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rizlowwritessortof · 3 years

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Meant To Be - Chapter 1

Dean and Jordan are each trying to escape their painful pasts. Their chance meeting and a dangerous encounter begins a relationship that may give them both a new start. (Tags will be on the fic masterlist post so y’all don’t get bombarded with each chapter.)

Pairing: Police Detective Dean Winchester/Jordan Taylor

Word Count: 3583

Warnings: Abusive relationship and related violence, nothing graphic.

Aesthetic by @editsbymichele on Instagram; Dividers by @firefly-graphics

The sudden stop sent the car skidding a little in the gravel, the dust cloud swirling to dissipate in the breeze as Jordan jumped out, slamming the door hard behind her as she yelled into her phone. “Kiss my ass, Darrel! No, you did this, don’t lay it on me! What?! Like hell I’m coming home! Just go back to your new little drinking buddy-slash-fucktoy and leave me alone. You can’t have it both ways. No, fuck you. Fuck you sideways, buddy. I’m done. Have a nice life.”

She let out a frustrated scream, slamming a fist down on the hood of the car, so pissed off that she was shaking. She whirled around, startled, as a deep masculine voice called out. “Poor car. Sounds like Darrel’s the one you should be punching.”

“Excuse me? That was a private conversation!” she spluttered, glaring at the source. He was standing in front of a beautiful black beast of a car, the hood up, wiping his hands on a shop rag. She could feel the heat in her face, and his appearance slowly filtering through her rage into her brain didn’t help. He was gorgeous.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, sweetheart, but the way you were yelling, there wasn’t much private about it.” He dropped his chin a little, his eyes narrowing as he spoke again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to butt in. Are you okay?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned to the car, jerking the back door open to grab her bag. “It’s okay, sorry I was such a bitch. And I’m not okay, but I will be. I’m gonna be fucking awesome.” She stuffed her phone in her back pocket and fished the key card out of her bag, fumbling with the door. “Thanks for asking, anyway.”

She glanced back at him before going in, watching his little nod of acknowledgment and rueful smile. She closed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, dropping her bag. “Well, that wasn’t embarrassing at all. Screaming like a crazy woman in the middle of a parking lot, in front of the most fucking attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life. Awesome start to your new life, Jordan.” She moved to the window, peeking out the side of the curtains at him as he continued working under the hood of his car. He was tall, solid, in beat-up blue jeans and a well-worn grey t-shirt that was smeared with grease and dark in spots from perspiration. She watched the muscles in his biceps strain as he worked with some kind of tool, stopping for a moment to grab the rag from his back pocket and wipe his face. He was ridiculously good-looking, even with smudges of grease on his arms and face. Actually, somehow that made him even more attractive, a man’s man, a man who wasn’t afraid of hard work and getting dirty. He glanced her direction, and she backed away quickly, swearing under her breath.

She sighed, letting her eyes roam around her room. It was almost like a little bungalow, with a kitchenette and a couch against one wall, and she wandered over to take a look out the back door. Now wasn’t that convenient! Right across the street behind the motel was a little liquor store, and she began to smile to herself. “No guts, no glory, girl. Get over there and buy that fine man a cold beer to apologize for being a hag.”

A few minutes later, she was stepping back out the front door with two icy-cold long necks in her hands. He watched her approach, wiping his hands, a slow smile lighting up his handsome face. “Here. To say I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“Well, no apology necessary, but I’ll be damned if I say no to that! Fuckin’ hot out here,” he rumbled, taking the beer gratefully and taking a long pull from the bottle.

“Fuckin’ hot anywhere you are,” Jordan thought to herself, joining him after a little salute with the bottle in his direction. “Nothing better than an ice-cold beer on a hot day,” she said out loud. “So – what’s wrong with your car?”

“Oh, nothin’, really. Just tuning her up a little. Killing time, actually. I’ve been here one night already, looks like it’s gonna be another couple. Just waiting for my brother to get back.”

“Ahhh, so you just like to tinker.”

“Oh, I just like to make her purr.” Jordan almost choked on the swallow of beer she had just taken. “She’s just like a woman, you treat her right, she’ll treat you right.”

She smiled at him, getting one back in return. “Well, I’m glad there’s a man in this world who knows that. I’m Jordan, by the way.”

“Dean. Nice to meet you, Jordan.” His voice was on her frequency, apparently, because every time he spoke she felt her breath catch. His eyes were green with hints of gold, framed by thick lashes that any woman would die for, and she looked down at her beer, peeling at the label, unable to withstand his candid gaze any longer. They chatted a little longer about how good the beer tasted, how hot it was, how comfy the rooms were. He finished his beer, setting the bottle down and reaching up to lower the hood and close it. The muscles of his back under that damp, clingy t-shirt raised Jordan’s temperature another notch, and she had to mentally prompt herself to close her mouth. She cleared her throat, taking a long, cool drink, surprised it didn’t just come out of her ears in billows of steam.

“Well, Jordan, thanks for the beer. I’d better hit the shower. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She smiled back at him, and then watched him walk back to his room, two doors down from hers. Those jeans hugged his body just right, and her eyes followed his bow-legged amble all the way to his door, finally forcing herself to focus on the ground before he could turn and see her staring again. Holy. Shit. She headed back to the room and opened another beer, scolding herself. Not really the best time to be lusting after some stranger, not with all the shit she’d been through the last few weeks. She plopped down on the sofa with a sigh, roaming through the channels on the TV while she finished her beer, then headed for the shower.

Dean dropped the empty beer bottle into the trash and sat on the edge of the bed to untie his boots. He smiled to himself, Jordan’s dramatic entrance into the parking lot replaying in his head. “Little firecracker, that one,” he muttered. She was a little bit of nothing, but what was there was nicely arranged, he had to admit. Big brown eyes, hair short and sexy just like her, kissable lips…

He laughed quietly to himself as he imagined Donna’s teasing voice in his head saying, “Don’t even think about it, partner. Ain’t you had enough?” As soon as he was cleaned up, he needed to call and check on her, see how she was doing. He headed towards the bathroom as he stripped his t-shirt off, pushing the door with one foot to swing it closed.

The bar and grill down the block looked like a good enough place to find some food, and Jordan walked that way, running her fingers through her tousled, short hair. The screen door squealed as she opened it, pushing hard to shove the heavy inner door open and walking into the bar, the air conditioning sending a refreshing chill over her arms. A waitress walking by gave her a pleasant smile and hello, telling her to sit wherever she pleased and she’d be right with her.

There was no one in the place at the moment but a table full of elderly men at the far back corner, playing cards and drinking coffee. She settled herself in a comfy booth by the wall, grabbing a menu.

“Can I get you somethin’ to drink, hon?” the waitress asked, and she smiled up at her.

“Yeah, a glass of whatever you’ve got on tap, please.”

“You got it, be right back to take your order. I’m Molly, by the way, if you need something.” It was a lovely place, simple, homey and welcoming. Small town friendly, which was always pleasant - as long as you weren’t from that small town so they didn’t know all your business. Sometimes being an anonymous stranger was really nice.

Molly came back with a frosted mug brim-full of beer, and she smiled. You don’t get those everywhere. “Awesome, thanks!”

“You ready to order?” the woman asked, brushing a graying lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail away from her face.

“Yeah, I think I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger and fries,” she said, and her stomach grumbled as she spoke. Things had been in such an uproar lately, she had barely been eating.

“Now, there’s a woman with good taste!” Jordan felt her heartbeat stop for a second, and she looked up into Dean’s smiling face, those stunning green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Molly, can I get the same, and a beer?” he asked, giving the older woman his full attention.

“You got it, Dean,” the waitress answered with a smile, and headed back towards the kitchen. He nodded his head towards the seat opposite Jordan’s and grinned.

“Mind if I sit? I mean, if you’re not expecting somebody...”

“No, I’m not, please sit,” she smiled back at him. “It’ll be nice to have somebody to talk to besides myself.”

He took a seat, an amused smirk on his face. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your conversation.”

“It’s okay. Mostly waxing poetic about the frosted mug of beer,” she grinned back.

“Right? Gotta love that.” He looked up at the waitress as his beer appeared in front of him. “Molly, you’re a doll.”

“Oh, stop. Keep tellin’ you, I’m married,” she teased, turning to go. “And I’m too old for you.”

“Love a woman with experience,” he fired back, and she flapped a hand at him, blushing.

“You are a dangerous man. You watch out for that one, honey,” Molly aimed her parting remarks at Jordan and headed back to the kitchen.

“How long have you known her?” Jordan asked, raising her mug to her lips.

“Just met her yesterday. Why?”

Jordan stared back at him in surprise. “Really? Wow, you’ve got a way with people.”

“A friend of mine told me once that I just like to flirt. She might be right.”

Jordan laughed. “She might be.” His phone went off just then, and he grabbed it off the table.

“My brother. Be right back,” he smiled, swiping the screen as he rose to his feet and headed for the door. “Hey, Sammy,” she heard him say as he went outside.

She ordered them each another beer when Molly came over to check, and she had just taken a drink, focused on reading a message on her phone, when a rough hand landed on her shoulder. “Okay, Jordan. Time to come home.”

She froze, refusing to look up at him. “Darrel. How did you find me?”

“Wasn’t hard. I knew which way you were headed. Now, you’re gonna get up from that seat and come home with me, we have a lot to talk about.”

“We don’t have anything left to talk about, but I’m not making a scene in here. So let’s just go outside and get this over with,” she ground out quietly between clenched teeth. She stood up and winced a little at the brutal grip on her arm, biding her time until they left the bar.

“Miss? You okay?” Molly asked with a frown as they headed for the door, and Jordan nodded.

“I’m fine, Molly. Don’t worry.”

“Just keep movin’,”Darrel whispered behind her. They shoved their way through the door, and took several steps away from the building before Jordan began to struggle. She cried out as he shifted his hold, twisting her arm behind her back viciously. “None of your shit, now. Just move.”

“Hey, Darrel!” Dean’s voice rang out loud and clear behind them, and Jordan tensed at the sound.

Darrel gave her arm another tug as he turned them both around to face Dean. “Fucker!” she spat, her teeth clenched.

“You okay, Jordan?” Dean asked, and she looked into his eyes.

“I’m sure I will be shortly.” Dean nodded, a wicked little smirk curving his lips.

“Who the hell are you?” Darrel demanded. “Who is this clown?” he growled into Jordan’s ear, and she jerked her head away.

“So, Darrel, tell me – is this usually the way you get women to go with you? Because I’m pretty sure she’s gonna cut off your balls first chance she gets.” He frowned a little, then continued. “Wait, that would assume you have balls, which is pretty unlikely, I’d guess.”

Darrel drew in a breath to respond, distracted for the moment, and Jordan jammed her free arm back, driving her elbow into his ribs, then stomped down hard on his instep. Darrel loosened his grip on her, groaning in pain, and she jerked herself free from his grasp, running towards Dean.

“Good girl,” he said, sweeping his arm out to place her behind him. “Well, Darrel. Looks like we have a situation here.”

Darrel pulled a knife from his back pocket, flipping it open. “Yeah. Bad one for you, asshole. You’re not armed.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “You’ve got a point there. So, whatcha waitin’ for, Darrel?” He said the man’s name with utter contempt, muttering, “Go inside” to Jordan as he headed towards the coward. “Bring it on.”

Jordan couldn’t force her feet to follow his command, staring in horror and shouting Dean’s name as he approached Darrel. There was a flurry of movement, punches thrown and Darrel’s swing with the blade blocked, his arm twisted violently until the weapon hit the ground with a thud, followed a few seconds later by Darrel, bruised and bleeding. Dean bent to pick up the knife, flipping it in his hand and standing over the fallen man with a snarl on his lips.

“I suggest you get the fuck outta here before I finish kicking your ass. And you forget about her. Forget her name. Forget you ever knew her. You hear me?”

Darrel scooted away, scrambling to his feet at a safer distance. “Jordan, this ain’t over!” he yelled defiantly.

“What did I just say to you?!” Dean bellowed, moving quickly in his direction, and Darrel’s eyes widened as he turned to run. “That’s right, you fucking coward, get your ass away from here.” Dean watched the man run until he was out of sight, then turned quickly, striding back to Jordan’s side. “Did he hurt you? Are you all right?”

She nodded, her face pale, weaving a little as her knees gave way. Dean put an arm around her waist, leading her to the bench beside the door and sitting her down. Molly stuck her head out the door, concern on her face. “Is she all right?”

“Yeah, just a little shaky. Hey, Molly – can we get those burgers to go?”

“Of course, give me just a sec, hon. Just wait right there.”

Dean hunkered down in front of Jordan, taking hold of her cold hand. “Hey, Jordan? Look at me, sweetheart.” She finally raised her eyes, and he gave her a proud little smile. “You did great. Just exactly what I was hoping you’d do.” Molly came out the door just then, handing their food to Dean, and reaching over to put her hand on Jordan’s.

“Glad you’re okay. Both of you.” With a pat to her hand and a little squeeze to Dean’s shoulder, she turned and went back inside.

“Okay, think you can make it back to your room? Come on, I gotcha,” Dean encouraged, an arm around her waist, the food and Darrel’s knife in the other hand. “Man, can’t wait to dig in. Molly makes a mean bacon cheeseburger.” He kept talking, all the way back to the motel, taking Jordan’s key card and letting them both in before leading her to a chair. “I’m going to my room to grab something, I’ll be right back. Okay?” She nodded vacantly, staring down at her hands.

She looked up, eyes wide as she heard someone at the door a couple of moments later, but Dean called out. “It’s just me, Jordan, comin’ back in, okay?” He came in, closed and dead-bolted the door behind him, and set a bottle of whiskey on the table as he walked by. Soon he was back, two coffee mugs from the little kitchenette in his hand. He poured a generous splash of the amber liquid into the cup and scooted it over towards Jordan. “Drink that, it’ll help.” She nodded, taking the cup in hand and tipping it steadily back, letting the liquor burn its way down her throat. She shuddered a little, then held it out for more.

“One more, maybe,” she said, and he tipped the bottle again. She downed the second shot, then blew out a shaky breath.

“Better?”

She looked at him, the color beginning to come back into her cheeks. “Yeah. I think so. Dean, I don’t know what to say...”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just eat. You can talk later.” He grinned, shoving her food at her, and she dug in gratefully.

She moaned, her eyes closing. “This is amazing!” Dean smiled, watching her wolf that bite down and go after another. She stopped, suddenly looking alarmed. “Wait, I didn’t even pay!”

“Taken care of, don’t worry about it.”

“So it’s not enough that you chase off my asshole ex, now you’re buying me dinner? Where have you been all my life?” she teased, taking another bite, and then blushing at her own words. “Wow - maybe the whiskey’s kicking in.”

Dean laughed softly as he continued eating. “Good. Maybe you can relax a little.” He turned on the TV, surfing until he found an old sitcom, and they watched as they finished their meal. When the credits rolled, Dean stood up, gathering the trash and tossing it before turning back to smile at her. “So – I should get out of here, let you get some rest.”

“Do you have to leave?” She swallowed hard, blushing. He stared back at her, not sure how to respond, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry, you’ve done too much for me already, I don’t blame you for wanting to get the hell away, like you need...”

“Hey.” He spoke softly to stop her rambling, and she looked up at him, biting nervously at her lip. “I just thought after what you’d been through you should get some rest.” She nodded silently, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her, and he spoke again, concern in his eyes. “Are you afraid he’ll come back, Jordan?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.” She swallowed hard, fighting not to cry in front of him.

“Listen, I’ve got two beds in my room, you’re welcome to come down there and stay if you want.”

“No, no… I’m just being crazy. I’m sure he’s gone. You probably scared him all the way back home.” She tried to sound like she was laughing it off, but her performance wasn’t convincing even her. “Really, Dean, thank you. I appreciate it. But I don’t want to be any more of a pain than I already have been.” She picked up her phone, avoiding eye contact, and looked up in surprise when he took hold of it, pulling it gently from her grasp.

He typed something into it, then handed it back. “There, I put my number in. If you get scared, or if you need anything, call me. No matter what time it is. Okay?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. How about I pick you up for breakfast in the morning?”

She nodded, looking steadily at the table top as he gave her shoulder a squeeze and headed out the door. As soon as the latch clicked shut, she buried her head in her arms and burst into tears.

She climbed into bed a little later, feeling somewhat better. Dean was right, she did need to sleep. The last few weeks had been harder than she’d realized, and then with Darrel showing up… yeah, the tough girl mask she tried to present to the world had slipped a little.

She fell asleep almost as soon as she settled in, the first deep sleep she’d had in days. A loud crash from the parking lot outside her door woke her, and she sat up, groggy and disoriented, trying to get her bearings before climbing out of bed to see what had caused the noise.

Her eyes widened as she peered out the window. Her car was engulfed in flames, and she stumbled back from the window in shock, running back to the bed to grab her phone from the night stand. Her hands shaking, she dialed Dean’s number, surprised when he answered immediately, not even letting her speak.

“Jordan, stay in your room. Don’t come out unless I come and get you, understand?”

Chapter 2

#meant to be #chapter 1 #detective dean au #dean fic #dean x oc #dean x jordan

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thedevilsmemes · 3 years

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PINTEREST QUOTES I USE IN MY MUSINGS BOARDS ~ A SENTENCE MEME - PART 2

Change pronouns as / when needed to preferred pronoun.

“I do not do justice, I do damage. I do not do empathy, I do damage. I do not do forgiveness, I do damage. I do not do mercy, I do damage.”

“Like, you can boss me around in sexual situations but you better not try to tell me what to do in regular life.”

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse.”

“I’m meaner than my demons.”

“If I cannot bend Heaven, I will raise Hell.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of pitch black?”

“He was like a storm.”

“You want to play dirty? Fine, let’s play dirty!”

{ feels an emotion. } “Who the fuck authorised this?!”

“What the fuck? What the fuck is this? What the fuck?”

“Judge if you want. We are all going to die. I intend to deserve it.”

“Goddamn right you should be scared of me.”

“They wanted a monster; I decided to give them one.”

“Seduce and destroy.”

“What the fuck is intimacy? How does that work? Letting… people be close to you? What the fuck?”

“You couldn’t kill me if you tried for one hundred years.”

“I’ll do this my way.”

“I am severely emotionally unstable.”

“What, from the bottom of the heart, the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t take any orders. I barely take suggestions.”

“I send my best regards from Hell.”

“I like my coffee how I like myself: Dark, bitter and too hot for you.”

“Me and God, we don’t get along.”

“Be brave, Angel.”

“Self care is drinking three pots of coffee and getting into a knife fight with God.”

{ takes gulp of vodka straight from the bottle } “My day was fine.”

“Have I stabbed you? No. Then I am being nice.”

“Holy Shit! I’M the demon living in my house.”

“Sir, that’s my emotional support knife collection.”

“I want an ancient elaborate dagger with my name engraved into the blade as a gift. The only romantic gesture.”

“ ‘Are you a top or a bottom?’ I'm a threat!”

“Stop being so defensive! I’m just trying to hit you with weapons.”

“The more knives you have the more valid you are.”

“She’s strong but she’s exhausted.”

“She loves moonlight and rainstorms and so many other things that have soul.”

“My darling, you can’t see it can you? How like the moon you are. Both of you so timid in yourselves; hiding pieces from the world. Then, there are those rare moments when you are both full, and it becomes hard to look away. You are beautiful.”

“Calm her chaos but never silence her storm.”

“She wears strength and darkness equally well. That girl has always been half Goddess, half Hell.”

“She has been through Hell, so believe me when I say, fear her when she looks into the fire and smiles.”

“She’s proof that you can walk through Hell and still be an angel.”

“She is both hellfire and holy water. And the flavour you taste depends on how you treat her.”

“Even the mountains can not hold all you have been carrying.”

“Storm with skin.”

“She’s thunderstorms”

“Kindness is a language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”

“Sometimes it takes only one act of kindness and caring to change a person’s life.”

“You have a heart of gold.”

“Butterflies are the Heaven-sent kisses of an angel.”

“She who is brave is free.”

“Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.”

“Shut up. I wear heels bigger than your dick.”

“Girls who run in heels should be feared.”

“Family is everything to me.”

“She’s an old soul that believes in chivalry, romance, and love.”

“I hate getting flashbacks from things I don’t want to remember.”

“I run on coffee and grace.”

“I’m glad I’ve got boobs… the last thing I need is people making eye contact with me.”

“Tell me to put on my big girl panties one more time… and I’ll take off my thong and strangle you with it!”

“Please read all my posts in a sarcastic tone. You know, for full effect.”

“I have one nerve left and you’re dry-humping it, go away.”

“If I offend you, cry me a river. I’ll bring snacks and a raft. I will literally float down your tears, eating chips and working on my tan.”

“When she is happy, she can’t stop talking. When she is sad, she doesn’t say a word.”

“Music becomes my best friend when nobody else understands me.”

“Act like a lady, think like a boss.”

“I know I have friends but I feel I have no one to talk to about the shit that goes on in my head.”

“She was special. She combined a mean angel and a kind devil.”

“So much pain for someone so young.”

“She’s one of a kind.”

“Red lips and wine sips.”

“Brave girl, it’s time to love again.”

“She is intelligent.”

“Sometimes, when I say ‘I’m okay.’ I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight, and say, ‘I know you’re not.’ ”

“Because I’m not the kind of girl guys fall in love with.”

“I fear I will spend my life, waiting for a love story that doesn’t exist.”

“You’re a woman, use it; bring every man you meet to his motherfucking knees.”

“She denies it but, the truth is, she’s falling in love with him.”

“Hearing your heels click on the floor sounds like power.”

“She loves deeply, regardless of the love she gets back in return and it’s both her biggest strength and biggest weakness…”

“Experience raised her. Hurt taught her. Neither defined her.”

“She was not fragile like a flower was, she was fragile like a bomb.”

“Life is short; make every hair flip count.”

“I’ve always been someone who looks ‘too deep’ into something or someone. That’s because I realised from a young age that there’s always more than what meets the eye.”

“If I say ‘first of all’ Run away because I have prepared research, data, charts, and will destroy you.”

“Underestimate me, that’ll be fun.”

“You think I’m sarcastic? You should hear what I don’t say!”

“She’s a combination of sensitive and savage.”

“Stay classy, sassy and a bit bad assy.”

“She’s battling things her smile will never tell you about.”

“Ain't you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch?”

“I was told I was dangerous… I asked why? They said ‘because you don’t need anyone.’ That’s when I smiled.”

“She’s been through hell and came out an angel. You didn’t break her darling, you don’t own that kind of power.”

“Watch me. I will go to my own sun and, if I am burned by the flames, I will fly on scorched wings.”

“Her messy hair is a visible attribute to her stubborn spirit. As she shakes it free, she smiles, knowing wild is her favourite colour.”

“She’s strong. But in the back of her mind she doesn’t think that she was meant to be this strong for this long. And she wonders if there is a man out there, somewhere, who understands this.”

“She’s not for everyone and she knows it. People find her different and strange. She dances in the rain, she laughs when she cries and loves through her pain. People fear the unknown and they never knew a girl like her.”

“Don’t tell a girl with fire in her veins and hurricane bones what she should and shouldn’t do. In the blink of an eye, she will shatter that ridiculous cage you attempt to build around her beautiful bohemian spirit.”

“You provoke her until she roars and then get upset at her for becoming the monster you created.”

“Rip out his ego with your fresh nails.”

“She isn’t the sunrise; she’s the fucking sun.”

“You can’t touch a woman who can wear pain like the grandest of diamonds around her neck.”

“Watch your tongue around her. She will bear her fangs and tear you apart with all the grace of a Queen.”

“If you won’t embrace her madness, then you’ll never taste her magic.”

“Beauty may be dangerous but intelligence is lethal.”

“She is water. Powerful enough to drown you, soft enough to cleanse you, deep enough to save you.”

“Heavy is the crown and yet she wears it as if it were a feather. There is strength in her heart, determination in her eyes and the will to survive resides within her soul.”

“I wish that I could say that I am a light that never goes out, but I flicker from time to time.”

“Spoil me with loyalty. I can finance myself.”

“Shoutout to all the people with brown hair and brown eyes! We basic as fuck but we cute!”

“I feel a nap coming on.”

“Is horny an emotion?”

“I just really like thigh-highs.”

“Even though she looks innocent, she is really a perverted demon.”

“She didn’t sob or wail. Her pain was horribly discreet but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound.”

“I don’t rise from the ashes, I make them. I’m the whole fucking fire.”

“Beautiful but destructive.”

“I’m aiming for the ‘she’s a badass and cute as hell but I wouldn’t touch her without asking’ look.”

“Loving me must be so fucking hard and I’m so sorry.”

“Some women are lost in the fire. Some women are built from it.”

“You glow differently when you’re actually happy.”

“She’s magic, that one.”

“Kicked out of Hell.”

“Red hair: the crown you never take off.”

“You’ve got a fire inside.”

“She doesn’t need a warrior, she is one. What she needs is a devout heart, and strong arms to hold her after her battles are won.”

“You are the love that came without warning: You had my heart before I could say no.”

“You want battle? I’ll give you war.”

“True evil is, above all things, seductive.”

“The Devil’s got nothing on me, my friend.”

“Haven’t I fallen far enough?”

“I’m not like them, but I can pretend.”

“I don’t like being told what to do.”

“Now I grow wings and rage, and learn how to kill.”

“Life is tough, my darling, but so are you.”

“Though she be little, she be fierce.”

“I know what this is; It’s just myself, talking to myself, about myself.”

“You underestimate my power.”

#roleplay memes #rp memes #roleplay sentence starters #sentence starters #rp starters #sentence memes

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fictionplumis · 3 years

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A Lambert/Aiden Thing

Okay, bear with me here, this might be long. And maybe at one point I'm gonna try to RP this but unfortunately there's no one on the Lambert/Aiden RP tags on the site I use. So I'm just gonna put this here for now. And if anyone wants to, oh I don't know, write a fic or whatever based on this, PLEASE link me 'cause I wanna read it but anyway.

Set after the Wild Hunt, one of those rare AUs where Aiden genuinely did not survive.

While traveling together as super cool witchers, Geralt ends up telling Ciri all about helping Lambert get revenge for his Cat friend, right?

Time passes, and Ciri starts trying to really solidify her control with her ability. Geralt ends up spending more and more time at Corvo Bianco and Ciri is out on the Path, but every so often a girl needs a break, y'know? So sometimes she'll disappear for a couple days, maybe a few weeks, just off in another world. It's a good way to practice.

In one world, she ends up running into this man named Aiden. (This world being our world. Not a modern Continent thing, not some point in the future, I mean OUR world.) They talk, and he ends up mentioning his roommate Lambert, and the more he says about Lambert, the more it becomes obvious that it's LAMBERT.

Now Ciri has absolutely no intention of doing anything about this. It's not her place, telling Lambert would be an AWFUL idea, and going to meet that world's version of her uncle just seems like a bad idea. But she is curious about what kind of man can inspire such a strong sense of friendship in Lambert, so she decides to pop into that world every so often, "accidentally" find Aiden, and just kind of get to know him a little bit. Plus it's another way to practice her abilities, not just pin-pointing and traveling to a specific world, but to where a specific person is.

She does that on and off a few times, enough where her and Aiden are sort of acquaintances.

Now in this world Aiden isn't a saint, okay? This boy pretty much grew up on the streets. He has a past that he's trying to get away from. He knows his way around a knife fight, has ample experience running from the cops, and has been through so much therapy. (I don’t get into detail here but any kind of modern Aiden I usually have some kind of neurotypical. Might be something as simple as ADHD, though I do love bipolar!Aiden and psychotic!Aiden as well. I’d imagine at this point he’s good at managing it, with the help of therapy and medication. Now the therapy wouldn’t be all that accessible with where this is going, but Ciri could help him make sure he has his medications. Hell, if wanted to have him keep things consistent with his therapy too, he could move down to appointments maybe once a month and Ciri could make sure he could get to them, the same way she helps attain other things later on in this snippet. I absolutely support positive and accurate depictions of mental illness, I’m not just using the terms bipolar or psychotic lightly.) And unfortunately his past ends up catching up with him.

Ciri happens to get there just in time. Before Aiden can end up with a bullet in his eye, she's teleporting him to the first safe place that comes to her mind: Corvo Bianca.

Now poor Aiden has no fucking idea what happened. One second his old "friends" have him backed into a corner with a gun to his face and the next he's experiencing the worst motion sickness of his life and throwing up in a pot that smells like shit. He spends the next two days sleeping off some major jet lag and when he comes to, he had no fucking idea where he is.

Then comes Geralt and Ciri having to awkwardly explain the whole witcher thing to him, the Continent in general, the time period, the fact that monsters and sorceresses and magic exists in this world, all that happy shit. And it's a lot to process. Before they can even get to the whole "do you want to go back to your world and handle the deal with people trying to kill you thing" Lambert shows up.

At first Aiden doesn't even think, he's just like oh thank fuck a familiar face, I know you hate hugs but I think this can be forgiven because I've had the weirdest most stressful week of my life.

And then he's like, wait a second. Lambert is... Thicker.

Like Lambert's always been a very physically active guy, he's a mechanic or whatever you want a modern day Lambert to do, but his shoulders weren't THAT broad before and under those spiky metal arm things are some impressive biceps. Also what are those spiky metal arm things? Lambert, what are you wearing? How the fuck did you get here? Holy shit your eyes--

He puts two and two together. Right, the name Geralt sounded familiar because Lambert's mentioned the name. That's his adopted brother. So if this Geralt is a witcher, then Lambert in this world is a witcher. And Lambert is also having a minor breakdown because, y'know, AIDEN.

Let's just say Geralt warned him. Explained the whole situation and asked Lambert to come back to help with this, and Lambert was very torn because it's not HIS Aiden. It'll hurt too much, to see someone so much like Aiden but just slightly to the left. He knew it would. He just didn’t expect this Aiden to be SO MUCH like his Aiden. By this point Aiden has had to change his clothes into some of Geralt's trousers with a belt to hold them up and a loose tunic, but it's fucking him.

They all talk a bit. Aiden pretty much admits that yeah, there are people after him. And they probably won't stop until he's dead. That's how gangs work, y'know? You can't really... Get out. He tried, he really fucking did, but even if it's not the ones that cornered him before, it'll be someone else. So yeah, Ciri saved his life and going back is probably not the best idea.

Now I absolutely don't want to fuck over another world's Lambert just to make Continent!Lambert happy, so we're gonna say the two were really good friends. They were roommates, they were close, Lambert was pretty much Aiden's only friend, but they weren't lovers. Lambert was with a woman named Keira. A doctor. They were good for each other, y'know? When Lambert first started dating her, Aiden thought she was kind of a bitch but as time went on she kind of mellowed out. It wasn't that she became less full of herself, but more that she actually felt confident enough that she didn't feel the need to try to take on the world anymore. And Lambert's happy with her. So leaving Lambert behind in that world kind of sucks, yeah, but he'll be okay. And this Lambert is so similar that to Aiden, it doesn't feel like he's losing someone.

Now we have Aiden getting to experience the Continent for the first time. Getting to experience witchers for the first time.

Lambert. Sword fighting.

And that's so fucking cool. Can you please teach me that?

Which of course has Lambert a little iffy, because this Aiden is human and no fucking away is he letting this Aiden anywhere near a monster, but Aiden is like, nah, relax, I just want to learn because sword fighting is really cool. Look, I'm really good with a knife, teach me some cool sword stuff.

So Lambert gets to teach Aiden some cool sword stuff. And how to make bombs, which Aiden LOVES. And maybe some alchemy, too, because Aiden asks about the potions and Lambert is very adamant that he never drinks any but Aiden likes at least knowing how to make them. It's fascinating. You all fucking know you would love to make potions out of gross monster parts and herbs if you had the chance, don't even lie. Lambert even shows off some signs and Aiden is delighted.

This eventually leads to one of those serious conversations about what it takes to become a witcher, and what all Lambert went through, and how people view witchers. And Aiden gets it, maybe not completely, but he gets the just of it. Because he knows about the other Lambert's past, and his shitty father, and all that stuff. And Aiden's brown, and people don't like that. And he's gay, and people don't like that either. Lambert's whole thing kind of reminds him of the X-men.

And Lambert doesn't know what the fuck that is so Aiden explains comics and superheroes and the X-men to him.

Because in his world they don't have witchers or magic, so they make up stories that have people like witchers, that have magic, and in those stories, those people sometimes face very similar prejudices. So to Aiden, Lambert is a lot like a superhero.

And Lambert's like uh huh, no way, definitely not any kind of hero, that's pretty boy's job.

To which Aiden responds, no, I definitely think you're a hero, even if you don't, so suck it up.

And they probably kiss and stuff.

Eventually Aiden gets restless and he's curious about the rest of the Continent, and he's tired of wearing Geralt's ill-fitting clothes because he's used to skinny jeans and shit so he gets Lambert to take him into Beauclaire for clothes.

And Beauclaire is fucking beautiful, he loves it.

The clothes are okay. Eventually he just asks Lambert what he used to wear and they go see the armorer instead. Aiden's not entirely sure about it, because Lambert looks like he's swallowed a mouthful of tacks when he sees Aiden in the Cat armor, even without the chest piece or the gauntlets, but Lambert assures him that he's fine.

It just doesn't quite ease the restlessness. So the next time Ciri pops in, Aiden asks for her help and together they scheme. The next day, Aiden tells Lambert to go find something to entertain himself with for awhile because he needs to spend some quality time with his BFF.

A few hours later they find Lambert sulking out in the vineyard, Aiden looking fine and fresh in a brand new pair of skinny jeans that show off his very nice ass, and some well-fitting combat boots that aren't nearly as durable as actual leather boots on the Continent but they have studs and buckles and look really cool.

Lambert is torn between thinking Aiden looks like a fucking idiot and thinking that he's never wanted to fuck Aiden more in his life.

Then Aiden drops the news that he also put together an outfit for Lambert because in his world, when you're interested in courting someone, the first thing you do is take them on a date. And he wants to take Lambert on the most stereotypical first date. What's that? Why the movies, of course! There's an X-men movie that just came out (I don't know which one, okay? I don't watch the X-men. You figure it out.) and he thought, maybe, he could show Lambert a little bit of the world he came from. They wouldn't be there for long, and they wouldn't be going to a theater anywhere near where Aiden's old gang would be. Nothing would be tied to Aiden's name, and he would be with Lambert, so he would be safe.

It's a big change from the Continent.

Lambert's never seen so many fucking people in his LIFE. Aiden had warned him about cars and technology and Lambert is pretty quick witted so while he's absolutely amazed, he manages to take it in stride pretty well. The thing that throws him off the most is when they go to buy popcorn and the girl at the counter goes, "Oh my god, I love your contacts! Where did you get them? They look so real!"

Lambert doesn't know what the fuck contacts are, but Aiden steps in all smooth-like, "Fuck, Lamb, you've had those forever, haven't you? I think he got 'em off some cosplay site."

Then he has to explain later that sometimes people put these little discs in their eye to help them see better or to change the color of their eyes for costume purposes. To which Lambert has the understandable reaction of, "Who in their right fucking mind would CHOOSE to do this to their fucking eyes?"

Well, y'know, they can take contacts out whenever they want. It's a cosmetic thing. They don't know what you had to go through to get your eyes to look like that. You'll probably have some old conservative people eyeing you weird, thinking you're some Satanist or whatever, but most other people will just think it's a cool choice you made, to put those in to go to the movies.

The world is weird. Lambert can't decide if he likes it or hates it.

He definitely likes the movie, though. And the popcorn. Probably finds the soda to be a little too sweet for his taste. There's still a lot of people, which makes him a bit on edge, but they came to the theater at an off time and not many people are actually in the room with them. They sit at the back and hold hands and Lambert decides he loves it. Ciri picks them up like a proud parent driving her kid and her kid's date home, only instead of driving she's teleporting and neither of them are her kids but whatever.

But Aiden isn't done scheming. When they get back he tells Lambert to stay put and gets Ciri to take him back for one more little errand.

A couple hours later they clang back into Corvo Bianco. CLANG back because each of them has a weird metal cart piled high with items and they're laughing their asses off.

So you might be wondering, how did Ciri and Aiden afford clothes? They stole them. How did Aiden afford movie tickets and popcorn? He pick pocketed. Boy grew up on the streets. He knows how to steal wallets. And now they performed the greatest "run out the doors of Walmart with carts full of shit" EVER. Because as soon as they were out of sight, they teleported, no one the wiser.

Aiden is thrilled with his non-purchases. Firstly, he has about a year's worth of toilet paper. he throws a package at Lambert, who's like, what the fuck is this. Toilet paper. What do you use it for? To wipe your ass after you shit, Lambert. Trust me. Once you use it, you'll never go back. It's a blessing, you'll thank me for it. There might not be indoor plumbing here, but god dammit, I want toilet paper.

He then hands Ciri two boxes of pads. Yeah, she was there shopping with him, but he just kind of dumped stuff in carts without explaining anything, and while Ciri knows what most of the things are, do you really think she's thought about how other worlds deal with menstruation? Because I menstruate, and the thought would genuinely not cross my mind. I would continue using whatever method I used back in my original world. So Aiden leans in to whisper what they are, because he's polite, and he becomes her favorite uncle just like that. And when Geralt and Lambert are like, uh, what? She tells them it's for menstruating and, "Oh, don't make that face at me, Geralt. I bleed, it happens."

Aiden admits that most of the other purchases are for Lambert, and when Lambert tires to protest Aiden makes it very clear that everything he bought is NORMAL in his world. Not even luxury, just NORMAL, so Lambert just needs to shut up and let Aiden make his life a little easier.

First up, sunglasses. Because Lambert mentioned how painful it can be to take Cat and then step out into sunlight before the potion has run out. He tosses a pair at Lambert, who tries them on with a frown and is like, "Oh. Huh. Alright. These might actually be pretty useful." Aiden got himself a pair too. They match. There's also a tent. It folds up pretty small, but witchers travel, right? And Lambert mentioned how shit it is to camp in the rain, so here's a tent that’s better than the shit you can buy on the Continent. You lay out your bedroll in it, and you don't have to worry about bugs, and it helps protect you against the weather. It's small, but it looks kind of easy to put up, should be durable enough.

And maybe just big enough for two, because Aiden isn't stupid. Eventually Lambert will need to take to the Path again, and Aiden wants to comes too. He wants to see the Continent. He can't help with the monsters, he knows, but maybe he can do something else to help them earn money. Who knows, right? This world isn't run by capitalism. He could make a living doing nearly anything. He can figure something out.

He even got a water filter, and a couple filter replacements because witchers can probably drink any kind of stagnant water they want but he would rather not die of dysentery, thanks. And he got himself a sleeping bag. And he got Lambert a very, very soft fleece blanket just because he thought Lambert would like it. (He does.) Oh, also, Lambert, smell this soap. And this shampoo. Using a bar of soap has not done Aiden's hair any favors, he got actual fucking shampoo. The BIG bottle. And now Lambert has some nice pomade to use in his hair instead of bear fat. Won't make his hair greasy plus it smells better. Also there's bubble bath, just because. And beard oil for Lambert. Some moisturizer. Here, Lambert, put on some chap stick. Trust me, you'll love it.

They set out on the Path and it's not always easy because Aiden worries CONSTANTLY. But Lambert is good at what he does. The few times they're ambushed, Lambert always keeps Aiden safe, because in this household everyone fucking survives.

Aiden likes seeing Lambert in action. He swoons and calls Lambert his hero.

There are some stunning places to visit on the Continent. Aiden's favorite are the elven ruins they sometimes come across. Only after Lambert deals with the wraiths, though.

Aiden learns how to play Gwent. He's not that good at it. Aiden learns how to cheat at Gwent. He's VERY good at it. Lambert teaches him how to fish with bombs. Aiden is fucking delighted.

Eventually he realizes how he can make money. He copywrites Disney.

He's no bard. He can't sing or play an instrument. But he CAN tell stories, and no matter how much you hate Disney, there are probably a lot of Disney movies everyone can quote by heart, and they're either already time-period approved, or they can easily be adapted into something time period approved. Lambert comes back from a hunt to find the entire tavern listening to Aiden with rapt attention while he's in the front of the room putting on a one man performance of the whole, "I am Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die," while jumping back and forth to play each part. He's clearly having a blast with it, because who doesn't love telling other people every little detail about their favorite movie?

As he's heading upstairs with Lambert, he just keeps raving about how he can't believe he actually made money with that. He hands Lambert a handful of coins, just like, "I don't know how much money this is, but look, it's money!"

Which probably leads to some conversation about capitalism and how easy it was in his world to feel insignificant, to feel like everything is pointless, and how much happier he is with Lambert. How it's even given him a new outlook on the world he came from. He doesn't want to go back, per se, but he doesn't want to completely leave either. He wants to show Lambert the best parts of it, to re-experience his world through Lambert, to really feel the amazement of it all the way he's supposed to, the way that's so easy to stop doing when you're actually living there. It's so easy to take it all for granted, but when you're showing it to someone who's experiencing it for the first time, you can really appreciate it all.

So every winter they head back to Toussaint and Ciri takes them back long enough for them to do something FUN. They play laser tag. They rope Geralt, Eskel, and Ciri into doing an escape room with them. They go kayaking. They do one of those rope courses and zip-line things. They go to an amusement park. A water park. They walk around a nature trail. They go to a comic convention. (Lambert wears his armor and so many people want pictures with him. He's just sad Aiden wouldn't let him bring his swords, the kids would have fucking loved to see a sword.) They have so much fun. And Aiden stocks up on modern supplies for the year while he's there. Another year's worth of toilet paper, a new tent, another fuzzy blanket, a few pairs of sunglasses because Lambert always ends up breaking his, a nice backpack because Lambert really likes having a bunch of different pockets in his bag for organizing things.

And you know what? Give it ten years, Aiden's bordering on his forties, and he finds some way to make himself functionally immortal. Magic, fairies, a curse, a blessing, I don't know, I don't care. Their plan becomes to live until one of them dies of something--probably Lambert, because he's the one Aiden always has to patch up (he now always buys a very large, well stocked first-aid kit from his world too) what with fighting monsters and all, and the other will follow. It's morbid, sure, but it works for them. With the way things are going, neither of them thinks they'll need to do that anytime soon anyway.

Basically, they live happily ever after, okay?

HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

#laiden #lambden #lamden #the witcher #lambert aiden

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egcdeath · 3 years

Text

a blip in the reader-verse

chapter 3: someone in the crowd

summary: in your expedition through the multiverse, you find yourself in the crowd of a war bond show.

warnings: somewhat of a bittersweet ending

word count: 1.8k

author’s note: let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. i’d love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, so any likes/reblogs/comments are very much appreciated!

previous chapter / series masterlist

Steve sat up abruptly, breathing heavily and heart racing from the vaguely distressing experience of being in someone else’s dream. And to top that off, the stakes of being in the dream were extremely high. If he couldn’t contact you and convince you that something was off, he could be stuck here, in the wrong universe, forever.

Steve rolled over and sighed, only to be met with the curious expression of the Ancient One, and nearly jumping out of his skin.

“Did it work?” She questioned, and Steve wordlessly nodded while anxiously cracking his knuckles.

“So now we wait?” He asked, turning his body around so his feet were planted firmly on the floor. Feeling the ground against him gave him a slight sense of comfort, knowing that he was back in the real world.

“You and I cannot take that risk. I’m going to try to send your consciousness into another universe, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll find your way home. If not, then… I’m not sure what else there is to do.”

“It’ll work though, right?” Steve looked up at her through furrowed brows.

“We can only hope so.”

——

Before your eyes even opened, you noticed the all-encompassing raket of a crowd clapping and hollering for… Captain America?

You opened your eyes and glanced around at your surroundings. If you were sure of one thing, it was that you weren’t in a time that was even somewhat close to yours. That quickly became clear to you as you observed the people sitting around you, and the astoundingly monochrome clothing of those around you.

You looked down at yourself, and observed your own time period appropriate outfit, your knee-length flowered dress fell nicely against your body, but the shoulder pads weighing on your collarbone kind of made you feel like a football player. You also quickly caught onto the fact that your watch seemed to turn itself into a pendant on your neck. You then glanced up at the stage, and noticed your alarming proximity to it.

As the curtains on the stage opened, a profound silence fell across the audience. You looked up at the platform expectantly, and you were not disappointed when your boyfriend of many years popped out.

Except, he seemed much more jovial. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t so dark, and he seemed to have a lightness in his step as he pounced around the stage. In the midst of your ogling, the woman next to you leaned over and set a hand over your knee.

“Didn’t I tell you he was gonna be cute?” she whispered in your ear. At the sound of her voice, you felt a wave of recollection surge over you.

This was your friend Aaliyah, just like your closest childhood friend back in your own reality, who’d dragged you out to this war-bond-promotion thing to see her man crush of the week.

“He’s really dreamy,” you concurred, not taking your eyes off of the man.

“So you’re not mad at me for bringing you out here anymore?” She asked, an air of teasing in her voice.

“Shh!” a voice from somewhere above you hissed down at the two of you.

The both of you rolled your eyes, then you looked over to Aaliyah and shared a knowing look with her.

You looked back at the stage, and watched the routine play out, giggling to yourself at times. The whole show had been at least 10 times funnier, now knowing Steve, even if this wasn’t exactly your Steve.

In the midst of a giggling fit, Steve glanced down at you, and flashed you a pearly grin. Despite seeing that beautiful smile millions of times, you couldn’t help but to slightly swoon, and look over at Aaliyah excitedly.

She gaped her mouth open at you, and pointed at you with a brow furrowed in confusion, ‘You?’ she mouthed. You responded by pointing at yourself with an equally shocked expression, and mouthing, ‘Me?’

It seemed like the show was over after that, and the lights in the room slowly rose back to their original colors.

“Holy shit!” Aaliyah squealed, grabbing your arm. “Did Captain fucking America smile at you?”

“If you saw what I saw, then yes!” You grabbed her opposite arm, “we have to celebrate this somehow, right? I think this deserves celebrating.”

You were honestly surprising yourself with the words coming out of your mouth. Part of you knew that Steve looking at you was a regular occurrence that you were used to, but the part of you that actually lived in this universe’s feelings must’ve been strong enough to override even the most logical part of your brain.

“Uh, hell yeah it deserves celebrating. Let’s go!” The two of you stood up, and you straightened out your dress a bit before squeezing through the aisle of chairs, and heading out of the concert hall.

Leaving the hall turned out to be more of a hassle than you’d initially expected. The lobby towards the exit was packed like a can of sardines, and you and Aaliyah seemed to be standing around for an excruciatingly long period of time.

During this period of time, you zoned out a bit, only half-listening to Aaliyah drone on about some new John Ford movie.

In this downtime, you decided to ask yourself why you hadn’t left this universe yet, since this was so clearly not the one you belonged in, and not the reality your Steve was in. You came to the conclusion that your morbid curiosity of what may happen next in this reality was more than enough to motivate you not to leave. Besides, who knows? Maybe you could learn a lesson about yourself, or some other corny thing like that.

Lost in your own thoughts, you failed to notice the built blonde man draped in a brown trench coat and looking down speed walking straight into you, and sending you stumbling back into your friend’s arms.

He looked down at you with worry in his eyes, and extended a hand out to you quickly. “My gosh, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed.

Steve.

Of course, fate had decided to bring you to the man (who technically wasn’t really your man).

You gladly accepted his hand, and let him pull you forward a bit. Your cheeks warmed at the little touch, and you swore you could sense Aaliyah gawking behind you.

“Again, my apologies…?” You could tell that Steve was leaving an opening for your name.

“Oh, uh, Y/N,” you smirked a bit at him.

“Let me make it up to you, Y/N,” he offered politely, and speaking softly so that he wouldn’t attract too much attention.

“Make up pushing me on accident?” You giggled at this. Steve somehow managed to be a bit of an unsmooth dork in every reality.

“Uh, yeah, I guess. But only if you want me to… make it up to you,” a bit of a rose tinted blush was clearly visual on Steve’s face.

“I would love that.”

----

“The perks of having a circus monkey take you out, is that he knows all of the back entrances and exits,” Steve explained while weaving his way through the building.

“Is that some sort of saying from the 40’s?” You casually threw out, following behind Steve as the two of you made your way through the back of the concert hall. As soon as you realized the weight of your words, your eyes went wide.

“What?” Steve asked, looking back at you while the two of you continued your trek.

“Nothing,” your eyes bounced around the room, and you tried to think of something to change the subject to. Luckily for you, you’d arrived at the door, and that was subject change enough. Steve opened the door for you, and held it as you walked through.

You immediately recoiled at the scent of the city. Simply put, it smelled like the Industrial Revolution. Quickly playing it off, you turned your head to look at Steve, and reach out to grab his hand.

“So, where are you planning to take me, Captain?” Steve gladly accepted your hand back, and you happily intertwined your fingers, despite the slight dampness you noticed on his palms. Was The Captain America sweating from nerves from being around you? You’d have to mentally note this to tell Aaliyah later.

“Well, there’s this diner somewhere around here that I’ve heard is pretty good. You interested?” He glanced over at you, and you pursed your lips as you faked deep thought about the proposition.

“You really know the way straight to a gal’s heart, huh?”

----

You had been sitting in a booth across from Steve for what must’ve been hours now. The conversation between the two of you seemed to flow naturally, as if you were longtime friends. In a way, you kind of were, but in another very real way, this was just the beautiful start of something that would blossom more with every second you spent with Steve.

You picked at a napkin, and Steve glanced down at his watch.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, concern clearly present in your tone.

“It’s just really late, and my manager’s gonna be pissed if I miss my flight tomorrow,” Steve sighed sadly, and reached into his pocket for a pen. “I’ll be trading New York for Wisconsin. So exciting, I know, but we gotta get the war bonds somehow,” he chuckled.

“I get it,” you nodded sadly, then noticed Steve scribble something onto a napkin.

“You know Howard Stark?” he questioned.

“Heard of him,” you nodded slowly.

“Well, he’s working on this new thing. It’s just like a phone, but it comes with you everywhere you go. I have a prototype of it, I think it’s pretty neat,” he slid you the napkin. “This is it’s number. You can call me any time, anywhere, and I’ll pick it up.”

You smiled sadly at Steve, but accepted the napkin, folding it into a neat little triangle, and slipping it into your dress pocket. “Is this goodbye?”

“Just for now,” he stood up from the booth, and you followed suit, before he reached for your hand and laced your fingers with his.

The two of you silently walked out of the diner, hand-in-hand. Steve eventually pulled his palm away from yours, and started for the direction of his hotel. Although, before he could get too far, you scurried over to him, and pressed a quick peck against his cheek, catching him by surprise, “Bye, Steve. I’ll see you soon.”

“Of course. Bye, Y/N,” Steve waved as he departed, and you made your way towards the curb so you could hail a taxi.

A taxi quickly pulled up to you, and slipped into the backseat and muttered your address. The soft vibration against your chest that alerted you that it was time to go, did not go unnoticed by you, and you closed your eyes as you attempted to relax into the rather uncomfortable seat.

next chapter

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #captain america x you #marvel fanfiction #ABITRV #40's AU

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gentlemen-of-lies · 3 years

Text

Gentlemen of Lies, chapter 2

(Carvour)ting around London with a British bastard and some classified files.

(Next chapter) (Chapter 1)

————

Curt stayed up until late, studying the files he’d been given. He’d luckily escaped another power cut, and his bedside lamp stayed firmly on, flickering in desperation for a new bulb.

There were only four suspects to memorise, three men and a woman. There was little evidence against them; in fact the most damning evidence was against one of the men- Andrew Hayes- who spoke three languages: English, German and Russian. Two of those languages were very much unfavourable in this social climate, although very useful for being a spy of course.

By midnight, Curt was starting to fall asleep. He knew he had to study the files but God... they were so boring.

He soon decided he’d studied them enough; even if he didn’t know every piece of information, too late a night would do him no favours in the morning.

His watch beeped at five am the following day, and for once he didn’t sleep through it. ‘Okay, Mega,’ he thought to himself. ‘Time to get your act together. Show that Carvour bastard he’s not the only one who can do his job.’ Curt sat up in bed, the cogs in his head turning as he worked out a brief schedule. He had to get dressed first of all; whether Owen really was going to lend him some clothes, he didn’t know. But at the moment, he still only had his three day old outfit, which was hanging over the back of the chair, in an attempt at getting aired, despite the air in the room being as damp as the outside weather.

He needed a shower, that was essential. Just some running water to get himself clean and shave off the itchy stubble on his chin... he sighed. Was he really going to have to ask that woman down the hall? He supposed it was worth a shot. If worst came to worse, he’d just have to ask Bill for a solution, although the less he interacted with him the better.

He got himself dressed, shaking his clothes to try and rid them of creases. His hair was patted down and he chewed around three mints at once, crunching them into dust. He looked at himself in the cracked mirror.

‘Not bad, Mega.’ Hopefully in the short walk from his room to the woman’s he’d magically gain the skill of flirting, and win her over into letting him use her bathroom.

Amazingly, he did convince her, ten minutes after leaving his room. But only because his flirting was so desperate and pathetic sounding that she had no choice but to take pity.

“It’s surely a mark of how needy you are that I’m even letting a strange man into my room,” the woman said.

“Cut me some slack,” replied Curt, making a beeline for her bathroom and shutting the door behind him. “All I’ve heard since I’ve been here are remarks of how much of a mess I am,” he continued through the locked, wooden door. “Maybe if your country had better facilities.”

“Maybe if your country didn’t produce such weak men.”

“Huh. Feisty. I like that in a woman.” The woman didn’t reply, but Curt was hardly that invested in the conversation anyway. What mattered right now was finally- he had a shower. And holy, did it feel fantastic! If it was up to him, he’d spend all day in there. But he didn’t have time. It was edging on six now, and while it was still a good four hours until he had to meet Owen, he still had plenty to do. Besides, there was certainly no harm in getting there early, before Owen. In fact, he decided he was going to do just that. Make Owen the one running late. Who was incompetent now?

Curt accidentally nicked his chin a few times while shaving, but he brushed the droplets of blood away with his fingers and splashed his face with the rusty water from the tap. By the time he reopened the bathroom door, he was feeling like a new man.

The woman was still there, writing at her own table, which looked much less rotten that Curt’s.

“Thanks for letting me use your bathroom, Mrs...?”

“Miss. Miss Dorothy Lowe.”

“Well, Miss Lowe. I appreciate the hospitality.” Dorothy didn’t bother to respond, so Curt- as awkwardly as always whenever he had to try and act smooth around a woman- showed himself out. It was quarter to seven. All he had to do was grab the files and find the station. How hard could that be?

————

“It’s not far from here,” Owen had said. “Here’s a map,” Owen had said. The map was bullshit, it was in black and white and Curt could barely read it. The streets were as disorientating as always, and Curt was almost knocked down by a bus trying to cross the street at the same time as studying the stupid map.

He gave up, and decided to ask passers by.

“Go all the way up the street, turn left, right again and it’ll be there,” said the first person he came across, a man wearing a trench coat and sporting the biggest moustache Curt had ever seen.

“Thanks.” Curt followed the instructions given, but it soon became clear that moustache man had no clue what he was on about. And Curt had to ask two more people before he finally spotted the red and blue circle of the underground.

9:30. Had he really been wandering around London for an hour and a half? An hour if he discounted the sandwich he’d picked up from a local café, which he did. And either way, he was still early.

Beat that, Owen.

At ten o’clock on the dot, Owen showed up, once again wearing his brown cap pulled over his eyes. Typical, he wasn’t even late.

“Good morning, Mega,” he greeted. “I see you’ve shaved at least.”

“Shaved, showered and ready to go.” Was that line as bad as it had sounded? Owen ignored it altogether.

“I hope you didn’t arrive too early. Don’t want you hanging around looking suspicious.”

“Uh... no. No I arrived five minutes ago,” Curt lied. He was beginning to think that Owen could see right through him, and the feeling was unsettling to say the least. He barely even knew the man, and nor did he particularly like him.

“Good. We’ll get a move on then.” Owen crossed the street, Curt following closely behind. “You read the files then?”

“Yeah,” replied Curt. “And none of them seem much like suspects except the guy who speaks Russian.”

“Well if there was too much evidence against them they would have been fired by now.”

“Sure, but why them and not everyone else as well. Why were they singled out?”

“Favouritism? Who knows.” Curt didn’t know if he was going to get anywhere with this case.

“What am I even doing here?” Curt asked, finally voicing the question that had been on his mind ever since he’d arrived. “Can’t MI6 sort this out themselves? It’s just a mole, and I don’t know anyone who works there.”

“My best guess would be experience. How long have you been in the field?”

“Less than two years, and even then I mainly just sit at a desk reading through files.”

“Hm. Experience then. I got a lot of unnecessary cases myself. Was sent off to Belarus in my first year because of a suspected assignation plot.”

“That’s quite big.”

“Oh hardly, both the assassin and the assassinated were civilians, and it had nothing to do with the war either. Simple case of a murder charge and jail time. All I got out of it was an improvement on my Russian accent.”

“How long have you been in the field?”

“Going on four years now. Joined when I was twenty.

“So did I.”

“Then perhaps we have more in common than I thought.” Curt took that as a rare compliment. “Now then, I have a flat in Nevern Square. As you can tell by the name, there is a square in the middle. We can talk there. It’s usually empty at this time of day.”

“You sure it’s not too open?”

“It’s surrounded by a gate and only residents have the key. It’s private enough.”

So they made the short walk to Nevern Square, truly a square surrounded by tall, thin flats. The garden itself was fairly bare, much more so than the other gardens that Curt had walked past during his vague exploration of Earl’s Court when he first arrived, which wasn’t so much an exploration as a hunt for somewhere to sleep.

Owen took out a small key and opened one of the locked gates with it. The gate squeaked as it opened, the rusty iron bars dragging along the floor. Owen closed it behind him.

They went to sit on the nearest bench. Curt scanned the park. It really was empty, which wasn’t surprising. Even if everyone wasn’t at work, there was hardly anything to do in here. You could barely walk a dog since its parameter was so small.

“So out of all the suspects,” Owen began, launching back onto the case. “Did any of them stand out to you?”

“Yeah, actually. What about you?” Owen hesitated, an unfamiliar reaction of his.

“To be honest, no. I haven’t found any evidence worth checking out.” Curt raised his eyebrows in suppressed excitement. Did he finally know something that the great Owen Carvour didn’t? Owen paid no attention to his clear look of arrogance.

“I’m surprised,” said Curt, his voice almost gloating.

“Why, what did you find? You’re not going to mention the Russian-speaker again are you? Half the people in MI6 speak Russian. You can’t be a spy if you only know one language.”

“No not him. I’m talking about that other guy, light hair...” Curt took a second to recall the name. “John Lawson.” Something crossed Owen’s face for a split second, not long enough for Curt to properly catch.

“It’s not him,” replied Owen, with a strangely firm voice.

“Well, how do you know?”

“I just do.”

“But he has a history of working with explosives.”

“So? We’re looking for a Russian spy, not someone who blows things up.”

“No we’re looking for a bad guy, and that’s what bad guys do. Blow shit up.”

“Do you realise how childish you sound? Bad guys and good guys. This is the real world, Mega, not a comic book. It’s not Lawson. Move on.”

“Jeez, why are you getting so defensive?” Owen just rolled his eyes, and wouldn’t reply.

“I’ll take you to Bletchley Park. That’s where Andrew Hayes works. Languages aside, I never trusted him myself. Can’t put my finger on why, though. We can follow him, spy on him, and you...” he turned to Curt. “Can make friends with him.”

“Me?” Owen nodded.

“Of course, he doesn’t know who you are. Although I suggest using your real accent. Your British one could really use some work.”

“I thought I sounded alright.”

“You sound like someone mimicking a film star. Just tell him you have family here or something, no links whatsoever to any secret service. Get him to open up. Also...” Owen handed Curt a brown duffel bag that he’d been carrying around the entire time. “Change of clothes. You can give them back to me when you leave.” Curt assumed he meant leave the country, but he could never really tell with Owen. Nevertheless, he took the bag, with a stiff thank you, setting it down beside his feet.

“Wear them tomorrow when you’re trailing Hayes. You want him to think you’re a well-groomed, strapping American. Not a hard-done-by yank, lost in a foreign country.”

“Fine.” Curt ignored the thinly veiled insult, focused as he was on the case itself. He still suspected Lawson, but clearly he was getting nowhere on that lead with Owen around. But perhaps he didn’t need to.

Andrew Hayes wasn’t the only one who worked at Bletchley.

#spies are forever #spies are forever prequel #spies are forever fanfiction #curt mega x owen carvour #tin can bros #gentlemen of lies #agent curt mega #owen carvour #starkid

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unrighteousbooks · 3 years

Text

By the Prickling of My Thumbs

This happened about 10 years ago. I try not to think about it, because thinking about it keeps it fresh in my mind, and I need it to be hazy. Maybe if I tell you this story you'll say: That had to be a dream. Maybe you'll convince me.

But I know I wasn't a dream.

I spent a lot of time in bookstores back then. I still do, but after this happened, it was a very long time before I went into a bookstore at night. And to this day, I still won't go into an empty cafe. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

At the time I was doing technical writing as a consultant, and I'd been assigned to a project at an engineering firm about a mile from my home. It was October, and I'd been working late nearly every night. When the weather was good, I'd walk home, and sometimes I'd take different routes. I felt like I didn't have any time to myself, and walking gave me a little time to unwind. Now and then I'd detour down a side street, just because it bought me another five or ten minutes alone. One night, during one of those detours, I happened to pass a little bookshop. They had a display set up in the front window: Big stacks of books with brown and black and orange covers, some pumpkins, a cauldron and a witch's hat. They had one of those big paper skeletons, too, about five feet tall... the ones printed on heavy card stock, with little rivets connecting the joints, so that you could swing the arms and legs into different positions. Very retro. I was sure that I'd been down that street before, and I felt like I'd surely gone past the store before, but I'd never noticed it. It was close to 9, and I was surprised that they were still open. I knew I ought be getting home, but I decided it was worth a quick look, even though they'd probably kick me out after five or ten minutes to close up shop.

I pulled the door open and when I did I remember hearing a bell. This wasn't an electronic chime like so many places have now. It was an actual, old-fashioned brass bell that rang when the door swung open. As I went inside, my first thought was that it was heaven. Book heaven. It was exactly the kind of shop I loved. There were rows and rows of tall wooden bookcases. There were overstuffed armchairs here and there, each with a little table and a reading lamp next to it. The floor was made of wood, and you could tell that it had been there for at least a century. There were places where newer boards had been patched in, and here and there they had patched small holes with little pieces of sheet metal. It had that rundown charm that suits a bookstore perfectly.

And obviously, there were books. Books everywhere, overflowing from the shelves. Beautiful old books. Not a new book anywhere in sight, and for some reason that always appeals to me. Books stacked in the corners and piled high on practically every flat surface.

I didn't see anyone else around, but that didn't strike me as particularly odd. That was the point of the bell on the door, right? And I knew that if it were my shop, I wouldn't sit up by the front counter. I'd curl up in one of those chairs, and I'd read book after book after book.

I wandered around a bit. Near the back of the store I found a huge stack of vintage paperbacks, and I started sorting through them. About halfway down the stack I came across an old copy of a Ray Bradbury book -- Something Wicked This Way Comes -- and realized that it was exactly the same edition I'd had when I was young. It brought back so many memories: Hot summer nights with the window of my room open and crickets chirping outside. Lying on top of my bed with my head propped up against my pillow, and the little lamp on my nightstand was the only light on in the entire house. I remember wanting the book to last forever and wanting the night to last forever.

I was standing there, holding the book, staring at the cover and reliving those memories, and suddenly I heard a woman's voice, whispering in my ear:

"By the prickling of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."

Holy hell, it startled me so badly that I actually dropped the book. I don't know where she came from. I hadn't seen her and hadn't heard her and then suddenly she was right there.

And then I turned and saw her.

My god, she was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, an athletic build. Wire-rimmed glasses and a little black dress. Stylish, but stylish in a way that seemed effortless. And she was holding a book.

She looked down at the book I'd just dropped, and when she spoke she had a voice like honey. "Look at us. We're both wicked." And then she held up her book: Macbeth. It took a second for it to register, but then I realized the title of Bradbury's book -- "something wicked this way comes" -- was from Macbeth. The witches around the cauldron.

I wanted to say something clever. Or at least something not completely stupid, since I'd already embarrassed myself. But all I could think of was, "Do all the wicked readers congregate here?"

She tilted her head to the side, and she was smiling. "Certainly not all of them," she answered. "There wouldn't be room."

She was still right by my side. Obviously I don't mind being next to a beautiful woman, but she was a little too close. I took at step back and then said, "This is an amazing shop, isn't it?"

She ignored my remark and looked down at the book. "Aren't you going to pick that up?" I immediately knelt to retrieve it, then stood up promptly. This seemed to please her, as if she'd just confirmed that she could easily make me do whatever she instructed. The way she smiled and the way she watched me was intoxicating. "You love books, don't you?" she asked.

"I do," I answered.

She was still holding Macbeth, closed, with her left hand beneath the spine. She opened her hand slightly and ran the thumb of her right hand along the edge of the pages, causing the book to start to spread open, but only slightly. As she did, she spoke softly, as if choosing each word with great care. "So many mysteries." As the pages began to part, she placed the middle finger of her right hand against the gap. "So many secrets..." She slowly pushed her finger into the narrow opening. "...inside."

I don't know how to describe what I felt at that moment. Or maybe I know exactly how to describe it, but would rather not.

Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and yet there was something forceful in her tone: "There are people who burn books. There are books that are forbidden. Can you imagine that? Doesn't it make you wonder what's inside the book? Doesn't it make you want it so much more, knowing that you can't have it?" She looked up from the book, but kept her head tilted down slightly, so that she was looking over her glasses, rather than through them.

How can I describe that moment? The common phrase -- eye contact -- is so terribly inadequate. She held my gaze: Held it, made it her captive. Made me her captive. I couldn't look away.

She asked again: "How badly do you want it?"

I admitted the truth. "Very badly."

She put Macbeth down on the nearest shelf. I was still holding the Bradbury book. She reached out with her right hand and placed it on the cover, next to mine. Slowly she ran hand across the cover, letting her fingertips brush across my fingers, my hands, over the bare skin on my wrist, and then up my arm. It was electrifying.

"How do you feel," she asked, "once you've had the forbidden things? What then?"

She was still looking at my eyes, and I knew that she wanted an answer. "Not all the forbidden things are the same," I replied.

She nodded slightly, as if she approved of my answer. I felt her hand close around my wrist, and then, with her other hand, she took the book from me and set it down.

Her voice was still very low, and she spoke slowly. "What if I told you that it was forbidden to tell you my name?"

"Then I would ask you: What is your name?"

"Don't you think I would lie to protect my secrets? That I would make up a name?"

"That would be up to you."

"If it were forbidden," she said, "then certainly I'd lie to you at first. I would make up names that sounded intriguing. A little unusual."

"What is your name?"

"Mara," she said. Then she brought her lips to my ear and whispered, "I'm lying." She drew back slightly. "My name is Rubi." Then she paused and added, "Or perhaps it isn't. Perhaps it's Stephanie. Or possibly Sierra. Or some other name that you won't remember."

I should have known then that something was very wrong. Those names, the first few names should have been enough to warn me, but I wasn't thinking. I was looking at her eyes, such dark eyes, and I wasn't thinking.

"I won't ask your name," she whispered. "But if you really want to know mine, I'll tell you. Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"My name is Luci," she said. "Luci Black. Luci, Princess of Darkness." She took hold of my hand and turned it, palm up, and with a feather's touch she ran her fingers across the lines in my palm. "Do you know that I told you the truth just now? I wonder why I did that."

"Do you make it a habit to lie?"

"I make it a habit to not have habits," she said. "Habits are dull. Doing the same thing over and over is pointless, don't you think? Life is about new things. New experiences. Different experiences."

I wanted to answer her, but I didn't get the chance. She placed both of her hands around my hand and pushed her thumbs into the center of my palm. She leaned forward cautiously, and tilted her head as if to kiss me. And I wanted her to. Oh, god, how I wanted her to kiss me. She let her cheek brush against mine. She squeezed my hand and, with her cheek against mine, she whispered: "By the prickling of my thumbs..." She pressed her body against mine. "Something wicked this way..."

The last word, the unsaid word, lingered like electricity in the air in the last moments before a thunderstorm, until she whispered it so softly: "...comes." Then the lightning struck: her arms were suddenly around me and she kissed me hungrily. I felt it, the hunger from deep inside her and deep inside me. A kiss like the witches' brew, toil and trouble and fire burning. I felt a moment of absolute bliss. She pulled away from me and whispered: "You're wicked. I can taste it on your lips." Then she kissed me again, a long delicate kiss until suddenly I felt her teeth on my lower lip, biting down slowly. Hard. Too hard. I put my hands on her waist to push her away, but she opened her mouth and pressed her lips to my ear. "You're very wicked," she said. And then she looked me in the eyes and whispered, in a taunting voice. "Wicked," she said, "and unfaithful. There are others, aren't there? Other women. I can taste them on your lips. I can taste their innocence. The traces of everything that you devoured."

She took a step back and tilted her head to one side, looking at me carefully, as if she were evaluating me. "Both of us, wicked," she said. "Which one of us will devour the other?"

I don't know how to describe what I felt. My heart was racing. Fire and ice at the same time: I was burning up and yet there was an unsettling chill racing down my spine.

Then, without another word, she turned suddenly and walked away quickly between the rows of tall bookcases. She turned the corner and disappeared from view.

I wanted to run after her. Didn't I want that? Yes. No. Yes. "Please wait!" I tried to strip the emotion from my voice, because I wanted to sound unfazed, but I know I failed. I took a step to follow her and carelessly kicked over the stack of old paperbacks. I gathered them quickly just as I heard the chime of the bell on the front door.

By the time I reached the door she was gone. I stepped outside and saw a figure hurrying away through the street. I started to follow but realized that it wasn't her.

I stopped in the middle of the street and realized that I was shaking. I took a deep breath, turned around, and started walking back toward the store. As I did, the lights inside blinked out.

Closed.

I stood there for a moment longer. I knew that I should forget about it. Forget about her. But I knew I wouldn't. I knew I would come back the next night, looking for her.

* * * * *

There was no reason to believe I'd see her again. All day long I kept thinking about her. I made sure to leave work a little earlier that night, thinking I'd have a better chance of meeting her. I told myself that if she wasn't there, that would be fine: After all, even if she wasn't there, the books would be.

The night before, I hadn't given much thought to the path I'd taken on the way home, and I soon realized that I wasn't sure which street the store was on. I took a wrong turn, then another. Somehow, even though I prided myself on a good sense of direction, I'd gotten turned around. For a moment, I started to think that I was genuinely lost, even though I knew I couldn't possibly be far from home. To try to get my bearings, I turned another corner. As soon as I did, I saw the shop ahead of me, half a block away.

I'd like to be able to say that I had a sense of foreboding as I started to approach the store. That would make it seem as if I were slightly less foolish. I should have known that something wasn't right. The truth, however, is that I was thinking about only one thing: I'd met a beautiful woman, and I wanted to meet her again.

When I opened the door I felt as if I'd stepped back in time. But how far back? To the previous night? Twenty years? Fifty years? I only know that I felt as if I were suddenly somewhere else entirely. The sound of the little brass bell, the rows and rows of books, the smell of the place... they all belonged to another time. An ancient brass cash register -- surely just for show -- sat on counter to the left of the door, but was unattended. The store looked empty. In fact, the store felt empty.

I walked back toward the spot where I'd found the old Bradbury paperback the night before. The stack of paperbacks was gone, probably carefully sorted and tucked away in their proper places. I stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, waiting for something. She wouldn't be back. Of course she wouldn't. It didn't matter anyway, did it? It was nothing: A kiss from a stranger in a strange place on a strange night. It didn't matter.

I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of old books. I told myself that when I opened my eyes I would look at the books surrounding me and appreciate them for what they were. The truth is, however, that I believed if I closed my eyes she might suddenly be there, whispering in my ear, and I would open my eyes to find her standing next to me.

When I opened my eyes, of course she was not there.

I walked back to the front of the shop. I paused for a moment, looking at the display in the front window, and realized that it had been created with a great deal of thought: Although it was clearly intended to attract the attention of anyone outside the shop, it was equally arresting from inside. The paper skeleton, the pumpkins, the carefully-chosen books with their autumn-themed colors had all been arranged in such a way that they could also be appreciated from within the store.

I began working my way through the aisles, looking for anything unique or unusual. The front section was mostly very old books from the 19th and early 20th century. That struck me as slightly odd; most stores put more recent books and popular books at the front, and kept the obscure antiquarian fare at the back. The condition of the books, too, was surprising. They showed relatively little wear, and I wondered if the bulk of them had come from a single source. An auction or estate sale from a dedicated collector, perhaps?

One other thing seemed strange. Many of the books were no doubt quite valuable, and yet there seemed to be no one minding the store. Probably, I thought, it was an illusion that the owner had cultivated deliberately. The antique cash register, the old books, the old bell on the door: It was all intended to evoke a simpler time, but there were probably cameras monitoring every inch of floor space, RF scanners concealed somewhere near the door, and an iPad with a card reader under the counter. And although I couldn't see anyone else, there was a closed door near the counter, and light streamed out from the crack at the bottom of the door. An office, perhaps, with the owner relaxing inside?

I knew it was getting late, but didn't want to leave. I was still hoping that Luci might show up again. Luci: for whatever reason, I had suddenly decided that she had been telling the truth when she said her name was Luci Black.

I tried to focus my attention on the books. Near the back of the store, an old volume caught my eye: Stories of Strange Women. I pulled it down from the shelf. The cover showed a forest nymph, unclothed, but covering herself modestly. I made my way to the end of the aisle, where a pair of armchairs flanked a small table beneath the warm glow of a Tiffany lamp. I sat down and opened the book. The date inside said 1906, but the book was still in excellent condition. I scanned the chapter titles: The Garments of a Girl, His Mistress and Her Maid, Leave it Alone...

I heard footsteps. Light steps, deliberate, approaching slowly. The sound of hard heels on the wooden floor. I did not look up, but I knew it was her. As she drew closer, she began to speak, timing each word with a single step:

"Something. Wicked. This. Way. Comes."

I looked up. She stopped a few feet in front of me. She held an open book in front of her face concealing everything except her eyes.

The book was by Gregory Maguire: Wicked. She looked at me for a moment, then looked down at the book, and read a passage:

"'It seems to me that you have come here to -- shall we say -- relieve yourself of some sad business or other. You have the look about you. Don't be startled, my dear, if there's a look I do recognize, it's the look of someone carrying a burden."

I smiled. "What do you think my burden is, Luci?"

She sat down in the other chair, separated from me by the small table. She was wearing a short red sundress, one that seemed too thin for the season. A small red leather purse was slung over her right shoulder. She put the book on the table and then removed her purse and set it on top of the book. She crossed her legs demurely, smoothing the dress as she did. I tried to ignore the graceful curve of her calves, tried not to stare at her smooth thighs, tried not to remember the way her lips had felt when she'd kissed me the night before.

She leaned back and regarded me silently. "Unfinished business, perhaps? Maybe that's the problem: There's something that you ought to be carrying with you, but instead you always leave it behind. Then it becomes someone else's burden."

Was she trying to tell me something? Warn me about something? Would things have been different if I had asked her what she meant? But I didn't. I simply said, "How wicked of me."

She turned away from me and looked around slowly, as if she were carefully memorizing the details of the store. Without turning back to face me, she asked, "What brought you here tonight?"

"You." It was a truthful answer, and although I hadn't said it to flatter her, I thought she would be pleased.

Instead she turned to me and asked, "Was it really me? Or do you just enjoy temptation?"

"Possibly," I said. "But it would be fair for me to ask why you're here, as well. Isn't there a line from Shakespeare about temptation? 'The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?'"

"Measure for Measure. Shall we compare our sins? Do you suppose one of us would walk away feeling virtuous? Or would we both be sinners?"

"Surely there's no sense in dwelling on the sins in our past."

"When we could instead dwell on our sins in the here and now?"

Was there a slow, steady current of seduction flowing through her words, or was it all in my imagination? I shrugged. "All our sins are purchased on credit, aren't they? Sin now, pay later."

"Do you ever wonder who does the accounting for all these sins? Do you keep track of your own?" Her voice became a whisper. "I don't think you do. What happens when those bills come due?"

I felt a slight stir of uneasiness. I remembered that sudden chill that had overcome me the night before. Why? Was it what she said, or the way she said it? I decided to steer the conversation back to the mundane. "All this talk of accounting and credit and bills. Do you work here, Luci? Is this your shop?"

"I don't work here," she answered. "I just like being here. I feel a connection to this place. One of my favorite haunts, you might say."

"I never noticed this place until last night. I don't know how I missed it. I must have passed by so many times."

"Maybe you're too focused on other things. Sometimes we don't see what's right in front of us." The tone of her voice changed slightly, and the next sentence sounded almost like a taunt: "Or perhaps your memory isn't very good."

Had we met before, long ago? I felt certain that we hadn't. Best not to take the bait. She had intended to tease me, but I would compliment her. "I certainly doubt if my memory is as good as yours. At the very least you're well-versed in Shakespeare."

"We both have a passion for books," she replied. She looked down at her lap and paused, slowly running her finger over the smooth metal clasp of her purse. "But I think mine runs deeper. Do you ever think about books as physical things? I don't mean the stories and the ideas inside the books. I mean the books themselves, as objects. Do you know what I've always found fascinating? All these books had to be made. Manufactured. Or sometimes sewn by hand." She unhooked the clasp and looked up at me. "Do you know what I have? Let me show you." She lifted the flap of the purse and reached inside.

"I bought this long ago," she continued. "I wanted to make some books by hand." She pulled out a small object and held it up. It was a single piece of black metal, perhaps six inches long, half an inch wide, a quarter inch thick. "It's called a kiridashi knife."

It had no handle of any kind, and my first thought was that it was not a knife at all. Then, as she slowly turned it over in her hand, I saw that one end had been cut at a long angle and ground to a steep bevel. The bevel gleamed with a mirror finish. Even without touching it, I could tell: It was razor sharp.

The uneasiness that I had felt a moment earlier enveloped me. I felt cold, as if my blood were draining away.

She held the knife beneath the lamp, examining its edge in the light. "This one is made from laminated steel. Precise, like a scalpel, but so much stronger." She fixed her gaze on my eyes. "In the end, I never made the books I wanted to make," she said. "But I keep the knife with me."

I willed my voice to remain flat and free of emotion. "Is it safe to keep it in your purse that way? With no sheath?"

"Are you worried that I'll cut myself? Or worried that I'll dull the edge?"

"Both are valid concerns, don't you think? Not to mention what might happen to anything else that you keep in your purse."

"I don't carry much with me." She laid the knife down gently on the copy of Wicked, staring at it. "Do you ever think about the words in the books? I mean: What the words are. They're tools. Writers build entire worlds out of them. The words on the pages, those aren't what a writer creates. A novel, a poem, a beautiful love letter... those are the creations. Stories." Her voice faded slightly as she spoke. She looked at me again briefly, then looked around the shop, as if she sensed something in the air, but couldn't see it.

The fear I had felt seconds before began to subside.

"The writer's creation is... where, exactly? Where is the world that a writer creates? It takes up residence in our heads, I suppose. In the imagination. But it's not really in the book." She turned back to me, and looked me in the eyes again, as if she wanted to be certain that she had my full attention.

"This is why books fascinate me: The book isn't the story. The book is just the record that tells us how the story was created. It's a recipe. A formula. It's a list of all the things that went into the potion and all the things that were used to create the spell: Fenny snake, owlet's wing, gall of goat. But reading the formula doesn't make the magic go away. We're still under the spell of those words. They are there, on the pages in front of us, and yet we can't undo the magic."

"Do you want to break the spell, Luci?"

She thought for a moment. "How do you think it feels to be bewitched, when you know that the witch no longer remembers casting the spell? All you have left are the empty words that entranced you. Like tool marks on a carving made long ago." With her right hand, she picked up the knife again. She turned her left hand palm up, directly under the lamp, opening her hand and spreading her fingers out.

She put the tip of the knife against the tip of her little finger and pushed until a single drop of blood appeared.

"Luci --"

"How many? How many cuts?" Her voice was barely audible, but shockingly harsh. She pressed the tip of the knife against the next fingertip.

"Luci, put the knife down."

"You shouldn't tell me what to do." She pressed the knife in and another drop of blood appeared. "Do you think writers forget the stories they tell us?" She put the knife against the tip of her middle finger, drew another drop of blood. "What about the people who live in the worlds they create?"

"Please put the knife down. Let's talk. I'll listen to you."

"What if a writer starts a story, but never finishes it?" She cut another fingertip.

I thought about grabbing her wrist and wrenching the knife away from her, but in the same instant she stood up suddenly and took a step backward. She held her left hand out again and sliced into the skin on the tip of her thumb deeply. Blood began dripping down into the palm of her hand.

"Don't follow me!" Her voice was louder now, a staccato torrent of anger. "Don't look for me. When you leave this place, don't come here again. Ever."

She spun around and walked toward the door quickly, each step echoing in the empty room. "Luci!" I stood up, wanting to follow her, wanting to help her, but the thought of the knife and what she might do -- to me, or to herself -- kept me rooted in place. I couldn't think clearly and I didn't know what to do. I lost sight of her as she reached the end of the aisle and turned toward the front of the store. I had to go after, I knew I had to.

I remember seeing little drops of blood on the floor, and then I heard the sound of the bell on the front door, heard the sound of the door closing.

"Luci, wait! Wait, please wait!" I rushed down the aisle, turned toward the front of the store, and then...

There was a loud, deep noise that reverberated through the store, almost like thunder. I heard the sound before I saw her, before I knew what had caused the sound. Then I saw her hand, the knife still clenched in her fist, as she slammed the heel of her hand against the plate glass window. The glass didn't break, but it rattled deeply. She was looking at me through the window. Looking at me with pure hatred. All those Halloween decorations in front of the window, the jack-o'-lanterns, the cauldron and the witches' hat, the paper skeleton swaying back and forth slowly: They all suddenly looked absurd in the presence of something genuinely terrifying.

On the other side of the glass, Luci lowered her fist slowly and bent over slightly, and for a moment I couldn't see her hands, couldn't see what was happening, and now I tell myself over and over and over that there was nothing I could have done even if I had seen...

And then I saw her wince, and then she threw her head back, almost as if she were laughing, and for a moment she looked at me and her face looked suddenly very serene, and then, then...

Then I saw her swing her fist again and there was that same loud sound as she slammed her hand into the glass, but this time it was not the hand that had held the knife. It was her left hand and she slammed it against the glass and suddenly a horrible, bright red smear appeared on the glass, and she looked me in the eyes and her voice became a terrifying, haunting screech: "By the prickling of my thumbs..."

And she spread her hand open against the glass and I saw what she had done. She had cut off her thumb.

And then she backed away from the window quickly and disappeared into the darkness, and the bitter cry hung there in the night air: "Something wicked this way comes!"

* * * * *

Everything after that was a blur. Maybe I was in shock. I can't piece together exactly what happened next, or in what order. I just know this: I ran out after her. I couldn't see where she had gone. I think I crossed the street, I might have run down an alley, I'm not certain. I don't know exactly how long I looked. I think I had yelled something as I ran out of the store: call an ambulance, call the police. When I couldn't find her I went back to the store, and there was no one there. No police. No one behind the counter. No one at all. I remember walking back through the store, and seeing those little drops of blood on the floorboards. I remember that her purse had fallen to the floor and was still there. I bent down and picked it up, and realized that it felt much too light. I opened it.

There was nothing inside.

I walked to the counter. There was still no one there. I don't remember if I said anything, or if I called out. I think I did. Or I think I didn't. I don't know anymore. But I know that I put the purse there, beside the cash register, and then I walked out. I picked a direction at random and started walking, and then realized: Blood, she was bleeding so much, whichever way she had gone there would surely be blood. I could follow the blood. I think about that now, and I know it's such a horrible thought, like a fairy tale twisted and gone wrong. Instead of a trail of breadcrumbs to lead the way out of the forest, there was a trail of blood to lead me... where, exactly? To lead me astray? To led me to a furious woman with a razor-sharp knife?

I turned around to head back toward the store one more time, and when I did I saw that the lights were off. I walked back, looking at the window, and I realized with a shock that there was nothing there. No blood on the glass, no blood on the sidewalk, nothing. Only a small amount of light filtered in through the window. I couldn't see anything inside, except for one thing: The paper skeleton. It was still swaying back and forth slowly, a silent Danse Macabre.

* * * * *

I went back the next night. Or I should say: I tried to go back. I couldn't find the store.

It would be reasonable to ask why I waited until nighttime. I can't explain. I could have searched for the store in the morning, on the way to work, and I could have looked for traces of what had happened. Or maybe what hadn't happened. Maybe I thought if I went to work as usual, went through the usual routine, the world would suddenly go back to normal.

But as soon as the sun went down, I knew I'd go again. I left work as early as I could, and I took the same route I had taken the night before. Didn't I? I suppose I was so confused, maybe I wandered down the wrong street again.

I couldn't find the store. I was certain I was on the right street, but I couldn't find it. I walked to the end of the block, then down the next block and back, and it just wasn't there. I tried to remember what was nearby, and I couldn't recall. I hadn't paid attention. Nearly everything else on the street was already closed. Then I noticed one little coffee shop, still lit up. Light streamed out through a large plate glass window, spilling out onto the sidewalk. I realized that I was getting cold, and the cafe looked nice and warm and inviting. There was one of those little folding chalkboard signs in front of the door. It had a drawing of a pumpkin and a few autumn leaves, very nicely done in yellow and orange and red chalk, and above it, the name: THE LOST CAFE.

I swung the door open, and do you know what? They had another one of those brass bells, just like the one they'd had at the bookshop. The space was small. There weren't any other customers inside, but I had the same thought that I'd had when I'd gone into the bookstore: It was late, they'd probably be closing soon, and there was never much activity on these little side streets anyway.

The floor was made of dark wood, unfinished, timeworn but somehow elegant. The walls were bare brick, with framed Art Nouveau prints on one side and replicas of old metal advertising signs on the other. There were a few tables in the middle, with booths along one side wall and, in front of the rear wall, a long counter with bar stools. The counter was illuminated from above by a long strand of bare light bulbs, like the ones you used to see at car lots. One bulb kept flickering on and off, like it had a short circuit. I caught a glimpse of someone behind the counter, bent over and facing away from me, but I didn't pay them any attention.

I sat down at a table for two in the center of the room, choosing the chair on the opposite side of the table, so that I was facing the front windows. In the center of the table there was a laminated one-page menu tucked between a basket of sweetener packets and a chrome napkin dispenser.

I pulled the menu out and scanned it. For the most part it was typical coffee house fare: An assortment of coffees and espressos, lattes, muffins and biscotti. At the bottom of the menu, however, there was a single line, set apart from everything else. It said:

THE SPECIALTY OF THE HOUSE IS ALWAYS ON THE HOUSE

I stared at it for several seconds, wondering what it meant. Then, behind me, I heard one of the floorboards creak, and a woman's voice. Her voice. Luci's voice.

"Do you want to know the specialty of the house?"

I froze. I wanted to turn around but I couldn't will myself to do it. I had a horrifying image of my head suddenly being pulled back, my throat exposed, and the kiridashi knife slicing across my neck.

I heard another floorboard creak and I could tell that she was still behind me, but had moved slightly to my right.

"You would rather not know," she continued, "but it's too late. You already came here." I heard the floor creak again, but it did not seem that she had moved. It was as if she had shifted her weight slightly, but remained in the same spot. "Do you ever wonder what it's like to be forgotten?"

In that moment, another thought rushed into my head. The names. The names she told me, on the night we met.

As if she'd read my thoughts, she whispered: "Mara. Rubi. Stephanie. Sierra." She raised her voice slightly, but her tone was flat and registered no emotion. "Shall I go on? There are so many names, all forgotten. Lauren. Renad. Ashabi. Faith. Devi. Andrea. Sher. Layla. Angelica. Eliza." She paused briefly, and the silence hung in the air until she said quietly: "Do you remember those names now? Do you remember all of them? I can tell you what it's like to be forgotten. It's like losing a part of yourself."

Maybe at the moment I knew what was coming. Or maybe that's what I tell myself now, so that I don't feel so guilty for all the things I had forgotten. I still didn't turn to face her. I couldn't.

I heard the floor creak again and I knew that she had leaned down, right beside me, and she whispered into my ear: "It's as if someone cut away a part of your body." I felt her hand come to rest gently on my shoulder, my left shoulder, and I knew that meant that it was her left hand, the one she had cut so horribly. I didn't dare look. Then, in a bitter voice, she spoke again the words that had become a horrible mantra: "By the prickling of my thumbs..."

I was still staring down at the table, paralyzed. Suddenly she stepped forward and she reached past me with her right hand. She slammed something large and heavy down on the table in front of me. A jar. A large, heavy glass jar, and packed tightly inside, in a reddish liquid...

Thumbs.

Severed thumbs. The jar was full of them, so many, I don't want to think about how many, so many of them and I leaped up from the table and my chair slid backward and tipped, crashing to the floor and I shoved Luci away without looking at her and ran toward the door, ran in horror and threw the door open and I wanted to vomit and wanted to erase the hideous image from my mind and turn back the clock, make everything go away and be like it was before I went to the bookstore, before I met her, before I went to the cafe, before I saw the jar and I want so badly to burn it out of my memory but even now I still see it, the once-delicate thumbs bloated and horrible and some still with polish on the nail and I don't want to remember and but I can't make it go away and then I was running, running out into the street, into the night as fast as I could, and I did not look back.

* * * * *

That night I ran until I couldn't run anymore, and I collapsed. Maybe I passed out, I'm not sure. I remember opening my eyes and realizing that I was in a park, not far from Clark Street. I couldn't remember which way I had been running or how I gotten there.

The next morning I called in sick. I tried to find the cafe, but couldn't. I tried to find the bookstore. I couldn't.

Even now, so many years later, there are times when I wake up at night, certain that she's close by. If I close my eyes I hear her reciting that list of names.

I'll tell you something that you probably already know: Those names weren't random. I don't know how she knew them. I won't tell you anything about them, but they were not random.

And then there is one other name: Her name. Luci Black. Luci, Princess of Darkness. Wicked like me. Was she real? I don't blame you if you think she wasn't. But I know the truth: She was real. She is real. She's still out there. I can feel her presence by the prickling of my thumbs.

#halloween story #ghost story #prose #ray bradbury #macbeth #shakespeare #wicked #haunted bookstores #he told me this is true #mara #luci black #scary stories

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1zashreena1 · 4 years

Text

Angst Fluff Whiplash -14

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: What does an apex predator do after confessing undying love? Princess is about to find out.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Non-descriptive sexytimes, the L word, criminal activities glossed over, relationship building, plus size woman+fit man, Anxiety, This one is all feels and

I Am So NOT Sorry.

THE TIME HAS COME

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

"I don't know, Lisa. He won't tell me. Not until this weekend apparently? We're supposed to go shopping."

"Honestly, I'm scared. I mean, there's the whole how did he get a passport FOR me dilemma. Then the part where he knows I don't like surprises. And he said he was calling my sister!"

"Oh my God, she could tell him anything! Please don't tell him about the Backstreet Boys phase. I'm going to have a panic attack."

"Of course he would tease me about it for eternity!"

"What? Watch what words? What are you talking about?"

"Do not hang up this phone! Do you even love me?!? Lisa? …. Hello?"

You toss your phone down on the bed and heave a huge sigh. Your very own BFF, abandoning you like that. Luckily its your own phone and not the insane cell Diego got you because it bounces off the other side of the bed and smacks into the wall before admitting total defeat to gravity.

You stand there staring at your open suitcase. Your typical items are in there already. You don't need any toiletries. Or makeup, now. Or bras. Or underwear. Fucking hell, its like I already moved into the penthouse with him.

… Could I do that? He already basically asked for it. He keeps telling me to quit my job and let him spoil me for real. You wring your hands together while rubbing your lips against each other and being bombarded with intrusive thoughts. Yeah. Until he's done with me and then I have to start all over. At 35.

But its been almost a year now that you've been seeing Diego. What does that even mean, "seeing" him? You think about how the last few months have been so… easy. He practically lives in New York now, their territory split. He opted to control the East Coast and let his sister deal with the logistical nightmare of receiving the imports.

He has been a lot looser since then. Faster to laugh, quicker to goof around, less likely to do anything as hard as he used to do. The distance from Alicia has allowed him to really flourish in every aspect. And he's beautiful with it. The laugh lines and the soft brown eyes wreck you every time.

He says he wants to keep you. Take care of you. You finally believe that he loves you. He has made so many improvements in communication. Hell, he read books on how to be with someone on the spectrum. Do you understand it? Hell no. Are you going to take it and run? Fuck yeah dude. I love him and I want to keep him.

And now he wants to take you on a trip. A surprise destination. Out of the country with a mostly legal passport. You don't doubt that you'll be safe with him. Your parents were a little concerned when you told them since they've never even met him. And they saw him on the national news that time he got arrested by the Feds, so that really inspires confidence.

Your middle sister Lynne and niece Halley accidentally met him that one afternoon about a month back. And they have not shut up about it since. Diego this, Diego that, blah blah blah, paid the restaurant bill in cash, yadda yadda, took us all shopping to a Coach store and then got Halley some crazy new sold out Nikes. Diego had been delighted to be surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls enjoying his spoiling attentions. Just like always, Diego went to the max and charmed them silly.

It was like having an out of body experience to see Diego with them. You couldn't really fault them, he swept you off your feet with no problems. He was grinning and joking the whole time, making raunchy comments with your sister and encouraging your niece to be assertive (unnecessary according to her soccer coach and the 'Most Aggressive' trophy). He fit right in with them. Afterwards he had asked if that was what it was like to have normal siblings and your heart broke thinking about what his childhood had been like with his sister.

Which brought you back to the here and now. He had mentioned off hand that he was going to call your sister. Maybe you should text her. She might know something.

Maybe you should just pack your bag and trust him.

Your Diego Cell chirps and you dive for it on the nightstand. Is he okay? Please don't be hurt.

Its a pic of him. In the shower. With his own hand wrapped around himself. You choke on air and have to sit down.

I miss you Princess

Holy. Shit. Its been almost a year that you have had unrestricted access to that incredible body and your reaction is still the same. Before you can respond another text arrives:

SOON

The attached pic is just from squinty eyes up.

You burst out laughing at him. You love that he is secretly a nerd about internet stuff. His appearance would never give that away. Time to be ridiculous right back.

Don't make me lick your eyeball

You are a crazy person laughing to yourself alone in your bedroom.

You are so weird

Yet there you are, lusting after this weirdo

You shoot back.

… Am I the weirdo??

No. Still you.

I would threaten to bite it.. but you would like that

Well now you have to

Oh my God. You're fairly certain you could do anything to this man and he would think it was sexy. Its a novel experience.

Can we eat dinner at home tomorrow? I don't feel like wearing a real bra

You know the answer to that.

YES. NO MORE BRAS EVER AGAIN. BE FREE

… no panties?🙏🥺

You can see the hopeful puppy dog eyes clearly.

A for effort babe. One of these days you might get your wish lol

...Are you panty free right now?

Wow. He is really trying here.

I'm packing.

Your pic is a heap of tangled thongs dumped on top of Tiny Murder Panther.

💜🔥😛

He would find that hot. Fucking nympho.

Lemme finish this so I can go straight to the airport tomorrow

Fine. But I am pouting

You do not doubt that.

Don't care. Still love your stupid face

You cannot believe you just sent that.

Princess.

Mi amor.

Diego's good little girl.

You shudder with the praise. You can hear it in his voice, as if he were right here with you.

I love you

Dream of me?

Oh baby, if you only knew. You sigh wistfully.

Always, baby

---------------‐---------

The flight is uneventful, thankfully. Your maxidress with a built-in shelf bra is stupidly comfortable and you actually take a nap.

The plane has barely come to a stop and you already have on your silly lambswool lined Ugg flip flops. You had argued with Diego about these (Why would flip flops need a warm fuzzy lining??) but he had won by sticking one in your face and ordering you to feel. It didn't take a full second for you to snatch them both from him and cuddle them to your chest. His pleased smile full of dimples was worth all the subsequent teasing.

You slip on one of his previously stolen shirts in a metallic lilac color and roll up the sleeves so you have use of your hands. Bending at the waist, you flip your hair over and fluff it back up from the nap. What was that he had said? Oh yes: Wild and thick, just how I like it. The memory makes you bite your bottom lip and smile.

Bastian is waiting for you on the tarmac. He takes your bag and kisses you on the cheek in greeting. "Hey, sweetie. Nice shirt, is that new?" His knowing grin is infectious.

You nuzzle into the collar with a laugh. "Thanks! My boyfriend gave it to me."

Bastian chuckles as he opens the passenger door for you. "Oh, honey. That is not all he is going to give you." He closes the door while you roll your eyes smirkingly.

The ride to the penthouse is uneventful. Well, as uneventful as Friday evening rush hour traffic can be in New York.

Bastian waits until the song is over before lowering the stereo volume. "We're supposed to pick up dinner. Any requests?" He drums his fingers on the steering wheel while you sit at the red light.

You ponder the options. "What kind of a day has he had? Meetings? Tours? Disciplinary action?" You ask Bastian thoughtfully. Sometimes when Diego has a bad day he likes comfort food. Mostly a giant heap of rice and beans next to homemade tortillas, he isn't so picky about the variety of meat.

Bastian glances at you out of the corner of his eye before warily answering, "There was a… termination… at a construction site this afternoon that took longer than expected. That's why he didn't come to get you, he wanted to shower first."

You keep your eyes focused forward to look out of the windshield. "Okay. How about Jalisco's then?" Comfort food it is.

Bastian nods and adjusts course to obtain those tortillas.

‐--------------------

The instant the elevator doors ding open Diego pops up from the sectional and comes straight at you. Your giant sidestep to let Bastian pass is barely completed before Diego is slipping those big hands under his own pilfered shirt to crush your body to him. Your arms go around his neck like a reflex, like this is their natural resting place. He leans his forehead down onto yours and kisses you so very gently.

"Mmmm. Hi." You murmur softly into his beard. Those bottomless brown eyes look over your entire face before coming back to your own. His smile is huge, those dimples make your pulse trip. He blinks slowly down at you, just like the big cat you nicknamed him after.

"Princess. How was the trip?" He always asks you this. You still aren't sure if its just culturally specific manners or if he is requesting a review of the flight crew's performance. Either way, your answer is always the same.

You pull him back down so you can cuddle into his neck. "Its better now that I'm here." He rubs his cheek against your own and purrs directly into your ear in response. Your body's reaction is immediate and decisive. You shiver in his arms and your nipples peak to full attention.

Except this time is different. With only a bralette and the dress's shelf bra Diego can clearly feel what just happened in real time. His eyes are comically round as he peers down at your cleavage in pleasant wonder.

"Oh. I like this outfit." His hands rise up your back to crush you further into him. You chuckle and rub your chest on his firm pectoral muscles. He watches hungrily as your compressed decolletage rises higher yet from the added pressure. "New rule to match the bedroom pants bar, no bras in the penthouse. Fucking magnificent, bonita." He licks his lips after making this proclamation.

You throw your head back and laugh joyfully.

‐----------------------

As it always does the weekend passes too quickly. Its already 1:00pm on Saturday when you two finally come down from the bedroom.

Diego is delighted to hear that your time-off request was approved for the trip. You had told him not to worry about it, your boss always kept her word about this stuff.

That’s when he pulls a ridiculous pith hat out from under the couch. It looks like it came straight out of a Looney Tunes cartoon about a big game hunt on the African savannah. You lose your entire shit and laugh until you do that silent clapping seal move.

Diego keeps repeating, "Wait, stop laughing. Stooooop." But he isn't faring much better. You finally wipe the tears and calm down enough to take it from his limp fingers while he chortles a few last times.

"Baby. What. What the fuck. What fucking is this??" You plunk the hat on your own head and Diego collapses facedown into your lap to gigglesnort uproariously. "Stop. Stop laughing. Stoppit!" You smack the back of his head lightly until he comes up for air.

He closes his eyes and composes himself. You take the opportunity to plop the hat on his head.

"Oh my god, that is so sexy!" You declare in high dramatics.

He grabs your hands and leans in very close to explain. "You need this hat for our trip." Your eyes narrow in suspicion. "You will wear it for our safari quest…" he pauses for dramatic effect and your lips twitch in suppressed amusement. He leans closer yet and captures your stare. His face is hilarious, you can tell he is biting his cheek to keep from laughing. His eyebrows are drawn down in concentration but his eyes are widened in mock excitement. He sucks in a deep breath to exclaim, "To locate palm trees in the wild!"

He laughs as he puts the hat back on you.

You blink a few times in shock. Palm trees? You're going somewhere with palm trees? A tropical locale. Palm trees. Beaches. SWIMSUITS. Your sudden panic must show on your face because Diego's laughter dies off.

You blink furiously, but its too little too late. The tears burn as they well up in your eyes and spill down over your cheeks.

He reaches out to cup your face. "Princess?" His tone is an even mix of concern and fear. "Bicki? What?"

You shake your head 'no' and throw yourself into him. Diego catches you and hauls you into his lap. You curl up against his chest and sob quietly. He pets over your hair, open handed strokes so his fingers don't tangle in the curls, and soothes your back while you shake. Rubbing his nose against your temple, he kisses your cheek and whispers, "Do you want to write?" His gentle care only makes you worse. "...so that is no." He looks crestfallen. He buries his face in your hair and breathes heavily.

Your tears are slowing and your chest is finally beginning to loosen. "Dieg-" you hiccup, wrapping both hands around his forearm. You wheeze a few times before trying again. "I. I. Where? Where are we g-going?"

He sighs deeply before answering. "Nowhere. I won't take you somewhere you don't want to go. I should have known better. I-" He snaps his jaw shut so fast that his teeth click together.

Tilting your head back, you try to catch his eyes. Diego won't look at you. "H-hey, please." You cup his jaw and pull him down to you. He comes, but the motions are stilted. "Look. Please, baby. Let me s-see you."

When he finally meets your eyes it breaks your heart. That chocolate gaze is disappointed, hurt, frustrated even. You wiggle around until you're straddling his lap. He just holds his hands out of the way, not hindering you but certainly not helping either. Standing up on your knees to lean your forehead against his, you reach for his hands and bring them to your chest where you lace your fingers together.

"Baby. I want that." Your nose rubs against his as you speak. "I want to go everywhere with you. I never thought I would ever get a chance like this. To travel? To go somewhere tropical? To have someone who loves me enough to do this for me?" You're crying again. And so is Diego? A little??

He brings your joined hands up to tap your chin. His face is adorably conflicted when he speaks, "You… want to go?" You nod slowly. His eyebrows lower as he tries to make sense of this. "Then why do you cry? Are they, the uh, is that 'happy tears' ?"

Your hands shake in his. "Yeah. Happy tears. I just. I was overwhelmed. I'm sorry." He huffs out a sigh. You continue, "Its almost like the super intense emotions short circuit my responses and I guess my default is panic crying? I don't know."

Diego huffs at you again. "Please stop that. I'm going to have a heart attack." There is a hint of real annoyance in his voice but his lips curl up at the corners.

You free your right hand to reach up and brush his wet lashes. Why did something this little bring him to tears? "Baby, is everything okay?"

He leans into your hand, then turns to kiss your fingers. You giggle, you can't help it, his beard both tickles and delights you. He smirks at you, "It is now, Princess. You should get dressed so we can go."

But you're not done here yet. "Where are we going on the trip? A place name, not foliage that may or may not be present."

His Cheshire cat grin is intriguing and mildly worrisome. He gives you one word, "Xcalak." And then watches while you access your mental map and pinpoint the exact location.

It takes you a moment but you find it with a gasp. "Costa Maya? Like Caribbean-sea side of Mexico??" He nods and you immediately start in with 20 Questions. "Are there cenotes? Is the water really those unreal colors? Is the food amazing there? Can we see ruins?"

Diego cups your face to stop you. "Whatever you like, little girl." With a kiss to your nose and a smack to your ass he ushers you upstairs to get dressed.

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

The shopping is less traumatic than normal for you thanks to Diego making enthusiastic innuendo nonstop and feeding you between stores. You find sandals, and flip flops, and little slip-on sneakers. All kinds of flowy maxidresses and flouncy skirts paired with new tank tops in buttery soft fabrics. Cover-ups and kimonos and huge airy loose knit sweaters get rung up with linen pants and shorts you actually feel comfortable wearing.

But swimsuits? A disaster. Everything that fits your hips is way too big for your ribcage. Tankinis big enough to go around your middle are about a foot too wide around your chest. You try some maternity stuff… amazingly there isn't any chest support. That confuses both of you for almost 20 minutes while you discuss it over croissants and various iced beverages (coffee for him and some kind of hot chocolate slushie for you).

Then you look across the street and inspiration hits. One of the stores you order bras from is right there and has bra-sized swimwear in the display window. Diego turns to see what stole your undivided attention from him and slaps his hand down on the table in celebration.

You aren't sure which one of you is more excited to get into the store. But while you run around exclaiming at all the things that come in your size Diego stands in the doorway and gawks. When you circle back to check on him he just points to one display wall.

There is lacy, frilly, corseted lingerie. In. Your. Size.

He demands one of everything that fits you and isn't red, brown, or yellow. You don't even argue.

The store does alterations and makes very good recommendations. The sales clerk is impressed with Diego's input, she comments that he really does seem to know your body well. You flush with it, glad that he isn't close enough to hear that. You leave with three bags and seven personalized swim outfits under construction. One is ready to wear and you keep reaching into the bag to touch it in wonder.

Diego notices but just gives you a raised eyebrow.

"This is the first time I've ever felt good about how I look in swimwear." You confess quietly.

Diego wraps a massive arm around your shoulders and tucks you into his side while you continue down the sidewalk.

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

Sunday is a mess as you try to make pancakes and Diego tries to remain physically attached to you like an excessively attractive barnacle. The pancakes are either burnt or still batter in the middle. Leftover carnitas and tortillas to the rescue. Diego teases you about the kitchen failure all day because this is the first time he has witnessed such a thing.

You doze on the couch under the pretense of "reading". Diego rotates through his laptop, cell, and the soccer match on ESPN+.

Until his phone rings.

You both tense up. Only one person calls him instead of texting. He takes the phone into the office to answer his sister. You wait on the couch to see which Diego you get back: silly tickle fight Diego, sad puppy dog eyes Diego that requires cuddles, or angry Diego that needs to fuck you through the nearest horizontal surface.

The elevator dings and Julio comes in with a tray of coffees. "Ay, Gordita. Buenas tardes. I got you the hibiscus thing you like." He greets you with a big smile, then looks around when he doesn't see Diego on the sectional with you.

Hopping up to help him carry stuff, you point to the office in indication of Diego's location. Julio makes a face, "Hermana perra?" and you simply nod. Julio takes Diego's iced coffee and bites the bullet for you. The door closes softly behind him.

You munch plantain chips and slurp hibiscus lemonade until they come out. Diego just looks tired when he comes back to you on the couch, coffee in hand. You open your arms in invitation and he plops next to you with a sigh. Cuddly Diego it is.

He doesn't tell you anything and you don't ask. Everyone watches the match mindlessly. Diego snores softly in your lap while you pet his hair.

He rides to the airport with you but you forbid him from coming onto the plane with you. He is already making this harder than it has to be with his big brown eyes and clingy hands.

"Baby." You breathe into his hair while he snuggles into your neck in the backseat of the SUV. "Its only a week. We do this every week." You pet down his bicep and immediately regret it.

"I know." Diego huffs into your skin. "Why don't you just quit? Let me take care of everything." You go through this almost every week now, too. He nuzzles you, the sensation makes you reconsider his proposal. You pull his head up by a fistful of soft hair and look him in the eye. He blinks guilelessly at you.

"Number one: No. Number two: Stoppit." He laughs at your fond exasperation. "Okay. I'm gonna go. You stay on the ground."

"Fine." He whines. "But I am going to send you a dick pic the moment that plane takes off." He crosses his arms as if daring you to tell him no.

You cup his stupidly attractive face in your hands for a kiss. Okay, several kisses and 27 minutes later, you respond, "Send me one every day. Its my favorite dick." His startled laugh makes you feel very pleased with yourself.

He pulls you into his arms again to kiss you one last time. His beard scratches and you sigh into him. Finally that tongue retreats and he rests his forehead on yours. His voice is low and rough, his hands squeeze tight on your hip and thigh, "I love you, Princess."

Will that ever stop hurting? You close your eyes against the burn of tears but smile with happiness. "I love you, Diego." You pop the door handle before you open your eyes to see him watching you, jaw tense. You stick your tongue out and he breaks into a smirk. With a laugh, you slide out of SUV and walk to the plane, determined not to look back.

When you get up the stairs the pilot greets you, but his gaze shifts behind you. Turning around, you see Diego standing outside the SUV, arms crossed and trying to look so not soft. You smile and mouth Bye baby, he gives you a short little wave. You duck into the plane before you can start crying.

The wheels are not, in fact, off the ground when the phone chirps.

‐-----------------------

The trip is a few weeks out and there is some kind of emergency at the San Diego docks the next weekend. So. You don't get your Murder Panther fix.

And your coworkers notice. They spend all day Monday strolling past your cubicle, straining their necks to see if you're wearing new shoes or some fresh bling. Finally someone has the nerve to ask how your weekend was.

You find yourself blinking back tears. I miss him so much. This is ridiculous, he just texted you at like six this morning. But its not just the conversation you miss, now is it? You miss that big body crowding you into the corner of the couch. His soft curls under your hands. That beard on literally any inch of your skin. Draping yourself over shoulders wider than your hips and knowing that not only can he take your weight, he likes it.

He says he wants to keep you and you desperately want to keep him. Why do you fear this? Is it just his profession? The risk? Oh god, how do you even go about introducing him to your parents??? Diego can be all kinds of charming but he can be a real asshole, too.

And they know what he is: A criminal. For your boomer parents he is the living embodiment of Public Enemy Number One.

Grand Theft.

Money Laundering.

Arson.

Murder.

International Cocaine Trafficking.

HE IS A LITERAL DRUG LORD.

You lay your head down on your desk and try to keep it together.

Your Diego Cell chirps.

Your laughter bubbles up until it comes out of you without your consent. It turns hysterical and you realize you need to leave the office suite. Now.

In the bathroom you stare down at the phone as it lights up again with another message.

Miss my Princess💔👑

How? How is someone who can do all those illegal things so nauseatingly sweet to me?

And then it hits you. Illegal. You didn't use the word immoral. Illegal. You think back to how everyone you see working directly for him is well into adulthood. No children. There are a few women but they are not being sold by him, they are there by their own free will. And he has never laid a hand on any of them, they're just as comfortable around him as the men are. No sex trafficking. You saw someone give their resignation last month. The dude walked away with a suitcase of cash for a decade of trustworthy service. Its a better retirement plan than what I have.

Have you seen him assault people? Yes. You've seen him stab people. Carve off someone's ear because they weren't listening as assigned and it cost the Jimenez Cartel a shipment. You've seen him push an informant down an empty elevator shaft. Choke a man into unconsciousness with his bare hands when you were disrespected.

And you still love him. Not a single one of those incidents weighs on your conscience. Your morality is a dingy grey 12 year old men's undershirt that you should just throw away but you're definitely going to cut into rags to keep for cleaning when it comes to Diego.

The cell lights up again.

Mi amor 💞😍🍑🏝✈⏲👙

You don't know what's worse: His excessive and ridiculous usage of emojis or the fact that you understood.

Look what came

The attached pic is a few pieces of your new swimwear. They look gorgeous, you can't even tell where the alterations were done.

You have to try on all of them. And show me

Of course he wants his own personal show. You feel desire burning low in your belly. Its been a year and not once has he ever shied away from your stomach rolls or hinted at weight loss. He never questions the food you order. And while the two of you have chuckled about shapewear he has never mocked you for using it. Or seemed disappointed when you opted not to wear it. He tosses you around like its nothing and prefers for you to sleep on top of him. Its not that he loves you despite your weight, he loves it as part of you.

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

Its now Thursday and the desk drawer where you keep your purse at work is vibrating. He knows I'm at work. If he calls right back I'll answer him. You try to keep your Diego Cell out of sight at work or you'll never get anything done. Plus your coworkers are always dying to catch a peek of your infamous sugar daddy/boyfriend.

Yeah. Boyfriend. Keep practicing that. It feels good.

You finish the insurance call and hang up your headset when the vibrating starts again. Your next door cubicle neighbor pops around the divider to advise you to answer that before he comes down here and abducts you.

What deity should I pray to for that??

You snatch Diego Cell and march out to the hall. Poking the green button, you answer the call.

"Baby. You okay?"

"Princess! I… yeah. I'm not hurt."

He sounds odd. There is definitely something going on here.

"What's up? You need me?"

The silence stretches.

"Yes. Please?"

Diego sounds very uncomfortable. It causes you physical pain.

"Well, you have me. What is it?"

You can hear him swallow and in your mind you picture him looking away, hiding some soft emotion shining in his eyes.

"Baby?"

"Here. I am here. I just. I just wanted to hear you."

Something is very wrong with my Murder Panther, you think.

"Babe," your voice is soft, you're trying to ease him. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He huffs and you can hear him scrape a hand down over his face. "I know you are at work. And I should not have called. But."

His voice trembles, even over the phone you can hear it. He's afraid.

"Diego. If you need me, then you have me. Tell me, baby." You try to be reassuring but you also really need to know what is wrong.

"I would like to come down there." His declaration is overly formal. You wonder who he is trying to impress. Its certainly not me.

"You… want to come down here instead of me going up there this weekend?" You're trying to make sense out of any part of this conversation.

"I…. grrrrrrrrr." He growls in frustration. Between English being his second language and your sensory processing issues, this is not an uncommon occurrence. He sucks in a deep breath and charges forward in an emotional rush. "I know you're working, but I want to come down there because I miss seeing your face." Before you have a chance to answer he adds, "Pick me up? At the airport, after work? Please, Bicki." His voice cracks at the end and his inhalation is ragged. Your heart implodes.

"Diego. Baby. Of course. Of course I will. I can be there by six." You have a mental flash of how dirty your bathroom is, all the clothes you have laying around, and the vacuum you haven't touched in over a month. Diego needing me is more important.

"Good. Good. Yes, I. I will text you. When I land." His voice is raspier than ever, low and gravelly.

"Sure. I'll be there." I'll always be there.

"Okay. You… you should go." You can hear his determination. You can visualize him squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, taking on the Jimenez Cartel persona.

"Hey." He grunts in acknowledgement. "I love you." You blurt it out before you have a chance to talk yourself round in circles. You can hear voices in the background.

"And you. You as well." The call ends, but you know.

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

You're sitting in your car at the little regional airport second guessing the coffee you got when the phone chirps.

Here

Springing out of the car, you wave to the security guard as you trot past. "Hey Jim, I just have to grab someone real quick. That's okay, right?" You wave vaguely back toward your car parked in the fire lane. There are only four security guards who work here and they all know you at this point.

Jim laughs but waves you on. "Go get 'im, sweetie." Jim must be pushing 90 by now, he doesn't care about traffic laws.

You enter one of the two sets of automatic doors on this entire building and cross through the tiny lobby. There. You can see his dark hair and ridiculous shoulders over a completely unnecessary row of potted plants. He must hear your echoing footsteps because his head whips around in alarm, but his face relaxes into a wide smile. He lengthens his strides to come around the stupid plants, hands automatically reaching out for you.

"Diego." You laugh breathily and fling arms around his neck. He smells so good.

He crushes you to his chest and buries his face in your neck. "Printhesss." He murmurs into you, slurred because he refuses to remove his mouth from your skin.

Turning your head to kiss his cheek, you moan shamelessly for him. He surges back upward to capture your lips and kiss you with mild desperation. That devious tongue sweeps over the roof of your mouth before curling up behind your top front teeth.

Your entire world narrows down to Diego. Chocolate. Tastes like the smoothest Belgian chocolate in existence. He smells perfect, clean but definitively male to you. His silky button-down is smooth under your hands, stretched taut over muscle. Those massive hands gather you closer, molding you to that big, solid body. His beard scratches your face in soft tickles when he alters the angle of the kiss just so.

"Goddamn." A woman's voice exclaiming somewhere behind you catapults you back into the here and now. Which is a dinky little regional airport in rural central Pennsylvania. You know, a very public location in a very prudish area of the country. Fuck.

You pull back and Diego's hands shoot up to the back of your head. Holding you in place, he leans his forehead against yours with a contented sigh. He rumbles softly to you, "Take me home."

You feel so silly seeing Diego in the passenger seat of your Corolla, he just seems so out of place. "You can adjust the seat however, nobody really sits there. I just put it all the way back to make sure you can get in without cracking your head." You sound nervous even to your own ears.

Diego turns to you with a response but his attention is captured by the cup holders in the center console, specifically the Dunkin Donuts styrofoam cup. He points to it, then looks up at you with a slow grin. "Princess. Is this for me?"

You flush but can't stop the embarrassed little smile so you cover it with sass, "Well, it sure as hell ain't for me." You start the car and give Jim a little wave. He winks and gives you two thumbs up. Yeah, I'm aware that you saw that kiss too, old man. Everyone saw that shit.

When Diego reaches for the coffee his fingers brush your hip. The contact burns and you suddenly remember that you have not touched this beautiful man for well over two weeks. Apparently he remembers, too, because he wraps that huge hand around your thigh with rather a lot of force. Right hand slapping down to cover his, your heart rate jumps through the roof. Did I take my blood pressure pill this morning?

"Don't." You choke out.

He rumbles softly next to you, purring with conceited pleasure. "Did my Princess miss Diego?" He asks you with an incredibly pornographic voice.

"Oh, fuck you." Your answering groan is also obscene. So glad the windows are up.

His hoarse chuckle makes your thighs tremble. "You're Diego's good little girl, you will." He's right and you both know it. You would ride him right here in your own damn car if he demanded it. You have a problem.

He lets you redirect his hand to the coffee with only a little resistance. "Focus." You hiss.

"Me or you?" Diego quips.

"Yes." You declare.

Diego's guffaw is contagious and you don't even try to hold back.

Your apartment always seems like an adequate size until Diego is inside. No, bad Bicki. Do not say it like that. His presence just sort of… lounges about in a vaguely threatening but highly attractive manner. Much like the actual man on your couch. You tried to pick up dinner on the way but he just wanted to 'go home'. You are disgustingly happy that your place feels like home to him.

Diego had flopped on your couch immediately and hasn't moved since. Something is very definitely very wrong. There were bursts of your Murder Panther in the car, but he has been just subdued overall. He had turned your stereo up and smiled faintly, watching you sing along. He had also complained that the stereo in your car sucked (Agreed) and this was unacceptable. You're sure he'll do something ridiculously extravagant to remedy this.

You try to give him the remote, he takes it but doesn't do anything with it. You offer him food, both junk and something home-cooked, all you get is a shrug. You putter around for a while, picking things up and sighing before putting them down somewhere else. His dark eyes watch you, unfathomable.

Finally you disappear to the bedroom only to return in your pajamas. This he likes, perking up and blinking rapidly. "Okay, I know you brought something softer than those jeans, so get comfy so I can order shitty pizza and cuddle you."

His jaw drops in momentary shock. Then he scoffs, "I do not cu--"

You cut him off, "Yes, you do and yes, you're going to. Up. Now." This has to be hilarious. This short little woman in overly long pants barking orders at the massive man who heads an international drug cartel. Well, its either hilarious or fatal. I'm about to find out.

Diego looks around, as if someone else might secretly be here to witness him be a little bit submissive and moderately soft. He raises his chin in a tiny show of defiance. "Fine. But I am showering first." He glares with this proclamation, daring you to contradict him.

You throw your hands up in the air. Why the fuck would I have a problem with that?? His eyes follow your hands, like a cat when you try to point out a bit of food but all it does is rub your finger. You sigh, resigned to your fate. "Of course that's fine, Diego. You know where everything is, have at it."

You watch his butt as he walks away to the bathroom.

The pizza actually isn't shitty and Diego eats half of it by himself. When you offer him the cinnamon dessert sticks he shoots you a calculating look. You split the contents, pulling two sticks over to yourself and piling up the rest in front of him. His delighted grin is decidedly not calculated and you lose track of time watching him enjoy dessert.

He's beautiful like this. He wears a soft, silky t-shirt that is tight enough to help you get through the nights you spend alone. His hair is a riot of fluffy curls, free of product and clearly trying to break free of gravity, too. He hasn't shaved for at least a few days and that salt and pepper beard is filling in nicely. His face is unguarded, expression open, those laugh lines and dimples you love make frequent appearances.

After dinner you lay all over each other in some weird we-have-intimacy-issues approximation of cuddling. It works so you don't question it. He has his laptop and you have your tablet and together you have sporadic conversation. Its comfortable.

Until Diego asks you a seemingly innocuous question that you know is very nefarious:

"What color do you like in cars?"

Your eyes narrow so much that you have trouble seeing. "...Why." Your low tone might be frightening to anyone else.

He looks at you over the laptop screen, brown eyes innocently wide. "Just curious. Your car is green. Do you like any other colors?" He slowly pulls the laptop closer to himself to subtly cover the screen with his bulk.

"Diego." You slowly put down your tablet and start leaning toward him. He has nowhere to go, propped up in the corner of the chaise end of the sofa. "What. Are. You. Doing."

"Will you let me take care of you? Just in this one way right now?" He licks his lips, brow furrowed in concentration. Building desperation shows in his eyes and you can't fight that. You don't want to win this.

"Let me see, baby." Your sighed acquiescence has an instantaneous effect. Diego drops the tension from his shoulders and opens an arm to you in invitation. You crawl up him to cuddle into his chest, wedged on your side between all those muscles and the back of the sectional. From here you are stationed directly in front of the laptop screen.

He is looking at cars.

Armored cars.

Armored, bulletproof, explosive resistant cars.

What. The. Fuck.

"Diego, what the fuck is going on?!?" Your apprehensive demand sets him right back on edge. You can feel him go tense underneath you. The laptop gets shoved onto an empty cushion as you throw yourself over him. Tiny hands land on those broad shoulders with extreme force as you use all of your deadweight to trap him. Below you, Diego shakes but you can't tell if its from anger or anxiety because his eyes are scrunched closed tightly. "Tell me why I need a fucking bulletproof car!"

He surges up into your face to match your volume, "She knows! Mi hermana perra knows about you! Alicia found out about us!" You lurch back in shock, but the steel hands on your hips stop you from retreating. His voice is hoarse, louder than you've ever heard him, and its terrifying. Your fear must show because he releases his grip on you like it burns.

"WHAT?" The ramifications here could truly be lethal. Alicia has already tried to set Diego up to take the fall when they were arrested almost four months ago. You know she has scorned Diego's familiarity with his men in the past, that is why he handpicks them personally. To Alicia, everyone is disposable, even her own brother. Her only loyalty is to herself.

Diego's hands come up in an aborted reach for you. You're still too shocked to move. His face crumbles in agony and he blinks furiously, hands balling into fists. "Everything I have ever wanted she has ensured I never got. She, she manipulates me into destroying everything I touch. I will not let her hurt you! I refuse to allow her to break us, mi amor!!" His volume has steadily escalated until he is yelling.

He's afraid. He is afraid that he will lose me. The realization emboldens you enough to take his hands in your own, bring them to your chest, and press them close to your heart. You trust that he won't hurt you in his rage. You don't fear him, this dangerous, powerful, ruthless man that you love.

His hands open to slide up your shoulders, curl around your neck, and his thumbs glide over the pulse point under your ears. He brings your face to his own, his expression twisted up with fear and anger and possession and love.

"You are mine! And I will keep you!"

You realize everything that you have been debating with yourself, all of your pro versus con lists, your stupid little dry erase board covered in sticky notes with your fears, your scribbled timeline of events and possible future predictions, none of it matters. All you care about is the man in your arms. Diego is the most important thing in your life and you can't imagine a life without him. If you had to give up everything to keep him, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Your hands grip tightly around his wrists and you consciously straighten your spine. Expression hardening, your eyes open to meet his anguished gaze.

"I want black."

The armored 2020 Camry is delivered that Sunday. You thank him for finding something inconspicuous with an upgraded JBL sound system and he compliments your understated color choice of Black Sand Metallic. By the time you drop him off at the airport that evening you've managed to replace the new car smell with something better and you're thankful that the leather seats just wipe clean. Monday morning in the parking lot at work, however, is a literal ordeal.

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

The next two weeks feel like they’re seven months long. You clock out at noon on Thursday to a chorus of your coworkers making vaguely lewd remarks and howling with laughter about your vacation. 'Two whole weeks on a beach in Mexico with an absolutely loaded hottie' is what they've been repeating gleefully all week.

You turn around and walk backwards to give them finger guns, "Yes," then you reach down to adjust your pants, "And YES." Their squeals are contagious and you're still laughing when you burst out the front doors to drive home.

You turn the volume waaaay too high in the car so that your teeth vibrate and it feels like you're having heart palpitations. I love this fucking car and I love that man.

There is a rental Tahoe parked in the grass next to the huge gravel driveway at your farmhouse, but he left the second assigned parking space next to your Corolla open so you can park The Beast (as you have affectionately named your new ride) appropriately while away. When you get out of the car you glance up instinctively, Diego is standing outside your front door on the small third floor balcony laughing.

"Are you deaf yet, Princess?" He hollers down in amusement.

You flip him off with the middle finger that wears the gemstone ring he gave you while yelling back, "WHAAAAT??"

His laughter fades as he disappears inside, leaving the door wide open to let out all the cold air. Were you raised in a barn?? Close the door, the electric bill-- You cut off your own thoughts when you suddenly remember that you haven't been paying that electric bill for the last six months. Nevermind.

Before you can start up the stairs, Sara, your first floor neighbor, appears on the porch with their toddler. "Hey stranger!" Sara waves with a big smile and the kid does the same but with some kind of unidentifiable kitchen utensil in hand. "That is your boyfriend, right? He had a key so I didn't think it was your ex but I wanted to make sure. I mean, from what I just saw it is your boyfriend. Also, holy shit, that's your boyfriend?"

If she says the word 'boyfriend' one more time I'm going to spontaneously combust.

"Uh yeah, definitely not my ex. Sorry, I forget that you guys haven't really seen him before, I meant to tell you he was coming." You can feel your face burning and it isn't from the August sun. Sara fans her own face with a hand while mouthing 'he's hot' like you're somehow unaware. You forge on before she can start gushing aloud. "We're actually leaving on a trip tonight so I'll be gone for the next two weeks."

Now Sara drops the kid and scrambles over to whisper fiercely to you, "Oh my god, seriously? Where are you going? Wait, this is the same guy you've been going to see in New York, right? How long has it been, like a year? Is he taking you on a trip for your anniversary? I don't even know his name. Oh my god, that is so sweet!"

Okay, down girl. You're not sure who you're trying to will into being chill, Sara or yourself.

"Um, we're going to Mexico. And yeah, he's the guy in New York. It's just a vacation." You don't even touch the relationship questions with a ten foot pole. You glance up but Diego is still inside, Thank fuck.

Sara hops a little in excitement. "I'm sooo jealous!" She squeals. "You have to take a ton of pictures! I need to see! Oh my god, I bet you guys are such a cute couple!" You nod and start backing away, trying to wave goodbye so you can climb the stairs and then climb Diego. "Ooh ooh, wait, what's his name?" Sara hisses conspiratorially. "Does he speak Mexican? Is he Mexican!?!"

You suddenly remember why you tried to move away from this area. Repeatedly. "Yeah, he's Mexican and yes, he speaks Spanish." You sigh. Sara nods but continues staring at you expectantly. Fine. "His name is Diego."

Sara makes a stupid face like this is a rom-com movie. I cannot take anymore, you must shut the fuck up. "Okay, okay. I won't hold you up. But seriously, we can have a 'pics and wine' girls' night when you come back!" She waves maniacally before snatching up the kid and skipping back inside.

I can't think of anything I would like less. Oh hell no.

You climb the stairs in record time before she can come back outside and start talking again.

Bastian, Julio, and a third man you don't know are in your living room. You do not care and your vague wave shows it. You can hear Julio's warm 'Gordita!' greeting as you spin around and march to the bedroom.

Diego is standing at your bed, tucking TMP into your small duffel, when you burst through the doorway and continue at full speed directly into him. He laughs breathlessly but holds steady against your weight. "Princess. Are you ready?"

You take overflowing fistfuls of his shirt, bury your face in his chest, suck in a huge lungful of air, and shriek at full volume.

"Uhhh...that is a yes, si?" He mutters uncertainly above you.

You rear back to look up at him with a smile so wide it hurts.

"Oh good." His hands come to your shoulders while those beautiful brown eyes sparkle. The dimples and laugh lines come out as he absorbs your infectious excitement. Your hands shoot up to his hair to yank him down so you can crash your mouths together with bruising force.

The effect is immediate. He moans loudly and crushes you against him. You dig nails into his neck and you lick your way into his mouth, his hands snake down to your ass to hold tight. Your left leg comes up as you try to wrap it around his hips. With a pained groan he rips those lips off of yours and pulls back. Undeterred, you move on to assaulting his now bared throat, moaning like porn come to life.

"Princess," he gasps, "You have to sto-- uhhh, yes, bonita. Your fucking tongue." You're too busy licking his adam's apple to pay attention to words right now. "Nooo, mi amor, please, lo siento, stopstopstop." You get in one last nip of his collarbone as he pulls your head back via a handful of ringlets. His pupils are blown wide and he's panting hard. You stare longingly at his delectable mouth while making pitiful whines.

"Please, baby, pleeeease. You're all I've thought about for days. I need you!" You try shameless begging, you're certainly not lying. Petting over his shoulders and down that solidly muscled chest, you shudder and try to pull yourself back to him.

He closes his eyes with a grimace. "Flight! Fuck you on the flight!" He croaks, then yanks your hair harder than you like. The pain clears the fog just enough for you to blink back to awareness. You nod jerkily and step back. "Have to leave now to get there before dark." He explains in a rushed huff. You blink as you remember how time works.

"Right. Yeah, right. Okay. Okay." Straightening to attention you yank off the cardigan you wore for the air conditioning at work, leaving you in a tank top and ready to be productive. Focus on not-dick.

Diego shoves your favorite notepad in your face so you can see your packing list and not him. The distraction works. He has checked off every item in each categorized list but left the strike through action for your completion. You lower the notepad until you can make eye contact with him and intensely whisper, "You know I fuckin' love you, right?"

He laughs so hard he has to sit down on the bed.

You go through every bag, touching each item and crossing it off your list one at a time. He did it. Everything but you.

"You know I don't need TMP, right?"

"Why?" He squints up at you from where he lounges across your bed.

Your face heats up and you clear your throat. "Well, its, I'm. I have, uh, you. So I don't need anything else." The realization of how true that is in every sense gives both of you pause.

Diego surges upright to cup your face and bonk your foreheads together just a little too hard. You giggle and he huffs.

"Mi amor…" he sighs for you, eyes closing in pleasure. You 'mmmmm' in response. Then his eyes snap open and he growls an order, "Get changed so we can go!" And punctuates it with a stinging slap to your ass.

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

You spend the flight with your face pressed to the window, vibrating in excitement, except for a brief intermission of seven orgasms in the bathroom.

The unknown third man is Joey, Bastian's boyfriend. Joey is even quieter than Bastian and just as cute. They're not overly demonstrative but clearly comfortable moving around each other. Joey works in "Packaging" and does an admirable job of ignoring his cartel drug lord boss being snuggly. Julio naps.

The customs agent at the Cancun airport looks you up and down with wide eyes but stamps your passport with no questions. Its a five hour drive to Xcalak but Diego is adamant it can be done in three. You give him an eyebrow question which he dismisses with a vague wave, "They paved the road all the way to the southern border last year."

Uhh, they what now? You understand soon enough. The drive drastically changes outside of Cancun. The scenery is both beautiful and heartbreaking. There are occasional mansions with armed guards, high fences, and SUVs like your own current ride. Mostly though, its shacks and people on foot or riding bicycles, weaving to avoid stray dogs and huge iguanas. Could I handle this as my daily reality?

The first time the road sidles right up to the ocean you have a small meltdown.

"Is that what I think it is?" Your soft whisper is accompanied by a shaking hand pointing to the left. Diego, crammed into the middle of the backseat between yourself and Julio so you could have an unobstructed view, indicates an order for Bastian to pull over. He reaches across you and pops open your door. You slide out with his hand on your lower back and take about a dozen steps to the lapping water. Diego appears to your right, watching you intently.

"Its gre-e-e-en!" Your stuttering squeal is accompanied by happy tears and you fling yourself into Diego with joy. He laughs at you, but hugs you back just as tightly.

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

The first week passes in a blur of amazing food, warm green sea, fruity drinks, and shirtless wet Diego. And so many orgasms that you can't keep count. Diego is all over you non-stop, more than he ever has been before (Astonishingly). Its incredible and you feel like the only person in the world. If he's not molesting you then he is at least touching you; keeping you in his lap, holding your hand, cuddling and petting and snuggling like a man obsessed.

You love it. You love him. You love this life.

On Saturday he lets you lead him through the tiny town, your Spanish improving by leaps and bounds as you try to navigate the streets and alleys and shops. The four years of high school Spanish actually prove useful as you manage to complete a purchase all by yourself. Your playful mock smugness evaporates under the blazing desire in his eyes.

He drags you back to the casita in a much shorter and more direct route than you took upon earlier departure. You're marched directly to the bed and he puts one massive hand in the middle of your chest to gently push you down onto your back. There is something different about this, something important in his eyes. Your voice is high and soft, "Diego?"

He climbs up between your legs and leans down to kiss you senseless. It goes on forever; soft lips, scratchy beard, silky tongue, and nothing but the taste of Diego. Your moans and sighs are mixed together, there are moments when you can't tell who is making what noise. His hands are shaking as he strokes every inch of newly bared and sunburnt sensitive skin while undressing you.

It takes repeated attempts, but you finally get him naked, too. The sight never fails to take your breath away. All that soft, and now freshly tanned, skin is like velvet to your touch. You're mesmerized by his muscles flexing and then evening out as he moves above you. He finally gets your linen pants untangled off your left foot and flings them across the room with unnecessary force. Your soft peals of laughter light up his face and it brings tears to your eyes. You reach a hand out to him, "Diego. Baby."

He comes up over you, threading fingers into your hair, kissing you slowly and thoroughly. You can feel him against you, fire hot and mouth wateringly hard, but he makes no move to take you. Your eyes open in hazy confusion as the kiss ends. Diego is watching your face, blinking back tears.

He is holding your head still, hands like steel. Whatever this is, he needs it. And you want to give him everything he needs. Forever.

You're captured by his eyes, bottomless, soulful, and hungry. His raspy voice is soft and trembling with desire. "I love you, Bicki. I want everything. Forever, Princess?"

Your chest compresses and your heart implodes. Scalding tears escape when you blink and you're nodding before you even know it. "Yes, Diego. Yes, baby, I'm yours."

Your back arches off the bed as he comes home and brings you with him.

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

You wake up crushed under Diego. The sun is still up so you might be able to talk him into going out for dinner. You rub your cheek on the huge bicep doubling as your pillow and Diego sighs directly into your ear from where he is spooned up behind you. Oh yeah, we should have done this waaaay sooner.

He nuzzles your neck just to incite squirmy giggles and you don't even fight it. "I have something for you, Princess. Stay here." He pulls away and you whine about the loss of your pillow. His low chuckle burns you alive with want. "Stay like that. Do not move." You obey while you listen to him rummage around behind you.

He comes around to your side of the bed, still completely and unabashedly nude. Hell. Fucking. Yes. You love it. He hands your glasses over and you slide them on to take in the now high definition view of naked Murder Panther. The view disappears as he kneels down next to the bed so you're on eye level. His expression is very peculiar.

His hands slowly come up to reveal a small box of black velvet. Time slows to a halt as he opens the box and presents it to you.

Inside is a ring. Gleaming in platinum and sparkling with three tastefully large princess cut diamonds.

Its an engagement ring.

Diego is proposing.

He swallows hard and rumbles gruffly, "Now remember, you already said y--"

You cut him off with a shriek. "YES! YESYESYES!!"

In the time it takes him to blink twice with surprise you're on him. Arms around his neck, you throw yourself into his lap. He topples backwards and you ride him to the floor, already bawling hysterically.

He stares up at you in shock as you nod furiously and cry all over him. "Princess. You… you are certain?" If this were any other time you would be howling with laughter at his huge eyes and lax jaw.

Your answer is stuttery but determined. "Y-y-yeah. Put it-t-t-t on me already!"

He laughs in delight at your order and the imperious presentation of your shaking left hand. The ring glides on easily, a perfect fit. It gleams up at you blindingly. After a moment of admiration you lace your fingers with his and sigh at the union. His other hand comes up to roughly brush away your tears. "I know you do not like labels so much… but, you will be my, my married... Person. Thing?"

You stroke his bearded cheek in return, thumb lingering on that dimple. With a hard gulp you dive in head first. Fuck it.

"Yes, Diego. I will be your wife."

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

The next time you wake it is dark out. You reach for a phone on the nightstand to your left and jump when you find one with a loud crack. Diego pops upright behind you, instantly on high alert. "Princess?" He hisses while covering your body with his own.

You gigglesnort, then meekly answer him, "I forgot about the ring and whacked a phone. Everything's okay, baby."

He sighs so deeply that his breath ruffles your hair. "Jesus fucking christ, woman. You are a menace." He flops down on top of you and snuggles back into your warmth.

You reach back with your left hand and grope blindly for his face. He licks your fingers as soon as they're in reach and you stuff them into his mouth as retaliation. He just sucks languidly.

"Mmmmmm, I'm your menace, baby. And I have to pee." He nips your fingers but rolls over to free you. You slide out of the bed and stretch your arms high while arching your back. Diego groans painfully. "What?"

Diego rises to all fours on the bed while the sheet slithers off of him. "You forget that other people can see without glasses, huh?" You cock your head and realize that you have a shadow.

It's a full moon. And I just stretched naked in front of a sliding glass door. "Oh. Huh. I guess I do forget. Oops. I'll be sure to keep that in mind now." Your seemingly tame answer is directly contradicted by the exaggerated roll of your hips that makes your butt bounce when you walk off.

"Fucking menace, woman." Diego growls as you push the bathroom door shut with a trill of laughter.

You never do go back to bed but you do wind up on the beach in front of the casita to watch the sunrise. Julio finds you both snuggled together late the next morning, still asleep on the covered daybed under the palms while the rising tide comes ever closer. At least Julio has the decency to cover your bare ass with a beach towel.

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

By the time you think to check your phone gallery you have… 1,792 pictures. WHAT THE FUCK.

You scroll through the pics, there are a lot you do not remember taking. Was I that drunk or did Diego take some of these? One is a close up of your ass from below wearing a string bikini, I knew I wasn't that drunk. The next pic is Diego asleep on a lounge chair, one arm curled up above his head, muscles glistening in the sun, and swim trunks so low on his hips that it's almost obscene. Immediately following that is the same pic but with your own face photobombing about three inches away from the camera and giving a thumbs up with your left hand so your engagement ring is prominently visible. Oh yeah, I remember that one.

There are videos, too. The first one is Diego making lewd comments while you twerk in the ocean for about ten seconds. Okay, that's par for the course with us. Next is you successfully backflipping off of Diego's shoulders into the green water to everyone freaking out. Shit, even I'm impressed with myself. After that is video of you gagging through a dish of octopus at some restaurant. Both of you are clearly visible in the shot so Julio must have had the phone. Betrayal.

There are tens of dozens of the two of you in various poses and outfits, both disgustingly happy and blatantly in love. There's even a role reversal shot of Diego sprawled across your lap, one enormous arm wrapped around your neck and his knees over your own arm while you grimace and he laughs hysterically. The table to your right is covered in empty bottles and mostly finished drinks. An entire subsection depicts you asleep like you have a stalker. You count no less than 29 of you two trying on increasingly ridiculous hats in random stores.

You can't even keep count of all the close ups of a smoldering Murder Panther. You feel no guilt. Aren't you supposed to be ridiculously attracted to your fiancé??

Fiancé.

You have a fiancé. Your fiancé is Diego. You are engaged to Diego Rafael Jimenez.

I have to explain this ring to everyone. They'll have questions about him. People will want pictures. How do I explain what he does?? Oh my god, there's no closet here. I have to… find somewhere. And I can't I can't. Its-

Your head jerks upright when something touches your hair. Its Diego. Kneeling on the floor in front of you, he has unfurled a sheet over you to block out everything, and he waits there, watching you. Before you realize it your hands are reaching for his shoulders, just the feel of him, warm and solid under your hands, calms you.

Slowly, his right hand comes up to cover your left. "No closet, Princess." His huge fingers grip yours tightly. You nod a little. He just watches you, eyes guarded.

"Ask. Go ahead." You mutter. You can tell from his posture that he is uneasy, apprehensive.

He locks eyes with you and his gaze is intense. He curls all of his fingers around your left ring finger. "Still yes?"

The fear in his eyes breaks your heart. Your voice is shaky but determined, "No. You can't get rid of me. I'm your problem now, baby." His expression would make a meeker woman cower in fear, you laugh weakly.

He settles down on the tile floor in front of you, with the sheet over both of you. Its like four in the afternoon and I am sharing a blanket fort with my cartel boss fiancé while on vacation in Mexico. What even is my life? His elbows are on his knees, chin in hand. He studies you for a minute, you stare right back. He raises one eyebrow and you sigh in capitulation.

"I don't know how to just be happy. I suck at it." You shrug but reach for his face. Diego nuzzles into your hand while you stroke your thumb over his beard.

"Habby isz nawt a berb." He slurs into your palm with a soft kiss.

The epiphany is like a cinder block to the brain.

He's right. I don't have to 'do' anything. I'm happy right now. I've been happy every time I'm with him. And no one had to exert any effort.

People can define themselves. People can define their relationships. Why can't they define their own normal? I can make my own rules. Especially with someone like Diego as my partner.

His one eyebrow slowly rises as he watches your thoughts play out across your face. "You back?" He asks with a hidden smirk, you know its there from the way his eyes crinkle with laugh lines.

"Yup!" Is your decisive answer. Diego licks your palm. "I got better places you can lick, baby." You answer his smirk with a waggling eyebrow.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of play wrestling and inappropriate noises.

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

You do, in fact, go on a safari. Of sorts. Tours of ruins and jungle and cenotes, lots of side quests because the both of you are easily distracted by pretty colors. You probably added another thousand pictures of various palm trees to your gallery. The hat makes multiple appearances.

Diego has to ship a crate home to New York because he bought you too many souvenirs. You laugh and tease him when he wants to pick out things for your middle sister and niece, until you hear his logic.

"They were nice to me." He murmurs with a little half-shrug, "It was like being in a real family for a little bit." He studies the bins of painted shells on display in the little store with way too much focus.

You spend a moment deliberating before you decide to reach out and touch his elbow.

"Hey," your soft voice brings his gaze your way momentarily before he goes back to ceramic turtle magnets. You take his hand with your own right and rest your left hand on his chest. Diego looks down where your ring glints in the light, then up to your face. "You know you're going to be part of that 'real' family, right?"

Diego's boyish little smile is heartbreakingly adorable.

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

The flight home is much shorter than you want it to be and you spend most of it asleep on Diego. At one point you wake up to see Bastian and Joey cuddled up together napping. When you look up from where your head is resting in Diego's lap he is already looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

"What?" You whisper softly. You stifle a yawn and blink repeatedly.

Diego strokes one big hand over your hair and grips your jaw firmly. With a huge toothy grin he answers, "Mine."

"Uh huh. How many times you need me to say yes, baby?" You smirk up at him with an arched brow. He seems to be reveling in hearing you readily admit your commitment to him.

He considers your question carefully while his other hand trails down the front of your body under a blanket. I don't remember having a blanket earlier. Finally, Diego settles on "Every day. At least seven times. Seven is a good number, right Princess?"

Your body jerks as his fingers press between your thighs with steady determination. Your eyes flick over to Bastian and Joey, still out cold. You make a show of wiggling around to get comfortable, and, surprisingly, that involves spreading your legs. "Yessss." You hiss up at him.

Julio reclines his seat and exaggeratedly covers his face with a new hat.

Seven is a very good number.

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

Your first day back to work is a circus. You don't think twice about your normal greeting as you enter the office suite. You swipe your badge with your right hand and pop the door, then wave 'hi' to everyone. Like usual. With your left hand.

There is an excessive amount of squealing that makes you second guess going into a female dominated field. The whole day is a wash because you have a steady stream of people passing through your cubicle. You're glad you had the forethought to curate a photo album of appropriate images to show your coworkers despite Diego's repeated attempts to sneak a dick pic in there somewhere. You most definitely included the glistening swim trunks lounge chair picture. Squealing intensifies.

Everyone comments on the hat and you're forced to tell the story of the hat. How you once told Diego that you wanted to see palm trees, 'But like, in the wild.' And Diego had laughed so hard that he fell off the bed only to pop back up wheezing about a 'Palm Tree Safari' until you smacked him in the face with a pillow. Your coworkers think it is just disgustingly adorable that he never let you live that down.

Your coworkers have questions:

When is the wedding?

Where are you having it?

What kind of dress do you want?

What are your colors?

Are you going to do flowers?

What about the cake?

Who is your maid of honor?

How did your family take the news?

What about his family?

Are you going to New York?

Will you take his name?

Oh shit. I forgot about the whole 'wedding' part of this.

#damnit diego #murder panther #rough me up then dick me down #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #zash writes #all the feels #so gross #soft murder panther #melty princess

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devolympian · 3 years

Text

Argo, chapter 4

Interesting thing to note for when you have what most people consider familial obligations and appointments to meet at a specific time, more often than not, you have the responsibility of waking at a designated time of day. Usually at the ripe healthy time of say, oh I don’t know, 5:15 A.M.

With this set responsibility and a need to earn a living inorder to drive a consumer centric economy with which one needs to survive in it is best to get the recommended amount of sleep

So, between the multiple rounds of personal gaming tournaments, mountains of junk food and soda, and completely being unwilling to actually go to bed, I can proudly say none of us did that as about three hours after we had all decided to crowd into Skyes bed a loud beeping noise filled the room.

“Well shit” I happily state in an enthusiastic tone as my sleep deprived eyes look up at her ceiling.

“I’ll get it” said an even more sleepless voice to the left of my body, as Skye began to sit up and lean over a still unconscious Clair and I.

She promptly fell on top of us, her massive curly mess of blonde hair practically working as a second blanket that covered the three of us.

“Blondie” I questioned as her green eyes slowly began to close, “you gonna get that one or?”

“Five more minutes.”

And with those words Skye began to softly snore, her chest on top of mine, as she used my shoulder for a pillow.

Clair made sure to do her part by not waking up to the alarm clock and unconsciously wrapping her arms around me and Skye and pulling us into her naked body.

Yes, Clairabell sleeps naked and it’s perfectly okay that she does so.

With a slight shrug I was perfectly content with letting the alarm clock run its course as I fell back to sleep sandwiched between these too. But, naturally, I remembered that I had a prior engagement to visit some family members who don’t particularly like being stood up.

Shimmying myself upwards I managed to slither out from in between the girls and did my best to step over Clair as she and Skye cuddled under the blanket seemingly unaware that I had left the pile.

Tapping the alarm I went about and started my day.

First thing’s first I made my way to the restroom; stepping over the various soda cans, wrappers, and half finished snacks we had decorated Skyes floor with the night prior (ooh cheetoh, nom), I was determined to perform the most important act of the day which everyone must do regardless of their social political views on it. The brushing of teeth and a warm shower.

Not saying you’re wrong if you don’t do this daily, just saying you need a therapist and time in a mental institute.

Now, let me take this moment to inform you about Skyes bathroom. It is ridiculous, not only because no one needs a personal restroom in their bedroom, but also because of the fact that the place was almost as big as her actual room with a tub that could easily fit three people, yes we’ve tested it, but also a large closet which is now overflowing with various dresses and cute outfits all of which were hand made.

None of these details are important to the story, I feel you should know, they are just my personal thoughts which I felt like sharing.

Anywho, after a nice shower, and making my mouth not smell like ass with the tooth brush I left here, which everyone needs to use TWICE a day, I wrapped the one of Skyes soft pink towels around my hips and headed on over to her dresser.

Now, I think what you’re wondering right now is “Alex, why the hell are you going through your best friend's clothes?” And even if you weren’t I will tell you any ways.

Ever since I was a wee lad Skyes room has been basically my second room, hell I think I’ve slept in her bed more than my own over the years. This was all well and good when we were little and innocent and we could basically fit into each other's clothes, but when this thing called puberty attacked us that started to change.

I got taller, my arms and legs got longer, I started shooting lightning, I got a six pack, a strong jaw, started getting hit on by older women and men even though I was like 12. You know, normal stuff like that.

Skye, on the other hand, went in kind of the opposite direction with her growing less in height and more in boob, and hip. She also gets hit on by older women and men so at least we - have that experience in common.

In short, I had to start bringing over clothes whenever I stayed the night and sense I stay here a lot, a few of my outfits have more or less made their home in the dresser she keeps her TV and video games on. Granted, we do end up wearing eachothers clothes from time to time, but that’s besides the point.

Pushing our plates from last night to the side and setting the controllers we used back where they went I dropped my towel to the ground and started shifting through the drawer in the search for the allusive boxer shorts.

“Ooh” a tired voice called out, “that’s a nice sight to wake up to.”

I tilted my head in the direction of the bed to see Clair sitting up, her violet eyes still not fully open as she smiled at me.

“Good morning dear” I said, “sleep well, dreams of rainbows and kittens maybe?”

“More like blood, fire, death, all the fun stuff.”

“You and I have very different dreams. . . why am I only noticing that now?”

Clairabell giggled a little, then took a look around the bedroom with her expression changing to slight shock at what she saw.

“Wow, we really made a mess last night.”

“Yes well mortal kombat and super mario bros will do that.”

“Especially if someone spends the game trolling me and Skye!”

“What else was I supposed to do, not hit you with the turtle shell?”

With a sigh. Clair placed the tip of her thumb between her sharp canine teeth and bit down until I could see a bit of blood trickle out.

“Alright gals” she said, holding her hand out infront of her, “be dears and clean this mess up.”

The small amount of blood coming from her thumb quickly started to sizzle and bubbles soon began coming from it.

Every one of the bubbles quickly grew in size, changing color to a dark reddish brown before sprouting bat wings and ears. Each one had a cute cat-like face and little fangs poking out from their adorable smiling mouths.

Soon, Clair had at least ten little blood bats hovering around Skyes room, before they began picking up the mess we had made last night.

Also, I managed to find a pair of my boxers, so this was a huge win for everybody involved.

After stretching a little, Clair stood out of Skyes bed, making sure that the blanket stayed on our blond friend, before picking up her clothes from last night.

“Can’t sleep” I asked as I attempted to hunt down a pair of pants?

“Just thought I might as well wake up” she happily answered as she tossed her dirty laundry into Skyes clothing basket, “don’t want to make you feel lonely now do we?”

“Don’t worry, I know how to entertain myself whenever I’m naked and alone.”

“That’s what every girlfriend wants to hear.”

Just as I had, Clair went into the restroom to get ready for the day ahead.

She brushed her teeth, and I still can’t find a goddamn pair of pants.

“How long do you need to be on Olympus for?” I heard her call out as I slowly lost my mind from lack of lower body wear.

“Probably until ten or twelve hours. I might need to beg for forgiveness if the old man decides to snag a booty call and leaves me to deal with his wife.”

“Your dad’s gross.”

“I know that’s why I have two, but apparently neither of them can bless me with a pair of jeans.”

“Don’t you keep pants in that weird pocket thingy you have?”

“. . .”

Reaching my hand into the air I went ahead and opened the aforementioned pocket thingy, which was a small rip in space which works as a nice little storage space to keep stuff in. To most people it would look as though my hand disappeared into space, and they would be kind of right, one wrong move and my hand is gone. I can get it back, but it takes a while and requires more than two people.

Feeling my way past the treasure, bones, holy grails, and my new little worm buddy I found myself touching what felt like pants and pulled them out.

They were torn a little in the knees and a bit stained but worked for the day.

“Found my pants.”

“I am so proud of you.”

I chuckled a little and prepared to get these things on. But, before I could even slip a leg in, a still naked Clair had managed to get in front of me, wrapped her arms over my shoulder and leaned herself into a kiss.

Naturally, I did what every sane person would do when a naked woman throws herself at them. I grabbed her waist and pulled her close, our naked chest pressing against each other as she forced her tongue passed my lips and we went and explored each other's mouths.

The kiss lasted a good bit of time and I soon found myself pushing Clair against Skyes dresser, my hands sliding down her well toned body as she hooked her thumbs around the elastic band of the boxers I had put on just a moment ago and started pulling them off again.

Eventually we broke the kiss and Clair gave me a smug smile on top of her flushed face.

“Sure you have to go right now?”

With a slight smirk I lifted her onto the top of the dresser, her long legs instantly wrapping around my hips as I leaned in and whispered into her ear.

“I absolutely need to go right now.”

She gave me an annoyed groan before pushing me a little and angrily jumping off the dress as I pulled out a shirt from it.

“Oh come on” I said, laughing a little, “we can’t exactly hook up in Skyes room.”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Her parents are in the room across the hall.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

“I won’t. You know I’m a moaner.”

I wonder if Clairabell glaring angrily at me was a sign that I had annoyed her enough. Naw, I can be more annoying.

After slipping the pants on I popped the shirt I had grabbed over my head.

“That’s Skyes shirt” Clair pointed out as I slid the black tank top on, even though it was rather tight fitting. It had a cute little cartoon panda head smiling on the chest as its cheeks glowed a rosey pink.

“Yes'' I assured her as I fished out a pair of socks and slipped on my boots, “it is most definitely Skyes shirt.”

Clair sighed and patted a sleeping Skye head.

“I’m so sorry for your clothes Skee-skee.”

I watched as Skye slept peacefully next to Clairs lap and felt a slight lump build in my throat.

“Hey” I said without really thinking, “make sure you guys talk, okay?”

Clairabell gave me a confused look; one of her fangs slightly poking out of her upper lip while she tilted her head questioningly.

“Huh? We talk all the time though.”

“Yeah, but. . .”

I thought for a bit, trying to figure out the best words to use to bring up the subject.

“Just, maybe ask her how she’s feeling or something.”

“How does she feel?”

She looked down at blondie again.

“Tired. She’s tired.”

I chuckled and sighed, pushing my uneasy feeling away.

“Yep, that makes sense. Can you open the window for me?”

“Babe, there’s a door.”

“And?”

“. . . good point.”

Upon Clairs instruction a blood bat floated over and pulled Skyes window open for me letting the fresh morning air into the room.

“Thanks,” I said before taking a running start and flinging myself over Skyes bed and out a second story window.

With a loud crash I found myself laying ontop of multiple thorny bushes, the branches digging into my body as I tried to adjust to the aching in my back.

“Perfect landing” I groaned as I got ready to sit up.

“Oh yes, great job” a woman's voice said, “now please get off my plants.”

I turned my head to see two women standing over me.

The one on the left, who was giving a very annoyed glare, looked like a lighter skinned Skye with bright yellow eyes and had her golden blonde hair tied up into a long ponytail. As was usual for her at this time of the morning, her red tank top and tanned shorts were covered in dirt and mud and black gardening gloves adorned her hands.

The one on the right was dressed up in a white toga like dress with summer lilies braided into her dark hair and she wore a diamond encrusted gold necklace around her throat. Also, her dark green colored eyes had the look of someone who had just watched her son throw himself from a second story window and land on the bushes she had helped her friend plant.

“Morning” I happily said to them before Skyes mom flicked her wrist and the bush, in response to said wrist flicking, jumped up a little and shoved me off of it before settling back into the soil.

“You’re in a chipper mood today” mom said as she helped pull me off the ground.”

“Oh who wouldn’t be when their job entails possible death and dismemberment?”

“Him and the girls practically stayed up the entire night” Skyes mom informed mine, “I swear that Clairabell screams louder than a banshee.”

Moms eyes grew wide as she gave me a once over before looking back at Skyes mom.

“They were playing video games” she assured, having finally realised what she had said.

“Oh thank the gods” my mom said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“In all fairness, Clairabell and I can multitask” I happily informed both of them.

“Alexander, shut up, you are 18, I do not need grandchildren from you yet!”

I laughed at my mom's discomfort, before noticing that a little girl with red hair had wandered up next to her. She was dressed similarly to mom but her dress was a light blue color and the only gold she had on was a pair of golden sandals and a few ringlets on her wrist.

“There’s my girl” our mom happily said, kneeling down to greet my sister, “all ready to go Fiona?”

With half awake eyes Fiona nodded with assurance, doing her best to stay awake. She promptly fell forward having to be caught by our mom.

“Oh sweetheart” mom said, giving Fiona a worried look, “maybe you should stay here.”

“No thank you.”

“She can stay here for the day” Skyes mom stated, “she can take a nap in Luke and Ninas room.”

“That should be fine” mom happily answered before turning back to the little red head, “how about playing with Luke and Nina today?”

“I will later” Fiona stubbornly stated, “I wanna go.”

“Fiona, you can’t be falling asleep though.”

“I won’t, I promise!”

“Honestly” I interjected, “she should be fine coming along. Unless she’s sick or something.”

Lifting her up by her armpits I held my little sister up in the air.

“You ain’t getting sick on me are ya?”

“No,” Fiona said with a smile.

“Ain’t gonna throw up?”

With this question I tossed the seven year old up into the air, making her laugh like, well like a seven year old.

“Yeah she’s good” I assured our mother, as I still held Fiona.

“ . . .Is Skye ever this stubborn” my mom asked Skyes mom?

“I’m glad she’s not,” she answered, putting her gardening tools away, “makes it easier when I tell her to get rid of things like that.”

She pointed to the pegasus made of water which Skye had created last night in the arcade bathroom.

Like a good healthy horsey, Raindrop had grown in size and was now bigger than your average horse.

“What” I protested, “you can’t have her get rid of Raindrop! It’s a sweet fragile creature who just wants your love, and understanding, and it just ate a squirrel.”

The clear blue pegasus glared at us as a fluffy brown tail hung from its mouth.

It slowly backed away out of sight, never breaking eye contact with me specifically. Guess I have a new friend.

“See you later Trinna” mom said, taking Fiona from me and protectively holding her.

And with that, Skyes mom went over to put her tools away and mine started hurrying us over to our house.

“Do you two have everything,” mom asked as she pulled her keys out from her dress pocket.

“Yep” Fiona and I assured her at the same time.

She gives us a smile and a nod before turning to the door into our home and sliding a small golden key inside of the lock.

With a twist of the knob our front door opened up to a brightly lit bridge filled with people, either walking or riding in horse drawn carriages, dressed similarly to mom and Fiona. Far into the distance, at the end of the bridge, was a city built on top of several mountains, the rising sun illuminating the white marble buildings against a still mostly dark sky.

“Woow” I cheered, stretching my arms over my head, “fun trip, honestly the ride up is always the best part.”

“Alex” mom said, closing the door behind us, “what did I say about being a smartass?”

“Go ahead but don’t do it when we’re about to see family.”

“Exactly, and what are we about to do?”

“Visit people you hate?”

Mom lowered her eyes at me, giving me an irritated look.

“I’ll be good in front of grandma” I promised, crossing my fingers behind my back.

With a sigh, my mom locked the door we went through, causing it to sink into the ground and vanish.

“You ain't slick boy.”

I shrugged, perfectly content with my underwhelming slickness, before placing my fingers in my mouth.

Blowing into them, a loud whistle echoed out and the ground beneath us began to shake as a large hole filled with black mud spilled open. Never mind the fact that we were currently on a bridge thousands of miles in the air so a hole like that should just lead down into, well, death.

Speaking of death.

From the black mud, bone white hands started to rise from its murky depths, and latched onto the marble pavement of the bridge. Slowly, four skeletons pulled themselves out, black mud dripping down their skulls and off the dusty dark blue suits they all wore.

Each one had “eyes” of green fire and looked almost identical to each other, with the only difference being a colored rose each wore in the pocket of their suit. Red, yellow, black, and white.

These were my skeletons. Expertly trained, well mannered, professional, cold blooded, and above all else dependable. . . was not what they were.

As the yellow rose stumbled out behind white rose it fell forward, knocking into the latter.

Naturally, White rose raised it’s boney hand and slapped yellow in the face, the rattling of their teeth being loud enough for everyone to hear.

Steadying its skull, yellow turned to white, their flaming eyes lighting up with a dark green as they clutched their coworkers arm and tore it off.

White looked down at its empty sleeve hanging limply to its side while yellow pointed at them with their missing arm, the bouncing flames in its eye sockets indicating that they were laughing.

The flames in whites skull promptly erupted, smoke billowing out of them, as they tackled yellow to the ground.

Smoke and dust covered the ground as white and yellow punched and tore at each other, the latter using the former's arm to slap them in the face. Black rose stumbled forward, attempting to separate them only to be met with a flame shooting up and catching onto their new tie which instantly lit up and was reduced to ash.

Enraged at this insult to not only themselves but also high fashion Black leaped onto the two other skeletons. Red followed suit by elbow dropping all three and joining the pile as they all slapped, bit, hit, and spanked each other.

“. . . Alex, seriously” mom stated, “are you sure you don’t want new servants?”

“Naw” I answered, happily watching these boneheads wrestle, “these guys are perfect.”

Clapping my hands the hole began to bubble again, the bridge shaking even more, as a horse drawn carriage shot out of it like a bullet from the chamber and tore through the four skeletons who all fell to the ground in pieces.

The Carriage was a dark black color, large and round in shape, it looked like something a goth Cinderella would ride inorder to get to the ball and marry a guy she danced with once who only remembered her because he had a thing for feet. There was a bright gold trim on the sides that glowed brightly against the night sky. The wheels were also a gold color with human skulls adorned on the rims and green flames sparking up here and there.

Attached to the carriage was a horse with pitch black fur with a tail and main glowing with bright green fire. It's onix black eyes surveyed its surroundings making sure there was no enemy nearby as it stomped the marble ground with its strong hooves, small flames lighting up under them as it did so.

“Horsey” Fiona yelled happily as she waved at my helpful stead.

“Hey there Mare,” I said, walking up to her, “how are you doing girl?”

As I reached out to give her a pet on the neck, Mare angrily recoiled and gave me a loud snort.

“What? No, I didn’t forget about you.”

She neyad loudly, shaking her head from side to side.

“Of course I call you when I need a ride. You’re my horse.”

Stamping the ground, Mare continued to argue, angrily naying and shaking her main.

“Oh that is not fair! It is not my fault that you decided to wreck the neighbors lawn and eat their cat!”

She chattered her teeth and huffed again.

“Look if we had a stable I would absolutely keep you in the backyard but-.”

Mare interjected with a loud inhuman yell as she reared up on her hind legs.

“Oh you don’t bring my bike into this! He is a good boy!”

She landed and shook her head violently.

“Yes it’s a he!”

“Alex” mom said, the now reformed skeletons helping her and Fiona into the carriage, “I know you want her to stay at the house, but it’s not happening. Can we please go?”

“Yeah sure” I answered her.

As she entered the carriage I reached into my little pocket space and pulled out a nice orange carrot for Mare.

“Sorry girl, we’ll convince her somehow.”

She neighed understandingly before happily taking the root vegetable from my hands.

“To the stadium” I yelled at Red as he readied the reins, yellow sitting next to him with treats and a whip in hand. Black and White clung to the back, White still glaring at Yellow with murderous intent, as I swung myself into the inside of it.

As soon as the door was shut we were off, Yellow cracking their whip in the air as Red made sure Mare stayed on course.

Unlike the black of the carriages outer shell, the seating was a velvet red with enough room to fit six people. The soft upholstery was comfortable and warm to the touch with cushions that made sure you could relax even during the bumpiest of rides.

Naturally, Fiona almost immediately fell asleep, her head resting comfortably on moms lap.

“Hey, she stayed awake longer than usual.”

“Honestly I’m surprised by that” mom said, brushing Fionas hair to the side, “she never gets enough sleep when we have to come up here. I wish she’d stay at home some times, it’s not healthy for a little girl to be up this early.”

“You know that would just cause gran to start whining.”

“If your grandmother really wants to see her she can suck it up and come visit the house.”

“Oh come now, you don’t expect her to live the disgraceful life of staying in a five bedroom, three bath, basement and attic house do you?”

“Well, in all fairness, she’d probably make the neighbors hate us more than they already do.”

We both chuckled a little at Grandmas expense, knowing she probably wouldn’t enjoy hearing this stuff in person. She can be kind of sensitive and natural disaster causing.

Leaning against the door I rested my head on the window and watched as we rolled past the people walking along the bridge, none of them batting an eye at the carriage driven by four skeletons and drawn by a hell horse. In all fairness compared to the massive skyscrapers in the mountain, the rulers of the city control nature itself, and the fact we can all breathe despite the altitude, probably making our little vihicall about as interesting as an ant carrying food ten times its size. A neat site but nothing mind blowing.

Granted, ants are pretty mind blowing if you put into perspective how they basically work to create a suitable environment for their colony with everyone having their assigned roles thus allowing them to work as fulfilling members of ant society.

That being said, this type of government is very totalitarian all things considered so there must be a widespread outbreak of ant uprisings which most likely are quilled by the ants in black suits. You can say they’re not real, but we all know they’re out there.

“So” mom said, interrupting my deep and meaningful inner monologue about ants and ant related conspiracy, “should we talk about what’s been bothering you?”

I sighed and sat up in my seat.

“Oh you know, normal stuff.”

“Define normal for you?”

“Giant monsters, universal travel, blood sucking girlfriend who wants my socially awkward best friend to move into a dorm with her while she’s too scared to say no, oh and a new rpg came out that I am just dying to play.”

“Aw, is my little boy having girl trouble?”

“What can I say, I’m just a modern day Casanova. On a related note, my Italian is getting better.”

Mom rolled her eyes, a smile still on her face as she let out a chuckle.

“Well Giacomo, care to tell your loving mother about your, um, socially awkward blood sucking best girlfriend issue?”

“Blood sucking girlfriend and socially awkward best friend” I corrected, “also, one can summon horses.”

She blinked a bit then sighed.

“I really should have set you up on more play dates with normal kids when you were little.”

“Aw, but if you did that you wouldn’t have met Skyes mom.”

“I don’t mind Skye, reminds me of your dad, kind of. The blood sucking girlfriend is the one I have issues with.”

“Oh Clair isn’t that bad. Plus, if I remember right, you’re partially the one who arranged for me and her dating.”

Mom shrugged at my statement.

“It was either that or have her daddy demand your head on a spike. Now, talk.”

“Dang, knew you weren’t gonna let the issue go.”

I rubbed my neck, feeling a little awkward talking about my friends with my mom. She had more on her plate to deal with other than my personal drama. But, I guess I don’t feel that bad.

“Clairabell has been looking into her and Skye going to college together, and I’m pretty sure Skye doesn’t want to go. But, neither of them are talking about it so, yeah, not really sure what to do.”

Yep, even to me that sounds like a dumb problem that could be easily solved if we all just sat and talked it out. And, based on the look mom was giving me, she probably felt the same.

“Ok” she eventually said, “and in what way is that your problem?”

“Huh?”

“Alex, that has nothing to do with you. They’re both big girls, they can work out their problems.”

I blinked in surprise.

“Well, I mean, they’re my friends, so. . .”

“So what?”

“So, I want to help them.”

She shook her head disapprovingly at my response, her dark brown hair bouncing a little as she did.

“Alexander, I get that you love them, but their problems are not yours to solve, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

“I, I guess. But-”

“No buts.”

She narrowed her eyes a little, making it clear that this wasn’t a subject we were going to argue on.

“You have work, and your sister, and your own issues to deal with.”

I felt my stomach slowly drop more and more as she spoke and reminded me of how stupid my worries were.

She was right after all, Skye not telling Clairabell how she felt, and Clairabell not wanting to listen, those were not my problems.

But, still. . .

I went back to looking out the chariot window, watching as the pavement of the bridge slid by as we drove in silence.

Well, we did for a few minutes, then I felt mom poke me repeatedly on the cheek.

“Oi” she said with each poke, “oi, oi, oi!”

I smiled and looked up, finding my mom leaning forward with a bag of gold coins dangling from her fingertips.

She gave me a warm smile and dropped the coins into my lap.

“Quit pouting, you’re gonna make me feel like a bad mom.”

“Aw, you’re not a bad mom” I responded, opening the bag and eyeing the coin, “I’m just really good at making people feel guilty. This is chocolate isn’t it?”

“Boy, you get paid a fortune a year, you don’t need real gold.”

“I ain’t complaining.”

I smiled and started unwrapping a coin to enjoy the snack, before handing a few back to mom.

“Here” I said, dropping them into her hand, “Fiona loves these too.”

“Yeah, that’s why I got her her own bag. These are yours.”

“Then I guess we’ll call it an offering to a good mom.”

She let out an amused laugh.

“Gods, why is my youngest son so cheesy?”

“No idea” I told her, chomping down on the delectable coin, “I personally blame it on Television and video games for giving good moral lessons.”

She sighed, but still smiled.

“You are such a dork.

Mom went back to watching Fiona sleep and we rode into the city in silence for a bit.

“Honestly” she eventually said, “I’m glad you’re such a good kid, but it wouldn’t hurt you to worry about yourself more.”

“Yeah” I responded, understanding what she meant, if only a little bit.

I pulled out another chocolate coin and sat it in between my cupped pointer finger and thumb before flicking my thumb up and giving the coin a good flip and catching it in my palm.

“Hey, maybe I should act like the old man more?”

I gave mom a wide smile at this statement and she responded by rolling her eyes.

“Alex” she said, “if you start acting like the old man just remember that I dictate your living arrangements.”

“Aw” I teased, trying to lighten the tension, “not a fan of selfish people?”

“Being selfish is fine. He’s just a disrespectful asshole. Never cared for those.”

“If that were true you would have thrown me out years ago.”

“You’re just disrespectful. The assholeness is currently being debated.”

“Aw, that’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“Oh shut up Alex.”

Despite her words she had a smile on her face.

Eventually, we pulled into the city.

The street lights illuminated our way as we walked through the busy streets filled with people of all races and sizes and other worldly species in togas. Despite how early it was the city was still bustling and busy as if it were early afternoon.

Shops filled with exautic items lined the streets next to fancy restaurants and stores filled with fancy clothes that normal people could never hope to own. As we went deeper in, the clothing people wore became more elaborate and extravagant almost as if they were trying to make themselves match the streets paved with literal gold.

“Did dad say they could use his gold?”

“No and I am still trying to get them to give it back. Honestly, their taste is just tacky.”

“I feel I need to point out that we decorate our house with bones and diamonds.”

“Alex, that is a theme. It might be tacky, but it makes sense. This is just a bunch of people showing off how rich they are. Besides, Pluton is in charge of decorating.”

“Way to blame your son for the way the house looks Ma.”

“I blame all my children for everything. Didn’t you figure that out already?”

“I was in denial.”

We joked around a little more as we eventually rode deeper into the city.

It was a nice summer morning even here, with birds of all kinds singing joyful tunes and plants you wouldn’t normally see together decorating the parks and sidewalks.

Mount Olympus, the rich neighborhood to end all rich neighborhoods.

While we continued our stroll, I was content to rest against the side of the cart, daydreaming until we arrived at grandmas. At least, until, the chariot pulled to a sudden stop with a jerky motion and Mare let out a loud whine.

“Oi” Mom yelled, slapping the roof, “why’d we stop?”

In response Red poked his head in, by holding it in his hand and putting it through the open window.

His teeth chattered and he let out a gargling hiss to inform us of why we had stopped.

Mom sighed and slouched in her seat, Fiona still in her lap.

“Then just kill them.”

“Mom, no.”

“Alex, they started it.”

“Yeah but we can’t just murder all of our problems.”

“You sure” she said, hopefully jokingly, “the old man seems to solve a lot of his problems that way. Of course, it does make your fathers work stack up so I’m a little pissed about that.”

“How about I go deal with them?” I said, opening the door, “give daddy less paperwork?”

“Carefull, they might cause you to develop some humility.”

“No worries about that happening. I’ll be done in like, I don’t know, two, three minutes. Meet you at grandmas. Oh, I missed the step. . .”

She groaned with annoyance as her handsome, awesome, super smart son fell out of the carriage and onto the dirt of Olympus.

“Way to jump to the rescue there superman” she chimed.

I chuckled a little as I layed on the ground, before turning my head to the right and spotting the roadblocks that stood in Mares way.

“Hi” I happily said to the tall man wearing a dark blue tank top. He had a rather annoyed look on his soft face, with his ocean green eyes glaring at me and his large, muscular, arms crossed over his chest.

His dark blue hair was slicked back and had a slight gleam to it while a few scales decorated his broad shoulders and a gold belt encrusted with gems of all shapes and sizes held his gray and white camouflage pants up.

By his side were two rather younger men who looked to be either twins or clones of each other. My personal experience has told me to bet on the latter, but you can never be too sure.

They both wore back basketball shorts and red shirts to go along with their messy strawberry blonde hair. Only way to tell that they weren’t completely identical were their eyes; both of which glowed unatrually like the brights of a car, but while the one on the left had shining baby blues, the gent on the left glared at me with dark red irises. Not blood red, more like a wine red.

Just like with the big bad in the middle, I noticed a few fish-like scales running along their necks and half way down their arms.

“Yo” the blue hair in the middle yelled at me, “are you going to get off the ground or what?”

“Naw” I responded, still sprawled on the ground, “the road feels good on my back.”

“Get off the ground Alex” Mom demanded from the carriage.

“So what can I do for you?” I asked while standing up, “directions, a ride maybe?”

“All we require is your head on a spike” the blue haired one responded. He took a boxer's pose and silver metal slowly started molding around his hands, appearing from nowhere I could see, until he was wearing two silver gauntlets with spiked knuckles.

“Sorry, can’t exactly do that seeing how I currently need my head. Mind me asking why you would want it though mate?”

“Hey” red eyes shouted, “he ain’t your mate guy!”

“Well then I ain’t your guy friend!”

“He ain’t your friend buddy,” the blue eyed one shouted at me.

“Well then I’m not his buddy mate!”

“He’s not your mate guy!”

“Then I’m not his guy friend!”

“I’m leaving now” mom stated, closing the carriage door, “meet us at grandmas okay?”

“Ok mom” I responded, waving them off.

“I’m not your mom dude” Blue eyes shouted.

“He’s not your dude pal” Red eyes shouted back.

“Seth, Joey” blue hair said, his head in his hand, “please stop.”

The three stepped out of the way, blue hair forcing Seth and Joey to bow their heads as mom passed in the sable steed drawn carriage before they took their spots in front of me again.

“Now, draw your weapon!”

Blue hair took his stance once more, their eyes narrowed at me.

“. . .Why?”

“Be-because I’m challenging you.”

“Ok but why are you challenging me?”

“Because!”

“Because why?”

“Because, shut up, draw your blade!”

“Blade as in vampire character?”

“Vampire? Your sword!”

“But I don’t use a sword.”

“Then your spear!”

“I don’t wanna draw my spear, honestly, I’m not the best artest.”

Blue hair looked ready to leap at me and scream at the top of their lungs while strangling my handsome neck.

I’m having a lot of fun.

He takes a deep breath and slowly calms down.

“Okay” they said, “please, please, get any weapons you might own, hold it in your hands, and fight me with them.”

“Ohhh! Ok, why didn’t you just say so?”

I could literally hear the last straw on blue hairs, patients breaking as they once more took a boxers pose, their eyes narrowed at me.

“My name is Markis, Muto, Reads, son of Poesidon and Pirate queen of the Caribbean Martha Reads!”

Yep, saw that one coming.

Guess good ol uncky Poesidon is still upset that I stabbed him in the face for unspecified reasons oh so long ago (last Tuesday).

“Alright Mark ma boy” I told him holding my arms up to the sky, “guess we can have a quick play date.”

Slowly, a leather strap materialized on my right arm and a thunderous roar echoed out as dark clouds gathered above us.

Splitting through the black clouds a golden shield slammed into my arm and attached to the leather strap with a click.

I felt electricity flow out of my body and into the metal of my golden shield that was the size of my body, the aegis.

“My name’s Zee” I told Mark, adjusting aegis to be in front of me, “bastard of Zeus, and. . .”

I held my other hand towards the ground, palm opened, feeling the dirt beneath give way.

In a flash a black and gold two pronged spear emerged and pushed against my palm as I wrapped my fingers around it.

Casually, I pointed my bident at Mark to show him I was ready.

“Son of Hades.”

#Greek Mythology #classical mythology #Novel #fantasy #urban fantasy #original story #Persephone #Magic #demigods

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calumance · 4 years

Text

LA Devotee - Part XVIII

Warnings: some angst, some cussing, some fluff

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Emily gets some insanely good news, but good news always comes with a catch.

A/N: I don’t have much to say this time around, I just wanted to thank everyone who continues to read this story. It makes my heart happy and I love you all so, so much. ❤️ Feedback and requests are always welcomed (Want to be notified when I post new stuff? Let me know!)

Masterlist

Another week had passed, and I was growing more and more excited that Calum was coming home soon. Although I was excited, the stress of trying to figure out a time to see him had been weighing me down. I started my day just like I start every day, a shower and some coffee. As I was about to leave the house, I check my phone and find a text message from Calum waiting for me. “Good morning, darling. I hope you have a fantastic day. Xx Cal” The smile widens on my face and I slide my phone into my bag and head out to the car.

As I walked into the office, I had every plan of seeing what the next few weeks look like to see if there was a time I could go visit Calum. Even though he was going to be home in just a few weeks, I was going absolutely crazy and all I wanted to do is wrap my arms around him. I pulled my phone out of my bag and set it on my desk before putting my bag in the bottom drawer and closing it with my foot. As I sat down, I smiled at Mikayla who immediately started gushing about all of the wedding dress ideas she had. “You’ll have to show me at lunch.” She nodded, a large smile stretched across her face.

Just as I was getting into my work, my boss took a step out of her office and looked around. “Miss Williams, can we have a chat in my office?” Mikayla looked over the top of her computer at me and raised her eyebrows. I returned the look and nodded at my boss, and stood up. My feet carried me towards her office as I shifted my blazer. I passed through the doorway, and she instructed me to close the door. Mikayla and I met eyes again as I shut the door with a soft click. “Please, have a seat.” She pulled on her sweater and smiled. I sat in the chair directly in front of her desk and sat on my hands, feeling insanely nervous about what she was about to say to me. “Emily,” My heart raced. “I wanted to tell you that I really enjoy having you in this office. I think that you have really blossomed since you came here.” I licked my lips and smiled, nodding at her compliment. “There is a senior editor position open, and I would like to offer you the position.”

My eyes widened, and my jaw dropped. I was absolutely flattered, but there were plenty of people in this office who had more experience and more education than I had. “Wow, thank you. I would love to take the position, but aren’t there other people here in this office that deserve it before me?” My leg bounced and I let out a nervous chuckle.

“Nope,” She said sternly, a smirk pulling at the right side of her lips. “I want you in that position. So, take it or leave it.”

My eyebrows raised and I blinked a few times, still unsure that I deserved the position. My leg continued to bounce as I chewed on my bottom lip and then nodded, “Yeah, I’ll take it.”

“Wonderful, you’ll start on Monday.” She stood and held out her hand. I followed suit and put my hand in hers, giving it a gentle shake. She sat back down in her chair and looked at her computer, I took that as my cue to exit her office.

Mikayla looked at me as the door opened. My lips curled into my mouth as I hastily walked back to my desk, stopping at Mikayla’s first. She rounded her lips and looked into my eyes waiting for me to tell her what just happened. “I just got promoted, she gave me the senior editor position.” Mikayla started to squeal but I stopped her. “Wait until lunch and then we can both scream.” Mikayla nodded and cleared her throat. We both composed ourselves and continued our work.

At lunch, we hastily made our way to the parking garage and hopped into her car, closing the doors before we both let out long, loud squeals. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you got promoted! I’m getting married, and you got promoted. Is everything in the world finally falling into place?” She sat back and pulled her phone out and started scrolling. “Here, there’s five tell me what you think.”

I took her phone from her fingers and started looking at the pictures. “I hope so. It’s about time I stopped getting shit on. Oh, I like this one!” I turned the phone towards her to show her the one I stopped on.

“That’s my favorite too!” She took her phone back and smiled at it. “We should go out and celebrate this weekend. When are you going to tell Calum?” Her eyes locked back onto my face and I raised my eyebrows.

“I wanted us to have our moment before I called him. I’m afraid with a new position I’m going to lose all my vacation time and I won’t be able to go visit him.” I ran my hand over my forehead and shrugged. “Should I call him now?” Mikayla nodded and grabbed my phone from my bag and tapped on Calum’s name.

Mikayla and I looked at each other as the phone rang, but finally he answered. “Hey, sunshine, didn’t think I’d hear from you this early. How’s your day going?”

Mikayla silently clapped her hands together. “It’s going great actually, I was promoted to senior editor. I start the new position on Monday.” I raised my eyebrows and waited for him to respond.

“Oh, Emily, that’s amazing! Congratulations! Maybe we can celebrate tonight after the show? I’ll call you around eight your time. I have to get going to an interview, but I can’t wait to celebrate with you tonight.” I could hear the smile in his voice and something in my stomach burned with desire. Desire that made me want to leave work now and go home.

The day moved slowly after my phone call with Calum, but finally I was on my way home. As I cooked myself dinner, I danced to some music and made sure Duke was just as happy as I was. As I sat down for dinner, I set his food bowl next to me so he could eat with to me. As he dived into his food, I scratched the top of his head, his tail wagging in response.

After dinner, Duke and I curled on the couch and cuddled until I looked at the time and grabbed my phone, running to the bedroom, closing the door to block Duke from coming in. I set my phone on the bed and changed out of my clothes and into just one of Calum’s t-shirts, hanging low enough that my body was covered. Finally, the Face Time call came through. My finger slid across the screen and I saw Calum sitting in his hotel room, a glass of champagne in his hands. He was wearing a pair of shorts, but no shirt. “You’re wearing my shirt.” He said while smiling.

I looked down at myself and smiled. “Yeah, not wearing much else though.” I bit my bottom lip as his cheeks flushed.

“I wanted to make a toast to your promotion.” He smiled, holding up his champagne glass. His eyes sparkling in the low light in his hotel room.

My stomach fluttered, “I don’t have a drink. Hold on.” He nodded, and I pulled his shirt down and ran toward the kitchen. I slid on the hardwood as I reached the fridge and grabbed the first drink I could find. My hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle and twisted off the cap as I ran back to the bedroom. I plopped back down in front of my phone and held up my drink. “Okay, sorry.” I exhaled, trying to hide how out of breath I was from running twenty feet.

Calum smiled and held his glass up. “Here’s to you, my love. I am so, so proud of you. You are one hell of a woman.” He reached his glass towards the camera, and I mirrored his actions. He took a drink from his champagne and I took a drink from my beer. He set his glass down and raised his eyebrows. “So, back to what you’re wearing, or not wearing.” A smile stretched across my face as I set my drink down and winked at him.

We finished celebrating and Calum gulped and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. I rolled onto my side and placed my hands under my head. “Calum?” He raised his eyebrows and hummed. “I’m afraid that my promotion is going to affect if I can come visit you or not.”

He adjusted where he was laying and looked into the camera. “I know, I had a feeling. It’s okay, I’ll be home in just a couple weeks. I can’t wait to see you, sunshine, I miss you so damn much.”

My eyes fluttered shut as sleep started to take over, “I miss you too.” Before I could hear what or even if Calum responded, I was fast asleep.

Monday came around quicker than I expected it too. I curled my hair and dressed myself in a white and navy striped pencil skirt, a white blouse, a navy blazer and brown high heels. As I walked into the office, my boss greeted me at the door. She lead me to an office and opened the door, “This is your new office. Feel free to take some time and move all of the stuff from your desk to in here. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to walk you through a normal day as a senior editor.” She smiled and lowered her head before exiting the room. I stood in the center of the room and let out a excited squeal.

It took me only a little bit to clear my desk and organize everything in my new office. Once everything was set up, I recorded a video I would send to Calum to show him my new space. Soon, my boss came back into the office and started walking me through what the job entails. I followed her around the office like a lost puppy until she let me go into my office and set me off to get to work.

The new position kept me busy enough that I didn’t have much time to think about how much I missed Calum. The only time I really thought about how much I wanted him home was when we Face Timed before we both went to bed. Even though we talked every night, we were both insanely busy, resulting in one or both of us falling asleep before we could get a chance to really spend time with each other. We both were counting the days until we could lay in each other’s arms again. We finally made to five days, today was Thursday and he lands on Monday evening. The plan is for him to be home by the time I get off work. I smiled to myself as I thought about running into his arms and pressing a harsh kiss to his lips.

My thoughts were interrupted by my boss knocking on my door and sticking her head inside the door. “Do you have a moment to chat with me in my office?” I stopped what I was doing and nodded. She dipped out of the door and I followed her, smoothing down my pants. I sat in the chair across from her desk and crossed my hands in my lap. “So, there is a conference in New York next week that all of the magazines in the nation are sending editors to. You’ve heard about the conference, right?” I nodded, it had been the talk of the office for the past month. Everyone kept mumbling about who they thought was going to get sent. Suddenly my heart started to race. “Myself and my bosses have decided to send you to the conference. Your flight leaves on Monday morning.”

My heart shattered. The noise must’ve been loud enough for everyone in the office to hear because I suddenly felt everyone’s eyes glued to me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to think of the words. “This is such an incredible honor, but Cal – my boyfriend – comes home next week and he’s only home for a week.”

She nodded and leaned forward, placing her elbows on her desk. “Emily, you don’t have to go, however, I think this will be a great way for you to expand your career. Going to this conference will help you get into positions higher than mine. I understand that your boyfriend travels for work, but I think you should go to this conference.” She removed her glasses from her face and looked at me without saying a word.

I looked down at my fingers and my leg bounced. “Can I give you an answer by the end of the day?” She nodded once and I stood up and walked out of her office and back to mine, shutting the door behind me. I paced back and forth, spinning my phone in my hands. Somehow, I mustered up the courage to Face Time him. He answered, sitting on a couch with Luke sitting incredibly close to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you while you were in the middle of something.”

He shook his head and moved his phone out to show that there was an entire couch open for Luke to sit on, but Luke continues to sit on top of Calum. Luke waves at the phone and smiles. I wave back and Calum pulls his phone back closer to his face. “What’s going on, gorgeous?”

I took a breath, holding it in as I sat in the chair in front of my desk. My chest lowered as I slowly let out the breath. “Work wants to send me to a conference in New York that all magazines in the nation send their editors to. It’s a really great opportunity for my career and it’s probably the most honorable thing that I could be invited to.” Calum’s face lit up, but before he could get too excited, I continued. “The conference is next week. I’d leave on Monday morning.” I ran my knuckles under my chin as I watched for his reaction.

His smile dropped, and he pulled away from Luke and walked into a more private area. He ran his hand down his cheek as he continued to think about his words. “If it’s good for your career you should go.” His voice was low and even though he was telling me to go, something in my chest started to ache.

“Calum, we haven’t seen each other in two months. If I go to this conference then we might not see each other for another month or two.” The tears welled up in my eyes. My heart feeling so conflicted.

He let out a sigh and ran his hand along his forehead. “This wouldn’t be that big of an issue if you had made more of an effort to come and see me, Emily.” He dropped his hand and looked away from his phone.

My eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry, how is this my fault? Every time I tried to ask you when would be the best time to come visit, you blew me off. We never once spent a second talking about when I could come see you.” My heart broke even more, and the tears started escaping.

“Are you kidding me? You never tried to ask when I could get you a plane ticket. Emily, you had eight weekends that you could’ve flown out to see me, but you decided not to.” He looked back at the camera, his eyes suddenly becoming blood shot.

“Maybe because I don’t think three days is enough, Calum.” I wiped a tear off my cheek so he didn’t see that I was crying.

His jaw flexed and he shook his head. “Go to the conference. I guess we’ll find time to enjoy our relationship in a few months. Have a good rest of your day, Emily.” The call ended and it took everything in me to not throw my phone across my office and out the window.

My phone clunked as it landed on my desk and I pushed myself from the chair. The door opened fast enough to blow my hair off my shoulders. I stomped towards my bosses office, wiping the tears off my face. She looked at me over the top of her glasses as I took my last steps into her office. “Yes, I’ll go. Can’t wait to find out more.” She nodded with a smile, then returned to her work. I turned on my toes and made eye contact with Mikayla. I motioned for her to follow me and she did. She closed the door behind her and I wrapped my arms around her crying into her shoulder.

She sat in front of my desk, my head in my hands, my elbows resting on the desk. She took a breath, “Emily, I think this conference is going to be great for your career. I don’t think Calum is upset that you’re going, I think he’s upset that you guys literally had a month of being in a relationship before he left, and now you’re leaving. It hasn’t been a long relationship, but two-thirds of your relationship has been spent apart.” I finally lifted my head and looked at Mikayla, tears still sitting on the brim of my eyes. “I think he’s just worried that it’s going to end up being that ninety percent of your relationship is spent apart. In short, he misses the fuck out of you, and it’s driving him insane.”

Of course all of her words meant well, but my brain is destructive. “Maybe we weren’t meant to be together. We both have careers that we care very much for. Maybe our paths were only meant to cross for only a moment. Maybe our lives are just moving differently.”

For a moment I thought that Mikayla was standing so she could slap me. Instead she leans her hands on my desk and stares into my eyes. “You’re fucking stupid if that’s what you think, I’m sorry. So, it’s rough right now, that does not mean it’s over. Emily, you are so self-destructive, let yourself be happy for once.” She shakes her head and walks out of my office, shutting my door behind her.

Sunday came insanely fast, and the only times Calum and I ever talked were to say good morning and goodnight. The pet names had stopped, and everything was short. I spent all day Sunday running errands and cleaning the house, making sure the house was perfect for his arrival. As the night neared an end, I finished packing everything, placing my suitcases by the front door. Duke padded his way up to me and I sat on the ground in front of him, grabbing his face and gently rubbing my face against his. “I hope you keep your pops good company, just like you kept me good company. Love him extra hard for me, okay?” He licked my face in response. As he trotted away, I stood from the ground and shut off the lights, making my way to the bedroom.

************

Tag list: @notinthesameguey @viiirg0 @thinkofmehlgh @another-lonely-heart @limer-encia @itsmytimetoodream @babyoria @treatallwithkindness

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missbrightsky · 4 years

Text

Summertime and Swords

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2: Rhysand

Summertime in Velaris was hot. Sweltering, humid, no relief to be found, hot.

This made it dangerous for the citizens of the city. It was common for our station to be called out on heat exhaustion emergencies. Construction workers, pool patrons, the elderly in their various homes, everyone was subject to the heat of the day.

I woke up ready for more calls to come through until my chief called me into his office.

Today it seemed, I had drawn the short straw and would be doing fire extinguisher inspections at an apartment building at the edge of town. I didn’t mind it too much if it meant that I wouldn’t have to run around answering calls. He gave me a clipboard with the checklist and sent me on my way with an address.

Even though it was just past eight in the morning, the sun was already forcing its heat into the air and ground, turning whatever dew gather overnight into steam. My hair started to curl and dampen in the humidity, sweat beaded on my forehead. I hustled to the subway system, hoping that it would be cool enough there to stave off the oncoming heat.

Two train rides and another sweaty walk later, I was standing outside of the building, double-checking the address. It looked to be about 10 stories high and its once white bricks were stained grey and black from the decades of city pollution. I pressed the button that indicated the landlord for the building and waited. And waited. And waited. I pressed it again, vaguely hoping that he didn’t answer, and I could go get myself a bubble tea from the shop I saw a few blocks away.

Then, through the crackling speakers came a gruff, slightly slurred voice. “Whaddaya want?”

“Hi, sir, I’m here to do the fire extinguisher inspections?” I said bringing out my most polite voice.

The man grumbled something that didn’t make it through the mic and a buzzer sounded, unlocking the door for me.

I pushed past the outer iron door and the interior door to find myself in a dimly lit hallway mostly filled by what I can only describe as a glob of a man. His white wife-beater was stained yellow and brown like he hardly washed it (or changed out of it). Funnily enough, the colors matched his teeth.

“Here’s the apart-burp-ments that need to be inspected,” he shoved a scrap of paper my way, the scrawl just legible.

I scanned the list, looks like only a dozen or so needed to be done. I flinched back as something silver flew at me, catching me in the shoulder and sliding into my hands.

“There are the keys, everyone is at work, no need to knock,” and then fixing me with a surprisingly intense, bloodshot stare, “Hurry up and get ‘em done, you’re cutting into my TV time.” How me taking the keys so he didn't have to accompany me cut into his TV time, I didn’t know but also didn’t argue with him as I set off to find the first apartment.

The first few were easy, the fire extinguishers either in plain sight or under the sink. I even got to pet a friendly cat which was curious as to what I was doing in their home.

The fifth one on my list changed my life forever.

Unlocking the door, I stepped into an apartment that was hot. Cutting a glance over to the window unit, I saw that it was off. Maybe the tenant was trying to save on electric while they were at work.

The second thing I noticed was that any free space in the place was taken up by paintings or painting supplies. Large and small, bright and dark, there were pieces everywhere. The few closest to me were of the big park in the middle of the city. I recognized the waterfall that I visited on my days off, it lovingly rendered by a careful hand.

Gorgeous paintings aside, I was resolved to get this one done as fast as possible because the heat in here was starting to get unbearable. Turning, I immediately banged into a table that I didn't see, sending some brushes clattering over each other. Whoops. I scooped them up and placed them in their original place before turning to the kitchen to find the fire extinguisher.

That’s when my life went sideways.

Literally.

One moment I was on my feet and the next I was on the ground with a bruise forming on my side and a battle cry echoing in my ears. Or maybe that was my own scream.

Twisting to see what the fuck just hit me, I froze, every thought in my head eddying out.

A woman just hit me.

A naked woman with wide blue eyes and a sword just hit me and knocked me on my ass.

“Fuck.” We both said.

She sounded absolutely mortified. At what, I didn’t know because she was beautiful. Her body was lithe but not skinny. Curves in all the right places but it was her face that was the true masterpiece.

Graceful cheekbones with adorable freckles sprinkled across. Blue eyes that could have been gray were stretched wide open along with a full mouth that was still parted in horror.

Oh, maybe she was mortified because she had just attacked someone with a sword while naked. And I was staring like a creep.

That mouth opened and closed, absolutely lost for words.

“Your landlord let me in so I could inspect your fire extinguisher.” Really? That’s the first thing you say? Not ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘holy shit you’re beautiful’ or LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE?????

“Ah,” was all she said in response before disappearing back into what was probably her bedroom.

I almost blurted ‘come back’ but bit down on my tongue to keep the words from escaping. This woman just went through a traumatic experience and didn’t need me acting like a pervert.

Shock still made my limbs numb. Walking into a burning building? No problem. Rescuing a cat from a tree? Easy. Being knocked to the ground by a gorgeous woman with a sword? My inner weeb took control of my body and rendered me useless.

Either seconds or hours later, I still hadn’t moved from the ground when she reappeared, a pale blue robe now covering her and sword nowhere to be seen.

“Sorry about that, my landlord failed to inform me that they would be doing inspections,” gods even her voice was—stop that!

“I’m sorry,” came out as an accidental whisper, so I tried again louder with, “He told me that no one was home. I should have knocked.” No shit, Sherlock.

The woman grimaced, her lovely mouth turning down. “Yeah, he does that sometimes.”

The words exchanged finally shook the rest of my body from its state of shock and I was finally able to stand up. I watched as she scanned my body, reading the look on her face that seemed to be a mixture of appreciation and disbelief.

I blushed at the frank assessment, those blue eyes stripping me down to my core, and turned away. I lifted my hand and scratched the back of my neck. A nervous tick my mother was never able to stop.

“At least take me to dinner first,” I mumbled nearly under my breath, unable to stop the teasing words in hope to lighten the situation.

“Um, sorry?”

Probably for the best she didn’t actually hear me say that. “Where do you keep your fire extinguisher?” That was much safer territory.

“Oh, under the sink,” she led me to her kitchen and bent over to open up the door. My eyes immediately dropped to where the hem of her robe started to rise up before I forced myself to look away and retrieve the clipboard I had dropped. She’s already been through enough and doesn’t need you staring at her.

I knelt down and took out the fire extinguisher, letting the familiar motions of inspecting it calm my mind and hands.

Tick tick tick my pen made checkmarks down the list. Everything was in order for her’s, so I finished and stood up.

She met my eyes again and held my gaze.

They were spectacular. Not just blue, but the gray I saw before were flecks of it with a tiny hint of green near the pupil. Incredible.

She looked away before I did. I was done and I should have left but something held me there.

“Um, you have a good swing,” trying again to lighten the mood. She was able to put me on my ass with it.

“What? For a girl?” she nearly snapped out. Shit.

“Oh! Uh, no-no,” I stuttered, cursing myself for the stupid comment. “Just like, in general.” I scratched the back of my neck again. Failed again at trying to be normal.

“Oh,” was all she said, still looking away.

“I’m Rhysand, by the way,” might as well try to be friendly then.

“Feyre. I’m sorry again for… before,” looks like we both were struggling with normalcy but after what happened that was to be expected, I guess.

“For bringing me down with spectacular sword moves?”

She jumped, “Um, yeah.”

“Well, I promise not to tell anyone if you promise not to tell the others at the station, they’d never let me live it down.” Truth. Cas and Az would laugh at me all day and into the night and then bring it up every day after.

She snapped her head to look at me, her gaze searching. After a moment, a small grin twisted her mouth into something pretty, “I think I can promise that.”

I offered a smile of my own, and then watched her eyes flicker to my mouth and then away. Interesting.

“Well, I have a few more inspections to do, but I doubt they’ll be as exciting as this one.”

She laughed at that, looking surprised as the chuckle slipped out. It sent me laughing as well.

“No, they probably won’t be,” humor tingeing her voice finally.

Something not of my own volition had me pulling my card from my pocket and saying, “If you ever have any problems with your fire extinguisher, give me a call. And if you don’t…” my eyes sweeping over her body again, praying that I had read her looks from earlier right, “Give me a call anyways.”

She took the card, our fingers brushing and sending tingles up my arm.

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

I gave her an unrestrained smile and was glad to see that she returned the same.

#acotar #feysand #feyre #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #sarah j maas

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txemrn · 4 years

Text

Catalyst

a Prequel to the Nanny Affair

Chapter 2: Covalence

Need to catch up? Chapter 1: Acquiesce

Rating: 18+ (Mature Audiences only)

Word count: 3255(+/-)

Warning: language; sexually suggestive language; mention of physical abuse, drug abuse, assault and adoption

"Alright, Pine Shadow family, here are your finalists!" Principal Larson's voice booms over the gym speakers. One would think he's announcing a night of rough and rumble with the WWE rather than announcing the award winners for a middle school science fair. Regardless, his enthusiasm is contagious much to the science departments delight. "Let's give them a big Wildcat round of applause for all of their hard work!"

As the audience abrupts into cheers, there she sits, melting into her chair as her knees bounce feverishly in fear. Her French-braided hair accompanies a denim headband, keeping the stray strands of brilliant wheat out of her gray eyes. Against her mother's disgust, she picks at the rubberbands attached to the hardware in her mouth. In her young 12-year-old mind, the audience seems to be doubling--no, tripling in size.

She worries if her hard work will payoff with a shiny blue ribbon--if any ribbon at all. Mrs. Ferguson and Coach Kincaid gave her nods of approval when she created elemental silver from the glucose mixture and Tollen's reagent-- who wouldn't be impressed with a 6th grader with an advanced passion for chemistry? But still, she worries.

"And," the principal continues, "our first place winner is--" The anticipation thickens the air as every movement seems to propel through space in slow motion. Like a dramatic montage of Rudy sacking the Georgia Tech quarterback to clutch the W for Notre Dame, or an injured Danny LaRusso crane-kicking Johnny Lawrence to become the All-Valley Karate Champion: this was her field; this was her stadium; this was her Hail Mary. All of the hours of research at the library; all of the frantic trips to the hobby store; the redundant presentation practices; the late evenings followed by the early mornings accompanied with the inevitable break downs. It all came down to this.

"Our first place winner is… Brynn Schuyler!" The applause is defeaning as time seems to stop. Did she hear the principal correctly? The name sounded very familiar--like her own name!

"Brynn Schuyler!" Did she really just win the coveted first place ribbon at the science fair? She froze, her tiny little body unable to process the abundance of emotion she was encountering all at once.

"Where is Brynn?" Outside of being gifted her hamster and her mom letting her wear clear lipgloss, this is the most incredible day of her life--

She feels a tap on her shoulder. "Ma'am?" The veiled-look from her eyes washes away; the clouds around her head vanish. Reality hits. "Are you Brynn Schuyler?" She feels the warmth of rose flood over her fair complexion as the barista interrupts her morning ritual: reminiscing.

"Uh--yes," as she brushes her fingers over her brow, as if to create a shield to her embarrassment.

Smooth. Real smooth, Brynn.

She quickly brightens, extending her hands, "I'm sorry. That's--"

"Iced venti white mocha latte with a blueberry muffin… and two mini cinnamon maple scones?"

I don't know what would be nicer: reading out my order for everyone to hear or calling me a 'fatass'.

"--me. Yes, thank you," she whispers with gnashed teeth behind a courtesy grin. As she slithers back down into her seat at the local coffee house, Brynn hides the pastries in her backpack, keeping them well within her reach as she continues to work: scouring the wanted ads.

Next Tuesday makes four months of no job and no steady income. She has been on seven 'promising' interviews with no avail. She is able to keep her bill collector's away with her savings account, but even that was beginning to dwindle like her existence.

Brynn is a scientists, a chemist to be exact--or at least she was. Her love for science led her from the suburbs of 'the City of Brotherly Love' to the University of Massachusetts at Amherst where she studied education. Her dream was to impose the wonders of science on young minds as they experienced the physical world around them. But, after her personal observation of the devastation of Alzheimer's disease with her grandmother, she took an unexpected internship with the Massachusetts's Alzheimer's Disease Research Center. She realized she didn't want to just teach science; she wanted to do science. One Master's degree in Chemistry later, she was well on way to making a real difference in the world. Or so she thought.

'Benson's BBQ: Host needed'--maybe. 'Browning Steel: Welder with experience'--no. 'Bus Depot: driver wanted, great benefits'--no. 'Cutshall Clearance Store--stalker needed'-- surely they don't mean 'stalker', but they may need an ad editor.

She had scored the chance of a lifetime when she was hired on as one of the first female level I Chemists at the Lincoln Laboratory at MIT. She quickly graduated from fetching coffee, dry cleaning and business lunches for her superiors--also known as a research assistance--to finally being a project manager of her very own, very first multi-million dollar research study. But after twenty-months with no success, the funding was pulled on the project, the wind knocked out of her sails. The punches didn't stop there: her team of men threw her under the metaphorical bus and it was 'off with her head,' her moment of glory now over. She often feels foolish that she thought she could actually make a difference in the world; even worse, she felt agonizing guilt for being a woman that couldn't hang in a man's world, feeling as if she was responsible for a sudden shift backwards in equality.

'Danny's Barber Shop: receptionist'--maybe. 'Danny's Cake Decorating: baker'--no. 'Danny's XXX videos: call for details'-- uh, Mr. Danny has his dick in one too many pies.

Bzzt.

Saved by the text.

She giggles to herself in seeing she has a message from her roommate Jenny. Knowing that this is about to become a full-on text conversation, probably more suitable for an actual phone call, Brynn folds up her marked-up paper, and stretches her legs. She grabs her second scone, placing it into her mouth to hold as she piles her greasy hair into messy bun on top of her head, secured with a pen.

She swipes across her spider-cracked screen; the message: 'Turn around whore! ;-P'

"Brynny!" Brynn ducks as if she is about to be hit. "I thought that was your Corolla parked outside!"

"Jenny! You scared me!" She exhales loudly. "What are you doing awake? It's--" Brynn looks at her phone, "holy shit! Is it really almost noon?" She has no place to be; she just hates the feeling of time slipping by unnoticed, especially with her not being an active participant in life these days.

"I'm sorry, girl--"as she sits her coffee cup down at Brynn's commandeered table, "And you're right--I should probably still be asleep." She stifles a yawn, "I had a very busy night--"

"At the bar?" Brynn raises an eyebrow, "Or with Xavier?" her lips curling into a knowing grin.

Xavier is the first intact penis Jenny had ever been with--and she was loving it. It had been the topic of conversation during their 3AM chats this week, but when Jenny didn't come home from her shift at the bar last night, Brynn automatically knew Jenny must be exploring the new uncharted territory at his place.

"I didn't--I mean--" Jenny let's out a scoff. "Fine. Both."

A giddy Brynn scoots her chair closer. "Ooooo do tell."

"I--" Jenny pauses for dramatic effect, "happen to have a very--"

"Insatiable appetite? Ferocious needs?" Brynn giggles as she wraps her delicate fingers around her straw, gradually sliding them up and down its length.

Jenny clears her throat, straightening out her overall posture. "I was going to say, 'healthy sex life,' but since you have to be a thirsty bitch about it--" she leans in closely to Brynn, grabbing the remains of her scone. She flanges her lips around the breakfast pastry, fluttering her eyes closed, finally letting out a soft moan when she takes a nibble. "Oh honey, he was ferocious." She draws a sip from her hot coffee before lowering her voice. "And he satiated my appetite very… very… well."

Brynn jokingly sticks her fingers in her ears, pretending to be disgusted, yet squealing in excitement. Jenny playfully hits her arm as the two women uncontrollably giggle as they continue to enjoy each other's company.

Jenny Browder and Brynn Schuyler were a very unlikely pair. They met in undergrad in a entry-level sociology course during their first semester freshmen year. Of the two, Brynn was mature and focused, especially when it came to her education. Often times, she had to be the voice of reason with a newly uncaged and untamed Jenny who was more concerned with socializing and drinking.

Jenny was brought up in a strict, Fundamentalist household, the kind that saw dancing and playing cards as evil. She somehow convinced her parents that God was calling her to attend UMass after a life-long career of being homeschooled. It was 'Goodbye, long dresses,' and, 'Hello, Bombshell Bra.'

She never returned back home. Even when she failed out after Sophomore year, she packed up her guitar and headed for Nashville to become a star. The two friends had quickly turned back into strangers.

Brynn will never forget they day Jenny stumbled back into her life. In the midst of grad school, Brynn had volunteered at a free/low-cost community health clinic offered to lower-socioeconomic families. Jenny was waiting outside the facility, chain-smoking her last four cigarettes. Brynn was unloading testing equipment when she recognized a very familiar purple butterfly tattoo.

"Jenny?" Hearing her name, she instantly responded. She looked so different--older even, weathered. Her once-lustrous auburn hair looked as if it hadn't seen a brush--or soap, for that matter-- in weeks. Her eyes had lost their glow, surrounded by gray bags. Even though she kept her arms crossed in an attempt to hide it, her stretched-tight shirt boasted a growing bump. But, perhaps the most bothersome was the severely picked scabs, scratches, and bruises, littering her entire body.

They made cordial small talk until Greg, her alcoholic and abusive fiancé, honked his horn from his rusty Ford Ranger, notifying Jenny it was time to leave. Before she could run out on her again, Brynn quickly dug a pen and Post-It pad from her white coat, and wrote down her cell number. Truth be told, she never expected her to call.

Two o'clock in the morning about 3 months later, Jenny called. In his usual anger fueled by Wild Turkey, Greg had beaten her and forced himself on her until he passed out from the exhaustion of his stuper. But, something was different this night; something snapped in Jenny's brain. Enough. Her body was frail and bleeding; but her spirit was kindled, coming alive with courage, telling her she was not broken, telling her to fight. Fueled with what could easily be described as courage--or insanity--she stole $12 from his wallet and packed an old duffle bag with a change of clothes and a water-stained Post-It note.

At a gas station outside of Boston, Brynn picked up a very pregnant Jenny. They sat in the darkness, the cabin filled with silence and stillness; but the conversation was loud and clear: Jenny was terrified. Terrified to talk, terrified to act, terrified of her past and terrified to even imagine a future. Brynn reached over and grabbed Jenny's hand as they both quietly sobbed. They weren't freshmen anymore.

All of a sudden in the quietness of the car amongst all of the chaos, a baby began to dance. Waves and ripples fluttered across Jenny's abdomen; flips and tumbles quickly ensued, becoming stronger and stronger. They took her breath away for a moment, but quickly returned in the form of tiny giggles. Brynn's eyes sparkle with wonder as she gently places her hand on her friend's belly, gently rubbing circles with her thumb and fingers. Jenny places both her hands on Brynn's, guiding her around her bump, occasionally pressing deeply until finally they are greeted with a kick.

For the first time in a long time, Jenny wasn't terrified. Her head wasn't pounding from an incessant ache, a craving for just one more hit. Her body was breathing, healing in between the throws. For the first time in a long time, Jenny had clarity. And she was ready to talk.

Jenny got the necessary help she needed. She spent time at a battered women's shelter where she was safe and protected; she was able to receive prenatal care and some deeply therapeutic counseling. She even painfully detoxed from her methamphetamine addiction. But her biggest victory: she was beginning to forgive herself, allowing herself to heal.

Six weeks later, a very round and overdue Jenny gave birth to a beautiful red-headed, 9 pound 8 ounce boy. Her heart swelled with love--a love she had never experienced before--as they placed him right on her bare chest. Overcome with joy and tears, the new mom kept him safe and sound, snuggled in a blue receiving blanket in her healing arms. She had already missed so much--she didn't want to miss another moment: she wanted to remember how his chunky cheeks felt against her lips as she kissed him. She wanted to remember the gentle smell he had after his first bath. She wanted to remember that tiny, fierce grip around her finger, a grip that would extend past her finger and right around her heart. A grip that would never let go, even well-after she laid him into his new mother's arms.

Jenny Browder is the strongest woman Brynn knows--and probably will every know. Even while she was still rummaging through the train-wreck that was her former life, Jenny had the selfless spirit of a saint and the bravery of the finest medieval warrior. She had nothing of value to her name except for her battered heart; but being the mother of all mother's, she gave her last possession away. She knew that in order to give her son the world, she had to place him in a new world.

Jenny celebrated five years of sobriety last month, and has empowered many women throughout the New England area with her story, speaking at meetings and volunteering part-time at a crisis center. She reconnected with her cousin Sean and his husband Charlie a few years back; feeling a pull to be near family, she moved to Newark, a few blocks away from the happy couple. She now has a home--an apartment--of her own, a car, and a steady income, bartending at a local, lively bar called Annex. As an added benefit, she also gets to perform twice a month with the house band. Going back to school might even be in her future; but for now, she is happy to be living life again--even if that meant hosting a squatter on her couch in the form of her best friend.

"Any luck on the job front?"

Brynn blows a raspberry with pressed lips in her exacerbation. "Well, today's options include wearing daisy duke's at a BBQ joint, or becoming a baker--possible porn star--with a man named Danny--"

Jenny laughs, "Ewww, gross. Do I even want to--"

Brynn waves her hand in front of her face, erasing the air of the horrid idea, even if it was a joke.

"Well, the perfect job is out there."

Yeah, yeah, yeah…

Brynn sighs, "Oh, Jen, you have to say that--"

Before she can hang her head down, Jenny interrupts the pity party, grabbing the remains of massacred muffin from Brynn's hand. "No, I don't. And believe me--" She stares warmly into Brynn's stormy eyes, "You are a catch. You are one in a million--"

"Are we still talking about jobs, or--"

"The perfect job is out there for you--trust me! We are one day closer to it." Not missing a beat, "Speaking of which--" Jenny rocks back and forth in excitement as her heart-shaped lips spread into a smile.

Oh, God…

"What are you doing tonight?" The words almost slur together like a waterfall crashing out of her mouth.

Don't invite me out. Don't invite me out.

"I think I'm gonna--you know--stay in, order out. Look for more jobs--"

"And feel sorry for yourself?"

Damnit, she's good.

Brynn sighs deeply as she lays her head down on her crossed arms.

"Well, it's a good thing we're not going out. You are just--" she lies, "accompanying me to work--"

"Jenny!"

"Brynny," Jenny fires back as both women compete in a staring--moreso glaring contest. She gives in first to the silly gesture, her look warming with affection. "Look, I-I know things have been have sucked recently--"

That's an understatement.

"You need this. It's time to join the world again. You can't just stay cooped up in the apartment all the time--"

"Um," Brynn clears her throat. "I do believe I am in a coffee shop right now." She smirks while delicately fanning her arms out in the air, as if she was showcasing a brand new car on a game show.

"C'mon, girl," Jenny whines, "You know what I mean. Just come up to the bar. Sit and talk with me. Keep me company. Meet some of my regulars. You will feel so much better about yourself--"

"You know I have nothing to wear."

12 pounds, fucking 12 pounds, and my entire wardrobe seems to have shrunk overnight.

"We'll figure something out--I promise! C'mon!" Jenny quickly bounds to the door with a sluggish Brynn in tow. "Besides," Jenny whirls around to continue, "You have a lot of miles left in this thing--" spanking Brynn's butt. Reflexively, Brynn immediately shields her pained bottom, her mouth gaping open. Jenny continues. "I've gotch'ya with shots all night. At least come window shop--it's Thursday night, which means the corporate hotties are shopping for some young ass--"

"Oh, yes. Because a one-night-stand and a raging case of chlamydia will cure my problems--"

"Hey, a shot in the ass, and you're good as new," Jenny jokes, making her apprehensive bestie crack a smile. "That's why I said, 'window shop.' Plus they're rich and love flaunting that they are rich. So--" Jenny shrugs her shoulders, "More free drinks for you!"

Brynn folds her arms across her chest, averting her gaze into the bustling traffic. She starts chewing on the sides of her mouth while letting out a long-winded sigh, clearly uncomfortable with the whole idea. The fact is she was embarrassed of herself, of what had become of her life. There she was, merely existing, living on her best friend's couch with no prospects--job-wise and love-wise. And now that her former-slender body sprung unwelcomed curves, she feels more comfortable in hiding--from the world, and from herself.

Jenny steps back out of her black sedan. She pushes her sunglasses back into her short hair, the sunshine illuminating her scarlet layers. She places her hands on her hips as she silently challenges her friend to a battle of wills.

Brynn feels her piercing gaze, but she can't bring her self to match it. Jenny never pushes her to do anything--and now, all she wants to do is help pull her depressed house-guest out of her mucky misery. And Brynn knows that she will be grateful for the night, especially tomorrow morning. She just needed the little shove.

Brynn breaks their silence with a long, drawn out sigh. "Okay."

"Yes, yes, yes!" squeals Jenny. She slides back into the driver's seat, adjusts her sunglasses and bellows across the parking lot: "Get in loser! We're going shopping!"

Brynn could only hope it was for a new life.

@choicesficwriterscreations

#the nanny affair #choices #choices stories you play #choices tna #pixelberry #tna sofia #tna mc #tna jenny #tna sam #tna robin

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allthefilmsiveseenforfree · 3 years

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Magnolia

I don’t know much about Magnolia or Paul Thomas Anderson, but I do know that it takes someone paying me to get me to watch a 3-hr+ drama that doesn’t star Kate Winslet, Leonardo DiCaprio, and a really big boat. This is one of my mom’s favorite movies which is why she requested it for me to review. It’s packed with a balls-to-the-wall star-studded cast (Tom Cruise! Julianne Moore! Phillip Seymour Hoffman! John C. Reilly! William H. Macy! Felicity Huffman!) and I’m genuinely excited to see how they all fit together. Cause they have to all fit together in some coherent way, right? Well...

Do you remember in Sorry to Bother You when the Equisapiens came out and things just took like...a real turn? That’s kind of what this was like. Whereas StBY pushed a thought to its most extreme, but logical, conclusion, what Paul Thomas Anderson has done here feels like a magician doing a lot of impressive illusions - sawing a lady in half, making a motorcycle disappear, pulling smaller things out of bigger things - and then for his final trick, walking onstage amidst a grand plume of smoke, dropping his pants, taking a gigantic shit, and then saying, “You’ve been a great audience, thanks a lot and goodnight!” It’s not like you can say the experience was BAD. Everything up to the finale was a really great time! But when you’re left on a note that is that bafflingly odd, it kinda colors the way you’ll remember the whole thing.

Magnolia is the story of one long day in the life of 12 people living in Los Angeles who are all connected via an extensive web from acquaintances to married couples to parents and children to paid caregivers and beyond. It’s a day that has the same kind of ups and downs as any other day until it, well, turns into something else entirely. I’m not sure how else to explain it, but if you want to know more, spoilers will be spoiled below.

Some thoughts:

Patton Oswalt cameo! I am a massive fan and thought I knew his whole filmography and OMG how did I not know that he was in this!!

Ok, in spite of my skepticism this entire opening sequence about coincidence had me hooked IMMEDIATELY. Like, this is some damn good storytelling, if this were a novel, I would not be able to put it down - that pull, that’s what it feels like.

Am I the only person whose encyclopedic memory of character actors/roles gets distracted when they see someone from something that is wildly disparate compared to the role you’re currently watching? For example, I had to pause the movie and confirm via IMDB that I did just see Professor Sprout from HP scream “Shut the fuck up!” at her husband while brandishing a shotgun.

Would people really recognize a grown ass man from being a successful child game show contestant? I’ll tell you the answer, no they wouldn’t, because no one realizes that Peter Billingsley (aka Ralphie from A Christmas Story) is the head of the elf production line in Elf.

I knew this was a stacked cast, but holy SHIT this is a stacked cast. If I had $1 for every fantastic character actor I recognize in this, I would have at least $37, and these are people in the film who have maybe 2-3 lines each. It’s a deep bench is what I’m saying.

This makes me miss Phillip Seymour Hoffman so, so very much.

Watching PSH care for and be so compassionate and gentle with his hospice patient, Earl (Jason Robards),makes my heart ache terribly. All of the people who have been unable to perform this kindness, this type of compassionate care for their closest loved ones as they lie dying in isolation of Covid...it’s overwhelming.

OMG I’m counting 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 Very Good Dogs in the old man’s house!

I know Scientology is evil and he’s undeniably a complicated and morally grey person. I know all that. But goddamn I just love watching Tom Cruise COMMIT. Particularly when he commits to just absolute fucking sleazebag slimeballs. And boy oh boy is Frank Mackey an absolute fucking sleazebag slimeball.

Related - I know Frank looks like Tom Cruise, so he could get people to sleep with him no matter what, but I honestly feel like as a human being, this flesh suit is WAY more attractive balding and fat in Tropic Thunder than he is in this shiny brown shirt/leather vest/long hair combo.

I’m getting an uncomfortable vibe about these black characters being written by an artsy white dude, because I don’t know any young black kids who want to hang around with cops and offer up information about who committed a murder in their building. In fact, the way all of the black characters are treated in this film - as liars, criminals, the disingenuous “main stream media,” and thieves - feels rooted in some racist ass bullshit. We see a lot of nuance in our white characters, but even in a film that has, shockingly, more than one key black role, we don’t get that spectrum or nuance.

There is nothing I would love more than to learn that Frank Mackey is 1) gay 2) impotent or 3) both. He’s so disgustingly over-the-top misogynistic, it honestly feels like it should all be a complete act.

I confess I am on the edge of my seat trying to figure out how all these narrative threads tie together. It’s compelling as hell, even though half the time I don’t know why these people are having these long, meandering conversations. The pacing feels so deliberate, like a puzzle coming together. There’s real craftsmanship in how every scene is plotted to feel connected rather than manic or disjointed.

This pharmacist is being unprofessional as hell. Judgy McJudgerson, mind your fucking business, Julianne Moore’s father is dying! [ETA: ope, that’s embarrassing, Earl is actually her husband.]

NO THE DOG IS EATING THE PILLS OH NO VERY CONCERNED ABOUT THE DOG.

I think I knew this, but this soundtrack is fantastic. All Aimee Mann and Supertramp, and Jon Brion’s score is this thrumming, anxious thing full of strings that underscore all these nervous conversations, and then it shifts into these low, mournful horns when things start to take a turn and everyone is reaching their lowest points.

I love this interviewer (April Grace) who is taking Frank (Tom Cruise) to task. I think it’s particularly noteworthy that she is a black woman, because the kind of misogyny Frank peddles is rooted in white supremacy.

Stanley (Jeremy Blackman) is breaking my goddamn heart here. I think he and Phil (PSH) are my favorite characters.

Jim (John C Reilly) is the perfect example of how even a cop with the best intentions, with absolute kindness and love is in heart, is abusing his power and sexually harassing a woman he encountered in the line of duty, who is eager to appease him because she doesn’t want to be charged with a crime. This movie reads a LOT differently than it did in 1999.

I normally really love Julianne Moore, but she is a screeching mess in this. I can’t stop staring at her mouth and all the contortions it makes as she delivers every line in hysterics. She’s one of the few weak spots for me here.

Listening to Frank go on his whole diatribe about what society does to little boys to break them and victimize them HAS to be the source of where Keith Raniere got at least half of his NXIVM bullshit. Like, some of these points are word-for-word.

Also if Frank makes as much money as he seems to, there’s no way he would drive a shitty Saturn sedan.

It feels like the common thread of this movie is everyone is terrible and cheats on their spouses, and you should come clean when you get cancer so you can die peacefully. Weird moral, but ok.

If Jim is a cop, how does he not see that this woman he’s interested in (Melora Walters) is coked out of her mind?

Y’know for being a quiz kid, Donnie (William H. Macy) sure is kinda stupid.

I confess I’m not taking many notes throughout this because I’m just kind of sitting breathlessly still watching all these conversations unfold because I am on the edge of my fucking seat to find out how all this is gonna come together.

Secret MVP of this movie is the mom from A Christmas Story (Melinda Dillon) who is giving the performance of her goddamn life as Jimmy Gator’s wife.

Did I Cry? On the surface it appears ridiculous, but when Tom Cruise is having his breakdown at his dying father’s bedside, I admit, that really got me. If you’ve ever been faced with that kind of hysterical, I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening, it feels like the whole world is ending kind of shock and hurt and anger, that’s what the crying looks like.

Are those......frogs?? That landed on Jim’s car? It’s raining fucking frogs???? OK for those of you sensitive to frog harm, this movie is going to take a real hard left turn for you, because I swear that came out of NOWHERE.

Um.

What.

Pray tell.

The fuck.

The climax of this movie - is when literal frogs rain from the sky.

And we finally got resolution about the dog, and the dog DID die, and I’m pissed about it. It’s offscreen but still.

I'm sorry - I know I’m fixating. But how is it possible that I knew about all the characters performing a sing-along to Aimee Mann’s (excellent) song “Wise Up” but I did NOT know that the climax of the film involves literally thousands of frogs falling to their death from the sky? How is that something that escapes entry into the cultural zeitgeist? I’m with it, you guys. I have been Very Online for over a decade, and before that, I read a lot of Entertainment Weekly, and like it just seems that this is something that pop culture really should have told me.

I think the funniest moment of this movie might be the credits in which I discovered that not only is Luis Guzman playing a man named Luis, he’s actually playing himself. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop laughing about it. That was a 189-minute setup to one dumb punchline.

I think I loved this movie but I don’t quite know. The frog thing really threw me. What I’m taking away from it is that even when it doesn’t feel like it or seem like it, we are all connected to each other, always, in ways we can’t see or know. As Wife astutely pointed out, it’s reminiscent of the pandemic - we’re all in the same storm, but we each have our own boats and our own experiences within that storm. And it’s kind of nice to remember that right now, that connection still exists even when it feels so far away. Just not if you’re a frog I guess, cause they really got the short end of the stick here.

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

#121in2021 #magnolia #magnolia review #paul thomas anderson #tom cruise #julianne moore #phillip seymour hoffman #John C Reilly #william h macy #movie reviews #film reviews #patreon review

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

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Favored ones, Part 1. (Joel Miller x Fem!reader)

Description: When you spend every evening with someone who's deeply under your skin, a certain relationship can be developed. So it's crushing for Joel when Y/N suddenly disappears. But there's way more to the relationship that one would've guessed.

A/N: I love me a knife dad, sis.

A/N 2: This is just a chapter that will introduce you to the series and by the time, we will lay into deeper layers; as always, lmao. Also a subtle Far Cry 5 reference. Very subtle, you might not even catch it.

Warnings: Surviving the cordyceps apocalypse, enduring and surviving, an attack of some sort, will explain later.

Word count: 2.6 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme @xxgoldenhour @nemodoren

Also - if you would like to get tagged, don't be shy babe, just tell me.

If you like this story, please, more parts can be found here! :): H E R E

Around December 2038:

What was the worst part of the outbreak?

One would've thought it would be those who were infected by cordyceps. Some would answer that the worst thing which happened was the moment when the government broke completely down and when the society had crumbled to shit. Other people would tell you that the scariest thing for them to overcome was the cruelty of other people, them forming gangs, stealing from others, killing others to survive. Cannibalism, chaos.

But for one man it was the memories that took a hold on him. He was still scared of the nightmares that were crawling through his brain and subconsciousness. It was a dream that was playing in a fucking loop.

He saw his very own child, his little baby girl and angel shining through his darkness, his daughter Sarah being shot over and over and over again. It happened a thousand times till that very day and even if Joel found a way to endure and survive, he was still visiting the past in his mind.

It was over twenty-five years ago and yet he remembered every last detail of that night. Joel never felt such a painful loss in his entire life.

He found new people who he learned to love as the time passed, even if it wasn't exactly easiest to move on, he found new purposes and things he could do, but there was only one Sarah. No-one could replace her.

But to be fair, even if the twenty-five years of surviving took a hold on him, his physique and mental health, his experience was priceless. Nothing could be better than being taught by a professional.

So when he and Ellie settled down in Jackson County five years ago, he earned the people's trust when he decided to help them out with practical training. He was a master smuggler and survivor after all.

Sometimes, he got a bunch of kiddos in a class to teach them how to shoot with bow and gun in self-defense, other times they had a biology class and Joel taught them how to properly hunt an animal and how to cut its throat.

When Joel was in a really good mood, he was playing some old tunes on his guitar to them. But that happened truly rarely. Rather never than often.

As time passed, Joel could say who's in his group only to annoy him because he was such an old asshole and who is there to actually listen to what he was saying.

There were two small boys, twins, around the age of thirteen who loved fauna and flora. There was a sixteen-year-old girl who was willing to take guitar lessons. And then there was a girl, rather a woman, just a few years older than Ellie, who loved to learn how to shoot with a bow.

There was no other person so similar to Ellie, a girl who he practically adopted. That girl, her name was Y/N and she was born in Jackson County, was fiery and witty, quick with her responses and pretty tough cookie on the outside.

Even if Joel would not address the situation properly, the others began to notice - trips to the woods with Joel to hunt, practically everyday personal training from Joel to shoot with a bow. People began to spread the news quickly, it spread like a wildfire. The other day, there were jokes when you slowly approached your study session with the other ones from your town.

"Well if it ain't the miss I will get into your pants, huh?" - Jesse, your longtime friend joked while he prepared a saddle on his horse's back.

"Smelling nice, looking fucking fresh and I'm ready to take a hike." - You looked at your horse, a white one with one big black dot on near its left eye and you gave him a carrot so it could chew something. You called it Sadie and you knew that animal since you were a small kid. - "There was some hot water left yesterday around two a.m.. The best shower of the year."

"Hike on a horse?" - Dina, another of your friends, added and rose her eyebrows as she watched you. - "You still don't have a clue hikes work, do you?"

"Well, nobody said I'm the smartest, but in conclusion, fuck all of you." - You said with your head held high. Typical you - not having some valid arguments, so you cursed them out. - "Thanks for having a conversation with me, I very much appreciate it."

"Oh, snowy morning, three jackasses and some cursing in the air. I feel like I'm home." - The last member of your group joined. Ellie had her denim jacket with wool inside, her hair was in a bun and she looked like she hasn't slept an hour that night.

You whistled and sooner than you could stop yourself, your brain began to make connections and conclusions. Dina wasn't looking exactly fresh as well, so they have been together. Jesse was looking like a panther just ready to strike and kill his prey, so he and Dina had broken up once again.

Holy shit. If your calculations were right, it meant that...

"Don't tell me that you two are fucking." - You shouted with laughter, pointing at both of them. Ellie's eyes widened, Dina panicked and it all happened in the one exact same moment. - "Holy motherfucking shit, guys. I know that you're into licking holes, girls, but this was way sooner than we expected. You talked about it like... Yesterday. Nice. Good job!"

"Y/N, language." - You heard the voice of your mentor who you began to recognize amongst everyone else talking to you silently. It was Joel, looking like a bag of hot trash and smelling like local whiskey. - "We have children here. Alright?"

"I'm sorry. It just took me by a surprise. Not gonna happen again, I swear." - You looked down on your lumberjack shoes and smiled innocently.

It was hard to get under your skin - but Joel was deeply under it. He had grown to your brain over the last few months. It was one of the few adults you listened to willingly.

"Holy moly." - Jesse took advantage of that situation when Joel was out of the range to hear your bickering. - "Look how tamed she is for that old man. Never seen her like that. Wanna get a pat on the back of your head from Ellie's old man for being such a good girl?"

"Keep telling that to yourself, country boy." - You bickered back and hopped into the saddle, smoothing your horse's neckline. - "You never gonna get a single touch on all of this. This is VIP stuff." - You pointed at yourself and made your horse gallop to the gate.

The twins were sitting on one horse, ironically called the Rabbit, there was also a few other kids from the neighborhood. But today was different - while Joel took the other kids to teach them how to survive in the freezing cold temperatures while the trio will be guarding them against any wildlife or infected attack, you will hunt on your own.

The first time Joel had actually let that happen - you were out to near cities to find some things that may come handy in groups on daily, scheduled bases, but to hunt on your own in the toughest winter? Never happened to you before.

"So, just as we agreed?" - You looked down on Joel who's back were turn to you and smiled. You had a winter coat on, so your face with reddened cheeks and nose was barely visible. But even though, Joel came to your horse and caressed its side while looking you in the eyes.

"Yeah, just as we agreed. Stay in the area of the mapped roads and be back on time. No unexpected things today, I beg you." - Joel spoke silently, which made you smile wider.

"How many times we've been into the woods, big guy? I know those places like the back of my hand. I will be okay and I will behave well, I promise." - You winked at him and when nobody was paying attention, the tips of your fingers subtly brushed against his hand. It was just a second, small moment, almost invisible to most of the people around you.

You secretly lived for that - the big secret you held, the anticipation about what will happen when you'll be at home that night tickling every nerve in your body, the danger of anybody finding out.

But you just looked in front of your horse as Joel stepped further away.

"I would say you behave. Safety first. You see something you can't shoot with a bow or kill with a knife, you run. Won't you be cold out there?" - Joel caught your stare one last time and you laughed a little. You were cold as shit even now, but because of your pride and anticipation, you would not say it out loud.

"Wouldn't you wanna know, old man?" - Then you rose up the sleeve to show him your watch. - "Got my timer set and bow steady, time to go. See you somewhere around Whitetail, Joel."

And with that, you rode out of the city's gates, slowly and steady through the pretty deep snow. And so, it was happening - your first-time real hunting session. Without Ellie, Jesse, Dina, the elders or Joel. Only you and the forest.

---

You could feel that you're one with nature around you. The snow was cracking under your weight as you slowly walked from tree to tree. Your body felt tensed up and the tips of the fingers tapped and brushed the bow and arrow in your hands.

At those moments, the world felt quiet and peaceful. Only the innocent white color was surrounding you, sometimes disrupted with brown or green, those were the trees. A few brackens were moving silently as the snow was falling on it.

You stepped forward again and looked around you, slowly exhaling out. You didn't want the mist out of your lips to cover your surroundings so you learned how to breathe slowly. That was of the things that Joel was teaching you since spring.

There were no misty breaths in March or April, but it definitely occurred in November and December. You needed to be careful with breathing. And shaky, cold fingers - that was when you needed gloves with cut off fingertips, so you could use at least the big portion of your fingers.

Just like that, you caught a glimpse of a rabbit running two to three feet away from you, not minding you at all. You dropped lower on your knees and you felt as the snow slowly froze them down. Your eyes carefully watched the movements of the rabbit.

If you get really lucky, you might even find it's lair. Ah shit, three to six rabbits on your first hunt? That would be a fucking jackpot. And you would prove yourself in Joel's eyes. So you decided to follow that small, furry animal with small steps and subtle movements.

You didn't even make rushed motions with your feet to keep the quietest you were capable of. But the rabbit only seemed to be running around and gathering some old, yellow grass. But then it got into a fast pace, but you knew that nothing is lost.

Just follow its footprints. That was actually the easiest technique when you hunt, Joel repeated countless times.

The following of the rabbit's trail took you almost half an hour before you stood in front of its lair.

Holy motherfucking shit. You actually made it. A lair of rabbits just in front of you. You heard them inside of it, moving and crawling, sniffing and making slow subtle movements. Just as you were taught to do it - stick your hands inside the lair and caught one of these little fuck's ears and drag them out and slice them.

But stand in front of the hole they could escape with. They would be too afraid to come out of it. Just like that, you had four dead rabbits in your hand. You walked with them to Sadie, smiling wickedly. Four fucking rabbits. Who would have thought?

But when you were too occupied with pinning the rabbits into the horse's back, you caught a glimpse of something interesting behind it. You saw a human being, probably a man, walking behind the tree.

"Hey, are you from Jackson County?" - You asked in a sharp voice. If it would've been someone you knew, they wouldn't be creeping up behind your back like that. So you controlled the knife you had behind your belt and furrowed your look in the direction where you saw them for the last time.

There were a lot of trees there, so you could probably catch some glimpses, but nothing was for sure. So you prepared your bow in the case of need. It wasn't Runners or Clickers, they even bother to sneak around. They would've attack immediately. The forest was unusually unsettling and quiet.

"Why don't you just come here and talk to me?" - You asked unsurely again. You played with the bow and looked around. - "Can you stop fucking with me and just come out?"

When you were almost about to snap, you froze when your ears caught another sound coming from behind your back. This was a fucking trap. And you caught the bait perfectly. You were so dumb.

Immediately, you jumped on Sadie's back and made her turn around so you could go back on the road as soon as possible.

But such terrible things can happen in a few seconds. Before you could even breath out, you felt as Sadie's legs lost the balance and as the horse crumbled down. Your legs fell from the saddle and the animal's body fell on yours for a second, but you couldn't breathe nonetheless. Both of you were falling from a hill - and it was a pretty bad fall.

When you laid in the ice-cold snow and tried to catch a breath, you realized your leg hurts too much. It was an immersive pain that made you scream out loud. It was broken.

And the guys who've been hunting you down were just slicing Sadie's throat.

---

"It's late. She should've been here an hour ago." - Jesse said to Deena. They've separated - Joel took he kids back inside and Ellie went to search for you in the area you talked about with Joel. Jesse and Deena stayed at Whitetail to wait if you don't come there.

"Come on. You know her. Maybe she found some good hunting spot?" - Dina said with a smile. Yeah. That was all you. Just to forget about time. There was probably nothing wrong with you. - "I bet she's just fine."

Just as she said that Jesse saw a glimpse of Ellie in the background. She was running as fast as she could and she was clearly scared for her dear life.

"I-I found Sadie, her horse." - Ellie stuttered, looking at both of them.

"Why didn't you bring him back? We could look into her logbook." - Jesse answered and Dina shook her head. - "She only wrote notes to her logbook when she was back in the town. She did write only when she was scheduled to go out. It wouldn't help at all."

"Dead. That horse is dead with an arrow in its knee and sliced throat. I do have any idea where she is." - And with that, they knew that they have to search for you immediately.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel #knife dad #the last of us imagine #the last of us series #joel miller x y/n #ellie williams #ellie tlou #tlou #naughty dog #dina #jesse #joel tlou

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bapyess1r · 4 years

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Sunny Daze

WARNINGS: SMUT like a mf, cursing, angst

Pairings: best friend!Elena x OC, Sam x OC

Tags:

Chapter 15

Sunny’s POV

I stood in the bathroom, washing my body down with a washcloth in the sink. The shower in my motel room was less than favorable so I opted for a bird bath. As I washed my body, I began to think of how to talk to my best friend’s wife. My other best friend. I felt horrible. And I knew I should’ve called Elena the moment Nathan told me that she didn’t know where he really was. “‘Malaysia job…’” I muttered to myself, sourly, shaking my head. She was far from stupid. She was a journalist for Christ sake. And the fact that he never told any of us about Sam… neither did Sully… but you would at least think he’d tell her.

Once I cleaned myself up, I threw on a short plain black dress and a flowery blue sheer cover up. I needed a break from the dirty clothes. Luckily, there was a washer/dryer around and I gathered my laundry in a plastic bag to take them there. I slipped on a pair of sandals and grabbed my wallet and room key. I was going to go to a convenient store later; just on the next corner from here. If I was going to talk to Elena, I was going to need to get a little buzzed afterwards. I stepped outside onto the terrace and standing right outside my door, in nothing but dirty jeans and a tight white tank, was none other than Sam. He leaned over the railing, pressing his thumb into his palms as he looked down at the lit up pool water. He bore a look of guilt and exhaustion. His eyelids heavy and his shapely lips pulled into a slight frown. I blinked a couple times, admiring his strong back before remembering that he’d made me mad earlier in the day. He kept trying to send me away after we just had that conversation. I took a deep sigh before standing next to him, looking out at the city.

“You okay?” I asked. Regardless of how I felt, Nathan’s decision to push on to Libertalia weighed heavily on us all; even more so on Sam. His expression seemed to change at the sound of my voice. He turned to look at me with a smile.

“I’m better now that you’re here.” He said slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me close, kissing my cheek. I moved away from him and crossed my arms. He gave a shallow chuckle and scratched his head. “Did I do something?”

“Sam, you did it again. And we just talked about it at the tower. Just talked about it. Evidently we need to talk again. And in full this time. But first, I need to speak to Elena.” I said starting down the stairs.

“You hungry? We can talk about it over dinner… I was gonna go grab some food.” He asked like a hurt puppy. I looked back at him and nodded lazily before continuing to the laundry space.

“Don’t forget beer.” I called back to him.

After I tossed my clothes in the machine, I set a timer on my smartphone and went around the motel to find Elena’s room. Room 211. I stood in front of her door, bouncing on my tip toes as I knocked on the door. I bit my lip nervously as I heard the faint pitter patter of her footsteps from the other side. My heart skipped as I heard the door unlock and I think I stopped breathing. She opened the door with puffy red eyes and a tear stained face, already dressed in her pajamas to sleep. My heart broke as I looked into her big brown eyes and I couldn’t do anything else but throw my arms around her neck. It took a few seconds but she finally wrapped her arms around me and tightened her hold, her tears wetting my shoulder. I gave a deep sigh and tightened my grip too. “I’m so sorry- I know I suck, I know I should’ve called, I’m so shitty, I’m the literal worst-” I said in one breath and I could feel her laughing a little. A small smile crept onto my lips as she pulled away with a sniffle.

“You’re none of those things, Sunny. You’re fine. It’s Nathan.” She told me, wiping away her tears and inviting me inside. I knitted my brows as she closed the door and I sat at the foot of her bed, ready to listen. “First he lies about Malaysia and now he has… A brother….” was all she could say. She sighed as she sat with her back against the headboard, picking at her nails and chewing her lip, her gaze drifting nowhere in particular. I blew some air and gave a short head tilt.

“Yeah… Tell me about it…” I said resting on one of my hands as I crossed my legs.

“You mean you didn’t know either?” She asked me.

“Just Nate and Sully…” I shrugged. “I only found out when he called.” I said as she stretched out her short legs and crossed her ankles.

“I wonder what happened to him…” she said. I began to tell her the story of how Sam had gotten left in jail almost exactly as he’d told me; of course all whilst voicing my own thoughts and opinions. With every part of the story, I started to feel sad for him all over again. Thinking that maybe I should give him a break… “Jesus… that’s awful.”

“I know right… he’s lost so much of his life- fifteen years?! I was in a jail cell for three months and I was complainin’ like a mother….” I groaned. All my bullshit complaints seemed so trivial when I look back on it now.

“I couldn’t even imagine…” she mumbled. “But why would Nate lie about it? He could’ve told me…”

“I honestly don’t have the answer. I love my boy to death but sometimes he ain’t got the sense God gave a goose.” I said plainly and Elena burst into a giggle. I smiled. “I mean seriously, there’s a tree stump in Louisiana with a higher IQ.” She laughed a bit harder, slapping my knee and I joined in. It was good to see her smiling and not crying. After our laughter died, I began to pick out the leftover dirt from my nails as I spoke. “I’m not tryna make excuses for him at all. What he did was stupid...as hell. Sully and I both told him so. He wanted to keep you from doin’ the same thing I’m doin’. Sticking your neck out for someone you don’t know.”

“But he let you do it?” She questioned. I smirked.

“I’m not his world. You are. Can you blame him for wanting to protect this beautiful face?” I said, pinching her cheek. She gave a half laugh and chewed on her lip again. At that moment, I thought about Sam and what he might’ve been trying to do. I hung my head and rolled my eyes, shaking my head. ‘Goddammit…’ I thought. I looked up at her. “Listen, Els… I’m not gonna try to convince you to stay. And you know me. I’m not the best at…. consoling people. But what I can do is promise to look out for Nathan if it makes you feel better…”

She looked at me with a bit of fear shining in her eyes. “Has it really been that dangerous?” She asked me. I wasn’t going to lie to her. She deserved better than that. I had already lied to her so much already.

“It’s working it’s way up to be the closer we get to finding this treasure. And Sam’s so obsessed with it, all the near death experiences don’t even phase him…” I sighed, shaking my head, shivering as I thought about the couple of close calls I had all day.

“Nothing ever really scares you though.” She said and I scoffed with widened eyes and a nervous chuckle.

“Shiiit….. this trip might get me.” I laughed, scratching at the tip of my nose with my finger nail. “I almost fell out of the 4x4 hangin’ off a cliff this morning so….” She widened her eyes at me with a gasp.

“I’m sorry- what?” She exclaimed. I pursed my lips and gave a nod.

“That deadass happened… and I lost my cool for a minute. Kinda snapped at your husband.” I chewed on my lip and cocked my eyebrow. “If it weren’t for Sam actually, I would’ve quit…”

“So you trust this guy?” She asked. I shrugged.

“More or less. To be fair, I trust no man.” I smirked and Elena returned it. She knew what I was about and that’s why I loved her. Suddenly, my phone’s alarm went off and I groaned as I silenced it. “I would love to stay and chat with you some more but… I have clothes in the wash and a whole other conversation to have.” I said rolling my eyes, honestly not really wanting to leave.

“With who?”

“With Sam…” I said and she nodded, picking at the skin on her lips. “Much like another Drake we know, he has a tendency to protect me from damn near everythin’....” I told her as I stood and she just laughed.

“Yeah. That seems to be a common theme, huh?” She commented as she stood. I turned to look at the strong and beautiful woman before me as my hand touched the door knob. I was blessed to have a friend like her in my life. Lord knows she deserved better than all of us.

“I’ll be seein’ ya?” I asked.

“Perhaps.” She joked. I hugged her once again and left her room with a sigh. She had a lot to think about.

Sam’s POV

I walked down the street with a cigarette hanging from my lips, humming a tune as I carried a four pack of tall cans and a half and half pizza. All things considered, I was feeling pretty good. We had a lead and a damn good one at that. And I was almost positive Rafe hadn’t figured out where we were going yet. This talk with Sunny though… I know it’s been annoying to hear herself repeat to me that she can handle herself. And I understood that but the main reason was that I couldn’t have her hate me if things got “hinky”. I know what I’m like during the hunt and things were only going to escalate the closer we got to this treasure.

As I came around the corner, I noticed Sunny coming out of the laundry room. She wore a fitted black dress and a flowing blue shawl fell off of her shoulder. My heart skipped a few beats looking at her. To say that I was simply attracted to this woman was an absolute understatement. I called out to her, goofily grinning and raising the food in my hands. “I didn’t know what you liked on your pizza so it’s half pep half cheese.”

“Booo, no pineapple?” She smirked, taking the pizza from me as she climbed the stairs and I followed behind her, watching her hips work like a cat as I ash my cigarette. ‘Holy shit, what a woman…’ I thought as I bit my lip and shook my head. It should be a crime to look that good. I grunted as I pushed my legs up the steep stairs and into her room. “God, I’m so hungry, I could eat the north end of a south-bound goat.” She mumbled. I cackled. She said the darnedest things sometimes and I loved every second of it. “Did Nate say anything after I left?” She asked as she sat down at the head of the bed and opened the box, revealing a steamy, mouthwatering pie. The scent filled the room as I closed the door behind me and sat at the foot of her bed.

“Besides swearin’ all over the place and tellin’ me to go pack, not really no. I think he needed some space.” I said, kicking off my boots and sitting cross legged to face her. I pulled two cans from the plastic ring and handed her one before looking about for the ashtray. Without even looking, she picked it up off her nightstand and passed it to me. I smirked as I placed the butt in the mostly clean tray and she cracked open her can, sipping it gingerly. I watched her face as she poked her lip out afterwards with a nod. “It’s good?” I ask.

“It’s alright for what it is.” She said with a shrug. Then she did something that really got to me for some reason. She turned the can around in her hands to check the alcohol percentage. “It’s 10% though so if you drink it fast enough, you’ll be good to go.” I gave an earnest chortle as I sipped my own beer, my heart pounding. She was right. It wasn’t that great but it would definitely numb my muscles for the night.

“Now let’s see about this pizza.” I rubbed my hands together as a delicious scent crept through my nostrils. I picked up a pepperoni piece and held the wide slice in my hands. Sunny did the same, picking of a piece of pepperoni as strings of cheese held on to the cooked meat. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she gave a satisfied moan, giving me a slight twinge in my pants. A smile pulled on my lips as I took a bite of my own slice. “Oh hell yes.” I grumbled with a mouth full of pizza.

“Hell. Yes.” She agreed as she ate. I chuckled and we continued to eat the whole pizza. That woman could put away some food. She was so small though; I wondered where it all went. Even with her cheeks stuffed with pizza, she was the most amazing person to look at. As she leaned back to let her stomach settle, I could see her chest heaving. And I watched for a moment, letting my eyes fall to her cleavage. I followed her collarbone over her petite shoulders and up her delicate neck; To her jawline, her perfect face (even with a few bruises and scrapes) and all over her sweet caramel skin. My heart stopped a tick when she looked at me with those big baby eyes. I remembered the way she touched me as we escaped the thrall of a fleet of Shoreline soldiers, the way she kissed me just before then, and how she fought so bravely in several fights before that. I couldn't bear something happening to this outstanding woman. And I know she didn’t like it but I would always try to keep her safe… I cleared my throat and picked up my beer before speaking.

“So… don’t hate me...” I began, taking a large gulp and closing up the box to sit it on the floor beside the bed. She raised a brow at me as she sipped from her can to wash down her food. “But I wanted to suggest something.”

“Oh no,” she sang with a smile. “What is it?”

“I think you should go with Elena… back home, I mean…” I treaded very lightly on this subject. Just as I had said those words, the smile on her face disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Samuel Drake…” she growled, gripping her beer tightly as she stood to pace.

“Hear me out-” I started, raising my hands defensively, scooting towards the edge of the bed.

“Sam, I am not leaving-” I cut her off, getting a little frustrated myself. She was being so stubborn. She was almost as bad as me. When I say I’ve met my match…

“Sunny, just listen to me for a sec-”

“No you listen!” She snapped. I shut up and gave a huff as I ran my hand down my face, letting an elbow and a hand rest on my knees as they bounced anxiously. I set off the bomb and now it was time to be blown to bits. “I want to be here, Sam! Not just for you, not just because Nathan needed me- I needed this adventure! You know what I’m goin’ home to after this?! Absolutely not shit! Not a damn thing but a shitty job that I wish I could just up and leave because I get no respect, harassed every day, and nothin’ but backhanded compliments from ignorant tools tryna grab my ass. I wanna die every day, Sam. Literally die!” She told me as her brows furrowed and her lips curled into a snarl. I could feel my face publicize a downcast look while she spoke. My brows knitted together as a sort of sadness took place in my eyes. “When I get called on a job, I am so excited to leave that shitty bar. And I hope the job lasts for months. Even if we don’t find anything, I’m grateful to just be gone. And then Nathan calls me to Italy… and I meet you. This scruffy lookin’ nerfhearder…” she chuckled towards the end. A warm smile crept onto my face at the Star Wars reference as she ran a thumb across my cheek. “And you’re… funny and really smart, a ridiculous flirt and strong in more ways than one. You’re everything a man should be… But you’re stupid. And you’re reckless as hell. And you wanna do every damn thing by yourself-”

“If I do it myself, no one gets in the way-” I replied, trying my best to get a word in but she wasn’t having it. She growled.

“But it can’t always be like that, Sam!” She snapped, cutting me off. Her hands waved about as she spoke. “W-What if you get caught in another trap- like you did today- and you can’t get out of it? What if you set something off and you end up drowning or impaled or blown up?! I like you way too much to let something like that happen to you!” She huffs and looks up trying to keep the tears at bay but her huff is strained in her throat and her eyes are starting to grow glassy, and all I want to do is hold her. Her lips trembled as I reached out to place my hands on her waist, knees parting slightly for her to stand between them. Nobody ever talked to me this way. Demanding… with confidence and slight authority… With this much worry...

“Sunny… I couldn’t forgive myself if anything or anyone hurt you. I just wanna protect you as much as possible. The closer we are to finding Avery’s treasure, the more likely we are to run into Rafe and God knows what he’d do to you-”

“I’m not afraid of Rafe.” She commented.

“I know, sweetheart… Nothin’ is gettin’ by you. And that’s one of the many, many things I like about you so much. And I’m sorry. I didn’t know life was that awful for you back home…” I told her as I hooked my hand under her thigh and pulled it over my leg so that she was straddling me. I let my hands massage her hips and cup the rounds of her ass for a moment as I looked at her. I snaked a hand around her neck and brought her forehead to mine. ‘But at least you’d be alive…’ I thought as our noses bumped into each other’s. “And I’ll be more careful, sweetheart…” I told her in a rough but very sincere tone. I kissed her in the crook of her neck. “I promise… I promise…” She let out a soft moan as I kissed a trail up and across her neck to kiss her cheek, wiping away a single tear with my thumb. “I’m sorry…” I whispered as my breath danced about hers. Her soft, small hands wrapped around my neck; One playing with the curls at my nape. She tugs on them lightly, pulling my face away from hers for a moment to stare into my eyes.

“Don’t leave me again, Samuel Drake…” she shivered as I ran a hand down her back gently.

“I won’t…” I gasped as she pressed her velvety lips on my neck, kissing each bird tattooed in a flock on my neck.

I pulled the shawl down from her shoulder, placing hot kisses there. I tightened my grip on her as she worked her way up to my ear, nibbling on it carefully and I let out a shaky moan. Our lips crashed together and all my worries disappeared for a moment. The kiss was hungry and greedy on my part. I wanted her. I needed her. But I was seriously mistaken when I thought that I was the only one in control of the situation. She slipped off her shawl and dug her fingers into my hair, kissing me back with unrelenting passion as her hips rolled in my lap.

I betrayed myself with a moan as she forced me down on the bed. ‘Holy shit…’ I thought as she marked my neck and chest with sucks and nibbles, leaving behind a trail of pink and purple bruises as she went. She pulled at the hem of my tank and I helped her pull it off me as her hands fiddled with my belt. She made short work of it and I sat up a moment to touch her but she pushed me back down again. A surprised twitter of laughter left my throat as she continued to place kisses down my stomach. Her fingers ghosting over the scars from when I was shot. My breathing hitched under her electrifying touch and she began to undo my jeans. I had to say, it was new to me that I was the first one to be undressed. I wasn’t used to it but I damn sure wasn’t complaining.

I let my hands roam under her dress, slapping her ass as I did and she gasped, being caught off guard. That was my chance. I sat up again and lifted the dress over her head quickly, her breasts falling freely in front of me, revealing an elaborate under breast tattoo. I groaned at the sight of her, cupping them roughly and massaging my thumbs into her nipples as I placed vicious kisses across her chest and between the valley of her breasts. She let out a sweet sigh as my hips bucked up into hers and I could feel myself growing ridiculously hard beneath her. She moved her hips a little eagerly, trying to get more friction but all that made me want to do was fuck her sooner. But I couldn’t do that just yet. I wanted to take my time with her. I swiftly picked her up in my arms and flipped her on her back. A big satisfied smile crawled across her face as I hovered over her, rubbing myself against her center. I smirked when I leaned down to kiss her again, her tongue darting over my lips, begging for entrance and I let her in. My teeth dragged along her bottom lip and I let myself drag a kiss over her chin and across her jaw, leaving wet kisses over her throat. I let out an amused chuckle as I felt the vibrations from her moans on my lips.

My hand slipped down between us and I could feel her wetness through her pink lacy panties already. She was making it very hard for me to take this slow. I let my fingers slip past the hem and she bucked her hips the moment I laid a single finger on her drenched slit. She began rocking her hips against the heel of my palm but I pushed her hips down with my free hand and picked up the pace myself. Her eyes squeezed tightly closed as I brought her to the edge, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Just when she thought she was about to let go, I stopped with a sadistic grin on my lips. I brought myself to my knees and pulled her panties down over her legs, a string of wetness clinging to the fabric and my mouth watered. I massaged her inner thighs, my kisses leaving bruises the closer I got to her dripping cunt. Finally, I realized that I was only teasing myself and licked a long stripe with the flat side of my tongue.

She let out a long shivery sigh. I grinned as I made out with the lips between her hips for a while, lapping up the juices as they fell. I sucked on her clit rather roughly as I snaked my arms under her hips to keep her in place and she took hold of my hair, tugging on it with need. I growled into her and the tip of my tongue teased her so. My name was hot on her lips as I worked. I brought her close to the edge again and pulled away with a laugh. She didn’t seem too amused. She growled and slammed her hands into the mattress as I stood to pull down my jeans. Just as my cock sprang from my confines, rock hard, standing pink and veiny, Sunny sat up and wrapped her small hands around it. My knees almost gave out at the sudden contact. She took the opportunity to switch positions and now I sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands glided up and down my member so skillfully before her tongue met with my tip, leaking pre cum. She sucked at the tip a while before taking me whole in her mouth. The groan that tore from my throat was a little louder than I meant for it to be. “Jesus, sweetheart…” I managed to say as she made me a moaning mess. Her tongue dragged along the underside of my cock as she caressed my balls gently and it took everything in me not to cum right then and there. Just as that burn began to swell in the pit of my stomach, she ceased any further stimulation and kissed the tip with a cheeky wink. ‘Fuck…’ I thought with a massive huff.

She climbed my body like a tree, kissing her way up to my lips and I caressed her face gently. My member graced her slit ever so lightly and she moaned into me, basically teasing me as she rubbed her wetness onto me. Then she took hold of me, easing herself down onto me with an erotic sound escaping her lips. The words “please ride me” left my mouth before I could even think. And with that she began bouncing on top of me. I left my hands on her hips to give her more stability as she pleasured herself with my cock. My heart was about to rip out from my chest, it was beating so hard. I tried picking up my hips to meet her bounces but she placed both hands firmly on my chest and began to ride me into the night. I was seeing stars as she looked down at me. I reached out for her face as she rolled her body on mine, our moans mixing in with each other’s like music as she slowed down. I growled into her mouth as my hand came in harsh contact with her ass again and she gasped. “Bend over the desk, baby girl.” I told her in a low commanding tone. For once she did as she was told and sauntered over to the bare desk, wiggling her ass at me a little as she rested her palms flat on the wood. That’s when I noticed the tattoo of Japanese characters lined down her spine. That was enough motivation to get me going again.

I walked over to her, lifting one of her knees onto the surface of the desk, making her back arch perfectly. I slapped her ass again before driving into her roughly. My thrusts were needy and wanton as I rested my chin on her shoulder, grunting animalistically in her ear as the pitch of her moans grew higher and higher. I pressed her hips down into the desk as I felt myself hit her spot. And I knew I did when she squealed. I couldn’t stop. My name sounded like a prayer coming from her as I drove into her like mad, hitting that spot for her over and over again. I was nearing my end too. As she cried out, I felt her walls tighten around me and I let out an audible noise of satisfaction as that burn swelled in me again, spilling my seed deep into her as I let her milk me dry. I slowed my thrusts as a thin sheet of sweat appeared on my forehead. I was heaving as I rested my head on her shoulder and she laughed in exhaustion. ‘Best….sex….ever.’ I thought with a laugh of my own as I pulled out from her. She turned around and held my flushed face in her hands before placing a long, meaningful kiss on my lips. All I could do was smile and pull her close.

“I left my clothes in the dryer…” she chuckled. I snorted.

“That’s what you’ve got to say after we just…” I joked and she cracked up with the sweetest laugh. “I mean really. That was some pretty damn good sex and you just…” she laughed even harder and the beautiful smile on her face made me want to kiss her again. “You go get cleaned up, I’ll grab your clothes.” I told her, pushing her short curls off her forehead so I could press a kiss there. Then I pressed one on her cheek and the side of her neck with a pleased smile before gathering my clothes. I put on my jeans, not even caring about a shirt and rushed to get her clothes so that I could go back to her. When I came back, she was wearing that black dress again, curled up over the top of the comforter. Her eyes heavily lidded as she tried her best to stay awake for me. I smiled at her and set her freshly cleaned clothes down in a nearby chair before jumping on the bed next to her.

“Are you sleeping here tonight?” She asked me tiredly as her lashes fluttered over her cheeks. I nodded, stroking her curls and wrapping her small frame in my arms.

“If you don’t mind…” I replied. She gave an incoherent response as I watched her pass out in my embrace. I turned off the lamp beside the bed and just watched her sleep in the glow of the moonlight. I took this time wanting to remember every detail of her, knowing in the morning that she’d hate me for what I was about to do...

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