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imaginetonyandbucky · 3 years

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(Give Me A) Reason To Live

Chapter 2

by @dracusfyre

“Do you know where they are planning to take him?” James asked as he headed for the stairs up to his room. Tony started to follow him then realized that James was going to drop his towel to get dressed and after a moment of temptation, stayed at the bottom of the stairs instead.

“SHIELD facility in New York,” Tony called up, trying very hard to concentrate on anything except what his imagination was currently trying to show him regarding a naked James next to a bed.

“SHIELD SHIELD, or Hydra SHIELD?” James said from above, voice slightly muffled.

“SHIELD SHIELD, as far as I can tell,” Tony said. “Fury himself is taking the lead, for now. But there’s always the question of what will happen after he wakes up, and I’m sure Hydra will be trying to weasel themselves into those plans.”

“True.” James jogged back down the stairs, his shirt clinging to damp skin and hair pulled away from his face. “So what do you think? Intercept before or after he wakes up?”

“After, I think.” Tony led him downstairs to the lab, where James had his own computer setup. He sat down at it and powered it on while Tony fired up the fancy coffee machine in the back of the room. “I mean, we have no idea how to thaw out someone safely, and no equipment to do so if we did.”

“True.” James pulled up the Hydra files and read the message that had sent Tony racing up the stairs, then started searching for the exact location of the Valkyrie and the NY SHIELD office to start planning. After a few weeks of fits and starts due to poor communication, they had finally settled into a good division of labor: Tony dug through the files for appropriate targets and when he had them, James would come up with the actual plan of attack. “The exfil will be a lot easier if he’s awake.”

Tony nodded and silence reigned for a long time, broken only by the sound of keyboards and James occasionally making notes. He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep at his desk until James shook him awake and herded him to bed. He’d been having a dream about Captain America, some fuzzy half-remembered thing where the man was scolding him for something, then he had turned into Tony’s father and sent Tony to his room. You didn’t have to be a shrink to pick up on that symbolism, Tony thought as he fell into bed.

“You should get undressed,” James said and Tony froze, suddenly wide awake as his heart hammered. Did he really…?

“What?” He managed, rolling over to look up at James.

Who raised an eyebrow and pointed to Tony’s feet. “You’re still wearing the shoes we went hiking in,” he pointed out, and Tony let his head fall back against the pillows as his face got hot.

“Right,” he mumbled, and toed them off to fall on the floor. James was still standing there, looking expectant, so with a put-upon sigh Tony sat up and started peeling off the rest of his clothes as well.

“This is going to change everything, isn’t it?” he said as James started to leave. “This thing with Cap?”

James hesitated at the door, the hand on the door frame gleaming in the dim light from the computers in the next room. “Get some sleep, Tony,” he said after a moment. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

There was that sick feeling again. Tony tossed his clothes in the corner and fell back into bed, and recited the digits of pi until he fell asleep.

~~~~~

By the time Tony woke up and stumbled up the stairs, James was awake and thankfully already making breakfast. He shuffled up to the kitchen table and muttered a thanks as James slid a cup of coffee across the table. James knew better than to attempt conversation before Tony was ready, so they sat and ate in silence until Tony was finally awake enough to say, “Any news?”

“Nothing much. They needed special equipment to break through the ice without destabilizing the plane and sending it to the bottom of the ocean,” James said between bites of pancake.

“So we’ve got time?”

“Little bit.”

“Got a plan?” At that, James tilted his head back and forth in an eh, sort of motion. “What do you need?”

“More intel.”

Tony just grunted and finished off his coffee. If James still had questions they would be ready and waiting for Tony downstairs, and since they had time, Tony needed at least one more cup of coffee before dealing with that. He pushed away from the table and put his plate in the dishwasher, then refilled his coffee and sat back down while James kept eating. This was another good system that they’d figured out over the past year; James ate twice as much as Tony, at least, to power that supersoldier metabolism, which worked out because by the time James was done eating, Tony was finished with his second cup of coffee and they were both ready to start the day. “Hey, where’s he going to sleep?” Tony blurted out without thinking, then cringed. “Nevermind, that’s a stupid question.”

James just shrugged as he used his last bite to sop up some maple syrup. “Dunno. One of us will have to double bunk with someone, or take the couch, or get another mattress. Does it matter?”

“No, of course not.”

But James was eyeing him thoughtfully. “Is that what you meant? Last night?”

“Huh?”

“You said this was going to change everything.”

“Oh.” Tony looked down at his coffee cup to avoid James’ eyes. “I, uh, I meant we’re not going to be able to fly under the radar anymore, you know? After stealing Captain America out from under SHIELD and Hydra’s noses.”

“True.” As James picked up his plate and put it in the dishwasher as well, he said, “You should call him Steve. We’re rescuing Steve Rogers, not Captain America.”

Right. Of course. Like Tony could forget that James and Cap- Steve had a past. “Yeah, sure, sorry,” Tony muttered, taking a sip of coffee against the sour taste in his mouth. “I’ll head downstairs and get started on that intel.”

Once downstairs, he could see why James had left these questions to him. Questions like finding the building plans for the SHIELD facility and learning which personnel were going to be assigned to Steve were going to take some hacking to find out. Fortunately, when it came to SHIELD, Hydra was already infested in their systems, and Tony had a backdoor to Hydra, so by lunch time he was jogging back up the stairs to tell James what he’d found and almost tripped over a Barret MK22.

“Careful,” James said, sitting at the center of what looked like an explosion in a firearms factory. “I thought you’d be down there for longer.”

“Packing for the trip?” Tony asked, stepping carefully around the sniper rifle and picking his way through the rest of James’ collection towards the kitchen.

“Planning. Trying to figure out what we might need to pick up before we go.”

“I got that info for you, if that helps your planning.” Tony took one of the many frozen meals out of the freezer and popped it in the microwave. “Looks like they are keeping this information pretty close to the chest, which is good for us. Not going to be a lot of attention on him when it comes time to do our thing.” James only made an absent noise, clearly still lost in thought as he stared at a stack of C4, so for a while there was only the humming of the microwave until Tony got impatient and opened the door early. “I’ll be downstairs,” he told James as he grabbed a fork and gingerly picked up his molten hot lasagna.

“I’m coming,” James said, getting to his feet with a smooth, easy motion that made Tony feel every one of his years. Tony settled down in his computer chair as James stood behind him, leaving Tony with a prickling awareness of how close he was. Tony took a deep breath to steady himself and pulled up the report he’d slapped together. First was the building plan, and after it got James’ nod of approval Tony sent it to the jumbo printer because he knew that James liked to work off of hard copies. Next was a series of internal shield memos proposing a variety of plans for what to do when Steve woke up, and James snorted derisively as he read them. “Not a single one of these people know anything about Steve, do they?”

“I mean, only what they learned from history books, I guess. What would you do?”

“You mean what am I going to do? I’m going to say, ‘Wake the fuck up, Steve, we gotta get out of here now follow me.’”

Tony laughed and saw James’ mouth curl up at the corners. “Simple and effective. I like it.” Since SHIELD was still trying to decide its plan of action, Tony dismissed the emails and started pulling up the personnel list. Like he’d said, it wasn’t long; SHIELD was playing this one close to the vest for now.

“Wait.” Tony immediately stopped scrolling as James leaned over his shoulder, smelling like shower soap and gun oil. “I know her,” James said, frowning. He pointed at the redhead. “Who is she?”

“Well, her SHIELD ID says Natalie Rushman,” Tony said. “Is she Hydra?”

“No…” James said slowly, eyebrows drawing together as he tried to remember. Many of his memories had come back surprisingly quickly once they’d escaped Hydra, making for some really touch-and-go moments in the early months as James had often woken up screaming from nightmares and had wandered around the cabin hollow-eyed and haunted. Going into the woods had been his escape in those days, and he’d only told Tony what he was up to after Tony had gotten cabin fever and decided to go for a hike and figure out what all the hype was about with fresh air and nature. “I think I shot her once.”

“Think she’d know your face?”

“Maybe.” Tony could tell that James was still frustrated by the almost-there memory so he left the image up on the screen for him to stare at.

“That’ll be a complication, since she’s part of his reintegration team,” Tony mused. “Strangely enough, I guess that means between the two of us, I’ll be the one least likely to be recognized. Not something I ever thought I’d say.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Um…” Tony squinted at James and realized that obviously James wouldn’t know much about Tony’s past, other than what he’d told him or what James would have seen in the Hydra files. Especially if it hadn’t occurred to James to look him up on the internet, which he guessed was possible. “I was, uh, kind of a celebrity.”

“What for? Were you a movie star or something?”

Tony made a face. He didn’t want to admit that he was mostly famous for a series of sex scandals to someone who had personally known Captain America. “Nothing good,” he said finally. “Stupid stuff.” No chance James wasn’t going to Google him now, but at least he wouldn’t have to explain to James’ face why there were so many pictures on the internet of him naked. Thankfully, James just shrugged, apparently willing to leave it at that, so Tony quickly went through the rest of the items on James’ list. There was also no further updates on the efforts to get Steve out of the ice, so they were officially in Tony’s least favorite part of any operation: the hurry up and wait part.

With nothing else to do in the lab, Tony set JARVIS to keep an eye on any further communication and followed James back up the stairs. Since the couch was the only part of the living room that wasn’t covered in some kind of weapon, Tony perched on it and turned on the TV while James organized his collection. Making sad noises at James got him his forgotten lasagna from downstairs with the low, low cost of grumbling and an eye roll, leaving Tony to have a pleasant couple of hours hanging out in companionable silence with James. At some point, James had changed position to lean against the couch while sitting on the floor, which had meant that his back was pressing against Tony’s leg, warm and solid and something Tony only thought about every 15 seconds or so for a solid hour.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier,” James said after a while, sitting up and sadly moving away from Tony as he started to put away the weapons, sorting them into piles and returning some to their hiding places. “About this operation breaking our cover.”

“Yeah?”

“Your suit. Could you make it flashy?”

“Flashy?” Tony echoed in confusion. He had a couple of suit builds now, based on the various types of missions they went on, but all of them were matte black and had a rubberized exterior to reduce the noise and radar profile. “I mean, sure, that wouldn’t be hard. But why?”

“Our best bet might be for you to create a distraction, and I think you zooming down 5th Avenue would be a good distraction.”

Tony stared at him, stomach turning as his whole body went hot and cold with fear. “No,” he said shakily, turning away from James and sliding further into the couch, staring resolutely at the TV screen. “No fucking way.” Tony pulled the blanket tighter around himself, curling into a ball. Everything depended on him not being seen, on Hydra not knowing he was alive. Everything. How could James not know that? Was Tony supposed to jump at the chance to sacrifice himself for Steve? Because one look at the suit and Hydra would know, Stane would know, and then– then-

A sudden warm hand on his shoulder made him jump and lash out. When his hands only met hard muscle fight turned to flight and he scrambled away. But as he tried to get to his feet he tripped over a blanket and hit the floor hard, knocking the wind out of him. His heart was pounding in his ears but eventually he heard James talking to him, saying “Tony, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize, just wait,” and that was like a bucket of water to the face. He realized he was sweating and his breathing was fast and shallow, and as he looked up at James he felt the hot crawl of humiliation.

“I’m fine,” he said shortly as he climbed to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower.” He could feel the pressure of James’ eyes and his silence against his back as he went to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He shook for a while, leaning against the bathroom door, before he finally managed to turn on the shower.

The awkwardness lasted until dinner, with James clearly wanting to say something but unsure how to bring it up, and Tony too embarrassed to meet his eye or give him an opening. Thankfully, JARVIS gave them an update halfway through dinner, and the tension eased as conversation turned towards their plan. Since James had cooked, Tony reluctantly got up to do the dishes, only to have James gently crowd him away from the sink. “You need to get ready for the mission,” James pointed out, which was a flimsy excuse because it didn’t take that long to get the suit ready to go now that Tony had figured out how to make it deploy from something the size of a suitcase, but Tony didn’t argue. He hated doing dishes.

It was also better than staying upstairs and risking that James would say something, so he went downstairs to prep the suit. Once down there, though, he slowed as he approached the Mark VII, remembering James’ suggestion earlier. Though the thought still make his limbs feel weak and his heart race, he forced himself to sit down and consider the idea instead of running from it. He knew what James had been trying to suggest; he could get the attention of the police and any SHIELD agents in the area and draw them away from James while he rescued Steve. He could even put a few holes in the building to cover their escape then disappear as soon as they were clear. It was smart, it was simple, and it was fucking terrifying.

Though there was no escaping the fact that Tony had put in a lot of effort making sure Hydra would think he was dead, and this was going to undo all of that work. “Fuck,” Tony groaned, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. It wasn’t like James wasn’t risking everything, too, but apparently he was willing to let Tony take the cowards way out even if it made their plan harder. “JARVIS,” he said finally, voice muffled behind his hands. “Warm up the machines, we’re modifying one of the suits. We’re changing up the armor.” What was an eye-catching color? Probably red, a bright red. All the better to wave himself in front of the metaphorical bull. But all red would look like shit. “Red and gold,” Tony said finally. “Make me a mockup of the armor in red and gold.”

#winteriron #tony x bucky #Tony Stark #Bucky Barnes

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starker-stories · 4 years

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The Dick Pic (v2)

On AO3 by @thestarkerisobvious and @starker-stories

When we first posted this story, it was helpfully pointed out that the beginning was confusing in relation to the rest of it. And it was. Thank you for that constructive criticism.

We went back to the original and reworked it. Hopefully it will be less confusing and the point of their argument more clear.

There was debate back and forth between deleting the original post or leaving both up. We finally decided on leaving both up.

Words: 9815

Tags: Misunderstandings, Dick Pics, College Student Peter Parker, Top Tony Stark, Bottom Peter Parker, Anal Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Awkward Conversations

Summary:

One picture.

Two different interpretations of the picture.

One restaurant.

Two people, trying to make themselves understood.

One balcony

Two bodies.

It was a beautiful morning. Peter had actually gotten a full night’s sleep. He was sleeping in his dorm room because Tony was away on business and wouldn’t be back for a few days.

He had awoken from a lovely dream. About Tony, of course. But about Tony when they had been together in Paris. In the dream Tony asked him what he wanted. And Tony gave him everything he asked for. In Paris, Tony told him to be bold. To ask for things that he wanted.

In the dream, as he had in Paris, he shamelessly asked Tony to go down on him. When he woke, his body was more than ready for Tony to do just that. But Tony wasn’t there. Peter was in his dorm room, alone.

He couldn’t have what he wanted that moment, of course. But… he could still ask. Tony liked it when he asked…

It was bold, probably too bold for him. Then again, Tony had encouraged him to be bold. So he boldly took his phone out and took a picture of the subject at hand.

Oh, that was shameless. He blushed, just looking at the picture. Quickly he typed:

Thinking of you.

He thought of several other things he could add to go along with the picture (‘Would you like to taste?’ or ‘Mostly about your mouth’) but in the end he chickened out of every one. In the end, he just hit send. That was enough bold for one day.

He spent the next hour grinning and blushing. He was proud, but he couldn’t tell anybody why. There was no one on campus close enough to announce: ‘Today I sent my very first dick pic’.

~~~~~

Tony looked at the picture Peter had sent with his message. ‘Thinking of you’. Yes, but what thoughts had Peter been thinking?

Well, he had told Peter that he could ask for anything. He wanted to hear every one of Peter’s sexual desires. He didn’t know why he expected that reversing their positions and Peter fucking him wouldn’t be one of them. Things weren’t as neatly defined in Peter’s generation. He’d been with enough younger men to know that.

And he’d broken up with enough of them when it became an issue.

He supposed that a few months was a good run, given his record. After the picture and message, he stopped taking Peter’s calls and any other messages. Whenever he regretted his decision to let Peter go, he simply opened his phone to that last picture.

He missed the kid so much that, a time or two, he considered whether he could tolerate getting fucked just to get Peter back. He’d tried that before, though. Tolerating it once led to twice led to three times led to asks and refusals and arguments and the inevitable breakup that should’ve happened at the start of it all.

Letting Peter’s calls go to voicemail unlistened to and leaving his messages completely unread was easier. The kid would move on and find someone willing to satisfy his needs.

But that was the problem. The kid would move on. The idea of that put such a dull ache deep inside him that he found his finger hovering over the green button whenever Peter called.

That would never do. This wasn’t something that could be talked about over the phone. It was definitely something that couldn’t be talked about anywhere that was near a bed. That led to disaster. And unfortunately, his feelings for Peter weren’t going away by simply ‘ghosting’ the boy. Tony texted Peter. Dinner? 8? Marea? It was his favorite restaurant. They’d been there together before. It might seem like it was going to be nothing more than a make-up date.

~~~~~

Peter’s last two weeks had been a strange kind of slow-motion nightmare. Sometimes everything was normal. He aced his classes. He wowed his study groups. He texted his friends and his friends texted back. Then he would try to set up a date with his boyfriend. He spoke to FRIDAY. FRIDAY would be cheerful as always, explaining why Tony couldn’t talk to him right then. Then he would text ‘I miss you’ and wait to hear some response. Finally giving up and going to bed. Wake up in the morning and start the entire miserable process over again.

He kept thinking about Paris. Their trip to Paris was memorable for so many reasons. Not just because Tony set out to spoil Peter rotten with fine wine, good food, and crowded sightseeing spots closed down just for them, but because of what they did in the hotel bedroom that night.

Tony had invited Peter into his bed, and had invited him there to do more than just fuck. But what Tony had invited him there to do, Peter wasn’t completely sure was possible. But it was possible. Peter had opened up to Tony that night. Told him things he hadn’t told anyone, had no plans to tell anyone.

He would never forget Tony’s words. ‘I brought you here because it’s the most romantic city in the world. Because it’s what I think of when I look at you. I think of how much I’m in love with you, and how much I want to make you happy.’

Peter was happy. He was lying on a bed in a hotel room in Paris, with Tony Stark sitting next to him, saying ‘I love you’. What else could any human being want? It wasn’t expensive gifts, the exclusive restaurants, or the limo rides everywhere. That was Tony’s life, and he was inviting Peter to be a part of it. Peter freely accepted that invitation.

‘I want you’, he told Tony when the man asked what he wanted.

‘And I want you’, Tony said back. Only then he asked, ‘But how do you want me?’

Peter remembered saying, ‘Forever’.

And Peter remembered Tony saying, ‘Only that long?’

So he told himself he was being ridiculous. He trusted Tony. As Spider-Man, he trusted Iron Man with his life. As Peter Parker, he trusted Tony Stark enough to tell him things he had never told anyone. He was in love. He just had to remember that he was in love with an incredibly busy man. Dating Tony meant sharing him with the rest of the world. “I’ll just be patient,” he told himself. “I’ll be the most patient boyfriend that ever lived.”

Sometimes he wondered why he was so utterly and thoroughly unlovable. Why would Tony want to date a kid like him? A kid with so little sexual experience, a kid who had admitted to an entire, itemized list of fears? He was unlovable. Tony was proof.

Tony had been his first serious boyfriend (serious boyfriend? Tony had been his only boyfriend.) Sometimes he convinced himself that he would just live like a monk, a monk who fought crime and worshiped a far-off, unavailable man. It wasn’t the strangest superhero backstory in the world.

Sometimes Peter was angry. He had admitted to things, admitted to things he never thought he would tell anybody. It seemed like a good idea at the time. And what had been his reward? To be ghosted by Tony Stark, apparently.

But Tony hadn't broken up with him, that much was certain. Peter checked his email, his phone messages, every social media account he had a million times. Checked them every morning. Sometimes got up and checked them in the dead of the night. Waiting. Waiting for the explanation that would never come.

Almost two weeks to the day, he received the message. His whole body sagged in relief. He hugged his phone to his chest tightly and did a little dance. Grinned from ear to ear. It was okay. They were going to Marea and everything was going to be okay.

~~~~~

Slowly, very slowly, Peter was getting the idea that everything was not okay.

They were seated to Tony’s usual table. Menus and orders taken, wine brought and served. During which Tony was near silent, making only the barest conversation that politeness required. Not only to the servers, but to Peter as well.

When the meal arrived, Peter realized he was going to have difficulty eating. His stomach was in knots. Something was obviously wrong.

“Pete,” Tony said casually, after he finished another bite. “What did you mean by that last picture you sent me?”

“Oh, I meant that I was going to not be late for our lab session because I whipped through my differential equations test in record time and I was actually ten minutes early? Except you weren't in the lab?”

Tony looked puzzled. “No. The last picture you sent. What were you trying to imply by that? Something you want?”

“I guess… I guess I was…” Peter dropped his eyes. “I guess I was bragging that I finished it faster than anyone in the class. The professor said it was faster than anyone he had ever seen and asked me to be his TA next year…

“I mean I wasn’t bragging… but I was. And you didn’t notice.”

“It sure looked like you were bragging. And wanting something other than an A on your exam.”

“In differential equations? We’re talking about Tuesday, right?” Peter took out his own phone and looked for the last pic he sent — which was from differential equations.

“I don’t know the date… I guess it was a Saturday or a Sunday. Maybe Sunday morning… yeah I think Sunday morning and you don’t have differential equations on a Saturday, so no, not that… Did you send me something about that too?”

“Something about… what?” Peter reached out and snatched Tony’s phone from where he set it on the corner of the table. He had prided himself on his patience this week, but his patience was coming to an end. He opened the message app, found his name, and scrolled to the end of the messages, then back to find the ones that had pictures attached. A cute squirrel in Central Park, a sunset behind Stark tower from the top of another building that he took just to text ‘I Miss You’. Finally, the finished test he’d mentioned twice. The one Tony hadn’t even acknowledged.

“There are things that haven’t come up before between us. And we haven’t exactly talked about the things that have come up between us. And that would be a pretty large thing to discuss. What exactly did you mean by sending me that picture?”

“Are we talking about the picture of the spider I sent?” Peter asked, scrolling again. “You never told me you were squicked out by spiders. I’m just a spider fan. You knew that. Everyone expected me to be an entomologist.” He shrugged, guiltily. “I just like math more.”

Finally, Tony grabbed his phone back. He scrolled through the messages until he found the one. He set his phone upside down on the table so no one else could see, then he slid it over to Peter.

Peter looked at it, started visibly, looked around to make sure no one saw it, then he grinned and ducked his head and blushed. Damn, he had felt so bold when he woke up with that in the morning. What was he thinking?

Oh yeah — he had been thinking…

“Well, you’re always telling me how pretty it is…”

“I’m into a lot of things, but there are some I’m not thrilled about.”

“I had a dream about you,” he said as quietly as he could and still be heard. “And I woke up thinking about you, and that was the result.”

“What kind of dream are we talking about? There wasn’t exactly a clear message with it.”

Peter looked confused. He started to speak then stopped. This was very hard to talk about in a restaurant. So he considered the possibilities. He grabbed his own phone and started texting quickly.

Was that really your first dick pic? I’m sorry I never thought. You were the first person to even walk AROUND with a phone in your pocket so I just didn’t think. I’m sorry. All you had to do was say you didn’t want that. Did you open it in a meeting or something?

It was ridiculous to sit there and text someone two feet away. Tony had no shame about talking about the issue in public.

“No, that’s not the first dick pic I’ve ever been sent. The angle and the way you were holding it… that is a first time without implying something by it.”

Peter put his phone down in frustration. He remembered exactly the kind of mood he had been in when he had taken that picture. Bold as brass. Fearless. Amazing. He didn't feel amazing right now. “I can’t really answer that question in a restaurant.

“But... remember when you took me to Paris? It was about Paris. Well it was sort of Paris... but yeah. That’s what it was about.” He tried not to sound hurt, but he was feeling hurt. How hard was it to say ‘don’t send me dick pics’? And why was Tony ignoring everything that came after that?

“Look, there are things I’m just not into,” Tony said firmly, irritated by the kid’s inability to comprehend. “If that’s what you're going to be needing out of this, you’re gonna have to find it elsewhere.”

Peter pulled his chair up to the table as far as he could and leaned in, whispering. “It implies you want to see it. Because you keep telling me you like to see it.”

His chest ached. It hurt to breathe. What Tony had said to him, and convinced him to say, in Paris meant so much to him. He’d never forgotten it. And he could never discuss it in a restaurant.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful. You’ve got a big, nicely shaped cock and I don’t mind seeing it. Like seeing it, actually. But that picture was… different from the dick pics I usually get.”

Tony flipped his phone face up, the picture clearly visible to anyone walking past their table. At that point, making Peter feel uncomfortable was almost part of it. The kid certainly made him uncomfortable the morning he got that. Especially after the way things had been going so well between them.

Peter tried desperately not to gape. It was instinct, not to let your opponent know when you were hurt in battle. But dammit, he was hurt. “‘Things I’m just not into’? Squirrels, sunsets and spiders? Or, more importantly, ‘the things you think about during the day, and your triumphs and proud moments’? Because once upon a time, Tony, you seemed to care about those things a great deal.”

But now words like ‘angle’ and ‘holding it’ and ‘different’ began to register. Suddenly, he found himself getting angry.

“Give me your damn phone.” He grabbed it off the table.

He scrolled through Tony’s phone wondering if someone else was sending Tony dick pics. In which case he was really going to lose his patience. But no, there it was. His cock. Huge and lovely and hard. Hard because he was remembering the incredible things Tony had done to him in Paris. Huge because he had, with his sudden surge of confidence, placed the phone directly beside it. What could he say? He had woken up feeling cocky.

He didn’t feel cocky now. He put the phone in his lap, shielding it from other eyes, and analyzed the angle.

“I haven’t exactly been answering my messages or downloading the photos attached to them lately, so forgive me if I’ve had an entirely different subject on my mind than squirrels and differential equations."

“Well, we haven't talked in two weeks, so I have no idea what’s been on your mind,” Peter hissed.

Patience. Patience patience patience. He could swallow all this hurt and pretend it wasn’t there, he was a master at that. He was good at it. (He had practice.) But right now he was looking at the picture of what he’d wanted Tony to praise (right before devouring it) and wondering if that was ever going to happen again.

“That,” Tony said when Peter had taken his phone off the table again. “That’s been on my mind. Hard to get anything else on my mind. What, exactly, did you mean by sending me that? Because, like I said, if you want to fuck my ass, you’re going to have to find somebody else’s ass to fuck.” He shrugged. “Which, I can work with, I guess. Not the first open relationship I've had to have because of differing sexual appetites.”

“It’s a right angle, Tony. 90°. It’s just… you used to say it was ‘so pretty’ and you… wanted it in your mouth. And I woke up dreaming of the things you said to me in Paris before you… before we… and I woke up. And I was thinking about you. That’s what I wrote. That’s what I meant by…

“…wait… what? Tony for god’s sake… Tony? Only you would try to have this conversation in a restaurant.”

“It’s not a problem. Guys grow up and have different tastes when they do. It’s not like I didn't have a fair number of experiences in that direction when I was younger.

“It’s just not my… not interested in that anymore. Haven’t been for a very long time. And I don't see myself particularly wanting to get fucked any time soon. Not even by you, sorry.”

“You have a fair number of experiences debating the angle of my penis over dinner in a restaurant!?” Peter laughed, overwhelmed by the surreality of the conversation. “You were right, Tony — your life was a lot different than mine.”

“Well actually, not your penis. but not the first one I’ve discussed over dinner in a restaurant. Usually as a prelude to heading to the bathroom with the other guy in said restaurant. But that’s not the point.”

“I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about!” Peter whispered angrily. Except he wasn’t exactly whispering anymore. This was the strangest conversation he had ever had in his life. He was beginning to lean into the strange.

“Oh my god. One minute I’m working up the nerve to admit that I still dream about what happened in Paris and the next minute we’re discussing why it’s wrong that I want to… I don’t even know what. This is insane.”

Tony just shook his head. He was being pretty clear, he thought. “We’re talking about whether or not you want to fuck me, that’s what we’re talking about. Because that’s just not something I’m into. But if it’s something you’re into, I’ve got no trouble with you finding it elsewhere. Well, actually I do, but I’m prepared to adjust my expectations.

“Wait…” Tony furrowed his brow. “Paris? What the fuck does this have to do with me sucking you off?”

“I’m sorry I sent you the wrong kind of dick pic and I have no idea why you think I was thinking of that, but I’m just about at the end of my rope. I’m in over my head here.”

“The only time I’ve ever gotten a picture like that was from someone who had very different ideas about my sexual tastes. It’s pretty much a ‘sit on this’ pic, don’t you think?”

There were tears behind Peter’s eyes. All of his talks to himself about ‘patience’ were drying up. He didn’t have it in him to explain what Paris had meant to him, at least not in a public place. Maybe in the dark, in Tony’s arms, maybe. But not while the man was spouting nonsense.

He took a deep breath. “No, Tony. It was a, you told me it was ‘gorgeous’ pic. It was a, you told me you ‘want to suck on it’ pic. For god’s sakes Tony, you told me once you wanted me to c… to leave a wet spot on your bed for you to find when you got home. I’m sorry about your past lovers but I’m not really responsible for them. I’m only responsible for myself.” His voice broke a little. He wasn't feeling very responsible right now.

Dammit, he had done everything right. He had been the proper amount of sexy and tried to hide all the shyness. He had tried to be bold when Tony wanted him to be bold. He had been patient. He had been positive. He was even attempting to have this incredibly personal conversation in a public place because Tony wanted to. He had done his best. But his best wasn’t good enough.

“Jesus Peter, how many different ways do I have to tell you this. I love you. I love what we do in bed together. There are directions I’m willing to expand into that and explore, but me getting fucked isn’t one of them. It’s not something I’m into. It wasn’t even something I was into back when I was young enough that that was all anyone wanted me to do. It’s just that’s the way it goes when you’re the age I was then. But eventually you get old enough to tell the other guy ‘no, I’d rather fuck you instead’. So, if you’re getting to that age, we’re going to have to talk in terms of how you can get what you want in that direction, because it isn’t going to be me.”

Tony had been keeping his voice calm and quiet the whole time, not even letting his exasperation come through in any way except his word choices. Peter was a smart kid, surely he understood the words that were being said.

Peter pressed his water glass against his face. He knew his skin was flushed and he felt overheated. He took the napkin from his lap and dipped it in the ice water and dabbed his forehead. It was probably a rude thing to do in this expensive restaurant, but what the hell? It couldn’t be worse than discussing the angle of the dick pic on Tony’s phone.

He took a deep breath and tried to say something that made sense. “Well, I guess I should say thank you for thinking that I’m old enough to be changing my tastes… I guess. If that’s really a thing you outgrow. But this is all coming out of left field for me.”

Taking another deep breath he thought back over what Tony had said. “And I love you too. I’m sorry people did things to you when you were young that you didn’t like. But if this is a ‘stage’ for me, a ‘stage’ I’m going to ‘grow out of’, I’d estimate you have another good ten to twenty years before that happens. I can’t see ever getting tired of it. But I guess you know better than I do… except…

“Except…” he said, looking back into Tony’s face. He could talk about science. Science was easy.

“Except it seems like you think we are both going to have the same experience, and the data doesn’t point that way. The data doesn’t point at all. You’re talking about societal expectations versus actual personal preference and there’s no reason to assume I’m going to ‘grow out’ of being… who I am.”

“It’s not a thing some people outgrow, but others do. There’s a certain expectation that the younger person bottoms, but then, as they start getting older, they find out that’s not really their thing. Or that they’d been putting up with it because they were expected to, even if they didn't like it much… or at all.

“Other guys don’t outgrow it. They’re just that way. Which is what I was hoping it would be with you. Because, if you wanted to, if it was a dealbreaker and you’d leave me over it… I guess… it’s not unendurable if it wasn’t often.”

Deep breaths and factual statements were helping incredibly. Tony’s voice was calm and that helped too. Speaking calmly and factually about these things means that things were actually okay — they could talk about more personal, painful things later. In private. Hopefully while naked.

“Well, I appreciate that your generation couldn’t exactly go to the library and do as much research as I did when I first identified as gay, so there's that…

"But, help me out, Tony. I sat down at dinner and suddenly you start talking about me ‘leaving you’ and I’ve got whiplash here. Literally the last thing I sent you was a picture of a squirrel.”

Tony raised his eyebrow. Peter was always a quick study and never this blindingly obtuse. Maybe it was the subject. He needed it explained more simply and perhaps repeatedly.

“Some guys are bent in one direction and others in the opposite. I’m pretty much bent only in one direction. I knew that the odds of you staying bent in yours weren’t great. Most guys fall in the more flexible position. I’m just saying that I’m not one of them. But if you are, as long as you didn’t have any sort of… emotional bond with whoever you hooked up with… I’d… adjust.

“This isn’t something even your generation goes to look up in the library, Because most of your generation is more flexible. It’s assumed that you both will, I don’t know, toss a coin for it, I suppose. I don't know how it works.

“The implications of what you sent kind of overrode my reaction to one of your daily messages of the sort I like getting from you.”

Peter opened his mouth but then closed it again. He looked at Tony’s face, and he stopped completely and took stock. He thought about the damn squirrel. He thought about how he aced the test that he wanted to brag about. And he thought about waking up with a raging hard-on and the need to brag about that too. And he thought about how much it hurt when Tony seemed to be ignoring him and what that meant. He took a deep breath, looked Tony in the eye, and spoke.

“I don’t want to ‘hook up’ Tony. With anybody. I don’t think you understand… it’s not that way for me. I don’t want to be with other people. I guess I should have told you that before. I don’t want to… even if there was someone else I actually wanted to… I don’t want to be with anyone else. I love you. I want…”

It would have been hard for Peter to do this in the dark, in Tony's arms. But dammit, this was Tony’s world. The world where you just have these conversations in the open. So he did it. For Tony. “I want to be yours. I want to belong to you.”

Of course, he barely got the words out. It was hard to talk without air. But his mouth formed around the words, which was something.

“I want the same thing. I love you, Peter. I love what we do in bed together. But, in bed, there are things I don’t love. Even if I do love the person who’s asking for them. That is what I’m saying.”

Being told what Tony wanted was almost as good as being held, so he held onto those words. And the words ‘I love you’. He took a deep breath, relieved, and tried to listen to the rest of what Tony was saying.

“All I need for us to be together is for you to understand…” He looked down at his phone, thinking about that doomed message that was supposed to be about Paris and wound up being about something else entirely. “…this is all very important to me, Tony. I guess I shouldn’t be ashamed of it, but I am, because I’m supposed to be all casual about some things and I can’t be. I don’t want to be with anyone else. And of course… I want to be in your life. I want that more than anything else.”

“I don’t like to share. Not you. Especially not you,” Tony said, admitting an inconvenient truth. The truth that led him to making this date instead of simply continuing to ‘ghost’ Peter until he went away.

“Which is also not in keeping with the way people of your generation approach things, I know. You’re not the first guy under thirty that I’ve been with. I know things have changed a lot. What’s expected of relationships. Inflexibility and possessiveness are definitely not the mode. But they’re where I’m at and it’s hard to see me changing that. I’m possessive. I don’t want to share the person I’m in love with, that I want in my life… for the rest of it.”

“I don’t want you to share… I don’t want to be shared! And I know I’m not normal for my generation or for my anything… and I tried so hard to… gosh maybe I should have told you sooner. Maybe I need to stop trying to be ‘normal’. I don’t see why I have to change. I just want to belong to you. I don’t want… I’m not interested in ‘hook ups’ and I’m tired of pretending that I… that I get it. I don’t. I can’t see being with someone and not… well you know. Blurting out everything I feel. I can’t really stop.”

“Baby, I am in love with you. And that doesn’t come without the possessive part. It’s worse with you though. Maybe because I’ve never really… felt this with anyone else. Not like this. Not like I feel with you.”

“Wait…” Peter stopped, the pieces suddenly falling together in his head. “Did you… did you just really volunteer to bottom for me?”

Tony sighed heavily.

“If that’s what it takes to keep you in my life. Like I said, it won’t have been the first time I’ve been fucked. I just never liked it. Not even when I was your age. It was just the way things were back then. Before a certain age, you were expected to bottom. And past a certain age, you were expected to change and to want to top.

“I wanted to be with guys and if that meant turning up my ass to get the rest of what I was looking for, I did it. But then I got to a point in age where I didn’t have to put up with it.”

"Tony, for gods’ sake I don’t want you to… why would I want you to turn up your ass when…” But he couldn’t really say more. Not here. He covered his face and whispered behind his hand. “When you do so many amazing things to me?”

“I can't stand the idea of losing you.”

Peter reached out for Tony's hand. “I love you.” It was like a dream come true, and while he wasn’t sure he had dreamed about it happening in a public place, well, here it was. “I love you and you’re never going to lose me.”

He wanted to say ‘I’ve never felt this way about anyone else’, but it was a silly thing to say. He had been in love with Tony Stark his whole life. He had felt this way about Tony forever.

Tony held Peter's hand, his thumb caressing the back of it. “You got together with me while you’re still so young. Before you have had time, really, to explore things you might find out you like or prefer better. I’ve had plenty of years to experience everything on the menu and you’ve just had one taste.

“I don’t want to hold you back, even though I don't want to let you go.”

“Tony, can we… leave? Please? I don’t want to talk about this here.”

“Okay, we can leave. It’s just… if it turned out that’s what you did mean by that picture… It felt safer here, than at home, to discuss these matters.”

“Wait… what? Now I’m really confused. Why would you want to discuss it here and not…” He didn’t want to say ‘in your arms’. It still felt very immature. “…at home?”

“Why here? No particular reason as to the venue, but some things are just safer talked about in a public place until they’re sorted and both people are on the same page. Where the bed is far away and not an option for where to discuss them.”

“Tony, I want you to teach me those other things on the menu. I don’t want to be with anyone else. We’re not talking about trying on different styles of shoe here. I… can’t do that with other people, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I know I’m supposed to want to be casual with other people because of my age but I don't. And I’m trying to tell you, I don’t want to feel ashamed of that anymore. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t have to. I can be a Tony-sexual and not apologize for that. You’re not ‘holding me back’ you’re loving me and I’m loving you and there’s nothing bad about that.”

“Since I’m rather Peter-sexual, you being me-sexual is a good thing. Because I already have enough issues struggling not to take someone apart who looks at you for too long. Having someone actually touch you? When you belong to me? That's unsustainable.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. And beam. Maybe blush a little. The idea that Tony wanted to ‘take someone apart’ just for looking?

"Okay. So we’re both very much alike in the me-sexual way. And we’re both very different about where we like to talk about private things. And we’re not going to talk about me being with someone else in bed because I hate that idea. And you’re going to stop volunteering to do something you don’t like because I really hate that idea. Is that sorted out enough? Can we go home now? I kinda need to.”

They weren’t going to just walk home hand in hand, no. Peter was going to hold Tony’s hand and use his other hand to hold into Tony’s arm too. He hoped Tony wouldn’t mind.

But Tony draped his arm over Peter’s shoulders as they walked back, holding him close, making sure that no one would possibly think that he wasn’t very much taken.

“So all this was just a case of bad lighting, poor camera angle choices, and you making yourself less than clear about the meaning of that particular picture of your, yes, very lovely, dick, hmm?” Tony asked with a sly smile.

Peter reached up and grabbed the hand draping over his shoulder. As they walked he couldn’t stop smiling.

“Tony… you’re going to have to find me an online course on ‘how to take a dick pic’ because I have no idea how that looked like anything other than a yummy snack.”

“I’ll send you a few examples, if you want,” Tony said smiling, “Because I don't want you looking at anyone else’s dick pics, not even as a course of online study.”

Peter smiled. “Deal.”

“So the way things have been with us? That’s good for you? You mentioned Paris… Those are some very good memories we made there. Apparently inspiring in your dreams, huh?” he said with a little smirk. “What parts, exactly, were so inspirational? I can’t understand unless you tell me. Explicitly. In detail.”

“Please Tony, not here…” Peter groaned and looked around them. New York City. People everywhere. But then again… wasn't talking the point? So he tried to be brave again, and spoke. He spoke almost directly into Tony's ear, but he spoke.

“You made me tell you what I wanted. You made me put it into words. And it was impossible to say those things without telling you how they made me feel. How you made me feel so safe and wanted and beautiful and so… yours. And I told you that I loved you. And I could, because suddenly I wasn’t afraid anymore.

“And I told you and I couldn’t be anything but honest and that was okay. Because that’s what you wanted. And I told you about all the things I was afraid of, and you made that okay too. And when I knew it was okay to be afraid, then I wasn’t afraid anymore.

“And also you made me come three times in one night. There was that.”

~~~~~

They were making out hot and heavy in the elevator, Peter boldly pulling Tony’s shirt free from his trousers and sneaking his hands underneath. As the doors opened they stumbled out. Peter had Tony’s face in both hands, trying to kiss him and lead him into the penthouse at the same time.

“I want it to be you, Tony. Whatever it is, whatever you want to do, I want it to be you. I want you to be the first.” He’d made himself giggle, trying to kiss Tony and talk at the same time. He only had one glass of wine at dinner, but now he felt drunk.

“That’s what I want. I just thought there was another first you wanted with me, and that’s not going to be a first we can share. Unless it…” Tony sighed. It was a difficult choice. “Yes, okay. I’d rather it be me than anyone else. The thought of anyone else touching you… In any way…” Tony said fiercely.

“Oh god, say it again, tell me I’m yours, Tony. Tell me no one gets to touch me but you…”

“I don’t want anyone touching you but me. I want you entirely to myself. I’m selfish and possessive and irrational on that subject.”

Peter laughed in relief and joy. Laughing directly into Tony’s mouth seemed rude so he leaned his head back and laughed that way. He felt giddy. “Yes, please yes. Please. I want to get ‘Property Of Tony Stark’ tattooed across my back.

“Oh god no. Please no. Do you have any idea how many people did that hoping I’d be impressed and it would become true? Nope. No. No way.”

“Ah damn, then I’ll think of something else.”

“I can think of something that will make sure everyone knows you belong to me,” Tony said with a smirk. “Not telling you yet though.”

“I want you to be my first time, Tony, all my first times. I don’t know what else to have first times for, but please think of some and then be my first.”

“Oh baby, we haven’t even touched one tenth of the first times you can have. There are entire places on that beautiful body of yours that I haven’t made love to yet. Much less places we can do it in. Positions. Locations. Methods. I can be very imaginative.”

“Oh god yes locations! Locations. I’ll let you take me anywhere on the globe, anywhere, I won’t protest, I swear.” He felt too dizzy to walk. He kept his arms around Tony’s neck as they tried to move away from the elevator. It made them move slowly, but he was afraid to let go.

“Then that just makes ‘first times’ at least several hundred locations. Sixty of them owned by me. Several rented. And then there are hotels to stay at.

“All of them, Tony. Each one. We have years.”

“We happen to find ourselves in the penthouse tonight and I’m not willing to wait til the jet can fly us somewhere else. But there are many many things we’ve yet to do right here.

“Yes,” Peter said, kissing him again. “Anything.”

“Anything I want?”

“Oh… crap…” Peter pulled his head away a little and tried to clear it. He had to be honest… Being honest had been a big deal to him since Paris. And ‘anything’ was a very big word.

“Unh unh. You already agreed. No backing out now, beautiful.” Tony kissed Peter deeply.

“Okay,” he whimpered a bit against Tony’s mouth. “…but you also said I had to tell you the truth about being afraid of bedroom things so I’m trying to do both.

“All I know is, if I’ve never done it before, I want to do it with you. I need it to be you.”

“Oh you’ve done this before. It’s not a first in that way. You did say locations, though. I was listening very closely, Pete. I always listen to you.”

“Oh… oh good.” He grinned from ear to ear. Tony listening to him was all he wanted.

“Hmm. First, location. Time for other things later.” Tony took Peter’s hand and started slowly walking him away from the elevator doors, unbuttoning Peter’s shirt, dropping it on the floor, kissing him as they walked, unbuttoning his pants while he was being kissed and walked, pushing his pants and underwear down and nearly tripping the kid when they got hung up on his shoes.

Peter was too happy to think straight. He happily helped Tony get him undressed as they walked. If they were headed to the bedroom to do it on the bed, he didn’t care. Just as long as he was skin-to-skin with his lover soon.

When Peter’s shirt came off, Tony’s quickly did too. When Peter’s pants came off, Tony was a little more deft, realizing shoes were a thing and toeing his off as he stepped out of his jeans. They were naked together, Tony wrapped his arms around Peter, anything to keep him distracted from where he was walking him to. Which wasn’t the bedroom. They were still in the living room for now.

Tony slowed their walk as they passed the console table. He opened the drawer and grabbed one of the small bottles of lube he had hidden all over the penthouse. As he wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist, he kept the bottle in one hand. He started kissing Peter again, edging their progress along the large glass wall.

“Ever get fucked 96 stories in the air before?” Tony kissed him again.

“The… the window? Oh Tony…”

“Not the window, baby. I’m gonna bend you over the balcony railing, looking straight down to the ground. Where anyone over there in One Vanderbilt will be able to see you bent over, taking my cock in your ass. Watch you getting the glass messy.”

“No no no. Tony, we’re outside!”

“Um hmm. Outside where they can see how beautiful you are. You are so beautiful Peter. Stunning. You belong to me and you’re one more thing that’s beautiful and mine that they can only look at.

“But Tony… Tony… Tony…”

“But don’t worry, baby. All they’re going to see is how lucky I am to have the most handsome young man in the city all to myself.

“But Tony…”

He held Peter close and kissed along his jaw until he was whispering in his ear. “But what, baby? You know you’re beautiful. You know your mine. You know how much I want you.”

Tony gently turned Peter around, holding him by the waist, pressed up against his back, nuzzling into the nape of his neck. “The lights from all those people out there… Not one of them has anyone as beautiful as you.” Tony kept shifting the lube bottle from hand to hand as he touched Peter, so the kid never knew it was there. Ever since Peter had noticed and remarked on it, it was a game Tony liked to play against himself. How to do the ‘magically appearing lube’ trick.

“But Tony… I… I… Tony I… ” Peter took in great gulping lungfuls of air. He had no fear of heights, never had. In fact he thought Tony’s balcony was one of the most beautiful places on earth. But he was outside, and completely naked, and that was just all kinds of wrong.

But then again, Tony was naked too. Naked, and pressed up against his back and saying the most beautiful things. Peter took another deep breath.

“Okay. I can do it,” he whispered. “If you stay close.”

“Where else would I be, Peter. I won’t let you be anywhere but close to me.” Tony’s hand wandered over his body. Up along his stomach, his chest, his neck, holding him there just a second before moving down his sides to his hip. He moved Peter’s ass back against him.

Peter gasped at the feel of Tony’s hand on his hips and moaned as he felt where Tony was moving him. He needed to make himself understood before he was beyond speech.

Reaching behind him he found the back of Tony’s head and pulled it to his own, until he had Tony’s face pressed against his face. “No, I mean stay close.”

“Baby, I’m gonna be right there kissing those pretty curls on your neck. I can’t resist them. I’ve gotta taste your skin. I’ve gotta put those beautiful marks on it. The ones I don’t even share with you. The ones that show that you’re mine.

“I love that no one else has ever touched you. No one else will ever touch you.” Tony rocked up against Peter, growing hard, frotting along the crack of his ass. His hand slid down from his waist to rest on his belly, just above his cock. He held the solid warmth of it there, then moved lower.

“I should let you have all the experiences someone your age would have. But all of those are mine too.”

“Yes, yes... yes,” he chanted, loving every word that was whispered against his ear. “Yes Tony.

“Oh… but we forgot… you forgot…” Peter stopped and blushed and looked back a little. Tony had supplies hidden all over the penthouse, making sex possible in just about every room. But there were no night tables on the balcony.

Suddenly he found himself grinning. “You’ll have to go back for the lube.”

“I will?” he asked skeptically. To be the ultimate of sneaky, he’d have to not touch Peter with either hand and Peter had asked him to stay close. He wouldn’t let go.

“Not just yet. Kiss me again… oh…”

Tony opened the bottle, giving it a squeeze, and let it run down the crack of Peter’s ass. He bent over Peter’s back a little more and set the bottle on the tile. His finger stroked through the thick lube, pushing it between Peter’s cheeks, fingertip swirling around Peter’s opening.

“Oh Tony…” Peter whispered. He couldn’t say much else. He was trying to remember to breathe. Tony had touched him like this many times, but being touched this way outside? It was somehow a completely different sensation. Still, he knew Tony liked it when he said something other than “Oh Tony.” So he tried again.

“Please keep talking to me.”

Tony was surprised that Peter could say anything, even at this early state. His voice was thin and reedy, almost carried away on the night air. He bent over the boy and kissed between his shoulder blades.

His voice was a low rumble against Peter’s back. “Do you want me to tell you how hot this beautiful place on your body makes me feel? Or perhaps how very special it is that you let me touch you here. That you let me own you here.” He paused. “Or perhaps you’d like me to tell you that there is someone on the 85th floor of One Vanderbilt watching us?”

“Stop…” Peter giggled. He didn’t really believe it, but he also didn’t care. In this moment, with Tony touching him there, no one else mattered in the world.

“Baby, you are always beautiful. But up here? Up where we fly? Where it’s just us? Beautiful doesn’t touch it.”

“Yes, it’s ours,” Peter murmured, hooking his arm behind him so he could stroke Tony’s hair. “Our sky.”

“I want to always see your skin glowing with the city lights. Like it was in Paris.” Tony pressed the head of his cock lightly where his fingers had been. Not entering. Just giving Peter exactly what they both wanted, knowing what they both liked.

“Oh Tony, what are you doing to me?” Peter murmured, eyes half-closed. He could do that, he realized. Could close his eyes and just concentrate on the sensation, on the sound of Tony’s voice, on the warm, solid presence of Tony’s body. Forget, for a moment, that they were outside. Forget that they were on display.

Tony stayed bent across Peter’s back. “I’m touching you,”

He guided the tip of his cock inside. “I’m touching you.”

He wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist and held his hand low across the boy’s belly. “I’m touching you.”

He let his cock go with his other hand, wiping it quickly on his own hip. He tangled his fingers in Peter’s hair with a slight tug. “I’m touching you.”

“Yes, please yes…” Peter moaned. He leaned back into Tony’s embrace, eyes closed, and waited. Tony would tease his opening like this for quite a while, he knew. Tony knew how much he enjoyed it.

But then again tonight was different. Two weeks ago he had done what Tony had told him to do — he had dared to request something bold. It backfired terribly, but ultimately it had paid off. Ultimately, it led them both here. To a better place. He was going to remember tonight. Tonight should be different.

Turning his head slightly, until his lips were touching Tony’s face, he kissed his lover, screwed up his courage, and whispered “Fuck me.”

Tony pressed the head of his cock in very slowly, waiting to feel that little pop as Peter closed around behind it. He held still at that point. “Is this what you want? Tell me what you want. Tell me again.”

Peter took a deep, steadying breath. It wasn’t as hard to do once Tony stopped moving. That was the beauty of this game Tony played. Knowing that Tony wouldn’t move until he was able to speak made speaking so much easier. Gave him room to breathe. He did that now.

Looking up at the sky gave him courage. Knowing that it was their playground, their territory, made him braver even though he wasn’t wearing the suit.

Keeping his eyes on it, on the sky, he knew he could do it. Firmly, he reached up and took Tony’s hand away from his head. Firmly, he took both of Tony’s hands and guided them to his hips, never taking his eyes off the sky. Firmly, he spoke.

“Fuck me,” he growled. “Don’t be gentle.”

Tony kept one hand gripping Peter’s hip. The other arm he wrapped tightly around his waist, almost completely encircling it, putting his other hand next to the first on Peter’s same hip. Holding him firm, making sure that he wouldn’t accidentally push him over the railing — not a fun way to end the evening — Tony pulled back and thrust into Peter all at once, fast, hard, not at all gentle.

“You think you can handle that, baby?” Tony asked.

“More…”

Tony reached up and grabbed Peter by the top of his hair, yanking it hard, pulling his back up against his chest so tightly he could feel the cold metal circle of the arc reactor between his shoulder blades. He fucked upwards, lifting Peter onto his toes with the force of it.

Peter let out a sharp cry of surprise. Normally he bit his mouth down hard when he heard his voice. It always sounded too loud to his own ears. But being outside, he realized very suddenly, had an advantage. Instead of biting down he opened his mouth and let it hang open. Then, whatever happened, happened.

He landed Peter onto the flat of his feet when he pulled back, then lifted him up again when he entered. Tony couldn’t get very deep in this position, but Peter’s cries were very satisfying. Not gentle, not quiet, at all. But loud. Louder than Peter ever dared in the bedroom. He knew they were carried away on the wind. Off to the skies where they both felt at home.

What Tony was doing to him was a very different sensation, and for several moments he let Tony continue. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t deep either. As soon as he was able, he caught his breath long enough to speak. “Stop… stop…” he gasped, reaching back and touching Tony’s hip.

Tony settled Peter down onto his feet again, pulling back, leaving only the head inside him. “What, baby? What do you want?”

“Back up… back up a step…” Peter managed. It wasn’t easy to talk without air, but Peter didn’t want to wait to catch his breath. He pushed Tony back a few steps until he was able to lean forward, putting himself more at a 90° angle. Then he looked back with (what he hoped was) a wicked grin. “Now do it.”

Tony kissed the grin off Peter’s lips and then figuring out what he wanted, returned that grin with a smirk. He slipped out from him and raised Peter up a few inches to where he was bent over the narrow pane of the short glass balcony wall until the boy was looking straight down at the ground, 96 floors below, bent at that 90° angle he was asking for.

“You’ve climbed the tower before, Spider-Man. Get sticky and hold yourself up.”

“Oh fuck Tony,” he gasped, but his hands found exactly what they needed instantly.

“Yes.”

“Hold on tight, Pete,” Tony said, guiding himself inside again, then giving a hard push to seat himself. When Spider-Man stayed stuck and didn’t move with the force of his thrust, he increased that force and slammed in.

Looking straight down from great heights was nothing new to Peter, nor was feeling Tony trust deep inside him. But those two things together? Peter was grateful they were outside. The noises he was making now were completely involuntary. He couldn’t have kept quiet if he wanted to.

Peter’s feet were dangling in the air, so Tony held still, buried all the way in, until the kid’s toes found purchase on the inside of the glass the same way his fingers had on the outside of it. Like that, Peter wasn’t going anywhere and Tony let himself go. Fucking hard and fast with deep long strokes.

He knew that Peter always needed a grounding touch, but the position didn’t allow for much of that. So he splayed his hand flat out on the small of his back without pressure but warmth.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, baby. All the beautiful world down there.”

“Fuck, Tony…” was all Peter could manage. He didn’t think Tony could see his face, so he didn’t try to hide his smile. Never in his life had he imagined anyone could fuck him this way.

“And my beautiful world right here so far above the other.”

The sight surrounding them both and the hot, tight sensation of Peter’s ass surrounding him was bringing him close, fast. His stroke grew shallow, his groans joining Peter’s cries on their flight through the New York skies. He let go of Peter’s hip, trusting the boy to hold himself in place, and slid his hand down underneath Peter, wrapping his fingers around the boy’s cock.

Whimpering, Peter lowered himself back to his feet and stood on shaky legs. He kept Tony inside him without effort (it was a good thing, being graceful.) He was so hard he was dizzy, but he concentrated on what Tony wanted to do next.

Back down on earth (well the earth 96 floors above the ground) Tony’s hand sought out all of Peter’s most sensitive places. His thumb sliding just below the slit as his hand stroked the boy’s shaft. He bit his lip trying to hold back his own impending orgasm.

“Oh Tony, what are you doing to me?”

“You’re gonna make my glass messy, baby. Wanna see you dripping down it.”

Peter reached backward with both arms and pressed his hands on Tony’s back. Eyes open, looking up into the sky, he leaned his head back and let it happen. If anyone was listening at that height, they would have no doubt who was fucking the twink at the balcony. Peter shouted Tony’s name endlessly into the night.

Tony watched Peter come on the railing, the sight was almost enough to send him over on its own. The strain of the boy’s body tightening around him… that was always irresistible. But when he heard Peter cry out, scream out his name… Tony hadn’t come so hard in his life.

With both hands on the rail, Peter tried to catch his breath. His head was spinning. He was pretty sure he had just been way too loud, but then again, Tony had been loud too… in fact… had he ever heard Tony be that loud? He couldn’t help but peek, looking back over his shoulder in hopes to catch a glimpse of Tony’s face before he had time to compose himself.

Tony’s mouth was still hanging open (ah, but Tony had been making some loud noises too, Peter was going to remember that) and his eyes were wide, looking up at the sky, just as Peter had done. Peter found himself grinning from ear to ear. It was a very, very rare thing to catch Tony not focusing on him. For a moment, just a moment, he had caught it. An unguarded moment. He treasured it. He wondered if there was a way to find it again.

As Tony slipped out of him he turned around and brought their heads close, draping his hands lightly behind his lover’s head.

“Property of Tony Stark,” Peter murmured, kissing his face. “You’re going to write it across my chest every morning with a sharpie.”

“Nah. Gonna make you write it on my windows with your come. Peter Parker was here. Tony Stark made him messy. Gonna let you write it on my chest when you’re riding me. Make you write it on my sheets.”

“No one will be able to read that,” Peter giggled, leaning his head back and looking up at the sky again. Their sky. His and Tony’s.

He leaned over and kissed Peter. “No one except the cleaning staff,” he said with a shrug.

“But I want everyone to know.”

Tony cupped Peter’s face and brought him into a long, deep kiss. “Baby, when you’re really ready, everyone will know.”

“I’m ready,” Peter whispered.

Anyone could get his name tattooed on their ass. People he never met had it there. He’s signed more girls’ chests with Sharpie than he ever cared to remember. But only one person would ever have something made out of gold-titanium alloy with the words ‘Property of Tony Stark’ engraved inside of it.

“No, Pete, you’re not. But when you are, I’ll be here.”

#starker #Von writes stuff #thewitchway writes stuff #von's moodboards

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catralvr · 4 years

Text

I’ll make a cup of coffee for your head pt.1

Duncan x Gwen

Word count: 4788

Warnings: Smut (at the end)

Summary: In which Gwen goes into a new coffee because her usual one near her university is closed for the week and meets an old acquaintance working there. She finds herself going there more and more, getting closer to him again.

Notes: I know it might be bad but hey I wrote this because I had one particular scene in it going round and round in my head so. Enjoy. And yeah I’m gonna make a pt 2 bc it was starting to be way too long for me to write. And yes I stopped after That Part sorry

Gwen was standing in front of the coffee place, her laptop already in her hand, music going through her earphones, and pushed the door without even looking. The door didn’t budge. She frowned her eyebrows, not understanding why. She always came at that time, to work on her essays. She raised her head, only to be met by a sign saying that it would be closed the whole week for renovation.

Fuck.

She groaned, put her laptop back in her bag and went away. Where the fuck was she supposed to go now? She had no idea where to find another coffee place as good as this one.

She wandered for ten good minutes, looking for somewhere somewhat good. She wanted to drink her usual macchiato while eating her favourite chocolate muffin. Where was she supposed to go now. Since she wasn’t finding anything, she ended up going to the first one she saw. Didn’t seem to be a lot of costumers, which was good for her. Great, even. Nice, she’ll remember this place for future times, and for the rest of the week too. It was kind of far away from her place but she didn’t really mind, this would leave more time alone to Courtney and Heather, they’ll be happy.

She went to the counter while waiting for the barista to come back to her, took down an earphone to hear him while ordering.

— A caramel macchiato with a chocolate muffin, if you have some ?

— Sure. That all ?

The voice. It seemed like she knew it... Her eyes which were glued on her phone, sending texts to Courtney and Leshawna saying she probably would be late for their movie night, looked up to see the green hair guy from that tv reality show she did, years ago. That show where she met Courtney and Leshawna, her flatmates.

— Duncan ?

— Gwen ?

She blinked twice, making sure it was really him, before laughing awkwardly. She knew he lived in this town, it was big after all. And he was friends with Geoff and DJ, whom she still was close to (but somehow never saw Duncan again, maybe because of packed schedules). Nevertheless, she was still surprised to see him. Wasn’t expecting it.

— Yeah that’ll be all, thanks.

She held out her phone to pay with it, an awkward smile on her lips. What was she supposed to do now? Wasn’t like she had tried to stay in touch with him (not that she didn’t want to, only things happened which made it hard).

— So um... Didn’t expect you to be working in a café.

— Yeah, a guy gotta do what he’s gotta do to pay the bills.

He laughed, an awkward laugh too. The green-haired guy (still dyed his hair green? Good choice though, it suited him well) went to make her coffee, while Gwen stayed at the counter, waiting for her order. She felt too awkward to walk to a table as she usually did.

— I have a band too, on the side, we do some gigs here and there but not enough to live off of it. And working here is nice, never too many people, customers are usually nice. Hot too.

A smirk going her way. She rolled her eyes, not being able to repress the grin appearing on her lips. Same as he used to be, not that she was really surprised. She liked that about him (maybe still do a little bit).

— The other place I usually go to is constantly packed, might change and make this my study hangout.

— Please, be my guest.

She laughed, a real laugh this time, not really awkward. Yeah, she might make it her study place, especially if it’s empty like that. Oh, it was so weird to see him again. Especially since she thought about him from time to time, when she went on Instagram and saw Geoff’s and DJ’s stories. Even so, she wasn’t expecting it. Not when she was still angry about her favourite café being closed (even if it ended up being kind of a good thing). He handed her a plate with her coffee and the muffin on it, winked at her and then let her go to go see another costumer who came after her. She went on the closest table to sit, took out her laptop and started writing this goddamn essay she was supposed to hand it the next day.

During the next two hours she ended up glancing at Duncan more than a few times, even if she wouldn’t admit it. It was strange that they hadn’t kept in touch but the way things ended with the two of them was way too... weird to keep on being friends. She kept in touch with some others, hell she was housemate with Courtney and Leshawna (Heather too, since she was Courtney’s girlfriend and was constantly at their apartment). Geoff too, Bridget by extension, but that was it. Total Drama was something she desperately wanted to erase from her mind. And she had somewhat succeeded, if it wasn’t for even people at her university going up to her and asking if she was the Gwen. Which was annoying.

Once, she stood up to ask when the place was closing, Duncan answered 7pm. It was already 6.

— Fuck. I needed more time. But it’s ok, I’ll leave when it closes thanks!

She was already walking away, ready to go back to that essay. She should be able to finish it by that time, if she stopped being distracted. She could do it.

And she did. Oh it was kind of hard, because everything was a good reason to be distracted. The squeaking of shoes on the floor. The sound of the coffee machine. But she finally was done with it and immediately sent it via email to her professor, was sure she wouldn’t forget it this way. When she looked at the time, she saw it was already way past 7pm. Which she didn’t understand, because she wasn’t asked to leave. She groaned, mad at herself for not having put an alarm, Duncan probably was cleaning and forgot to ask her to leave, but still. She felt too bad about staying overtime, maybe he was doing overtime because of her.

She walked around the room, to find him. Say goodbye before leaving, apologise about staying so much longer. It already half past seven. It let more alone time to Heather and Courtney, but still. She shouldn’t have overstayed.

He wasn’t in the main room, maybe in the back cleaning. But she didn’t want to venture where she wasn’t allowed to. She ended up taking a piece of paper and write a thank you note on it (and her number, just in case). She then left, ready to walk back to her apartment. She was still surprised she saw him again, in a fucking café ? Who would’ve thought the Duncan she met when they were 16 would end up working there. But five years had passed, so it was to be expected. Even herself, even the girls with whom she stayed in touch. They all changed, partly because of that damn show, partly because they grew too. You change a lot between 16 and 21 and she was only now realising it. Well, she did before, but it hit her.

She wondered how much he had changed, she hoped they would be able to get back in touch, she didn’t leave her number for nothing. Well. She’ll see. Now, she needed to get back without getting lost.

She ended up being able to do it, came back to Courtney and Leshawna watching a movie they had already watched at least ten times.

— Yo.

— Hey, sorry we didn’t wait for you. You were taking too long. There’s some lasagna left in the oven.

— Thanks Leshawna!

She was too tired to even argue about them not waiting for her, was only glad Heather wasn’t there. Not that she still despised her, she ended up being kind of close to her. She just didn’t want to come in to her and Courtney making out on the couch, thinking they were alone.

Once.

Not twice.

Once her lasagna heated, she went back to living room and sat on the couch, watching the movie with them. Didn’t matter how many times they watched it, they still laughed the only better thing was that now they could say every line about that movie.

Her hair was tied up in a bun (she had let it grown up to a bit under her shoulder blades but still dyed it black and teal, because it became an habit and couldn’t bear seeing herself with her natural brown hair) as she was lying on her bed, reading a book recommended by her teacher. She usually did that every night before sleeping, got her tired, best way to fall asleep. She was starting to get sleep and put her book on her nightstand when her phone went off. With a sigh she took it and sat on her bed, unlocking it. A text from an unknown number? Eyebrows frowned she opened it.

got your note, wanna hang out later?

OH! It must’ve been Duncan! Gwen had lost a bit of hope, seeing he still hadn’t sent her a text. “Later”.

yeah sure! tell me when you’re free we’ll see

She then put her phone facing down, so she wouldn’t be bothered by the light, and went to sleep.

The next day, she went back to the café place after her classes were over. They exchanged a bit of texts with Duncan during the day, mainly to try and figure out a day to see each other. Which ended up being hard. The only time was during Geoff’s next party (which would make Leshawna more than happy, she had been trying to get her to go since forever). Maybe another time, if any of their plans got cancelled. Or like, his gigs. Since he was playing almost every night, to try and make his band more known. Or she could go to one of his concerts.

She usually wasn’t up for those type of stuff, you never knew if they were really good or not and having to lie to people... She shivered just at the thought. Anyways. She barely met him again, why was she thinking about all that. It was dumb. They hadn’t talked in years. Since they broke up, after Total Drama.

Maybe because you still have... feelings for him.

She shook her head as those thoughts rushed through her head.

Nuh-uh.

No way.

Not going back that path.

Unless...?

NO!

She slapped herself, putting her thoughts back in place.

They weren’t even friends anymore.

She would focus on that.

Being friends with Duncan again.

She pushed the door to enter the coffee place, took out her earphones and went immediately to the counter. Just like the day before, Duncan was there. He looked up from whatever he was doing and smirked at Gwen.

— Missed me already ?

— Yeah, you’re so irresistible I couldn’t stay away from you for longer.

— Knew it. I do that to people.

A smile made its way on her lips as she ordered the exact same thing as the day before and went to sit, waiting for her coffee to be ready. This time, she took out a book instead of her laptop. She had already done all of her homework in advance. She still came, though, because she liked to have a part of the day where she could just rest, be alone for a little while. And this place was so much quieter than the other one. It was a good thing it closed for the week, in the end. Otherwise she would've never found this place.

A plate got laid down in front of her, which made her jump a little bit. Oh. She almost had forgotten about her order.

— There you go. Put a little extra on your coffee. And don't need to pay, it's on me.

She was ready to argue with him but he sat down, crossed his arms on his chest.

— Don't say no. Not letting you a choice.

— Ok. Won't complain.

She took a sip of her drink. Coffee was her addiction, she could never get enough of it. Caffeine didn’t even work on her anymore, her body had gotten used to it. And the fact that he put whipped cream on top of it was really appreciated.

She was ready to get back into her book, only to have it taken away from her as Duncan sat down on the other side of the table, his elbows on the table.

— Aren’t you supposed to work? said Gwen, an eyebrow raised.

— Do you see any customers around?

He was right and she couldn’t help the smirk which made its way on her lips, as she rolled her eyes.

— What do you want, Duncan?

— Have a chat, since we won’t be able to see each other. Since we’re both oh so busy constantly.

— Whose fault is that?

— Eh, not my fault I’m always booked and busy. Anyway. You live with Courtney? What the fuck did I miss?

Gwen choke on her coffee as he asked the question and had to hit her chest to try and not suffocate.

— We kind of dated for a while. After All Stars ended. At first it was... awkward but we went back to being friends and then... You know, when she’s not there she’s really nice? I think the competition got to her. And yeah. It was nice. But it wasn’t working. Still friends though. Now she’s dating Heather. And I kept on being friend with Leshawna, because Leshawna.

She ended her sentence with a light laugh, which ended up being an explosion of laughter when she saw the face Duncan was making. Maybe it was too much at once.

— Dated Courtney? Dating Heather? She? What? What the fuck?

—Yeah. You missed a lot. But hey! Time to catch up on everything!

— Yeah. Didn’t miss much on my side. Tried to go to college, dropped out to start a band. And work... here.

He waved his hand, showing the coffee shop. It wasn’t that bad, in Gwen’s opinion. Didn’t seem to be a lot of customers here. And as long as it payed well.

They spent the rest of the time talking, Gwen didn’t even have the time to read her book in the slightest. But it was nice. Catching up with him. She learned he was in a relationship with a girl for two whole years, but it didn’t work out. She told him she never really went out with anyone except for Courtney, it was mostly one night stands or hookups.

She went back home that night, light-hearted, happy. She felt a ting in her heart, it felt so familiar. She didn’t realise but... She kind of missed that. Him. In a way. She shook her head, trying to shake those feelings away. It was neither the time nor the place for that.

But still, she kept on going back there. Almost every day, for the next few weeks. Getting closer to him. Intimate. Flirty, sometimes. At first, she didn’t tell her friends. She didn’t know how they would react. After all, they all left Duncan in pretty bad terms (Courtney especially) and she was afraid.

One evening, as they were all in the living room, each of them doing something else. Gwen was reading a book her art history teacher had recommended her when she asked about something to improve her knowledge. She was almost at the end of her degree and felt like she hadn’t learned enough, didn’t go through everything she wanted to. So she tried to resolve it on her own.

Her phone, which was right next to her, lit up with a text notification. She picked it up, only to see it was from Duncan.

hey, got a free ticket for the concert i’m playing it tonight, wanna come?

A smile appeared as she answered his text.

yeah, ofc, text me the details i’ll be right there

She couldn’t help but be happy about it. Was this a date? It was right? She didn’t know. She didn’t know where their relationship was. Which point they were at. They were flirting together but didn’t know where they stood, if it was only in a friend’s teasing way or not. She hadn’t gone in a date in ages. Had to make sure it would become one, in the end. Because she desperately wanted it to be a date. She was way too careful about how she dressed, her makeup, her hair. Spent at least a half hour on what she should do with her hair, only to end up with a bun. It showed her collarbones. It was nice. She felt nice.

She arrived a bit too late at the venue, took too long to get ready. But Duncan had texted her, told her when he would perform so she was still ok. Hadn’t missed him.

She still was kind of on the fence about what to think of this, bands of her friends were rarely good, she still had nightmares about what Harold and the others boys did after Total Drama Action. But maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Just maybe. And maybe drinking something would make this all the more enjoyable, who knew.

She ordered a beer, sat at the bar while waiting the turn of Duncan’s band. There wasn’t too many people here, it was nice. She could clearly see the stage from where she was sitting, even if she would probably get closer once it was their turn, just to be sure he would see her. She felt like it was kind of important? Otherwise he probably wouldn’t have asked her to come.

The bands she had listened to up to now weren’t that bad, even if they were not amazingly good either. She could listen to them, it was ok. The time was almost there. She ordered another beer, took the glass and went up to the crowd. Saying “sorry” and “excuse me” she gradually succeeded in going first row (she might have used the excuse of “my boyfriend’s going to play next”, it always worked). Sipping her drink, she was moving her head, smile on her lips. It was a nice evening, unexpected, but nice. The fact that she hadn’t gone out in ages, because of all the workload her teachers constantly gave her, only made this experience better. The current band ended their set, got out of the stage. Her phone rang, another text from Duncan.

we’re next. u there?

Gwen smirked, put her glass on the stage right in front of her for a few seconds to answer.

look right in front of you. can’t miss me.

She put back her phone in the pocket of her jacket, took back her glass and drank it. A warm feeling was rising in her body, a sense of anticipation. She was expecting something, but wasn’t quite sure what. It would be so fucking corny of him to have written a song about her. Trent did it way too many times, when they were together. But still... Anyway. She shook her head, took another mouthful of the beer, her eyes fixed on the stage.

And then they came on. Duncan’s eyes were looking further away in the crowd, before finally locking onto her. He reciprocated the smirk which still was on Gwen’s lips, got his bass ready. The others got their instruments ready too, signalling to each other. Duncan winked at Gwen, before signalling that he was ready, too.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t that bad. Reminded her if some bands she used to listen to. Still did, actually. She bopped her head in rhythm to the music, her eyes closed and occasionally looking at Duncan. The lyrics were fine, the music was great. The beer she had taken was making her feel all calm and nice, the smile on Duncan’s lips whenever he was looking at her made her feel all... fuzzy inside. When that song ended, just before starting their last one, he raised his eyebrows, laughed a silent laugh. She rolled her eyes, finishing her glass. She tried to read the program on her phone, quickly before they started the song. One more band after them. Way enough time to hang out with him, before the results were announced.

That song was way slower than the first two. This was the first ballad of the evening, and a pretty. Lately, she had found herself enjoy ballads way more than other songs. Was mostly the only songs she had on her daily playlists on Spotify, had made Duncan listen to her favourites. This was probably a coincidence. Didn’t know for sure. But it was nice. A nice change of pace. She found herself looking at Duncan, and him staring at her, way more than she was expecting to. The song ended faster than she wanted it to, and they were already off the stage. No more interest for her, so she left the crowd. Gave the glass back to the barman.

— So. What did you think?

— Better than what I expected. Might have a shot at winning this thing.

She said, as she turned around. He was there, looking at her with that same face he had on stage. Looking... kinda hot, actually. But maybe it was just the beer acting up. She couldn’t know for sure. (She did know, she had found it hot for the longest time). He approached the bar, ordered a beer. Take a better look at her.

— I’m glad you came, it was nice to see you there. Looking so good, it made me want to be even better for you.

He laughed, ruffled his hair. He wanted to say something else, she could feel it. But maybe later? She didn’t want to hurry him.

— Who knew Duncan could be so corny?

— Oh, I can be something else than corny.

— I’d like to see that.

They glared at each other before bursting into laughter. Duncan took his glass of beer, drank a bit. It was silent between them, but not awkward. The last band was playing in the background. Gwen finally sat on a stool, taking it closer to Duncan. She crossed her legs, thinking of something to say, but Duncan did it before her.

— I meant it, you really look good. I had forgotten how you look in a dress like that.

— I mean, I also changed a lot in five years. In case you didn’t notice.

— Oh. I did. Believe me, I did.

The way he was looking at her after saying those words made her shiver. Weirdly enough, her heart was starting to beat faster. Would he... He moved in closer to her, and so did she. The space between them soon getting closer and closer.

— Can I kiss you?

His voice was a whisper. Gwen closed the gap between them, kissing him. His lips were as soft as she remembered, one of his hands find its way onto the back of her neck, while the other was holding one of Gwen’s. They broke off the kiss after a few moments, both breathless. Both smiling.

— Is that enough of an answer for you? Gwen said, winking.

— Wanna come to my place?

She blinked twice, frowned.

— What about the results?

He shrugged.

— Meh. I know we’ll win anyway. My bandmates will be mad. I can handle it. It can wait.

The hand on the back of her neck slid down to the small of her back, pressing it slightly. Gwen laughed, shaking her head. She took out her phone from her jacket, sending a text to Leshawna and Courtney saying she wouldn’t be back for the night. They left. The expectation of what was going to happen was building up, she felt an excitation she hadn’t felt in so long. The way to his apartment was pure torture. They had to walk for about 20 minutes, the high heels Gwen was wearing was killing her. But she didn’t complain, only talked to Duncan. They talked a lot, during those twenty minutes. However, once they were inside the apartment and Duncan locked the door, all talk was over.

He immediately kissed her, leading her somewhere. She didn’t even have the time to take a look at where he was living, she already was in his bedroom (he had a two room apartment? wow), thrown onto his bed. The light was off, but the light from the street were enough for her to make out Duncan in the darkness. He was already taking off his shirt and pants, she unzipped her dress and let it fall on the floor. She didn’t really want to talk for now, only to feel him next to her. It wasn’t long, he quickly went to kiss her, his hands undoing the bun to pass his hands through her hair, pulling it with a small laugh. She groaned, pulled her hair back.

— Stop that.

— You prefer this?

He went down, started kiss her neck. Bit it here and there. Went further down, kissing all her body as he did so. Gwen shivered, held out her breath. She giggled when he started kissing her stomach. Immediately stopped once he arrived at her underwear. She wasn't expecting it to go there that fast.

— Duncan...

He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised.

— If you don't want to, stop me.

Him saying that made her feel more comfortable. She exhaled, put her hand in his hair.

— No. It's fine.

He stayed there, looking at her for a few more moments a grin slowly making its way before taking the last piece of tissue on Gwen's body out of the way. He kissed her there like no one did before. She tried to hold it in, bit her tongue to drown any noise. Only some few moans, as her hands were buried deep down into the sheets. He let his tongue slid, trying to make her make more noise. Ended up going back to her face, to kiss her.

Feeling Gwen's short breathes made him laugh. As a revenge, she held out her hand, put it in his boxer. Grinning, she started to stroke him, laughing herself as she felt him thrust with a moan.

— Feeling less bold all of sudden, are you?

— Wanna bet?

His free hand reached into his bedside table, took out a condom. He pulled back from Gwen for a few instants, ripping the package open. He quickly put it on, went back down to kiss Gwen.

— You sure about this?

— Yes. I am.

He looked her in the eyes as he made sure to not hurt her, smiling even more when he felt her legs wrapping themselves around his waist. One his hands reached out to hold her waist as the other was against her cheek, caressing it. They were both smiling, both looking into each other's eyes. It felt as if they were only one. Gwen's hands were around the back of Duncan's neck, her moand got louder and louder. Duncan was faster and faster. They were moaning together, kissed each other frantically as they felt the end coming. Which was amazing. In unison. The first time it ever happened to Gwen. The first time she came that fast with someone, the first time it was so... Good.

She laughed as Duncan laid down next to her, she stood up to go to the toilets and went back next to him right after, still totally naked. She was too exhausted to put back any clothes on.

She curled herself up next to him, as he put his arm around her, his fave buried in her hair, smiling.

— Nice to see you again, Gwen.

— Nice to see you again, Duncan.

#td duncan #td gwen #total drama #total drama island #total drama action #total drama world tour #gwuncan

41 notes · View notes

yoonjinkooked · 5 years

Text

lockdown | (m) - Chapter 1

moodboard by @flajka

pairing; jungkook/female OC genre; college au, strangers to lovers, smut and tiny bit of fluff too, humor ofc rating; explicit words; 4.900

— synopsis; Eunhee is in trouble and facing a deadline - in comes curly haired jungkook to save her life, make her laugh and maybe, just maybe, fuck her brains out. When the two end up locked in a building overnight, who knows what will happen?

warnings (for this chapter): cursing, OC really wants to murder Tae, banter, cute Kook, slightly cocky Kook, hints of sexual tension. Just an introduction chapter, really.

A/N: I hope you enjoy the first part guys. I am now starting to work on Chapter 2 and will let you know when I plan on posting it. Let me know what you think - I’m still a tumblr newbie and basically, I’m crappin my pants.

With that being said, let’s start chapter 1 :)

In the life of a journalism major, there are a few life-changing, stress-inducing moments that essentially serve as a preview of what’s to come if you do decide stay on your chosen career path.

For me, a handful of these moments made me question anything and everything I have ever known about the career I’ve chosen to pursue back when I was 18 and frankly, a little bit stupid. One of these moments was back when I was doing an obligatory internship at a small, local newspaper, only to realize that the editors and big shots there expected me to do nothing more than to make them coffee and copy papers in their stead.

Another moment was when I attended my first murder trial, which probably would end up being a part of my future job, only to spend the entire afternoon wondering if this really is something I want to do for the rest of my life.

And the final moment, at least the final one that I can think of right now, is currently occurring, with me losing my shit as we are trying to get the final edition of this year’s university magazine ready for printing. And I, as one of two co-editors, will be the one to blame if anything goes wrong.

Half of my grade depends on this. My future job prospects depend on this. Whether or not the professor is happy can influence the direction of my masters’ next year. This is ride or die for me and I am losing it.

“Namjoon, where the hell is he?” I ask my co-editor, best friend and partner in crime. Who also happens to be the only person on this planet who is well equipped to deal with me losing my shit.

“I know as much as you do,” he reminds me, moving the phone away from his ear. “I am trying to reach him now. You panicking will not do us any good and it definitely won’t make Taehyung answer me sooner. So don’t panic and focus on the things we already have here and work with that. The photos aren’t the only thing we need to look over before it’s ready for print.”

I nod my head franticly, knowing deep down that he has a point but also knowing that won’t help me at all. It never does because whenever I am chasing a deadline, I follow the same line of action. Work, panic, panic some more, work, panic like the world is ending, forcefully calm down and then, finally, get shit done. I am not sure if I am on the ‘panic some more’ or ‘panic like the world is ending’ phase yet but as I run fingers through my hair, letting my nerves get the best of me, I am positive said hair is gray.

I hear Namjoon cursing under his breath but for the sake of getting things done, I ignore him for now and simply focus on the task at hand – proofreading. As long as I preoccupy myself with tasks that need to be done, I cannot focus on the fact that Taehyung is late, like he always is, despite it being the one time he truly needed to be on time.

So for the next few minutes, I go over several articles in the speed of light, once, twice, three times. No matter how much they’re using spell-check, our reporters still make mistakes and honestly, when I see my name below one title, I know I am not allowed to judge because I obviously do it too.

Campus activity, student achievements, published works and former alumni ‘look, they’re famous now’ column – all covered and grammatically perfect. And Namjoon is still trying to reach the one man we need the most right now. Slowly but surely, the other students are becoming less frantic and more calm and casual, because their tasks are all but finished. Namjoon, Hoseok and I? Not so much.

“Okay, what the hell?” Hoseok throws his pen rather violently on his desk. “He does this every time. Every damn time. I’m the designer – I need to go over everything and make sure the photos are put where they belong. How can I do that if I don’t have said photos?”

“Hoseok, I know I’m not the textbook definition of calm but we need to try to be,” I tell him, turning my chair to face him over our connected desks. “Try to design it somehow, leaving the space for the photos. Vertical or horizontal, I will find good photos to fit. And if I have to change something, I will.”

“Are you sure you can do that?” he looks doubtful, which is extremely insulting, since we have known each other for three years and have been working together for more than two.

“Basic editing? Yeah, I can do that,” I roll my eyes. “If you doubt my editing skills, you can stick around till midnight to check on me.”

“No way,” he shakes his head. “It’s Jimin’s birthday party tonight and you know I need to be there.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, not even sure why, since it’s absolutely obvious that he is dead serious. “This is the most important edition we’re going to release. We’ve been doing this for years and this is our grand exit, which we need to execute perfectly, and you’re telling me you want to go to a party?”

“I’ll be going too,” Namjoon covers the speaker of his phone to tell me. “Sure, this edition is a big deal and we want it done well but most is already done and this isn’t our entire life.”

“Oh please,” I reach for something, anything, and end up hitting him on the chest with a block of post-its. “You’re just going because you hope to hook up with Hyejin, even though we all know you will just end up drunk, alone and watching her from a distance.”

“How dare you?” Namjoon is flabbergasted.

“She isn’t wrong,” Hoseok chuckles, ignoring the glare Namjoon throws his way. “But he’s right about this not being our entire life. You will burn out, Eunhee. It’s been two weeks and you haven’t stopped thinking about this once,” he tells me, as if I needed to be reminded. “This is the final edition with you being the editor. You should celebrate, not stay here after hours and pulling the hair of your head.”

“With the two of you playing beer pong and complaining about girls ignoring you, someone has to be the responsible one,” I point out. “All of this is riding on the three of us and you’re just… gonna dump me?” the betrayal is evident in my voice and yet, neither one of them is bothered enough to look guilty. Before they’re co-editor and designer, they’re just stupid, horny students.

“It’s already done Eunhee,” Namjoon rolls his eyes. “The one doing the dumping here is Taehyung and you just told Hoseok you can handle the editing. If you’re not sure, you can send him your final version and he can fix it if it needs to be fixed.”

“I am not leaving that party to fix Taehyung’s mess,” Hoseok cuts in.

“Our mess,” I remind him. “We have until 4AM to send it. So long as you’re not wasted out of your mind, it’s doable. If you even need to fix anything. Taehyung is always late but he also always brings more than enough material for us to work with. He’s a jackass but a talented jackass.”

“And a jackass who can’t answer his phone,” Namjoon adds, throwing his phone on the desk, before sighing as he slumps down onto his chair. “I’m going to regret that,” he glares at his phone.

“I can’t force you to stay here and help me,” I mumble, watching as the student reporters casually leave our office space, not even bothering to say goodbye because it’s the final week – who cares, life goes on, we’re going to see each other eventually and our portion of work is done. “I can, however, remind you of this in the years to come, guilt tripping you into doing favors. Many, many favors.”

“You make it sound like you’re not already doing that half the time,” Hoseok points out.

“Not my problem you somehow always end up owing me one. Or two. Or five,” I shrug as I turn towards my laptop, planning on searching for some stock photos we might be able to use, if Taehyung doesn’t show up. I know that he always does, last minute or not, but I can’t leave anything to chance. While stock photos would be a cop-out of sorts, we need to have a plan B.

The next two hours pass in almost complete silence. An occasionally sigh would leave Hoseok and every now and then, Namjoon would curse under his breath as he tries to reach Taehyung for what has to be the hundredth time – so far, to no avail. The panic I felt earlier had already left my system so I was able to focus on other things, all the while ignoring what seems to be our pending doom.

The sun had set and the lights are now on and that son of a bitch is still not answering his phone.

“You know, at this point I’m starting to wonder if we have better chances of finding him at Jimin’s party,” Hoseok breaks the silence. “I’m done with all the pages, I left enough space for all kinds of photos and there’s literally nothing more that we need to do.”

“Speak for yourself,” I mumble as I open the email he just sent me, showing the draft for the final version of the magazine. It looks as amazing as possible, seeing as 98% of photos are missing – instead, white blocks serve as breaks between long rows of text. “You know what? You two go. Go and have fun and if you find him, kick his ass. There’s no way he’d ever miss Jimin’s party. I’ll stay here and finish this up and when you send him to me, I’ll kick his ass too,” I tell them.

“Eunhee, are you sure?” Namjoon walks over to my desks and leans on it, giving me what I can only describe as a look of pure and utter pity. “I don’t want to leave you hanging; you’re not the only one with the responsibility here.”

Seeing as I am the only one that will sit Jimin’s birthday party out, I kind of am, but I do not say it. “It’s okay Joon,” I reassure him. “Go. Have fun. Try to get some with Hyejin. I’ll take care of this, it’s not like it’ll be the first time I pull an all-nighter. Just find that bastard and get those photos to me.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Hoseok stands up and throws a bag over his shoulder. “We will find him and I will do my best to stay sufficiently sober if you need my help. Which, if you do, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?” I nod, knowing I would rather fix it myself than have drunk Hoseok ruin it. He’s majestic with the editing software but when drunk, he can’t even walk straight, much less edit.

“Just make sure to get his USB to me, even if you have to kill him to make it happen,” I remind them. Namjoon is still worried but I roll my eyes at him, which apparently is the sign he needed to get his things and leave. I wave them out, surprisingly relieved to have the office for myself.

I am a decent team player but the last couple of years have shown me that I do my best work when I do it alone. Not to say that I take all the credit – hell no. Joon is the editor as much as I am and half the work is done by him but at times like these, I just want him out and away, busy with Hyejin. This way, if it’s a mess – it’s my mess. If it’s a work of art – it’s my work of art.

With a coffee in one hand and glasses of my head, I go over last year’s photo folder – that’s a better plan B than some basic stock photos. Some of the photos look like a decent backup – our campus hasn’t changed much over the last couple of months, after all. As long as I avoid last year’s seniors, I might be able to pull off plan B without anyone except a handful of us knowing the truth.

Even the swimming team – they have won gold last year, they have won gold this year too. The members are all the same, no new freshmen, no seniors last year. If my memory serves me well, all of them kept their natural hair colors and I can totally use said photo in this month’s edition. Sure, Jimin and the rest of the team will probably know what’s up but that’s nothing a round of beer can’t fix.

Look at me – such a professional. Bribing my way to get the work done. Yay.

In the midst of scrolling, I pause to glance at the clock – it’s almost ten and still no sign of Taehyung. Stifling down the pending panic, I take a deep breath and decide to play some music, hoping to distract myself more. While 80s rock has its charms, I still fidget as I scroll through folders upon folders, grabbing hold of my favorite koala mug again and downing the rest of the coffee in one go. Needing something to distract me further, I open the top drawer of my desk, grabbing the emergency M&Ms I’ve kept there for a few weeks now, knowing I was bound to pull an all-nighter sooner or later.

Just as I down a handful of candy, someone knocks on the office door and I nearly choke. I cough, make sure a lone M&M is not going to kill me, take a deep breath and shout a ‘come in’.

The little hope I have deflates as I realize it’s not Taehyung, the bastard himself – instead, it’s a guy I know, but not really. Tall, wavy brown hair, wide brown eyes and a slightly dumbfounded look, hidden under the hood of his black sweatshirt as he barely steps inside the office, still with one foot out as if he is ready to run.

I am positive I know him. I’m sure we have class together, or had the year before. Or perhaps we just have classes in the same building – I know I’ve seen him before, in the background, on the side, but for the life of me, I can’t put a face to the name.

“Can I help you?” I ask, once he doesn’t speak up for a few moments.

“Yeah,” he snaps out of his daze, tilting his head before reaching for his pocket – I keep my eye on his hands, half expecting him to draw a gun and shoot me in place. “Taehyung sent me to give you this,” he says as he pulls out a USB stick out of his pocket.

Finally, I can breathe. Finally, I know I will manage to get this done tonight. “Thank fuck,” I sigh, closing my eyes for a second before opening them up again and realizing I have just confused the shit out of him. “I was positive the jackass would leave me hanging. I would have murdered him in cold blood.”

“He’d never do that,” the guy smiles at me, a smile that evaporates as quickly as it appeared; making me wonder if I even imagined it. “If he had told me sooner, you wouldn’t have to wait. He texted me like 10 minutes ago, telling me that I need to bring this to the office.”

“He left the stick with you and didn’t tell you what it’s for?”

“No, he asked me to edit the photos,” he tells me. “Oh. You don’t… I’m the G.C.F guy. I’m the other photographer,” he explains and suddenly, the little boxes in my head fall into their designated place.

Taehyung had a photography partner. I’d say a solid half of the photos we’d print were Taehyung’s, and the others belong to the guy always signed as JJK, G.C. F; I have never met him, never asked for his name and before tonight, he had never showed up in the office.

And now I can remember the guy more clearly – he always had a camera, either hanging around his neck or covering his face as he would relentlessly take photos.

“Ah, now I get it,” I smile. “I’m Eunhee, the editor.”

“I know,” he tells me. “Jeongguk.”

Yep, I know the name. It’s all clicking now.

“Well don’t just stand there Jeongguk,” I tell him as I stand up; I walk around my desk and start Hoseok’s PC, knowing that he has a better editing software ready to go. “I’m going to need your help for this. Everyone else is getting shitfaced at Jimin’s so if you’re up for it, you’re going to be the one to help me get this edition ready by 4AM. You up for it?”

Honestly, I’m not particularly surprised when he doesn’t answer me straight away – it’s not like I’m offering him free food, drinks and a night he’ll remember – quite the opposite, I’m offering him a night full of work. Simply put, I’m begging him to help me, without actually openly begging.

“Sure,” I hear him shuffle around as he puts his backpack down on the ground. “Where do you need me?”

"Just get yourself a chair," I wave my hand around the room, staring at nothing as I try to figure out where should we start from. I suppose that from the beginning is the only real answer to that one. "Hobi had set it all up for me to finish but I think I need to see what you've brought me, see what i have to work with," I decide, turning to Jeongguk, just in time to see him drag Namjoon's desk chair from the corner of the office.

"All of them are edited and ready for use," he reassures me with a tight smile as he joins me behind the desk, a good foot between our chairs. Noticing that he still has his hood up and covering half of his face, I bite my tongue and decide not to wonder why - he has his reasons, I suppose.

"Then we just need to decide what goes where and that is where you come to my rescue."

"What makes you think that should be my call?" he asks, not bothering to hide his surprise.

"Well, you're a photographer," I announce, as if the guy is not aware of his profession. "Doesn't that officially make you a better judge when it comes to esthetic mumbo jumbo?" I ask, because I truly don’t know. I am not familiar with the job requirements a photographer needs to fulfill, other than to have a camera, of course. I simply imagine they have some sense of beautiful. Wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about something and that is why I ask – there’s no shame in not knowing.

After a beat of silence Jeongguk looks at me, keeping direct eye contact for one whole second, which is time enough for me to conclude that he is cute, ridiculously so. Cute in a way that no man in his early 20s is allowed to be. Yet not cute enough to make me focus on him instead of the task before us.

"I guess so," he tilts his head as i force my jaw shut - now is not an appropriate moment for ogling. "Aren't you the boss lady though?"

"Boss lady," I test the nickname and roll my eyes. "Difficult to work with, perhaps. Bossy? Don’t think so. But I’m taking it because I obviously need your help tonight - I am good with words, not at making them look good on paper."

“What you need to do here is not that hard,” he waves at the monitor and I turn to look at him. “Deciding on which photo should go where depends on… the overall page. The colors, the neighboring photos and countless other things. There are no rules – just feeling. Photography is feeling,” he waves his hands about as he talks, completely immersed in his explanation and making me wonder if he’s talking about this particular problem or just photography and its misconceptions in general.

“No rules?” I ask through a chuckle. “That’s not what people told me when I took a selfie from a downward angle.”

To my shock and frankly, shame, he stares at me in silence, blinking once, twice, three times. I gulp. “That was supposed to be a joke,” I elaborate in a low voice, as I hope that the ground will split in two and just swallow me into a never-ending dark hole. Or that Hobi’s PC will finally be usable.

“Oh. Okay.”

Well, this settles it then – absolutely no possibility of mild, harmless flirtation. That flat-lined reaction will end up being a source of trauma for me in the years to come – I just know I will end up awake at 3AM in like five years, thinking of how awkward this particular moment was.

“Finally,” I feel relieved now that I can actually work with Hobi’s PC – I slide the flash in, on the first go. I nearly celebrate the seemingly impossible victory but I decide to hold myself back. If Jeongguk can’t take a joke, he will probably think I am insane if I behave like I normally would. “Now let’s see what we have here,” I mumble, opening the pop up. One folder named 1 – I open it. I click on the first photo, of a group of students sitting on grass and talking (looks absolutely staged but based on what I know about Taehyung and his G.C.F partner, they don’t roll that way). I smile when I see a photo of our swimming team huddled up together, gold medals hanging around their necks – I won’t have to use last year’s photos after all. “These are really good. Perfectly edited too. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, it’s my job,” Jeongguk mumbles as he eyes the photos I scroll through. I can no longer tell if he’s serious or joking and I simply give it up altogether – who cares?

“This will fit perfectly,” I mumble as I finish going through the bunch of photos and end up on the first one – the one with a bunch of people that looks absolutely staged. I exit and go back to the folder, then back to the original one. It’s as if I could feel, actually physically feel, my heart slowly sliding down inside of my body. I go back and open the folder again, looking as the fear slowly grows in me. “Jeongguk, where are the other photos?” I somehow manage to utter.

“They’re all there,” he tells me, his eyes going wide when he notices the look of pure and utter horror on my face. “Taehyung told me you need 20 photos, no more, no less. There are 24, I added 4 more just in case, if you didn’t like some of them… Eunhee, what is going on?”

My chest goes up and down frantically as I try to calm the whole tornado of emotions that starts within me. Panic, worry, sadness and more than anything else, anger. Pure anger. “I will murder him.”

“What? Who will you… Taehyung?”

“I said,” I slowly speak, pausing for deep breaths. “200 photos. 200 photos, no more, no less. 200 from which we would end up using more than 100. I said 200, not 20.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit.”

“What… where are you going?” Jeongguk asks as I jump off my chair and nearly fly over the desk to grab my handbag. I throw my phone inside of it and turn to look at him, only to find him flinching away from me. Apparently, I look as angry as I feel.

“I am going to Jimin’s birthday party,” I announce. “Where I will grab Kim Taehyung by the neck, drag him outside, throw him onto the ground and murder him in front of the entire student body. I’m thinking strangulation is the way to go. You should come too, take a few photos of it for the delayed magazine edition.”

“No!” Jeongguk snaps but I am already heading towards the door. His hand wraps around my wrist and he drags me back towards the desk.

“What?”

I don’t know what else to say because why the hell did he pull me like that?! I wasn’t actually going to murder Taehyung, no matter how much I might want to do so.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at me and I feel even more stupid than he made me feel minutes ago. The nerve. “If you go there and yell at Taehyung, or even kill him in cold blood, you’re just going to end up wasting valuable time,” he tells me. Okay, true, I can’t argue with him on that one. “Not to mention that you won’t get the photos. He doesn’t have them on him at all times and even if he did, they aren’t edited.”

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that I am fucked? Like, missionary, sideways, in the ass fucked?”

“I wouldn’t choose that particular wording, but yes,” he sighs. “If you stay here, you’re not fucked. Just… follow me. It’ll make sense soon,” he seems impatient as he grabs hold of my wrist again and this time, he drags me out the door. I actually stumble to keep up with him, too confused to even ask him what the flying fuck he is doing and where the hell we’re going. He walks fast and with him dragging me behind him, I have no choice but to break into a light jog to keep my arm attached to my body.

Down the hallway and to the left, Jeongguk drags me towards the last door, in front of which he finally stops. He starts fidgeting and feeling himself up and down. It takes me a moment to realize that he is looking for the keys. “What are we doing here, what is this place?”

“This,” he unlocks the door and smiles at me mischievously. “Is my office.”

As soon as he turns on the light, it all makes perfect sense – it’s a darkroom. A darkroom which I had no idea existed, even though I have spent a bigger part of my college education just down the hallway. “Don’t just stand there, come on in,” Jeongguk urges me but I do not move. The hood that still covers half of his face, paired with the room’s red light, is making him look pretty ominous.

“No thanks, these places are as creepy as they seem in movies.”

Jeongguk laughs and shakes his head. “They’re not creepy. Suit yourself.”

“What the hell are we doing here?” I ask, feeling my earlier agitation return. Fix the mess then kill Taehyung. Stopping by a darkroom was not on my to-do list. “How the hell can this help?”

“As I said, this is my office,” he tells me and I see him rummaging through the top drawer in one of the desks that are lined up against a wall. “I keep my work here. Some, not all. Useless work mostly. Random campus photos I take just because I think the moment is worth capturing.”

“While that is very poetic and deep, how the heck can that help us now?”

“Haven’t I just said I take random campus photos?” he asks in annoyance. “I have at least one flash drive with random photos like the ones you might need. I’m a good photographer and,” he waves his hand and I notice something black in it – he walks over to me, takes my hand and puts the flash into it. “I’m the one who will make your words look good on paper.”

It’s not what he said – it’s the way he said it. For the first time tonight, his hood did not block my view of his entire face. The way his eyebrows lifted, followed by a smug smile and head tilt, my heart went into overdrive. His expression and the fact that he is a solid foot taller than I am makes it so easy for me to feel tiny, irrelevant, overpowered.

Despite being the talkative one of the duo, I am speechless for a moment because good lord, does he look hot right now. Like… please slam me against the wall and leave hickeys down my neck hot.

“Come on boss lady,” he laughs down at me. “Work awaits.”

What the fuck happened to the shy guy who couldn’t keep eye contact for longer than a second?! He is giving me whiplash! I again have to run to catch up with him but I do it without complaining, realizing that for tonight, he is my lifeline. This random dude who’s good at photography is my only hope.

Tonight’s going to be a very long night.

#jungkook smut #jungkook series #jungkook fanfiction #bts smut #bts jungkook #bts #bangtan #bangtan smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfics #jjk #jeongguk #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook

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ladyintheattic · 4 years

Text

yo i’ve been writing alot this month and all i can think of is my poor pre-heartbreak sidestep dealing with the fact she actually has friends haha

_______________ ship: none (barely implied chargestep) words: 1,541 tags: f!sidestep, pre-heartbreak, pre-psycopathor battle, canon typical violence tw: trauma?? possibly ptsd stuff?? ————————–

It was a mistake. You messed up. Misstepped.

The man was probably drunk. Seemed like an alright guy, if your careful scan of all the bar’s patronages upon your entering can be trusted. If it can be trusted. He must have been tripping, falling over his laces, grabbed for your elbow, wanting to be steady, wanting the room to stop spinning.

You bet it spun worse when you flipped him, throwing him over your shoulder into another patron’s table, cracking it in two. You hadn’t meant to; it had been instinct. Reflex.

Your heart stops, your mind finally catching up with your body. The table had hardly finished breaking into splinters before you felt someone’s hand gather up your collar, yanking you upwards, upwards into the face of a man twice your size. The drunk man has a friend. Your feet dangle inches off the floor, and you taste his breath as he snarls at you, his face too close. You also taste ozone.

Ortega’s fist is a blur, and so’s your new enemy’s head. You hear Anathema yelling on your right, and you wonder for a split second if you can somehow stop this imbroglio: halt the ensuing chaos. A foolish thought. You’ve messed up. You’ve messed up, and now you have to pay for it.

Mistakes are not to be tolerated.

You tug your bandana over your nose, hearing the man’s head make a painful sound as it collides with the bar. Chairs scraping the floor as others stand, every muscle in every body in the filthy old bar tense and ready to fight. They don’t know what they’re in for: who they’re looking at. Or maybe they do, and are just too excited or stupid to understand how outmatched they are.

“Come and get it, pendejos.” Ortega’s grinning, but it’s not the same gleeful one he normally wears to bar-fights. He’s usually the one who picks them, so often you swear it’s damn near a hobby or a pastime for him. This grin is wrong, manic. Angry.

They do. They do ‘come and get it’. The noise is overwhelming: fists everywhere, chairs flying, bottles breaking against skulls, screams as Anathema’s acid eats through someone’s skin. Reflexes kicking in once more, you find yourself landing hits; surface-reading the minds of your combatants just fast enough for you to dodge, block, dance around the damage. You’re good at this, at fighting multiple opponents, it’s what you’ve trained for, but even you would’ve ended up a bloody smear on the floor without the Rangers’ help.

You make out the solid presence of Steel behind you as your kick sends someone somersaulting over another table. Ortega on your left, Anathema on your right. You’re boxed in. Defended.

Protected.

The crack of wood against body startles you out of your reflections. To the far left, past a pile of chairs and bodies, you catch the last moments of a man crumbling, collapsing onto the cold floor, the remains of a table laying in pieces all around him. Ortega’s work no doubt.

You freeze. Everyone freezes. The room is silent but for the odd shuffle of nervous feet or the huffing of a particularly heavy breather nearby. It seems Ortega’s last act of brutality sent them back to their senses. You’re still not sure if you’re back to yours.

Almost before your mind can catch up with this second wave of shifting mood, Steel steps out form behind you, fists already unclenched and a face passive, but firm. “Everyone stay put,” he pulls his badge from his pocket and nudges Ortega to do the same. Anathema follows. “We need to sort this out.” His eyes flick to Ortega’s a for a split moment. “Officially this time.”

You can’t help it: you feel yourself slinking back behind Steel and Ortega’s taller, more noticeable forms. It’s no good. Face still covered, you still feel the heat of the stares, hot like high-powered laser pistols. Your skin crawls, prickling like needles. You don’t produce a badge like your compatriots, you can’t, and you can feel the whole crowd taking note if it. Fuck.

Steel has already moved into action, Ortega at his hip, standing at the bar talking to the barkeep, who is also probably the owner, and probably wanting to keep this whole Rangers incident as off-the-books as possible; Ranger fights in your pub can’t be good for business. You wonder if they will oblige him. You wonder if they’ll clean this up. Clean up your blunder. You doubt it.

“This will not do.” A cold sweat breaks out over your brow. A mistake. An error. A mess. The Directive will not stand of it. Many more of these, and you will be up for some reeducation. Up for poking, prodding, cutting. Cutting away. Changing you.

“Your performance was… less than adequate. You make mistakes like this out there… well, we can’t have that.” No movement. Hardly even breathing. You know better than to try and excuse it or explain yourself. Or attempt to apologize. Apologies don’t happen here. Being sorry isn’t encouraged. After all, tools can’t be sorry.

“Never. Again. Do you understand, Unit B74-”

Hand on your shoulder, you nearly jump, nearly attempt the same over-the-shoulder move you had implemented on the stumbling drunk man. You’re glad you don’t, although you feel your heart in your throat. It’s Anathema, looking at you with an odd, pinched look across her features. “You alright Becky?” She tugs gently on your bandana, though not enough to pull it down, she knows better. “Are you hurt?”

“I understa- I mean. Yeah I’m. Fine.” The cracks in your voice surprise you, as does the hammering of your heartbeat in your ears.

“You look really pale,” her hands find yours as she attempts to lead you to one of the few upright chairs. “And you’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.” You pull your hands from hers; you can’t sit down yet. Too much adrenaline still pumps through your veins. Too much fear. No one had a camera on did they? No one pulled out their phone and started recording the fight for some soon-to-be-chain-email, right? Did anyone note your face? Would any of them recognize you if they say you on the street now? What about the bar’s security cameras? What if someone-

“You’re not fine,” startling again, you feel her sharp gaze looking your face over despite most of it still being covered. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I-”

“Beck!” Ortega is at your side, his arm gently brushing against you. You can practically feel the effort he’s exerting to keep his hand out of yours. “We think we’ve got all this sorted out,” his mouth spreads into an all-too-familiar smug smile. “The Rangers gotta shell out a bit of cash for the chairs and tables, but other than that it’s like nothing even happened here.”

You’re frozen again. Wait, so the Rangers are going to waste money on this? Is that even allowed: you aren’t even a Ranger, and only debuted as Sidestep a few months ago. It’s not like you’re particularly valuable to them, at least not yet.

“But… Can you? Do that?”

“Of course!” He raises his hand to his chest in mock indignation. “I’m the marshal, and I’ve had a few more bar-fights than you I’ll bet. Not the first time Wei’s had to deal with cleanup either.” He winks past you, at Steel, who only gives an annoyed grunt in return.

“Yeah, but-” You stop yourself. Why are you arguing with them? Probably because you don’t believe it; when you do things wrong you get punished for them, not just by the Directive, but also by life in general. Life doesn’t work like this, at least not for you.

No one has ever done something like this for you… but then again, you’ve never had friends that would jump headlong into a bar-fight for you either. Never had friends before.

“It’s really okay Becky,” Anathema nods over to Steel. “We saw the whole thing. We know how it is: sometimes you get jumpy, instincts kick in and, well, this is usually the result.” She shrugs, as though she were talking about breaking a mug or slipping on ice. As though it was fine, expected, normal.

“I was getting tired of this dive-bar anyway,” Ortega claps and hand on your shoulder, almost knocking you over for how faint you feel. “And it’s still pretty early, so lets try the next place! I heard one opened last week a few blocks down!

Nod. You’re trying to nod, or smile under the bandana, or do anything. You can’t. You’re body is still waiting. Waiting for the punishment. The fear still hasn’t run its coarse, but something new is blooming in your chest. You can’t name the feeling, or even describe it.

All you know is that you want to cry.

“Th… Thank you, guys.” You swallow hard. “And… sorry. About the mess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he gives you a light shake and a wink before letting your shoulder free, heading for his jacket he has slung over the bar. “We’re a team nowadays aren’t we?”

Finally. Finally, you smile. “If you say so, old man.”

#fhr #fallen hero #fallen hero: rebirth #sidestep #fh:r #dumb writing #oc beck #hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm idk if i like this #cant get the eMOTION in the owrds the way i want #whatever im better at shorter fics ughh

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illyrianwingspans · 4 years

Text

Do Not Go Gentle: A Bitter Song

Link to song

Synopsis: Things begin to heat up in the business world.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 2: A Bitter Song

Flowers. Cake flavours. Guests lists. Colour schemes.

Outside of coffee and pastries, these consumed my life. Every waking minute spent outside of Hum’s was dedicated to wedding planning. Whether it be on my own—through countless emails and brochures forwarded to me—or with endless sessions with Ianthe, I was chained to agendas, schedules and lists.

It was killing my brain cells. Slowly. Brutally. A slaughter I’d eventually understand once the wedding day came around—but nevertheless despised.

Tamlin, thankfully, made a lot of decisions for us. Whenever we’d be in bed watching TV and a new email would pop up with more choices to be made, he’d take one look at it and have an answer. I wouldn’t think twice, select it and send it off in less than five minutes.

If I had to look at centrepieces one more time, I was going to throw my tablet off the balcony.

Work kept me steady, though. Rhysand didn’t make good on his promise of stopping by the day after the gala, and I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing. But regulars stopped and chatted throughout the week, white-collar workers took up spots at the tables and kept me focused with the typing of their computers as a background noise—but besides that, it was radio silence.

The nights got later for Tamlin. Ever since our engagement and the new business partners he’d met, he’d been working himself to the bone to keep them happy and to smooth out the agreements they’d made. I didn’t know what kind of business they were, but Tamlin briefly mentioned the ports, which Spring Corporation ran and up-kept.

I’d often find myself alone. In bed. Staring up at the ceiling.

There wasn’t much for me to do besides work, plan, sleep and eat—except on the occasional night when Tamlin was free, and we’d wrestle in the sheets. Besides that…it grew cold, in my head. Empty. Just like it was before the engagement. Just like it was after the accident.

It was’t often, but every once in a while, the nightmares returned. The visions of glass scattering, the blood staining my hands. I remembered the body, the severed arm I found ten feet away from the car.

It wasn’t surprising that the nightmares sent me running to the washroom to quietly heave up the pent up horror within me. I woke up the next morning feeling drained of life; drained of colour, drained of saturation and hue.

But life continued on despite it all. No matter the reluctance rooted deep in my bones, they still pushed me out of bed in the morning and continued their course throughout the week that flew by.

I couldn’t remember if it was Thursday or Friday. It was the puzzle I was trying to piece together as Rhysand waltzed in, his mood much more elevated than the last time I saw him, glumly perched upon the gallery’s rooftop balcony ledge.

“Feyre, darling,” he murmured. My hands automatically began to bring his order together. It was second nature—and I blinked at how little thought it took for my hand to reach down to the non-dairy fridge for the almond milk. When Rhysand had become a regular for me, I didn’t know, but I also didn’t really mind. Seeing him today…it was like a refresher.

“How are you?” I wondered quietly, unable to look at him for some reason, wincing as the steam machine barked and gurgled loudly in the quiet space.

“Exchanging pleasantries? That’s not like you, darling. Where’s the bite?” He tapped his teeth together twice and I sighed. I could only shrug my shoulders.

“Is something wrong?” He wondered, more quietly this time. The amusement faded, and all that was left was concern wandering in his eyes.

I began to turn. It wasn’t any of his concern. "You look tired. Is my handsome face keeping you up at night?"

“Oh, bite me.” I snapped.

His smirk was back. “Any time, darling.”

I turned for real this time and made my way to the back of the shop, claiming I needed to check the pastry stocks. The bell rang, singling he’d left despite the fact he normally would’ve dragged out our encounter to a torturous extent, and I returned to the front to see a ten dollar bill sitting on the counter. Dumbfounded, I stared. I had completely forgotten to take his payment.

And as always, I put the ten in the register and the remainder in the tip jar. It wasn’t much, but over the past year and a half, that small sum had accumulated in the secret bank account I’d kept from Tamlin.

Just in case.

***

“Do you have security here?” Rhysand wondered a week later.

Another week of wedding planning. Late nights. Bad dreams. Rusting bones.

Rusting mind.

When he came in this time, I’d already moved toward the espresso machine and pulled out the almond milk. Only this time he told me to make him something different. With almond milk—he didn’t eat dairy—but something out of his regular. It surprised me, and it took me a second to find something I thought he’d like. Looking at the assortment or syrups and flavours and combinations, I settled on something simple to switch up his normal coffee habit.

“Why would I need security? In case some cracked-up caffeine addict attacks me if I fuck up their order?”

“You’ve got a filthy mouth,” he said with a grin, “and yes. More or less.”

I shrugged. “Nothing’s ever happened in the past. I’ve been a bit verbal with some unsatisfied customers, but never to the point of violence.”

“Do you know self-defence?” He asked a little louder, above the noise of the bean grinder.

“I can throw a punch.”

His eyes looked me up and down. “For some reason, I seriously doubt that.”

“What does that mean?”

I looked down at myself. Sure, I guess I wasn’t the most threatening person, and yes maybe I was on the skinner side—but I could throw a punch. Anybody could throw a punch.

I said as much to Rhysand and he scoffed. “‘Anybody can throw a punch’? Not quite, darling.”

The smug attitude was starting to wear me down. The espresso machine whirred as it distributed the double shot, and I crossed the distance to the counter, cranked my fist back, and threw a punch square to his chest.

Rhysand smirked as he easily caught my fist within his own, and in turn flicked up an eyebrow. See? It teased.

“Whatever,” I muttered and turned back to the coffee. There was something about the interaction that sparked an ache in my chest. I poured the steamed almond milk into the coffee and sprinkled cinnamon on top before handing the cup across the counter.

“Feyre,” Rhysand murmured, concern lining his eyes, “I didn’t mean to make you feel weak. I actually wanted to extend an offer to you.”

“Five dollars,” I told him and he handed over a twenty. I rolled my eyes at the way he flippantly spent his money, knowing full well he’d put the change I handed over in the tip jar. Though judging by the array of crisp, tailored suits he wore, money wasn’t much of an issue to him. “And whatever it is, I’m not interested in any more time spent around you than necessary.”

The jab made Rhysand laugh. “Well good thing it doesn’t involve me. My brother works in security detail. He teaches self-defence sometimes at the gym on Wind avenue. You should join.”

I bit my lip. “I don’t really need it.”

“You never know,” he shrugged. “I think you could use it. You never know what kind of rift-raft could pass through.”

“If by rift-raft you mean self-righteous obnoxious pricks, then you are absolutely right.”

He smiled, a full, toothy smile, and took a napkin to scrawl down what looked like a phone number before sliding it across the counter. “Here. Call him. He’s a prick like me, but he’s a great teacher.”

I groaned and handed Rhysand his change. “Of course he is.” He didn’t even acknowledge my outstretched hand before taking his coffee and turning for the door.

***

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Feyre, you don’t need it. We’ve got security. You have me. Why would you want to learn self-defence?”

“To protect myself. You never know what can happen—”

“I protect you.” Tamlin asserted. He stood from where he’d been seated behind his desk to perch in front of it where my feet were planted into the ground. I felt like I was melting into the fibres of the carpet, and his perfectly shining leather shoes were stepping all over me. My eyes didn’t even bother to meet his.

Because he was right. I didn’t need it. I knew full well we had an exhaustive security team keeping tabs at all times, just in case. Tamlin didn’t take risks when it came to our security. Not after everything. I told him, “I know. I’m grateful for it.”

His arm settled on my waist and I drew into him, relaxing into the warmth of his body against mine. “I love you. I’ll never let anything happen to you. Besides, there’s nothing to be concerned about anyway. We’re both safe.” But something kept whispering, How can you be so sure?

Yet all I whispered was, “I love you too.” His arms wrapped tighter around me and he sighed before pressing soft kisses to my neck.

I couldn’t tell if his arms felt like home or a prison.

***

It was a half hour past closing time, and Tamlin still hadn’t showed up to accompany me home. I never left without him. The one time I did he nearly had a heart attack and contacted the police to file a missing person’s report when I was just at home in the shower with my phone ringer off.

So I locked the door to Hum’s behind me and made my way to Spring Corp’s lobby. Alis didn’t even blink when she saw and only waved me through with a smile. She worked reception two days a week to fill in for a woman who’d gone of mat leave, then the rest of the week at the penthouse. I returned her smile, but it felt forced as I tried to bubble up the nervousness building. Tamlin hadn’t even responded to my texts or calls. He always answered me, no matter what work he was tied up in.

The elevator ride to the last floor of the building was always the most awkward. People lower in the company giving me side looks because they obviously had no idea who I was—and a person of my current appearance had no sense belonging in this corporate elevator—and those who did recognize me made the most awkward small talk. My face was burning in frustration as I finally made it off the cursed elevator and onto the executive floor after punching in the four digit password key into the elevator’s security keypad.

The place was sparsely decorated in the modern sense—everything was sleek wood and white accents and gold trimming. Ianthe had designed it herself, and I shot the woman a bitter smile as I approached her desk. Her perfectly manicured baby-pink nails typed away at her keyboard, and she didn’t bother looking up at me until I cleared my throat.

“Oh, Feyre! So nice to see you. Did you see the email I sent you about your appointment with the bridal shop?”

“Yes,” I lied, “I’ll give you an answer as soon as I check my schedule.”

“Perfect. Were you here for something?” She blinked her eyes, all doe-eyed as though it weren’t perfectly obvious that my ‘something’ was behind the two oak doors just past her desk.

“My fiancee. Is he busy?”

Ianthe smiled, and I didn’t like her pause before she said, “No, go right on in. He should be wrapping up the day shortly.”

Despite the churning of my stomach and my instincts barking at me that something was off, I muttered some nicety before turning to the door and pulling it open. The wood groaned, and my footsteps were muffled by the distant sound of voices.

“The deal was finalized yesterday. By next week all assets are being handed over. I’ll have complete control over the establishment and management.”

“What about the people working there? How will they be shielded from this?” The voice was familiar, and Feyre couldn’t quite place it as she meandered past the front entrance where an immaculate suit jacket hung in the closet.

“The workers are none of your concern. Leave that to me.”

“You’re unorganized. It’s sloppy. You know he’s not going to be happy about this.”

What the hell? I wondered quietly as I stood there, trying to make the sound of my breathing as quiet as possible.

“Quite frankly, I don’t give a shit what you think. You’re just security detail, Rhysand. This operation is none of your concern.”

Rhysand. The name thundered through my body, and my limbs turned ashen. It’s what finally made me turn the corner. I was frozen in place as I saw Tamlin, leaning over his desk with his palms flat against the wood. His face was flushed red as he glared at the man before him.

“You seem to forget that I’ve been down this road before, Tammy,” Rhysand said, “I have been in your position and I am not new to this business. Trust me when I say that at the rate you’re going, this entire deal is going to sink because of your poor decision making.”

“Stay in your fucking lane, Rhysand. Though it seems you already have that under control, your arrangements with the big bosses isn’t quite as secret as you like. What is it she made you do? Is—” my fiancee stopped short, and my breath got caught in my throat as his eyes pierced through mine.

“Feyre.”

His tone was cold, assertive. I didn’t recognize the man in front of me, not as he stared at me with those anger-riddled eyes.

I felt like I was disappearing as Rhysand’s head whipped around and saw me standing there, messenger bag flung over my shoulder, t-shirt coffee and sweat stained after the shit day I’ve had. Rhysand’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of me, and I wanted to throttle him. This was some kind of sick, sick joke. All of it.

“Ianthe told me to come in,” I blurted out. “I’ll go wait in the car.”

Rhysand stared confusedly between Tamlin and I for a few moments until his eyes focused in on my ring. I took it off before the shift so as to not damage it. He was at the gala, but he'd been on the roof during the proposal. He couldn't have made the association between a barista and the CEO of Spring Corp. Now that he did, he was just like the rest of them: thinking I was a gold-digging fraud.

Tamlin’s face was flushed red with anger, and I knew this wasn’t going to be a pretty conversation when we got home. The one golden rule: work stays at work. I wasn’t to get involved.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he ground out.

Rhysand began laughing. A full, mirthless laugh, unlike any of the exchanges we’d had before. “She’s your fiancée?” He said bitterly. “You’re seriously putting your fiancée in the middle of all this?”

“Stay out of it.” Tamlin snapped. I took it as my cue to briskly walk away, slamming the door behind me as I jogged to the elevator and ignoring Ianthe’s weightless pleas.

The doors shut behind me and the breath shuddered out of my body. This was going to be a long night.

***

Crisp, fall wind whipped at my face as we rode through the city. I had to put the window down to help the stifling silence between Tamlin and I. His hand had been clutched around the gear shift so tightly that his fingers looked translucent in the semi-darkness.

What was there to say? I couldn’t tell who he was more frustrated with: Rhysand and whatever matter it was they’d been discussing or my intrusion on their seemingly confidential conversation.

The elevator was too small as we rode to the fifty-ninth floor. He wouldn’t even look at me. My eyes remained down-cast, trained on my feet as the soft ping echoed through the space and released us into the penthouse.

Tamlin didn’t storm to his office like I thought he would. No, instead his feet strode to the liquor cabinet and he pulled out a bottle of vodka, pouring a knuckle’s length into his crystal glass and knocking it back. Wearily, I stood there in living room, wondering where this was going to go.

The silence stretched on too long. Tamlin poured himself more, half a glass this time, and took another long, fleeting sip. It was going to be one of those nights tonight. The ones where I wanted to barricade myself in our room if only to escape his insufferable mood.

“Tamlin,” I finally said, “please. Just talk.”

“We have a rule.”

“I missed up. I know.”

“We have a rule, Feyre!” He bellowed. I flinched as he raised his voice. It was normal. Just his temper. I knew how to handle this.

“I know,” I pressed, “and I’m sorry that I fucked up. I know what I did was wrong. I was wrong.”

I repeated it over and over, if only he’d believe me.

“I can’t afford this right now. Not with everything else.”

“Then talk to me, Tamlin,” I pleaded as I crossed the distance between us. His eyes fixed a point over my shoulder, he couldn’t even look at me. “Tell me what’s going on. What deal is this? Why am I…” my voice dropped to a pleading whisper, “What did Rhysand mean when he said I was in the middle of this?”

“Why the hell do you know him? How do you know each other?” Tamlin demanded. He pushed me away from him, not hard enough for it to hurt, but enough for me to stumble a bit. The force of the impact surprised me, and I glared at him. Seeing the wrong in his actions made his eyes line with concern, and he sighed as he held out his hand to me.

Tentatively, I took it and murmured, “He’s a customer at the coffee shop. We met last week. He’s just a customer, Tamlin. That’s it. I had no idea he was a client of yours.”

“He’s not a client,” Tamlin scoffed.

“Then who the hell is he? And why is he concerned about my safety in whatever this deal is?”

Silence. Then, exasperated, he murmured, “Fey, you know the rule.”

“Tamlin, tell me right now or I swear to God I will walk out of here and track Lucien down for information.”

“Feyre—” he tried again.

“No. Tell me.”

“I bought the coffee shop.”

He didn’t look me in the eye when he said it.

I stared right at him, and he couldn’t even look me in the eyes.

“You what?” I demanded.

“I bought the coffee shop because it was going bankrupt. Andras couldn’t afford it anymore. He needed to sell it off before his losses got too deep.”

“What the hell does that have to do with security? About me being ‘caught in the middle of all of this’?”

“Nothing. It means nothing. He meant financial security, nothing more.” Tamlin sighed. “And that asshole doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, so don’t concern yourself over any lies he tells you. He’s only looking out for himself.”

“Who is he?” I repeated once more, more forcefully.

Tamlin looked at me levelly, and said deathly low, “Rhysand Noctis is the CEO of Night Industries. He is a liar, world class manipulating cheat that tactically tortures his competitors for sport and fraternizes with the vermin of Prythian. All he wants is to destroy anybody in his path to success, so get him out of your head.”

I wanted to believe the words that came from Tamlin’s mouth, but they simply didn’t match the description of the man who’s Americano I brewed several times a week. I couldn’t imagine his mouth in anything but the easy smile he shot at me, certainly not a devil-incarnate CEO out to decimate the business world.

They did seem fitting, though, for the man who’d sat across from Tamlin. The bite and dripping sarcasm that’d been in his voice…yes, I could see him as that man.

“Okay,” I murmured, nodding my head. “Okay.” If Tamlin didn’t trust him, then I wouldn’t. Tamlin knew more about his world than I ever would. If Rhysand was bad, then I would ignore him.

Tamlin smiled. It was small, and cautious, and it was probably the vodka working its way into his system, but he drawled, “You know what this means right? Me buying the shop?”

“What,” I sighed as I peeled my bag from my shoulder and set it onto the marble counter.

His fingers fluttered to my waist. “You are officially my new employee.”

“Oh, Gods above,” I muttered, “my new boss is a hard-ass.”

His teeth nipped at my ear and I laughed, the sound echoing throughout the penthouse.

***

When Rhysand Noctis entered the coffee shop the next morning, I did not smile.

The smirk he was wearing slowly began to disappear with each step that brought him closer to the counter. I didn’t greet him. I turned to the coffee machine, my back to him, to block him out as much as I could.

Even when he did utter a “Hello, darling,” I didn’t respond. Only murmured, “Four ten.”

“What did he say to you?”

The words sounded bland. If not quietly, tiredly amused. As though he’d been in this situation many, many times before and couldn’t believe he found himself here yet again.

“Nothing,” I said. “Four ten.”

“You don’t wear your ring.”

“I don’t want to damage it.”

“So this is what you meant by being able to relate to me. Feeling like a fraud. I suppose being to Tammy boy’s little trophy wife would make anybody feel that way.”

My eyes snapped to Rhysand’s, and they were burning. Like hell itself. I channeled my own fury into my gaze, and said deathly low, “Four ten. And don’t you dare fucking speak to me ever again.”

He handed over the bill but suddenly I felt him grip on my palm and hold me tightly, enough to garner my attention and have me snarling in protest, but not enough to hurt. His grip pulled me in closer to him as his voice dropped to a dark, growling beast. “You have to protect yourself, Feyre. This is bigger than you know. Bigger than anything you could imagine.” He released my wrist, then began walking to the door, coffee in his hand. “Wonder why you haven’t heard from Andras in the last little while?” He called. When I didn’t answer, he said, “Andras died two days ago in a ‘car accident’. The day the deal went through.”

I stared at him, mouth gaping open. Andras. My quiet, soft-smiled boss who was always so kind and considerate of my schedule.

Dead. Gone.

“Like I said, this is bigger than you think. And you’ve got to protect yourself, Feyre.”

Without another word, the bell rang, and he was gone.

#dngg #acomaf #acotar #acowar #sjm #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #feyre #rhysand #rhys #feysand #feyrhys #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction

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whosxafraid · 4 years

Text

[ x ] @brooklynislandgirl

The box addressed to Luka during mail call is small. Smaller still the one inside it. It can be fitted to a computer usb but includes an adaptor for his phone. Because she thinks of everything. It’s a strange gift. The drive is filled with one video. It starts with her in the morning, sans make up, still in her pyjamas and holding up a cup of coffee. She smiles sleepily into the camera. “Mornin’ Lulu. If ya watchin’ dis, means ya got my Christmas present. I know bein’ ovah-seas can be really hard, especially when ya feel cut off an’ alone from da people ya considah family. So…wi’ dat in mind, dis video gonna be me takin’ ya t'rough a day in da life. One ya can hold onto, one ya can watch whenevah ya missin’ us. Missin’ me.” And she does just that. It cuts off just before she slips into the shower. Resumes when she’s dressed again. They go to morning mass, then she helps serve breakfast to Father Vinnie’s homeless congregation, before passing out blankets and hats, gloves and other winter survival gear. She holds one little girl against her hip ~born to motherhood was Beth~ and the rest of the kids sing carols and thank Luka and his unit for their donations, and helping Santa find them, even though it isn’t Christmas yet.

Lunch at her favourite vegan cafe and she chats about how impressed she was that he even got some of the ship’s crew to pitch in for her church’s children’s programs and that thanks to them all of the kids and most of the adults will have hot meals for weeks. Not to mention a roof over their heads until after the new year. She has never looked so radiantly happy, and promises to show him when he gets home just what it all means to her. The it’s normal errands, picking up Andy’s dry-cleaning, dropping off lunch and donuts for Baz. It’s having a coffee in Central Park, and a stolen moment or two from Jay wishing him the best of holidays and Happy Hanukkah. Closer to sunset and its video of lights and displays and the snow drifting down in multi-coloured showers that melt into her hair.

Eventually she even takes clips and things from the ER, no patients though. She wouldn’t endanger them, or violate patients rights but there’s some quiet moments while working on her charting, and the nurses also send their greetings. She takes pictures of the doctors who no longer treat her like chattel.

The video ends nearly a full 24 hours later as she is exhaustedly dropping into her brother’s chair, and her eyes can barely stay open. “So, dat’s it. A day back at home because ya no can be here. I hope it makes ya feel less lonely. Love you, Lulu. Come home safe to us. Mele Kalikimaka!!!”

Mail call and...he doesn’t really realize the way his head snaps up from his book when his name cuts across the room. Or for that matter how more falls out of his bunk than climbs. His feet struggling to shift him across the space as quickly as possible, while his dips and dodges around the low hanging pipes in the ceiling. All he knows is once his fingers are wrapped around the rather small box, it only takes a second for smile to start forming on his lips. A little less deftly working his way back to his bunk, as he tears into the package.

A small sound of amusement at the shark that ends up in his palm, a check of the box to make sure he hadn’t overlooked everything. But then it all becomes a bit..confused. Brows knitting together. She sent him a usb? That was...odd. Then again his mind almost instantly starts buzzing with all the things that could be on, verses what mostly would be on it, verses what actually was on it. Because Beth? She isn’t your typical...well anyone. She’s her. But just to be safe...he’ll be using that adapter. Doesn’t need any of the lads possibly seeing or hearing something they don’t need to.

So the shark is tucked away in his bunk for safe keeping until a few hours later when the lot of his squad are sleeping off a few contraband food parcels that no body asked where House got them from.

And it’s a bit like single player twister, when he finally hears House kick against the bunk beneath him, their particular not so complicated ‘all clear’ signal. Turning around in a way he can reach where he’d hidden his treasure. Another angle managed that wasn’t natural for his phone and earbuds. And then its simply turning the damn thing on, letting it boot. Getting everything plugged in and opening the file. And...

“Good mornin’, beautiful.”

Mouthed more than said, a warm little grin on his face. One that grows by fractions when she explains what this whole home movie is about. A documentary of Beth’s life when he’s not there? He’ll take it and with lots of than---Okay extra lots of thanks, because damn that view. He wasn’t expecting that. And he’ll never admit to the fact that he rewound it once...okay twice before letting the video play on unhindered. World can judge him if it likes but he’s been gone pushing 19 months now. He misses much more than just her bright personality.

The camera cuts in a slightly shaky manner and then its off to the proverbial races. Mass that makes him feel...alot guilty he lets that slip so much when he’s not home. And he makes a mental note to do better, while simultaneously knowing...he really won’t. Then breakfast for the homeless and handing out much needed supplies.Caroling and the cutest wee lass on Beth’s hip that makes long for other things, but swallows it down because that’s not really his decision. The thanks from the children has him all teeth smiling nose inches away from the screen as he is.

That only grows wider when it all changes up to Beth out to eat at her favorite cafe. (He recognizes the signage in the window.) Chattering on about how grateful she is everyone helped. How far that help is going to get those kids and most of the adults food in their stomachs and somewhere warm to sleep. And even though its only video he can see it can’t he? How happy she is. How she seems to glow with it. And between that and the way she’s framed by the snow lined window behind her--he maybe misses home just a little bit more than he did moments before.

He’ll have to find a way to share this bit with the lads, though artfully removing the last few seconds because they don’t need to be privy to just how Beth might choose to fulfill that promise. Because he knows they’ll be just as happy the ‘chitlins’, as Mason called them, got all the things they needed. And at least some of the things they wanted, because Gorilla had insisted and his kids had jumped all over the quest. Drug their school mates into it. Shown up at Beth’s church per Gorilla’s wife’s email with a Santa sized stash of toys for all the programs kids. Without a dime of the donated funds spent.

Then its a flurry of every day ordinary things. Dry cleaning, dropping off food for the engine gremlin. Coffee in the park with Jay. Where he reads far more into the wink she gives the camera than Beth ever would think too. Things like : Everything is set for Christmas morning. Everyone’s got their jobs. It’ll be perfect or I’ll kill them all. We got you, Jamba.

And from there it’s more...subdued. Clips of her filling out charts. Small breaks with coffee he can taste the Styrofoam cups from here. And maybe now and then a thumb subconsciously traces the lines of her face. Trying to wipe away the exhaustion. Forgetting his own in the wake of it. A small awkward sense in his stomach as a few of the nurses from that first Thanksgiving that had all but attempt to climb him like a tree, offered hellos and happy holidays.

Next came a few paused photos of some of the doctors. A few of which he can tell are smiling for the sake of well...a lot of things. Because he’s far more perceptive than Beth sometimes gives him credit for. So he’d flexed just enough to make it clear, she wasn’t up for dibs. Especially for slime bags like that. And that if they didn’t keep their hands to themselves he’d ruin their medical careers. Which had nothing to do with lawsuits.

A few more sped up clips of her making rounds. Talking with the other nurses. Coffee with one of the janitors that had missed their bus, and Beth had taken it upon her self to spend her break making sure they weren’t standing out in the cold alone. Something that again makes him miss home, miss her more than he had before he’d started this whole thing. So by the time the video is crawling towards its end, Beth curled up in her brother’s chair---there’s an aching want to be there. A need to pick her up and tuck her into bed. Settle up beside her and sleep until who cared in the afternoon. But he can’t. An---

Everything stop. The video. His breathing. His heart for a certifiable few beats. Why? Because had she just? No. No way that couldn’t have been what she said. And he’s backing the video up. Turning up the volume in his ear buds and Sweet Holy Mary...she did. She’d....said........it. And perhaps irrationally his ears burn as he backs it up and plays it again over and over. The blood in his veins heating to levels that might be embarrassing if anyone could notice. The glass like quality his gaze suddenly has and---

That. That right there was the best Christmas present she could have ever given him. The best...anything she could have given him. And he knows right then, middle of no where South which ever ocean sea they’re in now...he’ll never forget what it sounds like, or what it felt like to hear it. Second hand through a video or not. She’d said it and he wasn’t ever going to give it away. Except maybe to return it. But that would have to wait until Sunday. Radio silence as they were for the next few days. And there’s a heavy sigh in the quiet of the bunk space.

Sometimes...he really---disliked the hindrances that came with the responsibility.

#[post via mobile]#tw: holidays #tw: christmas #brooklynislandgirl #He Doesnt Know How Heaven Could Be Better Than Her || Beth and Luka #Traveling Soldier || Military AU [ Closed ]

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theoddcatlady · 6 years

Text

My Friends Went On A Roadtrip Through Europe

The only reason I didn’t go on the ‘greatest trip of our lives’ was because I was in a car accident that nearly killed me.

It was bad. I wasn’t able to get out of bed without assistance for that first month. Broken leg, busted up ribs, I looked more like a boxer that just got out of a match gone bad than a recent highschool graduate who was planning on going to college as a psychology major.

My friends and I had been planning this trip since our freshman year in highschool. I know. It was fucking stupid. But we promised if we all graduated with a grade average of 3.5 or better and if we all scraped together the cash from after school/summer jobs, we’d take a road trip through Europe. Somehow we actually managed to do it, our parents were so impressed that they even kicked in some cash. The silly dreams of fourteen year olds were coming to life.

Whitney wanted to go to Paris and see the Eiffel Tower. Jade was all about Austria, she wanted to see where the Sound of Music was filmed. Jonah planned to eat all the chocolate he could stomach in Switzerland. Me? I wanted to see the countryside of every country- mountains, rivers, the ocean… But one week before the plane was supposed to take off, well, the accident happened.

I told my friends to go without me, but I made them promise to constantly send me updates and tell me how much fun they were having. So they left- Whitney, Jade, Jonah, Holden, and Tori. I even gave them a portion of the money I saved up so they could go crazy.

At first, everything was normal. I got pictures, they even sent me a package from England full of lil knick knacks and snacks. I hated the Irn Bru but the Cadbury chocolates were to DIE for. But everything went wrong shortly after Austria.

Below are the emails and messages my friends sent me when they had the time. These all take place over about three weeks. After that, everything goes silent. Their parents have yet to hear from them. They’ve filed missing person’s reports, but I think if any of them are still alive… they won’t want to be found.

From: Jade

Jesus CHRIST, you will not believe what happened last night, Lilah.

First off, let me make abundantly clear that no one is dead, and no the trip is not over yet. We got really lucky. Second off, Jonah is a fucking moron and I swear to god once his stitches are out I’m ripping him a new one.

Okay so last night we were out a bit late, we all got a little tipsy and we were heading back to the hotel. Legal drinking age is eighteen, it’s not like that time we tried to sneak into Beverly’s with those fake ID’s. On the way back, we stumbled across another drunk who made a pass at Jonah. And you know Jonah, his drunk ass reacted loudly and violently. I swear he was about to make a swing at the guy… but the other guy swung first.

I swear, the drunk guy fought like an animal, Jonah didn’t stand a chance. We barely managed to rip Jonah away from him before he ripped his throat out. It was bloody and MESSY.

We got Jonah to the nearest emergency room, got him patched up, headed back home to sleep it off. How much do you wanna bet that he won’t remember it in the morning?

I’m gonna hit the sack. Jonah is a moron.

From: Jonah

Jade told me she sent you an email about the fight. She really needs to chill, I’m really not that bad off. Besides, the guy was a creep.

I do remember what happened, despite what she thinks, we were heading back when, get this, strange guy complimented my SKIN. Said it looked smooth and rosy. That’s not even flirting anymore, that’s just creepy! I mean, he was totally your type, tall, dark, handsome, blue eyes and a bit of scruff on his face, but noooot mine.

I’m fine though, you can barely tell where the guy got me. I think he had a knife because I got ripped. Up. Can barely tell now, he must’ve just grazed me.

We’ll be looping back up and heading for Poland next. Gonna cross through Germany to do that, but I don’t mind the drive. Besides, Germany = MORE BEER.

Miss you, next time you will totally have to come along.

From: Tori

I really wish you were here. I miss you so, so much. How is your therapy going? I hope it’s going well, you really missed out on some beautiful views today. The camera doesn’t quite capture it, but I hope to paint it once I’m home with my supplies. Maybe I can bring a little of this place back to you.

I think I’m just homesick. I might cut my trip short and head back, I’m really worried about you.

From: Whitney

Did you talk Tori out of going home yet? I don’t think she’s willing to admit how spooked she got when that bum attacked Jonah. She started crying when she saw how bloodied he was. I was pretty freaked too, but it was way worse than it looked. He’s actually completely fine now. Stitches came out, there’s not even a scar. I’m pretty sure Jonah’s actually bummed there’s nothing to show off for when he gets home LOL. But yeah, nothing to worry about, he’s still the same energetic Jonah we all know and love.

Holden’s horrible at remembering to email you, I’ve told him like, six times. Did he do anything other than the one time he sent a what’s up? He totally only did that because I nagged him.

I wish we spent more time in Italy, but we’re making great time through Germany. I’m gonna go now, kick ass and take names at Overwatch for us when you can sit up, all right?

From: Tori

Jonah’s almost too over the top since the attack. I think he’s trying to make up for something, I don’t know what. It’s like… remember that time he pounded Mountain Dews all night while we were gaming? This was during our League of Legends phase (glad that ended) but Jonah was incredibly manic and he was constantly getting up to pace.

He’s like that but 24/7. I don’t think he’s slept a full night, and it’s almost impossible to make him stop for the night. We want to relax, there’s no rush to get to Poland. I’ll talk to him when I can get him to settle, see what’s wrong. Love you.

From: Jade

Welp, Tori went home last night.

Her clothes and passport are gone, she left a note saying she really missed you and her parents, she’ll make it up to us when we’re home. I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed she didn’t talk to us beforehand.

She was right though, Jonah needs a chill pill. Is this how some people deal with trauma? Because I mean, you weren’t there, but that was… pretty bad. I can’t even imagine how Jonah feels, but he’s Jonah. He never lets anyone in. It’s why you two broke up sophomore year, kid has issues. I hoped this trip through Europe might help him learn about himself but I think it’s making it worse.

From: Whitney

WE’RE IN DENMARK BECAUSE APPARENTLY JONAH DECIDED POLAND WAS A STUPID IDEA.

Ugh, sorry. So Jonah offered to drive us through the night. I said no, but Holden and Jade were all for it. So I sucked it up, took something to make me drowsy, and konked out in the back seat. When I woke up, Jonah and Jade were having a shouting match and turns out, we’re in DENMARK. That wasn’t the plan. He didn’t clear this with us.

Holden’s on his side, saying that Denmark is a cool country too but Jade’s royally pissed. I can’t blame her. We promised at the beginning of the trip that we were to clear any travel plans with each other. We’d talk about it.

That’s another reason to miss you- you are SO good at talking. <3

From: Jonah

Everyone but Holden’s pissed at me.

Listen, I’m fine, I promise. I’ve just had to deal with some insomnia lately, is that really that bad? It’s not like I’m as bad off as you were. There was a brief moment that morning of the accident we all thought we’d lose you.

The insomnia goes away in the day. I can sleep then. Everyone can go and have fun during the day, I get to sleep, and at night I go do my shit. There’s. Nothing. Wrong with that.

I mean, another reason I wish you were here was that I’ve been having some… preeettyyy interesting dreams involving you, when I can sleep anyway. TMI. But maybe I should’ve been less of a puss with you back in the day. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.

When I’m back, can we go on a date? I’ll buy. Anywhere you want to go.

From: Jade

Jonah made a pass at me. And he’s not drunk.

I’m confused. And worried. Not gonna lie, he was pretty smooth about it, but I’ve never thought of him that way. He’s like that obnoxious little brother you love anyway. I told him no and he accepted gracefully.

Talking with Whitney and he also made a move at him… and at Holden? Jesus Christ, it’s about time that dumbass fell out of the closet. Holden’s pretty into it though. I’m wondering if this trip was actually a success in that matter.

We’re going up through Scandinavia now. Sweden, here we come!

At least we’re in some of the most gay friendly countries in the world right now… although I swear to god I think someone’s been following us. I’ve spotted this small white car twice now and I think it’s the same driver. But I’m probably just paranoid.

From: Holden

i know i dont email you often. i hate writing.

but something’s really wrong with jonah. i think he hurt someone.

last night we went out for drinks. ive always thought jonah was cute but never thought hed give me the time of day. we shared a hotel room, nothing happened but it was nice.

but I woke up this morning and I was trying to find something to wear and I accidentally went through one of jonah’s bags because our bags look the same and

i found one of his shirts. it’s covered in blood. And I found tori’s passport. it’s also bloody.

i’ve been reading and there’s been two bodies on the same route we’ve been going. i also called tori’s mom and she hasn’t heard anything from her daughter. she hasnt gone home. what should I do lilah? you were always the smart one.

From: Jade

Jonah’s lost his goddamn mind.

I’m surprised I get signal out in the middle of nowhere but Holden asked him about Tori and Jonah got really defensive. Then he brought up clothes covered in blood and that Tori never made it home and… Jonah snapped.

He pulled over to the side of the road and lunged for Holden. Whitney tried to break it up and got pretty fucked up for it. They’ll be okay as soon as we get to a hospital or something.

He’s gone now. He took the keys with him. I’m gonna try and call for help but jesus christ how have things gone so wrong?

From: Jonah

(This email was sent to all of us, along with the next one.)

I’m with Master now. He never meant for this to happen. He never meant for me to get turned. He tried to find me but my own stupidity kept us going… I’m so mad at myself. I should’ve told you guys what’s been going on. I’ve been barely sleeping, any sort of bright light fucking hurts, and Tori…

I never meant to hurt Tori. I swear to god. She was one of my best friends. But she’s dead. And I killed her. I couldn’t stop myself. By the time I came to my senses, I’d shredded her to pieces. If they ever find where I dumped her, she’ll probably be a Jane Doe for the rest of time.

Master found me running around around and stopped me. We’re someplace safe now. He’ll help me.

But I need to know one thing-

Did I bite you guys?

From: Whitney

You bit me. And you bit Holden.

Jade’s fine. For now. I don’t know how long though. I feel strange. Like there’s something burning in my head and down my spine. Please find us. Holden’s starting to feel strange too.

Lilah, we love you so much.

Please, don’t try to come find us. Go to college. Have fun. Make new friends. Study hard. Forget about us.

We’re dead anyway.

#horror stories #scary stories #creepypasta #writers on tumblr #creative writing #my stories

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cyberllamatrashsuitcase · 5 years

Text

Husband talked me into being shared, he now wants to stop, I don't

(Not sure how slutty this actually is, but anyway...)

I (27F) and husband (29M) have been together for five years, married for two. There's a very long story behind all this but the short version is, we have always had a good sex life, have had fun experimenting with different things. Last summer one evening during a vacation (lots of alcohol) husband (who I'll call B) told me he liked it that guys checked me out, that he was watching it happen. We talked about it and he said he liked the idea of me doing something with another guy. To make him happy, the next night I chatted up a guy and we took him to our room after a lot of drinks and fooled around (just kissing and some dancing and petting, no sex). It was fun and B was really into it, wanted more.

When we got back home he talked about it more. I was leery, found it a little too extreme. He wanted me to find a guy I was into and basically act like I had a new boyfriend. After several weeks of talking to me about it he talked me into putting up dating profiles, he created them, and he'd go through replies and pull the ones he thought were good.

I was lukewarm but went along. I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it or looking at replies but he did. Eventually (October) found one guy who looked good on paper -- a couple years older, successful, nice-looking, funny response to our ad. We emailed him and began an exchange. B kept pushing me to meet him for coffee or drinks so I finally did (coffee). Turns out he's a great guy -- very funny and charming, cute, well put-together. I enjoyed his company. So we made a "date" for drinks which turned into dinner. (Yes, he knew the whole time I was married.) Actually really had a nice evening. So B was very happy all went well and the new guy (R) started regularly emailing and texting, nothing pushy, just nice and interested. I was flattered and liked him but still found it weird.

B eventually said I should go on a real date with R -- something romantic. Again I was worried and a little weirded out. But B said it could just be casual and I could stop or leave anytime. So he actually got in touch with R and suggested R ask me out, which R did. He was cute and funny and made it light-hearted -- drinks and apps at my favorite place, a walk and then go to an art gallery. I decided what the hell, went out with him. Had a great night. We ended up making out in the cab on the way to the art gallery (awesome kisser) and then went back to his place. No sex but pretty darn close -- kissing, touching over clothes, hand up my skirt, my hand on him over pants.

Back home B was thrilled, asked all about it, we had pretty hot sex as a result. Went out with R again two more times, more making out at his place, gave him oral, he reciprocated. Sent B texts and a few pictures. Back home he was wild, loved it, we had great sex again. He's now pushing for actual sex with R.

So I figured why not -- as long as R used condoms and B was so into it. So went out with R, then back to his place, had sex, several times, spent the night, more sex, then went home.

B even more thrilled, loved it all. By this time I am also into it - not only the sex but because it's R and he's hot and fun and nice and really attentive. And getting back home, B is way more attentive than usual and also so into it and we have hot sex as a result, it feels awesome.

So start seeing R pretty regularly, at least once a week, sometimes twice. Also for lunch or drinks occasionally too. I get very used to it and look forward to it. Also texting and emailing a ton, lots of calls during the day and even at night.

Fast-forward eight months. R and I still having fun, it's casual but a bit more too. I like him a ton and we are very compatible. B has cooled a bit ... my sense is it has become rote for him and he wants something new. Tells me maybe I should cool it with R and find someone new. I tell him I don't want to find someone new and also that I like seeing R. Fight ensues. He says it wasn't supposed to be long-term and was meant to be something light and casual for US to enjoy and that since he's not into it anymore, I should stop.

I told him it was his idea, he wanted this, talked me into it. I don't want to stop yet, I reply -- I like R and he likes me, and we're still having fun.

B has been pouting for last several weeks. R knows there are issues and has said maybe it's best we stop -- but also says he'd hate to stop and that he will miss me a ton if we do. We have tried stopping or putting more time between dates but then when we see each other we go wild for each other so it's not making it die down. I don't love R -- I love B and have told him so and shown him many times -- but the sex with R is great as is the friendship and I love how different it is. The latest thing with B is he's sending me new replies to my dating profiles and wants me to consider dating a new man while also still dating R but that doesn't appeal (and I am sure he thinks a new man would distract me from R).

Not really an AMA but would welcome feedback. Am I wrong to not want to stop with R? It's fun and casual and sexy and I will miss it when it ends (which it will, I know, but I want it to end on its own, not because B is forcing it).

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kellangirard · 6 years

Text

Making Contact ~ ‪@RaeanneThorn ‬

Waiting was driving us stir crazy. I needed to get out of the lab to think. Rae never even heard me leave. She was focused on who knows what on a half dozen monitors. It had been 2..3...4 days since our letter had been delivered. Nothing. I looked around and realized that I’d been walking longer than I thought. I was a block from my favorite diner. What the hell? Food might be a good idea. I headed inside and ordered a couple of bacon cheeseburgers and chili cheese fries. Who cared about cholesterol at a time like this?

I paced a bit as I waited for our food. The diner wasn’t very big, so I didn’t get far. Luckily I didn’t have long to wait. Just before I paid for the food I realized that we should have milkshakes to make this a proper balanced meal. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the waitress mix our chocolate shakes. I bet now Rae would notice me. My phone buzzed angrily as I was heading out the door with our burgers. I moved out of the way and balanced everything in my left arm while I pulled my phone out.

It took me a minute to figure out what the text I was seeing meant. It was sent automatically so the sender was unfamiliar, robotic. After a few more moments it dawned on me. We had an email. Holy shit! The anonymous email we set up had received a message. I shoved my phone in my pocket, grabbed the food more securely and hurried back to the lab.

————

At the rate I was going, I was going to see monitors in my dreams. Well, until the nightmare started. The slightest beep had my attention bouncing from one monitor to another. I was going crazy waiting, or rather we were. It had been close to a week since we sent the letter and we still hadn’t gotten a reply. I was beginning to think that we were going to have to try something else. Not anything harmful, but a little more drastic? Something that they could not ignore. But I wasn’t sure what. I concentrated on the monitors, but my thoughts were a million miles away trying to figure out our next step.

——————

I almost dropped the shakes three times in my hurry to get to Rae. I pushed open my office door with my shoulder calling her name. Before I could get to the computer, I had to drop off the food. Once my hands were free, I plunked down in front of my computer and logged in. Knee bouncing with anticipation. Where was Rae? “Rae! Get in here. We got a hit!” I swear my computer was taking three times as long to log in. I couldn’t stare at it. I’d lose my mind. I got up and quickly threw our food on plates and stabbed the milkshakes with straws. By the time I set everything on my desk next to my computer, my computer was logged in. “Rae!”

———————

The first bellow of my name made me jump. Was that Kel yelling like that? I was half way out of my seat when the rest of the words that were yelled clicked. We got a hit? I looked back at the monitors I was watching, I missed something? When my name was yelled for a second time, I was out of the lab and heading to Kel’s office. I didn’t bother knocking. I walked in and crossed my arms, “What are you yelling about?”

——————————

I shoved a milkshake at her. “Your phone. Didn’t you get a message that our email address got a message?” She swiped the shake and plopped down beside me. “I stopped to get food. You’re welcome by the way,” I said as I pushed her burger closer to her. “As I was getting ready to leave, my phone went off. They responded.” I stuffed a french fry in my mouth and logged into the new email address as quickly as I could. There it was. A new email from what I guessed would be an equally anonymous email address. I took a drink of my shake and looked over at Rae. “Ready?” I slowly slid the mouse to her so she could open it.

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

I wasn’t sure I wanted to be the one to open it. This was important to me, but I knew it was more important to him. I took a sip of my shake, “Mmm, this is good thanks. And thank you for the food. As far as the question about my phone, it was in here. So, no I didn’t see the notification.” I had stalled opening it as long as I could. I took a deep breath and clicked on the email. When it opened, we both read over it in silence.

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

I furrowed my brow before looking at the email. It wasn’t like Rae to be away from her phone. That question would have to wait. I starting reading the reply. “Wait? Does that say what I think it says?” I reread the reply twice more. Was it really that easy? “Does that really say they want to set up a meeting?” I reached for my shake and took a big drink. Mind reeling with the possibilities.

——————-

I didn’t say anything at first. It did say they wanted to meet. But for some reason I couldn’t get excited about it. “Kel, wait a minute.” I ate a few fries before turning to him, “You don’t think this was a just a little too easy? I mean, yeah, I know it’s what we hoped for. But...I didn’t expect it to be this easy for them to agree to meet with us.” I wasn’t sure why, but I just felt that we should be really careful with how we moved forward.

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

There was the Rae I expected. I finished half my burger and wiped my mouth off before responding. “Read it again, Rae. They’re agreeing to meet at a very public location. I assume that they’ll want to check us out and make sure we are who we say we are. We do have the upper hand here, true?” I appreciated her concern and caution, but ultimately, I wanted to be able to help Alec and his wife. Maybe even Draven if we could. They’d gone through too much already. So much that was unnecessary.

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

I sighed, “I’ve read it 4 times over. I know what it says. I’m just saying we’d be stupid to think that just because it’s a public place doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason to be cautious. And how do you think we have the upper hand? They could easily agree to meet us, send someone else to the place and follow us back here when they don’t show. They didn’t survive this long by being careless, Kel. They have survived by being careful, just like us is all I’m saying.” Maybe my concern wasn’t warranted, but what does it hurt to be too careful? I started picking at my food, lost in thought.

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

I tilted my head and stared at her. “Rae, you do remember that we know who they are and what they look like, right? We’re at an advantage. They don’t know who we are. Are you suggesting that we send...I don’t know. A decoy?” I couldn’t figure out where this fear was coming from. Paranoia? Her nightmares again? But I was not going to let it stop me from contacting Alec or Draven. “Rae, you don’t have to be part of this. You know that, right? If you’re this worried, maybe you shouldn’t be.”

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

I shook my head, “That’s not what I meant. I was just saying we’d be crazy to think we have any advantage over them, especially Alec. I just think we need to be a little cautious and not think we can out smart them. That’s all.” I took a few bites of my burger and sighed, “We just need to be careful is all.” I reached for my shake and took a sip. “Thank you for the food. It was really good.”

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

“I’m not forgetting what Alec is, Rae. But I would rather deal with a vampire than The Gathering. As a child, I never imagined that all of the worst monsters in the world would be humans. But you and I have seen them. Worked beside them.” I finished my food and got up to toss my garbage. “What if….,” my thoughts and words trailed off as I slurped the last of my shake.

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

I sighed, “I wasn’t saying that you were forgetting what Alec is. I was just saying we shouldn’t let our guard down. That’s all.” I finished off my fries and took a sip of my shake, “I know that They are monsters, in every sense of the word. I know that They need to be brought down, but we don’t need to get ahead of ourselves and forget who we are dealing with on the other side of it.” I was quiet for a few moments and sighed, “What if what?”

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

“What if we set up some surveillance cameras at the location ahead of time? Would you feel better if you could watch it all?” Whether she would go for this or not, I was taking the meeting. I had to. I was partly responsible for what both Draven and Alec had gone through. I needed to try to fix it.

——————-

I thought about what he was saying and shook my head, “No, the owners of the place wouldn’t go for that. But, now that you mention it…” I got up and went over to the cabinet in the corner. I unlocked it with the only key for it, mine, and pulled out a package. I walked back over and sat down, handing the package to Kel. “I bought this a few months back, tweaked it a little,” I couldn’t help but smile, “I wasn’t sure if we would ever need them, but now it looks like the perfect time to use it.” I let him open the box and find the hidden camera and mic.

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

Was I more surprised that she’d kept this from me, planned ahead like this or that she wanted to wire me up like an undercover cop? I’m not sure I wanted to answer that question. I might not like it. I took the equipment out of the box and held it in my hand. “Rae, you realize that this means you are agreeing that I meet with Draven alone, right? That you’re saying yes, let’s do this?” I set the camera and mic on the table between us. An eerie calm settling around me like a blanket.

————-

I sighed and shrugged, “And if I said no, Kel? What then? Are you going to sit there and tell me that if I said ‘no, we shouldn’t do this’, you aren’t going to go anyway?” When he didn’t say anything, I smiled a little, “See? That’s my point. You would do it anyway. Even if it meant doing it behind my back.” I finished off my shake and wrapped my uneaten burger up to stick in the fridge. “At least with this, I’ll know you’re doing it, and I’ll also be able to monitor what’s said. Maybe something they say will help us later,” I shrugged.

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

I watched her shoulders fall as she put her leftovers away. She didn’t like this. Any of it. But she was still going to do her job. I turned back to the email. Already trying to figure out a response in my head. “You don’t have to like this, Rae. But I have to go. I have to help them. Especially if by doing so we can take down The Gathering for once and for all.” I looked over at her and gave her a quick smile. “The camera and mic are a good idea. Thank you.”

—————————-

I nodded as I sat back beside him, “I know I don’t have to like it, and I don’t. I really don’t. I think it’s just way too easy that they agreed so quickly to meet us. But I know you are going to do this, no matter what I say, so I might as well accept it and plan for it. Right?” I grabbed my shake and took some more sips, hating that it was almost gone. “When we had talked about adding more security, I bought them. I wanted to see if having those would help, but then it turned out we didn’t need them. They’ve been sitting in there since,” I shrugged, “It’ll be nice to put them to use.”

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

“Maybe they’re just as eager to put an end to all this as we are. Maybe the realization that Alec’s wife could be a target is making this more urgent. There could be a lot of reasons for them to agree, Rae.” I started drafting a response in Word agreeing to meet with them and setting the date and time since they chose the location. I gestured to the screen and moved aside. “Take a look and see if I should change anything? Please?”

————————

I finished my shake and thought about what he said. It did make sense. Now that Alec was married and happy, maybe the threat of having all of that taken away pushed him to want to end the threat once and for all. I sighed and leaned forward, leaning over to read the email. “Shouldn’t it be a little later at night, you know for Alec?”

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

I scanned the draft of the email once more. “I don’t think it’s Alec I’ll be meeting. But don’t forget that Alec is no longer tied to being nocturnal. Although I suppose by now some of the effects from his injection could be wearing off.” Honestly I had no idea if the effects did wear off. Another reason I wanted to contact him. To see how he was adapting to everything.

———————

I thought about what he said and nodded, “Alright, if you’re happy with it. Send it. While we wait to see if they agree to it, we can form some type of plan. I don’t like this, but I don’t want you to go alone. I think you should take someone with you. I can stay here and monitor everything on this end, but I would really feel better if you weren’t alone. You know, just in case something goes wrong.” I waited for him to think over what I said. I couldn’t stop him from going, that was true, but I wouldn’t budge on this point. He was going to take someone with him. That was final.

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

She had agreed almost too easily. Then she gave me an ultimatum? “Take someone with me?” I was too surprised by her suggestion to say anything. I bit back my initial response and focused on sending my response to their email. Then I turned to Rae. “I appreciate your concerns, Rae. But I don’t think it’s a good idea. For one thing, we don’t have anyone I would trust. For another, a second person might spook Draven and Alec and put them on the defensive.”

———————

I shook my head, “You’re not going alone. If that means that I have to find someone to monitor the screens to see if They are onto what we are doing and go with you myself, I will. You are not going alone. I’m not going to budge on this. So you can either do this the hard way or the easy way. Either way, you will not go alone.” He started to say something and I held my hand up, “Nope, I don’t want to hear it. Bottom line. Even if you fight me, I will not budge on this.” I got up and threw my empty cup away, then turned around and faced him, my arms across my chest waiting.

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

There were days when I wondered who exactly was in charge here. Today was one of them. “I’m not going to fight you. I’m also not going to agree to this right now. All I will say is that I’ll consider it. Now, since the email has been sent, I’m going to go home and try to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same.” I logged out of the computer, got up, and gave Rae a quick smile. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you promised to go see a therapist,” I said before heading out of the lab.

————————

Of course he didn’t see the glare that followed him out the door or hear the mumbling. “Of course he would be worried about a therapist at a time like this. Always trying to distract me from what I’m supposed to do.” I sighed as I sat down in the chair and pulled the number of the therapist out of my wallet. I called the number and left a message, hating that I was even doing this. I grabbed my stuff and decided to head to the apartment I had. I couldn’t call it home, I’d spent maybe a week total there in the last 3 months. I basically lived here at the compound. I made sure all the security measures were in place as I left. No sense in dropping our guard now.

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legggoes2qatar-blog · 7 years

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First Offshore Job!!

I went for my first job on March 6th and stayed offshore until May 8th when I got to go back to land for the casing break (after begging the company man to let me go to drink beer) then I returned to the rig for the last section May17-28th.

Here’s what I documented while offshore:

Day 1:

Arrived to the heliport at 5:30am. It is just like an airport but much smaller and no carry-on liquids limit! Watched a pre-boarding safety video, put on lifejackets and earplugs then loaded the helicopter. This was my first helicopter ride! I was surprised how gently the helicopter took off and landed, much more gentle than any airplane I’ve ridden. The platform we are working on for the next undetermined amount of time is smaller than I thought but from what I’ve gathered from other people this is a normal size except the accommodation is very, very small. I think the maximum number of people on here is around 200. I cannot see any land or buildings in the distance. However, it is quite hazy today. The water is a very pretty blue color and the waves today are bigger than I expected! Everyone has told me I will start hating all the blue soon but I am optimistic because blue is my favorite color. J

I am sharing a room with 3 coworkers. I am the only female on this rig. We share a bathroom with 2 other guys, 6 total. Due to the high capacity, there are no extra rooms to give me a private one but I don’t mind sharing so it’s a non-issue for me. Our room has bunk beds; I’m in one of the top bunks. There are curtains that go around the entire bed so you do have your own private area…kind of! The bed is comfortable except for the pillow, which is hard. There are constant PA announcements so it is not a little difficult to get a good night’s rest. The water depth here is only 12 meters so the waves don’t sway the rig, the drilling does. It feels like a small earthquake so I woke up twice confused because I wasn’t in California, haha! The food is very good! The water in the shower only stays hot for 2 minutes at a time so quick showers only.

So far I have enjoyed my first day offshore. The rig is still in set-up mode so we are looking at a possibility of not having anything to do for the next 3-7 days. I’m loving every second out here watching this operation!

Day 2:

We still have no internet. There is not much more we can do until we are granted access to the rig internet. After dinner, I got to go up to the rig floor and stand in the dog house (driller’s cabin) to watch them make up the Bottom Hole Assembly (BHA). We are starting a new well so the first section will be the conductor pipe; water table protector, largest hole size. The tools used to drill the conductor are huge. I’ve seen big bits before but never a hole opener! **Note to self: find picture of 36” hole opener to post** We should begin drilling tomorrow if all goes according to plan!

Day 3:

Still no internet—the struggle is real. We are able to call the base to talk to the Drilling Engineer and our Field Service Manager (FSM). Again, not much to do today. I learned a lot about running electrical cables and the sequence of the wires when using the crimping tool to change/add a head. We were supposed to start drilling today but it looks like we won’t start until early tomorrow morning. I am still enjoying myself. The SLB team that is with me is one other MWD Engineer and two Direction Drillers (DD). The DD’s are the age of my dad and the other MWD is 9 years older than me. All of them are very smart and funny. Hopefully, tomorrow we get internet so I can do some studying on the tools we are going to be running.

Day 5:

The mudloggers wouldn’t let us share their internet cable that runs from their unit, which is right next to ours, to the company man’s office in the accommodation and to the geologist’s office next to the accommodation. So, we had to run our own cable which required opening ceilings, drilling holes through walls and lots of zipties. It was a long process but, luckily, we have extra down time because there were some issues spudding the well. SLB won’t be running any of their MWD and directional tools until the 3rd section which was supposed to begin on the 10th of March but will likely happen around the 12th or 13th.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned how awesome the laundry service on offshore rigs are. You just put your dirty clothes outside your room and 3 hours later they’re back nice and clean. I think I would prefer staying offshore 24/7 if we got internet access. I’m still loving the ocean view!

Day 6:

I slept so good last night! Best sleep since being here. At breakfast, I convinced the kitchen staff to let me have some of the company man’s strawberries…early win for the day! They are running conductor pipe today so nothing to do for us. Still no internet access, which is real annoying. The mudloggers got their internet access yesterday. l won’t be able to access the internet from the accommodation, but I can in our unit. I didn’t properly prepare for coming offshore. I learned I should have brought less clothes and downloaded a lot more books, I guess not that many lessons lol! I am very appreciative of my co-workers, we laugh a lot and talk a lot.

I’ve been doing a lot of studying during all this downtime. I will be going to school sometime in June and July. By then, I will be very prepared. Most people do this schooling with no field experience and I will have 5 months field experience. Because I don’t have internet access, I only have the first two school’s information downloaded and I have gotten through that material so I’ve begun bugging our DD’s about their job. I got a lot of the DD school information from one so I can start looking through that.

Day 7:

Still no internet. In the accommodation room, on the 1st floor, there is a small collection of books so I won’t die of boredom after I finish the last 10 pages in the book I’m currently reading. I’ve also been collecting movies and TV shows from various people around the rig. I should have brought my big hard driver—another lesson learned.

This week has gone by fast. It is easy to lose track of the days. I’m excited to get to the section of the well where we start running our tools—it will be another big learning curve I am excited to learn but nervous about remembering everything in such a short time period. I will get to shadow during the 26’’ section and then be on my own for the rest of the well. Still not sure if they will keep me out here until Total Depth (TD).

Day 8:

We finally got internet access!!! We requested for 11 mac addresses to be granted internet access but they only gave us 4. So, to compensate we set up one of the laptops as a hotspot and now have wifi in the unit. But no one knows and no one should find out. It was so exciting to finally get on the internet and let everyone know I am okay. I had emails from people I wasn’t expecting and from people I wanted to contact to talk drilling stuff. The rig crew is installing to BOP so we aren’t neglecting work to play on the internet.

I was able to download two more books even though I already started a new book that I got from the Rec room. Progress is happening! I think I will be out here from at least another 2-3 weeks.

Day 9:

We are finally drilling. Still not running our tool so I have more time to prepare for my job. The other MWD out here with me is leaving to go back to land and they are sending a new MWD on loan from Algeria. I’ll be switching to night shift tomorrow, hopefully things will be calmer during the night shift and I won’t have to talk to so many people (company man/manager/town). J

Day 13:

Time is flying by! I can’t believe I’ve already been here for almost two full weeks! It feels like 5 days. Night shift is really relaxed, partly because we still haven’t run our tool downhole and partly because most people are sleeping so no one is bugging us for data. I miss the sun because I liked looking at the ocean and watching the waves. Today we had TWO drills. Went to bed at 7am, woke up for the first drill at 10am, went back to sleep for maybe 5 minutes and the second drill started. Thankfully, I was able to go back to sleep. I had worked a double the day/night before so sleep exhaustion helped to get back to sleep quickly!

The night DD is fun. He plays music and dances! He’s become like my second dad—very protective. He says he doesn’t like the other guys here asking about me and talking to me so whenever the driller calls for a survey print out I send Yuri up to deliver it. But if the company calls, I’m the one that’s sent. I’ve been put on a mission to figure out how the guys in the surface room are able to get on facebook when it’s blocked for the rest of us. My coworkers tell me I need to use my “woman power”. I just laugh. Disclaimer, no one has been rude to me, just Uncle Yuri looking out!

I’ve been assigned a mentor just 2 days ago. Turns out to be a Texas A&M alumn! I thought I escaped all the Aggies because I’m working in Qatar and not Texas! He’s been extremely helpful, kind and very intelligent. I’m very appreciative for all of his help and for all that he is teaching me! I need to figure out a way to thank him BIG for all he has done for me!

Day 19:

We have been on standby for 6 days now because of a bad cement job. I’ve been gathering 3-6 movies from people around the rig every day so my collection is getting pretty good. In the mornings I’ve been going up to the helideck to walk/run (running gets boring pretty quick without music and running in small circles). I especially enjoy watching the sun rise, it’s so beautiful over the water. Yesterday it was a really, pretty pink sunrise! I saw a big, brown sea turtle, first sea creature I’ve seen since coming here!

My normal schedule has become:

16:30-roll out of bed, throw on my coveralls, put on socks and crocs, brush teeth, head downstairs to the galley for dinner

17:30-walk into the unit, get the update for current operations and what happened during the day, joke around, get the latest rig gossip (yes boys gossip a lot!)

18:00-start shift

00:00-go to the galley (if operation permits) for some soup

5:00-6:00-go have breakfast

6:30-go to helideck (weather permitting) and walk/run

7:30-go take a shower

8:00-read until I fall asleep

REPEAT

Day 21:

The new joke in our unit has become “are you speaking English?” any time anyone has to ask “what”. It started because the other MWD from Algeria and the day DD from India have a really hard time understanding my English because of “my accent”. I also have a hard time understanding their English but we’re making it work. I’ve been learning some Hindi, French, Arabic, and Indonesian. Just a few words, mostly naughty words.

Day 23:

Today and yesterday have been long! We got H2S (hydrogen sulfide gas) at surface so we’ve had to muster for 5 hours total yesterday and so far 3 hours today. H2S is a toxic gas, smells bad at low concentrations but can’t be detected by smell at medium-high concentrations which makes it very dangerous. Our unit is located right above the shakers where H2S is usually located. Because I am working night shift, my sleep has been majorly disturbed. After waking us up throughout the day to stand at our muster stations with SCBAs on, when day shift went to bed they decided against having everyone muster and just have those working night shift to muster. So, us working night shift are getting screwed out of sleep. I’m ready to get this section over with!

Day 30:

We are experiencing problems with the well. We almost got to go home because it was going to take longer than a few days to remedy the issue but town called with a new plan that requires us to stay. I was looking forward to going back to land but I was also kind of bummed because I wanted to work with a Rotary Steerable System (RSS) that we are running in the next section. Right now it looks like I will be staying, you never know though, decisions are always made last minute!

The night DD working with me found some real coffee, not the instant nescafe crap! We don’t have a proper coffee machine nor do we have filters but in Indonesia they don’t make coffee the way we do in America. You scoop the ground coffee into your cup, add boiling water, stir, let it sit for ~5 minutes for all of the grounds to settle to the bottom and enjoy! It was a little weird at first but it’s totally worth having good coffee.

FINALLY BACK TO LAND!

As soon as I arrived on land, I dropped my bags off at the hotel, changed into normal clothes and met the Oil Installation Manager (OIM), rig superintendent and the mud engineer at a hotel bar to celebrate finishing the section. How good beer tastes after so long! After spend a couple of days in base testing tools and a few days sitting by the pool, I returned to the rig to finish drilling the well.

It was fun returning to people I knew. Drilling only took us about a week, the geologist called early TD because we hit water (not what you want when drilling for oil). One of the tools we ran in this run is brand new, only three in the world and two were on board with me. I was very nervous going into this run because I hadn’t run the older generation of this tool, never ran a LWD tool so I had to do a lot of studying and research to gain knowledge about the tool to be prepared for any issues during drilling. PLUS it was even more important for this run to go well because the tool is in the field test stage. Inshallah, all went really well and only took ONE run to finish! This was SO unlike the previous section where it took 9 runs to finish. It was such a happy feeling when TD was called. After all of the problems experienced throughout this well, I didn’t think we would actually finish it.

My first hitch offshore was great. Challenging yet rewarding. It was an experience I won’t soon forget! Now it’s time to prepare for school in RUSSIA!

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scenes-in-between · 7 years

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En Ami

CGB

Months of planning. Layers upon layers of subterfuge. Dominoes meticulously arrayed, men placed just so on a chessboard, whatever metaphor you please. A different story for each participant, painstakingly crafted to ensure his or her cooperation. After all, without all of the players working in concert, the whole thing unravels.

How unexpected, then, when I learn of Scully’s visit to Doctor Parenti. Of her unwitting inclusion in a program under my direct purview. So she wants a child, does she?

“Of course none of the samples she brought in are viable, but it’s no matter. We can proceed with something from the next test batch. I’m sure we are getting closer.”

The program is on its last legs, and Parenti knows it. A less experienced man might be fooled, but I am no stranger to sycophants; these are merely the words of a man desperate not to lose his funding. Another failure, and it will surely be another failure, wouldn’t matter in the case of some random test subject, but a failure with Scully? She will not be deceived so easily, and after she exposes every last person involved, Mulder will come riding in on his steed of self-righteousness and burn the place to the ground.

Could we recover from it? Of course. But it’s an expense and a complication I don’t need. I already have enough knives in the air.

“No, use what she gave you. Let it fail, and let her go. I have another use for her, later.”

What I don’t tell him is that her failed conception will serve my purposes quite nicely. An unplanned gift of leverage.

And, ultimately, a means by which I can not only repay her for her cooperation in the larger plan, but potentially drive Parenti’s program into obsolescence.

***

Mulder

“I don’t understand. You said I was getting better.”

“I said the medication seemed to be helping slow the progression, as we’d hoped it would. Unfortunately, it hasn’t stopped the progression entirely, and the differences I’m seeing between your scan from two months ago and the one from today are significant.”

“But how is that possible? I feel fine! I’ve had no symptoms, no headaches, nothing. How can there be something progressively rotting my brain without there being any outward sign?”

“I confess it is puzzling. Given the areas of encroachment, I would expect you to be having all manner of difficulty with your auditory processing. It is possible, I suppose, that you have been experiencing low-level auditory hallucinations and simply haven’t recognized them as such.”

The walk-ins. Samantha, Amber Lynn, the boy who led me to Samantha’s diary… Scully didn’t see them. What if…? But no, he said auditory, not visual. No, they were real, I’m sure of it.

“So what do we do next? Where do we go from here?”

“I’m, uh… I’m afraid, Mr. Mulder, that I am at a loss. I’ve conferred with several colleagues about your case, and none of us has ever encountered a pathology quite like this before. We’ve exhausted all of the conventional avenues of treatment.”

“Okay, well what about the unconventional ones?”

“There are a handful of experimental therapies being explored, primarily overseas. Monoclonal antibody therapy, various stem cell treatments. But they’re all unproven, still very early in development. You would also have to be selected for the clinical trials, of course, and I’m afraid there’s no guarantee you’ll meet the criteria.”

“So… so, what, I’m just supposed to do nothing and wait around for this to kill me? I refuse to accept that. There has to be something else to try.”

There has to be. Damn it, I was getting better! I can’t leave her alone, not like this. And how in the hell can I tell her now, when she’s still so sad about the IVF? Oh my god, the IVF. I only agreed to it because I thought I was getting better…

“I wish I had something more to offer at this point. I’m sorry, I truly am. It’s worth bearing in mind that we don’t know the timeline on this. It’s… unlikely, but not impossible, that you could carry on as you have been for quite some time before you become drastically symptomatic. I know it’s hard to think about things like putting your affairs in order, and while I want to stress that it’s a good idea for you to start considering that, I’m also not suggesting that you give up hope altogether.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not. You may not be able to help me, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone who can.”

***

Scully

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit…”

*sound of fabric scraping across the microphone*

“Mulder, I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know where I am, but I think he’s found me out. He has to have found… He changed my damned clothes. He drugged me and moved me from the car, and I’m in a room in… I don’t know, a house or a hotel or something. My, uh… my bag is here. My things are all here.”

*more rustling*

“But he put me in pajamas, which means he has to have seen the wire. I don’t know why he didn’t take it. I don’t know if he’s even still here. Maybe he saw the wire and decided the deal’s off. I’m so angry, I’m so… I’m furious with myself for letting my guard down.”

*unintelligible*

“--orry this turned out to be nothing but a waste of time. I thought… I really thought I could get this cure, could give other cancer patients the same chance I got. The same chance Jason McPeck got. But I’m done making deals with CGB Spender. Once I figure out where in the hell I am, I’m coming home.”

***

CGB

Of course I drugged her.

Oh, she fell asleep on her own, that much was true. But even as tired as she was, she never would have slept through being carried to the house. Couldn’t have her waking up before I had a chance to give her my gift, could I?

It's miraculous technology, the chip in her neck. And it's not even the latest model. Of course, that's of little matter in light of advancements such as software patches and wireless data transfer. The human body is a complex machine, but once you hold the key to reprogram it at will, well… anything is possible.

Once-depleted ovaries, for example, could easily be stimulated to produce anew.

And given her previous exposure to both the alien virus and vaccine, given Mulder's exposure to the same, if the two of them were to conceive a child naturally, they just might be able to accomplish that which we’ve spent decades trying and failing to do artificially.

My lies to her in the car were by design, of course. I know full well the degree to which the two of them have become entangled. But a claim to believe otherwise was carefully calculated to let her believe she still had secrets. To let her believe, in a sense, that she had the upper hand, just as I let her believe, for a time, that I didn't know about the wire.

It’s admirable, if unfortunate, that she is capable of such deceit. Having her complete trust would make things easier, but I suppose I have more respect for her, knowing she is smart enough to protect herself, to not stroll willingly into danger without taking precautionary measures.

Still, it was time to let her know she’s not fooled me. I could have put her into bed fully clothed, preserved the illusion of ignorance. Instead, I chose to send a message: I know what she’s up to, and I’m not threatened by it in the least.

Well, that and I truly did want her to be comfortable. Not every word out of my mouth is a lie.

It was a calculated risk -- she nearly decided to walk away this morning -- but I gambled on her fundamentally altruistic nature. For the moment, at least, it remains a bet of the safest sort.

***

Mulder

“It’s not her.”

“Mulder--”

“I’m telling you, it’s not her! It’s impossible. Look at the date and time stamp on this. There’s no way she could have sent this email because we were in California then, and she didn’t even have her laptop on that trip.”

“Are you sure?”

“Damn it, Frohike, of course I’m sure! And this one. This is from a week ago. At 11:35pm, we were sitting together at her kitchen table. She never even left the room. It’s. Not. Her.”

“Okay, well if you’re a hundred percent certain she didn’t write these, then who did?”

“You guys tell me. I thought you were the hacking experts. Can you figure out who gained access to her account?”

“Depends on how much they covered their tracks. This could take some time.”

“She may not have much time. Someone has gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to set her up, and if it’s the son of a bitch she’s with right now, he won’t think twice about using her as bait. We’ve got to figure out if this is related to wherever she’s gone or if it’s a whole separate operation.”

“Look, man, you know I’m the last guy on Earth who wants to see her get hurt. I promise you, we’ll try to get some answers for you as soon as we can.”

“I guess we’re having a slumber party at my place, then. You want me to put coffee on?”

***

Scully

“Mulder, it’s me.”

“Scully! Where are you, are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I’m southbound on Highway 209, on my way home. I should be there in about four and a half hours.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have any idea how much danger you were in?”

More than you even know. “Look, I took the necessary precautions. I’m unharmed, and once I get back, I will be happy to walk you through exactly why I did what I did. But I don’t think it’s a good idea to discuss it any further over the phone.”

“Call me every hour. If I don’t hear from you, I’m sending out the highway patrol.”

“Mulder--”

“He could have had you killed!”

“But he didn’t! So you can stop acting like you’ve never put yourself in danger for the greater good.”

“...”

“I’ll call you in an hour.” *click*

***

CGB

It might seem like a long way to go, just to kill a man. On the face of it, certainly, there could have been simpler methods. But they would have been messier, and far less comprehensive.

It wasn’t just the killing of the man, after all. It wasn’t even that we needed the research. Everything on that disc he handed Scully, I already have.

I am not actually dying. That was another necessary lie.

Cobra worked for the project, once. He was one of the brighter ones, making connections others couldn’t, spinning gold from the virtual straw we gave him. Bits of translated hieroglyphs from the Ivory Coast craft. Biological and genetic data from an exterminated EBE. Nanoprocessor technology from another recovered ship. The advancements he made in a few short years were astounding.

Unfortunately, his genius ultimately became a liability. He developed a conscience, which is, shall we say, problematic in this line of work. We could tell he was getting ready to bolt, that he’d already smuggled data out of the office, data we absolutely couldn’t risk falling into the wrong hands. In the end, it was merely a matter of making sure he bolted in the right direction.

Enter Dana Scully.

Even the most brilliant of men can be led around by the nose by a smart and beautiful woman. Impersonating her via email was child’s play, and though it may have taken months of careful grooming, “Scully” eventually convinced Cobra to destroy all but one copy of the research with which he’d absconded, to turn that final copy over to “her” for safekeeping. Luring him out into the open took some skill, I’m not afraid to boast, but it would require Scully’s actual physical presence in the end. And there were those who wanted to see her eliminated as well, once she had completed what we needed of her.

Perhaps I am growing soft and sentimental in my old age. Or perhaps I am just as susceptible to her charms as Cobra was. I can couch my decision to countermand her kill order in any number of justifications, all of them valid, but it remains possible that I am simply losing my stomach for it.

Why, then, didn’t I let her keep the data? I confess I was tempted. If there were ever a person to trust with it, someone who would truly only use it with the best of intentions, it would be her. But maybe that’s sentimental of me as well. The sad truth is that the world itself cannot support the possibility of so many cured. Six billion people on this Earth, and how many suffer already from starvation? How many overcrowded, over-polluted cities could handle a population that never got sick and died?

This is why there have to be men like me, men holding all the cards, who make the difficult decisions for the greater good. It is a lonely existence; if I had my life to do over again, I… well, I don’t know if all this power truly is worth the sacrifice. Some days I really don’t know.

***

Mulder

I had hoped to never have to write in this journal again, Dana. I foolishly believed I had won, or dodged a bullet at least. I guess I only heard what I wanted to hear.

Turns out that “not worse” is not the same thing as “better.”

I know I made a lot of promises. I hope one day you will understand why I’m continuing to break them now.

If I had never told you about the ova I kept, if you had simply carried on exploring other options, you would have been spared all that needless heartache. You might have conceived on the first try with a donor egg and the sperm of a man not slowly dying of some unprecedented brain disease. Now I fear you might be unwilling to try again, after how badly this went.

The doctors say they can’t help me. I’ve got a whole drawer of cases that say doctors aren’t the only option. Once I have exhausted those avenues too, or once the progression of my condition is such that I can no longer hide it from you, that is when I will tell you.

I know that you already feel bad about the empty disc, about being promised this miracle cure only to have it yanked away like the football in a Peanuts comic strip. I remember what it was like, finding the chip that cured your cancer. I remember what it felt like when I thought I’d been deceived too, finding a vial filled with water instead of some miracle elixir I thought I was after. To tell you now that you maybe could have had something that would cure me… I won’t compound your frustration and guilt. I won’t do it.

I was angry when you went off alone with him, but if I'm honest, I was really just afraid. Afraid you wouldn't see him for the snake he is, afraid he would dangle promises in front of you all while leading you to slaughter like a sacrificial lamb.

I should have given you more credit. I'm sorry I let my fear turn me into an asshole.

I’m embarking out on my own now for the same reasons you did these past few days. I want to try to fix this without you getting hurt. I don’t know if I will succeed, but I have to try.

***

Scully

Initially, I thought the worst part of this whole thing was seeing the disappointment and anger on Mulder’s face. At first I felt indignant (Who was he to talk, given the number of times he’s run off on his own?), but after the blank disc and the empty office, I started thinking maybe he was right to be disappointed in me.

And then it seemed the worst part was having been so thoroughly played for a fool. I thought I was so clever. I thought I could play him, that I could pretend to go along with his demands but still maintain the upper hand in the end. How incredibly naive. There wasn’t a moment after we left my apartment that I was in control.

Finding out I had been used so comprehensively threw me for a loop. Mulder and the Gunmen explained how my email had been hacked and cloned, showed me the messages that had been sent in my name. Well, the Gunmen did most of the explaining. Mulder mostly glowered. Seeing it there on the screen, evidence of months of correspondence between Cobra and someone pretending to be me, made me sick to my stomach. That this could have all been going on, for as long as it did, while I was none the wiser, is nearly impossible to believe.

It is only now, days later, that I finally realize even this wasn’t the worst part.

Because I can’t seem to stop thinking about those last few moments before Cobra’s death. Because I have woken up in a cold sweat four times in the past three nights, haunted by the look on his face when he realized he’d been set up. When he thought I’d set him up. Because my stomach still turns at the memory of watching the bullet hit him, watching him fall over the side of his boat, struggling and failing to grab hold of him as shots were fired at me, too.

Because I know, now, that if I had just walked away after I woke up in the lake house, he might still be alive. If I’d failed to turn up at our rendezvous, he probably never would have come out of hiding. And all his work, all that science, never would have fallen into the hands of that double-crossing, cigarette-smoking son of a bitch.

In trying to do the “right” thing, I only messed everything up. An innocent and arguably brilliant man is dead, and life-saving, world-changing information has been stolen by someone who will only use it for personal gain.

My instincts in this case were so utterly, disastrously wrong, and because of that, I became an instrument of the very group of men responsible for some of the greatest evil I have ever encountered. That is the thing I am not likely to get over for a very long time.

#x-files fanfic #txf: en ami #cigarette smoking man #mulderfic #scullyfic #mulder's stupid brain disease thing #a/n: i hope you'll indulge my experimentation here #i wanted to play a bit with alternating first person povs #don't worry #this isn't a format i'm going to stick with long-term or anything #;)

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nojokemarketing · 4 years

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How Much Follow-up is Needed and How Much is Too Much

Today’s topic is this follow up frequency follow up tactics and just all about follow up. I want to talk about an answer to that question of “Michael how much is too much? Or the complete opposite Michael?” “How much follow-up is not good?”

So let’s talk about this. I’ve done a few episodes and around follow up and follow up tactics, but I really haven’t looked at the frequency question of what’s too much or what’s not enough. Let me kind of talk through that a little bit. But before I really go down that path, the one big thing that I want to throw out there is that there will be a direct correlation to your increased or decreased sales when it comes to managing leads based on not just the frequency, but the speed. And that is one of the areas that is, I would say, most overlooked.

So lead comes in regardless of what local business you’re in. Okay, great, you get a lead in now what?

Now depending on your systems and processes, and if you’ve got any marketing automation and different things like that, sometimes some stuff can get triggered. And you’ve got emails going out text messages to mean different things like that. Or the lead could get instantly sent over to someone, and you’re taking a look, you’re analyzing it and figuring out kind of what some of the next steps are.

Usually, that is the first area that you need to work on. The speed of your follow up is essential. Leads do not want to wait hours and hours, if not days, to hear back from you. And one of the experiments that I’m looking at doing is to start a fictitious home remodeling company.

For example, and to invest some resources and paid traffic, just to show that I can generate leads quickly. But to show that most of these people when I call them, they’re gonna say, “well, geez, I called for the remodeling companies before you, and either no one returned my call. I scheduled some appointments, people didn’t come out.”

And again, I’m not trying to pick on the remodeling industry, that this is something that you’re going to hear many times. It’s in pretty much any particular type of serviced based niche. The service industry as a whole is sadly notorious for not delivering amazing service. So if you look at step one, you’ve got to be calling these leads, texting them, emailing them within minutes of the lead coming in minutes. And if you physically don’t have a way to do that real time, then what I would want you to do is to get that automation. And you’re going to want to have an automated tool, send out an email, but the email should look personalized. And you’re going to want to have an automated text message go out. And the text message is going to look personalized and have an emoji and, and fun things like that.

You want to make sure that if you know that you’re not able to hit that goal of minutes, when it comes to follow up, you need to get that system and that software in place.

So going back to the initial question of how much is too much, how much is too little? There really is no maximum until someone tells you do not call me ever again remove me from your list. If someone raises their hand for you. This is not, I’m not referring to cold stuff. I’m referring to someone wrote you back in a cold email someone filled in a Facebook ad someone responded to direct mail campaign, someone called in to inquire about your pricing, for example, those are people that are raising their hands, and they are responding to something and then they’re then changing to an inbound type of lead. So they’ve responded.

It wasn’t just you’ve called them out of the blue and they had no clue who you are. They at least have some kind of interest. From there, you’ve got to play the game of attention.

I want you to call them, email them, text message them each and every day.

I just did it with one of our leads this morning. And I just sent a proposal out and followed up yesterday and didn’t hear anything. I sent another text this morning and I related to the proposal that was signed because he didn’t have the proposal. And when maybe it went to spam or it just triggered something and reminded him, your follow up is typically never enough. And whether you’re doing it or you’ve got some salespeople on your team that are doing it, it’s rarely ever enough.

I like to look at least seven to 12 different touches during a one week time period. So lead comes in, you should be calling, emailing, texting, minimum one time each during day one, if not twice. And then going down to once a day for the next couple of days. And then you get on it every other day and you continue to follow up – text, email, call, direct mail, physical mail, lumpy mail, Facebook Messenger, LinkedIn, Instagram.

You have to be staying on top of these people. And it’s not that they’re ignoring you. It’s not that they’re not interested. It’s people are inherently busy.

I mean, I get asked by vendors all day long can I test their new CRM or their new email tool or whatever it is, and I rarely do respond. And there was one vendor that has been sending me emails for probably six months, and trying different tactics and things like that. And I’ve read a lot of the emails that I haven’t responded to. And the one tactic that actually put me over the edge was he said “Let me put my money where my mouth is, and I’ll send you five days of ground hot coffees at Starbucks.” And they use a tool called like, Thankfully, or something like that, which I’ve never heard of, but I actually really liked the tool and now I’m setting up for the tool. Because it was just a really interesting way and it’s $15 or whatnot. I was hoping it was for a grand a white mocha which is five $6 so now that’s okay. It’s still $15 for nothing, but I agreed to get out of the meeting and see the demo. And it’s just he continued to follow up.

Just because someone doesn’t respond to you instantly doesn’t mean they’re not interested. And I hear this all the time, obviously being in the lead generation space. So Michael, these leads are terrible. No one’s responding. I sent him an email. I didn’t hear from them. My next question is:

How many emails did you send?

How many text messages did you send?

How many times did you try calling them?

What did you send them in the mail?

And usually, the response is, I sent one email and I tried calling once and how many plus times, within a week, week and a half. You have to be on top of these people like white on rice.

Now the other piece of this equation is, let’s say you don’t hear from them for two weeks. You hear nothing. You try 10,15, 20 times in all different ways. I want you to then move them into an every other week. Whether it’s an email or a text message or something like that to continue to stay top of mind, because one of these days, I promise you, one of those leads or many of those leads are going to circle back.

I’ve had people that have been getting my newsletter that I sent every Thursday for the last two years, that they finally write a message in. After reading it for two years, follow up is critical, not only in the speed, but also the frequency again, 10, 15, 20 times over a week, a week and a half in different ways.

If you execute this and most of you are not going to because you’re going to say it’s way too much. I promise you, your sales will grow.

The post How Much Follow-up is Needed and How Much is Too Much appeared first on No Joke Marketing.

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theliterateape · 4 years

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Hope Idiotic | Part 40

By David Himmel

Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

LOU AND MARK DRANK BEERS AT DOUBLE SHOT, the next-best local hole in the wall since Zigler’s Tavern was overrun by the ultra hip. On a Thursday night, Double Shot was busy with the perfect mixture of hipsters, frat boys and after-work stiffs. Lou and Mark liked it for its patron variety—a slice of Chicago life—the food, the affordable drink specials and the friendly waitresses.

It had been three months since Lou last saw and spoke to Michelle, but it seemed that every single conversation he and Mark had somehow led back to her. While Mark debated the benefits of L.A. and New York, Lou managed to connect Mark’s future to Michelle’s past.

“We never went to New York. We talked about it but never went. I wonder whether Michelle will move to L.A. She talked about that all the time; how she wanted to be closer to her parents and where it was warmer. Her firm has an office out there. God, wouldn’t that be weird if you and Michelle both moved to L.A.? I don’t know, I hate to think that Michelle…”

Mark slapped Lou across the face.

“What the fuck!”

“That’s it. No more.”

“No more what?”

“Every time you say her name, I’m going to smack you. Right across the face.”

“What? Michelle?” Mark slapped him again. “Oh, come on!”

“You have got to stop talking about her. You need to start moving on.”

It wasn’t that Lou was hung up on Michelle, it was that the past three years of his life had been so focused around her. She was central to everything, and it was all he had to talk about. Talking about anything before The Age of Michelle seemed entirely out of context. That’s the hardest part about breakups: finding a new definition of yourself. Since the breakup, Lou had continued sinking in a sea of whiskey and cigarette smoke while searching for that new definition among the fragments of the past three years. He didn’t talk about Michelle because he missed her; he talked about her because he didn’t know how not to.

“All right. Jesus,” Lou said. “No more Michelle.” SLAP! The sip of beer he had just taken shot out of his mouth and sprayed across the bar. “Goddammit!”

“Are you boys okay over here?” asked the cute waitress who had been serving them for the past two hours.

“We’re fine,” Mark said. “I’m just breaking my friend of a bad habit.”

“What habit would that be?”

“Talking too much,” he said.

“Okay then. Can I get you boys some more beers? It’ll help keep you quiet.” She looked at Lou and flirtatiously touched his arm. “Maybe some ice for your face?”

“Is it swelling up? Jesus, Mark.”

“No, sweetie, it’s fine. I’m just teasing you. Another round?”

“Yes, please,” Mark said.

“Did you see that? She was flirting with me,” Lou said.

“She flirts with everyone. That’s how she makes her money. Be careful of waitresses and female bartenders. They care less about you than strippers and work twice as hard to get you to like them.”

When she returned with the beers a few moments later, Lou asked her name.

“Niki,” she said.

“Niki, you are the best waitress we’ve ever had here. And we’re here all the time. Are you new?”

“Nope. I’ve been here about a year.”

“How is it possible that we’ve never seen you before?”

“I usually work the day shift. I have another waitressing job across town.”

“I guess we’ll have to start coming in here for lunch.”

“You’re getting creepy,” Mark said.

Niki smiled. “No, he’s fine. But unfortunately, this is my last day. I start a new job tomorrow.”

“Another bar?” Lou asked.

“Nope. A real, big-girl job. I’m going to be an assistant editor for a magazine.”

Lou’s eyes grew wide. “How about that,” Mark said.

“Which magazine?”

“Chicago Style.”

“Sure! I know that rag. It’s all society and fashion and travel.”

“That’s the one,” she said.

“You use freelancers?”

“Of course. That’s how I got the job.”

“Well, look I’m a writer, and if it’s okay I’ll send you some pitches, and you can throw some work my way, or both.” He dug into his wallet and pulled out a sad-looking homemade business card.

“Oh, that’s great! We’re getting ready to start putting together the next issue, so yeah, we’ll need some good story ideas. I’ll definitely email you.”

She asked if she could get them anything else at the moment, then returned to her other tables.

“Don’t let anyone ever tell you that nothing good comes out of drinking yourself stupid in a bar,” Lou said.

“You got a story in mind?”

“I don’t know. I did a little blog writing for a minute a while back for this interior-design guy. He does some pretty interesting stuff. Could be something there.” Mark gave him a look of uncertainty. “Hey, it’s not a column in Vanity Fair, but it’s a gig. And it’s a writing gig. Step by step. This wouldn’t have happened if I were still with Mich…” Mark raised his hand. “This wouldn’t have happened if I were still with What’s-her-face.” Mark took hold of his beer glass and raised it up in a toast. Lou did the same. “Shots?”

✶

LOU WAS ABLE TO WRITE HIS STORIES FOR CHICAGO STYLE AT THE SHEET-METAL SHOP since business was so slow—the economy had affected the construction industry, as well; America as a whole, was on hold. The editor in chief loved his first piece on the interior designer. When the magazine hit the stands, Lou grabbed a free copy from one of the kiosks on the street. Seeing his name in a byline again made him feel incredible, like he belonged to the huddled masses. He went home that night and sent an email to every other Chicago magazine editor he could think of with clips of his stuff, including his most recent piece, asking them to keep him in mind for any assignments they have lying around and to forward their editorial calendars along so he could create story pitches to fit with each editor’s plan.

The work slowly came in. There wasn’t a magazine for which he wouldn’t write. There was Chicago Style, Chicago Brides, Chicago Agent, a rag for real estate agents about the real estate business, Avenue Magazine, a high-end society glossy, which seemed to exist solely for the city’s wealthy elite to be able to read stories about themselves. The stories were fluff pieces, advertorial junk, restaurant, bar and hotel reviews, travel stories about golf courses, and B & Bs that he never had visited, profiles of the movers and shakers throughout Chicagoland. It wasn’t the kind of writing for which he wanted to be known when he died, but he was racking up a few extra hundred bucks a month. Lou was back in the game.

And then he received an email from the HR manager at a small marketing/advertising agency called Spark. It did a lot of packaging, product development and brand marketing. The HR manager said she was looking for a copywriter to add to the team. She said she found his résumé on ProCore.

Holy shit, he thought. ProCore actually worked.

The company’s office was located in the West Loop in an old loft building that used to house the world’s leading casket manufacturer. His interview was held inside of a small conference room that had been where the oven that dried the casket’s wood stain had been. The room’s door was a giant metal fire door that required an inordinate amount of effort to open and close it. Lou liked the old industrial look of the office. It inspired the idea of manufacturing creativity—blood and sweat of the mind rather than with the body.

He had called in sick to Don at the shop so he could attend the interview. He managed to avoid drinking anything the night before to make sure he was at his best for the interview. It took him twenty minutes to fix his tie since he wanted to get it perfect. He styled his hair three different ways before settling on the way he usually wore it; casually combed over. Nothing could be out of place. Lou had to give the impression of his life. And he did. Despite his tendency to joke himself out of countless good situations when important matters were on the line, Lou charmed and impressed the HR manager. She pulled in the agency’s creative director, a friendly and confident guy named Ted, to meet with Lou. Ultimately, Lou’s employment was Ted’s decision and after an hour-long conversation, Lou had the job.

The smile never left Lou’s face as he rode the bus back to the apartment. The HR manager was at first impressed with his wide range of experience. Ted was looking for a clever mind to join the small creative team at Spark, which was made up of Ted and two designers. The crash had hurt the agency, and Ted was well aware that his may be the only one hiring creatives, but for it to survive, he said, it needed to provide its remaining clients with the best work possible and be ready when more work began coming in. That, and he wanted a writer who was going to approach the work from a different perspective. Ted was tired of working with copywriters who had spent their careers in advertising and who prayed daily to the almighty power of the Apple brand. Lou’s inexperience as an agency writer was a benefit. The compilation of his media, marketing, corporate communications and journalism was ideal. His starting salary was sixty thousand dollars a year, more than he’d ever made. He would begin as soon as he could gracefully walk away from the sheet-metal shop.

It was late afternoon when he got home, and he was excited to call Don, apologize for lying about being sick, admit to going on an interview and let him know that he would work another two weeks while Don found a replacement estimator. But first, he called Chuck to share the good news. Someone answered in Spanish, and Lou’s gut twisted as he remembered that Chuck wasn’t answering phone calls anymore. He quickly hung up and called me while he poured himself a glass of scotch.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38

#David Himmel Author #Hope Idiotic #David Himmel Novel #Fiction #Bildungsroman #Dark Humor

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notesfromthepen · 5 years

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The Chronicles of the king of Richmond

I came across some shit today that I had to share. Something too funny, dark, and ridiculous to keep to myself. But I had to figure out a way to first, get my hands on the material, and then how to give the context needed for it to be fully appreciated.

First I should start with the characters involved. We are a trio. Me, Joe, and the 'king'. I'll refer to him as the 'king' (with a lowercase 'k') because he wanted to remain anonymous, for several reasons, that should become clear later.

Joe is, by far, my best friend in here and we've been pretty much inseparable for years now, (we were bunkies twice at another facility). Some of you may have read previous posts about him. We are very different people, which is often the case with really good friends. But there is no doubt that our bond is, almost entirely, built on our shared sense of humor. A sarcastic, brutally honest, self deprecating, anything for a laugh, sense of humor.

A sense of humor developed since childhood surrounded by witty, smart-assed, assholish mentors and peers. It can be a harsh environment to grow up in, but there is a purity to be found there. An accountability and brutal honesty that is humbling and real. There are no aires allowed to survive amongst friends with no fear of giving offense. No bullshit is left uncalled, no lies left un-confronted, and no opinions restrained. Nothing is sacred and everything is mined for a laugh.

Basically we talk a lot of shit.

Nothing bonds me to another person more instantly than a similar sense of humor. Since coming to this new prison Joe and I have found a fellow, flawed, degenerate asshole, willing to laugh at himself and judge others for the sake humor.

This, is the so called 'king of Richmond.' His majesty is a large guy, about 6'1 and 240 lbs. of slightly chubby, bearded, man beef. He's well kept and neat in appearance (aside from his portly build). He's got some charisma and charm at his disposal and makes decent use of it when needed.

The king, however, has a glaring flaw, as do most of us. He's a raging addict, whose life is lived for, and run by, an incessant need for opiates. This adds an interesting but constantly problematic dimension to his life behind bars. The perpetual need to produce the money for his lifestyle is a constant story line. Most of his fundraising is done over the phone. Preferably through manipulation, but he's not above blatant begging from people in the free-world. Family members, friends, exes, and a sugar momma round out his fundraising Rolodex.

A few days ago, Joe borrowed his Majesty's tablet to listen to his music, and being the stand up friends we are, we wasted no time before invading his privacy. We opened his 'sent email' files and struck gold. Dark, hilarious, sad, revealing gold. What we found was email after email of mental and emotional manipulation in a quest to fund his lifestyle. That's the sad part. The hilarious part is witnessing the level of shameless groveling, damage control, and clumsy begging, our friend is willing to stoop to.

After an intervention filled with embarrassment, ridicule, and some tear inducing laughs from all parties, I gained the 'kings' permission to post some of the gems.

But first a disclaimer: If any form of self-respect or sense of shame is something you're expecting, then prepare yourself, because you will find neither in these emails. Also, I wanted to maintain the "purity" of the emails as they were originally written, so I left the misspellings and incorrect grammar. However, for the sake of read-ability, I added some commas and periods here and there. Other than that they are all original text, with the exception of my commentary, which will be in [brackets].

So without further adieu, I now present to you: The Chronicles Of The king Of Richmond.

Sugar Momma

The following correspondence was sent to the kings sugar momma. As her title would imply she is his main source of income. His "Go-To". She works at McDonalds and has had the unfortunate luck to be in "love" with the king for roughly a year now. This letter is the most recent and well into the travesty that is their "relationship". This email is more focused on making excuses for begging than actual begging, but stay tuned they get worse.

His words are in "quotes" and my commentary is in [brackets]. Some are comments and some are translations of his bullshit, what he really means.

KOR 11/24 “listen, I wasn't insinuating you were fat, and honestly I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings. [he definitely was] I was giving you an example of how you could save a few bucks, so maybe out of the kindness of your heart [or from my incessant guilt laden begging] you could send me a few. Belive it or not, its rough in here, and sometimes I need money to survive in here. [Let's make one thing clear: The constant stress of his habit and the debts he accrues makes his time infinitely more difficult than it needs to be. So more money isn't the solution. It’s the problem.] That's what I was saying. I've been down for 5yrs Jenn and pretty much aint had much help, except from a few. [Just a little context. I get 50$ a month. This jackass spends 300$ a week]. We were together a long time. we broke up when I was in here, so yeah its a little different than if you were just some ex. I shouldn't exspect [too bad they don't give out money for misspelled words] it, but I would hope”.

“I guess I wasn't who I thought I was to you. [what a word-smith]. I might have put you through a lot of shit, but you sought me out. Remember that. You knew who I was. [Yeah, so you deserve everything I put you through.] Everyone did. I was the king of that town [AND THERE IT IS! The self proclaimed king of Richmond...Oh I can't tell you how embarrassed for him, angered at him, and ashamed to call him my friend I was when I read this!] not to try and sound conceited but I was, [OK. You can't say you’re not being conceited and then double down on your brag. BTW Richmond has a population smaller than most elementary schools. So it was a small 'kingdom' to say the least] and now no one has my back. it sucks, out of everyone, I hoped that you would have, but no!! [I hope he had a neck brace on when he wrote this. This guy can go from bragging to groveling so fast that it causes whiplash]. When we broke up I wanted you to be happy and get married and do what ever. [He ran out of ideas! That's his limit of things he could conjure up that would make her happy: 2] I just wanted you to still be there for me [AKA: support my habit] and if roles were reversed Jenn, you would have 50 every month and my family would probaly even send you money and that's the proven truth. [From probably to proven truth in half a sentence?] And you know it, so that shit hurts me, let's just remember who's the one locked up!! I'm the old me again [king?] and I'll remember all my real friends, that were there for me, when I get out in 3 in a half years.[Yeah but will they remember you?] Not long at all. And the thing with frank, [Oh yes! Thankgod he's back on the whole Frank thing! I wish I knew his address I'd send him a bottle of whisky!] belive me, I heard stories, a few. [Yeah and they haunt his dreams] but regardless, I love you, just wish you were kinder to me. ...The king”

[That's his cleanup? Someone get him a neck brace]

KOR 12/6 [Damage control] “baby, funny you say sober honestly, but no i totally understand. im sorry if it feels like sometimes I take you for granted.[by sometimes he means 'all the time'] let me try to explain [please do], in here if you don't get in a constant routine and try to make things repetitive, the time will do you, not you do the time. [A vague prison saying he heard someone say in here once and thought it sounded cool] if that makes sense [it doesn't.], its not my intentions to make it carry over into our relationship [but if it does I'm willing to live with it] I'm sorry [that I have to do this song and dance to get money]. and I fully intend to check myself and let you know how special you truly are to me [and by 'check myself' I mean I'll continue doing the exact same amount of drugs, if not more. and I'll show you how special you are by kindly taking your minimum wage paycheck]. The money you send me is for me to live comfortably in here [get high], that means getting things done that I need to get done while I'm here [I mean, these drugs aren't gonna do themselves.] and 90%, is the food and shit i need to survive [but mostly drugs]. We are already at a disadvantage because I only get 75% of what you send, which sucks [it would be much more efficient if I could put 100% of what you send me up my nose]. And they rip us off on prices on the food as it is. So I'm sorry, but i want you to fully understand you are my baby girl [creepy] and when i get out, roles will reverse and I'll be the provider and you'll live real comfortable [said with his fingers crossed], except when I come home every night and blow that back out bitch!!!! [and theres that winning charm I mentioned! what a smooth operator] I love you. [He doesn't] I got to go to the doctor at 9:30 [Ironically its 'his' back that's blown out] so I'll call you after count [to beg for more $]. I love you [again he doesn't]. if that eases your mind [It shouldn't] I love you!!! [and one final lie to cap off this masterpiece.]

Ex-Girlfriend

These next three are to his ex-girlfriend. She's somewhere down the list of reliable donors, but desperate times call for desperate measures and being a dope fiend in prison means, constant desperate times.

KOR 11/23 "So happy thanksgiving! [Now that the pleasantries are out of the way] So I havnt had any money lately, so no stamps but I just got some anyways [2nd sentence in and already caught in a lie. Clearly if he sent this, he has stamps]. Yeah I heard all about you and Carol's argument, and Dan and Josh messaging, and you jumping in on their message, and Dan cutting into you about being a shitty ex (/friend) [OK, I have to translate. First of all, this email seems to be sponsored by unnecessary commas. I guess some people were attacking her on Facebook for not sending the 'king' an adequate amount of money] Most I agree with. [Especially the money part] You havnt been there for me Jennifer [how dare you!]. I belive you have kinda done me wrong [how do you sleep at night?] and other people believe that too [so there!]. Im not saying your wrong for living your life [but you are] and going and being with someone new [because there's no way he's cooler than me]. but you can look out for the man [I use the term man loosely] that looked out for you since you were just a baby! [???? what???? creepy! actually I need to go ask him about this one.. OK he said he meant when she was 18] When I have asked for money in the past, you deny me [who the fuck do you think you are an ex?]. Hell, I'm broke right now [and that's your responsibility]. I can't get money. [But regardless I incessantly ask for it? Blatant lie no.2] uncle only sends me 50 a month and that ain't shit, that's hygiene a month. [Who calls their uncle uncle and not my uncle? What is he an orphan from the 1800's?] You don't keep money on the phone Jenn. I don't care who your new man is [again, not cooler than me], if you truly love me, you can talk to me. And 50 dollars, every couple of months ain't shit Jenn [trust me its nothing! I blow through it in no time]. So I and everyone else just think your wrong for that [OK, now he's literally speaking for everyone. Which is strange because I don't remember giving him my opinion on how much money his ex should be spending on his habit]. I will always have love for you. I just wish you would treat me with the respect I deserve [but have in no way earned]. I've been down 5 yrs and havnt got no more than 100 dollars from you. i basicaly took the rap and I get no respect. [Now he's doing his Rodney Dangerfield impression? what's next, Dr Vinnie Boombatz? (look it up)] That's fucked up!!!!! well I thought, since I finally got some stamps I can finally reply. I wish you would start respecting me as someone you love!!!

'The King of Richmond' (The realest you've ever known!)” [That last part is 100% real. I almost died laughing when I read this! The realest? No comment I can muster will be adequate at dealing with the ridiculousness of this sign off. What a heavy handed attempt to sound like a cool guy. Remember, this is to an ex-girlfriend! No way does playing the cool guy ever work on an ex. She's been in the bathroom after you. She's smelled your shit. Also remember that the whole point of this email is to beg for money! Oh I'm so glad I'm friends with this silly degenerate!]

KOR 11/24 “what? really I thought we just made it through everything; [Im going to say we and then make you feel bad for a bunch of shit you needed] your rent to your sister, the presents for the babies, your phone you needed [you know, the trivial shit]. I thought we got through it baby? [You mean to tell me the babies got my drug money?] I owe a 100$ and I don't even got a noodle right now. Thank god for you, because my brother doesn't give a fuck if I rot in here [because be knows the real me] and everyone else apparently don't care. [Possibly the most poorly crafted sentence in the history of writing, and now down to business] We can do 100 and then 50. [Tell the babies and your sister to fuck off! I have needs.] So I can eat off the 35 from the 50 for the rest of this month [hope I confused her with all the numbers and poor grammar] cause the only thing I have is 2 soaps [just to be sure, one more number]. so work with me on this and I will make that last to the first OK! [In no world, was he able to make it last until the 1st]

[And now back to the unwarranted guilt trip:] I thought you were done with all the present buying and rent.You even had a b-day!! [So there's really no excuse for not feeding my addiction. What are you selfish? Use your b-day money!] Which I think you needed to let loose a little anyways. [You really earned it, putting up with my begging and whatnot] I love you babe. I'll call you after count were supposed to have a blizzard today F U N!!!!!” [Bringing it all together with a little sarcastic humor? NICE!]

KOR 12/5 "Really Jenn? Don't think you can shame me for [well, anything but specifically] expecting a little money every once in a while” [you should know by now that shame is not a factor!] "Its not hard to skip going out to eat or buying that extra shirt, [extra shirt?Clearly he could only think of one good example to save money.] to throw me a little extra dough. [yeah, just go hungry and topless] I didn't bring Josh or Dan into this. [This whole exchange is about his friends and sugar mamma shaming Jenn for not sending home enough money] They did that on their own. They told me the conversation they had with you. I just agreed. I also didn't tell Carol to do that. She did that after her and Josh had a conversation about what had happened. Another thing is Jenn, don't kid yourself, I blew through a 35,000 dollar [insurance] check taking care of us, making sure we had a good time and 2 to 3 thousand every month up until i did that year in county (jail) [Yeah, I was a great provider until I got arrested! And by provider I mean cashing an insurance check]. So don't cry to me about a couple hundo [that's right, he's too cool to say hundred] and your fucking Ford Contour. I think your being rude, and you tried your damnest to fuck frank. [OK this is where it goes off the rails. He couldn't wait to mention the whole frank thing so he just shoehorned it in the conversation] I heard. [I'm confused, was she successful in her 'dam nest' attempt to fuck ole Frank?] That's funny [is it?], not that I care [well, I'm convinced. Nothing screams 'I care and it hurts so much' like saying I 'don't care'], cause I do have a good girl (a ride or die bitch I wish I always had) who does take care of me and keeps money on the phone and keeps me in touch with everyone [but only when I beg and grovel]. I'm in prison still pulling bitches [WOW!!! first of all he's definitely not and more importantly that's the most pathetic attempt at intended jealousy]. my point really isn't to brag, that's not what im trying to do. [It is] I'm just saying, its possible to still have a life and support someone in prison. even a little. you have just made NO effort at all and that piss people off and me. cause McDonald's checks weren't supporting our sort of lifestyle sweetie!!!!!! so I guess I wish you would change, but I doubt it. Anyways, happy to hear your grand ma is doing good. and next time you write, attach a stamp.” [OK, he's always good for a ridiculous ending but this one takes the cake. Let's examine: He spends 90% of this letter guilt tripping, berating, talking shit to, and begging for money. Then, literally in the 2nd to last sentence, he mentions her sick grandma's recovery? I have ask him how he carries around such big balls without a limp! And if you're still naive enough to think that he's done, you clearly don't know the ‘king’.]

[Our royal highness still has enough balls, and not enough shame, to ask this poor girl to attach a return stamp so she can continue this charming and fulfilling correspondence with her incarcerated ex-boyfriend. And now its clear how he became the king of Richmond: By sheer clumsy manipulation, a ruthless disregard for self respect, the freedom of movement that a spineless body provides and a fortitude willing to stoop to any low to accomplish his goal to get inebriated. The same way presidents get elected in this country. At any cost he would take the crown and he did. Without ever being to Richmond, I can say this with confidence: Anyone who would make him king and pay tribute to his court, truly deserves his rule. What a spectacular asshole the king is and I count him as a flawed degenerate of the worst degree. But I also count him as a friend…]

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