#Car collector gifts

[eresstyle]

Discover the timeless appeal of classic elegance with our vintage car images, perfect for print-on-demand products. From t-shirts to canvas prints, these high-quality, retro-style designs will captivate car enthusiasts and collectors alike. Elevate your style or home decor with a touch of vintage charm. Check out our collection now!

[arnoldmikesworld]

[fedrikmac]

Diecast Car 2008 Hot Wheels City Tow Jam Metalflake Blue 5-Pack

[automotiveartsblog]

Redbubble products!!!!

[onlineitems]

https://www.ebay.com/itm/165958316114 #hotwheels #toy #car #forsale #gift #collectors #hw #flames #corvette #stingray #checkitout #musthave #2015 https://linktr.ee/shopping490490 #ebay #mercari #shopify #etsy #poshmark #bonanzamarket #twitter #tumblr #facebook #instagram https://www.instagram.com/p/CpIpqUiJN1C/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[cheriladycl01]

Hiiii could you write about Carlos Sainz that he has a secret relationship with an Arab Muslim girl (she doesn't wear hijab) 24 years old, Y/N and Carlos' little sister her friend because they go to the same university from Madrid and Carlos always bothered her, he was always around Y/N whenever she was talking with a boy Carlos made them run away and that's how they became a couple but secretly it was due to Y/N's religion and Carlos likes to annoy her by teasing her face to face or sharing a message by pinching her side because she is ticklish and she also annoys him.

Thanks youu 💖

Romeo to my Juliet - Carlos x Reader

Plot: After studying at the University of Madrid, and making friends with Blanca Sainz you were constantly around her older brother Carlos who was … obviously obsessed with you!

A/N: Ive done research before writing this on Muslim culture and struggles, however I am not a person of colour, and do not want to cause any offence when writing this! Also the wording of this request did confuse me a little bit so I’m hoping I’ve got everything that you’ve wanted in here!

Carlos and you were two people you wouldn’t pin together. You were quiet and reserved whilst he was loud and expressive. You were shy, whilst he was confident. But it was those differences that actually made you the perfect pair.

Being in a secret relationship with the Carlos Sainz wasn’t easy, and neither is the story that came with it.

It started when you first applied to university. You got into the University of Madrid and your parents couldn’t be more happy as your father had work in Spain taken from the Middle East, so it wasn’t a difficult family move.

You were a very stylish girl despite being shy and with your outfits it wasn’t hard to catch the eyes on campus. And that was how you met Blanca Sainz.

It was a colder day in Madrid, around November and you were in one of your favourite winter time outfits that’s kept you warm and cozy, still not completely used to the cold winters Europe have compared to the Middle East.

You had this Burberry scarf on, a gift from you father and a gust of win caught you, immediately your hands grabbed for your skirt leaving your scarf to fly off from around your neck.

“Oh my gosh” you gasp as you tried to reach out for it but it just flew off into the distance. You started to run after it, until you saw it hit a girl and practically strangle her.

“I’m so so so sorry! The wind … and it just … and oh my gosh I’m so sorry, it hit you!” You gasp at the girl who looks over you before laughing.

“It’s … a scarf I’m fine” she giggled.

That day you guys got coffee on campus before getting to know each other and you’d been fast friends since.

It wasn’t until the end of your second year in university, your mum and dad had moved back home to the Middle East. And you didn’t know what to do about summer break.

Blanca actually invited you to her family trip to Mallorca and to stay with her in her family home.

You felt bad, so you suggest the first few weeks are spent in your family home in Dubai. And she definitely didn’t want to turn that down.

So of course you guys spent the summer, tanning, in your pool playing games with your mum and dad when they were free and going to get ice cream.

“Your house is insane, what the hell does your mum and dad do!” She asked looking around the 6 bedroom Villa your family owned.

“I don’t actually know, but he’s a business owner of some sort” you giggle, always too bored to listen to your father explain his career.

“There’s an aquarium in your kitchen island …” she points at it, mouth open wide.

“Yeah, excessive i know but my dad adores his fish”

“And your house it on the beach! AND there’s a pool? I don’t even know if I want to see the garage!” She exclaims.

“Mmmmmm yeah my dads also a car collector. He actually left some in Spain in the house there” you offer.

“Your like so humble though! I - WHAT?” She asks in shock and you just laugh her off.

You guys definitely enjoyed your time in Dubai and your parents loved her, she was invited back for the Christmas holidays too.

Then when you got to Spain you met the rest of her family.

“Mum dad, this is my friend Y/N” Blanca offers as you enter the home which was a beautiful Spanish Villa.

“Ah Y/N we’ve heard so much about you from Blanca when she calls” her mother smiles. Ana comes running down the stairs immediately pulling her sister into a hug.

“Ah you must be Y/N? Yes, you are gorgeous! Where are you from!” She grins pulling you into an unexpected hug.

“I’m from Dubai!” You smile and that night guy guys all get to know one another through board games.

It got to just after sunset when you realised that it was time to pray for Maghrib. You calmly excused yourself from the family. Blanca at this point knew when you had to pray and was always very respectful and actually intrigued at the way it all worked. She would be with you on campus in the pray room, or in a random corner of a cafe you guys were studying in and offer you her coat to kneel on if you didn’t have one.

She was the sweetest and most understanding friend you’d ever had.

However, this was the time you met her older brother Carlos. You were just finishing up, in Blancas bedroom when someone came into the room.

“Sorry Blanca, I didn’t mean to be long if I was!” You smile turning round only to see a confused man behind you.

“Erm sorry can I help you?” You ask and he still stands there with his big brown chocolate eyes just staring at you.

“A-sorry you must be, Y/N right? Blanca’s friend that she brought home?” He questions and you nod standing up, reaching out to shake his hand.

He looks down at it smirking before lifting it up and placing a gentle kiss on the edge making you gasp and go wide eyed.

“Well, welcome to the Sainz household. Are you excited about Mallorca?” He smiles and you nod, of course you were, you’d be waiting all summer for it.

And it was an unforgettable summer.

Carlos was ALWAYS around. He was like this little lost puppy and the only time you don’t think he was around was when you showered or slept. He bothered you the whole summer, interrupting you and Blanca when you were trying to tan, or would splash you in the pool when you were lounging on a lilo. He was a menace, but there was a certain type of endearment to it.

He was also insanely protective over you. Whenever you all would go out to bars or restaurants or clubs, you got a lot of male attention, which to Carlos wasn’t surprising.

You were the most beautiful person he thinks he’s ever seen, and he wants you all for himself.

“Hey Bonita, why don’t you come downtown with me, and I’ll show you a good time?” A random guy from the island had said to you in a club.

“I’m fine thank you, I’m here with friends” you smile pointing behind you to the table where Carlos Blanca and Ana are sat.

“I’m sure they won’t mind, come on. ¡Vive un poco!” He exclaims looking over you.

“She said she was fine, and I would mind” Carlos said in a gruff voice coming to stand behind you and hand on your shoulder.

The guy swiftly left, seeing who it was. You’d gotten used to the fact that Carlos would be noticed in public, you tried to stay out of it as much as possible. Whenever a fan came over you’d practically glue yourself to Blanca’s side.

But all the guys that came talking to you Carlos had them running away for one reason or another. Whether it was just him, being Carlos Sainz, or the look he gave them or what he whispered to them when you couldn’t here. They always left.

That was how Carlos and you ended up together. You were a modern day Romeo and Juliet. You knew your parents wouldn’t approve of the Spanish race car driver, just based on all the tabloid articles about him.

“We should leave” he said in a huff, he was always like this and a lot of the times that you left was because of Carlos’ changed mood.

“But we didn’t get here long ago!” You offer and he huffs again, getting more frustrated.

“Just, let’s just go home!” He says again, not touching you but giving you a look as if to say, I will drag you out of here.

“We need to get Blanca and Ana, we can’t leave them!” You say as you start to look around the club for the two girls, hoping they would protest to Carlos wanting to get you to leave.

“They’ll be fine, let’s just go. They are pretty preoccupied anyway” he nods towards them with their boyfriends and how they are dancing.

Next thing you know Carlos was dragging you home, poking at your side saying how you broke your good girl demeanour just to leave the club with him.

“I was in a club, I can’t be that good of a girl” you tease him back and he looks over at you with a sparkle in his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t even there and it was just from the street lights, but he looked so happy and content in this moment that you couldn’t help but stare.

After this summer, you and Carlos hide your relationship from everyone, you hated hiding it from Blanca the most as he would often come find you in Madrid after race weekends to keep you company.

And don’t even start about him at family venues. Despite Carlos wanting to keep the relationship as secret as you did because of the media, and your parents, he wasn’t very good at keeping his gestures subtle.

“Carlos, I haven’t seen you for a while. And whose this, a girlfriend?” One of his aunts comes over seeing you together chatting at a family reunion his mother had hosted after his race win.

He pinched your side teasingly as if to say that you guys must look good together. And as you look up at his face you can see that.

“No this is Y/N Blanca’s friend from university” he offers keeping up with the secret. And your look down smiling to yourself. It was fun in a way keeping up a little white lie that you were with Carlos.

“Shame, she’s a dime and you two would look great together” she winks before fluttering off elsewhere in the house.

“See someone else who thinks we look great together” Carlos says leaning down to meet your eye level making you blush.

“Carlos leave Y/N alone, you tease the poor girl enough you’ll give her a heart attack one day. Come on sweetie” his mother guides you away, you turn round to catch Carlos’ eye before poking your tongue out in a childish manner.

He shakes his head with a slight chuckles as he watches his mum pull you away to a different crowd of people and introduces you.

When you and Carlos would admit your relationship was unknown, but you knew you’d never been happier than you were with Carlos Sainz Jr.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[hhoneylemon]

𝘫𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘰 𝘣𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

warnings: bad writing perhaps

How Does He Act With A Crush?

he’s so cute when he has a crush. he finds excuses to hang out with you, he’s nicer to you than he is to anyone. he does his best to charm you with his ‘bad boy’ persona and then drops it to just be that soft funny guy. he’ll let you borrow his books and he’ll read any you recommend, he lets you borrow his cds, sneaks you free stuff from luke’s, probably steals something of yours to remember you by when he’s sitting alone.

Love Languages

i think jess is an acts of services and gift giving kind of guy. he’ll annotate books for you, give you books, drive you around, carry things for you. he’ll let you drag him places as long as it makes you happy too. he keeps your best interests in his heart. he struggles with voicing his feelings. he’s physically affectionate, but it’s mostly hand holding and kissing.

Gifts

he definitely listens to you when you talk. he learns what your favorite candy is to randomly give to you when you’re hanging out. he gives you books based off your taste and he expects you to tell him what it was about and if you liked it or not. he buys you cds and records of your favorite artists and does his best to find collectors items too. has bought you little antique trinkets that are genuinely adorable.

Dates

like i said, he takes mental notes on what you talk about, he’s a great listener. if you mention having seen a new restaurant open he’ll take you there for dinner. he enjoys taking you out for ice cream (there’s ice cream at the diner, but no cones), taking you book shopping, record shopping, seeing a bad movie to make fun of it (at home or in theatre), going to concerts or small gigs. he loves just walking around with you and talking too. keeps a hand in your back pocket or an arm around your waist. if you ask him to a town event he’ll complain about it and say no for a while but if you keep asking he’ll probably say yes, or he’ll come up with an alternative date.

Kisses

when you first start dating he genuinely cannot stop kissing you. stops you mid conversation to kiss you and then goes back in his same position to listen to you continue talking. kisses your cheek when he really wants to kiss you but you’re ranting. kisses you to shut you up. of you want him to shut up, it's effective on him as well. kiss him and you can get you whatever you want. he’d give you the world if you asked, anyways.

Random

he does magic tricks for you!! sometimes your brain hurts from reading so much or you’re studying and you want a break so he busts out his cards and just does some tricks for you. sometimes he’ll take you to the lake and you two sit on the bridge and sit in silence, holding hands and looking at the water while thinking about whatever. whenever he’s upset, this is his favorite thing to do with you. he honestly doesn’t peg me as the jealous type. unless you outright hang out with an ex or a guy who clearly has a crush on you, he won’t care. he trusts you. he’ll ho to parties with you, but he makes sure both of you steer clear from drinking. while yes, he would normally drink at a party, you’re here and he doesn’t want to worry you and he certainly doesn’t want you drinking. he would stop smoking for you if you asking him to!! sometimes you to sit in the park/town square and he’ll be reading on the grass while you’re sitting on a bench and his head is between your knees so you can play with his hair. it calms him down, and also it’s fun to mess up his hair without his knowing. he offers his jacket to you when it’s cold and then you get to watch him start shivering before he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you close to him for a bit of warmth. he takes care if you before himself!! if you say you need help he’s immediately coming to your rescue. stuck on a homework question? he’ll figure it out, don’t worry. your car won’t run? he’ll figure it out, don’t worry. your sink won’t stop dripping? he’s no plumber, but it shouldn’t be too hard. pet names are weird to him, but a small ‘babe’ or ‘baby’ will leave his lips inbetween kisses or when he’s about to softly correct you on something. whenever you talk he’s looking at you with the softest eyes, a small smile on his lips. he seriously doesn’t understand what he did to interest you in him. sometimes he’s mean bc he’s mean to everyone and it’s his defense mechanism against the world. blows you off when he’s upset but the longer you’re together the better he gets at communicating he’s upset and letting you try to improve his mood. please hug him and let him hold you and kiss your hair it’ll do wonders for him. he’s half hopeless romantic half asshole. he’s such a loser boyfriend. the beginning of the relationship is puppylove and then it leads to real love and he doesn’t know how to handle it. it’s amazing but scary.

he loves you, he just doesn’t know how to tell you because he’s never been loved back before.

[bleedingoptimism]

I have a prompt for you! Steve or Eddie finding out that the other one collects something. Maybe it's weird or silly or just surprising. I feel like one or both of them secretly collect stuff.

Eddie collects things, lots of things, he's a collector. He collects rocks he likes, every trinket, key chain, necklace, or ring he finds with a shape of a lizard. He collects dice and zines, cassettes, you name it, he collects.

When Steve realizes this, he starts saving weird rocks he sees to give to him later. They don't really talk about it, Steve never says anything and he actually kind of doesn't notice he's doing it. But sometimes Eddie will get in his car and Steve will tap the headboard and say, "There's something for you there," and Eddie will open the compartment and find a metal pin with the shape of a lizard and grab it a hold it and look at Steve and Steve will shrug, like its nothing and Eddie will continue to stare at Steve for a few minutes while he drives, and he'll pin and long and love him in silence.

He asks him once if he collects anything, but Steve shakes his head no. No trophies, no love letters, no polaroids.

They are hanging out at Steve's one lazy sunday afternoon when he finds it. He was looking for a lighter, Steve had refused to move from where he's lying limbs stretched like a star on the floor of his bedroom and pointed somewhere over his desk when Eddie had asked for it.

He's rummaging through the desk and opens the second drawer, starts moving things around when suddenly Steve is right behind him,

"It's not there! There's nothing there." he yelps, trying to close the drawer, and Eddie laughs and looks closer at the contents, thinking he'll find Steve's porn stash and make him blush a little, but instead he finds a movie tkt, a receipt, a napkin, and other things that don't make a lot of sense until it does.

Because the ticket is from a movie they saw together, and the receipt is from when they went to Indianapolis and ate greasy burgers at a diner in the middle of nowhere, and the napkin is from The Hideout and there's a leaf carefully pressed with duck tape that he's sure is the one he once gave Steve, when they were walking through the forest, sharing a smoke. A leaf, just a silly little leaf, he had grabbed it off the floor because it was brown and speckled with yellows and greens and it reminded him of the color of Steve's eyes when the light hit them just right. He'd given it to Steve without a word and Steve had smiled and twirled it in front of his face and then he had completely forgotten about it and here it was, in a drawer in Steve's room, along with a whole lot of things, mementos, of them.

Eddie looks at Steve, who is standing just to the side of him, completely red in the face and with his hands suspended in the air, either to push Eddie away and close the drawer or hold them up as surrender, he doesn't know.

They look at each other, both searching for something, asking questions, seeking answers. They look at their eyes, roam their faces, and end up on each other's lips, and Eddie smiles, big, happy, and enamored, he slowly moves to face Steve properly, closing the drawer with his hip and holds Steve's face between his palms and Steve leans into the touch closing his eyes for second before going back to stare at Eddie, and shily, he smiles back.

And Eddie dives in and kisses the boy who gifts him weird rocks, lizard trinkets, and dice. The boy who collects mementos. The boy he loves.

[koyagifs]

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓮 𝓘𝓷 𝓐 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 「 I 」

⤷ pairing : wooyoung x reader ⤷au : non idol! | strangers to lovers | slow burn ⤷genre: fluff | crack | angst ⤷word count: 725 words ⤷summary: Being gifted what was supposed to be a gag joke, turns out to be the real deal. An actual genie in a bottle, ready to serve her new master. ⤷ a/n: happy halloween lovelies! I might make this a series and put shattered trust on hold. Divider

── .✦ Wooyoung sat around his group of friends, laughing at a joke San said before they hushed each other. Yunho and Mingi held a shit eating grin on their face as Yunho got up and grabbed his gift for his friend.

“ happy birthday you little shit head,” Yunho said, grinning as he handed the bag.

“ you can’t talk to me like that! It’s my birthday, i’m the birthday boy,” Wooyoung whined, laughter filling the air once again.

Wooyoung dug into the bag, pulling out what looked to be an old bottle. The group busted out laughing as Wooyoung held the handle by his two fingers, holding it away from him as his face turned a disgusted one.

“ what the fuck is this !?” He cried out.

Hongjoong wiped a tear from his face, holding his stomach as he tried to get his breathing correct. “ make a wish woo~”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, shaking the rusted bottle in mock horror. "This thing looks like it’s from the Dark Ages, and you want me to make a wish on it?" he grumbled, though the laughter in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

Mingi grinned. "Come on, Wooyoung! It’s vintage. Think of it as... a collector's item."

"Or a cursed relic," San added with a smirk, leaning back as everyone laughed harder.

Wooyoung held the bottle out at arm's length, giving it a dramatic side-eye. "Alright, fine. If I get a disease from this, it’s all on you guys." He closed his eyes and clasped the bottle in both hands, putting on an exaggeratedly serious face.

As Wooyoung rubbed the bottle with exaggerated flair, he let out a dramatic sigh, pretending to focus intensely. "Alright, here we go—wishing for a lifetime supply of sweets and maybe a new car," he joked, earning laughter from everyone.

The room held its breath, waiting for something to happen, but of course, the bottle remained just as old and unimpressive. Wooyoung huffed in mock disappointment. "What a rip-off!" he laughed, setting the bottle down with a feigned pout.

Yunho nudged him, grinning. "Well, you never know, Woo. Maybe it'll work its magic later."

Wooyoung set the bottle aside with a shrug, his attention now fully on the next gift being handed to him. The laughter simmered down as he unwrapped it, eyes widening with curiosity. Inside the wrappings was a sleek, silver bracelet, its chain fine but sturdy, with a small charm that looked like a miniature camera.

Wooyoung’s face lit up as he held up the silver bracelet, letting the miniature camera charm dangle from the chain. He chuckled, clearly amused. "Alright, who’s the genius behind this? This is actually… really nice," he admitted, a genuine smile softening his features.

As Yeosang was going to reply, smoke covered the room having the boys cough and pull their shirts up to their face. Wooyoung looked around confused, trying his best to find where said smoke was coming from. And why it was.. green?

As the dense, green smoke filled the room, everyone scrambled, eyes darting through the haze in confusion. Wooyoung coughed, pulling his shirt up over his nose, squinting against the mysterious fog.

"Where the hell is this coming from?" he muttered, eyes scanning the room frantically.

Yeosang, whose initial reply was now forgotten, took a cautious step back, his gaze fixed on the bottle Wooyoung had set aside just moments before. "Guys," he said, voice muffled, "I think it’s coming from that."

All eyes turned to the rusted bottle on the table. Thick plumes of green smoke swirled around it, filling the room with an eerie glow. The rust around the bottle began to fall, now beaming in it's golden beauty.

Yunho blinked, horrified. "No way—did your wish actually do something, Woo?"

Wooyoung’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the bottle, a mix of awe and horror in his expression. “I was kidding! I didn’t actually want a cursed bottle!”

Just then, the smoke started to clear, leaving behind a faint shimmer in the air. A figure began to form from the lingering haze, a short female, with piercing eyes that scanned the group. Her green dress catching everyone's attention. They stared at the lady in awe, her beauty taking everyone's breathe away. The lady blinked once before a smile was placed on her lips.

" hello!"

[megamindsecretlair]

Cold on Me, Part 2 - Final

Pairing: David Kane x Atlantean!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Plot with smut, cursing, fingering (female receiving) , teasing, orgasm denial, PIV, dirty talk, Atlantean reader. Established relationship.

Summary: On a mission to recover an artifact sacred to your people, you journey through Rome to meet up with your contact. When David steals the very item you came to collect, you make a plan to retrieve it. You never could trust easily.

Word Count: 4,494k

A/N: Sorry it's been so long, my loves. But I finally circled back to David. He's a hard character for me to get down, but I'm with it. Toss a coin to your blogger with a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.

Taglist: @planetblaque @blackerthings @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @iv0rysoap @notapradagurl7 @sevikasblackgf @miyuhpapayuh @xo-goldengirl @kindofaintrovert @flydotty @judymfmoody @slippinninque @soufcakmistress @henneseyhoe @westside-rot @melaninpov @twocentuar @blackpinup22 @babybratzmaraj @theyscreamsannii @kiabialia @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @00aijia00 @hopefulromantic1 @lesbiantreehugger @longpause-awkwardsmile @badassdoll @kholdkill @cardi-bre91 @blowmymbackout @jay-mach @sageispunk @yourofficialgal @harmshake @ciaqui @liyaah02 @monaeesstuff @papichulojustice @tvchi @multiversefanfics @thecapodomme

You waited until much further in the night before turning on the tracking device in your bag. You made it to one of the safe houses stashed around the surface world, for you and your sisters to conduct business when need be. 

You cleaned yourself up and changed into something more flexible. You wore an all black ensemble to help you blend into the night time. It was so dark here. Back home, you were never without some source of color or light. You missed it. You missed home. But you could not return home without the artifact. 

You were still fuming about David’s betrayal but you couldn’t fault a shark for baring its teeth. You sipped on water while you waited for the contraption to pinpoint his location. He was still in Rome, on the far edges of the city. Far from any kind of water source. He was learning.

You huffed as that eliminated a few of your plans for getting the knife back and returning to the water. You looked up the coordinates. He was in an abandoned warehouse. Your fingers flew over the keys, zooming in or out, studying the layout wherever you could. 

Why the hell would he go there? What was his goal? Why wasn’t he in the air, flying to a rendezvous point? 

You didn’t like this. Not one bit. But if it were a trap, it was a piss poor one. You gathered your weapons. A blaster from Atlantis and your dagger, a gift from the Elder when you graduated to become a Collector. You grabbed a few more items, just in case.

Satisfied, you left the apartment under the cover of midnight. There were less people out now. Less cars on the road or people spilling out of restaurants. Less tourists. Speed was the name of the game so you would take your bike, but keep it under the speed limit. At least, until you made it to the more industrial side of the city. 

The helmet went on smoothly as you fired up your bike and pulled away from the curb. You let the rumbling of the engine beneath you settle your nerves. You were not going to let him play you like that again. You would remain strong. No matter what he tried to say. That…part of your life was over. What you shared was over. Buried at the bottom of the unforgiving sea. 

Out of the inner city, you increased your speed and didn’t let up until you arrived at the warehouse. It looked familiar. Something about the shape of it, the placement of a particular beam, tickled your memory. 

You got off of your bike, taking off your helmet, and shaking out your hair as you glanced at the building. Why did this place seem familiar?

You knew you were wasting too much time standing outside of the building, but there was no sign of David. No car or motorcycle of his own. No sign that anyone was around. You debated on if it was worth going inside. For all you knew, he found the bug anyway and left it here while he was in a different city by now. 

But you had to at least follow all of the clues to the end. You secured your helmet to the back, keeping a watchful eye out for anything amiss. The abandoned yard had cracks in the ground, wild weeds and grass growing in between. The railing was filthy, caked up with layers of grime, gum, and who knew what else.

You took the short steps to the door and inspected it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Still, you took out your blaster and tested the door. It was open. Warning bells went off in your head. This was too easy. Too simple. Too mundane for the likes of David Kane. 

You were a daughter of Calypso, you better act like it.

You steeled yourself and opened the door, sweeping both sides with your blaster. There were no tricks. Inside, the corridor was dark. The red exit sign above the door illuminated enough of the space to determine that you were in some kind of office area. 

You took slow, measured steps towards another door. There was a window cut into it that overlooked a wide open space, filled with hundreds of empty shelves. You looked as best as you were able, searching for any sign of David. 

Seeing nothing, you entered the room, blaster still at the ready though you were starting to feel silly. If David had a trick up his sleeve, some dastardly plan, you couldn’t see it. Couldn’t anticipate what it was he had planned.

You swept across the room, going down aisle after aisle. Curiosity got the best of you as you passed by box after box. You stopped, using your left hand to open it while your right hand kept your blaster at the ready.

Inside the box, there was a funny looking mask. Painted in shades of red, blue, and orange, it looked old. Sacred. Realization dawned as you looked around with renewed interest. This was one of David’s storage facilities. Where he kept the spoils of his pirating.

Heat burned in your chest. Anger rising like the tide that he thought he could sell the Atlantean artifact. To some useless businessman who’d brandish it like a child playing with a toy. No respect.

Your teeth ground together as you moved deeper into the warehouse. It was becoming more and more apparent that you weren’t going to find him. You made it to the end of the last aisle, having peeked into more boxes. Jewelry, weapons, masks, pottery. There was nothing that his ass didn’t try to take.

Up ahead, there was a set of stairs that led to an office. Probably for the manager or something. The light was on and you could just make out a figure. If it was David, he either didn’t see you or was waiting for you.

You took the stairs quietly anyway. At the top, the door was cracked open as David sat in a chair, facing away from you. The room looked like an ordinary office, complete with a desk, bookshelves, chairs, and a sofa. 

No personal touches were left in the room, save for a stress ball on the desk. You nudged the door open and trained your blaster on David’s head. To his credit, he only lifted his hands.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” he said.

You pushed the blaster into his head, making him bow forward. “I should kill you for what you did,” you said.

“For taking the knife or not finishing you off?” He asked. Only David could sound so fucking smug while a gun was on him. 

“Please, that was nothing to write home about,” you said and rolled your eyes.

“So the moans…were, what? For my benefit?” He asked.

“You seemed like you needed the ego boost,” you said.

David laughed and finally turned in his seat. You took a step back, staring down the length of the blaster. David looked at the weapon, but then flicked his eyes back to you. He smirked. “You were always a bad liar.”

“What the fuck is this, Kane? Why are you playing these games?” You asked.

David held up his hands, showing you that he was weaponless. He could still have a gun hidden somewhere. As if he could read your thoughts, he sighed. “You welcome to search me,” he said and winked at you. 

You sighed through your nose. He was infuriating. Childish man. You didn’t dignify his words with a response. 

“Where’s the knife, Kane?” You asked. 

David didn’t let his smirk falter as he stood up. He kept his hands palm side up, but brought it closer to his sides. “Close. Safe.” 

“It doesn’t mean anything to you. You can’t even sell it on the market.”

“That’s not why I took it,” he said. 

“Then why?” You wanted to shout. To scream. To hit him. His arms were longer and he would just best you again, super strength or not. You didn’t want to break him. You just wanted to be done with him. 

David licked his lips at your question, face softening. “I had to make you see. If I told you I’ve changed, you’d never believe me. Do you remember this place?” 

Oh yeah, you remembered. You remembered that nearly a year into your dalliance with him, he trusted you with this place. He thought you shared a love of artifacts. He thought you’d be impressed by his “collection”. You were not. You ripped him a new one. 

It wasn’t a secret that he was a pirate. He told you as much when you first met. In fact, you were here under similar circumstances, recovering a plate that belonged to Atlantis when you ran into him. The danger, the intrigue, the meet ups were all so exciting at first. But that argument spelled the beginning of the end for you.

You couldn’t see past his greed. When would enough be enough? When would he be satisfied with his hoard? Satisfied with the money he made? Satisfied with himself? 

You only narrowed your eyes but David nodded. “Remember how full this place used to be? I had a pretty good operation here. Rome was critical to my business. Now look at it. Really, look.” He pointed out of the windows, down at the floor. Down to the aisles where you had searched through boxes.

“Some I’ve tried to return to where they really belonged. Some I’ve sold to fund my research into who should really own these items. Some can’t be returned yet. But I’m working on it,” he said.

You glanced at the floor below but immediately returned your eyes to him. You didn’t trust him. You didn’t trust his words. For all you knew, he moved his operation to a different warehouse in a different city. 

“What do you want, a cookie? I want what you stole from me so I can leave,” you said. 

“Can you acknowledge that I’m trying?”

“You did this for you. Don’t try to put it on me,” you said.

“I did this because you were right. This stuff isn’t important anymore. I just want you. I should have never let you go in Miami,” he said.

Just saying the name hurt you as if he had stabbed you in the chest. You didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to think about the hurt in his eyes as you jumped into the water and vowed never to speak to him again. 

“I mean, think about it. I thought I’d never see you again. Why would I bother with this? Seeing you tonight was unexpected but I knew that if I could just show you…” 

You sucked your teeth. Your arm was starting to cramp from keeping it in this position. You lowered the gun but you kept it pointed at him. He took that as a sign to lower his arms to his sides. You watched for any signs of betrayal, any hint of deception.

He used to be so easy to read. Full of life and energy, David was always quick with a word or a kiss. You glanced at his lips. David took one step closer and you lifted the blaster. If he couldn’t get close, he couldn’t confuse you. 

David pushed on, stepping closer until his chest was flush with the blaster. “Hand over the knife and maybe I’ll think about believing you,” you said. 

This was nuts. It took a year to get close to him, to feel any type of connection with him. In the years since you’ve seen him, you learned to forget what he looked like fresh from a shower. What he smelled like when he was wrapped around your body. The sound of his heartbeat as you fell asleep beside him. Now, in his presence, you were right back to the thick of it. As if you had merely suppressed the emotions. Cast aside the memories.

It all came flooding back, confusing you. Distracting you. You pushed him with the end of your blaster until he held up his hands again. David had his own agenda and he was not going to give you what you were looking for. Not until his goal was achieved. 

If you were an ancient artifact, where would you be? David wouldn’t be stupid enough to have it in a place he couldn’t get to easily. Somewhere near his person but not on it. The room had plenty of places to hide such a small thing. 

“Just tell me if I have any chance at all. If there’s any part of you left that cares about us,” he said. 

David was good. But not that good. At the mention of the knife, his eyes darted to the right. For the briefest of moments. You sighed and holstered your blaster. Your arm was getting tired anyway. If he was going to harm you, he would have done it already. 

“You really want to start this again? You really want to go back to the fighting, the differing ideologies, the fact that I live in the ocean?” You asked. 

David nodded once. “I’ll take all of that over all the money in the world,” he said. 

You sighed, regarding him. You let yourself remember. Remember his voice. The subtle growl in his throat when he first slid inside you. You bit your lip, getting closer to him. He wore black jeans and a black T-shirt. You placed your hand on his chest. Let the warmth seep from him. 

He tilted his head at you. You pushed on his chest, walking him backwards. He lifted an eyebrow at you, not quite trusting what you were up to. 

“Do you mean it?” You asked softly. You looked into his eyes. He nodded once again, his jaw flexing.

“Then kiss me and make me believe it,” you said. 

With no hesitation, David captured your lips with his own. He cradled your head in his hands, holding you exactly where he needed you. You moaned into his mouth, hands flying to his belt. You toyed with the hem of his shirt, grabbing at the hard expanse of his chest. 

David sighed against your lips. He kissed just like you remembered. Like you truly were the only thing in his life that he wanted. Needed. You took hold of his jeans, unbuttoning, and pulling his zipper down. He groaned, tried to break the kiss to see what you were doing.

You closed the distance once more, smashing your lips together. You palmed his fat dick, feeling it twitch beneath your hand. 

“You sure?” He asked.

You pulled away to look at him. Nodded. “I’ve never been more sure,” you said. You gave him a small smile. 

David grinned and returned to kissing you, renewing with an increased fervor as if he held himself back before. You walked with him until he hit the chair he was previously in. You pushed him to sit down. He flopped with a smirk on his face. 

You made a show of getting to your knees. David caressed your face, thumb tracing the line of your lips before pushing his thumb inside your mouth. You sucked greedily, offering him a little moan. 

He groaned and then removed his hand so that he could take off his shirt. Your eyes lit up as you got a closer look at his chest. He kept up with working out. Or maybe pirating kept him that well in shape. 

“Missed the fuck outta this,” he groaned. His eyes were half mast. Drunk on lust. Consumed by it. 

You rubbed his thickening bulge with one hand while you extracted your cuffs with the other hand. David was too blissed out to notice. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open as you pleasured him over his storm gray briefs. He gripped the arm rest giving you the perfect opportunity to cuff him to it.

Hearing the clink, David’s eyes flew open. He tugged on the cuff as he looked at you with horror in his eyes. You wrestled with his other arm, kneeing him close to his groin as you pinned it to the other armrest and cuffed that one as well. Knowing him, he probably should be restrained by his legs as well.

But you didn’t have time. He’d find a way to escape soon. You only hoped that you were back on your bike before then. 

“What the hell!” He growled. 

You smirked. “Gotcha bitch,” you said and flipped him off. You walked away from him, searching the file cabinets, desk drawers, and bookshelf for the knife. He wouldn’t keep it on him. That would be too stupid. And one thing David was not, was stupid. No matter how much you wished he was.

“Let me go,” he growled.

You hummed to yourself as if you had all the time in the world. But in reality, your nerves were shot. Getting close to him like that made you feel icky. Like you used him. He used you first, but even that was a cold comfort. 

Pulling out the ratty desk chair, you searched for hidden compartments. You felt along the underside of the desk, hand ghosting along a button. You pressed it. A soft popping noise alerted you to the secret drawer beneath the desk.There, in all its glory, was the death ritual knife. 

You sighed in triumph and opened the bag to reveal the knife still wrapped in its cloth. “Why didn’t you just tell me that I had no chance? I would have given you the knife.” 

You looked at David. He didn’t even look that angry anymore. You zipped the bag up, and slung it around your shoulders.

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

“Do you really think I’m a monster? That I’m not truly capable of loving you?” He asked.

It took effort, but you finally looked at him. Really looked at him. “I think you loved me once upon a time. But I’m not sure if you loved me or what I could do for you.” 

“How could you say that?” David’s voice cracked as he looked at you, jaw slack, eyes wide. Was this just an act? Was he serious? It was so hard to tell with him. 

“Do you remember what you said to me? That you’d rob the world blind if it meant that you got yours. That doesn’t leave a whole lot of room in your heart for anything else!” You didn’t mean to shout. But you never truly did get that closure you needed from years ago. “I trusted you. I loved you! I loved you with everything I had in me. But you were never going to stop. You just expected me to follow you to the ends of the earth with no consideration of how I felt. Like I was some prized pony that gave you clout. You had a real live Atlantean on your arm. You loved parading me around!” 

“Because I was proud of you! Of you! Because I felt so damn lucky to be with you that hell yeah, I wanted the world to know it! Let somebody say something! I would have burned everything down for you!” 

You…did not have anything to say to that. Your mind raced back to every interaction you had. Every time he introduced you. At the time you felt like a trophy. Was he really that damn proud at the time? 

“You were always showing me off. Even when I wanted to stay in,” you said. 

“I wasn’t perfect. Was there a part of me that liked having a super girlfriend? Yes. But I swear to you, all I wanted was you. You leaving…it just made me realize that I didn’t only want the money.” 

Your hands shook at your sides. The endless screaming matches. The lectures. You were no picnic either. Picking at this filthy world with its stale air, weird food, and strange customs. You were miserable because you missed home. But you did feel loved in his arms for a while. For a while at least.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, looking away from him. Even if you wanted, you couldn’t go back and change the past. Couldn’t undo all the hurt and pain you’d caused each other.

“Don’t say that,” he said, just as softly.

“We can’t change the past,” you said. You walked over to the door. This was why you got in and out and left the surface world alone. It was too loud. Too messy. 

“We can change the future. Let me go, we’ll fix this.” He said.

“No. You’re just trying to get in my head,” you said. 

“If that were true, I’d be yelling and screaming now. All I’m doing is asking for a chance. Just one more. I can’t promise to be perfect. I can’t promise that I won’t piss you off. But I won’t do it on purpose,” he said. 

You fought with yourself. Head spinning with indecision. Could you trust him? Could you not? 

You looked at him. You would never be able to trust yourself around him. And that was the scariest thing of all. 

David widened his eyes as if he saw the decision on your face. You had to learn to school your features. You couldn’t be big and bad if you couldn’t maintain a poker face. 

“Sunflower,” he said suddenly. 

“What?” You asked.

David licked his lips. “When we first met. You had a sunflower in your hair. I asked you why, and you said that you’d never seen one before. So I always brought them to you. So many that the whole house had too much pollen and you sneezed so badly, you had tears running down your face. I’d never seen someone so beautiful as they were covered in snot.” 

Your heart thundered in your chest. He remembered that shit? Hell, you’d nearly forgotten yourself. As he spoke, you remembered everything vividly. You were miserable. You’d seen flowers before and knew their qualities, but you didn’t think it’d affect you so badly. 

You stared. He stared. “I swear by the goddess…”

“This isn’t an act. Damn, can’t you see I love you, woman?” He asked.

You crossed back to him and stood in front of him. “If you ever betray me again…”

“Let me go and I’ll show you that the thought would never cross my mind again,” he said. 

You hemmed. You hawed. But in the end, you were weak in the knees. You let him go from the cuffs. David remained in the chair, rubbing life back into his wrists.

Done, he took your hand in his and kissed the back of it. He kept kissing, flipping your hand over and placing it against his cheek. He kissed your wrist, pulling you closer. He pulled until you straddled him, legs on either side of his. 

He tilted his head and stared into your eyes. He pushed the sling bag over your shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Then, he unzipped your jacket and pushed it from your body, tossing it onto the couch. Your thumb moved back and forth over his cheek while he continued to undress you, pulling off your knife and blaster from your hip. 

He gripped the waistband of your leggings, pulling until he could fit his hand underneath. He found you soaking wet. He lifted an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t get cocky,” you warned. 

He smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He began to caress your pussy, dragging your wet essence achingly slow over your clit until you were a shivering, desperate mess on top of him. He kissed along your jaw.

“You don’t have to fight it. Let it go,” he said.

“I can’t help it,” you said around your chattering teeth. His hands felt too good. He remembered exactly how you liked it. Exactly what to do to send your mind reeling and your moans escaping your lips. 

“Yes you can. You don’t always have to fight me. Let that shit go,” he murmured against your skin. His lips found yours as you slowly relaxed. Forced your shoulders to drop. Your hands to slide across his exposed skin. 

A tingling settled in your thighs as you felt the approaching orgasm. Usually your lovemaking was rough. Fucking just as rough as you fought. But this was different. More intimate. Scarier. 

You opened your mouth, eyes closing, as the sweetest wave of pleasure washed over you. You sighed and panted through it.

“There she is,” David cooed. “Let it all go. Surrender to it,” he said.

“I hate you,” you moaned, rocking your hips on his exploring hands. 

He bit your lip and chuckled. “I love you too,” he said. 

You stood up long enough to remove your pants and panties. He stayed seated as he scooted his pants and briefs low enough for him to release his fat dick. It was just as huge and pretty as you remembered it. Thick in all the right places. From tip to base. 

Your mouth watered. You climbed back on top of him. “I’m clean,” he said. But he still reached into his pants pocket for a condom. 

You couldn’t wait to get tested with him to ensure that was the case so that he could slide in bare, no barriers between you. Filling you up. He rolled it on and then lined himself up, pushing in with little resistance.

His hands roamed across your back, pushing your shirt up and off of you. He captured your nipples in his mouth, alternating between each titty while he gently rocked inside of you. Whichever nipple he wasn’t sucking, he used his hand to knead the other. Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him to you while you both chased that freedom. Chased that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

You came first, lifting your head to the ceiling. It was all too much and overwhelming. And yet it felt incredibly right. It had been too damn long since you were with someone like this. Hell, who were you fooling?

No one else did it for you. The minute you swam away from him, he became the only one capable of stretching you out. Giving you what you needed without having to ask. Without having to think. You clenched around him and he groaned, dick twitching as he reached his own climax.

You stayed together for a beat, maybe two, as your heart settled. You kissed his cheek. 

“Now , about this knife…”

You chuckled. “Do not even play with me right now.” 

You rested your head on his shoulder and listened to your favorite lullaby, the sound of his heartbeat.

The end.

The Secret David Kane Files

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1977 Cadillac Seville

Betty White's Seamist-green 1977 Cadillac Seville owned and driven for 25 years by Betty is on display in the AACA museum in Hershey, PA. It was a surprise gift from her husband Allen Ludden. She nicknamed the car "Parakeet."

It was a surprise gift, too, as she would say in interviews years later: Ludden had returned home from a job and, as customary, he didn’t want Betty to wait for him at the airport. So, he drove home, but not in a taxi: he arrived in this Seamist Green 1977 Cadillac Seville he had picked up for her. The special kind of pastel green had been chosen with her in mind, since she loved pastels. The combination of the green and the white vinyl top and the white leather interior turned it into an instant attention-magnet.

The Seville was factory loaded and rear-wheel drive, but it also featured a few extra touches, like a small dash plaque that reads “Betty.” The actress would later add an AT&T phone inside, so she could always be reached for business. It is still inside the car.

Betty loved Parakeet, though she didn’t drive it too much. In 2002, she donated it with 18,000 miles (29,000 km) on the odometer, to an animal charity. It then ended up with a Houston collector who donated it to the Antique Automobile Club of America Museum (AACA Museum) in Hershey, Pennsylvania. It’s been there all this time, either on display or offered for special tours in the storage section.

[cthulhusstepmom]

Fae!Soap Superstitious Bastard! Ghost: Gifts

(Just a heads up this got way more intense than I meant it to but that’s kind of the Fae for you.)

TW: mentions of torture, human remains

Soap is a collector, though not of any one thing that Ghost can discern. He’s seen the man pick up anything from an abandoned rolex to a nondescript piece of broken glass. It doesn’t seem to be about size, it’s not shape and definitely not value; Ghost had thought he’d pinned it down as things that caught the light a certain way but was swiftly proven wrong when Soap went on a spree of collecting pebbles and sticks. He’d glared sullenly at the first jagged gray rock when Soap had picked it up before swiftly changing the subject when he was noticed. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to any of it… well not quite. There was one singular pattern that stood out in his mind, a single thread that held firm no matter how much he rearranged or plucked at it.

 Anything that Ghost gave him, Johnny kept. 

The first had been a bit of pretty blue ribbon that was a close enough approximation to Soap’s eyes. It’d snagged on a bramble bordering the clearing where Ghost had set up for overwatch. Without even thinking he’d snagged it on his way to RV down the hill, offering it to Johnny in the armored car taking them back to base. Soap hadn’t said a thing. It was then that Ghost realized maybe giving your subordinate a piece of trash you’d found in a bush perhaps wasn’t the most well adjusted way to express affection. He’d been about to play it off with a quip, beginning to retract his fingers ever so slightly, when Johnny snatched it lightning quick from the palm of his hand, holding it close to his chest for a moment before stuffing it into his chest pocket next to his journal. Soap had given him a small strangled “Thank you” as they sat the rest of the ride in an awkward but warm silence. Johnny disappeared almost immediately after they got back to base but Ghost could see light in the space under his door so he wasn’t too worried that he’d done permanent damage to their relationship.

After that his eyes just seemed to catch on things that he assumed Johnny would like. He couldn’t help it. Little glass marbles, a river stone with an interesting marking, a large brown feather; Somehow it all made its way into the hands of his Sergeant. Usually with a gruff “Here”, barely waiting for Johnny to hold out his hands before he dropped his small offering into his gloved palms. Soap has also gotten over whatever his episode of silence had been, responding with a blinding smile and enthusiastic gratitude and a happy quip. (“Thanks Lt!” a piece of antler, Montana “Y’ shouldn’t have!” an old toy car, Finland “Find this on sale?” a scrap of pink fabric, Brazil “Ghost you’re spoiling me.” green river stone, India etc.(no he didn’t catalog all of them that would be creepy. He only wrote down his favorites.))

The next time Ghost thinks he’s permanently damaged their relationship and scared Soap off for good comes after an operation sweeping out an AQ base in Afghanistan. 

It’s stuffy and dark, the blistering heat of the day beginning to fade into the bitter chill of the night. The compound has long since been abandoned by all but the stubbornest of rats, slowly being reclaimed by the wild desert it carved its blackness into. They roll into the courtyard through the open front gate, the outer walls have seen multiple breacher charges and calling them walls at this point is more out of respect than any dedication to accuracy. The whole place has already been swept by drone and Laswell has had satellite eyes on it for months confirming just how fucking dead it is. They’re here for information, the drone identified documents left behind as well as at least two hard drives. 

The 141 has split off, each clearing their own section and radioing in at even intervals, they’ve learned the hard way that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Beyond extra caution, the whole place has an eerie, black aura that drags forth memories of scorpion stings and dull knives biting at his flesh. Assisting in his nightmarish stroll down memory lane, Ghost is assigned the lower levels of the compound. Each room is another scene from a past he tries to forget, filled with rusted over implements of pain and brown stains no one cared to clean. 

Something in the last room makes him pause. 

A small barred window allows light from a waning moon to pool into the room, catching on something on the table. Small, most no bigger than his fingernail, a collection of about five objects sits in a tray on the corner of the table. Brilliant white patches shine in stark opposition to the bed of rust brown they lay on. 

Teeth. Human teeth.

His mind is acting on autopilot when grabs them and stuffs them in a pocket, so similar but so different to his first experience with the ribbon months ago. He finishes his sweep of the room, conveying his findings back on comms (“Seems like we’re late for the party.” “If only you didn’t take so long to get ready.”-Soap “Shut the fuck up the both of you I just saw a rat the size of a terrier.”-Gaz “I’ve got the hard drives if any of you fuckers remember why we’re here.”-Price), and turns back to rendezvous, his mind now firmly on finding his comrades and getting the hell out.

As they start readying themselves to duck into the humvees they arrived in, Ghost’s muscle memory kicks in to complete his self assigned mission objective. He turns to where Soap stands almost expectantly at his side. It’s not every mission that he has something he’s decided is a worthy offering but it has become more often than not. Mind already halfway back to base, a gloved hand chases down each tooth where they’ve burrowed themselves in the pocket of his tac vest, collecting them and dropping them in Soap’s proffered hand with a grunt. His brain turns back on when the bloody bones hit his Sergeant’s glove, panicking because what the fuck did he just do? What kind of fucking sociopath gives his friend(more?) human fucking teeth as a souvenir. Much less human fucking teeth that were pulled forcibly out of some poor bastard’s skull during a bygone torture session. 

His hand is trembling. 

Ghost forces himself to look down and meet Soap’s assuredly outraged and disgusted gaze. 

Only he doesn’t.

Johnny is staring down at the teeth in his palm with a look of fucking reverence. His pupils are dilated beyond just the darkness surrounding them and Ghost’s detail oriented eyes catch the slight flare of his nostrils on every inhale. Soap slowly tilts his head up to meet Ghost’s eyes and a gasp lives and dies in his throat.

“Oh Simon, you treat me so well.” His voice is gravelly and thrumming with an emotion that Ghost doesn’t know the name of. But, god if this is the look he gets after bringing Johnny desiccated human remains?

He’ll rip the teeth out of some unworthy son of a bitch himself.

[peaky-shelby]

Define Me | Neymar Jr. x Oc [4]

Summary: Famous Singer and Actress, Gabriella Hamill, travels to Qatar after being invited on live television by her favorite player, Lionel Messi. Despite the invitation, Ella tries to avoid the cameras and hide in plain side, wanting to enjoy the games without the chaos that comes with being in Public places and it all seems to be going well until she meets Neymar Jr. in this bad boy meets good girl story, the definition of good and bad is lost between the lines and redefined by the past and future.

《 previous chapter

Chapter 4: defense by definition

Chapter summary: Gabriella and neymar get closer and tangled with each other's life

Writer's note: you all went above and beyond with the comments so I wanted to give you the next chapter quickly!!! Comment for more 👀👀

Tagging a few that seemed interested @xngelsau @sirensanction @reneyahh @thegrinch101 @geekwritersworld @chaotic-taco-collector-blog (lmk if you want to be tagged)

The two of them walked for almost 20 minutes until they found a hill they could sit on and pull down their hoodies. Underneath them the light of the city shined, the street lights, the stadiums, the houses and of course the cars driving and bringing the city to life. It was like millions of diamonds all laid down at their feet. For a few minutes no one said anything, they took in the view and the silence. Stealing moments like that was a rare gift for Gabriella, she appreciated the silence and the pause life seemed to have in these moments.

Neymar lowered his body and grabbed a small rock from the edge of the hill, he moved his hand back and with all the strength he had, threw the rock down the hill into the nothingness. Gabriella sat on a bigger rock, watching him. She gave him a rare smile for his accomplishment to throw the rock as far as he did. Neymar laughed and clapped at himself. He sat on the ground, legs crossed and landed all his attention on her, the grin on his face never ones disappearing. Ones again she felt like she was being examined, so she looked away, smiling awkwardly and focusing on the view.

Neymar didn’t take his eyes off her, instead he examined how her hair would move along with wind and stared at her lips, the rosy color. Wondering what it would be like to kiss them, he licked his own lips just in the thought, imagining how she’d taste-

“You’re staring.” She suddenly said, making him laugh. He lowered his head, nodding.

“Can’t help myself.” He answered quickly. He shot her a glance, noticing how her smile widened by the compliment and he congratulated himself on succeeding that.

“you’ve got trouble written all over you Mr. Santos.” She added. He laughed at that, raising his eyebrows.

“Mr. Santos?” he questioned while laughing. She laughed too; a sound he had barely heard in the short time he knew her. But even now the laugh was short and low. She lowered her head, her hair falling and covering her face completely. “What about you Ms. Hamill?”

“What about me?” she asked, kicking a couple of the rocks with her feet. Neymar tilted his head, trying to get a glimpse of her expression but she was hiding from him.

“Are you trouble?” he asked simply. Gabriella kept her face down but shrugged her shoulders. “I bet googling me was easy, but googling you was an adventure.” She didn’t react so he kept going “all the headlines spoke of your relationships and one-night stands…” he bit on his lip “you’ve disappeared for at least 3 years.”

She finally rose her head, staring at the front. “If you read that you must have read the rest.”

“I did” he admitted “but we don’t have to talk about that.” He looked away, feeling his heart getting heavy.

“I wasn’t going to.” She answered sharply, looking at him strictly.

“Media has done us both wrong, no need to get defensive.” He shot back, not flattering under her strict eyes. He wanted to prove to her that any possible defense mechanism she might have had others, weren’t going to work on him. She seemed taken aback by his quick reply, he took that chance to get closer to her, slipping his body closer to the rock she was sitting on. So, close he had to look up at her and she looked down at him not realizing just how close he was. He had an affect on her, he could tell by the way her eyes kept moving uncomfortable and how still she’d remain. He shot her a smile, nudging her leg with his fist. “I think you and I could be real good friends if you let me.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Is that what you want Neymar, to be friends?”

He smiled and shrugged “for now yes.” He slowly reached for her knee to pick up a hair that was stuck on the fabric, making sure she felt his fingers underneath the fabric and pulling the hair away slowly, taking as long as he could before removing his hand from her. Meanwhile he could feel her eyes on him. “Later, we’ll see.”

“Don’t make big dreams boy.” She said blankly and he looked in her eyes. He clicked his tongue, a smirk playing on his lips.

“An asshole, ha?” he asked and she looked away, smiling. “Don’t get shy on me now. Come on, you said I was an asshole, why is that?”

“I told you before you got trouble written all over you.”

“That’s not enough.” He said and got up, rubbing the dust off his clothes and standing right in front of her “I want to hear why.” He crossed his arms and looked down at her. She looked passed him.

“You fall a lot on the field. Gas lighting the referees.”

“You really think that?” he laughed.

“Don’t play dumb with me Ney. Sometimes you straight up lie to them.”

He didn’t answer. Which was a good enough answer.

“I’ve seen the videos of you acting out. Punching people, cursing them.” She returned her gaze at him “I know you’re a party boy. I’ve heard stories, rumors- “

“I thought you knew better than to trust the media.”

“I do. But some things are simply facts. You have a temper and you left Barcelona!” she snapped, sounding like the last thing was what she really cared for. Neymar raised his eyebrows and held in his laugh. He placed his hand in front of his mouth, hiding his smile. While she stared at the ground. He could imagine she was probably hoping to take back what she said. He sat on the edge of the rock, next to her, pushing her a little with his hip to get more space. She turned her head away from him but not before she could see her blush.

“Gabriella Hamill- are you a Barcelona fan?” he asked amused. She didn’t answer right away.

“I was” she said simply.

“And is it possible…” he said, pushing her with his elbow “that your real problem with me is that I left the team-“she huffed but didn’t answer. Neymar started chuckling. She rapidly looked at him, annoyed and that made him laugh anymore. He raised his hand apologizing “I’m sorry- I’m sorry.”

“Now you’re just being insensitive-“she said but was cut off by him laughing louder “this is why people hate you-“ He swallowed his laugh, but struggled to keep it in and after a while neither could she, she started laughing along, giving him a light push on the shoulder, begging him to stop. “It was very important to me alright?” she said louder “You were supposed to have Leo’s back and you left him and Suarez-“ she smacked him harder “stop laughing!” she demanded but she could barely hold it back herself. It took a while from them both to calm down. He maneuvered his body so he could look at her better, their faces inches from each other.

She had gotten completely red and he smiled at the view. She lowered her head slightly and out of instinct he moved her hair behind her ear, which had her raising her head again. He smiled at the proximity while she seemed scared by it. His eyes moved in between her eyes and her lips. He could hear her heartbeat in the silence and thought he might even let him kiss her, so he leaned closer but slipped away from him quickly, standing up.

“Lets head back! It’s late.”

He sighed, laughing to himself. He looked at her with a are-you-fucking-kidding-me look but then nodded and stood up. “Sure, lets go.”

While walking back to the house they laughed a little more. Spoke about the stupidest things they had ever read bout themselves and remembered of times they had embarrassed themselves on accident. They passed by the Brazilian base, arguing whether Neymar should walk her to her house or not but in the end, he didn’t take a no for an answer and he stood in front of her door when they reached it, watching while she searched her keys on her pockets.

“So, are you coming on the game tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yeah I am.” She answered looking up at him. “I’m going to the Argentina game as well…”

“I’m not scared about that one, Messi is gonna take care of the Netherlands just fine.”

“What about Croatia?” she asked “you think you got it?”

“They’re a good team.” He said, made a step closer to her. “We’ll do our best.” He smiled, looking in her eyes and then down at her hand. He reached for her fingers, playing gently with them.

“I heard it’s your last world cup.”

“Yeah… I don’t think I can keep going through this if I’m being honest. still think I’m an asshole?”

“I’m willing to debate on that one but I still think you are trouble.”

He smiled, interlocking their fingers and bringing her hand up on his lips. He kissed the back of it gently, meanwhile his eyes remained locked with hers.

“I understand more than you think Princessa.”

“I have it on good authority you’re a softie deep down.” She smiled.

Neymar narrowed his eyes. Then he remembered “Antonella?” Gabriella nodded.

“Just for the record, I won’t follow you on Instagram. Last thing I need is for it to become a story.”

“You’re telling me this, so I won’t take it personally?” he asked “Meus Deus, I might start believing you care.”

She slipped his hand away from his and got on her tip toes to leave him with a kiss on the cheek, then she whispered on his ear “you might be right.”

With that she left and Neymar knew he was in actual trouble. A part of him wanted to knock on the door the minute she closed it but he made a step back and allowed himself to go back to his room and rest before tomorrow’s game.

EDUCATION CITY STANDIUM – NEXT DAY

She went to the game just like she told him. It was the first game she was seeing live, Croatia against Brazil. Of course, she was betting on Brazil, Ney was one of the reasons why. She was dressed in her usual hoodie and a pair of jeans. She had even worn a week to avoid any possible tragedies and her sunglasses were always on.

Neymar spotted her during the first half of the game and winked at her. Maggie noticed and smacked her arm, getting her attention.

“Why did trouble just wink at you?”

“Why don’t you go ahead and ask him?” she shot back and returned to watching the game. It wasn’t going to brazil’s favor but it wasn’t going in Croatia’s favor either, which was good. Then out of nowhere Neymar did his magic and scored, everyone around Gabriella screamed and so did she. Jumping up and down on first rows. Maggie had to close her ears to keep out the noise, Gabriella laughed at her reaction. Unfortunately just a while after the happiness was stolen away, when Croatia scored a goal for themselves and everyone seemed to know that this game would end with penalties. Gabriella’s heart sunk and she questioned herself for caring as much as she did. A little before the game ended, he looked at her again, this time his eyes looked hurt, like he already knew he was going to lose. All Ella could do was give him a look of encouragement, taking off her glasses just for a second so he could see it. Maggie hit her.

“Put the glasses back on, are you insane!” she yelled and Gabriella obeyed. When the penalties game everyone was screaming. Maggie excused herself and Gabriella sat alone, watching terrified as brazil missed again and again. Her eyes were stuck on him and she knew brazil lost by the way he knelt on the ground, breaking like someone had shot him on his legs. It was a painful sight. He seemed so tiny in the middle of the bitch, so weak and lonely. All the members of the team were laying down or sat cuddling their knees. Neymar was being comforted by Thiago, while his chest trembled, he was crying. Every inch of her body wanted to get up and go to him like she was being pulled by an invisible string. The seats next to her started emptying, she knew Maggie would struggle coming back in the stadium and maybe if she was there, she wouldn’t have done what she did but she did.

She got up and walked down the stairs of the stadium, she was already in the vip section so she wasn’t stopped by anyone until she reached the front of the pitch. She wouldn’t have been able to pass if it wasn’t for Neymar, yelling at the guards to let her through and when they did, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around him. He held her close to him like she was a teddy bear and cried in her arms. She could hear the camera clicks and the photographers, moving all around them but she kept her glasses and her hoodie and her mask on, hiding her face.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He mumbled in her ear.

“I know” she asnwered simply and it was true she would eventually regret it but he the way he was on his knees, his broken eyes, she felt like she had to be there. His grip tightened and so did hers. Eventually she let go and moved away. Her heart breaking.

BAZIL DRESSING ROOMS – LATER

Neymar was sitting alone in the middle of the room, with his head on his hands when he felt her hand on his head. He raised it and saw her sitting on the bench next to him. Her hand travelled from his head to his cheek and she leaned her forehead on his.

“I’m sorry” she whispered.

He reached for her chin, sniffing back the tears and forced himself to smile “how did you get here?”

“Richarlison recognized me. He let me in.”

She wiped his tears with her thumb, and he sunk in her touch, getting any strength he could from her. He closed his eyes, feeling it as another round of tears pained his green eyes and his entire body fell on her arms. He knew her so little, yet she was the one person he needed. A person that didn’t look at him with pity, not a fan or a friend, someone as ice cold as her. She moved closer so she could hold him better and kissed the top of his head. She tilted her head to leave kisses on his cheek and he raised his head, in search of her lips but she pulled away quickly, shaking her head.

“No.” she whispered. “I’m not gonna be your distraction Neymar. I have a self-esteem too.” She said quickly. He nodded, defeated and leaned his forehead on her lips. Was that all he needed her for? A distraction? “You did your best.” She said “You were great.”

“Not enough.” He answered in his broken voice. She cupped his face, holding it up so he’d look in her eyes.

“You did what you could.” She argued “whose to say it wasn’t enough.”

“The fucking score- “

“It was penalties Ney! You didn’t even get to shoot yours! If it’s anyone’s fault it was the coach for not putting you first!” her voice was strict and loud. He was focused on her lips and the intrusive thoughts took over him and he leaned in again. His lips hovering over hers, they moved in opposite directions, while he was trying to get a taste from her, she was barely pulling away “Ney please- “

“You really shouldn’t have come on the field.” He whispered in her lips and she didn’t answer. The pictures of the mystery girl hugging Neymar were already all over the internet. He wondered how she let it happen, she always planned everything to the detail so she wouldn’t be figured out and now she had done this herself “why?” he asked out loud.

Her eyes were moving from his lips to his eyes “Because you’re not an asshole” she answered. He locked his eyes with hers and she leaned in kissing his cheek. “Leo is waiting for me.” Neymar let his head fall on her shoulder “I’ll call you when the game is over.”

“No.” he hugged her, keeping her close “don’t go- “

“Neymar!” Thiago Silva walked in, stopping in his tracks when he saw the two of them together. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s ok.” She got up, smiled at the Thiago “I was leaving anyway.” She smiled and walked past thiago, leaving.

Thiago told Neymar the bus was leaving and helped him up. All the boys were silent on the way back on the base. They locked themselves in their rooms and watched the Argentina game on TV. Neymar spent his hours drinking, glass after glass, trying to numb the pain. He wouldn’t pick up the phone to anyone, not even her. He stayed in his room until it started to feel like it was shrinking. He got up, grabbing his wine with him. Thiago stopped in the hallway, telling him to go back inside because he was drunk but Neymar shook him off and continued on his way.

No surprise he found himself on the steps of her door, he knocked but there was no one inside. So, he sat on the steps, sipping on his bottle but the pain didn’t seem to be going away, if anything it was growing bigger. He told himself he’d close his eyes for a moment and lowered his head on her knees. Had he lost his senses for just a few minutes? Or a few hours? He didn’t know but he awoke by her voice-

“Neymar” she said and he opened his eyes. Her blurry figure seeming like a ghost.

You think she will invite him in? 5 comments to unlock the next chapter !!

[onlineitems]

https://www.ebay.com/itm/165956957483 #illco #cookiemonster #toy #gift #collectors #car #racer #checkitout #musthave #jimhenson https://linktr.ee/shopping490490 #ebay #mercari #shopify #etsy #poshmark #bonanzamarket #twitter #tumblr #facebook #instagram https://www.instagram.com/p/CpFqLITrVCp/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ladamedusoif]

Provenance

A Gentleman Thief x F!Museum Professional Reader Story

Part of the HCU (Heritage Crimes Universe) - click for masterlist

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x F!Museum Professional Reader

Summary: Two months after their reunion, the museum curator finds herself on an unexpected Parisian adventure. 

Content warnings: Smut; Oral sex (F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; discussion of contraception; alcohol consumption; angst; discussion of illegal acquisition of stolen objects during WW2; (ethical) heritage crimes; theft; sort-of fluff; no physical description of Reader beyond her professional attire, though she has a nickname (chérie).

Rating: E (18+ MDNI)

Word count: ~7,500

A/N: They're back! The Thief is just too charming to resist. A follow-up to My Kiss, Only For You and Reunions.

I am no longer using a taglist: please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up to date with my work.

The package is, unmistakably, a book. Wrapped in brown paper, a neatly-typed address label affixed to the front. No return address. 

It’s pretty explicitly addressed to you, though. Right down to the department. You rack your brain, trying to remember whether you’d ordered something and forgotten. Or maybe it’s a gift?

You slip it out of the wrapping carefully. The dust jacket design suggests it’s from the 1950s, 1960s at the latest, but it’s in impeccable condition. 

The Museums of Paris: A Guide

The front cover features a photo of the Louvre, the facades still soot-blackened before their cleaning in the later part of the twentieth century, with beautifully-dressed tourists milling around the old entrance to the museum. 

Before you can leaf through the book, seeking a receipt or gift card or invoice of some kind, your desk phone rings. The museum director. And they want to speak to you: now. 

***

“We’ve had an…unusual request.”

You slip into the old leather chair opposite the director’s desk, covered in papers and catalogues. “An unusual request?”

She takes off her dark-framed glasses and smiles. “One of our major donors. They’re potentially about to buy some important art objects from a private Parisian collector, and we are hoping that - in time - they might donate them to us.”

“Okay…”

“But they don’t feel entirely confident appraising the collection without expert guidance.”

You nod slowly. 

The director looks at you as if she’s waiting for the penny to drop. 

“They want you to go to Paris with them, as an expert consultant. They will pay for all your expenses, travel, per diems - the lot.”

You just about manage to stop your jaw falling open. 

“Um…why me? I’m not one of the senior curators or object specialists, maybe they…”

She holds up a perfectly-manicured hand. “Stop there. The donor has explicitly requested you. They believe you are the best equipped to manage their needs on this job.”

“Uh… okay. So, when do I leave?”

She grins. “Two days’ time. And bring some decent clothes - you know how formal some of the French collectors can be.”

As you return to the office, a sensual memory flashes through your brain. Velvet, the colour of good Burgundy wine. Soft lips, coarse beard. Warm bodies pressed together. The most intense orgasm you’ve had in years, maybe ever.

It couldn’t be, surely. It was almost two months since that night and there’d been no missive, no note, nothing. The director said “them”, didn’t she? Not “he”. 

Besides, she’d said the donor was buying the objects. Not, you chuckle to yourself as you sit at your desk, stealing them. However ethical his motives may be. 

Still. No harm in packing some nice lingerie. Just in case.

***

It is still dark when your phone buzzes to let you know that the car - paid for and sent by the client - is waiting outside, ready to bring you to the airport for your transatlantic flight to Paris. 

You’d expected an Uber, not the gleaming black vehicle pulled up outside your building. Suitcase securely stowed, the driver points out the bottled water and snacks located in the back of the car as he sets off through deserted city streets. 

The surprises keep coming. You are in business class, not coach, for the long flight, resisting the urge to kick your feet and squeal with delight at the unexpected luxury. A smartly-dressed man holds a sign with your name on at Arrivals, and for a moment you wonder if this is the client. He’s another driver, of course - a charming and funny young Frenchman called Youssef, who speaks English with a vague American accent he says he picked up from TV and movies. 

Youssef whisks you into the city, pointing out landmarks along the way. The Eiffel Tower comes into view on the other side of the river as the black car negotiates elegant, narrow streets lined with perfectly-maintained nineteenth-century apartment buildings. 

“Et voilà!” Youssef stops the car and hops out to retrieve your suitcase. You step out, expecting to see the entrance to a hotel - but instead it’s just another residential building, sealed off from the city by two huge, heavy, dark green doors. 

With a bright smile, Youssef taps a little tag off a keypad and one of the doors swings open, revealing a passage leading to a gorgeous courtyard beyond. He refuses your tip - “it’s all good, madame!” - and instead picks up your bag and leads the way, opening another door to reveal the entrance hall proper. The marble floor is polished to perfection; dark red carpet covers the staircase that wraps around the elevator shaft; and there is not a sound to be heard.

”Sixth floor, madame. They’re waiting for you there.” He slides back the door of the elevator, slots your case in beside you, and presses the button. “Have a nice day!”

The elevator is old - possibly pre-World War One, you muse, unable to turn off the specialist’s mind - and slow. As it ascends, you take a moment to gather your thoughts and process this strange little adventure. 

If this was a movie, you’d be walking into a meeting of a criminal gang - or maybe to your death, you suddenly think, panic taking over for a second as the lift comes to a shuddering stop and you step out onto the sixth floor landing.

There is only one apartment entrance up here, as far as you can see. Dark red double doors, perfectly polished brass doorknobs and fittings adorning them, and a tiny doorbell discreetly tucked alongside the doorframe on one side. 

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and hover your finger over the button. 

The door to the apartment swings open just as your fingertip makes contact with the doorbell, setting off a loud, sonorous bell somewhere within and making you jump.

”Bienvenue, chérie. Come in, won’t you? I do hope I haven’t frightened you.”

***

“You know, if you wanted to ask me out again you could have just called or emailed, like a normal person.”

He hands you a cup of strong black coffee and joins you on the couch in the apartment’s enormous living room. 

“Do you think I’m a normal person?”

You take a sip and chuckle. “You are definitely not a normal person.”

He smiles in satisfaction, eyes taking you in from head to toe as you feel a warmth building deep within.

”It’s very, very good to see you, chérie.” His voice is warm and honeyed, an inviting purr that makes you ache between your legs. 

Today, he is wearing a black cashmere turtleneck with a pair of perfectly-tailored grey dress pants and some heavy, brown-framed glasses. It’s all you can do not to climb on top of him. 

“It’s been almost two months, Thief. Did you forget about me?”

He shakes his head, eyes softening with what you want to believe is genuine regret. “Never. I had to spend some time away, in South America - dealing with the family business, you know - and then I came here, to look at Madame Deseine’s…collection.”

The way he enunciates the final word gives you pause. What was in this “collection”?

“So my invitation here was just an excuse to see me, is that it? Because you weren’t back in the city yet?”

He looks at you in surprise. “Of course not! I mean, I’m very happy to see you again.” A little smile, eyes twinkling. “But no, I need your expertise. And your company is…a nice bonus.”

“My expertise?”

He sits back and crosses his legs, holding your gaze. “You are a specialist in the kinds of decorative arts and objects in Madame Deseine’s collection, I believe. And you are fluent in French. Year abroad in Lyon, correct?”

Your mouth falls open and you quirk your head. “How did… have you been… were you digging for information on me? That’s a violation of trust, and -“

He interrupts your fury with a chuckle. “Chérie, it’s all on your museum staff page profile. Qualifications, time abroad, special areas of expertise.”

You blush, embarrassed, and stare down into the dark swirl of your coffee as an awkward silence takes hold in the apartment’s tasteful interior. 

“I’m sorry, chérie. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Trust me, you are exactly the right person for the job.” 

He extends a hand towards yours, long fingers gently stroking the back of your hand. When you look up, his dark eyes are warm and genuinely apologetic. 

“I guess I’m not used to being…pursued, like this.”

He arches an eyebrow. “In what sense?”

You smirk and stand up. “In every sense, Thief. Now: are you going to explain this ‘job’ to me or not?”

His gaze - taking you in, a smile on his lips - is enough to set you aflame. 

“I am. But over dinner, I think.”

***

The waiter perfectly pours a little more white wine into each of your glasses before returning the bottle to the stainless steel ice bucket and leaving the two of you to your meals. 

He raises his glass to you, and you return the gesture.

You were not surprised when the car had pulled up outside an elegant, discreet restaurant tucked away in the Seventh Arrondissement. It was exactly his style: subtle, timeless, and exuding quality even before he held the door open and you stepped inside.

“So.” He swallows a bite of his monkfish and takes a sip of wine. “Madame Deseine.”

“Madame Deseine.”

You start to eat your meal as he explains. A genuine and respected art collector, Madame Deseine lived outside Paris in her family’s country estate, surrounded by an exceptional array of mostly nineteenth and early twentieth-century paintings, decorative arts, sculpture and furniture. As she grew older, she had begun to sell some parts of the collection - but remained extremely guarded about its exact contents.

“There are some…questions about the provenance of some of the items in the collection, or at least items we think are in the collection. Mostly late nineteenth-century decorative arts - clocks, vases, that sort of thing - but also some small art nouveau sculptures and figurines.”

You take a sip of your wine and narrow your eyes. “And this is where you come in?”

He nods. 

“You’re planning to steal some of her collection?”

He shakes his head, pauses, then nods before shaking his head again.

“Kind of, not really. Didn’t you hear what I said about provenance?”

“You think she’s not being entirely honest about her methods, about how she came by the collection?” In a world increasingly attuned to the repatriation of looted and stolen objects to their rightful place, you were deeply familiar with the importance of the provenance paper trail. 

He dabs at the corner of his mouth with the linen napkin. “Some of the collection. I believe that some of the collection came into her family as a result of looting and theft, that these items were not restored to their rightful owners, and that she is well aware of this fact.”

“You know that some of the most important art collectors in France before the war were Jewish families, no doubt.” You nod and he continues. “And that many of those families, even if they were in the minority lucky enough to escape the round-ups and the camps, had to leave behind those collections.”

”And when they were gone, the collections were…dispersed.”

He shakes his head. “Not dispersed. Stolen. Some of the surviving members of those families had their possessions located and restored, but not all. And I have been reliably informed that some of those missing items are currently in the hands of Madame Claudine Deseine.”

You swallow a bite of your salmon and size him up. “Aha. And this is why an ethical gentleman thief is required, I suppose?”

He gives you a knowing smile. The way the candlelight catches the coppery flecks in his brown eyes makes your breath catch for an instant. 

“I have been asked by a number of individuals to retrieve the objects stolen from their families over eighty years ago, and which have made their way into Madame Deseine’s collection without regard for their provenance.” He chews thoughtfully on a steamed green bean. 

“So where, exactly, do I come in, Thief?”

”I am going to buy some of the collection. But in order to be sure that the missing objects are in the Deseine chateau and to cross-check the gaps in the provenance records…I need to gain her trust. Or rather - you need to gain her trust.”

You raise your eyebrows and take another sip of wine. You might need something stronger by the end of the night.

”You aren’t seriously asking me to steal art, are you?” you hiss. He shakes his head furiously.

”Absolutely not. But I know Claudine Deseine’s reputation, and I know she won’t just let a potential buyer see the whole of her collection. She will, however, be a little more welcoming to a specialist who has kindly agreed to evaluate the items properly. Oh, and to look through the provenance records, to save us all time.”

”So what, I just turn up with you and hope she lets me into her secret stash of stolen stuff?”

He chuckles at the alliteration. “Not quite. But you may need to butter her up, tell her you’ve heard extraordinary things about the rare items she has, ask if she might let you see these things you’ve only read about in catalogues. And when you’re in, you can use your expertise to confirm that these are the items we are looking for, and then look for any gaps or obvious forgeries in the accompanying paperwork.”

”And how, exactly, do you propose to liberate the items from this chateau?”

He taps his nose. “Chérie, telling you that would make you completely complicit. I will handle it, you will wait in the apartment.”

You purse your lips. “I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing to this.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Deseine has knowingly sat on these things too long - why else would she hide these valuable items from any public descriptions of her collection? The government ignores the claims from the descendants because, for the most part, they live in the US.” He finishes the remaining wine in his glass. “And I, personally, cannot resist a challenge.”

“I have one condition. Apart from not becoming more implicated in this than I already am.”

“Name it.”

”That. That’s my condition. I want your name.”

He chuckles and looks down at his empty dinner plate. “Chérie, I cannot.”

”You’re asking me to help you steal back some very valuable art, and you can’t give me your name?”

”If you know my name you will know too much. And I don’t know why you need to know, anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “I like to know who I’m working with. And, on occasion, who I’m sleeping with, or who’s eating me out on my desk.”

To your satisfaction, he splutters on his sparkling water. 

”I still can’t tell you,” he says, recovering his composure.

”Nothing stopping me guessing, though,” you whisper mischievously. “Let’s see. Giacomo.”

He gives you a withering glance.

”Not that, then…Pietro.”

An eye-roll. 

“Dave.”

”Do I look like a ‘Dave’ to you?”

You giggle as the waiter takes away your empty plates. “No, that’s true. Pierre?”

He groans and shakes his head, but his smile is unmistakable. “Don’t make me regret this, chérie.”

***

Back in the apartment, he rummages in a sideboard filled with bottles of various liqueurs and spirits, before producing a bottle of Courvoisier and two cognac glasses.

“A little digestif, if you’d like?” 

You accept your glass gratefully and inhale the complex, fruity aroma of the alcohol, swirling it gently before taking a sip. Its warmth radiates through your body and you close your eyes and savour the sensation, tucking your feet under you as you cosy up on the couch.

“Tell me about the apartment.”

He smiles, looking around the spacious living room, its nineteenth century interior fixtures somehow matching perfectly with the array of impeccably-chosen twentieth-century furniture. 

“My great-great-grandfather bought it, not long after this building was constructed - late nineteenth century, I think. The family business frequently brought him to Paris, and he needed a base.”

“And the family business is…?”

He huffs a laugh. “You are persistent, chérie. Wine. The family business was - is - wine.” 

You raise your eyebrows and nod as if extremely impressed, and he chuckles, revealing the laughter lines around his eyes that lend his handsome face such character. 

“Well, I can’t pretend to be an expert - what do they call it? An…oenophile, is that it? - so I’m not going to ask for any more details, fear not. My wine knowledge extends no further than ‘that’s quite nice, isn’t it.’”

He feigns horror, recoiling back into the cushions of the sofa. “Chérie, I am going to have to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

You giggle and take another sip of the cognac. “I’m willing to learn, though.”

“That so? Well, I can be your guide, if you’d like.” He finishes his cognac and licks his lips as he looks at you. 

“I…I would like.”

He smiles, takes your glass, and stands up. You follow his lead, wandering behind him into the kitchen where he deposits the empty glasses on a pristine countertop. Every fibre of your being wants to reach for him, to pull him to you, to have him there and then.

“Chérie, I…didn’t want to presume anything.” He swallows hard and turns to face you, eyes a little wary. “About, uh, sleeping arrangements. Hence the guest bedroom.”

You had changed there earlier - a bright, pretty bedroom at one end of the corridor running along the apartment, complete with its own small en suite bathroom. 

“Oh. Of course.” You flush. “A busy day tomorrow.”

His hand finds yours, long fingers caressing yours before he brings it to his lips for a soft, sustained kiss that does nothing to quench the flames of your desire.

“Indeed. That said, if you want company…”

You see the spark in his eyes: teasing, playful, almost daring you to act first. Instead, you meet his gaze with an enigmatic smile.

He pulls away slightly and arches an eyebrow. “If you want company, I am just down the hall. Bonne nuit, chérie.”

***

In the quiet of the guest room you slip out of your clothes and into a wine-coloured silk robe you’d found hanging on the back of the door, freshly pressed. You retrieve your washbag and toiletries and set about your nightly routine. 

You hoped it would be a distraction from the ache between your legs, from the memory of his hand on yours, from the way he looked at you, from his offer of company. From the wet patch you’d noticed on your panties as you undressed. 

“Fuck.”

You close your eyes and lean on the sink for a moment as you take a deep breath before reaching for your moisturiser.

***

He’s sitting on his bed, stripped to his boxers and clad in his own, navy blue silk robe. It hangs open around his body, the colour a perfect complement for his golden skin. 

A knock. He lifts his head from his papers.

“Come in, chérie.”

She peeks playfully around the door. “I was wondering if that offer was still valid. I think I do want some…company.”

“It’s still valid.” He tidies away the paperwork and pats the space beside him on the large bed. “What kind of company did you have in mind?”

She crosses the room, hands reaching for the sash of her guest robe. It falls open as she reaches the bed, revealing the lacy bra and matching French knickers underneath. He inhales sharply, cock twitching at the sight. 

“Up to you. This is your turf, after all.” 

“Ah, but you’re the guest, chérie. Your preference is what counts.”

She shucks off the robe and climbs onto the bed, swiftly straddling him. With a slow roll of her hips, she drags her pussy over his hardening cock, the outline visible under his dark boxers.

“This is my preference. Does it work for you, too, Thief?”

He answers with a hungry kiss as he pulls her tight to him.

***

He tastes of mint and cinnamon and the faintest trace of Courvoisier. You had missed his mouth.

His fingers unhook the clasps of your bra and he tugs it off you, discarding it to a corner of the room. He breaks the kiss, lips pink and wet, and turns his attention to your tits: cupping them, fondling them, squeezing them with his broad hands before he starts to suck on each nipple in turn.

You toss back your head and bite your lip, stifling a loud moan. He releases your breast with a pop of his mouth.

“This apartment is the entire top floor, chérie. You can be as loud as you wish.”

Two fingers tug aside the crotch of your panties and find the warm wetness that’s been building between your legs all day. He looks up at you and grins. 

“On your back, amor.”

French knickers off, he gently pushes your thighs back before resting your legs over his shoulders. He buries his face against your pussy with a delighted groan, the delicious timbre of his voice rumbling against your core. 

He licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, a hand pressing against your belly as your hips instinctively buck upwards with pleasure and need. His tongue swirls lasciviously across your folds, lapping up the wetness, before he begins to suck on your clit. Slow at first, a gorgeous torment; then faster, more insistent, the tip of his tongue flicking over and back over the swollen nub rhythmically in time with your needy moans and whimpers. 

He keeps it up as he slips first one, then two fingers inside you and hooks them just so, chuckling when you cry out.

“Fuck…I’m close, I -“

You let go. You come hard against his face, ecstasy coursing through your body as he keeps on fucking you through it with his fingers, gently pulling out when he senses your overstimulation. 

He moves up and lies beside you, face to face. 

“You enjoyed that.”

You try to slow your breathing. “You think?”

He chuckles, tracing the curve of your hip with his hand. “I enjoyed it, too.”

“And no jewel theft involved this time. So far, anyway.”

He closes his eyes and smiles, humming contentedly as he reaches for your breast, idly rubbing your nipple with his thumb. 

You study his features for a moment, noting the handful of freckles on his face, the way his dark lashes look against his cheeks, the gloss of your own slick shimmering across his pink lips, his chin, his moustache. 

This time, when your tongue swipes against his mouth, he tastes of you. 

You gather some of your own wetness on your fingers by way of lubrication, before tugging down his boxers and taking his cock in your hand. He closes his eyes as you stroke him slowly, steadily, feeling him growing harder under your careful touch.

With your free hand you caress the side of his face, thumb rubbing gently against the grey patches in his beard. 

“I want you, Thief.” 

He opens his eyes and smiles before gently moving your hand away from his cock. He shucks off his robe and shifts into position above you, arms caging your body on either side. 

“You know, I’m on birth control,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. “And you were the last person I was with, and before that…well, it had been a while.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Same. Well, not the birth control, evidently…but the rest. No one but you, not for some time. So…?”

You trail your fingers over his chest, dappled here and there with freckles, and he leans down to kiss you. Different, this time - softer, less desperate, more…tender.

“So you can have me bare, if you want.” 

“Oh fuck, chérie. Yes. Please.” He gestures with his head. “Turn, get on all fours.”

You do as you are told, teasingly wiggling your ass at him once you’re in position. He gives it a light slap and you squeal approvingly until the feeling of his cock opening you up makes you catch your breath.

He sinks slowly inside you, pausing when he’s fully sheathed in your warm pussy. You can hear his breathing becoming a little ragged, hitching as he adjusts to the feeling.

”Feel good, Thief?”

”Incredible, amor. You?” 

“Fucking amazing.”

He takes you slowly at first, a long drag out, a quicker thrust back inside, and builds up a rhythm quickly. The angle is nothing short of perfect and you bury your face against the covers, whining with pleasure. He reaches down and grabs one of your breasts, fingers pressing into the flesh as he fucks you harder and faster. 

“Such a beautiful body, amor. So soft and warm and fuck, such a tight little pussy for me. You feel so perfect on my cock.”

He’s hitting you just right now, another orgasm building rapidly until you come for the second time, muffling your cries in the blankets. You turn to look at him: broad body glistening with perspiration, errant curls falling over his forehead and darkened with sweat, that gorgeous head thrown back as he gets closer and closer.

”Come on, Thief.” You purr your encouragement, never taking your eyes off him. “Come on. Come. Fill me up.”

He comes hard, with a loud cry, hands gently caressing your hips as he finishes deep inside you. 

”I think you missed me.” 

He flops back on the bed and turns to face you as you nestle against him. A mischievous grin plays around his lips. “What on earth makes you say that, chérie?”

You kiss his forehead, tasting the salty sweetness of his damp skin. “Just a hunch. By the way, I have an even better reason why I need to know your name.”

He groans and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Well?”

”Well…if I knew your name, I could scream it out loud the next time you make me come like that.”

His eyes widen and he grins. “You could, I suppose.”

”So? What’s your name…Pablo.”

He fixes you with a teasing glare. “Not Pablo.”

”James. Jimmy. Jimbob?”

He can’t help but burst out laughing this time. “Fine. Fine. Let’s make a deal. If we succeed with Madame Deseine, I’ll give you a name.”

”A name?” The distinction is striking.

”A name. It may or may not be my name. But it will be a name. Deal?”

“Deal.”

***

The morning mist hangs low over the French countryside as you drive through the enormous gateway that divides the Deseine estate from the rest of the world, and follow the long drive up to the chateau proper.

You had expected that Youssef would be on driving duty. But it was your gentleman thief at the wheel of the understated hire car, confidently navigating the autoroutes and trunk roads that led to your destination. For a moment you imagine a parallel universe where you are just a normal couple on a normal holiday, not a nameless thief and a museum curator plotting to relieve a woman of her family’s ill-gotten gains.

He had slept well, it seemed. You? Not so much. In the wee small hours of the morning, you lay awake, listening to his steady breaths and ruminating over what, exactly, you were doing here - and why.

He isn’t your partner. Not your boyfriend. Hell, you don’t know if you could call this “dating”. You don’t even know who he is. He stole from your employer because you let your pussy override your brain. He brought you to Paris to aid and abet in another theft. And, instead of turning on your heel and trying to protect your professional reputation, you’d not only agreed to his scheme - you’d fucked him. Again. 

You’d tossed and turned on the pillows as you tried to quiet your mind enough for sleep. Was this really just about sex? Or was something else pulling you into each other’s orbits?

The Deseine chateau emerges at the end of the driveway. It appears at first glance to date from the eighteenth century, with some later additions and extensions. He pulls up near the main door and hops out of the car, quickly bounding over to the passenger side so he can hold the door for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you whisper, straightening the smart blazer and palazzo pants you’d worn for the occasion. 

“At your service,” he replies with a subtle wink. “Just as I was when you needed…company. How are you feeling this morning, by the way? Satisfied, I hope.”

Before you can answer, the enormous main doors of the chateau swing open and a petite woman with snow-white hair emerges, clad in a vintage bouclé Chanel skirt and matching jacket. He moves swiftly up the steps to shake her hand, speaking too quietly for you to pick up on whatever name he’s using today.

“And this is my expert, my advisor, my guiding light!” He gestures towards you, motioning for you to join them. You introduce yourself with a bright smile, trying to read the older woman’s expression, to get a sense of how you might gain her trust.

“It is an honour to be here, Madame. I’m so excited to see the collection.”

Claudine Deseine casts an appraising glance over you from head to toe. Seemingly satisfied, she extends her hand in greeting and addresses you in clipped, precise English. 

“It is very special, I think you’ll agree. Now, do come in - I’ll have my housekeeper Maryam bring us some coffee, and then we can take a look at the objects we’ve discussed.”

***

He is gentlemanly charm personified, you think, watching him follow Madame Deseine around the house. He flirts just enough to have the older woman like putty in his hands, listens attentively, laughs at her jokes, and looks at her with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. 

The recognition gives you pause, but you push it to the back of your mind. You have a plan to stick to today.

She leads the two of you into a bright room at the back of the chateau, overlooking a gorgeous French-style formal garden. “Well, here they are.” She gestures towards a large oak table in the middle of the room, where a variety of figurines and decorative objects are set out. You’d known what to expect: mostly art nouveau, dating from decades either side of 1900; some bronze figures; some beautifully-decorated ceramics, glazes still bright and vibrant; and what you immediately recognise as a small, early Lalique crystal vase.

He claps his hands together in what looks like genuine delight, eyes widening as he moves closer to the table. “May I?”

Madame Deseine beams and nods. He carefully picks up one of the vases, inspecting the swirling, sinuous curves of its painted decoration before checking the makers’ marks on the bottom of the piece. 

“Extraordinary,” he says in a rapt whisper.

“Madame?” She turns to face you. “Would it be possible for me to see the paperwork while he - while my client is inspecting the objects? It would save your valuable time, and you’ve already been so kind to accommodate us.”

She beams. “Of course. Follow me, won’t you?” She opens another door leading off the room and pauses for a moment. 

“I’ll be back tout de suite, monsieur,” she purrs at him as he peers at a bronze figurine. “Please, make yourself at home.”

“You really are most kind, Madame.” He winks, and the esteemed Claudine Deseine titters like a schoolgirl.

***

She flicks a switch and illuminates a large, windowless room located at the rear of the house, in what you suspect might be the former servants’ quarters. “Et voilà. The archive.”

The walls are lined with shelving, filled with hundreds of archive boxes and files. You begin to scan the shelves, trying to work out a pattern in the filing system. 

“They are labelled according to date of acquisition,” she explains. “Achats, purchases, by year.”

You look at her with an expression that you hope conveys innocent confusion. “Gosh, it’s all such a lot. Could you give me dates for the items being sold? Ballpark, if necessary - I just know he’s a stickler for the paperwork but he’s impatient and he won’t take kindly to me taking a long time in here…”

She smiles and nods sympathetically, and for a moment you feel incredibly guilty. “Ah. Men. I understand, my dear.” She pulls out an unmarked, unlabelled box file from the top shelf and retrieves a spiral-bound book.

“This is strictly entre-nous, my dear. My personal catalogue. Everything by date. Let this be your guide. And now, I must return to monsieur.” She looks at you conspiratorially. “If he becomes - how do they say it, antsy? - then he can simply take a walk in my beautiful gardens, hmmm?”

***

He strolls past the elegantly-trimmed box hedges as he makes his way to the elaborate water feature at the centre of the gardens. He couldn’t quite believe how well it had all worked out, so far - your complaint about his impatience had, as planned, won you her sympathy and with it an order from the lady of the house to go and see the gardens while you worked through the papers. 

If necessary, he’d have feigned illness, claimed he needed some air. But it’s always better when they play right into your hands, with something they believe is their idea. 

The gardens are perfectly positioned to give him a view of the back of the house: the doors leading to a terrace, the smaller windows and discreet servants’ entrance. His dark eyes survey the building closely, making a mental map he’ll refer to when he finalises the plan. He has his suspicions, but he needs you to confirm exactly where the collections are hidden. For now, he just hopes you can unlock the final part of the puzzle. 

***

A knock on the door announces the return of Claudine Deseine. 

“Well, have you found what you needed? I do hope the catalogue was useful.”

Little do you know, Madame. 

You replace the lid on a box of papers and nod at a stack of receipts and records of authenticity relevant to the items he was perusing for purchase. 

“Very useful, thank you, Madame.” 

You swallow hard and slow your breathing as you follow her out of the room. 

“Madame, may I - may I make a somewhat bold request?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You may. What is it?”

“I couldn’t help but notice the entries for some of Lalique’s cire perdue work when I was looking at the catalogue. Pieces so rare that we only know they exist because of René Lalique’s own records…”

“Yes. And?” 

“My masters dissertation was on Lalique, Madame. Is there…would you…could I…?”

She stares at you before her features soften into a smile. 

“You want to see them, don’t you?”

***

“Well?”

He waited until you were out of the estate before asking the question, not seeming to notice how quiet you’d been since getting back in the car.

“They’re there. The three Lalique pieces, that rare Sevres vase. She was only too happy to show me.”

“Did you check the makers’ marks?”

You nod, gazing out of the window. “I did. They’re the right pieces. Those Laliques are one of a kind. In different circumstances, it would have been a joy to see them.”

“And the papers?”

He takes the turn to merge onto the autoroute back to Paris, and you wish the nagging doubts about this whole sorry enterprise - about him - would dissipate.

“The private catalogue clearly states when they were acquired, but with no corresponding archival code numbers. I checked the boxes for those years carefully, just to be sure…but there’s no paper trail. Just a note in each catalogue entry recording the dealer they came from - all from the same man.”

He nods, satisfied. “And the room itself? What’s access like?”

“I sent you some photos earlier.” While Madame Deseine had been taking the priceless objects out of their storage boxes, you had snapped some surreptitious pictures. “Access may not be straightforward, though, given the absence of a window.”

He chuckles. “Leave that to me.”

“Won’t she know that you’ve taken the pieces, by the way?”

“F is for Fake, chérie. Nothing some good forgeries cannot fix.”

***

You spend the rest of the journey in silence, while he rambles about various subjects: French motorways, private chateaux, Lalique’s cire perdue process, in which a vase is formed within a one-off wax mould that was discarded afterwards, rendering the pieces unique - and extremely valuable.

“The descendants of the original owners still have, in some cases, the provenance records for these items,” he explains as he parks the car and taps the sensor to open the door into the building. “And now, soon, they’ll have their rightful inheritance.”

You don’t know whether to snap at him or burst into tears.

He takes your coat and saunters into the apartment’s small kitchen, still talking to you as he audibly potters around, opening cupboards and taking out dishes and glassware. You are not really listening, still caught up in your own thoughts. Why the fuck were you here? Were you really willing to risk your entire reputation for a crush and some sex? You’d been lucky to escape any questioning or punishment after the theft of the ruby, after all. 

And what if, as you wondered in the chateau when he was so flirtatious and charming with Madame Deseine, he was just using you? Your knowledge and your veneer of professional respectability helped him steal. Your desire and your body got him off. Win-win for him, but a potentially devastating loss for you.

“Chérie? Didn’t you hear me?”

He’s standing at the narrow door into the kitchen that adjoins the living room, sweater sleeves rolled up.

“Oh. Oh, sorry. I was miles away. What is it?”

“I asked the housekeeper to leave a light dinner for us, as it’s been a long day. It’s nothing fancy - some salads, crudités, cold cuts and cheeses - but I do have a very nice Sancerre chilled in the fridge…”

You force a smile. “That does sound good. I’ll set the table, if you show me where everything is.”

He cheerily opens the various cartons and tubs of food as you ferry the tableware into the open-plan dining area. Behind his usual charming patter, though, is a man increasingly worried about how quiet you’ve been since you left Madame Deseine and her collections earlier that day.

***

“You know you can talk to me, chérie. What’s on your mind?”

Of course he’s noticed. Why wouldn’t he? His perceptiveness is what makes him such an artful, successful thief.

You drain your glass of Sancerre and look him square in the eye.

“Am I really so different to Claudine Deseine?”

He looks confused.

“Excuse me?”

“Am I really so different to Claudine Deseine? In your eyes, I mean. Are you using me, like you’re using her?”

“I’m not using Madame Deseine. I’m buying some of her collection so I can liberate the really valuable pieces and get them back where they belong. That’s stealing, not using.”

You exhale, long and slow. “I saw you today. Handling her just like you do me. The charm offensive, the twinkling eyes, the flirting. She, at least, hasn’t slept with you - though I wouldn’t put it past you to try if you thought it would have helped.”

The words leave your lips, and you instantly regret it. So much for rational calm. Now you just sound like a jealous lover.

He looks at you, jaw ticking, and a blend of fury and hurt burning in his dark eyes. 

“That’s rather unfair, don’t you think?”

Silence.

“I had to win her over. Just like you did. Or did you forget your part in this?”

“Why am I here, Thief? What do you want from me? There must be hundreds of other experts out there you could have enlisted to help you gain access to the collection, theft or no theft. And if it’s just about sex, well - I suspect there’s no shortage of people who’d be very glad to fuck you. So why me? Or do you just want to ruin me, finish what you started when you tricked and took advantage of me?”

His voice is low and carefully controlled. “You know that’s not what this is, chérie. You know that.”

You push away from the table and stand to face him, flinging down your linen napkin. “So what, then, is it?”

He stares at you and his expression shifts, from glowering to openness. Mouth slightly ajar, he seems to be struggling to find the words.

He can’t even bring himself to say it. Coward.

“I see. Good night, Thief.”

***

Your return flight is booked for the day after tomorrow, and there’s no way you could afford a last-minute ticket for an earlier departure. As you complete your nighttime routine and slip into the guest bed, you resolve to make the most of an unexpected solo day in Paris, looking up current exhibitions and shows at the city’s various museums and galleries. 

You take a herbal sleeping tablet, just in case, and turn off the light.

When you wake in the morning, you find that your pillow is damp from the tears you wept in the night.

His bedroom door is still firmly closed as you pad down the hallway and to the main door. Exploiting you or not, he’d made it clear that he didn’t need you for today, the final stage in his plan. There’s a spare keyfob in the drawer of the small hall console table. You slip it in your bag and head out of the apartment and into the city.

***

Museums afford a kind of sanctuary: a quiet space for meditation, reflection, imagination, escape. On a day like today, they enclose you in a safe, comforting cocoon of art and beauty, helping to shield you from the world outside - and from the raging storm of your own thoughts and worries.

You flash your work ID at the entrance to the Petit Palais and are waved through, past the lines of tourists, by virtue of the international reciprocal entry schemes for museum staff. The current temporary show, on Paris in the first decades of the twentieth century, is just what you need by way of distraction, and you lose yourself in artwork after artwork, in no hurry to return to the apartment. 

At the museum’s garden café, you take your time over coffee and cake, occasionally joined by a tiny songbird who seems hell-bent on helping himself to your snack. His daring raids on your slice of carrot cake help to stop your mind from wandering back to the apartment, to him, and to his journey back to the chateau.

***

He’s gone when you get back. Just an envelope on the counter, addressed to you. Normal service, you think, resumed at last.

Chérie,

As planned, I’ve returned to the Deseine estate to finish what we started. I intend to return later tonight, or in the early hours, but promise me that if I do not return, you will take the flight tomorrow evening. 

You must not look for me. Promise me that.

I hope that I might see you before you leave, one way or the other. 

Know that I care for you, chérie. 

Midnight comes and goes with no sight or sound of him.

One. Two. Three. Nothing.

You close your eyes and force yourself to sleep.

***

He whispers to you in your dreams, over and over. He calls out to you. 

“Chérie?”

You open your eyes. In the half-light, you see him. Hair mussed, eyes wide, face streaked with dirt, stripped to the waist. 

He feels real to the touch: warm, solid, the softness of his middle, the strength of his arms and shoulders. His beard bristles so realistically under your lips that you could almost believe he was there.

“Chérie, I’m here. I’m back. I’m with you.”

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around him and pull him to you, wordlessly peppering his face with kisses before he wriggles down and nestles his head against your chest, holding you tight to him.

He seems unsettled, distressed, even. Perhaps it had been a narrow escape. Perhaps something had gone wrong. 

No matter. You envelop him with warmth and protection. The way he clings to you, needs you, starts to provide an answer to your questions about the nature of his feelings.

You kiss the top of his head and stroke the scruff on the side of his jaw. He pulls away for a moment to look up at you, all softness and awe and warmth. He motions as if to say something, then stops, pensive, and reaches up to kiss your mouth.

“My name is Alejandro.”

Find out more about the Lalique cire perdue technique here!

If you'd like to read more about the great Jewish art collecting families of pre-war France, I strongly recommend James McAuley's The House of Fragile Things and Edmund de Waal's Letters to Camondo.