to by last name. Did I do something to you to deserve this?”
(Y/n) pursed her lips, her gaze back on the fire instead of Jean. How frustrating. But it’s always been that way with (Y/n), hasn’t it?
Before anyone knew about traitors or Titan Shifters, life had been simpler. Jean had been a boy who was constantly vying for the (h/c)ette’s attention just like everyone else. Unfortunately for him, his best friend was Marco. Now, Marco was as good of a friend as anyone would hope to have. Sometimes Jean considered himself lucky for having someone like Marco be his friend in the first place, but things weren’t very cut and dry.
Marco and Jean had been infatuated with (Y/n). (Y/n) had been drawn towards Marco. There was no room for Jean in that scenario. It was just him, watching someone he liked show interest in his best friend. It was almost pitiful how each time he’d manage to steal (Y/n)’s attention, Marco would inevitably take center stage.
Marco wasn’t a malicious guy, and Jean knew that well, but every time it happened Jean could only be frustrated with himself. It’s probably why (Y/n) had been drawn towards the freckled boy in the first place. Both of them were people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. Jean was someone who kept his heart under lock and key. Jean had never stopped liking (Y/n), but he was smart enough to know when to back off.
Sometime between Marco’s death and (Y/n)’s betrayal, everything changed. Obviously (Y/n) had lost people who she had been close to, but she always had a distant look in her eyes. She was always searching for something that no one else could see.
That was really the worst part of it all - falling in love with someone who wasn’t really there.
Something that was a cross between a laugh and a sigh suddenly escaped from Jean. He couldn’t even tell what he had wanted it to be, either. “Doesn’t tonight remind you of back when we were cadets? Or, I guess back then we were rookie Scouts.”
“I don’t really know what you’re getting at.”
“The night before we captured Annie. How I joked about you sleeping in the same bed as me, and then you did. It feels so long ago, you know?”
(Y/n) glanced at Jean, letting him catch the curious expression which rested on her features. It was curiosity and nothing more - not even a hint of familiarity.
“What about that other time?” questioned Jean. “It was around the time we were preparing to head to Shiganshina. I was throwing up in the bathroom at night, but then you showed up and we talked. You remember that, don’t you?”
“Well…”
“And what about tonight?”
“What about it?”
“Are you going to forget tonight like all of those other nights before it?” Jean sighed. He knew he was just taking shots in the dark, but he wanted it to be true. “You know, everyone I tell those things to say that I was probably mistaken - even you told me I was crazy at one point, but I really do remember it happening.”
“I’m not saying that I remember any of those things happening with clarity, but I won’t say whether or not they’ve actually occurred. I have so many different memories swimming around in this head of mine that I might mistake one of my predecessor’s memories for my own, but I also don’t think you’d lie. You’re not that kind of person.” (Y/n)’s expression seemed softer in the light of the fire. Perhaps at this moment her expression was softer, but Jean wasn’t sure.
“So then… what kind of person am I?”
“You’re honest, and empathetic. Kind with an almost naive outlook on life. And don’t get me started on how you wear your heart on your sleeve.” (Y/n) picked up another piece of wood and placed it in the fire. When she finished, she looked at Jean with a soft smile. “And you’re brave.”
“Brave?” repeated Jean. “I don’t think I’m a very brave person.”
“And what do you consider ‘bravery’ to be?”
“Being brave is being able to endure pain and having courage in general.”
“And that’s what you believe bravery is?”
“Well… not entirely.” Jean pulls on the sleeves of his jacket as he meets the (h/c)ette’s gaze. “I’ve actually never known what bravery is. I mean, I know what it is in general, but it’s never meant anything significantly different from what anyone else believes it is.”
“I see.” (Y/n) turns away from Jean, and the boy can feel his shoulders relax. “I believe that bravery is a combination of a lot of things, but two things specifically come to mind. Since the most obvious opposite of bravery is fear, I believe that part of being brave is to act in spite of fear. Don’t get me wrong, fear is a natural survival instinct so just acting out instead of being scared is not what I consider brave. It’s more like… stepping up to a challenge, even if you don’t think you can do it. Kind of like when you chose to join the Survey Corps instead of the Military Police.”
“And the other thing?”
“The other fundamental core I associate with bravery is having the strength to do what is necessary. Obviously my views have been skewed from growing up in a world that wanted me to be a perfect tool, but my views of bravery are far from what they taught was brave. Gabi, Falco and Emanon are naive and maybe a bit stupid at times, but I also believe that they’re brave. Becoming a Warrior is depicted as a selfless act because you’re dedicating yourself to Marley, but protecting others is what actually makes it a selfless act. I guess I’d call it necessary justice. Though, it’s taken me a long time to understand what ‘necessary’ is.”
“And what’s necessary to you?”
(Y/n) suddenly grinned, catching Jean off guard. “I didn’t realise you were so eager to learn about this kind of thing. I thought I was talking your ear off.”
“Not really. I’ve always wondered what it means to be brave, so knowing what you consider brave is… refreshing? I don’t even know what I’m saying.” Jean looked up at the sky through the gaps in the branches and leaves. “I feel like I’m having an out of body experience.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I feel like I’m experiencing deja vu. Here I am, after four years of hating you, talking to you like we’ve been friends all this time! It doesn’t feel right.”
“And what would feel right?”
“I don’t know. Fighting with you? Hating you again? It just feels unfair for me to be sitting here with you while Eren is… about to crush the world for us.”
“Why do you think Eren is crushing the world for you guys?”
“You do realise that we’re talking about the guy who, at age 15, was going to kill every single Titan with his own two hands. Now he’s using Titans to crush the whole world. It’s such a messed up turn of events.”
“Isn’t that why we’re going to stop him? Because it’s messed up and unfair?”
“Why are you doing that? Why do you keep answering my questions with more questions?” Jean ran his fingers through his hair impatiently. It seemed his body wanted to know the answer more than his mind, and the only way to speed up the process was to keep moving. He knew it wouldn’t, but boy, what he would’ve done to get a straight answer right now.
The Crystal Shifter tilted her head, “would you prefer I answer your questions a different way?”
“Of course.”
“And how would you like me to answer instead?”
Jean scoffed, “with answers, obviously.”
“Is it really that obvious?”
Of course it was obvious. Questions were supposed to be answered with answers. Heck, answers were so important that even unanswered questions, like rhetorical questions, were questions with implied responses. At this point, continuing with the conversation seemed redundant.
Jean knew better than anyone that the person sitting beside him was no longer who he had once known. But oh, how her eyes shone with the same warmth he’d always known them to have. She no longer hid her eyes behind the cold blue of her Crystals. Now they were back to what they had once been. After four years of being perceived as a monster, she was here as the human she’d once been.
Or maybe she’d always been human, but Jean had convinced himself otherwise.
How cruel of him.
Jean was back to tracing the fire with his eyes. He was back to thinking about anything and everything. He wondered if he would’ve been better off telling (Y/n) to leave him alone, or if coming out here was the right thing to do at all.
“Sometimes I wonder what life would’ve been like for me if I had stayed in Paradis instead of going back to Marley.” Confessed (Y/n). “I wonder what would’ve changed if I’d been able to save Mina, or if I hadn’t helped the other Warriors kill Marco. I really don’t think I was strong enough to make a difference, but still… people like us can’t help but wonder.”
“What do you mean ‘people like us?’”
“I’m not lumping you in with the rest of us Warriors, if that’s what you’re asking. Rather, people like us are people who have the strength to cause change. I know for a fact that not everyone agrees with the idea of Eren crushing the world; there are even people in Paradis who are against the idea, but those people cannot change anything. It’s not their fault that they don’t have the fundamentals required, but that also doesn’t mean that they can’t change things. It’s just… different.”
“I hate to admit it, but for a while I was genuinely considering siding with Floch and living a luxurious life within the walls. I guess old habits die hard.”
“To be fair, no one really wants to be the villain. As someone who has been forced to fight dozens of battles, I’m sure that many people have depicted me and the other Warriors as villains. I guess the craziest thing about it all is that at the end of the day, Warriors are deemed heroes because Marley is the nation that gets the final say in things.”
“Isn’t that just the kind of world we live in? The world is a place where winners are the ones who get to tell the story, not the losers.” Once again, Jean found himself leaning back and gazing at (Y/n). He didn’t like how he kept looking back at her. “Hey, I’m sorry for hurting Emanon.”
“It’s nice that you’re apologising, but you really should apologise to her and not me.”
“I know, and I will. It’s just that the two of you are really close so…”
(Y/n) hummed, acknowledging Jean as his sentence trailed away. “I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to save Marco. I knew he was your best friend but still couldn’t-”
“No, I get it. It was Marco or the Warriors. There really wasn’t much competition, was there?”
“Not when the Warriors tried so hard to get me to remember them, no. Every single one of them has been there for me. It wouldn’t be fair for me to just toss them aside and let them fend for themselves.”
“What was it like to grow up with them in…?”
“The Warrior Program?” (Y/n) sighed to herself for a moment. “It wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine, that’s for sure. It was like going through the Cadet Corps training but three times harder while also being three times younger. Kids like us grew up training and fighting. It was a twisted relationship where we were friends, comrades and rivals all at the same time. But that was our way of life. It was all we’d ever known.”
“You guys seem alright. I mean, that newest generation of Warriors isn’t half bad.”
“Yeah, but it isn’t half good either. Our generation and their generation has always been referred to as adequate. Our individual skills are all there, but none of us are really ‘leader’ material. It’s probably the main reason why our mission to Paradis fell apart so quickly. We were tools. We weren’t able to think for ourselves or make proper decisions. We were just… kids.”
The Crystal Shifter picked up a piece of kindling and picked at it. “Annie and Pieck have always followed orders. Bertholdt was too timid to really step up and lead the group which was what made him such a perfect vessel for Titan powers in the first place. Porco was a good fighter, but he was always comparing himself to his older brother - the one who was supposed to lead our mission on Paradis. Zeke is… well, you already know what Zeke’s done.”
“What about you and Reiner?”
“I’ve always cared for Reiner. When he was a kid he was pretty soft spoken. He has always wanted to do what he thinks is best. Unfortunately for him, he grew a proper conscience; as a matter of fact, we all did. It was different for all of us, but one day the things we were doing caught up to us. We knew the things we were doing weren’t the right things to do, but we also didn’t have a choice in the matter. We simply had to keep moving forward with our lives because, well, why else would we be living?”
“You saying that kind of reminds me of Eren.”
“Well yeah. I probably inadvertently picked it up from him. I understand where he’s coming from and why he feels like crushing the world is the only way forward, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s right. I’m not trying to become a martyr or a hero by opposing him, either. I’m just trying to live.” (Y/n) stood up and dusted off her pants.
“You’re going now?” asked Jean.
“I want to make sure Emanon is okay. She’s been through a lot in the past few days, so I want to be there for her.”
“And Reiner?”
“What about Reiner?”
“Do you care for him, too?”
(Y/n) smiled at Jean, placing the kindling she’d been picking at in the boy’s hands. “I always end up saying way more than I mean to when I talk to you. Did you know that?”
“Not enough, apparently.” Jean mumbled, earning a short laugh from the girl.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“How do you know I’ll come back?”
(Y/n) shot one last glance at Jean over her shoulder. “Because you’re someone who’ll do what he thinks is right.”
Jean listened to the Shifter’s footsteps as she disappeared into the night. A part of him wanted to go back to the others right now, but he knew better than to return in his current state of mind. Once again, he was reduced to tracing the outline of the fire on his own.
The wood (Y/n) had handed Jean was warmer than his own hands. Despite how the Crystal Shifter had been feeding the fire, its glow was rather dim.
How could she be so certain about him? How could (Y/n) be so sure that he would return tomorrow when even he wasn’t sure about returning? Was he simply that predictable? Jean liked to think that he’s significantly changed in the past four years, but his conversation with (Y/n) felt like any other conversation he might have had with her before. But was that really a bad thing?
Jean held the wood overtop of the flames. Even if some vindictive part of himself wanted to prove the Crystal Shifter wrong, he knew that there would be no merit in it - not that he was doing things for the merit. If he was going to go back, he was going back because it was the right thing to do.
In that moment, as embers from the fire landed on the piece of wood in his hands, Jean once again wondered what it meant to be brave.
Was it honesty? Going outside of your comfort zone, or acting in spite of fear? Or was it, perhaps, something as simple as having the strength to do what was necessary? Jean didn’t think he could say which of these it might be, let alone what else might contribute to bravery, but he did know that it was okay to be unsure.
Jean dropped the piece of wood he held into the fire. It was a pretty cold night, and he didn’t want to catch a cold before tomorrow.
#third person pov#jean kirschtien#jean kirschtein x reader#fluff#aot x reader#shingeki no kyoujin x reader#attack on titan x reader#jean x reader#Chapter from my work Allies and Enemies#can be read as a standalone#aka#can be read as a oneshot
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Lost and Found - Chapter 9
Fandom: Extraction
Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (established OFC. Although you do not need to read the others to understand this one)
THIS CHAPTER IS A JOHN WICK CROSSOVER :D
Warnings: angst
Tagging: @tragiclyhip @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @thesirenrealm @residentdormouse @asirensrage @munstysmind @muchadoaboutcj @starryeyes2000 @karimac @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @themaradaniels
My tag list is OPEN. Just give me a shout if you’d like to added :)
Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/116371852
******
Despite both intense mental and physical fatigue, all attempts at sleep fail. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he’d contemplated contacting Delaney; knowing he had to ‘pull up his big boy pants’ and read and listen to the barrage of text messages and voicemails she’d left in just the last three hours alone. He’s the only one to blame for his current state of misery; solely responsible for Delaney’s unhinged -yet not unprovoked- behaviour. He hadn’t not even bothered to make physical contact before leaving Australia; instead stopping at her work and tucking a hastily written note under one of her car’s windshield wipers. It had been short and simple; he had to go out of town to tend to some personal business and should be back in a few days, and he’d contact her if it was going to be any longer than that.
He had hoped both the physical and emotional distance would be enough; either to keep her from incessantly trying to get ahold of him or piss her off to the point she cut ties with him completely. Yet neither has happened judging by the messages from worried to irate; beginning calmly and then escalating quickly with each missed call. A buffet of every emotion available to a human being; expressing her increasing worry for both his mental health and their obviously fragile relationship and begging and pleading for him to call her back. The latter soon transformed into pure despair; sobbing as she confessed her love for him and sorrowfully wondering why she wasn’t ‘enough’ and then cursing and swearing and calling him a coward for ‘running away’ instead of facing their issues.
It isn’t the first time he’s been guilty of the latter; his inability to support his wife through their only child’s illness and his fear of seeing his son suffer and pass away had destroyed both his marriage and his entire life. Infamous for his physical bravery but emotional cowardice, he’d put in the effort to change while with Esme; stepping completely out of his comfort zone and learning to not only be more open and honest about his feelings, but how to eradicate the disgust and shame that always accompanied showing even a flicker of emotion. He no longer wanted to be the guy that ran when the going got tough; instead trying to be the kind of partner that she needed, wanted, and deserved. And with her unwavering support and seemingly infinite patience, he’d begun to turn his life around; beginning with dealing with the mountains of baggage that had been weighing him down for years. Tearing through the layers of both physical and mental trauma and willingly checking into rehab and submitting to therapy; wading through a cesspool of toxic masculinity and anger issues and somehow managing to cut the once ironclad ties to the booze and the pain meds. For the first time since his son died, he’d found himself clean and sober. And genuinely happy. Content within that little bubble of domesticity that he and Esme had created. Both optimistic about their future together.
And then she’d left. Completing what all of the bullets and bloodshed never could. Destroying him completely.
He’s found something constantly tempted to challenge his sobriety; briefly considering ordering a bottle of the most expensive scotch on the menu and spending the rest of the evening and well into the night drinking himself into a stupor. Anything to numb the mental anguish; relieve the heaviness that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him. And while under normal circumstances he’d be obsessing over every little detail of a job and repeatedly running through every possible scenario, his brain has settled in a far different place. Not a single shred of the job and the circumstances surrounding it matter; the neatly typed and extremely well organized ‘mission notes’ Nik had slipped under his hotel room door simply tossed aside. Instead, he finds himself obsessed with the events of five years ago; replaying every second, every word, every movement he’d made on that very last day. Looking for any mistake that he could have made something; even something tiny and innocuous that could have sent her running.
And he dwells on the loneliness and the worry and the anger; the emotions that have plagued him and driven him since the day she left. And they accompany him to where he is today. At this very moment. Sitting in the dimly lit lounge at The Continental; ignoring the chattering of the patrons around him as he uses a fork to push the remains of a steak dinner around his plate . And while the establishment’s food is second to none and he has vivid recollections of the meals he’d been served during his handful of stays, he doesn’t recall tasting a single bite. His body and brain both running on auto-pilot; knowing that they needed to function together to silence the grumbling in his stomach and keep his strength.
While never a social butterfly and in no means in the mood for mindless chit-chat or the mere company of a stranger, he’d forced himself to leave his hotel room; the silence deafening and the loneliness almost physically painful. Anxiety had quickly settled in; tightening his shoulders and creating a pounding in his temples and at the base of his skull. Quickly finding it impossible to sit still; feeling as if the four walls were closing in around him and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t escape.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
The pretty little bartender breaks away from her other customers and steps in front of him. Abbie…Addie…something like that. She’s young and vibrant and extremely confident; not above being brazenly flirty and suggestive with her comments. And she’d be attractive enough IF he was even remotely interested. Tall and leggy, with near coal black hair that shimmers under the lights behind the bar; her willowy body on full display in a simple, figure-hugging black dress. Intricate and colourful tattoos cover both arms and piercings decorate her face; a silver hoop that travels through the middle of her bottom lip and a diamond stud that sparkles from its resting place on her left nostril. And she’s been making flirtatious small talk since he arrived; finding the place packed and having to settle for the last seat at the bar.
The corner of his mouth turns up; the beginnings of a smirk. “Believe me, even that’s overcharging for what’s going on in my head.”
“Rough day?”
“More like a rough five years.”
“Sounds ominous. If you’re looking for someone to unload on…”
“Actually, I prefer my bartender and my therapist to be two different people.”
Long past caring whose feathers he ruffles, he’s infamous for being brutal and unapologetically honest. He isn’t looking to impress; he has no interest in impressing women in hopes of filling his bed with a warm body. He’d indulged in too much of that in the past five years; avoiding the booze and the pain meds and instead returning to a less harmful vice. Never sure exactly what he was looking for; whether it be a temporary -and purely physical- cure for the loneliness or something more serious. His heart hadn’t really been invested in either; cold and callous with the women he bedded and never bothered to contact again. Until he’d taken the chance with Delaney; finding a brief glimmer of contentment until she started coming on way too strong. He doesn’t see himself ever settling down with her; taking it as a sign when her mere presence after her first night at his place had only bored and irritated him.
“Not much of a bartender if I’m not pouring drinks, am I? There must be something else I can get you. Ice water can only bring so much enjoyment.”
“I don’t drink. I told you that when I sat down.”
“Everyone needs to unwind. Especially you, by the sounds of it. Seems like you have a lot on your plate. And if a drink helps loosen the lips just a little…”
“I’m an alcoholic.” There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Not that he’s known for his subtlety. He’d learned in rehab that part of fixing your problem was admitting to yourself -and others- that you had one to start with. And if there is anything in his life that he’s proud of, it’s the fact he’s managed to stay sober; proof that the anger and the heartache and loneliness that had followed Esme’s departure hadn’t completely ruined him.
“Putting yourself through some kind of test?” Addie lightly teases. “Takes a strong man to be able to stare his demons in the face like this.”
“I didn’t have much choice, did I. There was no other place to sit.”
She leans back against shelves of booze behind her; arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him in bemusement. “Not much of a social butterfly, are you.”
“Maybe I’m just a certified asshole. Born and raised.”
“Something tells me that’s just a cover. For who you really are. Outside of this crazy fucking world we’re both tied up in. A lot of people are completely different in their personal lives than when they’re here. Maybe it’s a way of protecting themselves; a form of self-perseverance. This kind of life can really drag you down. Even break you. Only choice sometimes is to put up those walls to keep people out.”
“This kind of life doesn’t exactly let you get close to someone. Doesn’t let you have anything normal. Believe me, I tried. And it was an epic fucking disaster.”
“Someone broke your heart.”
“Yeah, just a little.”
“Well if I may be so bold…”
“I’d rather you weren’t.”
“…but it’s definitely her loss.”
He wants to tell her just how wrong she is. That he’d always been one with the most to lose. Esme had brought a much-needed brightness; easily breaking through his tough exterior and shining light on those dark and abandoned recesses deep inside of him. She had reminded him that he was still very much alive and that there was still a lot out there for him to experience; sunsets to marvel over and meals to cook and enjoy together, and the touch and love of someone that adored him. For years he’d been walking around in a state of numbness; caused by immense grief, guilt, and regret and further aided by the booze and the alcohol. And she’d wandered into his life and turned it completely upside down. Peeling away all those protective layers and exposing the long-buried humanity that still existed inside of him.
In the end, he’d lost a hell of a lot. His most loyal confidant and fervent supporter. His best friend and his lover. The sole reason that he’d kept going during those extremely difficult days following Dhaka; the months in the hospital, the long and extremely painful recovery once returning home, and the struggle to get clean and sober and STAY that way. With her, he’d found that he enjoyed being domestic; having someone to take care of and provide for and share his days with. And he thrived on the companionship; the cooking together and the meals shared and the intimacy they’d indulged in. And even the quiet times of just hanging out; at opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap as she read a book and busied himself on his laptop. It was comfortable. Normal. An existence he never thought he’d have the chance to lead.
And then just like that, it was all gone.
His head pounds. A mixture of jet lag, hunger, and the million and one thoughts running through it. It’s all so fucking complicated; Esme’s reasonings for both disappearing and keeping Millie a secret for four year years. He wants to believe her; that she left in order to protect him from a brutal and painful demise. But his brain has a hard time accepting that explanation; refusing to believe that she’d managed to get herself mixed up with something THAT dangerous. And in turn, it’s only created a new host of questions he desperately needs and wants answers for.
Addie refills his ice water and leans stomach first against the bar; forearms resting atop the gleaming wood, hands clasped together. “How’d a guy like you end up here, anyway?”
“Same way everyone else ends up here. I kill people. For money.”
“I meant in general. In this business. You just don’t seem the type; that would get their kicks out of brutalizing someone. You’re not like everyone else; walking around here with a huge chip on your shoulder. And you definitely don’t care about what people think about you. I can’t remember the last time someone walked in here in jeans and a t-shirt. If anyone ever has.”
“I’m not here to impress anyone. Or to make friends. I’m here to do a job. And if people don’t like what they see, they can just look away. No skin off my ass.”
She gives a sly smile. “Maybe THEY don’t like what they see, but I know I do.”
He longs to tell her that it’s a lost cause; he isn’t even remotely interested and she’s only wasting her time. It’s been a hell of a day and it isn’t even close to being over with; the impending conversation with Esme sitting heavily upon his shoulders. He’s dreading it; wanting to hear the truth and the apologies but not prepared for all of the emotion -on both sides- that will be involved. In a perfect world, they’d just go back to where they were. Able to simply enjoy the reunion and getting to know one another again; reconnecting AND then rebuilding upon that foundation Dhaka had laid beneath their feet.
Instead, he bites his tongue. “I’m flattered. And forgive me for sounding like a total prick, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not interested. I’m not here to get my dick wet. I’m here to do a job. And besides, I learned a long time ago what a huge mistake it is; mixing business with pleasure.”
“For what it’s worth,” She trails a fingernail along the top of his hand; passing over each misshapen knuckle and scar. “I’ve never had a complaint.”
“Listen…” A slow, charming grin spreads across his face as he leans forward; giving the woman a glimmer of hope as his hand comes to rest atop hers. And then his eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist and his voice becoming deeper and menacing. “...I’m going to have a complaint if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”
She blinks and recoils the vehemence in his tone; lips pursed tightly together as she yanks her hand out from under his. Not giving a brief glance over her shoulder as she retreats to the opposite end of the bar.
Smirking, he raises the ice water to his lips; pausing when a strong yet friendly hand squeezes his shoulder in greeting. And is quickly followed by a familiar voice.
******
“I see you’re still trying your best to charm the locals. It’s nice to see some things never really do change.”
He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’m just a regular ball of sunshine.”
“Tyler.”
“John.”
Wick gestures to the now empty barstool beside him. “You expecting someone or…?”
“Who wants to hang out with a miserable asshole?”
“Well you know what they say; misery loves company. May I?”
Nodding, Tyler pushes the half-eaten plate of food and the empty glass across the bar, signalling he’s done. Until the afternoon, he hadn’t seen or worked with Wick in years; a high profile -and even more high paying- job that had marked his first -and only- North American gig. From what he’s heard, the man’s been through hell; dragged back and forth into the life through no fault of his own. Dealing with the lingering grief and loneliness following the death of his wife while battling with The High Table; a war that had seen him emerge victorious but with a dozen more scars added to his collection. The stories of Baba Yaga aside, Tyler has always respected the man; a freakishly skilled and enormously successful hitman still grasping desperately to the last remaining shreds of humanity. He’d been relieved when he’d heard Wick had not only been involved in saving Esme and Millie from certain death, but that he’d agreed to stay on board until they were safely out of the country. And offering his further services if Tyler felt he needed them.
Wick offers an appreciative yet tired smile at the bartender that approaches; a glass of bourdon wordlessly placed in front of him. “And another for my friend here. Whatever he’s having. Scotch, right?”
“Ice water. But you’ve got a damn good memory.”
“I’m not usually one for drinking buddies, but I do remember that last job we worked together. When was that? Seven, eight years ago?”
“About that.”
“No one forgets when someone successfully drinks them under the table. Two nights in a row. Always heard the stories about Aussies loving their booze, but…” Taking a swig of bourbon, he winces and lets out a low growl as that first swallow burns going down. “When’d you quit?”
“Almost six years ago.”
“What made you decide to give it up? Liver finally pleading for mercy?”
“Being in a medically induced coma for a couple of months had its hand in things. But I probably would have gotten out of the hospital and gone right back to it though; drank myself to death sooner or later. But honestly, I quit for the same reason you left this life.”
“That’ll do it. You meet that one and…” His voice trails off. The memory of his wife is just as powerful and intense as the day she passed the mere mention of her still bringing about the heartache. It’s a tremendous loss that he’ll never be quite over; destined to live the rest of his life wracked with grief and emptiness.
“Guess we finally have a few more things in common,” Tyler muses. “Job’s not the only thing anymore. Whoever said ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’ was a dirty ass fucking liar.”
“I don’t know about that. As much as it still hurts, I wouldn’t go back and change things. Even if I went into it knowing how quickly I’d lose her, I’d still give everything up for Helen. Even if I knew how short the time would be, I’d still try my hand at a normal life. I’d still pick her over everything…and everyone…else.”
“That’s all of a lot of a pain to go through.”
“It is. But the life I DID get with her? The good times? I wouldn’t trade those in for anything. And I think once you get a chance to really digest things and think them through, you’ll be saying the same thing about Esme.”
Tyler WANTS to believe that. It’s not as if the feelings no longer exist; he’s remained hopelessly and desperately in love with her throughout the years they’d been apart. Feeling just how strong it actually was when that separation had finally ended; face to face with one another in the midst of all the lingering sorrow and hurt and anger. It’s love and it’s adoration and immense relief; seeing her alive and well, albeit a little banged up. And while he still wants and needs an explanation for both her disappearance and keeping Millie a secret, the anger isn’t quite as potent now. Seeing her had taken a lot of the edge off; peeling away some of the worry and bitterness.
“You’re lucky though,” Wick says. “Esme’s here. Alive and well. Back in your life. And it’s happened for a reason. Me? I lost Helen permanently. There is no second chance for us.”
“What makes you think I’d even want one? After what went down? What…?”
“If you sit here and tell me you don’t still love her and want a life with her, then you’re the dirty fucking liar.”
“She left. It wasn’t the other way around. Just took off while I was doing shit at our new place. That we bought TOGETHER. I came home and she was gone. Never even bothered to tell me she was leaving. No face-to-face chat, no phone call, not even a goddamn text or an email. You know what I got? I got an ‘I’m sorry’ written on a piece of paper, left in the middle of the kitchen table.”
“And what you got NOW is an opportunity. To be with her again. I know it sucked; I know it probably hurt like hell. But she is right here…under the same roof as you…and you’ve got the chance to make things right. To get past all that shit and be with her. You really going to turn your back on that?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? That it never went down the way it did? I’m pissed. And it isn’t just bad enough that she left the way she did. I come here and find out I have a kid. That she kept from me. I’ve missed four years of her life. And I can’t get those years back.”
“And no one is saying you don’t have the right to be. Be pissed. Be hurt. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let all that negative shit get in the way of patching things up. And if you don’t do it for yourself or her, do it for your little girl. Because she deserves to know her dad. Have him in her life. Are you really going to walk away from that? A chance to know her and raise her? Yeah, you missed four years. And that fucking stinks. But Tyler, if you play your cards right, you’ve got four decades AT LEAST to fill.”
“Do you know why? Esme left? I know that you guys were…friendly…when she used to live here. That she’s the one who introduced you to your wife. Do you have any idea why she took off?”
Downing the last of the bourbon, he holds aloft the empty glass, signalling for another. “I do. But it’s not my place to tell you. If that were the case, I would have gotten in contact with you five years ago. But it’s not up to me to make things right. Sort shit out between the two of you. It’s her story to tell and it’s up to you to listen to her.”
“I just want to know what’s true and what isn’t. I’m not asking for details. I just need that answered. If what she told is true. The main reason why she left. I spent five years thinking the worst. That either she either left me for someone else…”
“That was NOT it. That’s not even close to what happened.”
“...or that someone came and grabbed her. Kept her for a bit and did all kinds of sick shit to her and THEN killed her. You know what that’s like? Wondering if that’s what happened? For FIVE YEARS What it’s like to think ‘I’d rather she be dead with someone else’. I actually thought that. And it’s fucked me up. For a long time.”
“What has she told you?”
“Something from her past caught up to her. People that she crossed. And that they didn’t give her much of a choice. She had to either do what they said, or they’d come back and fuck shit up. Said she left in order to protect me. That I would have survived.”
“You wouldn’t have. Not many people cross their paths and live to tell about it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you who they were or what they wanted or what Esme did. All of that is up to her. But I will tell you that she did the right thing. For both of you.”
“She couldn’t have at least told me? What was going on? Why she was leaving? Or let me know she was safe?”
“Would that have been enough? Or would you have tracked her down? Attempted to play white knight?”
Sighing, Tyler looks down at his glass; brow furrowed as he absentmindedly swirls the ice around.
“Exactly. You would have gone after her and everything she feared would have come true. She did the right thing, Tyler. As much as it hurts and as angry as you are, she really did have your best interests at heart.”
“And you’d just be able to get over it? If someone did that to you?”
“It would hurt like hell and I’d be pissed, but yeah, I’d be able to get over it. Once I calmed down to actually hear them out, I’d realize they did what they did because they loved me. And that’s exactly why she left. Because she DID love you. She still does.”
“Hard to believe that when she was just engaged to someone else a few days ago.” It had hurt like hell hearing THAT detail during the team meeting; a mixture of jealousy and bitterness and pure and utter rage that continued to gnaw at his stomach. He had the thought of it; another man being given the privilege of holding her and kissing her and making love to her.
“That was nothing but part of the job. She was never going to marry him. As soon as she got what was needed and Nik was ready to make your move, she was going to just grab and take off. Don’t think for one second she actually loved that guy. He was a ‘mark’. Nothing more, nothing less.”
They lapse into silence; nursing their drinks and waving off the bartender when he approaches to offer another round.
“Hell of a thing we got ourselves into,” Wick comments. “Trouble always seems to find us, huh?”
“You know what they say; about how you’re never really free of this life. It follows you. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Years could go by and you’re thinking you’re free and clear of it and something comes up. Someone calling in a favour, some asshole looking for revenge. The shit finds you. One way or another.”
“You know I’ve walked away three times now? “And each time I told myself it was the last. That I was retired. And nothing or no one could change that. But…”
“Here you are.”
“Yeah…” Wick scoffs. “...here I am. Heard you quit for a bit. Tried your hand at a regular life. Firefighting, was it?”
“Been doing that full-time for the last couple of years. And I run a little business of my own; home renovations, landscaping, masonry stuff. Got enough going on back home to keep me busy. But like I said, you never really leave the life behind. It’s always got a hold on you. No matter how hard you try to let it go.”
“I think it’s safe to say this is the one time you’re probably okay with trouble showing its face. Esme, the kid…”
“Not what I thought I was walking into, I’ll tell you that much. I went into this totally blind. Nik wasn’t too forthcoming with the info when she called me. Made up some bullshit excuse about not being on a secure line. Just told me a client was pretty insistent on hiring for a job.”
“And now here YOU are.”
Tyler nods. “It’s all been a little…surprising…to say the least.”
“Finding out the client was Esme or the fact you have a kid?”
“Both. Before all of this, her leaving seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened. Then I found out she kept my daughter from me. I think a secret baby trumps everything else.”
“She had her reasons. Just remember that. Give her a chance. To explain things. Don’t let your pride fuck things up. I know that’s easier said than done sometimes, but…”
His phone vibrates against the top of the bar, signalling an incoming text message. And he’s relieved to find that instead of Delaney ranting and raving about him ‘dropping off the face of the earth’, it’s Esme asking if they can talk after Millie has fallen asleep. Able to leave her in the care and protection of Abeula and Nik and visit him in his room or wherever he feels comfortable meeting. It makes him feel like a teenager again; the excitement and nervousness that comes with knowing you’re going to be totally alone with the prettiest girl in school. And he sends back a quick confirmation and his room number, then once more sets the phone on top of the bar, screen down.
Wick smirks. “I recognize that look. Definitely good news.”
“Could be the START of something good. Guess it depends on how things go. When we talk about everything.”
“Just try and keep the pride and the temper in check. I know it’s a shitty situation; her taking off and flying under the radar for years and keeping your kid from you. But she’s got very legitimate reasons. Understandable ones. Just try to keep an open mind. And ear.”
“This isn’t the way I thought it would go. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever really optimistic. About one day seeing her again. So for it to go down like this? Because of a job? Definitely not what I would have imagined.”
“Isn’t that how you first met? Maybe it’s the pattern. What’s the saying? Things come in threes?”
“Don’t wish that on me. I don’t think I have another job like Dhaka in me. I’m just hoping this one doesn’t go down that same road. Organized crime? Mafia style? I’m a little too old for that shit.”
“Aren’t we both.” Standing, he pulls two gold coins from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and lays them on the bar. “My treat,” he says, and then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Remember what I said; about going in there with an open mind. She DID have a good reason for doing what she did. And if you feel yourself losing control, think of that little girl. And how many years you’ve got left with her.”
“Open mind. Optimistic. Got ya.”
“It’ll all work out, Tyler. Don’t fuck this up. You’ve got a second chance. And believe me, I’d do anything for even one more day…one more second…with my wife.”
*******
“Momma?”
They sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed; Millie between Esme’s outstretched legs as she gets her hair detangled and then braided before bed. She has her father’s hair. Dirty blond and impossibly thick; wild and unruly with a mind all its own. She can easily recall many mornings when he’d stumble out of bed or wake from a nap; grumpy and in desperate need of coffee, those longer strands on the top of his head sticking up in several different directions. He’d feign annoyance when she’d lovingly tease him about how adorable he was; murmuring about how he was supposed to be ruthless and badass and if word ever got about how this supposed ‘cute side’, it would do serious damage to his reputation.
While she misses every aspect of that simple and quiet life with him in Australia, sometimes it’s the absence of those little moments that are the most heartbreaking. The companionship that accompanied the intense and nearly all-consuming want and need. Dinners prepared together and enjoyed out on the front porch, the affectionate teasing and light-hearted banter that was frequently exchanged, the long, deep conversations that took place in the dead of the night. And those moments of intimacy in its softest and purest form. The way he’d approach her in the kitchen while she made something to eat; a hand on her stomach as he nuzzled that sensitive spot just below her right ear. How -during the harder days when the trauma of Dhaka became too much for her to bear- he’d envelop her in strong powerful arms and hold as tight as her body would tolerate; one palm moving in slow, soothing circles in the middle of her back. She’d always find herself instantly comforted; her anxious and tortured mind put to ease by his familiar smell and the warmth radiating from his body and the way his voice rumbled deep within his chest.
“What’s up, sweet pea?”
“Why do we have to leave? Why can’t we just stay here? In New York.”
“Because it’s safer if we go somewhere else. Away from the bad guys. “
“But we’re safe HERE. With Charon and Grandpa Winston. The bad guys aren’t allowed to come here. So why can’t we just stay? Until the bad guys go away?”
“Because this place has rules. About who can stay here and for how long.”
“Whose rules?”
“The boss’.”
“Grandpa Winston IS the boss. He’s kicking us out?!”
“HIS boss. Who he has to listen to or he’ll get into big trouble and then not be allowed to run this place anymore. Everyone that is in charge of something or someone, has people that are in charge of THEM. That they have to answer to. Grandpa Winston may be the boss, but he also has his own boss.”
“Hmmm…” Millie tilts her head to the side; eyes narrowed as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “You know what, mom? I don’t think I EVER want to be an adult. It’s too stressful. I don’t want a boss. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. Especially some man.”
“I tell you what to do.”
“That’s different. I’m just a little kid still. And you’re my momma. Mommas are supposed to tell kids what they can and can’t do. And we’re supposed to listen. I know sometimes I don’t. But I try. I really do. I WANT to be good, just sometimes…”
“You are always good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can be a little difficult and challenging sometimes, but you’re never bad. You’re stubborn and high-spirited and…”
“Alessio thought I was bad. He said that I talk too much and make too much noise and that I’m mouthy. He even said I was naughty. Tons of times.”
“He had no idea what he was talking about. You’re four. Not eighty-four. You’re supposed to be loud and rambunctious. You’re learning about the world. How are you supposed to do that without bouncing all over the place and asking all kinds of questions?”
“I didn’t like him very much, you know.”
“Oh, I know. You never wasted a chance to tell me.”
“He wasn’t really going to be my dad, right? You weren’t REALLY going to marry, were you?”
“No. To both.”
“Because he is so not good enough for you.”
Grinning, Esme sprays the last section of hair with detangler and then works the comb through it. “Something tells me you’d say that anyone that got too close.”
“Only if they’re not the right guy for you. And mom, Alession was NOT it.”
“He wasn’t, was he? You sure seem to know a lot about guys and relationships and commitment for someone who won’t even use the same lunch box two years in a row.”
“I just know you deserve better. He wasn’t very nice to you. He bossed you around. Or at least he tried to. You deserve someone that’s going to treat you right. Like the queen you are!”
Esme laughs. “You’ve been watching Oprah with Abeula, haven’t you.”
“And I wouldn’t say that about EVERY guy; that he isn’t good enough for you. Just when he’s not. And he wasn't. He was mean sometimes. He would call you stupid and stuff and then buy you things to make it all better. And he threw out my sandals! My favourite ones!”
“And I was quick to put him in his place about that, wasn’t I? Don’t you EVER worry about that. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. And I WILL go momma bear on their ass.”
“You should have dumped him. There’s a lot of fish in the sea. Really good ones, too. You deserve someone good, mom. Someone that will take care of you. Who won’t look at other girls and call them pretty and stuff. And who won’t throw out of my shoes.”
“No one else will EVER do that again, I promise.”
“You know who seems really nice? Like he’d treat you right? Tyler.”
“You just met him. You talked to him for all of five minutes. And you could tell what kind of guy he is?”
“I mean, he’s here to help with the bad guys. How awful could he be?”
“He’s not awful. At all. Far from it, actually. But you hardly know him and…”
“I know enough. I know he’s big and strong and the bad guys don’t stand a chance against him. And I know his favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip! Just like me! What more is there to know?”
“A lot of things.” Esme busies herself with the final braid. “But you’ll have a lot of time to get to know him better. While he’s keeping an eye on us.”
“I might annoy him. Alessio always complained I talked too much and asked way too many questions.”
“Something tells me that Tyler will enjoy it. That he won’t mind one bit. He might not say a lot in return, but…”
“How long have you known him?” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she wiggles her toes; giggling as the glow from the bedside lamp causes the glitter in her bright pink nail polish to sparkle. “How long has he been your friend?”
“I’ve known him for a while. Since before you were born.”
“How long before?”
“A year. And a bit.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Through work. Auntie Nik introduced us. Paired us up on a job together.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
Esme hesitates. Both a lie and the truth have consequences; a time down the road when Millie will have even more questions. And anger will follow the answers; either furious that her mother had told a fib or that she’d kept her existence a secret and made her lose four years with her father.
“No. He wasn’t.” She feels sick. At both the denial of Tyler’s importance in her life and how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. “Just a friend. And a colleague.”
“If he’s a friend, how come I’ve never met him? I’ve met all your other friends. Auntie Nik and Uncle Yaz and Uncle John. And there’s Grandpa Winston and Charon! But I never met Tyler. How come?”
“Tyler lives far away.”
“How far away?”
“Thousands of miles.”
“Like in California?! Where all the movie stars are?!”
“No,” Esme laughs. “More like Australia. Which is an entirely different country.”
“I know where Australia is! It’s across the ocean. Right in the middle of it. It’s a big island. It’s where the kangaroos and koalas live. Does he get to see them a lot?! I bet he gets to see tons of kangas and koalas. He’s so lucky! I wish I could see them. Maybe we can go and visit! Maybe he’ll invite us. Do you think he will? Now that we’re besties?”
“I think if you were to tell him you’d love to go to Australia, he’d be more than happy to take you there. But you might not have to say ANYTHING. Or even wait that long to go. It might be where we end up. While Tyler is taking care of us.”
Giving an excited shriek, Millie claps her hands together and bounces up and down on her bum, then swivels around to look at her mom. “We’re going to his house?! In Australia?!”
“I didn’t say we were going there for sure. But…”
“We get to fly on a big airplane?! We get to see kangaroos and koalas?! Where does he live? Does he have a house? With a backyard I can play in? Maybe he has a pool! That way I can get a new bathing suit and we can go swimming and…”
“Whoa…whoa….” Laughing, she gathers Millie in her arms and settles her in her lap; the four-year-old giggling when her mom showers her cheeks with noisy kisses. “...I never said we were going for sure. Just that we MIGHT be. It’s on the list. Of places that Tyler could take us to and keep us safe and sound.”
“I want to go there! To Australia! To Tyler’s house! Can you tell him that, momma? Can you tell him I want to go there? That it would make me really, really, REALLY happy?”
“I can put in a good word, but I can’t promise anything. There are a lot of things we need to think about. When it comes to where we end up. Everyone just wants us to be safe. Keep the bad guys away. So there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be considered.”
“We’d be safe there! In Australia. At Tyler’s place. The bad guys would NEVER come there. He’s too big and too strong and I bet they’re really scared of him. I bet he makes them poo their pants! He doesn’t scare me though. I’m not afraid of him. Even if he is a giant!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him. Because there’s no absolutely no reason. He would never…EVER…do anything to hurt you. To hurt EITHER of us.”
“He just hurts bad people? ‘Cause they deserve it?”
“He hurts bad people in order to protect good people. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but sometimes he doesn’t have much of a choice. Because if he doesn’t do something first, they’ll hurt him. Or worse.”
“They might kill him?”
“They might. But he’s tough and he’s resilient and believe me, IF he gets knocked down? He always gets back up. It makes me happy that you’re not scared of him. I know he’s really big and he can look really serious and mean, but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.”
“Momma…” She tilts her head backwards, eyes narrowed. “...are you SURE Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend?”
“That’s twice you’ve talked about that. What makes you think he was my boyfriend?”
“Just the way your voice sounds when you talk about him. Every time you say his name, you sound weird. Not in a bad way. Just a different way. And I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. When I came back from swimming. Your eyes were all sparkly and stuff. You know how in
cartoons when a girl likes a boy, they get stars in their eyes? That’s what you looked like.”
“I think you’re imagining things.”
“You know what I think? I think you have a crush on Tyler. That maybe he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you wanted him to be. And you still do!”
“Amelia…”
“Mommy…”
“You are imagining things. Tyler was my friend. He still is. Nothing more, nothing less. And he’s here to help us, not form a love connection. He’s being paid. To take care of us. To make sure that the bad guys don’t try anything. There is definitely no romance on the horizon.”
“But there COULD be. If you let it happen. You just gotta tell him. That you have a crush on him. I bet if you tell him…”
“No one is telling anyone ANYTHING. Because it’s not true. There are no crushes.”
“I’m not buying it. I can tell. That you like him. And I think he likes you too. Someone has to make the first move, momma. Why can’t it be you?”
“There are no moves to be made, my sweet baby girl.”
“If you don’t tell him, I will! When we go on our ice cream date. I’ll tell him you have a big, fat crush on him! That you think he’s cute and that you like his big muscles and want to kiss him lots and lots and…” She shrieks when she feels her mother’s fingertips lightly dig into the sensitive area under her ribs; dissolving into laughter when she’s tickled mercilessly. Until she’s kicking and squirming and breathlessly pleading for Esme to stop.
“You… little miss…” The tip of her nose nuzzles each of her daughter’s cheeks. “...will do no such thing. Mind your own business, got it? Little girls do not need to meddle Come on….” She drops a kiss on the top of Millie’s head as she yawns. “...lights out time. It’s been a long, busy day for you. Four-year-old bodies can only take so much.”
“Can I stay in here tonight?” Millie hopefully inquires, remaining in the middle of the sea of blankets and sheets as her mother slides off the bed and begins tidying up. “Please? I promise I won’t hog the bed.”
“I still don’t understand how someone so small takes up so much room. What’s wrong with your bed? I thought you liked having all kinds of space to yourself?”
“I do. But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t remember ever being here and I get scared ‘cause I don’t see any of my stuff. And then I get even more scared because I worry I won’t be able to see YOU either. And that makes me really sad.”
“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?”
“What if you’re not here? What if you left? ‘Cause the bad guys came? What…?”
“Millie…” Approaching the bed, she takes the little one’s face in her hands and tilts her head up to look at her. “...I would never…EVER…leave you. There is not anyone in this world that’s bad enough to make me ever do something like that.”
“What if they took you? What if they took you away? I wouldn’t be able to find you. Not by myself.”
“Nothing like that is ever going to happen. Not a chance. I promise you that…”
“There’s always a chance. Always. What if it happens, momma? What if someone takes you away?”
“IF something like that happened, there’d be a lot of people looking for me. Auntie Nik, Uncle John, Uncle Yaz. So many people.”
“I’d get Tyler to help. Because he’s big and strong and the bad guys would be really scared of him. He’d be able to find you. And rescue you. I know he would.”
“I know he would too. If there’s anyone in this world that could do the impossible, it’s him. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.” (
She thinks of Dhaka. Those initial five days and the carnage on the bridge. Of the smell of spilled gasoline, gunpowder and blood and moans and shrieks and wails of dying men. Of the feel of Tyler’s pulse when she put two fingers inside the bullet hole in the side of his neck; tears streaming down dirty, bruised cheeks as she desperately fought to keep him alive. And that long battle afterwards; the months by his bedside and all of the horrible prognosis’ and the incessant arguing with doctors in order to secure him the care that he deserved. Somehow, he had pulled through all of that; one foot firmly planted firmly over the threshold of death the entire time.)
“Promise me you won’t leave?” Mille whimpers. “Even if the bad guys come? Promise you won’t leave without me?”
“I would never go ANYWHERE without you, Amelia.” She uses the pads of her thumbs to clear away her daughter’s wayward tears. “We’re a team. A package deal. Where I go, you go. And nothing or no one can change that.”
“Ever?”
“Ever. And I know it was scary. What happened the other night. You saw and heard things you never should have had to. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through that. And I’d go back and change so many things if I could.”
“It’s not your fault, momma. That the bad guys showed up.”
“It may have been. Just a little. And I am so sorry, Millie. That I may have done things that ended up hurting you. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I would never…ever…hurt you.”
“I know you wouldn’t. ‘Cause I’m your baby.”
“You are. And you always will be.”
“Can I? Stay in here tonight? I just want to be close to you, that’s all. I feel better when I am.”
“I’d never say no to my favourite snuggle buddy. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Until you’re almost asleep?”
With a nod and a sniffle, Millie slides over in order to give her mother access to the bed; Esme stretching out beside her and wrapping both arms around the four-year-old’s body. Her chin resting on her daughter’s head; eyes closed as the fingertips of one hand draw slow, methodical patterns on the little one’s back. Finding herself relaxed in the warmth of Millie’s body and the familiar scent that clings to her hair; the same milk, coconut, and honey shampoo that she herself has been using for years.
The one Tyler had claimed to love so much; that smell being one of the things that somehow managed to comfort him during those difficult and painful days in the hospital and then on the long road to healing. Her chest and throat both tighten as she thinks of him. Of those long and painful seconds on the bridge; the pure terror that filled every inch of her body as she watched him teeter so close to death. Those months at his bedside; stroking his hair and holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement and strength and hope in his ear. And all of the pleading she did during her lowest moments; urging him to keep fighting and to give her some kind of sign that he could hear her and knew that she was there.
Begging him to find a way…no matter what it took…to let her know that everything would be okay.
Despite both intense mental and physical fatigue, all attempts at sleep fail. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he’d contemplated contacting Delaney; knowing he had to ‘pull up his big boy pants’ and read and listen to the barrage of text messages and voicemails she’d left in just the last three hours alone. He’s the only one to blame for his current state of misery; solely responsible for Delaney’s unhinged -yet not unprovoked- behaviour. He hadn’t not even bothered to make physical contact before leaving Australia; instead stopping at her work and tucking a hastily written note under one of her car’s windshield wipers. It had been short and simple; he had to go out of town to tend to some personal business and should be back in a few days, and he’d contact her if it was going to be any longer than that.
He had hoped both the physical and emotional distance would be enough; either to keep her from incessantly trying to get ahold of him or piss her off to the point she cut ties with him completely. Yet neither has happened judging by the messages from worried to irate; beginning calmly and then escalating quickly with each missed call. A buffet of every emotion available to a human being; expressing her increasing worry for both his mental health and their obviously fragile relationship and begging and pleading for him to call her back. The latter soon transformed into pure despair; sobbing as she confessed her love for him and sorrowfully wondering why she wasn’t ‘enough’ and then cursing and swearing and calling him a coward for ‘running away’ instead of facing their issues.
It isn’t the first time he’s been guilty of the latter; his inability to support his wife through their only child’s illness and his fear of seeing his son suffer and pass away had destroyed both his marriage and his entire life. Infamous for his physical bravery but emotional cowardice, he’d put in the effort to change while with Esme; stepping completely out of his comfort zone and learning to not only be more open and honest about his feelings, but how to eradicate the disgust and shame that always accompanied showing even a flicker of emotion. He no longer wanted to be the guy that ran when the going got tough; instead trying to be the kind of partner that she needed, wanted, and deserved. And with her unwavering support and seemingly infinite patience, he’d begun to turn his life around; beginning with dealing with the mountains of baggage that had been weighing him down for years. Tearing through the layers of both physical and mental trauma and willingly checking into rehab and submitting to therapy; wading through a cesspool of toxic masculinity and anger issues and somehow managing to cut the once ironclad ties to the booze and the pain meds. For the first time since his son died, he’d found himself clean and sober. And genuinely happy. Content within that little bubble of domesticity that he and Esme had created. Both optimistic about their future together.
And then she’d left. Completing what all of the bullets and bloodshed never could. Destroying him completely.
He’s found something constantly tempted to challenge his sobriety; briefly considering ordering a bottle of the most expensive scotch on the menu and spending the rest of the evening and well into the night drinking himself into a stupor. Anything to numb the mental anguish; relieve the heaviness that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him. And while under normal circumstances he’d be obsessing over every little detail of a job and repeatedly running through every possible scenario, his brain has settled in a far different place. Not a single shred of the job and the circumstances surrounding it matter; the neatly typed and extremely well organized ‘mission notes’ Nik had slipped under his hotel room door simply tossed aside. Instead, he finds himself obsessed with the events of five years ago; replaying every second, every word, every movement he’d made on that very last day. Looking for any mistake that he could have made something; even something tiny and innocuous that could have sent her running.
And he dwells on the loneliness and the worry and the anger; the emotions that have plagued him and driven him since the day she left. And they accompany him to where he is today. At this very moment. Sitting in the dimly lit lounge at The Continental; ignoring the chattering of the patrons around him as he uses a fork to push the remains of a steak dinner around his plate . And while the establishment’s food is second to none and he has vivid recollections of the meals he’d been served during his handful of stays, he doesn’t recall tasting a single bite. His body and brain both running on auto-pilot; knowing that they needed to function together to silence the grumbling in his stomach and keep his strength.
While never a social butterfly and in no means in the mood for mindless chit-chat or the mere company of a stranger, he’d forced himself to leave his hotel room; the silence deafening and the loneliness almost physically painful. Anxiety had quickly settled in; tightening his shoulders and creating a pounding in his temples and at the base of his skull. Quickly finding it impossible to sit still; feeling as if the four walls were closing in around him and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t escape.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
The pretty little bartender breaks away from her other customers and steps in front of him. Abbie…Addie…something like that. She’s young and vibrant and extremely confident; not above being brazenly flirty and suggestive with her comments. And she’d be attractive enough IF he was even remotely interested. Tall and leggy, with near coal black hair that shimmers under the lights behind the bar; her willowy body on full display in a simple, figure-hugging black dress. Intricate and colourful tattoos cover both arms and piercings decorate her face; a silver hoop that travels through the middle of her bottom lip and a diamond stud that sparkles from its resting place on her left nostril. And she’s been making flirtatious small talk since he arrived; finding the place packed and having to settle for the last seat at the bar.
The corner of his mouth turns up; the beginnings of a smirk. “Believe me, even that’s overcharging for what’s going on in my head.”
“Rough day?”
“More like a rough five years.”
“Sounds ominous. If you’re looking for someone to unload on…”
“Actually, I prefer my bartender and my therapist to be two different people.”
Long past caring whose feathers he ruffles, he’s infamous for being brutal and unapologetically honest. He isn’t looking to impress; he has no interest in impressing women in hopes of filling his bed with a warm body. He’d indulged in too much of that in the past five years; avoiding the booze and the pain meds and instead returning to a less harmful vice. Never sure exactly what he was looking for; whether it be a temporary -and purely physical- cure for the loneliness or something more serious. His heart hadn’t really been invested in either; cold and callous with the women he bedded and never bothered to contact again. Until he’d taken the chance with Delaney; finding a brief glimmer of contentment until she started coming on way too strong. He doesn’t see himself ever settling down with her; taking it as a sign when her mere presence after her first night at his place had only bored and irritated him.
“Not much of a bartender if I’m not pouring drinks, am I? There must be something else I can get you. Ice water can only bring so much enjoyment.”
“I don’t drink. I told you that when I sat down.”
“Everyone needs to unwind. Especially you, by the sounds of it. Seems like you have a lot on your plate. And if a drink helps loosen the lips just a little…”
“I’m an alcoholic.” There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Not that he’s known for his subtlety. He’d learned in rehab that part of fixing your problem was admitting to yourself -and others- that you had one to start with. And if there is anything in his life that he’s proud of, it’s the fact he’s managed to stay sober; proof that the anger and the heartache and loneliness that had followed Esme’s departure hadn’t completely ruined him.
“Putting yourself through some kind of test?” Addie lightly teases. “Takes a strong man to be able to stare his demons in the face like this.”
“I didn’t have much choice, did I. There was no other place to sit.”
She leans back against shelves of booze behind her; arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him in bemusement. “Not much of a social butterfly, are you.”
“Maybe I’m just a certified asshole. Born and raised.”
“Something tells me that’s just a cover. For who you really are. Outside of this crazy fucking world we’re both tied up in. A lot of people are completely different in their personal lives than when they’re here. Maybe it’s a way of protecting themselves; a form of self-perseverance. This kind of life can really drag you down. Even break you. Only choice sometimes is to put up those walls to keep people out.”
“This kind of life doesn’t exactly let you get close to someone. Doesn’t let you have anything normal. Believe me, I tried. And it was an epic fucking disaster.”
“Someone broke your heart.”
“Yeah, just a little.”
“Well if I may be so bold…”
“I’d rather you weren’t.”
“…but it’s definitely her loss.”
He wants to tell her just how wrong she is. That he’d always been one with the most to lose. Esme had brought a much-needed brightness; easily breaking through his tough exterior and shining light on those dark and abandoned recesses deep inside of him. She had reminded him that he was still very much alive and that there was still a lot out there for him to experience; sunsets to marvel over and meals to cook and enjoy together, and the touch and love of someone that adored him. For years he’d been walking around in a state of numbness; caused by immense grief, guilt, and regret and further aided by the booze and the alcohol. And she’d wandered into his life and turned it completely upside down. Peeling away all those protective layers and exposing the long-buried humanity that still existed inside of him.
In the end, he’d lost a hell of a lot. His most loyal confidant and fervent supporter. His best friend and his lover. The sole reason that he’d kept going during those extremely difficult days following Dhaka; the months in the hospital, the long and extremely painful recovery once returning home, and the struggle to get clean and sober and STAY that way. With her, he’d found that he enjoyed being domestic; having someone to take care of and provide for and share his days with. And he thrived on the companionship; the cooking together and the meals shared and the intimacy they’d indulged in. And even the quiet times of just hanging out; at opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap as she read a book and busied himself on his laptop. It was comfortable. Normal. An existence he never thought he’d have the chance to lead.
And then just like that, it was all gone.
His head pounds. A mixture of jet lag, hunger, and the million and one thoughts running through it. It’s all so fucking complicated; Esme’s reasonings for both disappearing and keeping Millie a secret for four year years. He wants to believe her; that she left in order to protect him from a brutal and painful demise. But his brain has a hard time accepting that explanation; refusing to believe that she’d managed to get herself mixed up with something THAT dangerous. And in turn, it’s only created a new host of questions he desperately needs and wants answers for.
Addie refills his ice water and leans stomach first against the bar; forearms resting atop the gleaming wood, hands clasped together. “How’d a guy like you end up here, anyway?”
“Same way everyone else ends up here. I kill people. For money.”
“I meant in general. In this business. You just don’t seem the type; that would get their kicks out of brutalizing someone. You’re not like everyone else; walking around here with a huge chip on your shoulder. And you definitely don’t care about what people think about you. I can’t remember the last time someone walked in here in jeans and a t-shirt. If anyone ever has.”
“I’m not here to impress anyone. Or to make friends. I’m here to do a job. And if people don’t like what they see, they can just look away. No skin off my ass.”
She gives a sly smile. “Maybe THEY don’t like what they see, but I know I do.”
He longs to tell her that it’s a lost cause; he isn’t even remotely interested and she’s only wasting her time. It’s been a hell of a day and it isn’t even close to being over with; the impending conversation with Esme sitting heavily upon his shoulders. He’s dreading it; wanting to hear the truth and the apologies but not prepared for all of the emotion -on both sides- that will be involved. In a perfect world, they’d just go back to where they were. Able to simply enjoy the reunion and getting to know one another again; reconnecting AND then rebuilding upon that foundation Dhaka had laid beneath their feet.
Instead, he bites his tongue. “I’m flattered. And forgive me for sounding like a total prick, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not interested. I’m not here to get my dick wet. I’m here to do a job. And besides, I learned a long time ago what a huge mistake it is; mixing business with pleasure.”
“For what it’s worth,” She trails a fingernail along the top of his hand; passing over each misshapen knuckle and scar. “I’ve never had a complaint.”
“Listen…” A slow, charming grin spreads across his face as he leans forward; giving the woman a glimmer of hope as his hand comes to rest atop hers. And then his eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist and his voice becoming deeper and menacing. “...I’m going to have a complaint if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”
She blinks and recoils the vehemence in his tone; lips pursed tightly together as she yanks her hand out from under his. Not giving a brief glance over her shoulder as she retreats to the opposite end of the bar.
Smirking, he raises the ice water to his lips; pausing when a strong yet friendly hand squeezes his shoulder in greeting. And is quickly followed by a familiar voice.
“I see you’re still trying your best to charm the locals. It’s nice to see some things never really do change.”
He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’m just a regular ball of sunshine.”
“Tyler.”
“John.”
Wick gestures to the now empty barstool beside him. “You expecting someone or…?”
“Who wants to hang out with a miserable asshole?”
“Well you know what they say; misery loves company. May I?”
Nodding, Tyler pushes the half-eaten plate of food and the empty glass across the bar, signalling he’s done. Until the afternoon, he hadn’t seen or worked with Wick in years; a high profile -and even more high paying- job that had marked his first -and only- North American gig. From what he’s heard, the man’s been through hell; dragged back and forth into the life through no fault of his own. Dealing with the lingering grief and loneliness following the death of his wife while battling with The High Table; a war that had seen him emerge victorious but with a dozen more scars added to his collection. The stories of Baba Yaga aside, Tyler has always respected the man; a freakishly skilled and enormously successful hitman still grasping desperately to the last remaining shreds of humanity. He’d been relieved when he’d heard Wick had not only been involved in saving Esme and Millie from certain death, but that he’d agreed to stay on board until they were safely out of the country. And offering his further services if Tyler felt he needed them.
Wick offers an appreciative yet tired smile at the bartender that approaches; a glass of bourdon wordlessly placed in front of him. “And another for my friend here. Whatever he’s having. Scotch, right?”
“Ice water. But you’ve got a damn good memory.”
“I’m not usually one for drinking buddies, but I do remember that last job we worked together. When was that? Seven, eight years ago?”
“About that.”
“No one forgets when someone successfully drinks them under the table. Two nights in a row. Always heard the stories about Aussies loving their booze, but…” Taking a swig of bourbon, he winces and lets out a low growl as that first swallow burns going down. “When’d you quit?”
“Almost six years ago.”
“What made you decide to give it up? Liver finally pleading for mercy?”
“Being in a medically induced coma for a couple of months had its hand in things. But I probably would have gotten out of the hospital and gone right back to it though; drank myself to death sooner or later. But honestly, I quit for the same reason you left this life.”
“That’ll do it. You meet that one and…” His voice trails off. The memory of his wife is just as powerful and intense as the day she passed the mere mention of her still bringing about the heartache. It’s a tremendous loss that he’ll never be quite over; destined to live the rest of his life wracked with grief and emptiness.
“Guess we finally have a few more things in common,” Tyler muses. “Job’s not the only thing anymore. Whoever said ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’ was a dirty ass fucking liar.”
“I don’t know about that. As much as it still hurts, I wouldn’t go back and change things. Even if I went into it knowing how quickly I’d lose her, I’d still give everything up for Helen. Even if I knew how short the time would be, I’d still try my hand at a normal life. I’d still pick her over everything…and everyone…else.”
“That’s all of a lot of a pain to go through.”
“It is. But the life I DID get with her? The good times? I wouldn’t trade those in for anything. And I think once you get a chance to really digest things and think them through, you’ll be saying the same thing about Esme.”
Tyler WANTS to believe that. It’s not as if the feelings no longer exist; he’s remained hopelessly and desperately in love with her throughout the years they’d been apart. Feeling just how strong it actually was when that separation had finally ended; face to face with one another in the midst of all the lingering sorrow and hurt and anger. It’s love and it’s adoration and immense relief; seeing her alive and well, albeit a little banged up. And while he still wants and needs an explanation for both her disappearance and keeping Millie a secret, the anger isn’t quite as potent now. Seeing her had taken a lot of the edge off; peeling away some of the worry and bitterness.
“You’re lucky though,” Wick says. “Esme’s here. Alive and well. Back in your life. And it’s happened for a reason. Me? I lost Helen permanently. There is no second chance for us.”
“What makes you think I’d even want one? After what went down? What…?”
“If you sit here and tell me you don’t still love her and want a life with her, then you’re the dirty fucking liar.”
“She left. It wasn’t the other way around. Just took off while I was doing shit at our new place. That we bought TOGETHER. I came home and she was gone. Never even bothered to tell me she was leaving. No face-to-face chat, no phone call, not even a goddamn text or an email. You know what I got? I got an ‘I’m sorry’ written on a piece of paper, left in the middle of the kitchen table.”
“And what you got NOW is an opportunity. To be with her again. I know it sucked; I know it probably hurt like hell. But she is right here…under the same roof as you…and you’ve got the chance to make things right. To get past all that shit and be with her. You really going to turn your back on that?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? That it never went down the way it did? I’m pissed. And it isn’t just bad enough that she left the way she did. I come here and find out I have a kid. That she kept from me. I’ve missed four years of her life. And I can’t get those years back.”
“And no one is saying you don’t have the right to be. Be pissed. Be hurt. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let all that negative shit get in the way of patching things up. And if you don’t do it for yourself or her, do it for your little girl. Because she deserves to know her dad. Have him in her life. Are you really going to walk away from that? A chance to know her and raise her? Yeah, you missed four years. And that fucking stinks. But Tyler, if you play your cards right, you’ve got four decades AT LEAST to fill.”
“Do you know why? Esme left? I know that you guys were…friendly…when she used to live here. That she’s the one who introduced you to your wife. Do you have any idea why she took off?”
Downing the last of the bourbon, he holds aloft the empty glass, signalling for another. “I do. But it’s not my place to tell you. If that were the case, I would have gotten in contact with you five years ago. But it’s not up to me to make things right. Sort shit out between the two of you. It’s her story to tell and it’s up to you to listen to her.”
“I just want to know what’s true and what isn’t. I’m not asking for details. I just need that answered. If what she told is true. The main reason why she left. I spent five years thinking the worst. That either she either left me for someone else…”
“That was NOT it. That’s not even close to what happened.”
“...or that someone came and grabbed her. Kept her for a bit and did all kinds of sick shit to her and THEN killed her. You know what that’s like? Wondering if that’s what happened? For FIVE YEARS What it’s like to think ‘I’d rather she be dead with someone else’. I actually thought that. And it’s fucked me up. For a long time.”
“What has she told you?”
“Something from her past caught up to her. People that she crossed. And that they didn’t give her much of a choice. She had to either do what they said, or they’d come back and fuck shit up. Said she left in order to protect me. That I would have survived.”
“You wouldn’t have. Not many people cross their paths and live to tell about it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you who they were or what they wanted or what Esme did. All of that is up to her. But I will tell you that she did the right thing. For both of you.”
“She couldn’t have at least told me? What was going on? Why she was leaving? Or let me know she was safe?”
“Would that have been enough? Or would you have tracked her down? Attempted to play white knight?”
Sighing, Tyler looks down at his glass; brow furrowed as he absentmindedly swirls the ice around.
“Exactly. You would have gone after her and everything she feared would have come true. She did the right thing, Tyler. As much as it hurts and as angry as you are, she really did have your best interests at heart.”
“And you’d just be able to get over it? If someone did that to you?”
“It would hurt like hell and I’d be pissed, but yeah, I’d be able to get over it. Once I calmed down to actually hear them out, I’d realize they did what they did because they loved me. And that’s exactly why she left. Because she DID love you. She still does.”
“Hard to believe that when she was just engaged to someone else a few days ago.” It had hurt like hell hearing THAT detail during the team meeting; a mixture of jealousy and bitterness and pure and utter rage that continued to gnaw at his stomach. He had the thought of it; another man being given the privilege of holding her and kissing her and making love to her.
“That was nothing but part of the job. She was never going to marry him. As soon as she got what was needed and Nik was ready to make your move, she was going to just grab and take off. Don’t think for one second she actually loved that guy. He was a ‘mark’. Nothing more, nothing less.”
They lapse into silence; nursing their drinks and waving off the bartender when he approaches to offer another round.
“Hell of a thing we got ourselves into,” Wick comments. “Trouble always seems to find us, huh?”
“You know what they say; about how you’re never really free of this life. It follows you. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Years could go by and you’re thinking you’re free and clear of it and something comes up. Someone calling in a favour, some asshole looking for revenge. The shit finds you. One way or another.”
“You know I’ve walked away three times now? “And each time I told myself it was the last. That I was retired. And nothing or no one could change that. But…”
“Here you are.”
“Yeah…” Wick scoffs. “...here I am. Heard you quit for a bit. Tried your hand at a regular life. Firefighting, was it?”
“Been doing that full-time for the last couple of years. And I run a little business of my own; home renovations, landscaping, masonry stuff. Got enough going on back home to keep me busy. But like I said, you never really leave the life behind. It’s always got a hold on you. No matter how hard you try to let it go.”
“I think it’s safe to say this is the one time you’re probably okay with trouble showing its face. Esme, the kid…”
“Not what I thought I was walking into, I’ll tell you that much. I went into this totally blind. Nik wasn’t too forthcoming with the info when she called me. Made up some bullshit excuse about not being on a secure line. Just told me a client was pretty insistent on hiring for a job.”
“And now here YOU are.”
Tyler nods. “It’s all been a little…surprising…to say the least.”
“Finding out the client was Esme or the fact you have a kid?”
“Both. Before all of this, her leaving seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened. Then I found out she kept my daughter from me. I think a secret baby trumps everything else.”
“She had her reasons. Just remember that. Give her a chance. To explain things. Don’t let your pride fuck things up. I know that’s easier said than done sometimes, but…”
His phone vibrates against the top of the bar, signalling an incoming text message. And he’s relieved to find that instead of Delaney ranting and raving about him ‘dropping off the face of the earth’, it’s Esme asking if they can talk after Millie has fallen asleep. Able to leave her in the care and protection of Abeula and Nik and visit him in his room or wherever he feels comfortable meeting. It makes him feel like a teenager again; the excitement and nervousness that comes with knowing you’re going to be totally alone with the prettiest girl in school. And he sends back a quick confirmation and his room number, then once more sets the phone on top of the bar, screen down.
Wick smirks. “I recognize that look. Definitely good news.”
“Could be the START of something good. Guess it depends on how things go. When we talk about everything.”
“Just try and keep the pride and the temper in check. I know it’s a shitty situation; her taking off and flying under the radar for years and keeping your kid from you. But she’s got very legitimate reasons. Understandable ones. Just try to keep an open mind. And ear.”
“This isn’t the way I thought it would go. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever really optimistic. About one day seeing her again. So for it to go down like this? Because of a job? Definitely not what I would have imagined.”
“Isn’t that how you first met? Maybe it’s the pattern. What’s the saying? Things come in threes?”
“Don’t wish that on me. I don’t think I have another job like Dhaka in me. I’m just hoping this one doesn’t go down that same road. Organized crime? Mafia style? I’m a little too old for that shit.”
“Aren’t we both.” Standing, he pulls two gold coins from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and lays them on the bar. “My treat,” he says, and then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Remember what I said; about going in there with an open mind. She DID have a good reason for doing what she did. And if you feel yourself losing control, think of that little girl. And how many years you’ve got left with her.”
“Open mind. Optimistic. Got ya.”
“It’ll all work out, Tyler. Don’t fuck this up. You’ve got a second chance. And believe me, I’d do anything for even one more day…one more second…with my wife.”
*******
“Momma?”
They sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed; Millie between Esme’s outstretched legs as she gets her hair detangled and then braided before bed. She has her father’s hair. Dirty blond and impossibly thick; wild and unruly with a mind all its own. She can easily recall many mornings when he’d stumble out of bed or wake from a nap; grumpy and in desperate need of coffee, those longer strands on the top of his head sticking up in several different directions. He’d feign annoyance when she’d lovingly tease him about how adorable he was; murmuring about how he was supposed to be ruthless and badass and if word ever got about how this supposed ‘cute side’, it would do serious damage to his reputation.
While she misses every aspect of that simple and quiet life with him in Australia, sometimes it’s the absence of those little moments that are the most heartbreaking. The companionship that accompanied the intense and nearly all-consuming want and need. Dinners prepared together and enjoyed out on the front porch, the affectionate teasing and light-hearted banter that was frequently exchanged, the long, deep conversations that took place in the dead of the night. And those moments of intimacy in its softest and purest form. The way he’d approach her in the kitchen while she made something to eat; a hand on her stomach as he nuzzled that sensitive spot just below her right ear. How -during the harder days when the trauma of Dhaka became too much for her to bear- he’d envelop her in strong powerful arms and hold as tight as her body would tolerate; one palm moving in slow, soothing circles in the middle of her back. She’d always find herself instantly comforted; her anxious and tortured mind put to ease by his familiar smell and the warmth radiating from his body and the way his voice rumbled deep within his chest.
“What’s up, sweet pea?”
“Why do we have to leave? Why can’t we just stay here? In New York.”
“Because it’s safer if we go somewhere else. Away from the bad guys. “
“But we’re safe HERE. With Charon and Grandpa Winston. The bad guys aren’t allowed to come here. So why can’t we just stay? Until the bad guys go away?”
“Because this place has rules. About who can stay here and for how long.”
“Whose rules?”
“The boss’.”
“Grandpa Winston IS the boss. He’s kicking us out?!”
“HIS boss. Who he has to listen to or he’ll get into big trouble and then not be allowed to run this place anymore. Everyone that is in charge of something or someone, has people that are in charge of THEM. That they have to answer to. Grandpa Winston may be the boss, but he also has his own boss.”
“Hmmm…” Millie tilts her head to the side; eyes narrowed as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “You know what, mom? I don’t think I EVER want to be an adult. It’s too stressful. I don’t want a boss. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. Especially some man.”
“I tell you what to do.”
“That’s different. I’m just a little kid still. And you’re my momma. Mommas are supposed to tell kids what they can and can’t do. And we’re supposed to listen. I know sometimes I don’t. But I try. I really do. I WANT to be good, just sometimes…”
“You are always good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can be a little difficult and challenging sometimes, but you’re never bad. You’re stubborn and high-spirited and…”
“Alessio thought I was bad. He said that I talk too much and make too much noise and that I’m mouthy. He even said I was naughty. Tons of times.”
“He had no idea what he was talking about. You’re four. Not eighty-four. You’re supposed to be loud and rambunctious. You’re learning about the world. How are you supposed to do that without bouncing all over the place and asking all kinds of questions?”
“I didn’t like him very much, you know.”
“Oh, I know. You never wasted a chance to tell me.”
“He wasn’t really going to be my dad, right? You weren’t REALLY going to marry, were you?”
“No. To both.”
“Because he is so not good enough for you.”
Grinning, Esme sprays the last section of hair with detangler and then works the comb through it. “Something tells me you’d say that anyone that got too close.”
“Only if they’re not the right guy for you. And mom, Alession was NOT it.”
“He wasn’t, was he? You sure seem to know a lot about guys and relationships and commitment for someone who won’t even use the same lunch box two years in a row.”
“I just know you deserve better. He wasn’t very nice to you. He bossed you around. Or at least he tried to. You deserve someone that’s going to treat you right. Like the queen you are!”
Esme laughs. “You’ve been watching Oprah with Abeula, haven’t you.”
“And I wouldn’t say that about EVERY guy; that he isn’t good enough for you. Just when he’s not. And he wasn't. He was mean sometimes. He would call you stupid and stuff and then buy you things to make it all better. And he threw out my sandals! My favourite ones!”
“And I was quick to put him in his place about that, wasn’t I? Don’t you EVER worry about that. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. And I WILL go momma bear on their ass.”
“You should have dumped him. There’s a lot of fish in the sea. Really good ones, too. You deserve someone good, mom. Someone that will take care of you. Who won’t look at other girls and call them pretty and stuff. And who won’t throw out of my shoes.”
“No one else will EVER do that again, I promise.”
“You know who seems really nice? Like he’d treat you right? Tyler.”
“You just met him. You talked to him for all of five minutes. And you could tell what kind of guy he is?”
“I mean, he’s here to help with the bad guys. How awful could he be?”
“He’s not awful. At all. Far from it, actually. But you hardly know him and…”
“I know enough. I know he’s big and strong and the bad guys don’t stand a chance against him. And I know his favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip! Just like me! What more is there to know?”
“A lot of things.” Esme busies herself with the final braid. “But you’ll have a lot of time to get to know him better. While he’s keeping an eye on us.”
“I might annoy him. Alessio always complained I talked too much and asked way too many questions.”
“Something tells me that Tyler will enjoy it. That he won’t mind one bit. He might not say a lot in return, but…”
“How long have you known him?” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she wiggles her toes; giggling as the glow from the bedside lamp causes the glitter in her bright pink nail polish to sparkle. “How long has he been your friend?”
“I’ve known him for a while. Since before you were born.”
“How long before?”
“A year. And a bit.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Through work. Auntie Nik introduced us. Paired us up on a job together.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
Esme hesitates. Both a lie and the truth have consequences; a time down the road when Millie will have even more questions. And anger will follow the answers; either furious that her mother had told a fib or that she’d kept her existence a secret and made her lose four years with her father.
“No. He wasn’t.” She feels sick. At both the denial of Tyler’s importance in her life and how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. “Just a friend. And a colleague.”
“If he’s a friend, how come I’ve never met him? I’ve met all your other friends. Auntie Nik and Uncle Yaz and Uncle John. And there’s Grandpa Winston and Charon! But I never met Tyler. How come?”
“Tyler lives far away.”
“How far away?”
“Thousands of miles.”
“Like in California?! Where all the movie stars are?!”
“No,” Esme laughs. “More like Australia. Which is an entirely different country.”
“I know where Australia is! It’s across the ocean. Right in the middle of it. It’s a big island. It’s where the kangaroos and koalas live. Does he get to see them a lot?! I bet he gets to see tons of kangas and koalas. He’s so lucky! I wish I could see them. Maybe we can go and visit! Maybe he’ll invite us. Do you think he will? Now that we’re besties?”
“I think if you were to tell him you’d love to go to Australia, he’d be more than happy to take you there. But you might not have to say ANYTHING. Or even wait that long to go. It might be where we end up. While Tyler is taking care of us.”
Giving an excited shriek, Millie claps her hands together and bounces up and down on her bum, then swivels around to look at her mom. “We’re going to his house?! In Australia?!”
“I didn’t say we were going there for sure. But…”
“We get to fly on a big airplane?! We get to see kangaroos and koalas?! Where does he live? Does he have a house? With a backyard I can play in? Maybe he has a pool! That way I can get a new bathing suit and we can go swimming and…”
“Whoa…whoa….” Laughing, she gathers Millie in her arms and settles her in her lap; the four-year-old giggling when her mom showers her cheeks with noisy kisses. “...I never said we were going for sure. Just that we MIGHT be. It’s on the list. Of places that Tyler could take us to and keep us safe and sound.”
“I want to go there! To Australia! To Tyler’s house! Can you tell him that, momma? Can you tell him I want to go there? That it would make me really, really, REALLY happy?”
“I can put in a good word, but I can’t promise anything. There are a lot of things we need to think about. When it comes to where we end up. Everyone just wants us to be safe. Keep the bad guys away. So there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be considered.”
“We’d be safe there! In Australia. At Tyler’s place. The bad guys would NEVER come there. He’s too big and too strong and I bet they’re really scared of him. I bet he makes them poo their pants! He doesn’t scare me though. I’m not afraid of him. Even if he is a giant!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him. Because there’s no absolutely no reason. He would never…EVER…do anything to hurt you. To hurt EITHER of us.”
“He just hurts bad people? ‘Cause they deserve it?”
“He hurts bad people in order to protect good people. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but sometimes he doesn’t have much of a choice. Because if he doesn’t do something first, they’ll hurt him. Or worse.”
“They might kill him?”
“They might. But he’s tough and he’s resilient and believe me, IF he gets knocked down? He always gets back up. It makes me happy that you’re not scared of him. I know he’s really big and he can look really serious and mean, but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.”
“Momma…” She tilts her head backwards, eyes narrowed. “...are you SURE Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend?”
“That’s twice you’ve talked about that. What makes you think he was my boyfriend?”
“Just the way your voice sounds when you talk about him. Every time you say his name, you sound weird. Not in a bad way. Just a different way. And I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. When I came back from swimming. Your eyes were all sparkly and stuff. You know how in
cartoons when a girl likes a boy, they get stars in their eyes? That’s what you looked like.”
“I think you’re imagining things.”
“You know what I think? I think you have a crush on Tyler. That maybe he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you wanted him to be. And you still do!”
“Amelia…”
“Mommy…”
“You are imagining things. Tyler was my friend. He still is. Nothing more, nothing less. And he’s here to help us, not form a love connection. He’s being paid. To take care of us. To make sure that the bad guys don’t try anything. There is definitely no romance on the horizon.”
“But there COULD be. If you let it happen. You just gotta tell him. That you have a crush on him. I bet if you tell him…”
“No one is telling anyone ANYTHING. Because it’s not true. There are no crushes.”
“I’m not buying it. I can tell. That you like him. And I think he likes you too. Someone has to make the first move, momma. Why can’t it be you?”
“There are no moves to be made, my sweet baby girl.”
“If you don’t tell him, I will! When we go on our ice cream date. I’ll tell him you have a big, fat crush on him! That you think he’s cute and that you like his big muscles and want to kiss him lots and lots and…” She shrieks when she feels her mother’s fingertips lightly dig into the sensitive area under her ribs; dissolving into laughter when she’s tickled mercilessly. Until she’s kicking and squirming and breathlessly pleading for Esme to stop.
“You… little miss…” The tip of her nose nuzzles each of her daughter’s cheeks. “...will do no such thing. Mind your own business, got it? Little girls do not need to meddle Come on….” She drops a kiss on the top of Millie’s head as she yawns. “...lights out time. It’s been a long, busy day for you. Four-year-old bodies can only take so much.”
“Can I stay in here tonight?” Millie hopefully inquires, remaining in the middle of the sea of blankets and sheets as her mother slides off the bed and begins tidying up. “Please? I promise I won’t hog the bed.”
“I still don’t understand how someone so small takes up so much room. What’s wrong with your bed? I thought you liked having all kinds of space to yourself?”
“I do. But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t remember ever being here and I get scared ‘cause I don’t see any of my stuff. And then I get even more scared because I worry I won’t be able to see YOU either. And that makes me really sad.”
“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?”
“What if you’re not here? What if you left? ‘Cause the bad guys came? What…?”
“Millie…” Approaching the bed, she takes the little one’s face in her hands and tilts her head up to look at her. “...I would never…EVER…leave you. There is not anyone in this world that’s bad enough to make me ever do something like that.”
“What if they took you? What if they took you away? I wouldn’t be able to find you. Not by myself.”
“Nothing like that is ever going to happen. Not a chance. I promise you that…”
“There’s always a chance. Always. What if it happens, momma? What if someone takes you away?”
“IF something like that happened, there’d be a lot of people looking for me. Auntie Nik, Uncle John, Uncle Yaz. So many people.”
“I’d get Tyler to help. Because he’s big and strong and the bad guys would be really scared of him. He’d be able to find you. And rescue you. I know he would.”
“I know he would too. If there’s anyone in this world that could do the impossible, it’s him. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.” (
She thinks of Dhaka. Those initial five days and the carnage on the bridge. Of the smell of spilled gasoline, gunpowder and blood and moans and shrieks and wails of dying men. Of the feel of Tyler’s pulse when she put two fingers inside the bullet hole in the side of his neck; tears streaming down dirty, bruised cheeks as she desperately fought to keep him alive. And that long battle afterwards; the months by his bedside and all of the horrible prognosis’ and the incessant arguing with doctors in order to secure him the care that he deserved. Somehow, he had pulled through all of that; one foot firmly planted firmly over the threshold of death the entire time.)
“Promise me you won’t leave?” Mille whimpers. “Even if the bad guys come? Promise you won’t leave without me?”
“I would never go ANYWHERE without you, Amelia.” She uses the pads of her thumbs to clear away her daughter’s wayward tears. “We’re a team. A package deal. Where I go, you go. And nothing or no one can change that.”
“Ever?”
“Ever. And I know it was scary. What happened the other night. You saw and heard things you never should have had to. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through that. And I’d go back and change so many things if I could.”
“It’s not your fault, momma. That the bad guys showed up.”
“It may have been. Just a little. And I am so sorry, Millie. That I may have done things that ended up hurting you. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I would never…ever…hurt you.”
“I know you wouldn’t. ‘Cause I’m your baby.”
“You are. And you always will be.”
“Can I? Stay in here tonight? I just want to be close to you, that’s all. I feel better when I am.”
“I’d never say no to my favourite snuggle buddy. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Until you’re almost asleep?”
With a nod and a sniffle, Millie slides over in order to give her mother access to the bed; Esme stretching out beside her and wrapping both arms around the four-year-old’s body. Her chin resting on her daughter’s head; eyes closed as the fingertips of one hand draw slow, methodical patterns on the little one’s back. Finding herself relaxed in the warmth of Millie’s body and the familiar scent that clings to her hair; the same milk, coconut, and honey shampoo that she herself has been using for years.
The one Tyler had claimed to love so much; that smell being one of the things that somehow managed to comfort him during those difficult and painful days in the hospital and then on the long road to healing. Her chest and throat both tighten as she thinks of him. Of those long and painful seconds on the bridge; the pure terror that filled every inch of her body as she watched him teeter so close to death. Those months at his bedside; stroking his hair and holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement and strength and hope in his ear. And all of the pleading she did during her lowest moments; urging him to keep fighting and to give her some kind of sign that he could hear her and knew that she was there.
Begging him to find a way…no matter what it took…to let her know that everything would be okay.
Despite both intense mental and physical fatigue, all attempts at sleep fail. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he’d contemplated contacting Delaney; knowing he had to ‘pull up his big boy pants’ and read and listen to the barrage of text messages and voicemails she’d left in just the last three hours alone. He’s the only one to blame for his current state of misery; solely responsible for Delaney’s unhinged -yet not unprovoked- behaviour. He hadn’t not even bothered to make physical contact before leaving Australia; instead stopping at her work and tucking a hastily written note under one of her car’s windshield wipers. It had been short and simple; he had to go out of town to tend to some personal business and should be back in a few days, and he’d contact her if it was going to be any longer than that.
He had hoped both the physical and emotional distance would be enough; either to keep her from incessantly trying to get ahold of him or piss her off to the point she cut ties with him completely. Yet neither has happened judging by the messages from worried to irate; beginning calmly and then escalating quickly with each missed call. A buffet of every emotion available to a human being; expressing her increasing worry for both his mental health and their obviously fragile relationship and begging and pleading for him to call her back. The latter soon transformed into pure despair; sobbing as she confessed her love for him and sorrowfully wondering why she wasn’t ‘enough’ and then cursing and swearing and calling him a coward for ‘running away’ instead of facing their issues.
It isn’t the first time he’s been guilty of the latter; his inability to support his wife through their only child’s illness and his fear of seeing his son suffer and pass away had destroyed both his marriage and his entire life. Infamous for his physical bravery but emotional cowardice, he’d put in the effort to change while with Esme; stepping completely out of his comfort zone and learning to not only be more open and honest about his feelings, but how to eradicate the disgust and shame that always accompanied showing even a flicker of emotion. He no longer wanted to be the guy that ran when the going got tough; instead trying to be the kind of partner that she needed, wanted, and deserved. And with her unwavering support and seemingly infinite patience, he’d begun to turn his life around; beginning with dealing with the mountains of baggage that had been weighing him down for years. Tearing through the layers of both physical and mental trauma and willingly checking into rehab and submitting to therapy; wading through a cesspool of toxic masculinity and anger issues and somehow managing to cut the once ironclad ties to the booze and the pain meds. For the first time since his son died, he’d found himself clean and sober. And genuinely happy. Content within that little bubble of domesticity that he and Esme had created. Both optimistic about their future together.
And then she’d left. Completing what all of the bullets and bloodshed never could. Destroying him completely.
He’s found something constantly tempted to challenge his sobriety; briefly considering ordering a bottle of the most expensive scotch on the menu and spending the rest of the evening and well into the night drinking himself into a stupor. Anything to numb the mental anguish; relieve the heaviness that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him. And while under normal circumstances he’d be obsessing over every little detail of a job and repeatedly running through every possible scenario, his brain has settled in a far different place. Not a single shred of the job and the circumstances surrounding it matter; the neatly typed and extremely well organized ‘mission notes’ Nik had slipped under his hotel room door simply tossed aside. Instead, he finds himself obsessed with the events of five years ago; replaying every second, every word, every movement he’d made on that very last day. Looking for any mistake that he could have made something; even something tiny and innocuous that could have sent her running.
And he dwells on the loneliness and the worry and the anger; the emotions that have plagued him and driven him since the day she left. And they accompany him to where he is today. At this very moment. Sitting in the dimly lit lounge at The Continental; ignoring the chattering of the patrons around him as he uses a fork to push the remains of a steak dinner around his plate . And while the establishment’s food is second to none and he has vivid recollections of the meals he’d been served during his handful of stays, he doesn’t recall tasting a single bite. His body and brain both running on auto-pilot; knowing that they needed to function together to silence the grumbling in his stomach and keep his strength.
While never a social butterfly and in no means in the mood for mindless chit-chat or the mere company of a stranger, he’d forced himself to leave his hotel room; the silence deafening and the loneliness almost physically painful. Anxiety had quickly settled in; tightening his shoulders and creating a pounding in his temples and at the base of his skull. Quickly finding it impossible to sit still; feeling as if the four walls were closing in around him and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t escape.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
The pretty little bartender breaks away from her other customers and steps in front of him. Abbie…Addie…something like that. She’s young and vibrant and extremely confident; not above being brazenly flirty and suggestive with her comments. And she’d be attractive enough IF he was even remotely interested. Tall and leggy, with near coal black hair that shimmers under the lights behind the bar; her willowy body on full display in a simple, figure-hugging black dress. Intricate and colourful tattoos cover both arms and piercings decorate her face; a silver hoop that travels through the middle of her bottom lip and a diamond stud that sparkles from its resting place on her left nostril. And she’s been making flirtatious small talk since he arrived; finding the place packed and having to settle for the last seat at the bar.
The corner of his mouth turns up; the beginnings of a smirk. “Believe me, even that’s overcharging for what’s going on in my head.”
“Rough day?”
“More like a rough five years.”
“Sounds ominous. If you’re looking for someone to unload on…”
“Actually, I prefer my bartender and my therapist to be two different people.”
Long past caring whose feathers he ruffles, he’s infamous for being brutal and unapologetically honest. He isn’t looking to impress; he has no interest in impressing women in hopes of filling his bed with a warm body. He’d indulged in too much of that in the past five years; avoiding the booze and the pain meds and instead returning to a less harmful vice. Never sure exactly what he was looking for; whether it be a temporary -and purely physical- cure for the loneliness or something more serious. His heart hadn’t really been invested in either; cold and callous with the women he bedded and never bothered to contact again. Until he’d taken the chance with Delaney; finding a brief glimmer of contentment until she started coming on way too strong. He doesn’t see himself ever settling down with her; taking it as a sign when her mere presence after her first night at his place had only bored and irritated him.
“Not much of a bartender if I’m not pouring drinks, am I? There must be something else I can get you. Ice water can only bring so much enjoyment.”
“I don’t drink. I told you that when I sat down.”
“Everyone needs to unwind. Especially you, by the sounds of it. Seems like you have a lot on your plate. And if a drink helps loosen the lips just a little…”
“I’m an alcoholic.” There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Not that he’s known for his subtlety. He’d learned in rehab that part of fixing your problem was admitting to yourself -and others- that you had one to start with. And if there is anything in his life that he’s proud of, it’s the fact he’s managed to stay sober; proof that the anger and the heartache and loneliness that had followed Esme’s departure hadn’t completely ruined him.
“Putting yourself through some kind of test?” Addie lightly teases. “Takes a strong man to be able to stare his demons in the face like this.”
“I didn’t have much choice, did I. There was no other place to sit.”
She leans back against shelves of booze behind her; arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him in bemusement. “Not much of a social butterfly, are you.”
“Maybe I’m just a certified asshole. Born and raised.”
“Something tells me that’s just a cover. For who you really are. Outside of this crazy fucking world we’re both tied up in. A lot of people are completely different in their personal lives than when they’re here. Maybe it’s a way of protecting themselves; a form of self-perseverance. This kind of life can really drag you down. Even break you. Only choice sometimes is to put up those walls to keep people out.”
“This kind of life doesn’t exactly let you get close to someone. Doesn’t let you have anything normal. Believe me, I tried. And it was an epic fucking disaster.”
“Someone broke your heart.”
“Yeah, just a little.”
“Well if I may be so bold…”
“I’d rather you weren’t.”
“…but it’s definitely her loss.”
He wants to tell her just how wrong she is. That he’d always been one with the most to lose. Esme had brought a much-needed brightness; easily breaking through his tough exterior and shining light on those dark and abandoned recesses deep inside of him. She had reminded him that he was still very much alive and that there was still a lot out there for him to experience; sunsets to marvel over and meals to cook and enjoy together, and the touch and love of someone that adored him. For years he’d been walking around in a state of numbness; caused by immense grief, guilt, and regret and further aided by the booze and the alcohol. And she’d wandered into his life and turned it completely upside down. Peeling away all those protective layers and exposing the long-buried humanity that still existed inside of him.
In the end, he’d lost a hell of a lot. His most loyal confidant and fervent supporter. His best friend and his lover. The sole reason that he’d kept going during those extremely difficult days following Dhaka; the months in the hospital, the long and extremely painful recovery once returning home, and the struggle to get clean and sober and STAY that way. With her, he’d found that he enjoyed being domestic; having someone to take care of and provide for and share his days with. And he thrived on the companionship; the cooking together and the meals shared and the intimacy they’d indulged in. And even the quiet times of just hanging out; at opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap as she read a book and busied himself on his laptop. It was comfortable. Normal. An existence he never thought he’d have the chance to lead.
And then just like that, it was all gone.
His head pounds. A mixture of jet lag, hunger, and the million and one thoughts running through it. It’s all so fucking complicated; Esme’s reasonings for both disappearing and keeping Millie a secret for four year years. He wants to believe her; that she left in order to protect him from a brutal and painful demise. But his brain has a hard time accepting that explanation; refusing to believe that she’d managed to get herself mixed up with something THAT dangerous. And in turn, it’s only created a new host of questions he desperately needs and wants answers for.
Addie refills his ice water and leans stomach first against the bar; forearms resting atop the gleaming wood, hands clasped together. “How’d a guy like you end up here, anyway?”
“Same way everyone else ends up here. I kill people. For money.”
“I meant in general. In this business. You just don’t seem the type; that would get their kicks out of brutalizing someone. You’re not like everyone else; walking around here with a huge chip on your shoulder. And you definitely don’t care about what people think about you. I can’t remember the last time someone walked in here in jeans and a t-shirt. If anyone ever has.”
“I’m not here to impress anyone. Or to make friends. I’m here to do a job. And if people don’t like what they see, they can just look away. No skin off my ass.”
She gives a sly smile. “Maybe THEY don’t like what they see, but I know I do.”
He longs to tell her that it’s a lost cause; he isn’t even remotely interested and she’s only wasting her time. It’s been a hell of a day and it isn’t even close to being over with; the impending conversation with Esme sitting heavily upon his shoulders. He’s dreading it; wanting to hear the truth and the apologies but not prepared for all of the emotion -on both sides- that will be involved. In a perfect world, they’d just go back to where they were. Able to simply enjoy the reunion and getting to know one another again; reconnecting AND then rebuilding upon that foundation Dhaka had laid beneath their feet.
Instead, he bites his tongue. “I’m flattered. And forgive me for sounding like a total prick, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not interested. I’m not here to get my dick wet. I’m here to do a job. And besides, I learned a long time ago what a huge mistake it is; mixing business with pleasure.”
“For what it’s worth,” She trails a fingernail along the top of his hand; passing over each misshapen knuckle and scar. “I’ve never had a complaint.”
“Listen…” A slow, charming grin spreads across his face as he leans forward; giving the woman a glimmer of hope as his hand comes to rest atop hers. And then his eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist and his voice becoming deeper and menacing. “...I’m going to have a complaint if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”
She blinks and recoils the vehemence in his tone; lips pursed tightly together as she yanks her hand out from under his. Not giving a brief glance over her shoulder as she retreats to the opposite end of the bar.
Smirking, he raises the ice water to his lips; pausing when a strong yet friendly hand squeezes his shoulder in greeting. And is quickly followed by a familiar voice.
“I see you’re still trying your best to charm the locals. It’s nice to see some things never really do change.”
He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’m just a regular ball of sunshine.”
“Tyler.”
“John.”
Wick gestures to the now empty barstool beside him. “You expecting someone or…?”
“Who wants to hang out with a miserable asshole?”
“Well you know what they say; misery loves company. May I?”
Nodding, Tyler pushes the half-eaten plate of food and the empty glass across the bar, signalling he’s done. Until the afternoon, he hadn’t seen or worked with Wick in years; a high profile -and even more high paying- job that had marked his first -and only- North American gig. From what he’s heard, the man’s been through hell; dragged back and forth into the life through no fault of his own. Dealing with the lingering grief and loneliness following the death of his wife while battling with The High Table; a war that had seen him emerge victorious but with a dozen more scars added to his collection. The stories of Baba Yaga aside, Tyler has always respected the man; a freakishly skilled and enormously successful hitman still grasping desperately to the last remaining shreds of humanity. He’d been relieved when he’d heard Wick had not only been involved in saving Esme and Millie from certain death, but that he’d agreed to stay on board until they were safely out of the country. And offering his further services if Tyler felt he needed them.
Wick offers an appreciative yet tired smile at the bartender that approaches; a glass of bourdon wordlessly placed in front of him. “And another for my friend here. Whatever he’s having. Scotch, right?”
“Ice water. But you’ve got a damn good memory.”
“I’m not usually one for drinking buddies, but I do remember that last job we worked together. When was that? Seven, eight years ago?”
“About that.”
“No one forgets when someone successfully drinks them under the table. Two nights in a row. Always heard the stories about Aussies loving their booze, but…” Taking a swig of bourbon, he winces and lets out a low growl as that first swallow burns going down. “When’d you quit?”
“Almost six years ago.”
“What made you decide to give it up? Liver finally pleading for mercy?”
“Being in a medically induced coma for a couple of months had its hand in things. But I probably would have gotten out of the hospital and gone right back to it though; drank myself to death sooner or later. But honestly, I quit for the same reason you left this life.”
“That’ll do it. You meet that one and…” His voice trails off. The memory of his wife is just as powerful and intense as the day she passed the mere mention of her still bringing about the heartache. It’s a tremendous loss that he’ll never be quite over; destined to live the rest of his life wracked with grief and emptiness.
“Guess we finally have a few more things in common,” Tyler muses. “Job’s not the only thing anymore. Whoever said ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’ was a dirty ass fucking liar.”
“I don’t know about that. As much as it still hurts, I wouldn’t go back and change things. Even if I went into it knowing how quickly I’d lose her, I’d still give everything up for Helen. Even if I knew how short the time would be, I’d still try my hand at a normal life. I’d still pick her over everything…and everyone…else.”
“That’s all of a lot of a pain to go through.”
“It is. But the life I DID get with her? The good times? I wouldn’t trade those in for anything. And I think once you get a chance to really digest things and think them through, you’ll be saying the same thing about Esme.”
Tyler WANTS to believe that. It’s not as if the feelings no longer exist; he’s remained hopelessly and desperately in love with her throughout the years they’d been apart. Feeling just how strong it actually was when that separation had finally ended; face to face with one another in the midst of all the lingering sorrow and hurt and anger. It’s love and it’s adoration and immense relief; seeing her alive and well, albeit a little banged up. And while he still wants and needs an explanation for both her disappearance and keeping Millie a secret, the anger isn’t quite as potent now. Seeing her had taken a lot of the edge off; peeling away some of the worry and bitterness.
“You’re lucky though,” Wick says. “Esme’s here. Alive and well. Back in your life. And it’s happened for a reason. Me? I lost Helen permanently. There is no second chance for us.”
“What makes you think I’d even want one? After what went down? What…?”
“If you sit here and tell me you don’t still love her and want a life with her, then you’re the dirty fucking liar.”
“She left. It wasn’t the other way around. Just took off while I was doing shit at our new place. That we bought TOGETHER. I came home and she was gone. Never even bothered to tell me she was leaving. No face-to-face chat, no phone call, not even a goddamn text or an email. You know what I got? I got an ‘I’m sorry’ written on a piece of paper, left in the middle of the kitchen table.”
“And what you got NOW is an opportunity. To be with her again. I know it sucked; I know it probably hurt like hell. But she is right here…under the same roof as you…and you’ve got the chance to make things right. To get past all that shit and be with her. You really going to turn your back on that?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? That it never went down the way it did? I’m pissed. And it isn’t just bad enough that she left the way she did. I come here and find out I have a kid. That she kept from me. I’ve missed four years of her life. And I can’t get those years back.”
“And no one is saying you don’t have the right to be. Be pissed. Be hurt. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let all that negative shit get in the way of patching things up. And if you don’t do it for yourself or her, do it for your little girl. Because she deserves to know her dad. Have him in her life. Are you really going to walk away from that? A chance to know her and raise her? Yeah, you missed four years. And that fucking stinks. But Tyler, if you play your cards right, you’ve got four decades AT LEAST to fill.”
“Do you know why? Esme left? I know that you guys were…friendly…when she used to live here. That she’s the one who introduced you to your wife. Do you have any idea why she took off?”
Downing the last of the bourbon, he holds aloft the empty glass, signalling for another. “I do. But it’s not my place to tell you. If that were the case, I would have gotten in contact with you five years ago. But it’s not up to me to make things right. Sort shit out between the two of you. It’s her story to tell and it’s up to you to listen to her.”
“I just want to know what’s true and what isn’t. I’m not asking for details. I just need that answered. If what she told is true. The main reason why she left. I spent five years thinking the worst. That either she either left me for someone else…”
“That was NOT it. That’s not even close to what happened.”
“...or that someone came and grabbed her. Kept her for a bit and did all kinds of sick shit to her and THEN killed her. You know what that’s like? Wondering if that’s what happened? For FIVE YEARS What it’s like to think ‘I’d rather she be dead with someone else’. I actually thought that. And it’s fucked me up. For a long time.”
“What has she told you?”
“Something from her past caught up to her. People that she crossed. And that they didn’t give her much of a choice. She had to either do what they said, or they’d come back and fuck shit up. Said she left in order to protect me. That I would have survived.”
“You wouldn’t have. Not many people cross their paths and live to tell about it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you who they were or what they wanted or what Esme did. All of that is up to her. But I will tell you that she did the right thing. For both of you.”
“She couldn’t have at least told me? What was going on? Why she was leaving? Or let me know she was safe?”
“Would that have been enough? Or would you have tracked her down? Attempted to play white knight?”
Sighing, Tyler looks down at his glass; brow furrowed as he absentmindedly swirls the ice around.
“Exactly. You would have gone after her and everything she feared would have come true. She did the right thing, Tyler. As much as it hurts and as angry as you are, she really did have your best interests at heart.”
“And you’d just be able to get over it? If someone did that to you?”
“It would hurt like hell and I’d be pissed, but yeah, I’d be able to get over it. Once I calmed down to actually hear them out, I’d realize they did what they did because they loved me. And that’s exactly why she left. Because she DID love you. She still does.”
“Hard to believe that when she was just engaged to someone else a few days ago.” It had hurt like hell hearing THAT detail during the team meeting; a mixture of jealousy and bitterness and pure and utter rage that continued to gnaw at his stomach. He had the thought of it; another man being given the privilege of holding her and kissing her and making love to her.
“That was nothing but part of the job. She was never going to marry him. As soon as she got what was needed and Nik was ready to make your move, she was going to just grab and take off. Don’t think for one second she actually loved that guy. He was a ‘mark’. Nothing more, nothing less.”
They lapse into silence; nursing their drinks and waving off the bartender when he approaches to offer another round.
“Hell of a thing we got ourselves into,” Wick comments. “Trouble always seems to find us, huh?”
“You know what they say; about how you’re never really free of this life. It follows you. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Years could go by and you’re thinking you’re free and clear of it and something comes up. Someone calling in a favour, some asshole looking for revenge. The shit finds you. One way or another.”
“You know I’ve walked away three times now? “And each time I told myself it was the last. That I was retired. And nothing or no one could change that. But…”
“Here you are.”
“Yeah…” Wick scoffs. “...here I am. Heard you quit for a bit. Tried your hand at a regular life. Firefighting, was it?”
“Been doing that full-time for the last couple of years. And I run a little business of my own; home renovations, landscaping, masonry stuff. Got enough going on back home to keep me busy. But like I said, you never really leave the life behind. It’s always got a hold on you. No matter how hard you try to let it go.”
“I think it’s safe to say this is the one time you’re probably okay with trouble showing its face. Esme, the kid…”
“Not what I thought I was walking into, I’ll tell you that much. I went into this totally blind. Nik wasn’t too forthcoming with the info when she called me. Made up some bullshit excuse about not being on a secure line. Just told me a client was pretty insistent on hiring for a job.”
“And now here YOU are.”
Tyler nods. “It’s all been a little…surprising…to say the least.”
“Finding out the client was Esme or the fact you have a kid?”
“Both. Before all of this, her leaving seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened. Then I found out she kept my daughter from me. I think a secret baby trumps everything else.”
“She had her reasons. Just remember that. Give her a chance. To explain things. Don’t let your pride fuck things up. I know that’s easier said than done sometimes, but…”
His phone vibrates against the top of the bar, signalling an incoming text message. And he’s relieved to find that instead of Delaney ranting and raving about him ‘dropping off the face of the earth’, it’s Esme asking if they can talk after Millie has fallen asleep. Able to leave her in the care and protection of Abeula and Nik and visit him in his room or wherever he feels comfortable meeting. It makes him feel like a teenager again; the excitement and nervousness that comes with knowing you’re going to be totally alone with the prettiest girl in school. And he sends back a quick confirmation and his room number, then once more sets the phone on top of the bar, screen down.
Wick smirks. “I recognize that look. Definitely good news.”
“Could be the START of something good. Guess it depends on how things go. When we talk about everything.”
“Just try and keep the pride and the temper in check. I know it’s a shitty situation; her taking off and flying under the radar for years and keeping your kid from you. But she’s got very legitimate reasons. Understandable ones. Just try to keep an open mind. And ear.”
“This isn’t the way I thought it would go. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever really optimistic. About one day seeing her again. So for it to go down like this? Because of a job? Definitely not what I would have imagined.”
“Isn’t that how you first met? Maybe it’s the pattern. What’s the saying? Things come in threes?”
“Don’t wish that on me. I don’t think I have another job like Dhaka in me. I’m just hoping this one doesn’t go down that same road. Organized crime? Mafia style? I’m a little too old for that shit.”
“Aren’t we both.” Standing, he pulls two gold coins from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and lays them on the bar. “My treat,” he says, and then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Remember what I said; about going in there with an open mind. She DID have a good reason for doing what she did. And if you feel yourself losing control, think of that little girl. And how many years you’ve got left with her.”
“Open mind. Optimistic. Got ya.”
“It’ll all work out, Tyler. Don’t fuck this up. You’ve got a second chance. And believe me, I’d do anything for even one more day…one more second…with my wife.”
*******
“Momma?”
They sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed; Millie between Esme’s outstretched legs as she gets her hair detangled and then braided before bed. She has her father’s hair. Dirty blond and impossibly thick; wild and unruly with a mind all its own. She can easily recall many mornings when he’d stumble out of bed or wake from a nap; grumpy and in desperate need of coffee, those longer strands on the top of his head sticking up in several different directions. He’d feign annoyance when she’d lovingly tease him about how adorable he was; murmuring about how he was supposed to be ruthless and badass and if word ever got about how this supposed ‘cute side’, it would do serious damage to his reputation.
While she misses every aspect of that simple and quiet life with him in Australia, sometimes it’s the absence of those little moments that are the most heartbreaking. The companionship that accompanied the intense and nearly all-consuming want and need. Dinners prepared together and enjoyed out on the front porch, the affectionate teasing and light-hearted banter that was frequently exchanged, the long, deep conversations that took place in the dead of the night. And those moments of intimacy in its softest and purest form. The way he’d approach her in the kitchen while she made something to eat; a hand on her stomach as he nuzzled that sensitive spot just below her right ear. How -during the harder days when the trauma of Dhaka became too much for her to bear- he’d envelop her in strong powerful arms and hold as tight as her body would tolerate; one palm moving in slow, soothing circles in the middle of her back. She’d always find herself instantly comforted; her anxious and tortured mind put to ease by his familiar smell and the warmth radiating from his body and the way his voice rumbled deep within his chest.
“What’s up, sweet pea?”
“Why do we have to leave? Why can’t we just stay here? In New York.”
“Because it’s safer if we go somewhere else. Away from the bad guys. “
“But we’re safe HERE. With Charon and Grandpa Winston. The bad guys aren’t allowed to come here. So why can’t we just stay? Until the bad guys go away?”
“Because this place has rules. About who can stay here and for how long.”
“Whose rules?”
“The boss’.”
“Grandpa Winston IS the boss. He’s kicking us out?!”
“HIS boss. Who he has to listen to or he’ll get into big trouble and then not be allowed to run this place anymore. Everyone that is in charge of something or someone, has people that are in charge of THEM. That they have to answer to. Grandpa Winston may be the boss, but he also has his own boss.”
“Hmmm…” Millie tilts her head to the side; eyes narrowed as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “You know what, mom? I don’t think I EVER want to be an adult. It’s too stressful. I don’t want a boss. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. Especially some man.”
“I tell you what to do.”
“That’s different. I’m just a little kid still. And you’re my momma. Mommas are supposed to tell kids what they can and can’t do. And we’re supposed to listen. I know sometimes I don’t. But I try. I really do. I WANT to be good, just sometimes…”
“You are always good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can be a little difficult and challenging sometimes, but you’re never bad. You’re stubborn and high-spirited and…”
“Alessio thought I was bad. He said that I talk too much and make too much noise and that I’m mouthy. He even said I was naughty. Tons of times.”
“He had no idea what he was talking about. You’re four. Not eighty-four. You’re supposed to be loud and rambunctious. You’re learning about the world. How are you supposed to do that without bouncing all over the place and asking all kinds of questions?”
“I didn’t like him very much, you know.”
“Oh, I know. You never wasted a chance to tell me.”
“He wasn’t really going to be my dad, right? You weren’t REALLY going to marry, were you?”
“No. To both.”
“Because he is so not good enough for you.”
Grinning, Esme sprays the last section of hair with detangler and then works the comb through it. “Something tells me you’d say that anyone that got too close.”
“Only if they’re not the right guy for you. And mom, Alession was NOT it.”
“He wasn’t, was he? You sure seem to know a lot about guys and relationships and commitment for someone who won’t even use the same lunch box two years in a row.”
“I just know you deserve better. He wasn’t very nice to you. He bossed you around. Or at least he tried to. You deserve someone that’s going to treat you right. Like the queen you are!”
Esme laughs. “You’ve been watching Oprah with Abeula, haven’t you.”
“And I wouldn’t say that about EVERY guy; that he isn’t good enough for you. Just when he’s not. And he wasn't. He was mean sometimes. He would call you stupid and stuff and then buy you things to make it all better. And he threw out my sandals! My favourite ones!”
“And I was quick to put him in his place about that, wasn’t I? Don’t you EVER worry about that. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. And I WILL go momma bear on their ass.”
“You should have dumped him. There’s a lot of fish in the sea. Really good ones, too. You deserve someone good, mom. Someone that will take care of you. Who won’t look at other girls and call them pretty and stuff. And who won’t throw out of my shoes.”
“No one else will EVER do that again, I promise.”
“You know who seems really nice? Like he’d treat you right? Tyler.”
“You just met him. You talked to him for all of five minutes. And you could tell what kind of guy he is?”
“I mean, he’s here to help with the bad guys. How awful could he be?”
“He’s not awful. At all. Far from it, actually. But you hardly know him and…”
“I know enough. I know he’s big and strong and the bad guys don’t stand a chance against him. And I know his favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip! Just like me! What more is there to know?”
“A lot of things.” Esme busies herself with the final braid. “But you’ll have a lot of time to get to know him better. While he’s keeping an eye on us.”
“I might annoy him. Alessio always complained I talked too much and asked way too many questions.”
“Something tells me that Tyler will enjoy it. That he won’t mind one bit. He might not say a lot in return, but…”
“How long have you known him?” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she wiggles her toes; giggling as the glow from the bedside lamp causes the glitter in her bright pink nail polish to sparkle. “How long has he been your friend?”
“I’ve known him for a while. Since before you were born.”
“How long before?”
“A year. And a bit.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Through work. Auntie Nik introduced us. Paired us up on a job together.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
Esme hesitates. Both a lie and the truth have consequences; a time down the road when Millie will have even more questions. And anger will follow the answers; either furious that her mother had told a fib or that she’d kept her existence a secret and made her lose four years with her father.
“No. He wasn’t.” She feels sick. At both the denial of Tyler’s importance in her life and how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. “Just a friend. And a colleague.”
“If he’s a friend, how come I’ve never met him? I’ve met all your other friends. Auntie Nik and Uncle Yaz and Uncle John. And there’s Grandpa Winston and Charon! But I never met Tyler. How come?”
“Tyler lives far away.”
“How far away?”
“Thousands of miles.”
“Like in California?! Where all the movie stars are?!”
“No,” Esme laughs. “More like Australia. Which is an entirely different country.”
“I know where Australia is! It’s across the ocean. Right in the middle of it. It’s a big island. It’s where the kangaroos and koalas live. Does he get to see them a lot?! I bet he gets to see tons of kangas and koalas. He’s so lucky! I wish I could see them. Maybe we can go and visit! Maybe he’ll invite us. Do you think he will? Now that we’re besties?”
“I think if you were to tell him you’d love to go to Australia, he’d be more than happy to take you there. But you might not have to say ANYTHING. Or even wait that long to go. It might be where we end up. While Tyler is taking care of us.”
Giving an excited shriek, Millie claps her hands together and bounces up and down on her bum, then swivels around to look at her mom. “We’re going to his house?! In Australia?!”
“I didn’t say we were going there for sure. But…”
“We get to fly on a big airplane?! We get to see kangaroos and koalas?! Where does he live? Does he have a house? With a backyard I can play in? Maybe he has a pool! That way I can get a new bathing suit and we can go swimming and…”
“Whoa…whoa….” Laughing, she gathers Millie in her arms and settles her in her lap; the four-year-old giggling when her mom showers her cheeks with noisy kisses. “...I never said we were going for sure. Just that we MIGHT be. It’s on the list. Of places that Tyler could take us to and keep us safe and sound.”
“I want to go there! To Australia! To Tyler’s house! Can you tell him that, momma? Can you tell him I want to go there? That it would make me really, really, REALLY happy?”
“I can put in a good word, but I can’t promise anything. There are a lot of things we need to think about. When it comes to where we end up. Everyone just wants us to be safe. Keep the bad guys away. So there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be considered.”
“We’d be safe there! In Australia. At Tyler’s place. The bad guys would NEVER come there. He’s too big and too strong and I bet they’re really scared of him. I bet he makes them poo their pants! He doesn’t scare me though. I’m not afraid of him. Even if he is a giant!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him. Because there’s no absolutely no reason. He would never…EVER…do anything to hurt you. To hurt EITHER of us.”
“He just hurts bad people? ‘Cause they deserve it?”
“He hurts bad people in order to protect good people. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but sometimes he doesn’t have much of a choice. Because if he doesn’t do something first, they’ll hurt him. Or worse.”
“They might kill him?”
“They might. But he’s tough and he’s resilient and believe me, IF he gets knocked down? He always gets back up. It makes me happy that you’re not scared of him. I know he’s really big and he can look really serious and mean, but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.”
“Momma…” She tilts her head backwards, eyes narrowed. “...are you SURE Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend?”
“That’s twice you’ve talked about that. What makes you think he was my boyfriend?”
“Just the way your voice sounds when you talk about him. Every time you say his name, you sound weird. Not in a bad way. Just a different way. And I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. When I came back from swimming. Your eyes were all sparkly and stuff. You know how in
cartoons when a girl likes a boy, they get stars in their eyes? That’s what you looked like.”
“I think you’re imagining things.”
“You know what I think? I think you have a crush on Tyler. That maybe he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you wanted him to be. And you still do!”
“Amelia…”
“Mommy…”
“You are imagining things. Tyler was my friend. He still is. Nothing more, nothing less. And he’s here to help us, not form a love connection. He’s being paid. To take care of us. To make sure that the bad guys don’t try anything. There is definitely no romance on the horizon.”
“But there COULD be. If you let it happen. You just gotta tell him. That you have a crush on him. I bet if you tell him…”
“No one is telling anyone ANYTHING. Because it’s not true. There are no crushes.”
“I’m not buying it. I can tell. That you like him. And I think he likes you too. Someone has to make the first move, momma. Why can’t it be you?”
“There are no moves to be made, my sweet baby girl.”
“If you don’t tell him, I will! When we go on our ice cream date. I’ll tell him you have a big, fat crush on him! That you think he’s cute and that you like his big muscles and want to kiss him lots and lots and…” She shrieks when she feels her mother’s fingertips lightly dig into the sensitive area under her ribs; dissolving into laughter when she’s tickled mercilessly. Until she’s kicking and squirming and breathlessly pleading for Esme to stop.
“You… little miss…” The tip of her nose nuzzles each of her daughter’s cheeks. “...will do no such thing. Mind your own business, got it? Little girls do not need to meddle Come on….” She drops a kiss on the top of Millie’s head as she yawns. “...lights out time. It’s been a long, busy day for you. Four-year-old bodies can only take so much.”
“Can I stay in here tonight?” Millie hopefully inquires, remaining in the middle of the sea of blankets and sheets as her mother slides off the bed and begins tidying up. “Please? I promise I won’t hog the bed.”
“I still don’t understand how someone so small takes up so much room. What’s wrong with your bed? I thought you liked having all kinds of space to yourself?”
“I do. But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t remember ever being here and I get scared ‘cause I don’t see any of my stuff. And then I get even more scared because I worry I won’t be able to see YOU either. And that makes me really sad.”
“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?”
“What if you’re not here? What if you left? ‘Cause the bad guys came? What…?”
“Millie…” Approaching the bed, she takes the little one’s face in her hands and tilts her head up to look at her. “...I would never…EVER…leave you. There is not anyone in this world that’s bad enough to make me ever do something like that.”
“What if they took you? What if they took you away? I wouldn’t be able to find you. Not by myself.”
“Nothing like that is ever going to happen. Not a chance. I promise you that…”
“There’s always a chance. Always. What if it happens, momma? What if someone takes you away?”
“IF something like that happened, there’d be a lot of people looking for me. Auntie Nik, Uncle John, Uncle Yaz. So many people.”
“I’d get Tyler to help. Because he’s big and strong and the bad guys would be really scared of him. He’d be able to find you. And rescue you. I know he would.”
“I know he would too. If there’s anyone in this world that could do the impossible, it’s him. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.” (
She thinks of Dhaka. Those initial five days and the carnage on the bridge. Of the smell of spilled gasoline, gunpowder and blood and moans and shrieks and wails of dying men. Of the feel of Tyler’s pulse when she put two fingers inside the bullet hole in the side of his neck; tears streaming down dirty, bruised cheeks as she desperately fought to keep him alive. And that long battle afterwards; the months by his bedside and all of the horrible prognosis’ and the incessant arguing with doctors in order to secure him the care that he deserved. Somehow, he had pulled through all of that; one foot firmly planted firmly over the threshold of death the entire time.)
“Promise me you won’t leave?” Mille whimpers. “Even if the bad guys come? Promise you won’t leave without me?”
“I would never go ANYWHERE without you, Amelia.” She uses the pads of her thumbs to clear away her daughter’s wayward tears. “We’re a team. A package deal. Where I go, you go. And nothing or no one can change that.”
“Ever?”
“Ever. And I know it was scary. What happened the other night. You saw and heard things you never should have had to. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through that. And I’d go back and change so many things if I could.”
“It’s not your fault, momma. That the bad guys showed up.”
“It may have been. Just a little. And I am so sorry, Millie. That I may have done things that ended up hurting you. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I would never…ever…hurt you.”
“I know you wouldn’t. ‘Cause I’m your baby.”
“You are. And you always will be.”
“Can I? Stay in here tonight? I just want to be close to you, that’s all. I feel better when I am.”
“I’d never say no to my favourite snuggle buddy. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Until you’re almost asleep?”
With a nod and a sniffle, Millie slides over in order to give her mother access to the bed; Esme stretching out beside her and wrapping both arms around the four-year-old’s body. Her chin resting on her daughter’s head; eyes closed as the fingertips of one hand draw slow, methodical patterns on the little one’s back. Finding herself relaxed in the warmth of Millie’s body and the familiar scent that clings to her hair; the same milk, coconut, and honey shampoo that she herself has been using for years.
The one Tyler had claimed to love so much; that smell being one of the things that somehow managed to comfort him during those difficult and painful days in the hospital and then on the long road to healing. Her chest and throat both tighten as she thinks of him. Of those long and painful seconds on the bridge; the pure terror that filled every inch of her body as she watched him teeter so close to death. Those months at his bedside; stroking his hair and holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement and strength and hope in his ear. And all of the pleading she did during her lowest moments; urging him to keep fighting and to give her some kind of sign that he could hear her and knew that she was there.
Begging him to find a way…no matter what it took…to let her know that everything would be okay.
Despite both intense mental and physical fatigue, all attempts at sleep fail. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he’d contemplated contacting Delaney; knowing he had to ‘pull up his big boy pants’ and read and listen to the barrage of text messages and voicemails she’d left in just the last three hours alone. He’s the only one to blame for his current state of misery; solely responsible for Delaney’s unhinged -yet not unprovoked- behaviour. He hadn’t not even bothered to make physical contact before leaving Australia; instead stopping at her work and tucking a hastily written note under one of her car’s windshield wipers. It had been short and simple; he had to go out of town to tend to some personal business and should be back in a few days, and he’d contact her if it was going to be any longer than that.
He had hoped both the physical and emotional distance would be enough; either to keep her from incessantly trying to get ahold of him or piss her off to the point she cut ties with him completely. Yet neither has happened judging by the messages from worried to irate; beginning calmly and then escalating quickly with each missed call. A buffet of every emotion available to a human being; expressing her increasing worry for both his mental health and their obviously fragile relationship and begging and pleading for him to call her back. The latter soon transformed into pure despair; sobbing as she confessed her love for him and sorrowfully wondering why she wasn’t ‘enough’ and then cursing and swearing and calling him a coward for ‘running away’ instead of facing their issues.
It isn’t the first time he’s been guilty of the latter; his inability to support his wife through their only child’s illness and his fear of seeing his son suffer and pass away had destroyed both his marriage and his entire life. Infamous for his physical bravery but emotional cowardice, he’d put in the effort to change while with Esme; stepping completely out of his comfort zone and learning to not only be more open and honest about his feelings, but how to eradicate the disgust and shame that always accompanied showing even a flicker of emotion. He no longer wanted to be the guy that ran when the going got tough; instead trying to be the kind of partner that she needed, wanted, and deserved. And with her unwavering support and seemingly infinite patience, he’d begun to turn his life around; beginning with dealing with the mountains of baggage that had been weighing him down for years. Tearing through the layers of both physical and mental trauma and willingly checking into rehab and submitting to therapy; wading through a cesspool of toxic masculinity and anger issues and somehow managing to cut the once ironclad ties to the booze and the pain meds. For the first time since his son died, he’d found himself clean and sober. And genuinely happy. Content within that little bubble of domesticity that he and Esme had created. Both optimistic about their future together.
And then she’d left. Completing what all of the bullets and bloodshed never could. Destroying him completely.
He’s found something constantly tempted to challenge his sobriety; briefly considering ordering a bottle of the most expensive scotch on the menu and spending the rest of the evening and well into the night drinking himself into a stupor. Anything to numb the mental anguish; relieve the heaviness that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him. And while under normal circumstances he’d be obsessing over every little detail of a job and repeatedly running through every possible scenario, his brain has settled in a far different place. Not a single shred of the job and the circumstances surrounding it matter; the neatly typed and extremely well organized ‘mission notes’ Nik had slipped under his hotel room door simply tossed aside. Instead, he finds himself obsessed with the events of five years ago; replaying every second, every word, every movement he’d made on that very last day. Looking for any mistake that he could have made something; even something tiny and innocuous that could have sent her running.
And he dwells on the loneliness and the worry and the anger; the emotions that have plagued him and driven him since the day she left. And they accompany him to where he is today. At this very moment. Sitting in the dimly lit lounge at The Continental; ignoring the chattering of the patrons around him as he uses a fork to push the remains of a steak dinner around his plate . And while the establishment’s food is second to none and he has vivid recollections of the meals he’d been served during his handful of stays, he doesn’t recall tasting a single bite. His body and brain both running on auto-pilot; knowing that they needed to function together to silence the grumbling in his stomach and keep his strength.
While never a social butterfly and in no means in the mood for mindless chit-chat or the mere company of a stranger, he’d forced himself to leave his hotel room; the silence deafening and the loneliness almost physically painful. Anxiety had quickly settled in; tightening his shoulders and creating a pounding in his temples and at the base of his skull. Quickly finding it impossible to sit still; feeling as if the four walls were closing in around him and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t escape.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
The pretty little bartender breaks away from her other customers and steps in front of him. Abbie…Addie…something like that. She’s young and vibrant and extremely confident; not above being brazenly flirty and suggestive with her comments. And she’d be attractive enough IF he was even remotely interested. Tall and leggy, with near coal black hair that shimmers under the lights behind the bar; her willowy body on full display in a simple, figure-hugging black dress. Intricate and colourful tattoos cover both arms and piercings decorate her face; a silver hoop that travels through the middle of her bottom lip and a diamond stud that sparkles from its resting place on her left nostril. And she’s been making flirtatious small talk since he arrived; finding the place packed and having to settle for the last seat at the bar.
The corner of his mouth turns up; the beginnings of a smirk. “Believe me, even that’s overcharging for what’s going on in my head.”
“Rough day?”
“More like a rough five years.”
“Sounds ominous. If you’re looking for someone to unload on…”
“Actually, I prefer my bartender and my therapist to be two different people.”
Long past caring whose feathers he ruffles, he’s infamous for being brutal and unapologetically honest. He isn’t looking to impress; he has no interest in impressing women in hopes of filling his bed with a warm body. He’d indulged in too much of that in the past five years; avoiding the booze and the pain meds and instead returning to a less harmful vice. Never sure exactly what he was looking for; whether it be a temporary -and purely physical- cure for the loneliness or something more serious. His heart hadn’t really been invested in either; cold and callous with the women he bedded and never bothered to contact again. Until he’d taken the chance with Delaney; finding a brief glimmer of contentment until she started coming on way too strong. He doesn’t see himself ever settling down with her; taking it as a sign when her mere presence after her first night at his place had only bored and irritated him.
“Not much of a bartender if I’m not pouring drinks, am I? There must be something else I can get you. Ice water can only bring so much enjoyment.”
“I don’t drink. I told you that when I sat down.”
“Everyone needs to unwind. Especially you, by the sounds of it. Seems like you have a lot on your plate. And if a drink helps loosen the lips just a little…”
“I’m an alcoholic.” There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Not that he’s known for his subtlety. He’d learned in rehab that part of fixing your problem was admitting to yourself -and others- that you had one to start with. And if there is anything in his life that he’s proud of, it’s the fact he’s managed to stay sober; proof that the anger and the heartache and loneliness that had followed Esme’s departure hadn’t completely ruined him.
“Putting yourself through some kind of test?” Addie lightly teases. “Takes a strong man to be able to stare his demons in the face like this.”
“I didn’t have much choice, did I. There was no other place to sit.”
She leans back against shelves of booze behind her; arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him in bemusement. “Not much of a social butterfly, are you.”
“Maybe I’m just a certified asshole. Born and raised.”
“Something tells me that’s just a cover. For who you really are. Outside of this crazy fucking world we’re both tied up in. A lot of people are completely different in their personal lives than when they’re here. Maybe it’s a way of protecting themselves; a form of self-perseverance. This kind of life can really drag you down. Even break you. Only choice sometimes is to put up those walls to keep people out.”
“This kind of life doesn’t exactly let you get close to someone. Doesn’t let you have anything normal. Believe me, I tried. And it was an epic fucking disaster.”
“Someone broke your heart.”
“Yeah, just a little.”
“Well if I may be so bold…”
“I’d rather you weren’t.”
“…but it’s definitely her loss.”
He wants to tell her just how wrong she is. That he’d always been one with the most to lose. Esme had brought a much-needed brightness; easily breaking through his tough exterior and shining light on those dark and abandoned recesses deep inside of him. She had reminded him that he was still very much alive and that there was still a lot out there for him to experience; sunsets to marvel over and meals to cook and enjoy together, and the touch and love of someone that adored him. For years he’d been walking around in a state of numbness; caused by immense grief, guilt, and regret and further aided by the booze and the alcohol. And she’d wandered into his life and turned it completely upside down. Peeling away all those protective layers and exposing the long-buried humanity that still existed inside of him.
In the end, he’d lost a hell of a lot. His most loyal confidant and fervent supporter. His best friend and his lover. The sole reason that he’d kept going during those extremely difficult days following Dhaka; the months in the hospital, the long and extremely painful recovery once returning home, and the struggle to get clean and sober and STAY that way. With her, he’d found that he enjoyed being domestic; having someone to take care of and provide for and share his days with. And he thrived on the companionship; the cooking together and the meals shared and the intimacy they’d indulged in. And even the quiet times of just hanging out; at opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap as she read a book and busied himself on his laptop. It was comfortable. Normal. An existence he never thought he’d have the chance to lead.
And then just like that, it was all gone.
His head pounds. A mixture of jet lag, hunger, and the million and one thoughts running through it. It’s all so fucking complicated; Esme’s reasonings for both disappearing and keeping Millie a secret for four year years. He wants to believe her; that she left in order to protect him from a brutal and painful demise. But his brain has a hard time accepting that explanation; refusing to believe that she’d managed to get herself mixed up with something THAT dangerous. And in turn, it’s only created a new host of questions he desperately needs and wants answers for.
Addie refills his ice water and leans stomach first against the bar; forearms resting atop the gleaming wood, hands clasped together. “How’d a guy like you end up here, anyway?”
“Same way everyone else ends up here. I kill people. For money.”
“I meant in general. In this business. You just don’t seem the type; that would get their kicks out of brutalizing someone. You’re not like everyone else; walking around here with a huge chip on your shoulder. And you definitely don’t care about what people think about you. I can’t remember the last time someone walked in here in jeans and a t-shirt. If anyone ever has.”
“I’m not here to impress anyone. Or to make friends. I’m here to do a job. And if people don’t like what they see, they can just look away. No skin off my ass.”
She gives a sly smile. “Maybe THEY don’t like what they see, but I know I do.”
He longs to tell her that it’s a lost cause; he isn’t even remotely interested and she’s only wasting her time. It’s been a hell of a day and it isn’t even close to being over with; the impending conversation with Esme sitting heavily upon his shoulders. He’s dreading it; wanting to hear the truth and the apologies but not prepared for all of the emotion -on both sides- that will be involved. In a perfect world, they’d just go back to where they were. Able to simply enjoy the reunion and getting to know one another again; reconnecting AND then rebuilding upon that foundation Dhaka had laid beneath their feet.
Instead, he bites his tongue. “I’m flattered. And forgive me for sounding like a total prick, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not interested. I’m not here to get my dick wet. I’m here to do a job. And besides, I learned a long time ago what a huge mistake it is; mixing business with pleasure.”
“For what it’s worth,” She trails a fingernail along the top of his hand; passing over each misshapen knuckle and scar. “I’ve never had a complaint.”
“Listen…” A slow, charming grin spreads across his face as he leans forward; giving the woman a glimmer of hope as his hand comes to rest atop hers. And then his eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist and his voice becoming deeper and menacing. “...I’m going to have a complaint if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”
She blinks and recoils the vehemence in his tone; lips pursed tightly together as she yanks her hand out from under his. Not giving a brief glance over her shoulder as she retreats to the opposite end of the bar.
Smirking, he raises the ice water to his lips; pausing when a strong yet friendly hand squeezes his shoulder in greeting. And is quickly followed by a familiar voice.
“I see you’re still trying your best to charm the locals. It’s nice to see some things never really do change.”
He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’m just a regular ball of sunshine.”
“Tyler.”
“John.”
Wick gestures to the now empty barstool beside him. “You expecting someone or…?”
“Who wants to hang out with a miserable asshole?”
“Well you know what they say; misery loves company. May I?”
Nodding, Tyler pushes the half-eaten plate of food and the empty glass across the bar, signalling he’s done. Until the afternoon, he hadn’t seen or worked with Wick in years; a high profile -and even more high paying- job that had marked his first -and only- North American gig. From what he’s heard, the man’s been through hell; dragged back and forth into the life through no fault of his own. Dealing with the lingering grief and loneliness following the death of his wife while battling with The High Table; a war that had seen him emerge victorious but with a dozen more scars added to his collection. The stories of Baba Yaga aside, Tyler has always respected the man; a freakishly skilled and enormously successful hitman still grasping desperately to the last remaining shreds of humanity. He’d been relieved when he’d heard Wick had not only been involved in saving Esme and Millie from certain death, but that he’d agreed to stay on board until they were safely out of the country. And offering his further services if Tyler felt he needed them.
Wick offers an appreciative yet tired smile at the bartender that approaches; a glass of bourdon wordlessly placed in front of him. “And another for my friend here. Whatever he’s having. Scotch, right?”
“Ice water. But you’ve got a damn good memory.”
“I’m not usually one for drinking buddies, but I do remember that last job we worked together. When was that? Seven, eight years ago?”
“About that.”
“No one forgets when someone successfully drinks them under the table. Two nights in a row. Always heard the stories about Aussies loving their booze, but…” Taking a swig of bourbon, he winces and lets out a low growl as that first swallow burns going down. “When’d you quit?”
“Almost six years ago.”
“What made you decide to give it up? Liver finally pleading for mercy?”
“Being in a medically induced coma for a couple of months had its hand in things. But I probably would have gotten out of the hospital and gone right back to it though; drank myself to death sooner or later. But honestly, I quit for the same reason you left this life.”
“That’ll do it. You meet that one and…” His voice trails off. The memory of his wife is just as powerful and intense as the day she passed the mere mention of her still bringing about the heartache. It’s a tremendous loss that he’ll never be quite over; destined to live the rest of his life wracked with grief and emptiness.
“Guess we finally have a few more things in common,” Tyler muses. “Job’s not the only thing anymore. Whoever said ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’ was a dirty ass fucking liar.”
“I don’t know about that. As much as it still hurts, I wouldn’t go back and change things. Even if I went into it knowing how quickly I’d lose her, I’d still give everything up for Helen. Even if I knew how short the time would be, I’d still try my hand at a normal life. I’d still pick her over everything…and everyone…else.”
“That’s all of a lot of a pain to go through.”
“It is. But the life I DID get with her? The good times? I wouldn’t trade those in for anything. And I think once you get a chance to really digest things and think them through, you’ll be saying the same thing about Esme.”
Tyler WANTS to believe that. It’s not as if the feelings no longer exist; he’s remained hopelessly and desperately in love with her throughout the years they’d been apart. Feeling just how strong it actually was when that separation had finally ended; face to face with one another in the midst of all the lingering sorrow and hurt and anger. It’s love and it’s adoration and immense relief; seeing her alive and well, albeit a little banged up. And while he still wants and needs an explanation for both her disappearance and keeping Millie a secret, the anger isn’t quite as potent now. Seeing her had taken a lot of the edge off; peeling away some of the worry and bitterness.
“You’re lucky though,” Wick says. “Esme’s here. Alive and well. Back in your life. And it’s happened for a reason. Me? I lost Helen permanently. There is no second chance for us.”
“What makes you think I’d even want one? After what went down? What…?”
“If you sit here and tell me you don’t still love her and want a life with her, then you’re the dirty fucking liar.”
“She left. It wasn’t the other way around. Just took off while I was doing shit at our new place. That we bought TOGETHER. I came home and she was gone. Never even bothered to tell me she was leaving. No face-to-face chat, no phone call, not even a goddamn text or an email. You know what I got? I got an ‘I’m sorry’ written on a piece of paper, left in the middle of the kitchen table.”
“And what you got NOW is an opportunity. To be with her again. I know it sucked; I know it probably hurt like hell. But she is right here…under the same roof as you…and you’ve got the chance to make things right. To get past all that shit and be with her. You really going to turn your back on that?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? That it never went down the way it did? I’m pissed. And it isn’t just bad enough that she left the way she did. I come here and find out I have a kid. That she kept from me. I’ve missed four years of her life. And I can’t get those years back.”
“And no one is saying you don’t have the right to be. Be pissed. Be hurt. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let all that negative shit get in the way of patching things up. And if you don’t do it for yourself or her, do it for your little girl. Because she deserves to know her dad. Have him in her life. Are you really going to walk away from that? A chance to know her and raise her? Yeah, you missed four years. And that fucking stinks. But Tyler, if you play your cards right, you’ve got four decades AT LEAST to fill.”
“Do you know why? Esme left? I know that you guys were…friendly…when she used to live here. That she’s the one who introduced you to your wife. Do you have any idea why she took off?”
Downing the last of the bourbon, he holds aloft the empty glass, signalling for another. “I do. But it’s not my place to tell you. If that were the case, I would have gotten in contact with you five years ago. But it’s not up to me to make things right. Sort shit out between the two of you. It’s her story to tell and it’s up to you to listen to her.”
“I just want to know what’s true and what isn’t. I’m not asking for details. I just need that answered. If what she told is true. The main reason why she left. I spent five years thinking the worst. That either she either left me for someone else…”
“That was NOT it. That’s not even close to what happened.”
“...or that someone came and grabbed her. Kept her for a bit and did all kinds of sick shit to her and THEN killed her. You know what that’s like? Wondering if that’s what happened? For FIVE YEARS What it’s like to think ‘I’d rather she be dead with someone else’. I actually thought that. And it’s fucked me up. For a long time.”
“What has she told you?”
“Something from her past caught up to her. People that she crossed. And that they didn’t give her much of a choice. She had to either do what they said, or they’d come back and fuck shit up. Said she left in order to protect me. That I would have survived.”
“You wouldn’t have. Not many people cross their paths and live to tell about it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you who they were or what they wanted or what Esme did. All of that is up to her. But I will tell you that she did the right thing. For both of you.”
“She couldn’t have at least told me? What was going on? Why she was leaving? Or let me know she was safe?”
“Would that have been enough? Or would you have tracked her down? Attempted to play white knight?”
Sighing, Tyler looks down at his glass; brow furrowed as he absentmindedly swirls the ice around.
“Exactly. You would have gone after her and everything she feared would have come true. She did the right thing, Tyler. As much as it hurts and as angry as you are, she really did have your best interests at heart.”
“And you’d just be able to get over it? If someone did that to you?”
“It would hurt like hell and I’d be pissed, but yeah, I’d be able to get over it. Once I calmed down to actually hear them out, I’d realize they did what they did because they loved me. And that’s exactly why she left. Because she DID love you. She still does.”
“Hard to believe that when she was just engaged to someone else a few days ago.” It had hurt like hell hearing THAT detail during the team meeting; a mixture of jealousy and bitterness and pure and utter rage that continued to gnaw at his stomach. He had the thought of it; another man being given the privilege of holding her and kissing her and making love to her.
“That was nothing but part of the job. She was never going to marry him. As soon as she got what was needed and Nik was ready to make your move, she was going to just grab and take off. Don’t think for one second she actually loved that guy. He was a ‘mark’. Nothing more, nothing less.”
They lapse into silence; nursing their drinks and waving off the bartender when he approaches to offer another round.
“Hell of a thing we got ourselves into,” Wick comments. “Trouble always seems to find us, huh?”
“You know what they say; about how you’re never really free of this life. It follows you. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Years could go by and you’re thinking you’re free and clear of it and something comes up. Someone calling in a favour, some asshole looking for revenge. The shit finds you. One way or another.”
“You know I’ve walked away three times now? “And each time I told myself it was the last. That I was retired. And nothing or no one could change that. But…”
“Here you are.”
“Yeah…” Wick scoffs. “...here I am. Heard you quit for a bit. Tried your hand at a regular life. Firefighting, was it?”
“Been doing that full-time for the last couple of years. And I run a little business of my own; home renovations, landscaping, masonry stuff. Got enough going on back home to keep me busy. But like I said, you never really leave the life behind. It’s always got a hold on you. No matter how hard you try to let it go.”
“I think it’s safe to say this is the one time you’re probably okay with trouble showing its face. Esme, the kid…”
“Not what I thought I was walking into, I’ll tell you that much. I went into this totally blind. Nik wasn’t too forthcoming with the info when she called me. Made up some bullshit excuse about not being on a secure line. Just told me a client was pretty insistent on hiring for a job.”
“And now here YOU are.”
Tyler nods. “It’s all been a little…surprising…to say the least.”
“Finding out the client was Esme or the fact you have a kid?”
“Both. Before all of this, her leaving seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened. Then I found out she kept my daughter from me. I think a secret baby trumps everything else.”
“She had her reasons. Just remember that. Give her a chance. To explain things. Don’t let your pride fuck things up. I know that’s easier said than done sometimes, but…”
His phone vibrates against the top of the bar, signalling an incoming text message. And he’s relieved to find that instead of Delaney ranting and raving about him ‘dropping off the face of the earth’, it’s Esme asking if they can talk after Millie has fallen asleep. Able to leave her in the care and protection of Abeula and Nik and visit him in his room or wherever he feels comfortable meeting. It makes him feel like a teenager again; the excitement and nervousness that comes with knowing you’re going to be totally alone with the prettiest girl in school. And he sends back a quick confirmation and his room number, then once more sets the phone on top of the bar, screen down.
Wick smirks. “I recognize that look. Definitely good news.”
“Could be the START of something good. Guess it depends on how things go. When we talk about everything.”
“Just try and keep the pride and the temper in check. I know it’s a shitty situation; her taking off and flying under the radar for years and keeping your kid from you. But she’s got very legitimate reasons. Understandable ones. Just try to keep an open mind. And ear.”
“This isn’t the way I thought it would go. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever really optimistic. About one day seeing her again. So for it to go down like this? Because of a job? Definitely not what I would have imagined.”
“Isn’t that how you first met? Maybe it’s the pattern. What’s the saying? Things come in threes?”
“Don’t wish that on me. I don’t think I have another job like Dhaka in me. I’m just hoping this one doesn’t go down that same road. Organized crime? Mafia style? I’m a little too old for that shit.”
“Aren’t we both.” Standing, he pulls two gold coins from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and lays them on the bar. “My treat,” he says, and then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Remember what I said; about going in there with an open mind. She DID have a good reason for doing what she did. And if you feel yourself losing control, think of that little girl. And how many years you’ve got left with her.”
“Open mind. Optimistic. Got ya.”
“It’ll all work out, Tyler. Don’t fuck this up. You’ve got a second chance. And believe me, I’d do anything for even one more day…one more second…with my wife.”
*******
“Momma?”
They sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed; Millie between Esme’s outstretched legs as she gets her hair detangled and then braided before bed. She has her father’s hair. Dirty blond and impossibly thick; wild and unruly with a mind all its own. She can easily recall many mornings when he’d stumble out of bed or wake from a nap; grumpy and in desperate need of coffee, those longer strands on the top of his head sticking up in several different directions. He’d feign annoyance when she’d lovingly tease him about how adorable he was; murmuring about how he was supposed to be ruthless and badass and if word ever got about how this supposed ‘cute side’, it would do serious damage to his reputation.
While she misses every aspect of that simple and quiet life with him in Australia, sometimes it’s the absence of those little moments that are the most heartbreaking. The companionship that accompanied the intense and nearly all-consuming want and need. Dinners prepared together and enjoyed out on the front porch, the affectionate teasing and light-hearted banter that was frequently exchanged, the long, deep conversations that took place in the dead of the night. And those moments of intimacy in its softest and purest form. The way he’d approach her in the kitchen while she made something to eat; a hand on her stomach as he nuzzled that sensitive spot just below her right ear. How -during the harder days when the trauma of Dhaka became too much for her to bear- he’d envelop her in strong powerful arms and hold as tight as her body would tolerate; one palm moving in slow, soothing circles in the middle of her back. She’d always find herself instantly comforted; her anxious and tortured mind put to ease by his familiar smell and the warmth radiating from his body and the way his voice rumbled deep within his chest.
“What’s up, sweet pea?”
“Why do we have to leave? Why can’t we just stay here? In New York.”
“Because it’s safer if we go somewhere else. Away from the bad guys. “
“But we’re safe HERE. With Charon and Grandpa Winston. The bad guys aren’t allowed to come here. So why can’t we just stay? Until the bad guys go away?”
“Because this place has rules. About who can stay here and for how long.”
“Whose rules?”
“The boss’.”
“Grandpa Winston IS the boss. He’s kicking us out?!”
“HIS boss. Who he has to listen to or he’ll get into big trouble and then not be allowed to run this place anymore. Everyone that is in charge of something or someone, has people that are in charge of THEM. That they have to answer to. Grandpa Winston may be the boss, but he also has his own boss.”
“Hmmm…” Millie tilts her head to the side; eyes narrowed as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “You know what, mom? I don’t think I EVER want to be an adult. It’s too stressful. I don’t want a boss. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. Especially some man.”
“I tell you what to do.”
“That’s different. I’m just a little kid still. And you’re my momma. Mommas are supposed to tell kids what they can and can’t do. And we’re supposed to listen. I know sometimes I don’t. But I try. I really do. I WANT to be good, just sometimes…”
“You are always good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can be a little difficult and challenging sometimes, but you’re never bad. You’re stubborn and high-spirited and…”
“Alessio thought I was bad. He said that I talk too much and make too much noise and that I’m mouthy. He even said I was naughty. Tons of times.”
“He had no idea what he was talking about. You’re four. Not eighty-four. You’re supposed to be loud and rambunctious. You’re learning about the world. How are you supposed to do that without bouncing all over the place and asking all kinds of questions?”
“I didn’t like him very much, you know.”
“Oh, I know. You never wasted a chance to tell me.”
“He wasn’t really going to be my dad, right? You weren’t REALLY going to marry, were you?”
“No. To both.”
“Because he is so not good enough for you.”
Grinning, Esme sprays the last section of hair with detangler and then works the comb through it. “Something tells me you’d say that anyone that got too close.”
“Only if they’re not the right guy for you. And mom, Alession was NOT it.”
“He wasn’t, was he? You sure seem to know a lot about guys and relationships and commitment for someone who won’t even use the same lunch box two years in a row.”
“I just know you deserve better. He wasn’t very nice to you. He bossed you around. Or at least he tried to. You deserve someone that’s going to treat you right. Like the queen you are!”
Esme laughs. “You’ve been watching Oprah with Abeula, haven’t you.”
“And I wouldn’t say that about EVERY guy; that he isn’t good enough for you. Just when he’s not. And he wasn't. He was mean sometimes. He would call you stupid and stuff and then buy you things to make it all better. And he threw out my sandals! My favourite ones!”
“And I was quick to put him in his place about that, wasn’t I? Don’t you EVER worry about that. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. And I WILL go momma bear on their ass.”
“You should have dumped him. There’s a lot of fish in the sea. Really good ones, too. You deserve someone good, mom. Someone that will take care of you. Who won’t look at other girls and call them pretty and stuff. And who won’t throw out of my shoes.”
“No one else will EVER do that again, I promise.”
“You know who seems really nice? Like he’d treat you right? Tyler.”
“You just met him. You talked to him for all of five minutes. And you could tell what kind of guy he is?”
“I mean, he’s here to help with the bad guys. How awful could he be?”
“He’s not awful. At all. Far from it, actually. But you hardly know him and…”
“I know enough. I know he’s big and strong and the bad guys don’t stand a chance against him. And I know his favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip! Just like me! What more is there to know?”
“A lot of things.” Esme busies herself with the final braid. “But you’ll have a lot of time to get to know him better. While he’s keeping an eye on us.”
“I might annoy him. Alessio always complained I talked too much and asked way too many questions.”
“Something tells me that Tyler will enjoy it. That he won’t mind one bit. He might not say a lot in return, but…”
“How long have you known him?” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she wiggles her toes; giggling as the glow from the bedside lamp causes the glitter in her bright pink nail polish to sparkle. “How long has he been your friend?”
“I’ve known him for a while. Since before you were born.”
“How long before?”
“A year. And a bit.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Through work. Auntie Nik introduced us. Paired us up on a job together.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
Esme hesitates. Both a lie and the truth have consequences; a time down the road when Millie will have even more questions. And anger will follow the answers; either furious that her mother had told a fib or that she’d kept her existence a secret and made her lose four years with her father.
“No. He wasn’t.” She feels sick. At both the denial of Tyler’s importance in her life and how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. “Just a friend. And a colleague.”
“If he’s a friend, how come I’ve never met him? I’ve met all your other friends. Auntie Nik and Uncle Yaz and Uncle John. And there’s Grandpa Winston and Charon! But I never met Tyler. How come?”
“Tyler lives far away.”
“How far away?”
“Thousands of miles.”
“Like in California?! Where all the movie stars are?!”
“No,” Esme laughs. “More like Australia. Which is an entirely different country.”
“I know where Australia is! It’s across the ocean. Right in the middle of it. It’s a big island. It’s where the kangaroos and koalas live. Does he get to see them a lot?! I bet he gets to see tons of kangas and koalas. He’s so lucky! I wish I could see them. Maybe we can go and visit! Maybe he’ll invite us. Do you think he will? Now that we’re besties?”
“I think if you were to tell him you’d love to go to Australia, he’d be more than happy to take you there. But you might not have to say ANYTHING. Or even wait that long to go. It might be where we end up. While Tyler is taking care of us.”
Giving an excited shriek, Millie claps her hands together and bounces up and down on her bum, then swivels around to look at her mom. “We’re going to his house?! In Australia?!”
“I didn’t say we were going there for sure. But…”
“We get to fly on a big airplane?! We get to see kangaroos and koalas?! Where does he live? Does he have a house? With a backyard I can play in? Maybe he has a pool! That way I can get a new bathing suit and we can go swimming and…”
“Whoa…whoa….” Laughing, she gathers Millie in her arms and settles her in her lap; the four-year-old giggling when her mom showers her cheeks with noisy kisses. “...I never said we were going for sure. Just that we MIGHT be. It’s on the list. Of places that Tyler could take us to and keep us safe and sound.”
“I want to go there! To Australia! To Tyler’s house! Can you tell him that, momma? Can you tell him I want to go there? That it would make me really, really, REALLY happy?”
“I can put in a good word, but I can’t promise anything. There are a lot of things we need to think about. When it comes to where we end up. Everyone just wants us to be safe. Keep the bad guys away. So there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be considered.”
“We’d be safe there! In Australia. At Tyler’s place. The bad guys would NEVER come there. He’s too big and too strong and I bet they’re really scared of him. I bet he makes them poo their pants! He doesn’t scare me though. I’m not afraid of him. Even if he is a giant!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him. Because there’s no absolutely no reason. He would never…EVER…do anything to hurt you. To hurt EITHER of us.”
“He just hurts bad people? ‘Cause they deserve it?”
“He hurts bad people in order to protect good people. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but sometimes he doesn’t have much of a choice. Because if he doesn’t do something first, they’ll hurt him. Or worse.”
“They might kill him?”
“They might. But he’s tough and he’s resilient and believe me, IF he gets knocked down? He always gets back up. It makes me happy that you’re not scared of him. I know he’s really big and he can look really serious and mean, but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.”
“Momma…” She tilts her head backwards, eyes narrowed. “...are you SURE Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend?”
“That’s twice you’ve talked about that. What makes you think he was my boyfriend?”
“Just the way your voice sounds when you talk about him. Every time you say his name, you sound weird. Not in a bad way. Just a different way. And I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. When I came back from swimming. Your eyes were all sparkly and stuff. You know how in
cartoons when a girl likes a boy, they get stars in their eyes? That’s what you looked like.”
“I think you’re imagining things.”
“You know what I think? I think you have a crush on Tyler. That maybe he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you wanted him to be. And you still do!”
“Amelia…”
“Mommy…”
“You are imagining things. Tyler was my friend. He still is. Nothing more, nothing less. And he’s here to help us, not form a love connection. He’s being paid. To take care of us. To make sure that the bad guys don’t try anything. There is definitely no romance on the horizon.”
“But there COULD be. If you let it happen. You just gotta tell him. That you have a crush on him. I bet if you tell him…”
“No one is telling anyone ANYTHING. Because it’s not true. There are no crushes.”
“I’m not buying it. I can tell. That you like him. And I think he likes you too. Someone has to make the first move, momma. Why can’t it be you?”
“There are no moves to be made, my sweet baby girl.”
“If you don’t tell him, I will! When we go on our ice cream date. I’ll tell him you have a big, fat crush on him! That you think he’s cute and that you like his big muscles and want to kiss him lots and lots and…” She shrieks when she feels her mother’s fingertips lightly dig into the sensitive area under her ribs; dissolving into laughter when she’s tickled mercilessly. Until she’s kicking and squirming and breathlessly pleading for Esme to stop.
“You… little miss…” The tip of her nose nuzzles each of her daughter’s cheeks. “...will do no such thing. Mind your own business, got it? Little girls do not need to meddle Come on….” She drops a kiss on the top of Millie’s head as she yawns. “...lights out time. It’s been a long, busy day for you. Four-year-old bodies can only take so much.”
“Can I stay in here tonight?” Millie hopefully inquires, remaining in the middle of the sea of blankets and sheets as her mother slides off the bed and begins tidying up. “Please? I promise I won’t hog the bed.”
“I still don’t understand how someone so small takes up so much room. What’s wrong with your bed? I thought you liked having all kinds of space to yourself?”
“I do. But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t remember ever being here and I get scared ‘cause I don’t see any of my stuff. And then I get even more scared because I worry I won’t be able to see YOU either. And that makes me really sad.”
“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?”
“What if you’re not here? What if you left? ‘Cause the bad guys came? What…?”
“Millie…” Approaching the bed, she takes the little one’s face in her hands and tilts her head up to look at her. “...I would never…EVER…leave you. There is not anyone in this world that’s bad enough to make me ever do something like that.”
“What if they took you? What if they took you away? I wouldn’t be able to find you. Not by myself.”
“Nothing like that is ever going to happen. Not a chance. I promise you that…”
“There’s always a chance. Always. What if it happens, momma? What if someone takes you away?”
“IF something like that happened, there’d be a lot of people looking for me. Auntie Nik, Uncle John, Uncle Yaz. So many people.”
“I’d get Tyler to help. Because he’s big and strong and the bad guys would be really scared of him. He’d be able to find you. And rescue you. I know he would.”
“I know he would too. If there’s anyone in this world that could do the impossible, it’s him. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.” (
She thinks of Dhaka. Those initial five days and the carnage on the bridge. Of the smell of spilled gasoline, gunpowder and blood and moans and shrieks and wails of dying men. Of the feel of Tyler’s pulse when she put two fingers inside the bullet hole in the side of his neck; tears streaming down dirty, bruised cheeks as she desperately fought to keep him alive. And that long battle afterwards; the months by his bedside and all of the horrible prognosis’ and the incessant arguing with doctors in order to secure him the care that he deserved. Somehow, he had pulled through all of that; one foot firmly planted firmly over the threshold of death the entire time.)
“Promise me you won’t leave?” Mille whimpers. “Even if the bad guys come? Promise you won’t leave without me?”
“I would never go ANYWHERE without you, Amelia.” She uses the pads of her thumbs to clear away her daughter’s wayward tears. “We’re a team. A package deal. Where I go, you go. And nothing or no one can change that.”
“Ever?”
“Ever. And I know it was scary. What happened the other night. You saw and heard things you never should have had to. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through that. And I’d go back and change so many things if I could.”
“It’s not your fault, momma. That the bad guys showed up.”
“It may have been. Just a little. And I am so sorry, Millie. That I may have done things that ended up hurting you. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I would never…ever…hurt you.”
“I know you wouldn’t. ‘Cause I’m your baby.”
“You are. And you always will be.”
“Can I? Stay in here tonight? I just want to be close to you, that’s all. I feel better when I am.”
“I’d never say no to my favourite snuggle buddy. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Until you’re almost asleep?”
With a nod and a sniffle, Millie slides over in order to give her mother access to the bed; Esme stretching out beside her and wrapping both arms around the four-year-old’s body. Her chin resting on her daughter’s head; eyes closed as the fingertips of one hand draw slow, methodical patterns on the little one’s back. Finding herself relaxed in the warmth of Millie’s body and the familiar scent that clings to her hair; the same milk, coconut, and honey shampoo that she herself has been using for years.
The one Tyler had claimed to love so much; that smell being one of the things that somehow managed to comfort him during those difficult and painful days in the hospital and then on the long road to healing. Her chest and throat both tighten as she thinks of him. Of those long and painful seconds on the bridge; the pure terror that filled every inch of her body as she watched him teeter so close to death. Those months at his bedside; stroking his hair and holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement and strength and hope in his ear. And all of the pleading she did during her lowest moments; urging him to keep fighting and to give her some kind of sign that he could hear her and knew that she was there.
Begging him to find a way…no matter what it took…to let her know that everything would be okay.
Despite both intense mental and physical fatigue, all attempts at sleep fail. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he’d contemplated contacting Delaney; knowing he had to ‘pull up his big boy pants’ and read and listen to the barrage of text messages and voicemails she’d left in just the last three hours alone. He’s the only one to blame for his current state of misery; solely responsible for Delaney’s unhinged -yet not unprovoked- behaviour. He hadn’t not even bothered to make physical contact before leaving Australia; instead stopping at her work and tucking a hastily written note under one of her car’s windshield wipers. It had been short and simple; he had to go out of town to tend to some personal business and should be back in a few days, and he’d contact her if it was going to be any longer than that.
He had hoped both the physical and emotional distance would be enough; either to keep her from incessantly trying to get ahold of him or piss her off to the point she cut ties with him completely. Yet neither has happened judging by the messages from worried to irate; beginning calmly and then escalating quickly with each missed call. A buffet of every emotion available to a human being; expressing her increasing worry for both his mental health and their obviously fragile relationship and begging and pleading for him to call her back. The latter soon transformed into pure despair; sobbing as she confessed her love for him and sorrowfully wondering why she wasn’t ‘enough’ and then cursing and swearing and calling him a coward for ‘running away’ instead of facing their issues.
It isn’t the first time he’s been guilty of the latter; his inability to support his wife through their only child’s illness and his fear of seeing his son suffer and pass away had destroyed both his marriage and his entire life. Infamous for his physical bravery but emotional cowardice, he’d put in the effort to change while with Esme; stepping completely out of his comfort zone and learning to not only be more open and honest about his feelings, but how to eradicate the disgust and shame that always accompanied showing even a flicker of emotion. He no longer wanted to be the guy that ran when the going got tough; instead trying to be the kind of partner that she needed, wanted, and deserved. And with her unwavering support and seemingly infinite patience, he’d begun to turn his life around; beginning with dealing with the mountains of baggage that had been weighing him down for years. Tearing through the layers of both physical and mental trauma and willingly checking into rehab and submitting to therapy; wading through a cesspool of toxic masculinity and anger issues and somehow managing to cut the once ironclad ties to the booze and the pain meds. For the first time since his son died, he’d found himself clean and sober. And genuinely happy. Content within that little bubble of domesticity that he and Esme had created. Both optimistic about their future together.
And then she’d left. Completing what all of the bullets and bloodshed never could. Destroying him completely.
He’s found something constantly tempted to challenge his sobriety; briefly considering ordering a bottle of the most expensive scotch on the menu and spending the rest of the evening and well into the night drinking himself into a stupor. Anything to numb the mental anguish; relieve the heaviness that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him. And while under normal circumstances he’d be obsessing over every little detail of a job and repeatedly running through every possible scenario, his brain has settled in a far different place. Not a single shred of the job and the circumstances surrounding it matter; the neatly typed and extremely well organized ‘mission notes’ Nik had slipped under his hotel room door simply tossed aside. Instead, he finds himself obsessed with the events of five years ago; replaying every second, every word, every movement he’d made on that very last day. Looking for any mistake that he could have made something; even something tiny and innocuous that could have sent her running.
And he dwells on the loneliness and the worry and the anger; the emotions that have plagued him and driven him since the day she left. And they accompany him to where he is today. At this very moment. Sitting in the dimly lit lounge at The Continental; ignoring the chattering of the patrons around him as he uses a fork to push the remains of a steak dinner around his plate . And while the establishment’s food is second to none and he has vivid recollections of the meals he’d been served during his handful of stays, he doesn’t recall tasting a single bite. His body and brain both running on auto-pilot; knowing that they needed to function together to silence the grumbling in his stomach and keep his strength.
While never a social butterfly and in no means in the mood for mindless chit-chat or the mere company of a stranger, he’d forced himself to leave his hotel room; the silence deafening and the loneliness almost physically painful. Anxiety had quickly settled in; tightening his shoulders and creating a pounding in his temples and at the base of his skull. Quickly finding it impossible to sit still; feeling as if the four walls were closing in around him and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t escape.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
The pretty little bartender breaks away from her other customers and steps in front of him. Abbie…Addie…something like that. She’s young and vibrant and extremely confident; not above being brazenly flirty and suggestive with her comments. And she’d be attractive enough IF he was even remotely interested. Tall and leggy, with near coal black hair that shimmers under the lights behind the bar; her willowy body on full display in a simple, figure-hugging black dress. Intricate and colourful tattoos cover both arms and piercings decorate her face; a silver hoop that travels through the middle of her bottom lip and a diamond stud that sparkles from its resting place on her left nostril. And she’s been making flirtatious small talk since he arrived; finding the place packed and having to settle for the last seat at the bar.
The corner of his mouth turns up; the beginnings of a smirk. “Believe me, even that’s overcharging for what’s going on in my head.”
“Rough day?”
“More like a rough five years.”
“Sounds ominous. If you’re looking for someone to unload on…”
“Actually, I prefer my bartender and my therapist to be two different people.”
Long past caring whose feathers he ruffles, he’s infamous for being brutal and unapologetically honest. He isn’t looking to impress; he has no interest in impressing women in hopes of filling his bed with a warm body. He’d indulged in too much of that in the past five years; avoiding the booze and the pain meds and instead returning to a less harmful vice. Never sure exactly what he was looking for; whether it be a temporary -and purely physical- cure for the loneliness or something more serious. His heart hadn’t really been invested in either; cold and callous with the women he bedded and never bothered to contact again. Until he’d taken the chance with Delaney; finding a brief glimmer of contentment until she started coming on way too strong. He doesn’t see himself ever settling down with her; taking it as a sign when her mere presence after her first night at his place had only bored and irritated him.
“Not much of a bartender if I’m not pouring drinks, am I? There must be something else I can get you. Ice water can only bring so much enjoyment.”
“I don’t drink. I told you that when I sat down.”
“Everyone needs to unwind. Especially you, by the sounds of it. Seems like you have a lot on your plate. And if a drink helps loosen the lips just a little…”
“I’m an alcoholic.” There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Not that he’s known for his subtlety. He’d learned in rehab that part of fixing your problem was admitting to yourself -and others- that you had one to start with. And if there is anything in his life that he’s proud of, it’s the fact he’s managed to stay sober; proof that the anger and the heartache and loneliness that had followed Esme’s departure hadn’t completely ruined him.
“Putting yourself through some kind of test?” Addie lightly teases. “Takes a strong man to be able to stare his demons in the face like this.”
“I didn’t have much choice, did I. There was no other place to sit.”
She leans back against shelves of booze behind her; arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him in bemusement. “Not much of a social butterfly, are you.”
“Maybe I’m just a certified asshole. Born and raised.”
“Something tells me that’s just a cover. For who you really are. Outside of this crazy fucking world we’re both tied up in. A lot of people are completely different in their personal lives than when they’re here. Maybe it’s a way of protecting themselves; a form of self-perseverance. This kind of life can really drag you down. Even break you. Only choice sometimes is to put up those walls to keep people out.”
“This kind of life doesn’t exactly let you get close to someone. Doesn’t let you have anything normal. Believe me, I tried. And it was an epic fucking disaster.”
“Someone broke your heart.”
“Yeah, just a little.”
“Well if I may be so bold…”
“I’d rather you weren’t.”
“…but it’s definitely her loss.”
He wants to tell her just how wrong she is. That he’d always been one with the most to lose. Esme had brought a much-needed brightness; easily breaking through his tough exterior and shining light on those dark and abandoned recesses deep inside of him. She had reminded him that he was still very much alive and that there was still a lot out there for him to experience; sunsets to marvel over and meals to cook and enjoy together, and the touch and love of someone that adored him. For years he’d been walking around in a state of numbness; caused by immense grief, guilt, and regret and further aided by the booze and the alcohol. And she’d wandered into his life and turned it completely upside down. Peeling away all those protective layers and exposing the long-buried humanity that still existed inside of him.
In the end, he’d lost a hell of a lot. His most loyal confidant and fervent supporter. His best friend and his lover. The sole reason that he’d kept going during those extremely difficult days following Dhaka; the months in the hospital, the long and extremely painful recovery once returning home, and the struggle to get clean and sober and STAY that way. With her, he’d found that he enjoyed being domestic; having someone to take care of and provide for and share his days with. And he thrived on the companionship; the cooking together and the meals shared and the intimacy they’d indulged in. And even the quiet times of just hanging out; at opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap as she read a book and busied himself on his laptop. It was comfortable. Normal. An existence he never thought he’d have the chance to lead.
And then just like that, it was all gone.
His head pounds. A mixture of jet lag, hunger, and the million and one thoughts running through it. It’s all so fucking complicated; Esme’s reasonings for both disappearing and keeping Millie a secret for four year years. He wants to believe her; that she left in order to protect him from a brutal and painful demise. But his brain has a hard time accepting that explanation; refusing to believe that she’d managed to get herself mixed up with something THAT dangerous. And in turn, it’s only created a new host of questions he desperately needs and wants answers for.
Addie refills his ice water and leans stomach first against the bar; forearms resting atop the gleaming wood, hands clasped together. “How’d a guy like you end up here, anyway?”
“Same way everyone else ends up here. I kill people. For money.”
“I meant in general. In this business. You just don’t seem the type; that would get their kicks out of brutalizing someone. You’re not like everyone else; walking around here with a huge chip on your shoulder. And you definitely don’t care about what people think about you. I can’t remember the last time someone walked in here in jeans and a t-shirt. If anyone ever has.”
“I’m not here to impress anyone. Or to make friends. I’m here to do a job. And if people don’t like what they see, they can just look away. No skin off my ass.”
She gives a sly smile. “Maybe THEY don’t like what they see, but I know I do.”
He longs to tell her that it’s a lost cause; he isn’t even remotely interested and she’s only wasting her time. It’s been a hell of a day and it isn’t even close to being over with; the impending conversation with Esme sitting heavily upon his shoulders. He’s dreading it; wanting to hear the truth and the apologies but not prepared for all of the emotion -on both sides- that will be involved. In a perfect world, they’d just go back to where they were. Able to simply enjoy the reunion and getting to know one another again; reconnecting AND then rebuilding upon that foundation Dhaka had laid beneath their feet.
Instead, he bites his tongue. “I’m flattered. And forgive me for sounding like a total prick, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not interested. I’m not here to get my dick wet. I’m here to do a job. And besides, I learned a long time ago what a huge mistake it is; mixing business with pleasure.”
“For what it’s worth,” She trails a fingernail along the top of his hand; passing over each misshapen knuckle and scar. “I’ve never had a complaint.”
“Listen…” A slow, charming grin spreads across his face as he leans forward; giving the woman a glimmer of hope as his hand comes to rest atop hers. And then his eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist and his voice becoming deeper and menacing. “...I’m going to have a complaint if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”
She blinks and recoils the vehemence in his tone; lips pursed tightly together as she yanks her hand out from under his. Not giving a brief glance over her shoulder as she retreats to the opposite end of the bar.
Smirking, he raises the ice water to his lips; pausing when a strong yet friendly hand squeezes his shoulder in greeting. And is quickly followed by a familiar voice.
“I see you’re still trying your best to charm the locals. It’s nice to see some things never really do change.”
He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’m just a regular ball of sunshine.”
“Tyler.”
“John.”
Wick gestures to the now empty barstool beside him. “You expecting someone or…?”
“Who wants to hang out with a miserable asshole?”
“Well you know what they say; misery loves company. May I?”
Nodding, Tyler pushes the half-eaten plate of food and the empty glass across the bar, signalling he’s done. Until the afternoon, he hadn’t seen or worked with Wick in years; a high profile -and even more high paying- job that had marked his first -and only- North American gig. From what he’s heard, the man’s been through hell; dragged back and forth into the life through no fault of his own. Dealing with the lingering grief and loneliness following the death of his wife while battling with The High Table; a war that had seen him emerge victorious but with a dozen more scars added to his collection. The stories of Baba Yaga aside, Tyler has always respected the man; a freakishly skilled and enormously successful hitman still grasping desperately to the last remaining shreds of humanity. He’d been relieved when he’d heard Wick had not only been involved in saving Esme and Millie from certain death, but that he’d agreed to stay on board until they were safely out of the country. And offering his further services if Tyler felt he needed them.
Wick offers an appreciative yet tired smile at the bartender that approaches; a glass of bourdon wordlessly placed in front of him. “And another for my friend here. Whatever he’s having. Scotch, right?”
“Ice water. But you’ve got a damn good memory.”
“I’m not usually one for drinking buddies, but I do remember that last job we worked together. When was that? Seven, eight years ago?”
“About that.”
“No one forgets when someone successfully drinks them under the table. Two nights in a row. Always heard the stories about Aussies loving their booze, but…” Taking a swig of bourbon, he winces and lets out a low growl as that first swallow burns going down. “When’d you quit?”
“Almost six years ago.”
“What made you decide to give it up? Liver finally pleading for mercy?”
“Being in a medically induced coma for a couple of months had its hand in things. But I probably would have gotten out of the hospital and gone right back to it though; drank myself to death sooner or later. But honestly, I quit for the same reason you left this life.”
“That’ll do it. You meet that one and…” His voice trails off. The memory of his wife is just as powerful and intense as the day she passed the mere mention of her still bringing about the heartache. It’s a tremendous loss that he’ll never be quite over; destined to live the rest of his life wracked with grief and emptiness.
“Guess we finally have a few more things in common,” Tyler muses. “Job’s not the only thing anymore. Whoever said ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’ was a dirty ass fucking liar.”
“I don’t know about that. As much as it still hurts, I wouldn’t go back and change things. Even if I went into it knowing how quickly I’d lose her, I’d still give everything up for Helen. Even if I knew how short the time would be, I’d still try my hand at a normal life. I’d still pick her over everything…and everyone…else.”
“That’s all of a lot of a pain to go through.”
“It is. But the life I DID get with her? The good times? I wouldn’t trade those in for anything. And I think once you get a chance to really digest things and think them through, you’ll be saying the same thing about Esme.”
Tyler WANTS to believe that. It’s not as if the feelings no longer exist; he’s remained hopelessly and desperately in love with her throughout the years they’d been apart. Feeling just how strong it actually was when that separation had finally ended; face to face with one another in the midst of all the lingering sorrow and hurt and anger. It’s love and it’s adoration and immense relief; seeing her alive and well, albeit a little banged up. And while he still wants and needs an explanation for both her disappearance and keeping Millie a secret, the anger isn’t quite as potent now. Seeing her had taken a lot of the edge off; peeling away some of the worry and bitterness.
“You’re lucky though,” Wick says. “Esme’s here. Alive and well. Back in your life. And it’s happened for a reason. Me? I lost Helen permanently. There is no second chance for us.”
“What makes you think I’d even want one? After what went down? What…?”
“If you sit here and tell me you don’t still love her and want a life with her, then you’re the dirty fucking liar.”
“She left. It wasn’t the other way around. Just took off while I was doing shit at our new place. That we bought TOGETHER. I came home and she was gone. Never even bothered to tell me she was leaving. No face-to-face chat, no phone call, not even a goddamn text or an email. You know what I got? I got an ‘I’m sorry’ written on a piece of paper, left in the middle of the kitchen table.”
“And what you got NOW is an opportunity. To be with her again. I know it sucked; I know it probably hurt like hell. But she is right here…under the same roof as you…and you’ve got the chance to make things right. To get past all that shit and be with her. You really going to turn your back on that?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? That it never went down the way it did? I’m pissed. And it isn’t just bad enough that she left the way she did. I come here and find out I have a kid. That she kept from me. I’ve missed four years of her life. And I can’t get those years back.”
“And no one is saying you don’t have the right to be. Be pissed. Be hurt. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let all that negative shit get in the way of patching things up. And if you don’t do it for yourself or her, do it for your little girl. Because she deserves to know her dad. Have him in her life. Are you really going to walk away from that? A chance to know her and raise her? Yeah, you missed four years. And that fucking stinks. But Tyler, if you play your cards right, you’ve got four decades AT LEAST to fill.”
“Do you know why? Esme left? I know that you guys were…friendly…when she used to live here. That she’s the one who introduced you to your wife. Do you have any idea why she took off?”
Downing the last of the bourbon, he holds aloft the empty glass, signalling for another. “I do. But it’s not my place to tell you. If that were the case, I would have gotten in contact with you five years ago. But it’s not up to me to make things right. Sort shit out between the two of you. It’s her story to tell and it’s up to you to listen to her.”
“I just want to know what’s true and what isn’t. I’m not asking for details. I just need that answered. If what she told is true. The main reason why she left. I spent five years thinking the worst. That either she either left me for someone else…”
“That was NOT it. That’s not even close to what happened.”
“...or that someone came and grabbed her. Kept her for a bit and did all kinds of sick shit to her and THEN killed her. You know what that’s like? Wondering if that’s what happened? For FIVE YEARS What it’s like to think ‘I’d rather she be dead with someone else’. I actually thought that. And it’s fucked me up. For a long time.”
“What has she told you?”
“Something from her past caught up to her. People that she crossed. And that they didn’t give her much of a choice. She had to either do what they said, or they’d come back and fuck shit up. Said she left in order to protect me. That I would have survived.”
“You wouldn’t have. Not many people cross their paths and live to tell about it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you who they were or what they wanted or what Esme did. All of that is up to her. But I will tell you that she did the right thing. For both of you.”
“She couldn’t have at least told me? What was going on? Why she was leaving? Or let me know she was safe?”
“Would that have been enough? Or would you have tracked her down? Attempted to play white knight?”
Sighing, Tyler looks down at his glass; brow furrowed as he absentmindedly swirls the ice around.
“Exactly. You would have gone after her and everything she feared would have come true. She did the right thing, Tyler. As much as it hurts and as angry as you are, she really did have your best interests at heart.”
“And you’d just be able to get over it? If someone did that to you?”
“It would hurt like hell and I’d be pissed, but yeah, I’d be able to get over it. Once I calmed down to actually hear them out, I’d realize they did what they did because they loved me. And that’s exactly why she left. Because she DID love you. She still does.”
“Hard to believe that when she was just engaged to someone else a few days ago.” It had hurt like hell hearing THAT detail during the team meeting; a mixture of jealousy and bitterness and pure and utter rage that continued to gnaw at his stomach. He had the thought of it; another man being given the privilege of holding her and kissing her and making love to her.
“That was nothing but part of the job. She was never going to marry him. As soon as she got what was needed and Nik was ready to make your move, she was going to just grab and take off. Don’t think for one second she actually loved that guy. He was a ‘mark’. Nothing more, nothing less.”
They lapse into silence; nursing their drinks and waving off the bartender when he approaches to offer another round.
“Hell of a thing we got ourselves into,” Wick comments. “Trouble always seems to find us, huh?”
“You know what they say; about how you’re never really free of this life. It follows you. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Years could go by and you’re thinking you’re free and clear of it and something comes up. Someone calling in a favour, some asshole looking for revenge. The shit finds you. One way or another.”
“You know I’ve walked away three times now? “And each time I told myself it was the last. That I was retired. And nothing or no one could change that. But…”
“Here you are.”
“Yeah…” Wick scoffs. “...here I am. Heard you quit for a bit. Tried your hand at a regular life. Firefighting, was it?”
“Been doing that full-time for the last couple of years. And I run a little business of my own; home renovations, landscaping, masonry stuff. Got enough going on back home to keep me busy. But like I said, you never really leave the life behind. It’s always got a hold on you. No matter how hard you try to let it go.”
“I think it’s safe to say this is the one time you’re probably okay with trouble showing its face. Esme, the kid…”
“Not what I thought I was walking into, I’ll tell you that much. I went into this totally blind. Nik wasn’t too forthcoming with the info when she called me. Made up some bullshit excuse about not being on a secure line. Just told me a client was pretty insistent on hiring for a job.”
“And now here YOU are.”
Tyler nods. “It’s all been a little…surprising…to say the least.”
“Finding out the client was Esme or the fact you have a kid?”
“Both. Before all of this, her leaving seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened. Then I found out she kept my daughter from me. I think a secret baby trumps everything else.”
“She had her reasons. Just remember that. Give her a chance. To explain things. Don’t let your pride fuck things up. I know that’s easier said than done sometimes, but…”
His phone vibrates against the top of the bar, signalling an incoming text message. And he’s relieved to find that instead of Delaney ranting and raving about him ‘dropping off the face of the earth’, it’s Esme asking if they can talk after Millie has fallen asleep. Able to leave her in the care and protection of Abeula and Nik and visit him in his room or wherever he feels comfortable meeting. It makes him feel like a teenager again; the excitement and nervousness that comes with knowing you’re going to be totally alone with the prettiest girl in school. And he sends back a quick confirmation and his room number, then once more sets the phone on top of the bar, screen down.
Wick smirks. “I recognize that look. Definitely good news.”
“Could be the START of something good. Guess it depends on how things go. When we talk about everything.”
“Just try and keep the pride and the temper in check. I know it’s a shitty situation; her taking off and flying under the radar for years and keeping your kid from you. But she’s got very legitimate reasons. Understandable ones. Just try to keep an open mind. And ear.”
“This isn’t the way I thought it would go. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever really optimistic. About one day seeing her again. So for it to go down like this? Because of a job? Definitely not what I would have imagined.”
“Isn’t that how you first met? Maybe it’s the pattern. What’s the saying? Things come in threes?”
“Don’t wish that on me. I don’t think I have another job like Dhaka in me. I’m just hoping this one doesn’t go down that same road. Organized crime? Mafia style? I’m a little too old for that shit.”
“Aren’t we both.” Standing, he pulls two gold coins from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and lays them on the bar. “My treat,” he says, and then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Remember what I said; about going in there with an open mind. She DID have a good reason for doing what she did. And if you feel yourself losing control, think of that little girl. And how many years you’ve got left with her.”
“Open mind. Optimistic. Got ya.”
“It’ll all work out, Tyler. Don’t fuck this up. You’ve got a second chance. And believe me, I’d do anything for even one more day…one more second…with my wife.”
*******
“Momma?”
They sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed; Millie between Esme’s outstretched legs as she gets her hair detangled and then braided before bed. She has her father’s hair. Dirty blond and impossibly thick; wild and unruly with a mind all its own. She can easily recall many mornings when he’d stumble out of bed or wake from a nap; grumpy and in desperate need of coffee, those longer strands on the top of his head sticking up in several different directions. He’d feign annoyance when she’d lovingly tease him about how adorable he was; murmuring about how he was supposed to be ruthless and badass and if word ever got about how this supposed ‘cute side’, it would do serious damage to his reputation.
While she misses every aspect of that simple and quiet life with him in Australia, sometimes it’s the absence of those little moments that are the most heartbreaking. The companionship that accompanied the intense and nearly all-consuming want and need. Dinners prepared together and enjoyed out on the front porch, the affectionate teasing and light-hearted banter that was frequently exchanged, the long, deep conversations that took place in the dead of the night. And those moments of intimacy in its softest and purest form. The way he’d approach her in the kitchen while she made something to eat; a hand on her stomach as he nuzzled that sensitive spot just below her right ear. How -during the harder days when the trauma of Dhaka became too much for her to bear- he’d envelop her in strong powerful arms and hold as tight as her body would tolerate; one palm moving in slow, soothing circles in the middle of her back. She’d always find herself instantly comforted; her anxious and tortured mind put to ease by his familiar smell and the warmth radiating from his body and the way his voice rumbled deep within his chest.
“What’s up, sweet pea?”
“Why do we have to leave? Why can’t we just stay here? In New York.”
“Because it’s safer if we go somewhere else. Away from the bad guys. “
“But we’re safe HERE. With Charon and Grandpa Winston. The bad guys aren’t allowed to come here. So why can’t we just stay? Until the bad guys go away?”
“Because this place has rules. About who can stay here and for how long.”
“Whose rules?”
“The boss’.”
“Grandpa Winston IS the boss. He’s kicking us out?!”
“HIS boss. Who he has to listen to or he’ll get into big trouble and then not be allowed to run this place anymore. Everyone that is in charge of something or someone, has people that are in charge of THEM. That they have to answer to. Grandpa Winston may be the boss, but he also has his own boss.”
“Hmmm…” Millie tilts her head to the side; eyes narrowed as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “You know what, mom? I don’t think I EVER want to be an adult. It’s too stressful. I don’t want a boss. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. Especially some man.”
“I tell you what to do.”
“That’s different. I’m just a little kid still. And you’re my momma. Mommas are supposed to tell kids what they can and can’t do. And we’re supposed to listen. I know sometimes I don’t. But I try. I really do. I WANT to be good, just sometimes…”
“You are always good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can be a little difficult and challenging sometimes, but you’re never bad. You’re stubborn and high-spirited and…”
“Alessio thought I was bad. He said that I talk too much and make too much noise and that I’m mouthy. He even said I was naughty. Tons of times.”
“He had no idea what he was talking about. You’re four. Not eighty-four. You’re supposed to be loud and rambunctious. You’re learning about the world. How are you supposed to do that without bouncing all over the place and asking all kinds of questions?”
“I didn’t like him very much, you know.”
“Oh, I know. You never wasted a chance to tell me.”
“He wasn’t really going to be my dad, right? You weren’t REALLY going to marry, were you?”
“No. To both.”
“Because he is so not good enough for you.”
Grinning, Esme sprays the last section of hair with detangler and then works the comb through it. “Something tells me you’d say that anyone that got too close.”
“Only if they’re not the right guy for you. And mom, Alession was NOT it.”
“He wasn’t, was he? You sure seem to know a lot about guys and relationships and commitment for someone who won’t even use the same lunch box two years in a row.”
“I just know you deserve better. He wasn’t very nice to you. He bossed you around. Or at least he tried to. You deserve someone that’s going to treat you right. Like the queen you are!”
Esme laughs. “You’ve been watching Oprah with Abeula, haven’t you.”
“And I wouldn’t say that about EVERY guy; that he isn’t good enough for you. Just when he’s not. And he wasn't. He was mean sometimes. He would call you stupid and stuff and then buy you things to make it all better. And he threw out my sandals! My favourite ones!”
“And I was quick to put him in his place about that, wasn’t I? Don’t you EVER worry about that. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. And I WILL go momma bear on their ass.”
“You should have dumped him. There’s a lot of fish in the sea. Really good ones, too. You deserve someone good, mom. Someone that will take care of you. Who won’t look at other girls and call them pretty and stuff. And who won’t throw out of my shoes.”
“No one else will EVER do that again, I promise.”
“You know who seems really nice? Like he’d treat you right? Tyler.”
“You just met him. You talked to him for all of five minutes. And you could tell what kind of guy he is?”
“I mean, he’s here to help with the bad guys. How awful could he be?”
“He’s not awful. At all. Far from it, actually. But you hardly know him and…”
“I know enough. I know he’s big and strong and the bad guys don’t stand a chance against him. And I know his favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip! Just like me! What more is there to know?”
“A lot of things.” Esme busies herself with the final braid. “But you’ll have a lot of time to get to know him better. While he’s keeping an eye on us.”
“I might annoy him. Alessio always complained I talked too much and asked way too many questions.”
“Something tells me that Tyler will enjoy it. That he won’t mind one bit. He might not say a lot in return, but…”
“How long have you known him?” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she wiggles her toes; giggling as the glow from the bedside lamp causes the glitter in her bright pink nail polish to sparkle. “How long has he been your friend?”
“I’ve known him for a while. Since before you were born.”
“How long before?”
“A year. And a bit.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Through work. Auntie Nik introduced us. Paired us up on a job together.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
Esme hesitates. Both a lie and the truth have consequences; a time down the road when Millie will have even more questions. And anger will follow the answers; either furious that her mother had told a fib or that she’d kept her existence a secret and made her lose four years with her father.
“No. He wasn’t.” She feels sick. At both the denial of Tyler’s importance in her life and how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. “Just a friend. And a colleague.”
“If he’s a friend, how come I’ve never met him? I’ve met all your other friends. Auntie Nik and Uncle Yaz and Uncle John. And there’s Grandpa Winston and Charon! But I never met Tyler. How come?”
“Tyler lives far away.”
“How far away?”
“Thousands of miles.”
“Like in California?! Where all the movie stars are?!”
“No,” Esme laughs. “More like Australia. Which is an entirely different country.”
“I know where Australia is! It’s across the ocean. Right in the middle of it. It’s a big island. It’s where the kangaroos and koalas live. Does he get to see them a lot?! I bet he gets to see tons of kangas and koalas. He’s so lucky! I wish I could see them. Maybe we can go and visit! Maybe he’ll invite us. Do you think he will? Now that we’re besties?”
“I think if you were to tell him you’d love to go to Australia, he’d be more than happy to take you there. But you might not have to say ANYTHING. Or even wait that long to go. It might be where we end up. While Tyler is taking care of us.”
Giving an excited shriek, Millie claps her hands together and bounces up and down on her bum, then swivels around to look at her mom. “We’re going to his house?! In Australia?!”
“I didn’t say we were going there for sure. But…”
“We get to fly on a big airplane?! We get to see kangaroos and koalas?! Where does he live? Does he have a house? With a backyard I can play in? Maybe he has a pool! That way I can get a new bathing suit and we can go swimming and…”
“Whoa…whoa….” Laughing, she gathers Millie in her arms and settles her in her lap; the four-year-old giggling when her mom showers her cheeks with noisy kisses. “...I never said we were going for sure. Just that we MIGHT be. It’s on the list. Of places that Tyler could take us to and keep us safe and sound.”
“I want to go there! To Australia! To Tyler’s house! Can you tell him that, momma? Can you tell him I want to go there? That it would make me really, really, REALLY happy?”
“I can put in a good word, but I can’t promise anything. There are a lot of things we need to think about. When it comes to where we end up. Everyone just wants us to be safe. Keep the bad guys away. So there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be considered.”
“We’d be safe there! In Australia. At Tyler’s place. The bad guys would NEVER come there. He’s too big and too strong and I bet they’re really scared of him. I bet he makes them poo their pants! He doesn’t scare me though. I’m not afraid of him. Even if he is a giant!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him. Because there’s no absolutely no reason. He would never…EVER…do anything to hurt you. To hurt EITHER of us.”
“He just hurts bad people? ‘Cause they deserve it?”
“He hurts bad people in order to protect good people. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but sometimes he doesn’t have much of a choice. Because if he doesn’t do something first, they’ll hurt him. Or worse.”
“They might kill him?”
“They might. But he’s tough and he’s resilient and believe me, IF he gets knocked down? He always gets back up. It makes me happy that you’re not scared of him. I know he’s really big and he can look really serious and mean, but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.”
“Momma…” She tilts her head backwards, eyes narrowed. “...are you SURE Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend?”
“That’s twice you’ve talked about that. What makes you think he was my boyfriend?”
“Just the way your voice sounds when you talk about him. Every time you say his name, you sound weird. Not in a bad way. Just a different way. And I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. When I came back from swimming. Your eyes were all sparkly and stuff. You know how in
cartoons when a girl likes a boy, they get stars in their eyes? That’s what you looked like.”
“I think you’re imagining things.”
“You know what I think? I think you have a crush on Tyler. That maybe he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you wanted him to be. And you still do!”
“Amelia…”
“Mommy…”
“You are imagining things. Tyler was my friend. He still is. Nothing more, nothing less. And he’s here to help us, not form a love connection. He’s being paid. To take care of us. To make sure that the bad guys don’t try anything. There is definitely no romance on the horizon.”
“But there COULD be. If you let it happen. You just gotta tell him. That you have a crush on him. I bet if you tell him…”
“No one is telling anyone ANYTHING. Because it’s not true. There are no crushes.”
“I’m not buying it. I can tell. That you like him. And I think he likes you too. Someone has to make the first move, momma. Why can’t it be you?”
“There are no moves to be made, my sweet baby girl.”
“If you don’t tell him, I will! When we go on our ice cream date. I’ll tell him you have a big, fat crush on him! That you think he’s cute and that you like his big muscles and want to kiss him lots and lots and…” She shrieks when she feels her mother’s fingertips lightly dig into the sensitive area under her ribs; dissolving into laughter when she’s tickled mercilessly. Until she’s kicking and squirming and breathlessly pleading for Esme to stop.
“You… little miss…” The tip of her nose nuzzles each of her daughter’s cheeks. “...will do no such thing. Mind your own business, got it? Little girls do not need to meddle Come on….” She drops a kiss on the top of Millie’s head as she yawns. “...lights out time. It’s been a long, busy day for you. Four-year-old bodies can only take so much.”
“Can I stay in here tonight?” Millie hopefully inquires, remaining in the middle of the sea of blankets and sheets as her mother slides off the bed and begins tidying up. “Please? I promise I won’t hog the bed.”
“I still don’t understand how someone so small takes up so much room. What’s wrong with your bed? I thought you liked having all kinds of space to yourself?”
“I do. But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t remember ever being here and I get scared ‘cause I don’t see any of my stuff. And then I get even more scared because I worry I won’t be able to see YOU either. And that makes me really sad.”
“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?”
“What if you’re not here? What if you left? ‘Cause the bad guys came? What…?”
“Millie…” Approaching the bed, she takes the little one’s face in her hands and tilts her head up to look at her. “...I would never…EVER…leave you. There is not anyone in this world that’s bad enough to make me ever do something like that.”
“What if they took you? What if they took you away? I wouldn’t be able to find you. Not by myself.”
“Nothing like that is ever going to happen. Not a chance. I promise you that…”
“There’s always a chance. Always. What if it happens, momma? What if someone takes you away?”
“IF something like that happened, there’d be a lot of people looking for me. Auntie Nik, Uncle John, Uncle Yaz. So many people.”
“I’d get Tyler to help. Because he’s big and strong and the bad guys would be really scared of him. He’d be able to find you. And rescue you. I know he would.”
“I know he would too. If there’s anyone in this world that could do the impossible, it’s him. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.” (
She thinks of Dhaka. Those initial five days and the carnage on the bridge. Of the smell of spilled gasoline, gunpowder and blood and moans and shrieks and wails of dying men. Of the feel of Tyler’s pulse when she put two fingers inside the bullet hole in the side of his neck; tears streaming down dirty, bruised cheeks as she desperately fought to keep him alive. And that long battle afterwards; the months by his bedside and all of the horrible prognosis’ and the incessant arguing with doctors in order to secure him the care that he deserved. Somehow, he had pulled through all of that; one foot firmly planted firmly over the threshold of death the entire time.)
“Promise me you won’t leave?” Mille whimpers. “Even if the bad guys come? Promise you won’t leave without me?”
“I would never go ANYWHERE without you, Amelia.” She uses the pads of her thumbs to clear away her daughter’s wayward tears. “We’re a team. A package deal. Where I go, you go. And nothing or no one can change that.”
“Ever?”
“Ever. And I know it was scary. What happened the other night. You saw and heard things you never should have had to. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through that. And I’d go back and change so many things if I could.”
“It’s not your fault, momma. That the bad guys showed up.”
“It may have been. Just a little. And I am so sorry, Millie. That I may have done things that ended up hurting you. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I would never…ever…hurt you.”
“I know you wouldn’t. ‘Cause I’m your baby.”
“You are. And you always will be.”
“Can I? Stay in here tonight? I just want to be close to you, that’s all. I feel better when I am.”
“I’d never say no to my favourite snuggle buddy. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Until you’re almost asleep?”
With a nod and a sniffle, Millie slides over in order to give her mother access to the bed; Esme stretching out beside her and wrapping both arms around the four-year-old’s body. Her chin resting on her daughter’s head; eyes closed as the fingertips of one hand draw slow, methodical patterns on the little one’s back. Finding herself relaxed in the warmth of Millie’s body and the familiar scent that clings to her hair; the same milk, coconut, and honey shampoo that she herself has been using for years.
The one Tyler had claimed to love so much; that smell being one of the things that somehow managed to comfort him during those difficult and painful days in the hospital and then on the long road to healing. Her chest and throat both tighten as she thinks of him. Of those long and painful seconds on the bridge; the pure terror that filled every inch of her body as she watched him teeter so close to death. Those months at his bedside; stroking his hair and holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement and strength and hope in his ear. And all of the pleading she did during her lowest moments; urging him to keep fighting and to give her some kind of sign that he could hear her and knew that she was there.
Begging him to find a way…no matter what it took…to let her know that everything would be okay.
#Tyler and Esme series#Tyler Rake#Extraction#Tyler Rake fan fiction#Extraction fan fiction#Chris Hemsworth#Chris Hemsworth Extraction#Rake Lives#Tyler Rake fan fic#Extraction fan fic#Tyler Rake x OFC
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Creams And Comfort
Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader
Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night to a loud noise, only to find Bucky standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hating the marks on his body
Words: 870
Warnings: insecure Bucky, self hate, scars, sad Bucky feels, comfort fic, body positivity, fluffy end
A/N: I think scars are beautiful and something you shouldn't have to hide, but it's up to you if you wanna use the scar removal or hiding techniques. This is a hate free and no judgement zone.
Beta'd by the lovely @give-me-a-moose <3 //repost of my own cause Tumblr deleted it // dividers by @firefly-graphics // hope you like it Xx
Main Masterlist • Marvel Masterlist
You try to quickly gauge the situation as you glance at the tiled floor, various bottles of lotions and oils you didn’t know you had are littered around like they were angrily tossed down and you guess that it must’ve been the sound that woke you up.
You spot ‘Scar Removal Cream’ on one of the labels and then another, and now you have an inkling of what’s happening.
You’re thankful, for the sound roused you at the time that your husband needs you the most. These are the darkest hours that none of the superhero movies, or comics warn you about, times when these heroes are at their lowest.
Taking a tentative step forward, you wait for him to give you a sign that he doesn’t want you close, but when he doesn’t move, his neck still bent downwards, you advance until you’re standing right behind him.
You gingerly place your hand on a patch of unblemished skin, feeling his taut muscles relax just so slightly at your touch as he tries grounding himself, fast, shallow breaths turning into slower, deeper ones.
Once you’ve made sure that he is calmer, you place your other hand on his bare back parallel to the first before moving them upwards to his neck and then slowly start descending again, this time taking a moment to feel the marred skin beneath your hands and your lips follow after them, pecking his skin lightly.
“I love your wit, your bravery, how you take care of everyone you love, including me and Steve too, even if he isn’t the tiny guy anymore.”
A sigh escapes his lips as he turns to face you, eyes still not meeting yours as you take the front of his body in. The area around the scars looks more sensitive and red since he could easily reach there and scratch, but the skin where his bionic arm meets his shoulder is a whole different story.
You take his hands in yours, guiding him to your bed and make him sit at the edge before you leave him to get the emergency kit to pull out a calamine ointment then going back to Bucky to kneel in front of him.
“You know, I love your body too.” You say as you put some ointment on your fingertips to apply the cool mixture on him. “I love how gracefully it moves while you’re on a mission, how you slump slightly when we’re in the Compound.”
Bucky winces when you come across a particularly tender area at his side and you stop for a moment until he nods as a gesture to continue.
“I love how much softer your skin feels now rather than just muscles, how healthier you look ever since you joined the Avengers.”
You now move to his left arm, gently spreading the ointment as he grits his teeth, “But I’m broken. Hell, Steve’s injuries don’t leave scars.” Bucky murmurs, and you lightly rub the last of the gel on your fingers before taking his face in your hands to make him look directly in your eyes.
“I love you as you are. If you feel like you’re broken, let me be there to help you pick up the pieces again. The scars are Hydra’s failure in duplicating the serum, not yours. They show how you’re capable of standing up again even after falling down hard.”
Your husband smiles for the first time tonight and you graze his cheek with the back of your hand before pulling him to you to kiss him as his hands encircle your waist.
“I didn’t know we had so many things for scar removal stashed.” You bite your bottom lip as you tease him when you pull away.
“Bought them last month. I wanted to try them one by one but didn’t work for me.” He says as his thumb draws circles on your back. “Wanna help me throw them out?”
“Of course,” You start, your tone light as your heart beats a little faster with what you’re gonna say, “But what if the scars are on me, would you love me less?”
His eyes widen as he starts checking you for any injuries. “What? No! Are you hurt?”
You stop him by holding his hands with a nervous smile, “I’m not hurt, but I may get stretch marks approximately after seven and a half months.”
His mouth falls open in surprise before he’s picking you up and whirls you fast before you can even understand what’s happening and you’re screaming at him to put him down.
Bucky slows down and then he’s laying you on the bed before he carefully climbs on top of you, and then, he caresses your stomach delicately, looking at you as if he can’t believe his eyes.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I’d love to hear what you think of it! Please like, reblog and comment to let me know Xx
Wanna read more of my works? Check out the masterlist linked at the top!
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#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader#bucky#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky fluff#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky fic#bucky imagine#bucky barns x reader#bucky barns x you#bucky barnes fluff#james barnes#Sebastian stan x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you angst#winter soldier x reader#winter soldier x you
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Cigarette Smoke
for the request: top carol/reader smut? Thank youuu
Summary: Carol needs to get out of the house and asks you to come along.
Characters: Carol Aird x fem!reader
Word Count: 2,579
Warnings: smut smut top!Carol you’ve been warned (you’re the babysitter... again.. and things happen, plus at this point the Airds have divorced~)
You watched as cigarette smoke curled around her head. She had the newspaper spread over her lap and a cup of tea in the other hand. Inhaling deeply, the end of the cigarette lit up brightly, and you could smell the smoke where you were sitting, cradling your own cup of tea.
Harge had picked up Rindy half an hour ago, and Carol had immediately rung you to come by, before the silence could get to her.
You were no longer the babysitter- they didn’t seem to need you anymore now that they worked with two separate schedules, and so Florence would watch over Rindy when needed.
But Carol stayed in touch; she called, asked about your job endeavours, interested in your life. And she would tell you about her ideas; things she wanted to do and see, but never initiated plans to go through with it. She was stuck, and you didn’t know if you knew how to pull her free.
“Just going for the shopping, ma’am,” Florence announced as she headed out the door. You didn’t know if it was just because you were here, but her voice and demeanour were always very tight and constrained around you, like she didn’t approve of something that you couldn’t put your finger on.
Carol let out a shuddering sigh as soon as the door shut behind Florence, grey smoke blowing out from her red-painted lips. Her eyes finally lifted up and met your own as you sipped your tea.
“Would you like to go for a ride?” she asked, nonchalantly, as she put out her cigarette in the ashtray.
“Where?” you asked.
“Anywhere you’d like,” she said, folding the newspaper neatly. “I need some fresh air.”
You didn’t see any reason why not, so you got up as she went to slip on some shoes, grabbing a lightweight coat overtop her cream blouse.
Carol pulled out of the driveway in the Packard with graceful ease, and you sank back in the passenger seat as you watched the landscape go by.
Once in the city, Carol bought Rindy a new toy, and you got milkshakes at a small diner. She was awfully quiet, you noticed, and she popped the candied cherry in her mouth as her eyes glazed over like she was somewhere completely different.
“Carol...” you said, reaching over to hold her hand. The physical touch seemed to jolt her out of her zone and she looked at you like she saw you for the first time that day.
“Oh.. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she sighed, “I haven’t been very sociable, have I?”
“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” you said, squeezing her fingers, realizing her ring finger was missing a familiar golden band.
“No, no, goodness, please forgive me,” she said, shaking her head. “Now tell me, what’s new with you?”
You smiled, and chatted for a bit as you finished your milkshake. Carol ordered some sandwiches and fries while you kept talking, and you were so enamoured by watching her eat -you had only ever seen her use cutlery, and here she was, licking the salt from her fingers and munching down on finger food- that you didn’t notice the time passing by so quickly.
Carol talked about some redecoration ideas for the house, recent drama in her high-class friend group, and how fast Rindy seemed to be growing when she wasn’t home.
“I would love to come by sometime when you have Rindy again,” you offered,
“Oh- I wouldn’t be able to pay you, darling.”
“No, not as a job. I just wanted to say hi to her again,” you smiled, “no fee. I’ve just missed her, that’s all.”
Carol seemed a bit startled, surprised by your interest in her and her daughter, but then that bloomed into a sweet, familiar smile, and you enjoyed the way she reached over and squeezed your hand this time.
“Oh, dear, look at the time,” she realized, “I should get you home.”
“I could just get a cab...” you began, but she was already waving her hand in dismissal.
“No, no. I asked you here, drove you around, forced you to go out in public with me. The least I can do is drive you home.”
You blushed, and waited patiently as she paid. It seemed so natural, to get up and help her get her arm in one of her tricky coat sleeves, and follow her out to the car, and get inside and be swarmed by Carol’s perfume when you both shut the doors.
The drive back to your home went by far too fast. It was already dark by the time you pulled up to your place, and Carol took a moment to stop and look at you from the driver’s seat.
“Thank you for spending time with me, sweetheart,” she said softly, “I know I can be... difficult, especially with what’s been happening. With me, I mean. You’re a very sweet girl for coming when I called.”
“I will always come when you call,” you replied without hesitating. The blonde was startled again, looking at you in the dark, your eyes shining back at her.
The muscles in her neck tensed, like she was contemplating something. Almost like when her mind seemed to wander someplace else, but now it was fixed only on you. And then she relaxed- like she’d been defeated in some internal battle.
Your heart jumped at the change,1 and you were filled with sudden bravery. Then, you said,
“Carol. Turn off the car?”
Without a word, she followed your command, shrouding the both of you in complete silence and darkness. You could see her slightly in the light of a distant street lamp, and then you reached over and gently kissed her on the lips.
Her hands were still gripping the steering wheel so you pressed a little harder with your lips, tasting the waxiness of her lipstick. And then she inhaled sharply, before forcing your mouth open with her tongue, letting it slide along yours. One hand reached up to grasp your jaw, and she breathed you in.
You gasped into her mouth, feeling her touch like fire on your skin. You pulled away only to scoot over and push your door open. Then you whipped your head back to look at Carol and said, barely a whisper,
“Come inside?”
Carol stepped out the car before you even managed to get off your seat. While you were out in the open, she was respectable, holding her head high and smiling like any middle-class wealthy house-wife would. And then when the door shut behind you, she was on you, clawing at your clothes.
Her mouth tasted like cherries and cigarette, and you never realized a taste like that could be so intoxicating.
“Bed?” she asked, pulling at your shirt, and you led her to your bedroom, where she promptly pushed you down on the mattress, making you squeak in surprise.
You wormed you hands up underneath her shirt, making her shiver as you explored her smooth skin. Her skirt was too tight for her to straddle you properly and she cursed in a low voice before shimmying out of it.
Once free, you salivated at the sight of her stockings and underwear, and as she pulled the blouse over her head your face was right there to kiss her chest, hold her by the waist, and pull her closer.
“Oh, sweet girl,” she breathed. Her voice always got lower and raspier after she had a cigarette, which she did after the sandwiches at the diner. You mewled into her skin, feeling goosebumps break out over your body at her words.
She got you up on your knees to help you take off the rest of your own clothes, carefully peeling each piece off of you, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed.
“Do we have to be quiet, baby?” she whispered, cradling your face to look up at her. You thought for a moment, and reluctantly nodded. You weren’t sure what the neighbours would think if they heard anything, and definitely didn’t want to cross that line now.
“Well alright then,” she purred, pushing you back on the bed. She straddled you, settling down on you comfortably. You felt the searing heat coming from between her legs, and you squirmed.
“No moving,” she said, because her eyes were fluttering shut at the friction from you moving underneath her. You stilled, choosing to run your hands over the smoothness of her stockings instead.
She leaned down and pinned your arms above your head, rotating her hips seductively, keeping her eyes on your face and a smile on her lips. Her lipstick was already smudged, you noticed.
“I realize I should have asked this first, but.. are you alright with this?” she asked, her thumbs rubbing over the pulse points on your wrists.
“Y-yes, yes, of course,” you replied, looking at the way her curls were loosening and falling into her face.
“Good,” she grinned, and pressed a deep kiss to your mouth before moving down your neck, “because I have been thinking about this for a long time.”
She nipped at your collarbone and you squealed. One of her hands came down to press a finger to your lips.
“Shhhhh, baby. Quiet, remember?” she said. You gasped in response as her tongue ran down your breast, over your nipple, swirling around your belly button.
“F-fuck,” you hissed, grabbing at your pillows. Your body rose up again as she nuzzled you between your legs, right where you inner thigh met your pelvis. A tongue licked slowly up, collecting your wetness and sweat, and you shivered.
“Carol,” you whimpered, reaching down to grab her hair. Immediately, she pulled your hand away and held it tightly over your thigh. The demand was clear, no touching.
She lightly kissed your clit, and you bit your lower lip until you were sure it bled.
Then Carol pulled away and said,
“Best prepare yourself, baby girl. Don’t make a noise.”
Once she said that, you barely had a moment to register the words before her tongue and lips dove in, unforgiving and intense.
You gasped, almost crying out if you hadn’t caught yourself, the sound trapped in your throat. Your arms and legs shook as she held you down and attacked you.
It was deadly silent in your bedroom, the creaking of the bed and your heavy breaths the only audible sounds. You were whimpering, breathing in sharply through your nose to stop your voice from screaming at how she was working you up.
Then her hand let go of yours and a finger began rubbing around your opening, wetting the tip and pushing a finger in gently, but firmly.
“O-oh,” you sighed, which earned you a stilling of motion and a pointed look up through her lashes. You pressed your lips closed and willed yourself to stay quiet again.
Her finger curled inside you and pressed against a swollen spot that had you seeing stars.
“Let it happen,” she whispered, pulling away for a short moment. Her lips suckled at your clit, and when a second finger pressed and curled inside you, the ceiling above you was replaced by swirling colours and a sense of complete euphoria.
Your eyes were shut, trying to fill your lungs with air as you recovered from the intensity of your orgasm. Then Carol was there, kissing and licking along your neck. You wrapped your arms around her shoulders and pulled her as close as possible, wanting to take her in, wanting to feel her as deeply as possible.
“Good girl,” she cooed, lips brushing over your ear. The rumble of her voice made you keen, and your body heated up again instantly.
Your exploratory fingers ran down her body and pushed inside her underwear. You heard her squeal softly and chuckle as you lightly rubbed her, and she pulled back.
“Just a moment, dear,” she said, grasping your hand, “here. Let me just...”
She removed her underwear, and laid back on the bed. You pressed up against her side, burying your head in the crook of her neck.
“Wanna please you too,” you whimpered. Her hand ran soothingly over your back.
“Such a good girl,” she said, enjoying the way your body rolled against her again, “give me your hand, hm?”
She grabbed your hand, kissed your fingers, and then brought it down to her cunt. Her long legs spread a little more, and she guided your hand slowly.
“Press right here,” she breathed, holding your fingertips a little to the right of her clit, “and then rub a little- oh, yes.”
You followed her instructions as best you could, listening intently to the changes in her voice and breath.
“A little harder, sweetie,” she continued, and you added a bit more vigour, working your whole arm. Her hips bucked up, and you smiled victoriously.
She leaned over and nuzzled your neck, nearly distracting you from your job at hand.
“Would you like to go inside?” she asked, a slightly desperate lilt to her voice.
You nodded weakly, watching your fingers rub over the most sensitive part of her, entranced by her convulsing abdomen muscles, her legs and her inner thighs becoming slick.
“Go on then,” she encouraged. You looked over at her beaming eyes, encouraging and needy at the same time. You reached further down and ran a finger along her opening like she did with you.
“I’m more than ready, darling,” she gasped, “two will be fine.”
You grinned, finding humour in her nonchalance as if she was ordering another sandwich at a diner. But then when you rotated your fingers and began pressing against her silky inner walls, she gasped and shook all over.
She bit down on the palm of her hand to stop from being too loud as you picked up the pace. Carol was trembling, pulling you down to kiss her continually, wet and sloppy.
“That’s it,” she gasped, “God, I-I’m almost... shit.”
Her hand flew down as you fucked her with your fingers. She rubbed at her clit with expert precision, and that was the winning ticket. She whined into your mouth as she came, hips stilling and her body locking as she reached that peak.
You watched in awe as her eyes slowly opened at you, unfocused as she rode the last few pulses of pleasure, convulsing around your fingers.
The two of you laid there in content, sharing gentle kisses and breaths. She urged you to suck your fingers, grinning as you slurped her taste off your fingers before doing the same to her own.
“Sweeter than any milkshake,” she hummed, making you blush. She sat up a little, rearranging the pillows to relax a moment. You were going to pull away to give her some space, but her arm wrapped around you and held you close.
She kissed you right by your hairline, whispering “beautiful” with soft endearment. You sighed and captured her lips again, addicted to every taste of her, every motion of her mouth and body.
Then she pulled away, but only to light a cigarette. The smoke swirled around her head again, and then she looked at you with those stunning grey eyes,
“Do you want to try?” she nodded towards the cigarette.
“No,” you smiled, turning over on your side towards her, “I’d much rather watch you smoke.”
She laughed, and said, “alright,” before inhaling once more.
#carol#carol aird#carol movie#carol fanfiction#cate blanchett#cate blanchett x reader#cate blanchett x you#the price of salt#todd haynes#patricia highsmith#wlw#carol x you#carol x reader#carol/you#carol/reader#merry writes
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sweets&ink
part of my opposites attract! series.
ksj / knj / myg / jhs / pjm / kth
pairing: tattooartist&tattoed!jungkook x baker!reader
summary: jungkook was everything you feared but exactly what you needed to heal your broken heart.
wordcount: 5k
genre: fluff - angst - smut (s2l!au)
rated: m (?
warnings: some cursing, mentions of past abusive/toxic relationships/trauma that might be triggering, a lil of making love at the end. it’s overall just suuper fluffy, trust me. jungkook is a s i m p. we love that for him! slow burrrnnnn.
Jungkook knows it was love at first sight, but doesn's know how to really explain it.
He knew from the moment he entered the small shop, pastel green walls welcoming him replete of sugary treats, a sweet and heavenly scent engulfing him as soon as he stepped a foot inside. With a new found sense of calmness and serenity within he hadn't experienced in a long time, he searched for deserts of his liking, mouth watering while assessing the many options of baked goods available and bright colored frostings stealing his attention.
"Hi. How may I help you?"
Then he looked up and found you. It wasn't easy to appreciate your whole appearence with the counter hiding the lower half of your body, but it was enough for Jungkook to think to himself that he had never seen a prettier girl in hiis entire life. And that's when he knew it. Any type of movement in his surroundings coming to a halt, his heart skipping a beat, his favourite song playing inside his head. And that particular sensation. The same one that had made him feel so at ease since he found your bakery. For a moment he thought his doe eyes might have actually turned into heart eyes until you raised your eyebrows, a concerned expression replacing your previous warm smile.
Blinking his eyes and clearing his throat, coming down from cloud nine into the real world, he stuttered his order as best as he coud manage, heart pounding inside his chest and later feeling mortified for not being able to pronounce "gingernap cookies" correctly.
At first he kind of hated Seokjin for blackmailing him into going to his favourite bakery to buy his favourite cookies (Jungkook really should've known better than accidentally spill ink all over Jin's new script), but when he comes back home with a goofy smile on his face and dreams of your face, he makes sure to text him he'll go get his cookies anytime he wants.
But Jungkook is a masochist apparently.
Because a week after your first encounter he realizes that not being able to get his mind off a girl he's literally only seen once in his entire life is not exactly normal. Not for anyone, but especially not for him. Realizes that the way he embarrassed himself in front of you and probably looked like a bluberring mess (or a creepy weirdo who had never interacted with any woman before) is not reason enough to not keep wanting to try again. And the way you just giggled at him and simply shook your head as you wrapped the ginger cookies he had asked for in a pretty packaging has kept him aching for more.
So he comes once a week now. Still as nervous as the first day, but content to see that your face seems to light up at the sight of him stepping through the door the same way his does. He likes to see you in your cute pastel dresses, and if he didn't know better he'd think you were just trying to keep up with the bakery's aesthetic. But the more he frequents your shop, the more he realizes you're exactly like the treats you bake. He likes how your vividly honeyed persona contrasts with his darker and reserved one. Likes how you're all colors of the rainbow and he's just a scale of greys.
They are small interactions. Just courtesy and cordial exchange of words everytime he visits. He doesn't even know your name and you don't even know his, but sometimes he asks how was your weekend and sometimes you ask how many people had he inked that week. Sometimes he tells you how pretty you look, and sometimes you blush in response. Sometimes you add an extra macaron in his order and sometimes he debates on whether or not he should write down his number on a napkin and slide in right on the countertop before he waves goodbye.
And although Jungkook has never been one to shy away from women, he feels a certain way he can't exactly pinpoint. A way that makes his confidence falter and leaves him feeling like a little kid who's afraid to confess to the girl he likes.
Because as cliché as it sounds, you're not like any other girls he's ever met. You don't feel like any other girl he's ever met. Not the older than him, tattoed and pierced type of girl he's accustomed to; not the type of girl that's addicted to trouble and believe him (maybe even hoped) to be something he's not.
So it takes a while for him to summon up enough bravery and determination. It takes weeks of pining and overthinking, and a single push from Yoongi ('stop being a fucking pussy and just do it') to ask you to have coffee with him.
"I... I'm sorry. I can't."
And it only takes those words leaving your mouth to shatter his heart into pieces.
It's fine though, he told you and himself. He wasn't going to be one of those guys who believed the 'friendzone' was an actual thing and tried his best to not make you feel uncomfortable, really tried his best to erase the guilt across your face as you rejected him. So he scratched the back of his head and mustered up a big smile before leaving the shop with a bag full of cupcakes and an unsettled stomach.
Letting out a deep breath you didn't even know you were containing, you observe as the handsome stranger exits the shop. Running a hand through your hair before gripping the counter with your hands, you try to steady the heavy throbbing insde your chest.
The boy in question had been unknowingly tormenting you and flooding your mind with thoughts of him for almost two months now. That day you first had spotted him eyeing the desserts in display in amazement and then you in the very same way. It was sudden and precipitated, but it had almost made your head spin, something you hadn't felt in a long time unexplainable tugging at your insides.
You had kept your cool as best as you could, as best as you had taught yourself in the past. Wrapped those cookies he had asked and then waved goodbye, hoping under your breath he wouldn't come back but silently wishind he would.
But then he did. He came back once. And then again. And again, and before you realized he had become a frequent costumer. Trying whatever treats you'd recommended him, creating small talk, sending friendly smiles here and then.
You had learned to expect him at the very same time, the very same day of the week; had learned to manage the fluttering in your tummy and the reddish warmth spreading through your cheeks whenever the eye contact was prolongued. Everything was innocent, it was brief and, most importanly, it never went beyond, even if sometimes you hoped it did.
However, after all these years, there was still something you hadn't learned to control yet. And as he spoke, clearly nervous, hesitant and clearly out of his comfort zone, wondering out loud if he could ever treat you to a coffee sometime, your body shut down. The fondness and excitement you had been harboring over the last few weeks quickly replaced by that which made you want to recoil, made you want to back to your well to let its darkness and loneliness envelop you.
That horrible and ugly wave of crippling fear and axiety all mixed together; a little monster that you had successfully concealed, now displaying its ears in warning and the same smile that had been haunting you for years, now advising you, reminding you and most of all, threatening you, to go back to your own comfort zone. And so, powerless, there was nothing else you could really to but to comply, muttering an apology and a rejection that probably pained you more than it pained the boy in front of you.
You knew you did the right thing, but it definitely didn't feel like it.
Especially a week later, as you expected his arrival- as always, ready with a tray full of fresh baked scones you had particularly made just for him, but were left severely disappointed when time passed and he was nowhere to be seen. Or two weeks later, after spending an extra hour making cake pops that you had specifically designed with him in mind (covered in dark chocolate and white sprinkles), only to realize it was closing time and that he never even showed up.
To say you were bummed was an understatement. You knew you always looked forward to him coming in every week to grace your day with a smile and a polite talk, but you didn't come to terms with how much you would miss it until now.
So three weeks later, you still bake with him in mind, trying not to lose hope but still chastising yourself for not being brave enough and accepting his offer. It was just a coffee date, for God's sake, not a marriage proposal! Trying to busy your mind with work and customers coming in and out, even if your eyes dart in anticipation everytime you hear the door swinging.
When hours pass and the sun hides to make room for the moon and stars into the sky, you look at the clock and, with a defeated sigh, finish cleaning and tidying around the shop. But before you can gather your things, the door swings open and there stands the stranger you had been praying to see again.
"Am I too late?" he asks, and you don't exactly know but can tell his words hold a double meaning. You smile, a genuine smile, because he looks bashful with a hand scratching the back of his head like he had done the last time you saw him, and because there's a warm sensation spreading through your chest, like your heart is smiling for you.
"I was about to close, but I can make an exception." you accomplish to say and surprisingly don't sound as nervous as you feel. He mirrors your smile as he walks closer to the counter. "So, what would you like?"
That takes him by surprise because he really had nothing in mind when he decided to come here and now he feels like an idiot.
"Uh, um... I would like... maybe cupcakes?" he sounds like an idiot too. But you nod and smile at him and start gathering his cupcakes into a polka dot cardboard box.
"You missed the cake pops I made last week." you say, trying to keep your voice in check as he hands you his credit car. "I think you would've liked them."
"Ah, sorry... Work has been really hectic." and even if it's true, it's also true the fact that he chickened out and was frightened to face you again. He likes how even when you're alluding to his absence, there's not a malicious tone behind your words. He likes how you're still smiling at him even after he's been acting like a pussy for two weeks. But that's why he's here. "I also would like to apologize for... you know. I didn't-...If I made you feel uncomfortable, I'm really sorry."
With your eyebrows raised, your smile dissipates. "What? No, you didn't do anything wrong, really. It's not- It's not that. I just...can't." you stumble through words, trying to explain how much you actually wanted to go to that coffee date, to get to know his name and more of himself, but unavailable to. You can feel it again. The same anguish that always seem to creep up on you and numbs you altogheter. But him, worriedly sensing your distress, waves his hands in front of him.
"No, no. It's fine, you don't have to explain anything! It's alright!" his smile seems to soothe you and you return his smile in gratitude. "Anyways, I'll... I'll get going. See you next week?"
You nod, anticipation already making its way into you. "See you next week." and then he takes the box filled with cupcakes and says goodbye. Before he can open the door though, a tingle of impulsivity and fearlesness makes you say:
"I'm _____, by the way."
He pauses, clearly taken aback.
"Jungkook."
Jungkook hasn't stopped repeating your name in his head ever since you gave it to him, grinning like a fool and thinking about how good it sounds next to his. He hasn't stopped frequenting your bakery either and has lost count on how much money he's spent on muffins and whatever else you sell. He doesn't care though. All he cares about is how much likes seeing you even if it's only for fifteen minutes in your floral dresses, and as long as you keep looking like you're glad to see him every time, then he's fine.
He's more than fine. He feels amazing. Sings tunes while he works on customers, feels his creativity flowing more than ever and he feels whole. It still baffles him how a minimun interaction with you once a week can make him feel on top of the world.
He's got a bouquet of white and pink lillies next time he visits, so sappy and romantic he doesn't even recognize himself. He doesn't tell you he googled their meaning and his mind instantly associated them with you. Purity is exactly what he thinks of you and admiration is exactly how he feels about you. Hands it to you and the surprised look on your face and the spreading of pink all over your cheeks makes his heart burst. You thank him and he tells you he didn't know what your favourite flower is. You answer it's carnations. He writes it down somewhere in his mind, for next time. And then you're the one surprising him.
"Would you like to have coffee sometime?"
There's uncertainty in your voice that doesn't go unnoticed by him, and for a moment he thinks he's dreaming. He's cool with what he's got right now with you, but you repeating his words back to him makes him feel euphoric, like he can't believe it. He knows he looks dumb, the way he's looking at you.
Completely dumbfounded. He stutters like the first same he met you, but he says yes (omits the part where he tells you he could almost die). You exchange number in each other's phones with shaky hands, set the day and hour, and then wave each other goodbye.
You instantly regret it as you watch him leave. Keep regretting it the following days. That voice in your head telling you 'it'll happen again', telling you fairytales didn't exist and this most likely wasn't one, even if it felt like it was, suffocating you like it had done many times before. Screwing with your head until you consider canceling.
But you power through it, like you had taught yourself to do. This time it's harder though. Because this time there's a new romantic interest at hand, one that's making you feel things you buried a long time ago and made you swear to yourself you'd be smarter and stronger than any man could.
It's Hoseok's encouraging words that help ease the panic. It was also Hoseok's words who encouraged you to ask Jungkook out. Said you deserved something good for once and that you couldn't close yourself to love your entire life.
Thought it was time for you to write a new chapter after a rather sad one.
So on Saturday, Jungkook insists on picking you up and it already feels like too much for you. Especially when he shows up with a bouquet of carnations in his hand and a smile that takes your breath away and definitely doesn't help to ease your nerves.
Takes him by surprised how pretty you look. maybe because it's the first time he's seen you out of your shop and even though you're still loyal to your clothing style, he still fumbles with his words like an idiot to try to express how beautiful you look. Seeing he's as much of a mess as you settles you a little bit. Then he takes you to a cute café that almost makes you laugh, because seeing him, inked arms and piercings and a closet that consisted mainly of black oversized t-shirts and pants in such a bright environment reminds you of the first time he entered your shop.
You're surprised to see how well the conversation rolls, how easy it is to talk to him beyond the usual brief interactions you two have. You like how he makes you laugh and how he seems to love hearing it. You like how his attention is solely focused on you, even if his gaze on yours sometimes feels too intense and his overall character intimidates you. You like how soft spoken he is, how careful he is with words and the sound of his voice. Sounds like a lullaby without melody.
And when the date is over, he drives you home, walks you to your door and respectfully wishes you a good night. You kiss him on the cheek spontaniously before hiding the embarrassment on your face and stepping inside your home. You miss the way he stays at your doorstep for a whole minute before getting in his car and driving himself home. You also miss how peacefully he sleeps that night, dreaming of cupcakes and you. You don't miss the heart emoji he sends you before going to bed, making yours quiver.
You're glad you didn't cancel, and now you're sure you don't regret it at all
It goes on. The dates, getting to know each other more and more, Jungkook's visits to your shop and spending way too much money on sweets and carnations, the butterflies in your stomach everytime he's near and the birth of something inside of you that's starting to make you feel alive after feeling dead for so long.
It's still new, still wholesome, moves in slow motion. You're glad Jungkook doesn't push, doesn't ask for anything, never demands more than a kiss on the cheek everytime he drops you off. He is nothing like he looks like, you realized that right away.
But with every brand new beginning that requires feelings like this, especially as unique and exceptional as the ones Jungkook is causing within you, comes the evil monster trying to scare you off, to make you back off and remind you that not everything that shines is gold. The voice inside your head that keeps bewitching you back into a dark room, reminder in your head everytime that one day Jungkook will want more. He'll want more and you might not be ready to give it to him.
A voice that keeps resonating and has kept you unmoving for the past few years and now is making you feel more frightened than ever.
You've been more quite than usual and Jungkook can tell something is not quite right. It's a friday night, and after having dinner that he insisted on paying, he decided this time to drive you away, to a secluded space somewhere where you both can appreciate the city lights on the hood of his car. He can tell, so he asks you, but you give a vague answer. He wants to ask again, but he's afraid of overstepping your boundaries. He wants to get to know you in every level, want's to scratch the surface until he can see everything. He wants to learn you inch by inch. Wants to love every part you bare to him, because he's sure he will.
"My ex partner was abusive."
You finally say with a voice that's not entirely yours, and it doesn't feel real. Doesn't feel real to say out loud and letting the words sink in. It's taken all this time of excusing behaviors that were not excusable, trying to make light of a situation that wasn't and blaming yourself for things that you were not to blame for.
Jungkook stays silent, but his attention immediately focused on you as soon as you spoke. Eyes slightly wide and mouth starting to open as if to speak himself. But you go on.
"Not physically." you swallow a lump in your throat. "Sometimes he would throw things at me, but they didn't always land. Or... one time he pushed me while we were arguing. Never raised his hand at me though. It was mostly psychological and emotional. He was extremely jealous and possesive. Didn't like me hanging with my friends, would never bring me to hang out with him and his friends. Though I' was cheating on him with anyone. The cashier at the supermarket, a randome dude on the street that simply looked at me. Anyone." tears prickle your eyes, but you'd learned to hold them back.
"He would always get mad at me. Would already wake up angry and take it out on me. Without reason. Would always blame me for everything. He would get mad, insult me, call me any terrible name you can imagine, tell me I wasn't worth shit. That I wasn’t worth living.Then he would punch the wall, or break whatever was in sight. Everytime, I told him I was terrified of him. Would cry in a corner and beg him to stop. Sometimes he would just laugh at me for it." you sniff, still looking straight at the city lights, and trying to keep a composed tone throughout. You had grown up a lot since then, and you knew Jungkook deserved to know you. He deserved to understand.
"Then he would calm down, apologize while he cried and promised he loved me and would change. He never did. It took me a long time to finally walk away, but the demons still haunt me to this day. You," you choke, because comparing your ex to the guy currently sitting next to you was like day and night, like heaven and hell. "You make me feel things I've never felt before. I always felt like asking for respect was asking for too much. And then here you come, like a knight on shining armour ready to sweep me off my feet. It felt like a dream. Still does..."
Jungkook's hands are balled into tight fists, his whole body rigid as he listened to you. His own heart breaking, like he could feel himself inside you and experiencing your own heartbreak. His blood's boiling, jaw so tight and eyes blinking. Pushing down his anger, because this is about you not him, he lets his body relax before sliding your hand in yours.
"I like you so much,_____, it literally kills me at night how much. Not as much as hearing all of this, though. From the moment I saw you, I was whipped. I wanted and still want to give everything I can to see that smile of yours. It's me the one who can't believe you're paying me any attention at all." you're still not looking at him, but he still sighs in relief when your lips quirk up. "Just having you here next to me and letting me take you out on dates is more than enough for me. Whatever you give me, whatever your terms are, I'm content with that. You're healing, and while you do, I'll be right here."
You look at him now, not bothering to hide the tears streaming down your face anymore.
"What if I never heal completely?" there's fear in your voice as your eyes meet his, but just the dark brown in his gaze help you feel secure, less worried about the future and more serene about the now.
"I'll still be here."
It doesn't take long for you to call it love.
Not when Jungkook keeps proving himself to be so different and so special. Not when his gestures never cease to make you feel so special, so worthy of recieving and sharing love. Because Jungkook makes you feel invincible, makes you feel one in a million.
"What to you even see in me? We're like, polar opposites." you ask him one day. And it's true, you are. So different from each other, yet the same. He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head, still holding your hand in your doorstep about to kiss your cheek goodnight.
"I see everything." he simply says, eyes boring into yours in adoration. "I see the sun, and the moon, the stars, the entire galaxy when I'm with you." your heart clenches as he interlaces his fingers with yours. "Before I met you, I felt like I was blind. Like I was lost and was looking for an exit that I couldn't find. But then I saw you, in your little bakery, with your cute dresses and those eyes, and it was like my eyes opened for the first time. Everything made sense. Everything has been filled with so many colors ever sinc-"
You shut him with your lips on top of his, emotions pulling at your heartstrings the same way you pull him down by the neck. He takes a few seconds to respond, but then this hands are dropping to your waist, their warmth immediately spreading through your skin against the chilly night.
"Would you like to come in?" you whisper, breath fanning over his lips. He nods, hurriedly, and he knows he looks like a damn idiot for the hundredth time, but he doesn't care. Because coming in doesn't only mean stepping in your home. Coming in means you're letting him in. Means you trust him, means you want him there, means you're allowing him inside your heart.
Again, Jungkook doesn't expect nor demands much. Your presence is everything he needs. You kissing him is like winning the lottery to him. Like completing a marathon, like climbing the Everest, like getting his first tattoo. Kissing you is sweet, fills him with something strong that makes him feel on drugs, like nothing matters but you and him. Like nothing has ever mattered to neither of you.
So it's you who leads him to your room, it's you who straddles his thighs and pushes his hair back as his hands carress your sides. It's nothing fiery. It's slow, tentative, and full of care. Of lingering touches, low sighs against each other's mouths.
It's you who reaches inside his shirt, hand sneaking past the hem of the fabric and trembling cold fingers coming in contact with firm skin. It's also you who asks for more with a small roll of your hips. It's you who asks him to take his shirt off. It's him who complies. Still tells you you don't have to, you tell him you want to.
It's you who asks him to touch you. He's scared like he's never been, because you're you, and you're so perfect and everything he's ever wanted and suddenly he's afraid of you're too good for him. Jungkook only wants to make you happy, never wants to see you cry, just wants to treat you the way you deserve.
It's you who begs.
It's you who tells him you need him. Need him take care of you, need him to show you much you're worth, need him to help you write a new chapter, probably even a new book where you're both the main characters and nobody else has ever existed. You say it with tears in your eyes, and he's quick to kiss them away, tongue entangling with yours. He's quick to undress you as well, with hands that still ask for permission even after you've granted it already. Hands and lips that are also quick and eager to learn your body, to find every mole in your skin as he lays you back to look at you in admiration. He keeps kissing you. From head to toe, muttering praise, making sure every 'beautiful' and 'gorgeous' and 'perfect' that leave his lips stay fire engraved in your being forever.
He first makes you cum with careful fingers and skilled tongue, thighs wrapped aro around his head, eyes still looking for yours as his hands keep your body still and yours crumple the sheets beneath. Tells you how good you taste, how long he's been dying to have you like this. Tells you this you his favourite sight as he kisses his way up.
You beg him again, asking him to please, please, fill you up. He groans against your mouth and he tells you again, you don't have to. He says he's happy like this. Repeats he's in no rush and just wants to please you and make you feel good. That it's about you, and will always be about you. You beg him again, and again and again, enticing him with a trail of wet kisses down his neck, up to his eralobe. You whisper there, tell him you need him to fill you with his cock so bad. His whole body goes rigid as your legs wrap around him, legs pulling him closer to where you want him, his erection grazing your entrance and his teeth nibble your lower lip.
Jungkook doesn't move for a while, eyes closed shut, jaw clenched and head buried in your neck. He doesn't move because his mind is somewhere else keeping him stagnant, pussy wrapping around him so good and wet and tight he's about to bust. Takes a while for him to move, but when he does he makes sure to grip your thighs around him, keeping you close, never wanting to let go as he tells you you were made just for him. Just for him. Tells you how good you feel. He tells you he loves you. Kisses your lips as you sob, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. He tells you he loves you. Tells you he'll love you forever and will always keep you safe and happy.
You're crying now, cheeks wet and he stops for a moment to look at you, concern written all over his face as his hands craddle yours, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "We can stop, baby." You shake your head no. Pull him back into another kiss, urging him to go on. You tell him you love this, love him so much. That it's a good thing. That they are happy tears. That you've never been happier. And then his hips start moving again, your words egging him own, soft whimpers and sobs leaving each other's throats until you cum at the same time.
He then removes himself from you, rolling onto your side but he's quick to pull your body close, arms wrapping around you and lips kissing away the wet stains on your cheeks.
It doesn't take long for you to know Jungkook would be the healthy forever and after you had always dreamed of.
#THE FEEELS BRUH#aaaaaa#jeon jungkook#jungkook#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook smut#bts#jungkook fic
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TOH and Amphibia SPOILERS!!!!
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I have to say I'm very pleased with these new episodes. They have shown us great lessons and characters arcs but the best part is seeing how those characters react and evolve in the most unexpected of places.
Let's take Hunter as an example. He is a teenager who was raised to be a soldier and the loyal right-hand of the Emperor but his social skills are and worldview are deeply skewed.
He only knows how to take orders and fulfill them to make his 'uncle' proud, how to fight, and never questions anything.
That is until he met Luz. If it weren't for her, he would have delivered the palismen and his birdy friend would have died.
But after Hunting Palismen, he and Flapjack became close and he makes sure that no one finds out about him.
Then we have Any Sport In a Storm where he has to interact with people his age. And he sucks ridiculously! All he talks is about the greatness of the Emperor's Coven, trying to be on the Emperor's Coven, being intimidating and weird because he doesn't have anything else to talk about and just wants to get potential recruits for his uncle's army.
Once he meets and bonds with Willow and her team, he loosens up and has real fun! I mean, look at this face!
He is finally having a good day and belonging.
It kind of reminds me of this other happy face.
Lilith. Proper, serious, loyal-to-Belos Lilith turned over a new leaf and embraced her true self after quitting the toxic environment that was that castle.
She can do the stuff she loves, reconnect with her family and make friends, all without being crushed by insane expectations.
That's what Hunter experienced in this episode. Being surrounded by teenagers who live life, create mischief for fun, and just worry about trivial stuff not overwhelming duties to not be punished like Hunter always has to endure under Belos' command. That's the wonder of a healthy and supportive environment.
And we can't forget Darius' unexpected softness toward him after Hunter protected Willow and the others from the Abomination Head Coven. Whether he's being honest or not, I think what Darius values most is someone who can think critically and doesn't fall into desperate measures to fulfill orders just to prove their worth to someone.
He disliked that Hunter turned on his flyer derby team to get promising recruits and be respected, but was impressed after Hunter helped them to get free and protected them from him despite the consequences. And the piece of advice Darius gave him is pretty enlightening because there is more for Hunter than just being the Golden Guard and being expected to do whatever Belos' orders are.
This episode is another important step in Hunter's realization that his life can be better and happier without basing his worth on his usefulness to the Emperor.
Now, about Amphibia's new eps Sasha's Angels. Wow! Color me impressed!
Never thought Toadie would get savage.
However, what I liked most was his bravery in stepping out of his comfort zone when it was necessary. Being bolder, more proactive, and ready to fight because with the circumstances being so dire, little no-backbone Toadie couldn't change anything unless he adapted to his surroundings.
He not only delegated like a real commander but also fought like a great warrior and kicked the butt of that toad who bullied him.
The charming part was that Croaker's words were the last push he needed to be something more than the super soft and quiet mayor assistant and embrace a new part of himself that could achieve amazing things while still being kind and caring.
So yeah, these new episodes have been a feast of character development and arcs, and I can't wait to see what's in store next weekend!
#WARNING SPOILERS#The Owl House#Amphibia#Toadie#Hunter#Sasha's Angels#Any sport in a storm#Meta analysis
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INTERVIEW: The Falcon And The Winter Soldier for SFX Magazine (Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan Part) (Issue 337, February 24th, 2021)
By Tara Bennett
WING MAN
Anthony Mackie is Sam Wilson / Falcon
SFX: You’ve admitted that initially you weren’t sure on the idea of doing an MCU Series. Why?
ANTHONY: To be honest, I’ve had trepidation from the beginning. I was really afraid of the idea. Working on so many Marvel projects, and seeing the end result and the effect that they have on people, I was afraid that the quality of the production would be taken down for television. I was afraid that you can’t do things on television that you can do in theatres.
Seeing people’s reactions to Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame in the theatres, and hearing the connection that the audience members have with these characters... that’s every actor’s dream, to affect an audience and expose them to a different way of looking at culture and the world around us. I was really afraid that I wouldn’t have that opportunity to step out on that ledge like the actors before me had.
But once we talked, and once they brought on Malcolm and Kari, I knew it was going to be something different. Kari is a phenomenal leader, and Malcolm is an amazing writer. And Kevin promised me that it wasn’t going to be different. He’s not going to tarnish the Marvel brand by trying to just blow out as much content as he could. And I trusted him on that. They haven’t let me down yet, so I just went along for the ride on faith of their past work. And I was really pleasantly surprised by how great everything turned out.
SFX: Steve was an integral part of both Sam and Bucky’s lives. How does the show explore his absence?
ANTHONY: With Sam and Bucky, the idea of losing Steve looms heavily in their day-to-day-life. Captain America - not just a moniker, but the person - was a huge influence on both of them. The idea of the moniker is not as important as the person that they lost. Their whole goal, and their whole focus, is to honour Steve, because he left them with such a huge task to pick up where he left off. Just the weight of the shield with no Steve leads us to believe that there might not be another Captain America. There will never be another Steve Rogers, so for the two of them, the idea of the Captain America moniker is more of a burden than a blessing. They really try and allow that to be an influence of the legacy that he left, and how they can keep that legacy alive and support him - while also missing him and being very sad that he’s not around any more.
SFX: Will we see more of Sam’s regular life?
ANTHONY: We get to see more of them in their surroundings, their personal life, with people who influence their life day-to-day: family members, friends, co-workers. You got a little bit of it with Sam when Steve went to the VA when they first met. But now you really get to see his twists and turns and where exactly he fits in his nine-to-five, as opposed to him just sitting around waiting for Cap to call. That was one of the biggest pitches that Nate and Kevin gave to me that really intrigued me and excited me about this story.
SFX: Exploring Sam’s big choice when it comes to taking up Cap’s shield encompasses so many real-life issues, including race. Was Malcom a solid partner in conveying that?
ANTHONY: You know, it wasn’t just Malcolm and I. What was really interesting was Kari [Skogland] and Zoie [Nagelhout] were very local in the idea of who this man was, and what he was going to mean to the society that we were presenting him to. It’s funny, with Kari being a white Canadian woman, and Zoie being a white American woman, they had such strong parts of opinion and such interesting ways of seeing this character that were way more aggressive than anything I could have imagined. Their perspective and bravery, as two women leading the charge, to show the situation that this character was being thrust into in the world that he lived in, was very humbling. I always felt support. It always felt like there were people around me who were paying attention to what we were saying as a show.
BUCKY STAR
Sebastian Stan is Bucky Barnes / The Winter Soldier
SFX: After Endgame, how did you feel overall, about staying in the MCU?
SEBASTIAN: At the end of Endgame it was sort of strange and emotional. At the time, it was the 10-year anniversary, so everything felt like an ending, of sorts, even though we recognised that there was probably going to be more to it. But it was great to be able to have a discussion about the future.
SFX: Who at Marvel Studios initially pitched the idea of this series to you?
SEBASTIAN: I sat with Kevin [Feige] initially. And then with Nate Moore, who I had done Civil War and Winter Soldier with, and had an unbelievable experience. I think I was a little nervous, because part of me felt like “I’m not even sure if I know what’s left to be explored with the character”. But we actually discovered so much more. And I feel like the character now is coming off in such a different, deeper and more complex way than we’ve seen him. I thought I had explored the character, as he was, enough, but we actually had only scratched the surface. What we’re able to do with him in this series is just on such a deeper emotional level, and we didn’t have that opportunity before.
SFX: What was most interesting to you about doing a series?
SEBASTIAN: The idea of exploring this character now, separately, from Steve Rogers and from that storyline, and putting him in the world, and giving him an opportunity to really, truly, have to face who he is - everything about that was exciting. And the idea of working with Anthony was exciting, because I know we have something special and we’ve never gotten a chance to explore it.
SFX: Who are Sam and Bucky to one another in this series?
SEBASTIAN: They both despise each other equally! [Laughs] I mean, there’s some truth to that. But it’s also a discovery for both of them to realise that they actually have much more in common than they thought. They come at it from different backgrounds. But essentially, they’re both two people trying to find their new identity, and that really has nothing to do with Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers is much more the catalyst, like the event that sets off the bomb that causes both of them to go, “Okay, that happened. Now, let me deal with these things”. I think it’s about them figuring out that they need each other much more than they want to accept.
SFX: With no Steve to lean on, what is Bucky focused on?
SEBASTIAN: It’s a bit of re-educating that happens at the same time. He’s learning a lot about Sam, and he’s also learning about the world, because it’s a very different world than when we was last “James Bucky Barnes” in the ‘50s. He’s always got to deal with the shadow that’s following him. Now it’s more of a question of, how does he take what he’s learned and apply it for himself, going forward? How do you go out there in 2021 and function, knowing what he knows and what he’s bee through? And also, how do you do it without somebody who was a brother by his side, who was a staple of strength, or familiarity? You take away even the last comfort zone - what does he have? That’s what the show is about for him.
SFX: Why do you feel that Bucky has been able to retain fan sympathy during his dark arc?
SEBASTIAN: He felt much more reachable and reachable than other characters, perhaps because of the arcs of trying to cope with the past, or getting over some trauma, or PTSD. And his level of finding oneself again, redefining yourself, your morals, your values, who you are, what you believe in, the challenges that you have - in terms of accepting the world a certain way - understanding that maybe how you grew up and what you’ve learned isn’t going to always help you find your path. You’re going to have to maybe go against the things that you’ve been used to. Those are all things about this character that are very interesting.
There are two more interviews with Showrunner Malcolm Spellman and Director Kari Skogland included in the issue!
If you'd like to get a copy, SFX Magazine Issue 337 is available to purchase both physically and digitally worldwide! https://magazinesdirect.com/mobile/az-single-issues/6937139/sfx-magazine-single-issue.thtml
#anthony mackie#sebastian stan#sam wilson#bucky barnes#sambucky#stackie#falcon and winter soldier#the falcon and the winter soldier#tfatws#disney plus
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Somebody to love (PART 2/2): (Richard Alonso Muñoz x fem!reader)
Summary: PART ONE IS HERE. Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.
Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!
I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE, THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.
Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?
Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!
Tags: (will add tomorrow)
Warnings/ Ratings:
PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/ consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.
PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.
Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.
The date has been flawless. The best date you’ve had.
Richard is amazing to talk to and appealing to look at. He makes you feel safe and secure, yet also ignited and pleasantly destabilised. His laugh is music. His smile is sunshine. He is at times serious and in other moments delightfully playful. His gentle, quiet nature suckers you in to him, and once you are in the circumference of his warmth, you simply don’t want to leave.
You want to treat this special man to all the love he deserves.
You reflect, as you walk together towards your street, hand-in-hand, that it feels as though you’ve known him for years - and, of course, you have. You simply hadn’t been paying adequate attention. It is evident that Richard has, however. That he already knows you and understands you better than you could have imagined.
So, now, as you step up on to your porch, Richard stands a couple of steps below you, his cola-coloured eyes big and gentle and sparkling as he looks up at you. You loop your arms so that they rest on his shoulders, your fingers dipping into the glorious manicured curls at the nape of his neck. You had hoped that Richard might respond by winding his arms around your waist -or perhaps gripping your hips or your ass, to be quite honest- but instead, he stands there, taut with nerves, and yet his arms hung limply by his sides.
He seems so responsive; so receptive to every small touch you give him, the man humming lightly as you stroke his soft skin, and yet, he hasn’t returned the favour. You wish he would touch you, but, in resignation, you smile softly, guessing that if Richard won’t take the initiative, you will simply have to. After all, you’ve been desperate to kiss the man all evening. So, with a gentle smile and a search of his eyes, you shift one hand to cup his shapely chin, tipping his face up towards you.
“I want to kiss you, Richard. Is that okay with you?”
Keenly, he lets out a half-strangled affirmation, the weight of his plea creasing the space between his brows. “Please.”
And so, you pick up his unsure arms and you guide them around your waist, until his hands tentatively settle, polite but also firm and broad and warm around you, and you rehoop your arms around his neck, readying to move in for the kill.
Dipping your head down, you inch yourself closer and closer towards Richard’s lips, and you wonder if his heart is hammering the way yours is. You take in the beautiful sight of his eyes fanning closed and chin tilting up eagerly towards you, before your own eyes follow suit, your noses bumping awkwardly as you tilt around each other. The first sensation you feel is his moustache, the thick brush of it tickling your lips and causing you to faintly moan as you feel this small indication of his closeness. This breathy, broken sound from you causes Richard’s hands to tighten around your waist, finally, and with either a surge of bravery or a collapsing of his resolve -perhaps both- it is he who closes the remaining distance, his warm lips keenly meeting yours.
At first, it is a chaste, closed-lipped kiss that, even so, makes your legs tremble almost immediately. His soft lips are so moreish that when you break from him, leaning your forehead against Richard’s -both your chests heaving and your breaths practically one- you immediately sink back again to his lips, needing to taste him again.
You smile into the kiss as you become accustomed to the sensation of that glorious moustache, scraping lightly against your upper lip and cheek and nose, and you feel desire sink all the way through the pit of you like a stone as Richard’s tongue delves gently into your mouth. This surge of his kiss is like nothing you have felt before, and whilst Richard may seem timid, and while his ministrations may be gentle and slow, you could swear you have never felt a more assured tongue in your life.
“Do you want to come inside?” you ask urgently, your voice a broken, breathy thing, the air for your words ripped from his lips.
“Yes. Yes, I’d like to, very much,” Richard answers just as quickly, his eyes dancing with a delicious brewing heat as you take his hand and lead him into your home.
Your lips find him again as shoes and jackets are shrugged off, strewn haphazardly in the hallway, his kisses slow-moving and deliciously sweet, sending a cloying desire like warmed syrup sinking to the pit of you. Your stomach flips each time you feel his tongue against yours, as though your core intends to mirror the languid circling of his tongue, and suddenly you are already throbbing there, thinking of where these burgeoning kisses might be leading.
“You’re so beautiful,” Richard breathes, sinking on to your lips again, and your legs weakening beneath you.
You lead Richard deeper inside your home, and you vaguely consider your options, but with this hazy, hungry heat all around you, dragging him to your bedroom by the hand seems like the only viable course of action.
“Do you... want to come to my bed with me?” you ask, voice levelled with need and stomach buzzing with the pleasant thrum of nerves.
He answers affirmatively and you waste no time, until you are both seated on the edge of your bed, continuing your slow, sensual make-out session, bodies twisted towards each other. Richard kisses you deeply, opening your mouth up to him, until he breaks from you with a wracked groan, squirming with slight discomfort and apology as he adjusts himself, to better accommodate the growing bulge between his legs.
When he spreads his denim-clad thighs, like that, they look so sturdy and appealing that you want to climb him. Want to straddle his lap and writhe your heat right over his tenting arousal.
Still, you hesitate. He’s eager, you know that much; and God, so are you. However, he still seems nervous about reaching out to you or taking the lead. His hands never stray far from zones he may consider more polite or more comfortable, despite the fact he has happily allowed your hand to inch up and up his clothed thigh and towards that tenting crotch of his, his pretty, wracked moans spurring you on.
So, as he breaks from you, momentarily, you pull back to search his eyes.
“Would you… Would you like to touch me, Richard?” you suspire, wanting to progress this further, but only if he’s comfortable.
As you regard him, you note that you have never seen a man look quite so dishevelled with need - both literally and figuratively. Your hands have upset his perfectly fixed curls, mussed tendrils now draping over his forehead. His kiss-plumped lips are parted to accommodate his now ragged breaths, and he looks almost forlorn - pained with it, as though he might end if he isn’t kissing you again within moments. “Yes. Please.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere,” he responds, brow furrowed with weighty desire and eyes searching yours.
The tone with which he responds to you, sunken with need, has a hard swallow trailing down your throat. An immediate and impossible ache building between your legs.
“How about… here?”, you say tentatively, gingerly taking his hand, and moving it beneath the fabric of your dress until his warm fingers meet the bare flesh of your thighs. His thumb instantly sinks in to knead you as he works his hand up further, inching towards your core, exactly where you need him.
“God, you’re so soft. You feel so good.”
“C-can I touch you?” you ask, as he inches higher, and it comes out as a plea. You need to. Need to touch him. Everywhere. You need to feel him under your hand - feel him all over you. On you. Against you. Buried in you. Fuck, you need him.
With your question though, Richard’s hungry eyes are momentarily clouded by apprehension, and so, you take a moment to rein in your snowballing desire; to properly check-in with him.
“Let’s talk for a minute. Can I do anything to make you feel more comfortable?” your voice soft and soothing, your hand smoothing over his thigh.
Richard flutters his eyelashes and looks down at his lap, withdrawing his hand from under your dress. Your skin shivers, instantly cold with the loss of him. He nods, slowly, soberly, his face set and moustache downturned. Then, when his words come, his voice is small and sad. “I asked my buddy at work for advice. Said I had a date with someone out of my league. Somebody so perfect, and that I didn’t want to mess it up.”
Your eyebrows knit together. You shake your head in disbelief. Your one single desire now, is to set his misapprehension to rest. “Fuck that. I’m not out of your league, Richard. You’re gorgeous. You’re perfect.” You cup his cheek again, planting a kiss on that now familiar spot, right on the tip of his cheekbone, a spot perfectly contoured to your lips.
His eyes flick back up to yours, shining with gratitude, but he still looks unsure.
“Perfect,” you repeat, dipping to press a kiss to his opposite cheek. “Gorgeous.” To the tip of his nose. “Sexy.” To the corner of his lips. “Handsome.” To the column of his neck. Meanwhile, smoothing your hand over his thigh and arm and chest, keeping your desire stoked but mainly aiming to offer him comfort, and to bolster his wavering confidence.
A smile claims Richards eyes, at least, if not his lips, and he brings his hand to your face, caressing you gently in gratitude. You pull up to search his eyes and his expression says it all.
You are beautiful.
And, despite his nervousness, his timidness, when Richard next speaks, there is no hint of self-consciousness in his voice. Not an ounce, his kind eyes backlit with lust. With that now familiar, gentle, nuanced heat. “He said… Said that I should eat you out like a man starved.”
To your credit, you try to speak. You really do, your mouth opening and closing again wordlessly, but all of a sudden, you have lost language. You can barely breathe. Can barely form a coherent thought. Barely an incoherent one. Barely a -
“Would you like it? If I did that, bonita?”
You whimper. You actually whimper, as he sits there, coolly holding your face in his broad palm, caressing you with the pad of his thumb. Behaving as though he’s an innocent thing and yet making you feel like this.
“I would not be. Opposed to. That,” you muddle out, barely, your voice trembling with need. An insistent pulse between your legs, causing you to press them tightly up against one another, just for a morsel of relief. “But… you. Ohhh.” His thumb brushes over your cheek. Towards your mouth. “Y-you don’t have to. Um.” Skims your lower lip. “Ahhh. Do. Anything you. Uh. Don’t want. To.” The pad of his thumb pushes inside, just deep enough for the tip of your tongue to meet it as he grazes over you. “Uhhh.”
Richard nods in understanding, and when your tongue fleets out to taste the tip of him, his eyes darken deliciously, pupils lust-blown.
You, meanwhile, are vapour. Your breath is ragged. Your arousal is soaking through your dress. You can feel it. Feel your own slick, a mess on your thighs.
And yet, you can tell there is more he wants to say, so you encourage him to go on. “Richard?” you plead.
“I... I want it to be perfect for you. You’re so perfect. But I...” his moustache twitches as he sucks his own lips between his teeth. His hands drop dejectedly into his lap, and he can’t meet your eyes, fixing his gaze on a spot of carpet. “I want to. So much. I‘m aching for you.”
Then what? You search his beautiful big eyes, reaching up to gently tuck a cute, hanging strand of curls away from his eyes and urging him to go on.
He reaches behind his head, to self-consciously stroke the nape of his neck. “The last woman I was with... It wasn’t... She didn’t like the moustache. And she... she said I was... too big.”
Fuck.
Your hand drops from his face into your lap, and your jaw slackens in shock as you let his words sink in. Meanwhile, his face becomes tinged again with that undertone of crimson you’re becoming rather familiar with.
Too big?
“Fuck, Richard,” you breathe -or, rather, can barely breathe- as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes, nervously, humbly awaiting your reaction. He really has no idea what he’s doing to you, does he? How perfect he is? You can feel the heavy pulse of desire throbbing between your legs once more - even more so now. A slow-crawling heat under your skin.
Can he really be so... endowed?
Can he really be so shy and so hot at the same time? (Yes, apparently, he can.)
You gulp. You take in a breath to speak and then literally say nothing. You consider, so help you, burying your face in the mattress and silently screaming. But, somehow, you hold it together.
“That’s. Wow. Well, we can definitely figure that out. Together, Richard. Can work around… That,” you reassure, your blood rushing in your ears, your hand slowly trailing back up his thigh. “Will you… will you let me take care of you?”
Looking reassured, he nods. He smiles softly. His eyes ardent as he looks at you.
You reinstate your hand on to his sturdy thigh, and you begin your slow, languorous crawl up towards his crotch, following the seam of his pants like a trailing spark along a fuse line. As you inch further, his eyes flutter shut and he groans when you reach the junction of his legs, lightly ghosting your fingers along his straining zipper.
“Can I... see?” you purr. “Are you hard for me, sweet man? Can I take you out of your pants?”
“Yes,” he nods. “Yes. Please.”
You proceed when Richard eagerly shifts position for you, parting his thighs for you and leaning back on his hands so that you’re able to unbuckle his belt, and to slowly release his zipper.
You’re playing really well at having any shred of self-control left, for his sake, but in reality, you’re a trembling, wet mess, overtaken by a furious, barrelling need. You simply can’t take this. Shit, you wonder if you will actually, very literally, be able to take this. Take him. Still, you certainly don’t want to stop, and so, with Richard’s cooperation you tug his jeans and his boxers down on his hips, and, biting down on your lip, you release his proud length.
“Fuck,” you say, almost inaudibly as you drink the sight of him in.
He wasn’t exaggerating. He is big. He’s long, but perhaps not the longest you’ve ever had – a fact you are honestly thankful for. He certainly is thick too – especially thick, his contoured head ruddy and gleaming for you. Launched on an urgent breath, you ask if you can touch him, and when he encourages you, you wrap your fingers around his shaft, his length warm and heavy in your hand. He fills the circumference of you in such a pleasing way, hard and velvety and thickly veined. He eagerly strains against you; engorging even further against your touch.
“What do you think?” he asks shyly, intently watching your fingers tease and skim and squeeze him. “Can you work with this?”
“You’re perfect. Fuck, Richard. This is the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen.”
“You mean it?” he asks, modest as ever.
“Every inch of you is perfect, sweet man.” You want to prove it to him. And you know exactly how. “D-do you… Do you want to feel how wet you’ve made me? How much I want you, Richard?”
“Please,” he begs hoarsely, his voice quaking, desire knotting his brows, and, you stretch out on the bed beside his already half-reclined form, the mattress dipping beneath you. Eagerly, you return his hand to your thigh, where his girthy fingers resume their slow path towards your core. This time though, Richard doesn’t stop. Positioning himself, propped on one elbow, he turns on to his side, his other hand travelling under your dress - inching, achingly slow, all the way up your thigh. He traces a warm, steady, torturously slow pressure along your clothed slit, over your aching nub, until he reaches the top hem of your panties -silly, silky little things- and then, he pushes the elastic hem aside, dipping his two, thick middle fingers down into your folds, gliding effortlessly through your slick until he curls towards your entrance.
You shudder from his touch, submitting an open-mouthed moan to him already as he skims through your wetness, his half-bared cock twitching against his soft, rounded stomach in response to the feel of you. The sound of you.
He pulses and swirls his fingers up and down over your heat, simply gathering and playing with your arousal, and you can imagine what he is feeling beneath his fingers. You can hear your own wetness, your sweet nectar aiming to sucker him in.
It works.
“Please. Can I taste you?” he asks, in that wrecked voice again- the one which ends you.
Your eyes traverse him, hungrily. His mouth tipped open, needy breaths circling beneath that flourishing facial hair. His forearm exposed and veins popping as he works his fingers against you. His cock. Fuck. His delicious cock looks so hard and ruddy, the head of him practically crimson -fit to burst already- and the man must need some relief, and yet all he can think of is sinking his mouth to you? Not that you’re complaining, mind you.
What most gets you though – still – are his eyes. Those gentle, heat-infused, heavy-lidded, lust-laden, adoring, cola-coloured eyes.
Still, you throw your head back, as his fingertips continue to haphazardly explore your folds, your hips bucking and writhing readily, messily against his fingers. “You… ohhhh. You don’t have to do what your buddy said, you know? Only if you want.”
“I want to. I want to taste you, please. Hermosa. Please.”
Fuck, those beautiful brown eyes.
You never imagined you would end the evening with this handsome man begging to eat you out, and you don’t have it in you to resist, not even for a moment. Instead, you nod eagerly, scrambling to spread your thighs for him and hitching your dress up over your hips, opening for him with slick and eager hinges. Richard’s exposed member gleams for you, peeking out from his jeans, and each item of his clothing now looks like it is an impediment; however, he wastes no time on that. Instead, he simply begins a slow, deliberate peel of your panties down to your ankles, and, as you expel a string of affirmatives and pleas into the air, he sinks his face towards your heat.
You weren’t ready for it. You weren’t ready for the feel of his supple, eager tongue writhing against you, nor the feel of his lips engulfing you, his moustache scraping your sensitive skin ever so slightly as he munches over your clit. You weren’t wrong either - he is definitely, unequivocally not afraid to make a mess of himself. At all. In fact, you wonder if he has forgotten this is for you, as he truly does seem intent on tasting you, drinking from you as though he’s slurping on a milkshake, or relishing a cherry sucker. You think he might drink you dry. Or, you would think so, except you are getting wetter, as his assured, quietly confident tongue laps and probes and licks at everywhere it counts.
“Unnng. Dulce. Como duraznos en almíbar,” he praises into your heat.
Sweet. Like peaches in syrup.
You mewl for him. You writhe yourself desperately, embarrassingly, but this man moans eagerly into your heat as if he’s gaining as much pleasure from this as you are. That can’t possibly be true, however. It can’t be true because you are positively alight with ecstasy. You are experiencing such an abundance of it that you can scarce handle it, pleasure both balling and knotting tightly at your centre, and zipping out to every extremity. Your body bows and bucks under the weight of it and at the same time soars, weightless, to another plane.
When you think you couldn’t possibly take any more, Richard’s thumb begins a slow circle of your entrance, tracing around you. Dipping in to you. When his thumb slips in to fully puncture your heat, your juices spill over him, like you truly are a ruined peach, your fists clenching wildly in the sheets. You are his fruit. His ruined, ravaged fruit, existing and perishing only on his tongue. Coming to life and ending when he tastes you.
“Fuck, Richard!” you exclaim, as your peak threatens to overtake you so soon, and you worry that the sound was too weak for him to hear it; however, the man is apparently attentive as ever, even when he’s lost in between your thighs. He stops immediately, lifting his pretty eyes to yours, running his hands up and down along your quivering legs, trailing his fingers reverently over your mound and your patch of hair.
“You’re shaking, bonita,” he says, sounding awed.
“F-feels too good. But I want you inside me. I need you. Please. Will you – W-will you undress and lie down for me?”
It’s all you want. He is all you want. And you can’t explain why, but when you do fall apart for him, you need it to be together. Perhaps, so that when you unravel, you can bind yourself to him. You will tie those knots so tightly, you think, that they will not come undone.
In response to your request, Richard looks positively wrecked with need -and still a little nervous- but he obliges you, and your eyes keenly watch him as he slowly relinquishes his clothes. First his lower half, jeans kicked off to the floor. Then his shirt. He hesitates, when it comes to his white undervest. He looks so appealing in it that you wouldn’t mind if he kept it on; and yet, you are endlessly pleased when he peels it over his head, revealing his smooth chest and stomach and arms to you, your hungry eyes wandering over his form.
“Mmm. Gorgeous man,” you praise, rolling onto all fours with a surging, tidal wave of desire, trailing kisses and skimming your hot, wet mouth all the way down his bared torso as he kneels on the bed. He tastes faintly of sweat; salt on your tongue.
“Tell me what you want, Richard.”
“I… I need to feel your skin. Feel all of you,” he pleads hoarsely, and so, you follow his lead, tugging your dress over your head, and, with a ravenous, seductive stare, slowly releasing yourself from your bra. Richard’s jaw actually goes slack as he takes in the sight of all of you, entirely bared for him, the word “wow” gently suspiring from the pillow of his lips.
You smile as you guide him on to his back, and, tucking your body into his side, propped on one elbow, your hand smooths over his chest as you kiss him deeply. You taste yourself on him, a sweet, heady musk lingering on his moustache; and then, your hand traverses his chest and soft stomach, inching closer to where you crave. His body shivers under your hand as your fingertips stroke him at a spot where he’s evidently a little ticklish. He half-giggles, but the sound transforms quickly into a stuttered moan as your reach his arousal, a single finger circling the head of him.
Your fingers have barely so much as grazed him there and his cock is twitching, his hips bucking in search of your hand and his shapely chin tilted up towards the sky.
“Fuck. Are you sensitive there, baby?” you purr, and, as your fingers curl gently around him again, he nods vigorously – desperately- his expression almost tortured and his arms pinned by his sides.
“Yes, Ma’am. It feels so good when you touch me. Please. Please don’t stop.”
He shivers again -in a whole new way- as your thumb swirls, gingerly, spreading the glistening pearl of precum around the head of him.
You believe the man – that you make him feel good. He expels a breathy, gasping moan, or a tortured half-chuckle every time you so much as brush him. His might even be the most sensitive cock you’ve had, you think, and you watch, enraptured, as his pleasure plays out over his face, his hands fisting into the sheets at his sides as his body writhes for you. Still, you want more. You are greedy for him. Want to feel him everywhere.
“Can I take you in my mouth, Richard?”
“Do you want to?” he asks, and you nod, slinking cat-like down the bed, until you are in position, your mouth settling over his cock.
“You look delicious,” you purr, and when he pleads with you, you dip your head, your tongue laving out to encircle him in a wet, writhing embrace. He’s moreish here too, and so, you sink your lips down around his straining mass. He’s big, and he stretches your capabilities. You can’t even take all of him right away, but you give it your best effort as he moans beneath you.
“Unngg. No-one has ever fit so much,” he praises in disbelief as you take him deeper, humming around him, your head bobbing languorously over his shaft. Richard bucks his hips up ever so gently into your mouth - very careful not to drive into you further than you can take him. His hands come to rest tenderly on your head too, and his fingers smooth so delicately over your hair - reverently even. He doesn’t make any move to grab you to push you down on him- even if you might like that, or he might like that, at a later stage. Right now, you are more than content with this rare, unparalleled gentleness. This delicate, tender joy.
With relish, you continue. He makes such pretty sounds when you have him under your tongue, and yet, for how sensitive he is you are certainly impressed with his stamina. After a particularly deep bob down on to him, you surge off his length, using your hand to rub your slick into him as you look up at him, finding you have him transfixed.
“Need you inside of me, Richard. Can I get on top of you?”
This ache between your legs is becoming untenable.
“Unngg. Want to be inside of you so badly, bonita. Are you ready for me?”
Indicating your readiness, you shift yourself to straddle his hips, your core practically dripping over him as you settle your arousal over his. You writhe him along your folds, coating him in your juices, before rising up on your knees. You have to rise a little higher than you’re used to, to reach the tip of him, and eagerly you settle the blunt pressure of his ruddy, gleaming head at your entrance. You can barely steady yourself in position as your thighs and core tremble for him, in mere anticipation of him filling you. You are grateful when Richard’s hands come to lightly grip the meat of your hips -steadying you, supporting you a little- thumbs caressing your soft spots.
You tug in a breath as you prepare to spear yourself on him, the air faltering in your lungs as you pause where you are, just for a moment, Richard looking up adoringly from under you.
“Soñé contigo por tanto tiempo,” Richard whispers, barely audible. I have dreamed of you for so long. You’re not sure whether it is his sincere, heartfelt words igniting this pleasure within you or the slow inch and drag of your wet heat down his thick, veined shaft. Likely both, but either way, you know you want more.
“Uhhh. Slow. Slow, bonita,” he groans, as you begin to sink all the way down on him, his steady hands guiding you, now cupping your ass, staccato breaths escaping his parted lips as you engulf him. You take him, slowly, gradually, feeling him inch by inch as his girth and his length stretch you open. As you take him to his base, all the way, the full weight of you settling on his hips, Richard’s eyes practically roll back into his head. “God, it feels so good inside you. Can you take me like this?”
Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip and you nod, stilling as you adjust to his size. He’s a lot, but it’s a pleasant kind of pressure as he strains against your walls and all your sweet spots. “Can you… take a little bit more, hermosa?” Fuck, how does he have even more to give?
“Say stop if it’s too much,” Richard pleads. “Promise?” When you nod, Richard slowly plants his hands on your hips and pulls you down on to him, just a little, as he bucks his hips up, ever so gently. You cry out, your face contorting in disbelief and your head arcing to the sky as Richard fills you to your limit. Meanwhile, Richard is studying your face with gentle concern, feeling it out, checking you are comfortable, letting you slowly reconfigure your insides to the shape of his girth and length. He’d never hurt you. He’d simply never.
And, even though he has filled you all the way up, it feels so good.
Richard stills under you, until you are ready. His fingers trail tenderly over your thighs and belly and breasts. Over the mound of you. Your legs are shaking, folded and clamped down around his hips, and you’re not sure that your weakened limbs have the strength to allow you to rise on his length. But damn it, you will give it a valiant try.
“I need to move,” you beg, even though you are in the position of control, and Richard looks up at you with big pretty eyes, and God, he’s buried in you that you can feel him all the way in your guts. You gasp, whimper, as, gingerly, you rise up, feeling the fullness and drag of him against your walls as you start working and undulating against him, feeling out all the angles which feel best and…
Fuck there are no bad angles.
As you melt, become molten, Richard is your stiffness and he gives form to your boneless, bodiless flesh. You are full, all the way up. You are so full and it could feel urgent and dirty, having his cock deep in you like this, but it… doesn’t. It feels… Fuck. It just feels…. right. You can only describe it as a caress, as he comes to be held safely and tightly inside you, and you begin to move slowly, wanting -somehow- to imbue each drag of him over your walls with the care and affection you feel for him. The adoration you feel so deeply; as deeply as he’s buried in you. Deeper.
“Richard,” you plead, and you hinge forward at the hips, until your chest sinks down to his, your lips on to his lips, and as you undulate on his body you cling to him. Bury your face and your tongue and your hopes and your dreams in him, as though, if you plant them deep enough you can take root and call him home. As if you are a fruit and you need his ground to grow.
In turn, he holds you, arms wrapped around you, fingers caressing your back, moustache scraping against your cheek, your lips, your neck as speaks honey into your skin, nourishing you with sweet, wholesome praises. And, when he’s content that you can take him, when you’ve shown him how you can, Richard starts moving too, working in tandem with you as your bodies roll and heave together.
You show him not only that you can, but how much you enjoy taking him. There are sounds of pulverised fruit, leaking over him, his cock pushing your juices out of you, as though there is no room inside you for anything else but him. And, as your tightness surrounds him, his arms surrounding you in turn, he bestows you with simple yet jewelled praises, calling you all the beautiful names under the sun in both of his tongues.
It’s sweet, and it’s slow, and you both embody tenderness, all caressing fingers and lips and sugary, grateful noises. Clutching hands and arms, drawing the other closer, deeper into this tangle. As he stokes you, you can barely stand these sensations. You can barely comprehend something so pure and so perfect.
He glides into you now, your slick everywhere, your sex increasingly loud and obscene as his beautiful cock is suckered into your wet, liquid heat. As you quicken your pace, Richard’s mouth settles over your shoulder, teeth lightly gripping your flesh as he stifles a moan into your skin. Then, his breaths are billowing gusts fanning over you, and you can guess that he is trying to bring his approaching release under control.
By this stage, you are overwhelmed, your legs spent and tremoring, and you can barely rise and sink on his length anymore for shaking. You have become weak for him, practically liquid from this slow, torturous build. You need Richard to be your stiffness and your joints. You need to be a fluid thing beneath him, or else, you think, you will perish.
“Lie down for me, bonita?” Richard whispers sweetly, so attuned to you, and, seeing, as you flounder with need, your full weight almost limp on top of him, that a change of position is in order.
He draws out of you with a shudder and rolls you, carefully, his own body following and chasing yours. Richard’s weight settles pleasantly on top of you this time, and, as you fumble into position you spread your legs for him, wrapping your thighs and arms tightly around him. You hold him close to you, your hands cradling his head, fumbling through his grizzled curls, now mussed wild tendrils falling around his face. Then, ever so gently, dipping to kiss you sweetly with that assured tongue, Richard re-sheaths himself, sliding easily inside you now with a divine caress of skin. He feels overwhelmingly good. He feels like heaven reaching inside you to kiss your soul and you pray out loud, your moans greeting his kiss.
The angle and the pressure like this is something else, the press of Richard’s soft stomach and hips and the driving of his cock pushing you pleasantly down into the mattress, your body given a little bounce from the springs which helps you set a perfect rhythm together. You are moments away from unravelling, already, as Richard pistons in and out of you, over and over, a glorious pressure building as you are wrapped up safely in the warmth and scent and sound of your sweet, perfect man. You are lost in the feel of him, both of you clammy and breathy and sheening with sweat as you writhe and combine; and fuck, you want to unravel. You need to.
You want to unravel so you can bind yourself to him with more than this ephemeral tangle of limbs. You want to get lost in him, in a way that makes you feel found.
“I’m going to lose it for you, Richard. It feels too good. I... can’t take it. I… It’s too much. I’m… Harder. Deeper. Please.”
Richard is spurred on by your praises, his pace becoming quickened, his thrusts slightly harder. He sinks into you with vigour, though not with any need to dominate or take from you, you think. Simply as an expression of the overwhelming need to be closer. Deeper. More held by you. To hold you in return. It’s not close enough, even as you hold him tightly in your arms. You are so greedy for him that you don’t think you could ever get enough, even as it’s all too much.
You moan. You moan like a sob. Like a plea. Like a prayer. And he shushes you. Soothes you. He shushes you while he’s buried so deep in you -burying himself so deep in you- that you are fucked wide open. There’s something so pure and yet so wicked about the contradiction of his gentleness and this huge, undeniable force in your centre. You feel that he has crawled so deep up in you that he can never leave; and you want it that way.
“Can you take a little more, hermosa?
Fuck. No. Can you? But, yes. Please, yes. God yes.
“Yes. Please, Richard. Give me everything. I want all of you inside me. Need you.”
He thrusts his hips forward. He’s been holding out on you.
“Ohhhh, just like that,” you plead, voice ragged and your moans escalating, both your bodies slick with sweat now as you tangle together. “Right there. Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Richard! I need. Unnggg. Fuck. Need you deep inside me, just like that. Please don’t stop. Don’t stop!” You plead desperately with him -as if you even need to bargain- your teeth clamping down on your bottom lip and your hands reaching for him, tugging him closer to you as he drives his length into you over and over, pressing you harder into the mattress as you sucker him into your tightness.
His lips sink to the column of your neck, that moustache grazing you there, his own rich sounds of pleasure reverberating against your skin, his voice humming so close it sinks into your bones.
“N-never want to stop,” he gushes hoarsely into your skin. “Always want to be inside you- feel you wrapped around me, preciosa.”
His words are sincere. Earnest. And, with his words, and the repeated drag of his perfect cock, and his warmth enveloping you, you finally cry out, omitting a wracked, disbelieving moan as your pleasure pulses through you; toes curling, head thrown back, body jerking and spasming beneath him. This is an orgasm which keeps on giving, deep and strong; waves of bliss rolling through you whole body. A star bursting out from your centre. A flood. Quite literally a flood, intense and urgent and everywhere, and you look down at yourself. This is something else. Something more. A bigger heaven. You hear a new sound even, and you look down, realising that Richard’s cock has you squirting all over him, your release gushing and sloshing wet between your bodies as he continues to thrust into you, coaxing you through your peak and deepening your earth-shaking orgasm with every single movement.
“Ohhhh fuck... Richard-” you cry out, in what can only be described as awe, almost sobbing with ecstasy, your legs violently twitching and trembling as they wrap more tightly around him “-no-one’s ever made me do that before!”
Despite his gentleness, his control, this flood seems to overcome Richard too, and his thrusts become sloppy, as though he can barely stave off his release long enough to keep going, his body going near limp over you for a moment. You even swear he gets harder and bigger and deeper -if that was even possible- when he realises exactly what he made you do. When he realises that you soaked him. Flooded him. Your liquid and your juices shining on his stomach and coursing down his sturdy thighs.
You worry for a moment- you wonder whether he minds or if he likes it, as your release coats his skin and the tangle of sheets, but you needn’t worry for anything more than a moment. In response to your deluge, Richard looks at you as though you are a divine being, and, if you thought he seemed dishevelled with need earlier, this is something else. He’s undeniably into it. Indeed, as he takes in the sight of you below him, bared and writhing in ecstasy amidst a tangle of wet sheets, he stutters moans into the air, his thrusts become more determined, his cock pumping into you with refreshed vigour.
“N- never done that b-before?”
“No, Richard. Fuck. You made me-”
“-I’m going to make you do it again,” he purrs, and it is not a command at all. He never loses his characteristic gentleness. It is half a plea and half a promise, his sincere as ever. “Do it for me again, Bonita,” he coaxes, and he sounds thoroughly levelled by you. He sounds like he can’t get enough of you.
Fuck. You don’t know if you can...
“You can do it, baby. Please. Soak me again.”
You don’t think you can, until Richard is talking to you like that, with profuse, sugared pleas, and until he is hitting you exactly where you need, how you need, all over again.
You practically scream with it, weep with it, curse with it, sending a hoarse, high-pitched crescendo into the air, the keen punctuated by quickened, spent grunts Richard expels into the air with each deep, thick, purposeful thrust into you. You don’t think you’ve ever felt a more assured cock.
You don’t think you can, until-
When you gush over him a second time you are more prepared for it. Prepared enough to watch as you spill over him. Prepared enough to catch the positively awed, sunken expression which spreads over Richard’s face. To appreciate the sound of your release squirting over him and sloshing, wet in-between your bodies, liquid slapping against the roundness of his soft stomach as he thrusts into you faster; more urgently. This time -how can he help it- Richard comes undone with you; and, suddenly it seems everything is liquid, like a flood.
You can feel him fill you up, can feel his hot seed pulsing all the way from the base of him and coating your walls with thick ropes of cum as his hips stutter, burying his length into your heat as deep as he can go. He goes practically limp on top of you, hips collapsing into yours, and you feel him filling you -once again- to your limit, as the motion drives him just a little deeper, just a little closer. Meanwhile, you twitch and shudder and writhe and clench through your aftershocks with Richard still balls deep inside of you, barely able to comprehend the new heights of pleasure you have reached together. Awed, by the way your bodies are speaking like they’ve known each other for years too - despite that this is their first encounter.
There’s this wetness. This wetness everywhere; inside you, on you, under you, and for several moments you feel you too could be liquid, melting and pooling and coursing from the bed. Becoming vapour and evaporating from his hot, sweat-slickened skin. You might, if it wasn’t for Richard - his weight settled on top of you in a pleasing crush. His head settling in the crook of your neck, his length still inside you, his tongue laving to bury itself in your mouth too in a desperate, haphazard motion. He means to bury himself in all ways he can, you think, and you let him. You let him become your stone heart, as you are nothing but boneless, bodiless flesh; an oiled thing beneath him like pulverised, spent fruit - all your juices squeezed out.
You coil your limbs fluidly around him, and you engulf his sturdy form with your softness, holding him at the centre of you. Still buried -softening too- in your centre. Held in this intimate circle of your arms. Becoming the centre of your universe.
You bind yourself to him. You become his. His fruit.
Still panting, spent, hot, Richard rolls off you then, his stiffness gone and his body boneless now too, his stomach and his thighs sheening with a concoction of wetness. His smooth, hairless chest slick with sweat. He collapses beside you, but he immediately reaches for your hand and presses his body to your side. Immediately checks that you’re alright, as you truly become corporeal again, flitting down from heaven and into his arms; a conduit of heaven too, you think.
Now, what the… hold up a damn second. What did this sweet man just-
You gush. You gush for him in words now that the old relic of language and (almost) coherent thought has returned to you, your voice still breathy and discombobulated. “Richard. Richard? Richard! Fuck me. That was... I need you to know that was... Fuck. Phenomenal. I’ve never. In my life. I’ve never done that before. I’ve never... Oh my God. I can’t feel my face. Was that... good for you? Was it...? Fuck. Sweet man.”
Richard chuckles fondly at your near-incoherent babble of words, drawing you into his chest and cradling you like you are a precious thing – the most precious thing.
“It was perfect,” he whispers, satin soft, through a disbelieving breath, and his words make your heart flutter and your stomach tumble pleasantly. Richard’s soft sounds continue, as he whispers sweet names and gentle praises into your hair, kissing everywhere he can reach to punctuate his words, and smoothing his fingers in nonsense shapes over your skin. Hermosa. Bonita. Preciosa. “Everything was perfect. You’re so perfect. I’ve never... I’ve never had someone take care of me so well, princesa. Thank you.”
You can hear it - the flood of emotion in his voice, and, at his admission, his praises, the rush, tears pool in your eyes. It seems he has yet more water to drain from you as a patter of tears course over the bridge of your nose and settle in the hollow of his chest. However, it is not sadness, but joy, you realise. You are thoroughly overwhelmed by how held you feel. By how happy you feel. However, when your eyes brim over and you sniffle, Richard cranes his head down towards you, pulling you up from him so your eyes can meet his.
He looks momentarily devastated. “What’s wrong? Please tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
“No, sweet man. Not at all. It was perfect for me too,” you are quick to reassure, and, as you shuffle on to your stomach, propping yourself up to gaze into his eyes, Richard runs a solitary thumb across your cheek. You ache with the tenderness of his touch. “Just... I’ve never had anyone take care of me like that either,” you admit, and his eyes shine gently at you, misting over with pure, unadulterated adoration. “I’ve never felt so-”
Loved.
Loved, you realise you want to say, but that would be ridiculous, right? This is your first date.
Who said anything about love?
Still, you realise that is the truth of things. That is exactly how he made you feel. Richard was so tender with you, so present, so sensual, so connected. So… right. Had you made him feel this way too? Will he let you take care of him again?
You want to. You so desperately want to. Want to protect him, care for him, laugh with him. Rest your head on the soft pillow of his stomach as he holds you close to him.
He has taken care of you so well, and you don’t want him to stop.
Please. Don’t stop.
Still, as you silently contemplate all of this, Richard simply bundles you firmly into his chest. if you are unable to find the right words, at least he is able to find the gesture. And so, the need to clean up forgotten, the cloying wetness of your skin and the sheets seemingly not bothering him, you languish against him, safe and warm and held.
“Did it feel good?” he asks, after a few moments of comfortable silence. “When you… um…?”
“Squirted all over your cock? Hell yes.” You interject, able to find the words for that at least, filling in the blank for him and laughing gently against his skin. You weren’t able to turn the act into poetry, not yet, your words clumsy and crude, but you didn’t exactly need to. The whole act felt like poetry already. Poetry written on your bones. Etched into your heart.
When he flooded you.
“Maybe you can write about it,” he suggests, and you can hear the cheeky, playful smile dancing on his lips.
“Richard Alonso Muñoz,” you scold, teasingly, your fingers dancing equally playfully over his smooth chest. “Is that what you want me for? You want to be immortalised in poetry? I don’t think you’re as innocent as you let on, are you?”
“I’m not?” he chuckles warmly.
“You read erotic poetry and trashy romance novels… and you fuck like that.”
Make love, like that.
You still cannot move beyond crude words, but in your heart, he makes the words come easily.
“Truthfully, it’s... not always like that,” Richard admits. “It’s… only like that with you.”
Once again, his sincerity has you speechless, and it is all you can do to hold him close to you, as tightly as you can, your eyes squeezing closed and a soft smile tipping your lips. He holds you in return. Holds you in this perfect moment.
“It really did feel good though. It was… I can’t even describe it. My body feels likes a… fucking… limp, wet noodle.”
The laugh he emits at your words is music. “Wet noodle? Aren’t you supposed to be a poet, darling?” Oh, he’s teasing you now? This sweet man is teasing you?
You gasp, mock affronted, and jab him playfully in the stomach with your finger, in the spots you remember he is ticklish. “Rude!” you exclaim, and he jiggles joyously against you. When the laugh dissipates, leaving only smiling, appled cheeks, silence once again enfolds you like a warm, comfortable blanket.
“I was thinking,” he begins softly, after a few moments of laying together. “We could go to the farmer’s market tomorrow. The one with the cider donuts. We could take Lady.”
You can’t answer right away, can’t find the words, and it is all you can do to tug in a slow breath. Your hesitation evidently has Richard worrying again, and he rushes to fill in the blank space with his own insecurities. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice brittle. “I assumed... because I want to, but... but maybe you’re not thinking that you want to see me again...”
You pull back. Urgently moving so that you are face-to-face with him on the pillow, his body following yours on to his side too, like a magnet. You cup his face again, with your tender, open hand. You look him in the eyes. Those sweet, expressive, cola-coloured eyes. Your heart is shining for him, and it feels rubbed until it gleams.
You examine his tentatively hopeful expression. You get the sense that this man falls hard. Falls quickly. He’s in love with love, after all. You, on the other hand, love slow. And so, even as it breaks your heart that you can’t yet say the words aloud, you deflect. “You want to know what I’m thinking, Richard?” He nods. “I’m still thinking about how you turned me into a wet noodle. You should be the smuggest Adonis this side of Midtown - how on earth are you playing that one so cool?”
Richard’s face pinches a little, his gaze dropping from yours, lashes fluttering.
“It was perfect,” he agrees, in a small voice. “But, I guess, I’m not as… surprised as you are.” You shake your head slightly, in mild confusion. Wanting him to elaborate. “I always imagined you would be perfect.” He blinks shyly, and attempts a masking smile. “I don’t know if you thought the same way about me.”
A terrible lump swells in your throat. Your chest tightens.
It’s time to speak. To make your words a little more like poetry.
But it’s scary. It’s hard. You know that now.
“That’s not quite it, sweet man,” you begin. Realisation sinking heavily through you, drawing your brow down with it. Richard searches your face, encouraging you to go on, expression open; pretty eyes big. And, although the words are hard to say, they are easier. The words are easier around him. “Honestly, Richard? I think, you’ve always been perfect. I just didn’t want to realise it. I didn’t want to notice you,” you confess, your voice cracking with emotion.
“Why?” Richard encourages, a knot in his brow now too as he smooths his thumb earnestly over your cheek, breath bated. His touch is like the path of a match against its counterpart box; it is a little thing, which threatens to ignite something far larger.
“I…” you sigh out some of your tension and nerves with a billowing exhale. “I suppose… because I knew. That as soon as I saw you, there would be no going back. I must have known deep-down, that if I saw you, that I… I could love you so quickly.”
Richard swallows. “Is that… not something you want? Love?”
“It didn’t used to be. I… didn’t used to believe I deserved it,” you reveal, tears balling in your eyes as all of your deepest fears and secrets loosen and rattle inside your chest, gradually being shed and needing to find their exit.
“And now, preciosa?” Richard asks, gingerly smoothing a hand over the crown of your head, dipping a moustached kiss to the centre of your forehead. “What do you believe?”
Now? Now, it is different, and a cautious smile slowly claims your lips - even as your cheeks are wet by tears.
“I’m thinking, Richard Alonso Muñoz, that… That nothing would give me greater pleasure than accompanying you to the farmer’s market.”
Your words sound flippant, perhaps insignificant, but you can tell, from the way Richard’s eyes pool with a subtle, brewing joy, that your true meaning is abundantly clear to him. So, in mutual celebration your lips press together in a crush, smile lines radiating across his face. When he pulls back though, a gentle, playful heat seemingly overtakes him. “Are you sure about that, bonita?” he asks in a fond, teasing tone. As his chest shakes in a rich, gleeful chuckle, you perfectly catch his meaning too.
“Okay, okay,” you concede, with a giggle, as he slants his hips forward, pressing his already hardening length against your thigh. “Maybe there is one thing that could give me more pleasure.” You tick-up a suggestive eyebrow. “Want to remind me?”
“Please,” he purrs, just as broken with need as before. “My beautiful, wet little noodle.”
At his ridiculous new pet name -which you only have yourself to blame for, honestly- you squeal brightly, expelling musical peals of laughter into his open-mouth as he surges to kiss you, the act imbued with deep affection. He kisses you until the laughter pleasantly dissipates, your bodies suffusing with a resurgent heat, as you tangle together all over again.
As Richard holds you, every so tenderly, you are overcome. Your loneliness? It has never felt so far away. You hadn’t realised how much you needed somebody to love. You hadn’t realised that someone was him. You hadn’t wanted to admit it. But, oh, you are realising it now. And, you are never going to forget it.
“Kiss me again,” you plead into the air.
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
Everywhere.
Everywhere.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he responds, affirmatively, and with relish, you feel his moustache graze the column of your neck. Somehow, you don’t think you’ll ever tire of that feeling.
As his lips crush to your again, you note how he tastes. A combination of your sweet, nectar-like juices, and the subtle tang of sweat he has kissed from your sex-flushed skin. He tastes like a salted peach. He is pure poetry, you think. You’ve never tasted anything quite as sweet, and you’ve never experienced such a flood. And, now that your deluge of joy is through -your happiness instead streaming steadily- it no longer feels heavy. It no longer weighs you down.
You want to love him, and be loved; and, you will.
What’s more. You deserve every bit of it.
It’s the little things. One by one. And then, suddenly, there it is. There’s everything; in your arms.
#Richard Alonso Muñoz#richard alonso munoz x reader#the letter room#Richard Alonso Muñoz x reader#Oscar Isaac
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"Rock my world" - Sirius Black x reader
A/n: I was thinking of making this a series but idk, let me know what you think. The band in the picture, Maneskin, are my inspiration for the marauders' band music and aesthetic. Check them out cause they're really good. They're going to represent Italy at the next Eurovision contest.
Here's their Instagram and Spotify.
Tags: Muggle AU, so ofc no magic, no Hogwarts, Marauders in a rock band, no Peter but Regulus instead, jily
Warnings: none
Word count: 2.2K ish
Summary: When y/n finally agrees to check out this band that her best friend was always talking about, she's in for a pleasant surprise and one hell of a night.
It had all started in the cheesiest and most cliscé of ways, really. Y/n had made a bet which had made you go out of your comfort zone that one night and for your bravery, you were rewarded with the most amazing boyfriend ever. It sounds like a story out of a rom-com or a romance novel, doesn't it? Well, yeah, it felt like a main character moment but, unlike what we see in those stories, it wasn't always fun and games.
But let's start from the beginning, shall we?
Y/n's best friend Jules had been nagging her about this rock band who was apparently the new sensation of the year according to her, for the longest time. So, one Friday night, when Jules had informed her that that very band was playing in a bar not very far from her workplace, she agreed to go for drinks there.
Worst case scenario, she thought, the music will be terrible but at least I get to tease Jules about it.
Still clothed in the floral dress she had chosen this morning, but adding a few glittery touches and graphic eyeliner to make her look more nighty, y/n headed towards said bar where Jules was already waiting for her.
"Finally," she huffed when y/n rounded the corner and entered her field of vision.
"Sorry, it was my turn to close tonight," y/n shot her an apologetic smile before hooking their arms.
They made their way inside looking for a place to sit. The bar was already crowded but not in an unusual way. Maybe it was the hour or the fact that it was a weeknight, y/n didn't know but felt grateful that it wasn't packed. She really wasn't a fan of crowded places.
They got their drinks and caught up as they usually would about their week. They were almost finished when the band walked up the stage and music started playing. Even before the first note, one look at their outfits made clear what kind of music they were going to play.
They had an interesting aesthetic, y/n had to admit. They wore the same colour but each member had their own style. The band was made up of four guys, the bassist had long straight hair and he looked a lot like the singer who instead had curly hair, the drummer had short curly light brown hair and y/n couldn't see what he was wearing past a black vest while the guitarist had black hair that was all over the place and wore glasses.
They had an androgynous aesthetic, each of them with beautiful makeup in tones of black and grey and the ones y/n could see clearly were wearing a sort of body. They looked stunning. Y/n had decided she liked them based on this alone. She had to admire anyone who had the guts to express themselves freely especially when it was in such an open and unapologetic way of going against gender norms.
After half an hour, the music stopped and after the singer wished everyone goodnight and they all climbed down. As she expected, they played rock music ranging from soft rock edging pop to hard rock that made her think a lot of ACDC. Y/n wasn't an expert in music but she had liked what she heard and wouldn't mind listening more from them. She was sure that she was going to catch some of their songs on the radio in the future.
However, Jules picked up the conversation where they had left it before the concert and decided that it was the time where she'd complain about her recent love interest. Each of their weekly meetings had one of this moment. Unfortunately, it looked like Jules didn't have a lot of luck when it came to guys. And as it always would, she wondered if she was the problem asking y/n if the reason every one of her relationships failed because she was unlovable. As if.
"That's not true, I truly believe that you can learn to love anyone. Lest you get to know them, of course."
"Of course you'd say something like that."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"If you truly believe that, then you're not going to say no to this." Jules wriggles her eyebrows suggestively and y/n knew that the night is either about to become very interesting or about to go very wrong.
"The expression on your face is telling me that I should definitely say no to what you're about to say."
"Oh c'mon, it's just an innocent dare. Nothing too crazy, I promise."
"Which is?"
"You see that guy leaning on the bar? Long black hair with the black leather jacket?" Y/n turned around indulging her friend and eventually spotted the guy she was talking about. She took her time to look at him until she realized something that made her whip around to face Jules again.
"You mean the singer of the band?" y/n asked incredulously.
"Isn't he handsome?" Jules smiled wide completely ignoring the look y/n was giving her already knowing what was going through her friends' mind. "I want you to go to him and ask him out."
"What?"
"C'mon", Jules complained reaching out to y/n over the table, "didn't you say that it was possible to love anyone? Can't you see yourself loving him?"
"That's not the point," y/n exclaimed still not believing that her friend was suggesting something so outrageous. "Can you see him loving me?" Because that man over there had "heart breaker" spelt all over him. And okay, y/n had to admit that this was a rush judgment she was making and it wasn't exactly fair but there was no way that a guy like him could be interested in a girl like her.
And yes, we could stay here and discuss all the reasons why that statement is wrong but still, if she were to put herself out there -something that was not like her at all- she wasn't going to go over someone so out of reach for her. And that was that.
"Listen, do you remember that video you sent me the other day?" Jules squared her shoulders, now looking fully serious at y/n. Unfortunately, y/n did remember the video Jules was talking about. She would have never guessed it would come back and bit her in the ass otherwise she'd never sent it.
Sighing, y/n looked down at the drink in her hands and thought about it. The video basically encouraged the viewer to go up to what they believed was the most beautiful person in the room and tell them exactly that. It may sound a little silly but at the time y/n had appreciated the sentiment. Going out of one's comfort zone. Challenging yourself. Because, what was the worst that could happen? That person shotting you down? That didn't sound life-threatening. Now though, y/n wasn't so sure.
"Worst case scenario, just tell him I'm calling you and head back here." Jules offered, almost as if she could tell exactly what her best friend was thinking.
Looking at her best friend, something snapped in her. Jules was right. What's the worst that could happen? She already knew that the guy was going to shoot her down. She was prepared. It was a dare, a silly thing that could give her a story to tell to her nephews one day.
What the hell, y/n thought squaring her shoulders.
"You know what?" she downed the rest of her drink and got up from her seat, "I'm doing it." Looking in the reflection of the tissue box on the table to check how she looked, she fixed her smudged lipstick and ruffed her hair before nodding solemnly at Jules and turned around.
As she made her way to the bar, she could hear Jules cheering on her fueling her sudden confidence.
The man of the hour was there where she saw him last. Her steps faltered as she realized that she had no idea how to approach him. What was she going to say? Oh my god, she was totally going to make a fool of herself. If she was not going to die for his rejection, she sure is going to die of embarrassment.
She was almost about to turn around and abort the mission when his eyes met hers.
Well, fuck. There was no way she was going to back down now.
She regained her confidence and smiled at him while closing the distance between them. She smiled at him. Who was she? Did someone drug her drink?
He smiled back at her, turning so that he'd be facing her once she reached him and she almost stopped to pinch herself to see if she was hallucinating or something.
"Hey," she said once she stood in front of him. Good, she thought, let's start with something simple.
"Hi," he smiled back at her.
Okay, okay, it's going good, isn't it? He hasn't ignored me, that must mean something, right? Yes, that he wasn't a rude asshole was her sobering thought.
"So," y/n started trying to take to time while she figured what to say, "I saw a video the other day," was what she ended up with.
The handsome stranger lifted his eyebrows in amusement and took a sip of his beer. Y/n took that as a "go on then".
"There was this woman that basically dared anyone watching to go up to the person who they thought was the most beautiful person in the room and tell them exactly that." Well, let's just get it out of the way, I guess, she thought. "So, here I am," she added as if it wasn't clear enough.
However, as she saw the man's smile widen, y/n suddenly realized how really screwed she was. This man was way out of her league.
"Well, now that I'm here, I should also mention that you've really good at what you do too."
"Not to sound rude or anything," he spoke for the first time that evening and y/n had already decided that he had been the gods' favourite in another life before he opened his mouth but now? as he heard his low and raspy voice? she was sure he had been at least a demi-god, "did you lost a bet or something?" he asked, his grey eyes boring into hers like he was looking into her soul.
Who was this guy? and why was she feeling like this? Get a grip, y/n, she scolded herself.
"Is it that obvious?" y/n's shoulders slouched as some of the tension left them, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth.
"I saw you downing your drink like it was some kind of bravery potion before you came here," he explained with a light scroll of his shoulders. "Not that I mind though," he added with what should be an illegal smirk. Smug.
"Yeah, I'm sure you've heard it countless time only tonight." Let's joke on it, she thought, there's still a chance I can come clean out of this mess.
He chuckled and, not leaving her eyes, he slipped a hand through his loose hair pushing it back. "I meant that if you hadn't come I would probably found an excuse to come up to you too." He leaned back onto the bar looking completely unbothered, not as if he had said something that made her feel on fire.
"Looks like I've to thank your friend for my luck." Looking over your shoulder, he held one of his hands up and lightly waving at Jules, y/n figured.
"Yeah, let's not tell her that or I will never hear the end of it." Rolling her eyes, y/n also leaned on her arm resting on the bar next to him. Whether it was the fact that all the cards were on the table or that what he said meant that he had to somewhat like her, she felt more relaxed than a couple of minutes ago.
"Before I make this solemn oath, I think it would be appropriate to know your name, don't you think?"
"It's y/n," she held her hand up for him to shake. However, he had something else in mind since when he took hold of her hand he turned it and held it up to his lips to leave a soft kiss on it. Y/n almost rolled her eyes at the gesture if it wasn't for his eyes. They didn't move from hers and she found that she didn't want to stop looking at him. Like she was in a trance. Yes, he was handsome, even more so up close, so of course he was nice to look at but that wasn't why. It's the way his eyes glimmered as they watched her, the gentleness with which he was holding her hand, the softness of his lips on her skin. What would they feel like on her lips, she wondered.
"I'm Sirius."
And that's how it all started. A silly video sent almost automatically to her best friend and an outrageous bet made y/n's night definitely interesting. To her luck though, Sirius became a permanent presence and not a one-night sensation.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Tagging: @seldomabsent
#sirius black#sirius black x reader#sirius black AU#muggle AU#no hogwarts#no Peter either#the marauders are in a rock band#young!sirius black#marauders#sirius black one shot#sirius black imagine#sirius black imagines#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black fluff#marauders x reader#marauders imagine#harry potter x reader#harry potter imagines
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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 08 second part
(Masterpost) (Other Canary Malarkey )
Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!
Flower Town, Continued
The boys continue their ramble down main street. When they see an interesting crowd of people, Lan Wangji wants to hang back, actually verbalizing that it’s too crowded for him. He’s made a lot of communication progress since first meeting Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian reassures him, and hits him with a series of irresistibly fuckable coaxing expressions...
...and then grabs and drags him.
However, WWX only drags LWJ nearer to the crowd, not into it, letting go before he and Nie Huaisang step over to the group. Being taken out of his comfort zone is part of why Lan Wangji signed onto this Wei Wuxian ride, and as they grow closer WWX is learning LWJ’s particular parameters so he doesn’t cause a kernel panic total system crash.
Nie Huaisang recites some relevant poetry and Wei Wuxian praises him for being so cultured. I continue to love how sweet these two are with each other.
(more after the cut!)
Flower Boys
Lan Wangji gets rewarded for his bravery with a flower shower, and he blisses out, gazing at the pretty.
Nie Huaisang blisses out, gazing at Lan Wangji
Wei Wuxian valiantly tries to pretend he’s not totally heart eyes for Lan Wangji.
He fails.
Collecting the Yin Iron
Wen Chao is taking his own road trip, collecting Yin Iron and making trouble for our gang. This Yin Iron chunk is at the Flower Lady’s house.
Is...this a good way to store Yin Iron? It seems kinda precarious and, uh, stupid.
Next he goes to hassle the dancing rock lady, who, like OP, is a hystersister, but unlike OP, isn’t delighted about it. Having her female essence Yin removed some years ago made her hot all the time and now she eats souls if she gets a chance. Mood. Rock Lady needs better vitamins.
Anyway, Wen Chao is actually pretty effective at this Yin Iron getting thing, until he tries to catch Lan Wangji in a roadrunner trap anyway, and I don’t mind saying his dad should have more faith in him.
In between Yin Iron stops, Wen Chao takes a moment to menace Wen Ching, blah blah Wen blah blah Yin, oh my god this storyline is the dullest. But we do get to see her beautiful scabbard up close.
Before Wen Chao frees the rock lady from her bonds, she has a magic circle on the ground, like the one Wei Wuxian broke in Episode 1 by stepping on it. Seems secure. She is also bound in these chains. What are these chains (highlighted with white in the picture) supposed to accomplish, exactly?
Since they leave her front hand totally free, they are definitely not going to stop her from grabbing any of the dumbasses who consistently come and put offerings on the altar directly in front of her, is what I’m saying.
Wen Chao blasts the protection charm on the floor with some fire, and all of the chains fall off, so now Rock Lady is free to get her grouchy on.
Let’s review the master plan for hiding the Yin Iron, shall we? Of 4 pieces of Yin Iron, Xue Yang hid one up his ass somewhere that’s never revealed. The other three were hidden in 1. a well-warded secret ice cave, 2. A public-access temple 3. A flower. This is what happens when you don’t have a project manager.
Compatibility Score=Hard Nope
Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng sit down in a tavern for the world’s most antagonistic first date.
As it turns out, Wen Qing is being helpful. Aggressively helpful. Also, we discover that even when he’s got googly eyes for a girl, future Clan Leader Jiang takes no shit when it comes to confrontations. This is a heartening development, considering his parents’ terrible dynamic.
After Wen Qing delivers her message she tells her team to chill, and gets ready to sneak up the mountain to cause more trouble for her boss.
Flower Lady House
The boys continue to be a few steps behind Wen Chao, getting to the flower lady’s house and finding nothing but a feather.
Whenever we have an overhead shot of roofs I wonder where all the guards went. Possibly I have spent too much of my life playing Assassin’s Creed.
1. Nie Huaisang is very smart and observant 2. Nie Huaisang has super cool braids. There are even tiny side braids snaking up from his ears to his topknot.
Hey babe, how about some eye contact? Okay babe, but make it quick.
Dafan Mountain Town
Meet Granny, who is actually very nice and a good babysitter later in the story, but right now is baked out of her gourd.
Wei Wuxian tucks his sword in between his legs so he can make hand gestures while Nie Huaisang admires his hilt.
We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind
Because your friends don’t dance and if they don’t dance they’re no friends of mine
The gang wanders through the deserted town, which seemed pretty creepy back when I was young and idealistic and hadn’t seen goddamn Yi City yet.
Now it seems quaint and well-maintained. Also the town isn’t really deserted; the inhabitants are in the makeup tent getting their zombie cracks painted on.
Rock Lady Temple
Baked Granny and Vaguely Hostile Temple Tender Guy are like “sure, you kids can sleep in the haunted house, have a nice time with that” and our gang just fucking goes to sleep all at the same time like they’ve never seen a monster movie before.
Which is hotter: this fire, or this man asleep in this outfit with red laces on his vambraces and his red robe splayed all over the place and his knee up in the air and...ok, really there’s no need to even ask this question.
[too soon, OP, too soon. #FatalJourney]
Nie Huaisang wakes up all scared and startled, and Wei Wuxian subtly indicates his lack of concern.
Rock Lady Fight
Actually, of course, Nie Huaisang’s perceptions are right on the money, and the statue very sloooowly comes to life and attaaaaaaacks them. Spinning ensues.
Wei Wuxian deploys his bondage talisman, this time in yellowish-white. He probably picked blue before to remind him of Lan Wangji’s headband.
[note: for more spin-fighting be sure to check out my fanvid!]
The actors are really good at all this mime work. The CGI doesn’t always live up to their efforts, but they manage to sell it, most of the time.
Lan Wangji is a great fighter, let’s see what cool moves he will use to get out of this “hand lightly resting on my sword hilt” situation.
Lan Wangji, are you fucking kidding me?
Eventually the fight choreographer comes back from his lunch break and lets Lan Wangji put his arms down. They finish their scuffle with the rock lady, sticking her back on her pedestal. Lan Wangji uses a magic flint-and-steel maneuver...
...and Wei Wuxian deploys some extra-fabulous talismans.
This effectively keeps the rock lady confined for the next several years, so--go go battle buds!
Zombie Attack
Once Rock Lady is taken care of, the undead zombies living puppets attack.
Battle couple are on the same page throughout all of this, and decide to let go of the windows and doors they are holding closed in favor of putting a talisman on the center door only. Which, in the way of all zombie deterrents, works awesomely for about 2 minutes of screen time and then totally fails.
Duhn-duhn-duhn! We end on a cliffhanger. What will happen? Will our intrepid gang survive? Is Jiang Cheng going to help, since he’s lurking just off camera? Nope
Next rewatch is coming soon!
Soundtrack: 1. Safety Dance, Men Without Hats 2. Stand, REM
#fytheuntamed#the untamed#wangxian#cql#the untamed gifs#restless rewatch the untamed#canary3d-original#the untamed spoilers
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Tell us more about that CS MC challenge behind door #3!
Hahaha 😘
@batana54 challenged @holdingoutforapiratehero to break out of her comfort zone and write fluff. So @holdingoutforapiratehero challenged me to write plot with my porn. She asked for an MC with pirates and dub-con.
Well, I had this idea from a recurring CS daydream of mine that I never thought I’d actually write because I like it just in my head and don’t have much attention span for actually writing plot in a doc. But being prompted for it is a good chance to try. So I’m taking this daydream but making it darker as per her request. Killian is very much Captain Hook, and though he may sympathize with Emma, he’s still a dangerous man and she’s still a trespasser on his ship. Emma isn’t weak though, and she’ll hold her own.
I’ll be honest, it’s going to be fun to play with the lines a bit, but ultimately I want their relationship to still become what it became in canon, and so I’m still going to be careful with how they’re portrayed in the meantime in order to get it there. But I have some ideas, and I hope I don’t disappoint with too much or not enough of the dub-con aspect, at least some of which won’t happen between the two of them but rather with third party involvement with one or the other. We’ll see what happens.
So far I have Killian’s intro, Emma’s intro, some of the moment she’s caught aboard the Jolly, and two other jumps ahead because I’m impatient. I’ll share what I have so far of when she’s discovered.
——
Thundering footsteps echoed through the ship and startled Emma out of her deep slumber with a gasp. She froze immediately as she remembered where she was and hoped no one had heard her, but the pause and retreat in front of her concealment told her otherwise. Her eyes fluttered closed for just a moment more as she silently chastised herself for her stupid carelessness. She sat up quickly and scrambled backward as her cover was lifted away, her hands slipping on the floor as she felt her back hit the wall and a sword greeted her chest a hair’s breadth away.
Emma softly shook her head, a quiet, “Please, don’t,” slipping from her lips as the man before her raised his blade, tucking the tip beneath her trembling chin. It was the same man she’d managed to pass while he slept when she’d boarded, but this time she was not so lucky.
He wore an almost apologetic expression on his face as he called out for his captain even as he met her pleading eyes. She knew the man would have been held to some sort of code requiring him to turn her in, and she briefly wondered what punishment his fate might hold for letting down his guard now that she’d been discovered, if it were to match the one she then expected to meet herself or if he would face a more prolonged suffering.
The crew curiously gathered around to see what the man had discovered, greeting them both with angry, unsavory jeers as they saw her. A hush soon fell over them, however, as they parted for a dark-haired man in a heavy leather duster, allowing him to approach their find with a swagger in his step as his piercing blue eyes met her nervous emerald gaze.
His stance and the change in behavior of the men told her that he was their captain. A quick glance down told her exactly which captain he was, the curved metal hook shining at the end of his left arm catching her eyes before they widened and flicked back to his in fear. Emma had heard the stories of the fearsome Captain Hook, a man never to be trifled with by anyone without a death wish. Few survived crossing his path, and finding herself a trespasser on his ship, Emma knew her chances of survival just went from slim to none.
The captain tapped the other man’s shoulder with a nod as he passed him, getting him to lower and sheathe his sword. Emma relaxed only slightly upon the removal of the blade, every muscle staying tense in an attempt to not shake as the captain closed the space between them.
“On your feet for the captain, love,” he gently commanded with a soft smile, offering her his hand. Her brows furrowed as she looked at him suspiciously before taking it and standing.
“Captain Killian Jones,” he introduced himself with a bow.
“I know who you are,” Emma squeaked, her throat incredibly dry both from her sleep and from her unease. Upon hearing his actual name, Emma recalled the nights she’d heard it screamed from neighboring rooms and knew Captain Hook was in fact the sort of man he was rumored to be.
“Oh?” He said, filling her space and pressing his chest to hers as he backed her against the wall, the contact with the wood making her jump. “Then I’m at a disadvantage, and it would serve us both well to correct that now.” Raising his arm, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear with the curve of his hook. “What’s your name, lass, and what brings you aboard my ship?”
Emma froze. There was no reason not to tell him anything. With her life on the line, all she could do was talk and hope that he’d find some shred of decency inside him if he listened at all to her plight. And yet something held her tongue, leaving her to stutter speechlessly as he crowded her all the more. She pretended it was bravery to withhold information from him, but really she couldn’t speak if she wanted to.
“I asked you a question,” he sneered, his fake smile gone in an instant. Emma gasped as his hand made its way to her neck, holding her firmly as the tip of his hook grazed from her temple to her cheek before prodding just below her ear. “Answer me.”
“Em—Emma,” she said quickly, “My name is Emma.”
“Emma…” he drew out the ‘a’ expectantly, waiting for the rest of her name, but she had nothing more to give him. She never had the chance to know her parents, and no one wanted her enough to share their surname with her. “Come on,” he goaded, a sultriness tinting his voice, “I’ve made many a wench forget her name, but now I am asking nicely for yours. Don’t make me ask again.”
Emma wracked her brain for a name to give him. She recalled one she’d chosen for herself once as a young girl, pulled from a story she often read to comfort herself when she needed a sense of belonging. It didn’t stick, because no one cared enough to use it, but she had made it hers however briefly.
“Swan,” she answered finally. “Emma Swan.”
“Emma Swan,” the captain echoed. A smirk returned to his face as he said, “Now see, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” His grip on her throat tightened as he angled her chin with the curve of his hook pressing beneath it. His hot breath seared the soft skin of her lips as their mouths practically touched while he threatened, “Well, Miss Swan, I don’t take kindly to stowaways aboard my ship, so why don’t you tell me how it is you came to be here?” Emma gasped again as he nudged her legs apart and nestled himself against her. “And you best do so quickly. I’m not a very patient man.”
Emma coughed when she tried to speak again, her air restricted by his grasp.
“How can I when I can’t breathe?” She rasped brazenly. The captain raised his brow at the challenge and released her with a shove, allowing her several gulps of air before her breathing eventually evened again. As the corners of his mouth pulled upward, he snaked his arms around her and splayed his hand against her back, embracing her tightly.
“Better?” He asked coyly, brushing a lock of her hair back over her shoulder with his hook, the touch of the cool metal raising small bumps across her flesh before he leaned in closer. “Now,” he whispered against the shell of her ear, his coarse scruff brushing her cheek. Emma’s eyes widened further as he continued his threat, “Answer. My. Question. Or I’ll have no reason not to hurt you.” He inhaled sharply through his nose, breathing in the soft scent of her neck and humming upon his exhale. “Mmm, and I’m sure I’d enjoy it, too.”
“Please don’t,” she whimpered almost silently. Working up the courage to find her voice, Emma finally explained unsteadily.
#captain swan#Kayla answers#sneak peek#Kayla writes#my writing#holdingoutforapiratehero#veryverynotgood
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If you're still accepting the prompts, may I request 46: "I'm in love...shit." with whatever ship? 💚
46. “I’m in love... shit.”
Okay we all know this has to be Prinxiety.
!!!!!!SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!!
Title: Bravery
Ships: Prinxiety (Roman/Virgil)
Summary: While recounting the events of Flirting With Social Anxiety to Patton, Virgil realizes something.
Virgil paced in his room, still reeling from the events of the day. Thomas had a date with a cute guy! And it was because of Virgil! His cheeks hurt from smiling, and he couldn’t get rid of the light, fluttery feeling in his chest. He felt.. so full of energy. That wasn’t exactly new- he tended to be pretty tense, being the literal embodiment of anxiousness, but this energy wasn’t.. fear.. it was.. excitement, and pride, and pure happiness, of the likes of which he hadn’t felt.. in a long time. He felt great.
Out of nowhere, a voice spoke up, “Heya kiddo!”
Virgil jumped, whirling around. When he saw who the newcomer was, though, he relaxed.
“Hey, Patton. What are you-”
Suddenly, Patton let out a high-pitched squeal, “Oh my goodness gracious, kiddo- your eyeshadow!”
Virgil’s face heat up, and he tried to hide in his hoodie, “Oh, that, uh, yeah, sorry, that uh- that happens sometimes..”
“It’s adorable!” Patton exclaimed.
Virgil scratched at the back of his neck, “Uh.. thanks.” He said. “What, uh.. what brings you here, Pat?”
“I just wanted to check in, see how you’re doing- we haven’t talked in a while.”
“Oh, that’s, uh, that’s really nice of you!” Virgil said. It was hard to keep the giddiness out of his voice.
Patton seemed to detect this, “Boy, Virge, you seem like you’re in a great mood today!” He said.
Virgil laughed, “Well, I- I am.” He told him.
“That’s wonderful!” Patton exclaimed. “Why?”
Virgil smiled, “Roman and I helped Thomas to get a date with a cute guy named Nico.”
Patton gasped, “You did?!”
“Yeah.”
“And I wasn’t there to see it?!”
“Oh, you should be glad you weren’t.” Virgil assured him, “It was a disaster.”
“If you got a date, it doesn’t sound like one!”
“Well, I.. I guess that’s true.” Virgil said. He exhaled contentedly. He felt so.. limitless, like nothing could bring him down, even though he could think of a million things that could go wrong.
Normally, he enjoyed silence in a conversation, but with all of this energy jumbled up inside of him, he felt the need to speak.
“I have this.. this fluttering feeling in my chest, and my stomach feels like it’s full of.. happiness? Do you know what I mean?”
Patton tilted his head, “I think I do.” He said. “You must have really liked this Nico fella.”
Virgil raised an eyebrow, “Well, I mean.. yeah. He was cute. Like.. really cute, don’t get me wrong. Thomas is infatuated. But.. ya know. I wouldn’t say he’s my type, necessarily.”
Patton took a seat on the bed (as Thomas was currently in his bedroom), and he propped his chin up with his hands.
“Really?” He said. “Then who is your type?”
“I-” Virgil went back through Patton’s words in his mind, his face turning bright red, “What?!”
“Who is your type?” Patton repeated. He had a huge grin on his face.
“Well- I- I don’t know, I just- I- That’s-” Virgil sputtered. “Someone who I know, for starters.” He finally got out. “I don’t trust strangers, no matter how cute they are. I think, personally, that you.. you need to get to know someone before considering them in.. that way.”
“Aha.” Patton said.
Virgil narrowed his eyes, “What does that mean?” He asked.
“Oh, nothing, nothing.” Patton said.
There was a brief pause.
“If it wasn’t Nico, then what was it that made you so happy?” Patton asked.
Virgil thought about it for a moment, “Well, I guess it was just.. a sense of.. accomplishment, really. I stepped outside of my comfort zone and did something pretty scary, and it worked out.”
Patton clapped. “Oh my goodness, I’m proud of you already, and I don’t even know what it is you did!” He said. “..What did you do?”
Virgil laughed. Oh, Patton.
“The thing is, Thomas immediately thought this guy was cute. Which meant that Roman immediately wanted to make a move, which I was against, for, like, every single reason ever. So, the two of us were bickering about the right course of action for basically the whole day- it was fun, really. Disastrous- utterly, utterly disastrous, oh, fuck, even just thinking about it makes me..” Virgil trailed off. Oh, god, had Thomas seriously run into the trash can in front of all those people? That was mortifying. He was never going to-
“Virgil? You alright? Your eyeshadow is all black again.” Patton said.
Virgil shook himself, “Uh, sorry. Anyways, towards the end, this Nico guy was walking away, and Thomas had completely missed his chance. And.. well.. I.. Roman looked so..” Virgil remembered the expression on Roman’s face. Sad didn’t even begin to describe it. He had looked.. devastated. Virgil knew him well enough to know why. Roman considered new opportunities for Thomas to be his responsibility, and when they were missed, he blamed himself. And.. after the callback.. he had only gotten worse. “I just.. I couldn’t stand to see him like that. So, I.. I pushed Thomas to go after Nico, even though all of my other instincts were telling me not to, and, well.. it worked!”
“Oh, Virgil! That’s wonderful! I am so proud of you!” Patton told him. “That sounds so brave!”
Brave.
A hand on his shoulder, a pair of brown eyes meeting his.
“Bravery.”
That’s what Roman had said to him, in a way that rendered Virgil speechless. That’s what Roman had said to him, in a way that made Virgil’s heart clench, in a way that made butterflies stir in his stomach.
Come to think of it, that was when the light-headed feeling had started, wasn’t it?
Virgil’s eyes widened minutely.
Hold on.
Hold on.
What?
No, no. That couldn’t be right.
The reason Virgil felt this way was because he was proud of himself. He’d done something right, for once. He’d helped Thomas! He had a right to be proud.
But, in actuality, who had he been thinking about when he pushed Thomas?
“..Virgil? You okay there, kiddo?”
Virgil snapped back to reality, blinking as Patton waved a hand in front of his face, “I- Huh? I- Sorry, Patton, I.. I got.. distracted.” Virgil said.
For a good period of time after that, Virgil and Patton caught up, trading stories and laughs congenially. It was nice to just sit and talk to Patton- it really had been a while. Eventually, though, the conversation ran out of steam, and Patton took his leave, presumably to go to his own room. Virgil bade him goodbye with a smile on his face, watching him sink out of the room in the strange way that the light sides did.
Once he was gone, though, the smile left Virgil’s face, and he flopped onto his bed, eyes wide. Finally, he allowed himself to look back on the thing that he had realized while in the middle of talking to Patton, the thing that he had probably known for a while, deep down, but he had refused to admit.
It had to do with the strange feeling of delight when Roman gave him a new nickname. It had to do with the way Roman’s eyes lit up when he had an idea. It had to do with the way Virgil’s would sometimes go completely blank when he saw Roman. It had to do with Roman’s hand on his shoulder, the softness in his voice as he told Virgil to shut up.
Virgil stared at the ceiling to his room, and he admitted it.
“I’m in love.” He said. The words felt strange in his mouth, and he swore he could hear them echoing off of the walls of his room, bouncing back into his ears. “...Shit.”
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Coffee and Coding Part 2
A Sequel to my original Pang x Wave Coffee Shop Au which was written for #thegiftedweek Day 3.
The napkin with Pang’s number on it was sitting on Wave’s pinboard at his desk taunting him. Wave had walked by the coffee shop a couple of times and had not seen Pang behind the counter. It made Wave wonder if the whole thing had been something he just imagined. Pang kind of seemed like he was out of a dream so it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.
“Have you talked to that guy yet?” Punn, Wave’s roommate, wondered with a inquisitive smile on his lips.
Wave rolled his eyes and focused his attention on the computer screen where he was in the middle of another coding assignment. It had only been a few days since Pang gave him his number but Wave had not worked up the bravery to actually text Pang.
“I’ve been, uh, busy.” Wave responded lamely.
Punn wasn’t the type to go ignored. He crossed the room quicker than Wave could have anticipated and snatched the number from the board. Wave’s phone was charging on his bedside table so Punn quickly grabbed that too.
Wave jumped into action but Punn was more agile than he remembered. Punn ran into the bathroom and slammed it shut before locking it. Wave pounded on the door and yelled out, “Punn, I swear to God. I’m going to kill you when you get out here.”
“Wave. This is for your own good.” Punn responded, his voice slightly muffled through the door. “I am tired of coming home and seeing your sitting in front of that computer screen all the time. You need actual human interaction and it is not often that you actually get along with another human being. This may never happen again and I am helping you take advantage of it.”
Wave groaned before Punn slowly opened the door with a satisfied grin on his face. “You are meeting up with your cute Barista man at the coffee shop and taking him out for a drink. His shift ends in two hours. You’re welcome.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Wave blurted out. “You didn’t actually just ask out Pang FOR me?”
“Just call me Casanova.” Punn answered and waggled his eyebrows at Wave before passing his friend.
Wave was too dumbfounded by what had just happened to launch a retaliation attack on Punn. Instead he rushed toward his closet, wondering what the hell he was going to wear on his first date with Pang. He wasn’t even sure it it was a date. Was it a date?
“Wear your dark jeans with a T-shirt and your green jacket.” Punn instructed as if it was the obvious choice in the world. “You don’t want to look too dressed up but you still want to look put together.”
“Since when did you become a dating expert?” Wave grumbled but followed Punn’s instructions anyway.
“Well, I am dating the most gorgeous girl on campus so…” Punn shrugged casually, looking up for his text book. “So I’d call myself an expert.”
Once he had changed, Wave took a look at what Pang had responded and his heart started racing:
That sounds perfect. I’ve been waiting to hear from you. C U Soon! ;)
++++++++
Wave was ten minutes early to meet up with Pang so he lingered outside of the coffee shop. When he saw Pang, his heart leapt into his throat and his palms started to sweat. He nervously adjusted his glasses, trying not to make it too obvious that he was openly staring at Pang who was just as handsome as the first time Wave had seen him.
Wave couldn’t help but be perplexed, once again, by the notion that someone like Pang had even a shred of interest in him. It made him wonder if Pang was just being kind and humouring the whole interaction.
Just as Wave was about to abandon his post, Pang looked up and locked eyes with him. The same smile that he had had on his face the first time they met appeared again and Wave melted slightly because of it. Pang motioned for Wave to come inside the shop and Wave followed the Barista’s order.
Pang was with a customer but he nodded at a table near the door. Wave sat down at the table and took out his phone to pass the time, figuring he might as well do some work while Pang finished off his shift.
Wave felt a gentle hand land on his shoulder and he startled slightly at the touch. He looked up and saw Pang’s warm eyes staring at him with a paper cup in his hand. “I just have a few more cleaning duties to wrap up before I’m done. Today has been crazy but I made you this to enjoy in the meantime.”
“T-thanks.” Wave accepted the drink and, once again, Pang was watching him expectantly, much like the first time they had met.
“It’s a decaf Peppermint latte.” Pang explained. “Hope you like it. I’ll be back in a few.”
Wave watched as Pang made his way back behind the counter to finish off his shift. He re-collected his breath and took a first sip of the drink. It was incredibly sweet but he actually didn’t mind it too much. He would drink anything that Pang made for him.
It took Wave a moment to realize that something was written on the side of the cup in messy handwriting that obviously belonged to Pang:
Thanks for taking a chance on me. - P
Wave couldn’t believe that Pang was the one writing that to him when he felt like he was the one who was lucky to have someone like Pang even acknowledging his existence. By the time Wave was finished his drink, Pang had changed out of his Barista wear and appeared in front of him.
“Ready?” Pang asked, a somewhat shy look on his face. “Thanks again for waiting, by the way.”
“No worries.” Wave murmured as he got to his feet. “Thanks for the drink.”
Pang gestured for Wave to lead the way out the door and followed behind Wave as they made their way out of the coffee shop. As they emerged out onto the street, Wave realized he had not exactly planned where to take Pang. He wasn’t exactly the ‘go out for drinks’ type.
“I know this really cool rooftop bar.” Pang shared as if he had read Wave’s mind. “Unless you had somewhere else that you wanted to go.”
“Uh, no. That sounds great.” Wave answered, full of relief.
As Pang led them to the bar, he chattered away about how crazy his shift had been. Wave was more than happy to just listen to Pang as they walked along. When they arrived, Pang opened the door for Wave to go through and Wave couldn’t help but find the gesture charming. They rode an elevator up to the bar.
“Wow, this is awesome.” Wave murmured as they stepped out onto the rooftop.
“I had a feeling you’d like it.” Pang responded as they made their way to a table.
A server brought over two menus and asked, “Are you two celebrating anything tonight?”
“Kind of.” Pang answered with a grin. “It’s our first date, so…”
Wave had to keep his jaw from dropping open in reaction to how open Pang was being but he was also relieved to know that Pang wanted it to be a date as much as he did. Wave felt a blush creep onto his face when the server smile back at Pang.
“So fun!” The server answered, looking from Pang to Wave. “Do you guys know what you want to drink or do you need a minute?”
“Um….” Wave looked down at the menu and was suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of choices.
“I think we’ll need a minute.” Pang shared and the server nodded before walking away to give them some time to make their choices.
“Sorry. I hope it’s okay that I called this a date.” Pang expressed, looking a bit wary. “You looked a bit scared when I said that. I hope I didn’t read this all wrong.”
“No!” Wave blurted out before collecting himself. “No. It’s fine. Thank you for making that clear. I wanted it to be date so I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Phew.” Pang breathed out, looking relieved. “I seriously thought I had messed up for a second. It’s kind of my thing to put my foot in my mouth.”
“Really?” Wave wondered. “I find that hard to believe. You’re like the kindest person I know.”
“We’ve only met twice.” Pang chuckled. “But thank you for compliment.”
“I dunno.” Wave shrugged slightly. “I just get a feeling from you. You radiate positivity and, to be honest, I feel like I’ve known you for years even if this is only the second time we’ve ever met. You make me feel so comfortable and that… doesn’t really happen for me very often.”
Pang opened his mouth to say something but before he could, the server approached the table again. “Ready to order?”
“We kind of got distracted again.” Pang explained a bit sheepishly. “But uh… can I just get whatever beer you think is the best on the menu and… Wave, what do you want?”
“I’ll get the same, please.” Wave muttered.
“Got it.” The server left them again and Wave said, “It looked like you were about to say something…”
“Nah, never mind.” Pang shook his head, his gaze falling to the table. “It’s kind of sappy and embarrassing.”
“I like sappy and embarrassing.” Wave prompted gently.
“Okay, okay.” Pang met Wave’s gaze again. “I’m just really glad that you finally texted me… I was worried that I had scared you away with how strong I came on but… anyway, I’m just glad that we’re here now.”
“Me too.” Wave agreed as the server set down their drinks.
Pang picked his up and raised it. “Cheers to…. first dates?”
“Cheers!” Wave raised his glass and clinked it to Pang’s before taking a first sip.
Wave set down the beer and wrinkled his nose, “Your coffee is much better than whatever the hell that is.”
Pang laughed, “I think you might be a bit biased.”
“I might be.” Wave agreed and felt a smile pull at his lips.
He decided to the surrender to the positivity that was filling him. It wasn’t often that he felt so ease, especially being in public, surrounded by strangers and loud music. But there was something about Pang that made him want to try new things - to get out of his comfort zone. Pang made him feel brave.
“You look like you’re thinking about something deep.” Pang prompted, an inquisitive look on his face. “That’s what drew me to you in the first place, y’know. You were so lost in your thoughts, even when you just walked into the coffee shop for the first time. I wanted so badly to know what was going on in the that head of yours. I wanted you to let me in.”
“I don’t let many people in.” Wave admitted and nervously took another drink of his beer. “You’re kind of an exception to many of my rules.”
“I’m your exception, eh?” Pang puffed up slightly, as if he was suddenly very proud of himself.
Wave rolled his eyes but it was all in fondness. “Something like that.”
“Well, I’m happy you decided to take a risk on me.” Pang murmured and reached across the table to entangle his fingers with Wave’s.
Wave was shocked to find himself relaxing into the contact, rather than flinching away. Whenever people tried to touch him, there was a protective instinct inside of him that usually made him pull away from them but Wave didn’t have that feeling with Pang reached toward him.
“You okay, Wave?” Pang asked gently, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy. “If I’m moving too fast or coming on too strong… just let me know. I’m happy to take things at any pace that makes you comfortable.”
“No, I’m okay. This is okay.” Wave breathed out slowly. “I’m just not used to people treating me like this, especially someone like you.”
“There you go with that ‘someone like you’ nonsense again.” Pang shook his lightly in disbelief. “I don’t know why you think I’m any different than you…”
“You’re… handsome. Confident. Approachable.” The words burst from Wave’s mouth in a flurry. His insecurities flooded out before he could stop them and he immediately cringed at them, pulling his hand away from Pang’s. “I’m… none of those things. I don’t get why you…”
“Why I like you?” Pang shared and he had a determined look in his eyes.
Wave nodded and felt shame fill him to the brim. Pang was going to think he was so pathetic - like was fishing for compliments or looking for some sort of validation. The last thing Wave wanted was for Pang to pity him.
“I like you because you fascinate me.” Pang explained. “I like you because of the wrinkle that shows up when you look at your computer screen in focus. I like you because of the way you play with your glasses when you’re nervous. I like that way that you share with me in a way that I don’t think you share with others - that you chose to trust me. I like all the things that I will get to discover that I like about you as I get to know you better.”
Of course, Wave felt the need to adjust his glasses in a moment like this, his gaze falling to the table. Pang reached across the table and gently lifted Wave’s chin so that their eyes met again.
“I like that neither of us like coffee but that’s how we met anyway.” Pang grinned and dropped his hand away from Wave’s face.
“I, uh, like you too.” Wave murmured and felt his heart racing.
While Wave was not yet an expert in coding and Pang was certainly not the best at making coffee, the two things had brought them together in the first place and Wave would be forever thankful for that.
For Pang might just be the right person to help him trust again - to help him figure out how to navigate this crazy world.
Pang was the Gift that Wave realized maybe, just maybe, he actually deserved.
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Bisbee
Request: By blue-lion1: Can I request a story where Dean is friends with a shy and sensitive woman? She's seen ghosts since childhood and fears them. She's paranoid and some tell her she's just mentally ill. But she knows she saw and heard things and those people are wrong. Something she likes about Dean is his bravery. She keeps feeling like something is coming, and she doesn't want to be alone in the dark and has trouble sleeping. He sleeps in the same room to comfort her, she's grateful. Eventually, a ghost appears and he saves her.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 1,802
Warnings: Teasing, mentions of bullying
A/N: As always, requests are open!
—
Dean Winchester calling...The words flashed across the screen of your phone in a blazing glory as you scrambled to answer.
You had known him since high school. The day he crashed into Bisbee High would be one you remembered for the rest of your life. You were crammed in the corner of an alcove off of the senior hallway, sketchbook and pencil open in your lap. The whispers were following him down the hall, but he couldn’t have seemed to care less. In his brown leather jacket, dirty jeans, and logger boots, it was obvious why he was being discussed. As a small city shoved in the mountains of southeast Arizona, Bisbee wasn’t exactly a thriving tourist destination. Newcomers were few and far between, especially ones with teenagers.
He walked behind the principal, Mr. Giltner, without making eye contact with anyone. You watched him, fascinated, focusing on the whispers of your classmates as he passed. From them you learned his name was Dean Winchester and that he, his younger brother, and their father were here due to his father’s interest in the old copper mines. As you were processing that information he turned his head, locking his green eyes onto yours. With the small smile he gave you, your life was never the same again.
As it turns out, his father was interested in more than the copper mines. Specifically, he was interested in what was left in them. You turned out to be a great aid to the Winchester family, thanks to the one thing that made no one else want to associate with you.
It started when you were young, maybe four years old. You had seen the little boy standing in the corner of your bedroom one night, trying to speak to you. Petrified, you about woke the entire neighborhood. Your parents, of course, saw nothing and told you to go back to sleep. They thought it was a classic case of the monster under the bed and attributed it to a nightmare. But for you, that night was the beginning of the never-ending cycle that became the rest of your youth. Every few months, a new one would appear in front of you, trying desperately to tell you something. You lived in a constant state of paranoia and fear, but you eventually learned to stop screaming. Years of therapy and ridicule taught you that silence was your biggest ally. By the time you were ten you had learned that no one was ever going to believe you, and the only way to survive was to stop talking about it. Despite not speaking a word about it in seven years, your classmates still teasingly referred to you as “schizo ghost girl,” and refused to treat you like a normal human being. In their eyes you were a certified freak, the girl that cried ghost.
To Dean though, you were the key. He pulled you through a whirlwind of validation and usefulness, with you eventually helping him and his father, John, get rid of the wailing woman in the mines. On the day he exited Bisbee, Arizona, he left you with his phone number and a promise to always call back.
This is a promise he was currently fulfilling, though you were so frantic you could barely answer. When you did manage to slide your finger across the screen of your phone and put it up to your ear, no words came out.
“Y/n?” Dean’s concerned voice crackled through the speaker. As soon as it reached your ears your breath whooshed out of you in a rush, the tears quick to follow.
“Dean, it's awful. He’s huge, burns all over his face, bloodshot eyes. He has this giant knife and all he does is scream at me…”
“Whoa, hang on, slow down,” Dean cut you off, trying to understand your ramblings. “Is this another ghost? How many times has he appeared?”
You took a deep breath before replying, “yes. I just saw him for the second time, but it was only an hour between sightings. I called you right after the first appearance. Dean, please. He’s horrific.” You knew you were pleading, but you desperately needed his help. This was the first one to shake you in a while, and it shook you deeply.
“Okay, hang tight,” Dean’s voice sighed through the phone. He shouted something away from the speaker, presumably to Sam. “You’re still in Tucson right?” he asked, and you heard rustling in the background.
“Y-yes,” you stammered. “I’m sorry Dean, I thought I was able to handle these on my own now but I just…” you trailed off, overwhelmed with a feeling of inadequacy.
Almost as if he could sense your feelings through the phone, Dean’s voice softened as he said, “hey, it’s okay. We’ll be there in about six hours. Just hang in there, okay? We’ll figure this out.”
—
Those six hours passed agonizingly slowly. You were sitting on your bed in your apartment, knees touching your chest, when the knock on the door came. It startled you so much you let out a little yelp. You heard a muffled call of your name come through the odor, and you rushed across the apartment to open it.
What you saw on the other side brought you the biggest sense of relief you had felt in months. Dean and his brother Sam were standing in front of you, the latter of which was holding a duffle bag that you knew was stocked full of shotguns with salt-stuffed shells.
Dean immediately stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug. You felt instant relief and zoned out while, with you still wrapped in his arms, he gave Sam further instructions. He pulled away as the door closed softly behind Sam.
“Have you slept at all? It’s 1 AM and no offense, but you look like shit.”
You smiled at him softly and shook your head. “I can’t. Any time I close my eyes, all I see is his horrible face.”
“Okay, tell me a little more about him and then we’re getting you in bed,” Dean said, rubbing a hand down his face. He was exhausted too, having just come off of a hunt and then driving to you, but he would never tell you that.
Thirty minutes later the two of you were settling into your bed together, with Sam set up a couple miles away in a motel with his computer and a stack of books on local lore. You crawled under the covers, immediately snuggling up to Dean. He welcomed you with open arms, pulling you tight into his side where he knew you would feel safer. He kissed the top of your head and you sighed contentedly, already starting to drift off. There had always been something between you and Dean, but there was never any time to explore it. The connection formed nine years ago back in high school but something always ended up stepping between you, forcing you apart.
He drifted in and out all night, watching you sleep on peacefully, undisturbed by the unnamed ghost harassing you. At 6 AM you were both jolted forcefully out of your sleep by Dean’s phone ringing. Sam had found something.
—
You rushed to the abandoned factory to meet Sam, because it seemed that no ghost could haunt anywhere that wasn’t considered creepy. On the way there Sam had explained that the ghost haunting you was a worker killed in a fire at the factory 31 years ago. He was trying to hack his way through a wall with a knife to escape the flames, but eventually succumbed to them despite his efforts.
“If I’m right, I bet we’ll find the knife in there among the rubble,” Sam said as you entered the building, armed with shotguns and rock salt.
You all moved slowly through the burnt remains of the factory, attempting to locate the knife among the soot covering the floor. Suddenly you froze, a horrible feeling creeping over you. You turned around slowly to face Dean who was standing behind you, your face quickly leeching of all color. Seeing the look on your face Dean spun quickly, firing off a shot before even stopping. He turned back to face you again, yelling “duck!” as he fired off another shot above your head.
“Sam,” he yelled, “you better hurry up and find that knife! This guy means business!”
“I’m trying!” Sam shouted back. “There’s too much soot here, I can’t see anything!”
You scrambled over to help Sam, brushing your hands through the soot and debris on the floor. “I found it!” you screamed, lifting it up off the ground. “Sam, start the furnace!”
As Sam ran across the room to the furnace, the ghost got the jump on Dean, picking him up and throwing him into a wall across the room. You jumped up and started running to him, but he frantically shook his head and pointed.
“The knife!” he yelled. “Get the knife to Sam!”
You turned and looked back to where you left the knife on the floor before looking up and seeing the ghost charge at you from across the room. You dove for the knife, shouting at Sam to get out of the way. He stepped back from the furnace as you stood and threw the knife across the room as hard as you could. It hit its mark as it clanged against the back of the furnace, and you heard the ghost give out one last ghastly scream as it went up in flames.
—
You were once again tangled up in Dean’s arms, feeling his breath sigh through his chest when he said the last thing you ever expected him to say.
“Come with us,” he said, pulling back just far enough to see your face. “You were a total badass back there. You could hold your own, especially if you let me train you a little.”
You were speechless, unsure of how to respond. His statement was a compliment, but you were unsure if you could actually survive the kind of life Dean lived on a daily basis.
Sensing your hesitation, Dean tilted your chin back up so you looked at him. “I can’t leave you behind again,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I can’t drive away from you and know that you’ll try to struggle with another ghost on your own. I want to be there for you, and I want you to be here with me. Wherever the road takes us.”
He spoke with so much conviction, there was no hope for you to resist. You smiled up at him, nodding your head slowly. A smile broke out over his face as you said, “okay. Let me go pack.”
—
#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#dean winchester oneshot#dean winchester fanfic#dean winchester fanfiction#supernatural#supernatural oneshot#supernatural fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#shannon writes
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