#HE'S THIRSTY SO HE LIKE LICKS THE AIR BUT HE FUCKING FORGETS THE MIDDLE STEP

[nightlovechild]

Table Manners - Deceit’s Week. (Day 5: Moceit)

Warnings: Arguing, male character using feminine terms & feminine nicknames, BDSM Themes, Manhandling, Food (involved in play), Anal fingering, Bondage, CBT, Masturbation, Light knife play, Swinger lifestyle mentioned briefly, Alcohol, Object insertion (could be not safe in real life), anal penetration, ruined orgasm. 

Summary: When Dimitri forgets to act like a proper hostess, Patton turns him into a four course punishment instead. (Human AU!)

Notes: This story was written before the release of Deceit’s real name. Deceit's name is Dimitri. 

Hearing the door close, Dimitri prepared himself for a H-E- double hockey sticks of an argument. Patton's leather shoes sounded off of the hallway tile as he stepped quickly into the dining room.

"Dimitri Alexander Sanders, I would like to say that was impressive. But that would be an understatement. The absolute extent you will go to… and risking my job like that!" Patton scolded.

"Your Boss is scum. He was pressuring that girl into his charade, just like he pressures you into staying in your tiny cubicle everyday. I was fucking sick of it. Plus you know My motto: If you are going to lie, do it with style and grace. That floundering fool had neither; so he got what he deserved!" Dimitri said with venom. Setting the dirty dishes down and turning with a fiery flare of his long silk skirt. The high split sliding up to show off his bare leg down to his fuck me pumps.

Patton was looming in the doorway, loosening his tie and biting his bottom lip at the lustful sight. He wanted to stay mad at Dee's risky behavior at the dinner party. But the growing tent in his pants was detracting from his intimidating stance. What was a good man to do with such a hot, tempting, dirty...

Dimitri rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Well, could we get the speech about morals and being a good hostess under way? Let me see if I can get you going…Something, something...lying is wrong, but being disrespectful is worse. That in reality nice guys come...in first." Dimitri drew out his words with devious purpose. While letting his polished nails tap against his hips in a striking pose.

"No. I think this lesson will need to be more physical." Patton shook his head in disbelief as Dee made a challenging gesture by waving his hand.

"Bring it on."

Within seconds Patton had Dimitri face down, ass up in the air. Forced into spreading his legs to gain some type of balance at the sharp angle of laying against the tabletop. The struggle was always over quickly in the face of Patton's true strength.

He let Dee enjoy the pinned sensation by letting him struggle and wiggle. Because Dee was never able to get away when Patton’s hand was in the middle of his back. Patton's free hand flipped up his skirt. Making the beauty fight not to whine out loud as his ass cheek was cupped and squeezed. The grip making his panties pull tight against his sensitive cock.

"Come on, Pat. I know you want to spank me. Do it. Smack my ass. Punish me. I outed your boss with one phrase and a Facebook photo. The Mistress almost cried." Dimitri circled his hips, grinding against the tabletop. "I'm getting hard thinking about all the fabrications he is going to have to weave to fix what I picked apart in seconds. You have to punish me, please?"

"Believe me, beauty. You're going to get it again and again. Once here on the table, once in the limo, and once again in my new corner office." Patton smirked as he flipped Dimitri over.

Dee's high pitched squeal and astonished face saying it all.

"We did it? You're a partner now?" Pulling Patton in for a kiss.

"Yeah, Mr. Axer and I had a talk. Finished straightening him out. Told him to get his house in order before it ruined the business. Then he said if I could handle you all these years and remain such a saint being a partner should be easy." Patton said as he ground his throbbing bulge against Dee panties. Sealing their lips together in love and excitement.

Dimitri blindly grabbed behind himself as the kiss grew more heated. His rings clicking against the long glass vial as he gripped the extra virgin olive oil. Thrusting the bottle against Patton’s chest.

"Use it to fuck me, right now, or eat me up like your appetizer. God, just fucking need you. My big business man. My money maker." Dimitri demanded with a moan. Rolling his hips to enjoy the friction of his lace panties against Patton's hard pressed slacks..

"Awe, my dirty girl. So cute when he wants this breadwinner cock, huh?" Patton purred as he stripped his husband bare. The dress going over one shoulder and the panties going over the other.

Dee's cock slapped against his own abs from being so turned on. Patton's words were always his undoing. Losing patience, Dee leaned back pouring the olive oil all over his own cock and thighs. The slippery oil running down his balls then coating the cleft of his ass cheeks. Setting the bottle down, Dee hooked his hands behind his knees to spread himself even wider as Patton watched, entranced.

"Now don’t you look like a feast? But, pretty girl, you know this isn’t the position for taking a punishment. This looks more like you’re begging for a reward.” Patton stepped close, his finger tips running around Dimitri's rim.

"Punish later, fill me up now. I already set the mood to be stuffed. So jump to it." Dee mouthed off with a mischievous smirk.

Patton shook his head and slowly worked his fingers deep into Dee’s body. Getting his dirty girl worked up into a moaning mess in a matter of moments then dead stopped and pulled out.

“You are a slick one. I'll give you that.” Patton said as he wiped his hands clean on a discarded napkin.

Dimitri groaned loudly at the pun. Starting to sit up, only to be held in place.

“You always say the rule in making the deepest longest lasting impact is to set the mood, right? Right. So, how about setting the mood for your punishment? Your four course punishment." Patton growled. Gripping Dimitri's waist and pushing him into the middle of the table.

‘Oh god, yes. Let’s see how creative his self righteous fury gets us this time.’ Dimitri thought to himself as Patton stalked around him.

Patton began gathering things up while removing other items to give Dimitri room to relax back onto his elbows, legs spreading to offer a succulent view.

“What are your conditions for setting the perfect dining mood?” Patton asked as he laid out the items.

“A wonderful hostess knows the power of a glorious centerpiece, fine china serving up delicious food, glasses of high priced drinks and good guests.”

“Well, since you don't make for even a nice hostess, let's see this if this suits you better.” Patton plucked the brightly colored fresh flowers from their vase, “Are you a glorious centerpiece?”

Soft flower petals danced a path down Dee’s body. Water droplets, from the stems, fell across his skin as Patton worked the flowers over his stomach and down between his thighs. Flipping the flowers over Patton picked up the silk ribbon he had in his newly acquired pile of goodies.

Dimitri watched as his rock hard cock was bound to the bouquet. Grunting when the bow tightly cinched around his balls. Patton continued to tease and stroke the silk ribbon making Dimitri add his own dew to the flowers.

“Knees closed. Legs flat.” Patton ordered. Unzipping his pants to easily reach in and stroke his own aching need before moving to Dee’s other side.

Dimitri bit his lower lip as his gaze shifted from his masturbating lover to the flowers that were standing straight up due to the special position. Rolling his hips as Patton continued to survey his handwork. His normally calm face is suddenly full of speculation. Buttoning up his pants again, regaining his composure. The seconds dragging on until Dee couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“Well? Am I glorious, my love?” Dimitri asked as he ran his hands over the length of his body.

“Yes, the best centerpiece I’ve ever seen, My little China doll. But your fine body makes me hunger for more. Let's see if you could make a better plate with delicious food all over you?" Patton said as he began placing tiny bite sized treats on Dimitri’s body.

The placement of the last snack at the base of his neck forced Dee to lean his head back keeping the treat in place. But it also made Dee blind to Patton’s actions since he couldn’t move his head. Dee let out a shocked breath as cold metal points slid over his exposed nipples while an ice cold flat metal followed.

Patton chuckled as he placed a fork, with its tines pointed down, on Dee’s hard nipple and a clean butter knife, flat side down, on his other nipple. Picking up a spoon, Patton smirked as he watched the body underneath him shake with desire.

"Stop trembling, my plate. You're making the flowers shake." Patton smirked.

He fought to lay still as his ravenous husband tucked into the first treat at his naval. Slowly, Dimitri took in the sounds of lip licking and humming about how good each sweet tasted. Dee growled at the familiarity of the sounds. Flashes of Patton sucking him or their swinger friends off made him want to break the punishment and force his husband…

Then his mind blanked out as Pat picked up the fork and knife. Slowly dragging the utensils over his skin, tracing hearts and stars all around the last two delicate sweets. Pushing the silverware in, making pink marks show as Dee moaned and panted.

"Hubby, don't play with your food. It's not good manners." Dimitri scolded with a breathless voice.

“Of course my darling.” Patton answered sweetly. Tossing the silverware over his shoulder, leaning down, and eating the treats off of Dimitri’s bare flesh. Patton's hot lips and sharp teeth gently nipping his skin. Dimitri was gasping, leaking onto the flowers as he could feel the hickeys blooming under his skin as Patton pulled back.

"Your sounds are making me thirsty, dirty girl. Are you thirsty? Do you want champagne or a tall clean glass of water?" Patton paused, brushing the stray locks from Dee’s face.

Dimitri smiled at the check in, “water” being their code word for being done. Snaking his hand out to Pat’s, Dee gave him reassuring squeeze.

"Champagne sounds lovely. What g-glasss.." Dimitri stuttered then hissed as the ice cold liquid hit his stomach.

Patton took the champagne like a body shot. Once, twice, by the third time Dmitri was shaking so bad it was making the bubbly liquid spill.

"Be a good cup now. Let me drink you down." Patton scolded as he poured the alcohol down the flowers so it would flow over Dmitri's cock. Sucking, slurping, and licking as his dirty girl got closer to the edge. Patton pulled back when the champagne’s taste became salty.

“F-Fuck don’t.. N-no don’t stop.” Dee begged and squirmed. The flowers flicking the alcohol this way and that with his desperation.

“Are you my good girl?” Patton whispered.

In Dee’s current state he didn’t hear. So, Patton bent down next to his ear. “Are you my good girl? My beautiful Medusa? My awful wonderful hostess?”

“Yes! God, Patton, need you. Feel so empty. Please!” Dimitri whimpered, spreading his legs even more.

“How about I give you a small goody to curb your gnawing hunger?” Patton reached into his pile of items gripping a clean soup ladle with a very phallic shaped handle.

“Yes! Give it to me. Want it! F-fffuck.” Dimitri whined as Patton kissed his forehead while sliding a thick long cold shaft into his oil slicked hole.

“This is how you make our guests feel when you question and charm them to your wiles. So invaded and so deliciously full…,” Patton fucked the smooth ladle handle faster into Dimitri’s body, “of your devious motives.”

Dee couldn’t answer but take everything Patton was giving. Patton climbed up on the table, unzipped his pants, freeing his hard cock from it’s clothed prison.

“Bet you want me to reward you? Take this long cold metal shaft out of you and put my warm loving thick cock in your ass don’t you?” Patton started fucking the ladle into his whimpering lover even faster.

Dimitri nodded as his cock jerked and leaked on the flowers and ribbon. When he was right at the edge, his whimpers turning into groans, Patton undid the ribbon around Dee’s cock, all pressure was gone. Then the ladle pressed against his prostate on the out stroke. Dee keened as his orgasm tore through him with nothing touching him. No sexual gratification, just a ruined orgasm. Opening his eyes, blinking up with a teary look Patton was stroking himself, fast and firm.

“Oh god baby. Took your punishment so well. Came all over yourself just for me..” Patton’s words were lost to moans as he came. Marking Dee’s stomach and chest as he stroked himself through his orgasm. Fully enjoying himself as his husband watched from below.

"Water, Pat, water, please." Dee held up his shaky arms.

Patton switched completely, tucking himself away. He easily picked up his love, cuddling Dee close as he sat down in the head chair of the table. Pouring real water, the ice clinking into the glass then held it up to Dimitri's lips. Taking a deep drink then hiding his face in Patton's neck.

"What's your color sweetness?" Patton tried to keep his voice level to combat the fear they had gone too far this time.

"I'm green. Just feel tiny and.. and…"

"Vulnerable?"

"Yeah. No guards, no lies. Want this with you."

"But you're okay?" Patton gently guided Dee to look at him.

"Yes, Patty." Dimitri smiled demurely then he hid his face again.

"I think a dip in the hot tub then a massage sounds like a good start to our aftercare what do you think?" Patton asked as he stood up, letting Dee wrap his arms and legs around Patton as he walked them out onto the patio.

The setting sun and hot water always grounded Dimitri while the bird's fading songs and bubbles grounded Patton.

"I can't wait for the next dinner party." Patton sighed happily.

"I can't wait for the next after party romp about my horrible table manners." Dimitri giggled as Patton growled.

[221bshrlocked]

Hands Down

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Words: 2363

Warnings: Bucky’s hands. Knives. ;)

A/N: Ok I’m still incapable of writing oneshots so here is another one. Next part will be last. And will definitely be smut. I’m putting these on AO3 so the third would be on there with gifs cause we need gifs with Buket.

Previous Part | Next Part

You woke up thirsty and sweaty, kicking the covers and looking down at yourself before groaning and throwing your head back. This was not ideal, the opposite of it as a matter of fact. You jumped up and stripped the covers off your bed, grabbing the duvet as well and throwing it into the washer. Taking a sniff of yourself, you growled and walked to the shower.

“That’s just great, you reek of lonely sex.” You stared at your reflection before stepping into the shower, sighing when the hot water hit your back and soothed your aching muscles. You took your time, wanting to forget all of yesterday, especially what happened in the kitchen, and focus on how to clear up the misunderstanding with Bucky. As you dried your hair, you remembered what you said right before slipping, eyes widening in horror before you shut the hairdryer off and took a step back.

“FUCK!” You yelled louder than intended and jumped when you heard a knock at your door not a second later. Skidding to your door, you opened it and clutched the towel tightly around your body, eyes going straight to the hand combing back his hair. God his metal fingers went through his hair like a knife cutting through silk and you had to blink at the intrusive thought to pay attention to him.

“Morning doll,” Bucky smiled at you, glad to know why your heart was racing again, although this time, he thought it was probably because of his state of dress, or lack thereof, instead of his hands. But when he saw you looking at his hand, he brushed the thought aside, a part of him glad you enjoyed the metal prosthetic more than the rest of him.

“Hi. Did you, umm, where you on your morning run?” You struggled through the question, trying to convince yourself to not look at the hand dabbing the towel down his chest but losing the battle when you saw his triceps flexing as he moved his arm. Your gaze shifted to his wrist, watching the veins moving beneath the skin and finding it a tad bit creepy that all you wanted to do was lick those same veins as he moaned beneath you. This time, you had to shake your head to chase the thought away because what kind of fantasy was that?

“Yeah, we missed you this morning. Just came by to check on you after last night.” Bucky stopped, biting his lower lips when he saw you shamelessly looking at his hands and not bothering to be subtle about it. He almost laughed when you shook your head, knowing very well what you were thinking of because you had no issue screaming it all night long.

“What?”

“You alright doll? You seem a little…distracted.” He was smiling down at you and you didn’t notice at all, too busy trying to keep your shit together until he left. But then he noticed your heart rate increase and decided to stop his teasing for now. He was controlling himself so far, surprised that you were standing around talking to him in nothing but a towel. Bucky masked his reaction as soon as you opened the door but he was finding it harder to do so when you looked so fucking shy. He’d noticed a drop of water rolling down your thighs and wanted nothing more than to push you in the room and fuck you just like you begged him to for hours.

But he wasn’t about to cut this little cat-mouse game, not when he was just getting started.

“I umm, yeah. No, I’m fine. Yes I’m a little distracted. Well, not a little. A lot. Actually, that’s not it either. Bucky there is no way for me to say this without being blunt but yesterday, when we were in the lab, I didn’t mean to react the way I did when you held my arm. I swear I wasn’t put off by it.” On the contrary I wanted to feel it everywhere is what you wanted to say but you took a deep breath before continuing. “It just surprised me because I was trying to focus with Bruce and I didn’t want to screw him up by accident because I was afraid that he might cut some wire and then something would go wrong and it would be because of me and that wouldn’t end well be-”

“Hey hey Y/N, breathe. Relax darlin’ don’t even worry ‘bout it. I shouldn’t have done that either so it wasn’t your fault that-”

“NO.” You reached for his arm to stop him, realizing how close you were before stepping away from him. “No it wasn’t you. It’s, I mean they…it? Your arms, I mean hands, I mean you…shit. Okay, it wasn’t unwelcomed. It’s fine.” You hated how incoherent you were being and finally managed to look at him, finding the boyish smile he was giving you absolutely breathtaking. You could tell he hadn’t shaved in a few days and followed the scruff along his jaws. Bucky was a handsome man on a good day, but on a perfect day, he was like a whole fucking garden blooming in the middle of spring and you found it interesting that your heart was skipping a beat, not because of his hands, but because of the way he was staring at you.

Bucky was taken aback by what you said, wanting to pull you in for a hug and tell you how much he appreciates you struggling to tell him that his touches weren’t unwelcomed. But he held back.

“Doll, relax. It’s just me.” Bucky gave you a sympathetic look and heard you murmur something you thought he wouldn’t catch onto.

“Exactly…”

When he saw this was only getting worse for you, he decided to put an end to it. He didn’t want to make this even more awkward, for your sake at least.

“I’ll let you go, don’t want you to catch a cold. See you later darlin.” Bucky stretched his metal arm, squeezing the top of your shoulder before walking away. You stopped breathing when you felt the soft cool material smooth over your skin and slammed the door quickly. You completely forgot about what you said last night, too busy replaying the conversation and kicking yourself over not keeping your chill.

Bucky has never felt this happy in such a long time. He felt like he was floating on air and Steve noticed, not because he saw how outgoing Bucky was with the agents but because he went way to easy on them. He wanted to ask him if something happened but chose against it, knowing Bucky would tell him when he was ready. All he cared about was that his friend was smiling more often and didn’t panic when he was in a larger crowd of agents.

And that’s how it went for days. Wherever you were, Bucky would be, finding an excuse to sit next to you or some stupid reason to touch you. You were fine in the beginning, actually, no that was a lie. You weren’t fine. But it got harder and harder to keep yourself in check whenever he’d tap your shoulder or hold your waist when he just wanted to pass behind you. He’d smile at you too, that shit-eating grin driving you insane because a part of you realized he was doing it on purpose but you thought against it. He was just being friendly that’s all. Right?

Wrong.

So fucking wrong.

Bucky lived for the little breath-hitches when he’d touch you, smiling to himself when he’d notice how you continued to stare at his hands when he was writing or working out or chopping onions. He wanted to drive you insane because lord knows he didn’t manage a good night sleep in a while because of your extracurricular activities. Every Time he’d hear you pleasuring yourself, he’d spend hours convincing himself to not just walk in there and take you like you wanted, needed, fucking craved from the sounds of it.

But then you went on a mission and managed to get yourself shot because of your daydreaming. Okay it wasn’t a shot really, more like a graze. It didn’t even feel bad. But you got lectured from Steve and Natasha, telling them it was just a mistake that you wouldn’t repeat again.

“What the hell were you thinking of anyway?”

As soon as Natasha asked the question, your eyes shot straight to Bucky who had just finished cleaning his knife and was now flipping it around. Natasha wasn’t paying attention to you, cleaning her own guns and waiting for your response. But Bucky was listening to your conversation, looking up when you didn’t respond and raising an eyebrow when he saw you staring at his hand. The more dangerous maneuvers he made with the knife, the faster your heart beat and when he threw it in the air and caught it from the sharp end with two fingers, you stopped breathing.

When you finally looked up, you saw he was watching you like a hawk, smiling like a predator who’d just caught his prey in his territory. You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to focus on anything but the way he licked his lower lip and failing.

“It’s okay Nat, she won’t repeat that mistake again. Right doll?” Bucky put the knife in his holster before leaning back, crossing his arms and tapping his feet. You couldn’t respond to him, not when he’d caught you eye-fucking him in front of everyone.

You stood up and walked to the front of the quinjet, quietly sitting next to Clint and ignoring everyone until you arrived back to the compound. And the second you landed, you were sprinting out of the jet, not bothering to listen to Steve telling everyone about the debriefing session.

You walked into your room and dropped your bag to the ground, stripping down to your sports bra and panties before slowly removing the gauze from around your arm. You stared at the two stitches and shook your head. Stupid fucking mistake. And you knew Steve and Natasha would as you what got you distracted again tomorrow. What the hell were you supposed to say?

“Oh I was too busy looking at Bucky flipping his fucking knife and imagining him sliding it down my skin Natasha is that what she wants me to say? That I got distracted and almost got shot by a fucking Hydra agent because I want Bucky to finger fuck me with whatever hand he wants and choke me with the other? What the fuck am I supposed to say?” You grabbed some clean pajamas and were about to walk into your bathroom when you heard a knock at your door.

Sighing, you knew you had to have this conversation with her at some point and decide to have it now instead of tomorrow.

“Nat I know that-” You opened the door and froze, not expecting to see Bucky at the other side of the door. He looked up and cleared his throat, not bothering to be subtle about checking you out. His eyes roamed your body and landed on your upper arm, relieved that the wound wasn’t as deep as he thought. You said nothing, waiting for him to lead the conversation because lord knows you weren’t about to try and converse with him.

“Came by to check on you darlin’ and boy am I glad I did.” He stepped in and slowly shut the door behind him, locking it before turning around to face you.

“I thought I’d enjoy this little game but honestly, not sure about that anymore. Not when you’re goin’ around and hurtin’ yourself because of me.” He stepped towards you and noticed your pupils dilate again.

“I didn’t hurt myself because of you.”

“Break a man’s heart doll why don’t ya?” Bucky grabbed the clothes from your hands and threw them away. You followed his movements, jaws clenching when you felt one hand hold your arm while the other rested on your upper thigh.

“You’ve been driving me crazy doll, every single fucking night for the past week. Those little sighs and whimpers when you fuck yourself to the thought of my hands. Baby girl, I’ve never felt so frustrated in my entire life.” He chuckled when your eyes widened in horror, the flesh hand on your arm ascending until it was at your throat. He tightened his grip just a little, using his metal one to wrap around your waist and pull you flush to him.

“So, what will it be doll?” Bucky leaned forward, brushing his lips against your cheeks and waiting for your response.

“Please.” You whispered through the haze, the need to feel him around you out outweighing your embarrassment.

“Please what baby? You want me to fuck you with one and choke you with the other like you want?” You realized he heard you before you opened the door and mentally prepared for a conversation with Tony because these walls shouldn’t be this thin. “Or you want suck on them while I fuck you into, what was it you said earlier, Valhalla? What will it be baby girl? You wanna come on my fingers first or on my dick? I’ll give you whatever you want darlin’ but you gotta use your words.” Bucky bit the juncture between your neck and shoulder, smiling when he felt you shaking in his arms.

“Whatever you want Buck. Use me, choke me, fuck me and cum inside me. Whatever you want just please. Please wanna feel you everywhere. Please.” Bucky swallowed your moans, wrapping his arms around your thighs and carrying you to the bathroom. He’d kissed you like a starved man, biting and sucking on your tongue until you had to pull away to breathe. He ripped your panties away, aggressively pulling on your sports bra until you were bare in front of him. He stripped in record time, slapping your hands away when you tried to rub his cock.

“Oh doll, we’re gonna have so much fun.”

People who asked to be tagged for this: @mileysebschmidt @colagirl5 @thottywithoutthebody @gravedollie666 @denimandcabernet @buckthegrump @transcendent-heroes @tnupsweetpie @amoonagedaydreamer @badwolfandtimelords @iamariotgrrl @annahopper @breakmebucky @commissioner23 @littledarlinhavefaithinme @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @fandomliane @polaroid-idiocity @el-dibidibidorado1 @thecraziestcrayon @dramadreamer14 @buckybarnes-107 @that-never-happened @jewelofwinter @odinsvnthor @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @just-some-nerd

[hardyimagines]

Mended

———

After the failed task, Farrier is mad & goes to a random bar, to forget what happened. He meets this young girl & takes her with him. They have sex but gets too aggressive & she asks him to stop but doesn’t til he’s finished. After that he just tears down because he realized what he has done. They both talk through the night. After that they both become close & talk regularly. Farrier likes her a lot because he has someone to talk. Even though he’s still sorry about the night, she forgives him. — anon

WARNINGS ( IMPORTANT ) : TRIGGER WARNING, forced sex.

———-

The sun casted its ray over the length of the city. Couples walked hand in hand beneath the romantic scenery, pointing out the array of colors. Oranges mingled with purples. Faint pinks could be seen peeking through the clouds which vanished as the night made itself known. The only people who wanted to remain out in the cold city were those who had tucked themselves away inside crowded, cheap bars. It was nights like this when you dreading going to work. Busy, busy, busy, your feet were hurting halfway through your shift. Hands sticky from spilled alcohol and eyes straining from the amount of times you’d rolled them when receiving insulting ‘pick-up lines’.

The clock in the corner seemed to stand still. You swore the minute hand hadn’t moved in the last hour. You stood with your hip jutted out to one side, yellow painted fingernails gripping on to the soaked rag in your hand. The cloth had various different types of liquor embedded in its fabric from the clumsy oafs who’d knocked over their glasses when standing or getting too rowdy. You heaved a hundredth sigh before tearing your gaze away from the clock and instead tending to the customers once more.

“Time stands still, you know, when you’re constantly checking it.” A sudden voice creeped out under the quiet music that filled the establishment. You moved your gaze to one of the occupants at the bar. His elbows were on the bar, fingertips tracing the rim of the glass that was half-empty. His blue eyes met yours for only a moment before he tore them away and instead looked to the countertop that had recently been cleaned. He licked his plump lips before guiding his liquor to his lips, taking a lengthy gulp. You arched a brow before setting the rag in your hand down on the counter.

“It’s a bit difficult not to keep checking. Busy night, but only because people come in herds. The next rush won’t come for another twenty minutes.” Your poor attempt to defend your constant time checking only made you seem eager for conversation — but you suppose you were. Standing in the silence with nothing but yourself to talk to was quite draining and it certainly wasn’t distracting. But the handsome bloke sat at the bar, well he looked rather.. intriguing. You supposed twenty minutes might fly by if you indulged in conversation with him. His lips twitched at the sides, lashes long beneath the dim lighting in the room each time he blinked.

“I figured. You’ve cleaned this counter three times and checked the clock over the last ten minutes.” His voice was low and husky, you really had to strain your ears in order to hear him clearly. Withdrawing a bucket of dirty dishes from underneath the cabinet, you moved to the sink. Turning the nozzle so hot water poured from the faucet, you looked over your shoulder at him, waiting for him to continue speaking. You sensed, from the way he held his breath at the end of his sentence that he had more to say. He did. “So what are you doing working here? It must get tiring to have a career that you can’t wait to get away from. Home sounds lovely.. at the end of a shift, but if you can hardly survive through the middle..” His shoulders shrugged, a sign that he was sure he didn’t need to verbally finish his sentence. You avoided the urge to roll your eyes. He had a point, but you hated men that had points — or at least, men that felt the need to point something out that you didn’t already know.

“I don’t intend on being a bartender for the rest of my life. The pay isn’t exactly ideal and it’s certainly not my passion.” You whispered as you gripped the sponge to your right. Bathing the tupperware in soap and hot water, you began to scrub at the stained plates and sticky glasses. He watched you closely, eyes dropping to the way your hips shook as you vigorously cleaned. His stare didn’t linger.

“What is your passion?” The conversation was light and friendly, one that you found yourself to be entertained with.

“Drawing.” Your answer was soft. “That’s not going to get me anywhere though, is it? Realistically, I’d want to be a chef of some sort.” Your quiet giggle made his ears perk up.

“Can you cook?” He spoke into his glass, finishing off his alcohol without much thought. He set the glass down a little too loudly, bottomside clacking against the wooden surface.

“Not really.” You told him truthfully. “So that’s kind of a poor career choice.” You set dish after dish to the side, ensuring that each one was perfectly clean and dried before you tucked it away in its proper position. Farrier found, as he spoke to you, that he’d briefly forgotten of why he’d come to this hole in the wall to drink away his sorrows. But at the topic of jobs and careers, he found himself thinking of his own. You looked to him. He didn’t seem like the type to open up instantly like you did, so you didn’t ask anything personal. What he wanted shared, he would say.

“You can learn to cook if a chef is what you really want to do.” He uttered as he dug his hand into his pocket. Gripping a few bills, he set them on the counter in order to pay for his drink before he slouched. The tension in his body was evident, one that made you want to ask questions, but you knew better.

“I’ll think about it.” You smiled before taking his glass. “Did you want a refill?”

“No, that’s alright. I think I’ve had enough.” He had. Four shots and a glass of beer would go straight to his head. It always did. One minute he was fine and the next he’d be drowning in the alcohol that consumed him. His confidence would grow and his bravery would outshine his usually shy self. Farrier scratched the back of his neck before moving his hand along the base of his skull and through his hair.

“You know your limit. That’s good, I’m horrible at keeping track of mine.” You hmphed. Cleaning off his dish so it could be re-used for another thirsty customer, you looked toward him, noting the way he didn’t get up to leave even though he was finished drinking. “Can I get you anything else?” He shook his head lightly before pausing. His eyes lifted to yours. He figured he was pushing his luck, but at the same time, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“What time are you off?” He asked quietly. His hands folded on top of the bar counter, sweet blue eyes moving between your own. Your brows raised at his question. Leaning against the counter, you bit your cheek and straightened under his stare.

“I’m..” The hesitation wasn’t because of his question. But more so your age. You could tell he was definitely in his thirties, maybe mid to late. And you well you were in your early twenties still. Some people still referred to you as a baby. “well, I’m off at 12.” Farrier grunted before looking to the clock. Almost 8. He looked back to you, fingers lazily tracing the surface. He wasn’t sure what it was about you, but holding a conversation had made him forget about the failure that he’d gone through earlier. Being a war pilot wasn’t easy and the tragedy that struck — alongside the fact that it was partially his fault was so agonizing... his thoughts were silenced when you spoke up again. “Why’d you ask?” Your vulnerability was suddenly clear. Your innocence and purity. Your age. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Drinking away his problems certainly wasn’t working, so maybe talking them away and fucking them out of his system would. He folded his arms and leaned back on the stool. He’d be blunt with you.

“I’d like to take you back to mine.” He grumbled out. Putting himself out in the open, it didn’t make him afraid. His job scared him more than flirting or asking a girl out ever could. You grew shy under his stare, fidgety, and he could tell he’d caught you off guard, but you wouldn’t turn him down. And you didn’t.

“Are you sure you want to wait on me?” Your question told him that you thought he’d rather find someone else. His head bobbed, no reluctance or hesitation.

“Positive.” He assured you before moving his hand to his cheek. His warm palm enveloped his heated skin. He’d sit and wait. He didn’t have anything else to do.. and at least here he could drink his boredom momentarily to the side.

——

Your shift had ended and the time to head home was now — well to Farrier’s home. The streets were empty, each road pitch black apart from the poor street lights. His hand brushed yours now and then as the two of you walked, feet sinking into small puddles of rain which had fallen in the downpour earlier that day.

“So, what’s your name?” You asked softly, halfway to your destination. This wasn’t routine. You didn’t sleep with customers that hit on you, ever. But he seemed.. different. So soft. He wasn’t rowdy and rude and he hadn’t said anything hurtful or poisonous when you took a while to get his drink. He’d been collected and calm and you supposed it was just attraction that made you give into him.

“Farrier.” He told you softly. The keys he drew out of his pocket jingled noisily. He turned left and led you toward a building of apartments. The extieror was tall and intimidating. You couldn’t imagine was the inside looked like. Luckily, you wouldn’t have to. Farrier sounded like a last name more than a first name, but you didn’t inquire which it was, nor did you ask if he had any other parts to his name.

“I’m Y/N.” You told him softly. Standing at his side, shivering in the cold, night air, you gratefully stepped into the complex when he held the door open for you. He complimented your name under his breath, large palm finding your lower back as he guided you down the hall and toward the elevator. His compliment had been heard, but because of how soft he’d said it, you kept your flattery to yourself and instead pretended like you hadn’t heard anything. The sound of his footsteps mixed with yours as you both walked quietly down the length of the corridor. The hallways were empty, and it made you feel like the two of you were alone in the world.

Farrier opened the door to his room and as soon as the two of you stepped in, he locked the room. Setting his keys down on the wooden table in the corner, he kicked off his shoes and let out an exhale that sounded like he’d been holding it in for a good while. His eyes lifted to you, scrutinizing.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked. You sensed he was still foggy-brained from the liquor he hadn’t stopped drinking over the course of the night. It was evident he knew how to hold his drink and not lose consciousness, but you didn’t want to take him up on his offer. He was liable to drink with you and you thought it would be rather strange if he did pass out and you were left all on your own at his place. Politely declining, you pulled off your purse and set it on the table where he had placed his keys.

“Not to be invasive.. but do you do this often?” Your question almost made him smile. Farrier sat down on the edge of the bed and extended his legs. His hands moved through his locks, scratching them noisily.

“No. As a matter of fact I don’t ever do this. I don’t have the time. I’m a war pilot.. and if you want the absolute truth, you’ve helped distract me tonight from a.. just something that happened to me earlier.” Once again, not your business to pry. You moved around the furniture until you were able to drop down at his side. Crossing your legs, you folded your hands together in your lap and looked toward him. It felt nice to be wanted, even if it meant you were just a distraction.

“Me neither.. I’m not sure why I even came here.” You told him quietly. “Apart from the fact that I find you extremely attractive.. I would’ve never ever done this. I don’t just go home with strange men.” His eyes moved to yours, searching them. There was a tint of amusement, but a cloudiness which seemed to be growing was covering his emotions. He was drunk and it was going to begin taking its toll on him. Farrier moved his hand to your leg, touch featherlight.

“Well, you still have a chance to leave.” He mumbled. You were very aware of that, but you didn’t want to go. Your body tingled from his touch, eyes fluttering in the slightest. Shaking your head along to his words, you leaned into him slowly. “Or..” He admired the way you confidently leaned toward him. “we can have some fun.” Your hand lifted to his arm, gliding along the length of it until your palm was on his shoulder. Closing the rest of the space that remained between the two of you, your lips locked and your eyes closed simultaneously. Farrier moved his hand along your leg before smoothly hooking it under your knee. Lifting your thigh, he drew your leg over his hips and smoothly hoisted you on top of him.

It had been a while since you’d been physical with anyone. Work and education seemed to occupy majority of your time so this was a rarity. You didn’t have to tell him that though. The fact that you were here, willing to sleep with a man you hardly knew, was enough to let him know that you at least weren’t a virgin. Farrier’s hands were in your hair and on your neck, gliding along the material of your work attire. He was like a man, starved of a woman’s touch — but that wasn’t the case. No, he was desperate for a distraction. For an outlet. All the frustration in his body for failing his designated task earlier was pent up and wanted so badly to be set free. The man rolled you over on the mattress and pinned your body beneath his own. You weren’t surprised by his feverish movements. He wasn’t making love to you, this was just casual sex. It was okay to be in a rush and desperate for some physicalness. You didn’t try to slow him down or halt him, you simply laid beneath him and matched the pace of his kisses. Little moans of enjoyment escaped you, lips pressed together and tongues gliding across one another. He moved his hands to your thighs, tracing the outer parts of them. The trousers you wore were long and dark, but easy to get out of. A pinch of the zip and a slide of the button, and the things were easy to drag down the length of your thighs. You kicked them off eagerly, discarding them carelessly on the floor. You sat up then to remove your blouse and farrier took that time to get out of his own clothing. His button down was off in seconds and his trousers — well, he stood up to remove them, clambering off of the bed so he could shove the heavy material to the ground. He was back on top of you, reconnecting his mouth with your own before you had a proper chance to breathe. His boxers pressed against your thighs repeatedly, hips desperately and clumsily searching to press against your own. You almost giggled out against his lips at his frazzled movements, but as you opened your mouth to release the sound of laughter, his hips pressed to your own and his groin dragged over yours.

He repeated the action. Again, and again, and again until your nails were buried in his forearms and your chest heaved due to your heavy pants. Your hips lifted toward his own, rocking in time with his desperate bucking. He took a moment to get his boxers off, but when he finally did, you swore he was going to tear your panties off. He basically did. The fabric was ripped from your body to follow after his boxers on the ground. Your bra was still on, embracing your breasts in a way that a man hadn’t done in so long. He didn’t take the time to remove it, he seemed so achingly desperate to just get on with this. You didn’t have any time at all to admire his body before he was shuffling his knees and trying to guide himself into you. You squirmed momentarily, small hand lowering so you could rub your clit and ease some of the little ache that was going to be present when he slid into you. It helped significantly. Farrier sunk into you with ease, but only because of the way you desperately massaged the bundle of nerves. He let out a choked groan before pressing his lips to your own. His mouth slanted against your own nicely as it had done moments ago.

Farrier wanted to be still and let you adjust to him, but all the pent up emotions inside him and lack of self control from the alcohol made his hips unforgivingly begin to rock. His thrusts were a bit angry and firm, an instant and desperate pace that you couldn’t match even if you tried. You winced beneath him softly before grimacing. There was no way you could adjust to this pace because your body was doing its best to stop him, not get use to him.

“Farrier..” You breathed out. Your hands moved to his sides. “Hang on.” He didn’t. He tried, a little, but he couldn’t. His body refused to stop, even for a moment. You groaned out in pain, small hand sliding south to try and grip his shaft and stop his thrusts, but to no avail. He was quite a good size which meant that it wasn’t going to be very easy to just guide him out of you. You whimpered out, legs closing tightly around his hips. “Farrier- please.” Your eyes clamped shut for a second, insides tightening around him further. You whimpered out in pain, fingers clumsily trying to massage some sort of pleasure into the painful mix, but it didn’t work. Your brain screamed for him to stop, but you couldn’t get out the loud plea, only a soft beg and he didn’t seem to register it. Your eyes opened and you saw the emptiness in his gaze. They were raw. No emotion. He was fueled only by his lust and anger, brain turned off and body on automatic. His hands were so strong, like a vice around your wrists when he suddenly took hold of them and pinned them above your head. Your eyes widened then, a small bubble of fear forming. His thrusts became harder, uncomfortably rough as he hammered himself into you. Your mouth hung open in a silent cry, knees bending and toes curling. All you could do was wait. He was so much stronger and he had you pinned completely.

Farrier wanted to stop. He felt like his self control had completely vanished. He stared down at you, watching the way your face twisted into a look of distaste and then pain. He wanted to still inside you, apologize for his behavior and be much, much gentler, but the anger from earlier was overriding his common sense and he took it out on you. All your clenching and tightening around him was pushing him closer and closer to the edge and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Lusting after someone and being able to have them made it so much easier to climax.

He did. It felt like an eternity to you, and maybe only five minutes to him. His grip on you slackened and his cock twitched inside you. You felt the way his hips shook as he emptied himsef inside you. Your brain instantly attacked you. ‘Stupid’, ‘foolish’, ‘an absolute idiot’. Not only had you slept with a stranger. You’d let him take advantage of you AND you hadn’t used a condom. Your body quaked the second he slid out of you. Rolling away from him so you could lay on your side, you covered your face with your hands and swallowed down the embarrassment in your belly. Farrier shrank back. He was still knelt on the bed, stomach rising and falling with his heavy breaths. He stared at you, completely frozen. It was as if he hadn’t registered what he’d just done. He was staring at you, watching your unmoving form. You were scared to get up. To run for the door. What if he grabbed you and threw you down only to repeat what he’d just done. It was silent. You couldn’t see him. And then, all of a sudden, it was loud.

Farrier growled loudly, kicking over a nearby chair. His hands were curled against the back of his skull, feet thudding loudly against the tile as he walked around the room. He shoved furniture that was in his way and threw small items that sat, out of the way, on the counters. You shakily looked toward him, watching the man go insane. He was red-faced and seemingly livid. The plaid boxers he wore hid the weapon he’d just used on you, and them all of a sudden, this big, strong, angry man crumbled. Farrier collapsed on the sofa. His head fell to his hands, shoulders shaking with his ragged inhales. You sat up on the bed, watery eyes dragging along his form. It was obvious that he regretted what had happened and even more obvious that he’d regretted it while it had been happening. You slid off of the bed and slowly lifted your underwear. Pulling the red fabric up and along your thighs, you cleared your throat. The space between your legs was already unbelievably sore as you moved. You hated yourself because you felt bad for the man. And you hated yourself even more for wanting to comfort him. Your droopy eyes closed momentarily before you slowly crossed the floor. Avoiding broken things he’d thrown, you slowly settled down at his side; wincing at the discomfort you found from sitting.

“Farrier.” You whispered. He didn’t look to you. Guilt swallowed him whole. He wanted to seep into the floor and vanish. “Farrier,” Your hand moved to his shoulder slowly. Squeezing his muscles gently, you shied away when he looked toward you. Red rims lined his eyes.

“What are you doing?” He spoke under his breath. He hurt you. He used you. Why were you still sitting here?

“Checking on you.” You whispered breathily. Your eyes dropped to your lap. Covering your body with your arms as best as you could, you frowned. You should’ve left, but you saw the pain and regret he was carrying with him.

“You’re..” He sighed, hands lifting to his face. Rubbing his features down, he stood. Moving over to the closet, he drew out a blanket and moved back over to you. Draping the fabric over your shoulders, he sealed the front closed around your body and bit his cheek. “I’m so sorry, I.. I don’t know what came over me.” His eyes fell to his feet. “I’m not going to make excuses. I can’t believe I just did what I did.” You shifted on the couch before standing. Gazing up at him, you slowly pressed your lips together, pondering what to say.

“I don’t know what to say.. what you did was wrong. And it really, really hurt.” Beneath his unwavering stare, you wanted to cower away, but you stood your ground. “But, I don’t think you meant to do it. I knew from the beginning of the night you’ve got something bothering you and you only brought me here to be a distraction. I guess.. it didn’t really help?” Farrier exhaled loudly. He sat down on the sofa before looking toward the floor. You sat back down as well, curling up.

“It did.. I needed an outlet for all this unhappiness and I used you.” He whispered. “I didn’t mean to, I swear.” Rotating, his blue eyes latched on to yours. “Do you want me to take you home?” He asked.

“No.” You whispered quietly before looking to your lap. “I want to stay.. how crazy does that make me?” Opening the blanket, you offered some to him before moving in closer. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. You saw that. Farrier didn’t respond verbally, he merely moved closer to you. He was much softer now. His arm wound around your front, head finding your shoulder. Now he wanted comfort. It was wrong to seek such affection from a stranger after using said stranger in such a rough manner, but you weren’t complaining now. Not in the slightest. Your hand lifted to his head, slowly brushing through his brown locks. “Can I ask.. what happened to make you so stressed out?” Your question was breathy, it wasn’t prying, just curiosity. Farrier licked his lips before slowly parting his lips.

“I’m a war pilot.” He told you quietly. It probably wasn’t wise to discuss missions with strangers, but he owed it to you. You didn’t deserve what he’d done. His fingers lazily kneaded your hip, stroking and caressing your warm skin. “I failed my task.. and it’s been eating me alive. I can’t go into detail, not much, but my mistake resulted in the deaths of men.” You drew him in closer.

“I’m sure you’re not to blame. Accidents happen, even at war.” You spoke against his ear. Your nails moved along his neck and down to his back. His muscles ripples beneath your fingers. He was so warm and toned, your eyes dropped to his flesh. So very handsome. You frowned. You couldn’t believe this man had just possessed so much power and anger. Now he was a puppy. Farrier closed his eyes again. He didn’t understand why you were being so good to him and comforting, but he was extremely grateful. He nuzzled into you closer. His strokes didn’t stop, and neither did his apologies. In the silences, he reminded you of how sorry he was and you could hear the genuineness in his tone. His apologies grew mumbled and sleepy, a hazy string of words which became incoherent as he fell asleep. Alcohol-infused and anger-drained, the man fell asleep with his head on your shoulder and his arm wrapped around you. It was quite comfortable and you felt very secure in his embrace. You fell asleep directly after he did.

——

Morning came before either of you would’ve liked. Your body was achy and sore. Internally you felt like you’d been sawed in half. Your wrists ached and the insides of your thighs were no doubt a little bruised. But you didn’t complain. The scent of coffee was strong in the little apartment. Farrier moved around the room, bags under his tired eyes as he approached the sofa with two mugs full of the steaming beverage. He placed yours down on the table before settling down at your side and sipping his own. The morning greeting was a shy smile and a gesture to the coffee. You sleepily nodded in thanks before moving toward him so you could kiss his cheek. The gesture was a simple reminder that he didn’t need to apologize a hundred times today. Hunching over to retrieve the glass, you guided it to your lips and moaned out breathily at the heat and sudden awakeness. Farrier smiled softly.

“Do you work today?” He asked. His voice was husky and deep, his question soft and fueled with curiosity. You nodded, mouth full of coffee. Swallowing, you slumped against the cushions.

“Night shift. I work every other day.” Brushing your tangled locks out of your eyes, you set your elbow on the back of the couch and examined him in the morning light that poured through the curtains. He looked so different. Even handsomer than you thought — how was that possible?

“Could I stop by again tonight?” He asked. Placing his glass on the table, he turned on the sofa to face you. Your eyes fell briefly to his flexed chest, admiring it blatantly before your eyes slid up to his own. A little hum escaped your lips before you snapped out of your trance.

“What? Yes- yeah, of course you can. I’m always there from 6 to 12, sometimes a little earlier.” You told him quietly. Finishing off your cup of coffee, you placed it down beside his half full one and soaked up the warmth from the comforter. Farrier nodded his head. He pursed his lips, pondering what the events of today would lead to. He seemed distant, but you could tell that today, he was actually very present. You stood, brushing past him so you could retrieve your clothes from the corner. He watched you closely before tearing his eyes away when he realized you were just re-dressing. He respected your privacy so instead fixed his gaze back on his coffee. You approached once you’d clothes yourself. “I have to go home and shower.. get a change of clothes and make sure my puppy is okay, but I’ll see you tonight?” Halting in front of his legs, you stared down at the handsome fellow. He stood then, brushing his hands off on his stomach before he bobbed his head.

“I’ll stop by.” He assured you. His eyes moved along your face, scanning your delicate features. He was going to make up for what he’d done the previous nigh. His hand moved to a strand of your hair. Brushing it back and behind your ear, he leaned in to kiss your cheek as you’d done to his. You turned your head though and swiftly caught his lips with your own. He stilled, breaths deepening instantly before his hand moved to the side of your throat. Cradling it gently, his thumb slid along your jaw. Savoring the soft, slow, but relatively brief kiss, his lips tugged upwards when you pulled back.

“See you tonight!” You called out as you rotated, sneakers dragging along the carpet as you made your way out of the room and then away from the building.

————

Farrier was different. A sober farrier was far, far different than the man who’d taken you home all that time ago. Weeks ago. He visited your work every other night. Sometimes he stayed for one drink, other times he didn’t touch the stuff. But he was always there. Conversations made the time go by entirely too quickly and since you didn’t go home with him... every night... you dreaded the end of your shift. But on the nights when he asked if he could wait around until midnight, those were the nights you knew you’d been sharing his bed with him. He was a terrific lover. No alcohol in his system or rage in his body, he cared for every inch of your skin and had you writhing beneath him in ecstasy. It was just casual. Just fun. Just friendly, you thought. The sex was infused with laughter and clumsiness and the conversations at work were innocent. Innocent until he was leaning across the bar so he could kiss you. Innocent until he took hold of your small palm when you passed and made your cheeks ache from his sweet talk. He was a charmer and you were falling for him. It was evident he was too. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been quick to jump on any man that dared drunkenly flirt. He was protective and defensive and he made it clear that he wanted you to only be with him.

The clock read ten. You still had two hours of your shift left. It was a very slow night though, so slow that you’d found yourself sitting on the opposite side of the bar, directly beside farrier. Your chin rested in your hand, elbow planted on the top of the counter. Farrier was whispering in your ear, hand trailing along the length of your leg as he nipped playfully at your earlobe.

“I want you to be my girl.” He mumbled out suddenly. His words seemed foggy in your lust-clouded mind, but when you drew back to see if you’d misheard him, the cheeky grin he wore assured you that you’d heard right. His blue eyes moved between your own, hand moving to the bottom of your skirt. He pinched the fabric playfully before drawing you forward so he could steal a soft kiss. “Mh?” His grunt was enough inquiry. You bit your bottom lip before slowly placing your hand on his cheek. Caressing his skin absentmindedly, you leaned in and kissed his nose before standing.

“I’ll think about it.” You told him breathily before moving around the counter to tend to the gents who’d just entered. It didn’t take long. Beers were handed to two of them and a shot of vodka to another. You smiled kindly, dismissively, before returning to farrier. “What do I get if I date you?” You whispered. The man smiled slowly, enjoying the fact that you were dragging this out. He knew your answer already.

“Kisses.. good sex, constant visitations to work.” He chortled. You smirked.

“So basically.. everything you give me now?”

“Basically.” He nodded. “But you can stay around mine a lot more often. I can give you a key to my place?” He reached across the bar and grasped your hand as he’d done earlier. “Plus,” He didn’t just date anybody. Farrier only wanted to be with someone he truly cared about. “I’m going to take care of you. And that’s a promise.” A little smile crossed over your features before you slowly leaned over the bar and kissed him repeatedly. The surrounding men wondered to themselves why their service wasn’t as good as farrier’s, but they didn’t verbally complain.

“Alright.. I suppose I’ll be your girl.” You whispered. Brushing your nose over his own lazily, you bit his bottom lip before drawing back and rotating on your heel. You had customers to tend to and as annoying as it was, you enjoyed the heated stare that belonged to your boyfriend. He watched your every move and that gave you an advantage. Teasing a man was so, so fun. Especially when it was your man.

———————————————————————

@peakblogbecauseimweak @bsotstory @mollybegger-blog @morphoportis @ghost-of-student-sufferings @drippydownes2002 @ellar21 @sovereigngoth @willowick13 @xxxxxeroxxxxx @wheresthewater @anrm1 @pansexualginger @marvelgirl7 @evilspretty-dead @heyitscam99 @wow-he-cute @haroldpain @justrepostandlove @sparklyreaderx @emerald-bijou @multireality @innerpaperexpertcloud @giftofdreams @ihclipse @meer0rauschen @inkedfandom @thatsamegirl @doct0rstrange @jakechillenhaal @shanty-lol @centerhabit @clevertheoristpainter @jamierdr @favouritereadings @badmaax @thephuonganh @wewillfindourwaythere @uhhhemilyrose @scarrasco1325 @matoki-darkpanda @bignastyfan-nz

[wildroseofarran]

Small Town Welcome || Captain Issott

Leslie: Leslie would be found sleeping on the grass just before the shore. Thick dark blond lashes pressed to his cheeks, hands used as a boney pillow.

His feet were bare, just as the day before when Tristan first laid eyes on him. He was a pale young man. Wearing two tank tops, both one size too large. His black jeans fit perfectly. Newly bought yesterday.

He was slowly collecting a sunburn with the outline of his three necklaces.

Tristan: God, how was it only May and already this damn hot? Stepping outside these past few days had felt like being thrown into an oven. Piling all his hair into a bun and jumping into the ocean was about the only thing he had the will to do with the heat frying his brain.

After a nice long swim in the ocean, Tristan fully intended to seek out some food and a nice cold beer when he nearly tripped over someone.

“Fuck, sorry about that. Wasn’t paying attention.”

Leslie: Like tripping on driftwood. Arms fanned out and squeezed thick grass. That was just a man in his dreams talking. Someone he made up in the stirring of pleasant nonsense to make him forget about the city of Charlotte.

No, not quite. Something had moved him. Maybe they would keep walking.

Tristan: Tristan stood near the man’s head and smiled down at him. He was bare from the waist up, soaking wet, and probably not making the best impression.

"You all right down there? Sun frying all your brain cells?"

Leslie: A single eye opened, followed by a visible wince. A hand with two rings rubbed around his eyes and temples.

"Oh. I thought it was the sun, but it's just a merman. Move to the left a little."

Tristan: Tristan chuckled and obligingly moved out of the way. "You're gonna be in so much pain in a few hours."

Leslie: More like in the way of the sunshine's path to his cheeks.

"Why?"

Tristan: "You're getting a sunburn," he said, nodding toward the man’s chest.

Leslie: "I won't. I'm talented like that. Especially if you stay where you are," said with a grin.

Tristan: Tristan chuckled again and shook his head. “I don’t know what talent helps you not turn into a lobster but do you.”

Leslie: "Are you always this friendly?"

Tristan: “Of course. I’m from a small town, we’re hospitable.”

Leslie: "So this is small town life," said with feigned awe.

Tristan: “Yep. Nothing ever happens and everyone’s pretty nice.”

Leslie: "Nothing ever?"

Tristan: “Sometimes the tourists get drunk and do stupid shit but that’s about it.”

Leslie: "Well, I guess I'm here now." The top layer of shirt was grabbed to wipe his face, pulling the bottom along with it. Taut stomach and a bit of underwear exposed.

Tristan: Tristan made a concentrated effort not to look at anything below the man’s face.

“You sure are.” He held out a hand. “I’m Tristan.”

Leslie: "I sure am." He took the stranger's hand and squeezed. Might as well utilize the pillar and pull himself into a sitting position.

"Les... lie. Leslie."

Tristan: And what a pillar it was. What he lacked in height he more than made up for in sturdiness.

“Nice to meet you, Leslie. You on vacation?”

Leslie: "You're not trying to steal my wallet, are you, babe?"

Tristan: “Well that wouldn’t be very hospitable of me.”

Leslie: "No it wouldn't." He felt in his pockets for something then immediately gave up.

"Looking for a new place to live."

Tristan: “Yeah? Plenty of that around here. Lots of cabins and things for rent.”

Leslie: "Well, that's a start. Do you have a cigarette?"

Tristan: “Nope, sorry. Don’t smoke.”

Leslie: "Do you eat?"

Tristan: He smiled. “Yeah, I eat.”

Leslie: Good smile. He gave one in return. "Cool. Where shall I eat?"

Tristan: “Depends what you’re in the mood for. There’s a Mexican place near here, lots of seafood. Pub and diner in town.”

Leslie: "Anything relatively healthy?"

Tristan: “Seafood place up the road. They grill instead of fry.”

Leslie: "Alright." Both hands combed through thick, lengthy hair. Not nearly the mane of his acquaintance, but enough to have a friend braid on several occasions.

He nodded to himself. "Man's gotta eat."

Leslie forced himself to his feet and stretched, revealing the truth between their heights.

Tristan: Oh, wow. Leslie hadn’t looked that tall laying down, but the man was a lamp post.

“Well, enjoy your meal. I should dry off.” Beads of sea water we’re still clinging to his body.

Leslie: Leslie had noticed. He'd noticed a lot of this man yesterday.

"I can't just have you run off. Want something to eat? Can show me where the place is."

Tristan: “Oh, yeah. Sure. Still have to dry off though. And put on a shirt.”

Leslie: "You don't gotta do either of those," he grinned.

Tristan: He chuckled. “I do if I expect to get fed. We’re relaxed here but not that relaxed.”

Leslie: "Nothing to eat on the beach?"

Tristan: “Nothing healthy.”

Leslie: He seemed visibly disappointed in this news.

"I'll just be over there." He pointed to the tan Jeep Wrangler.

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "I'll just be two ticks."

Fortunately, given his profession, he (and his truck) were more than prepared for situations like these. In no time at all he had taken out his bun, run a comb through his hair, toweled off, and got into some dry clothing. Much more presentable.

"You ready?" he called as he made his way back.

Leslie: No cigarettes in the Jeep, either. Only the scent of what he yearned, along with the herbaceous perfume of another. He must have chained them on the way here. The ocean the wall in which he had crashed. Leslie hadn't felt a need to peel himself away from this town. Nothing was telling him to.

The handsome stranger was given a wave. Leslie was caught in the middle of chugging flavored seltzer water.

Tristan: Watching Leslie drink water was making him even more thirsty than he already was. He needed an ice water bigger than he was.

"It's not far," he said, shielding his eyes from the sun. "Not quite on the beach but you can still see it from the windows."

Leslie: "Are we walking?" he shouted back.

Tristan: "Yep! It's about a five minute walk." Possibly less.

Leslie: "Alright." Then the empty bottle was tossed back in the Jeep and the door locked.

Tristan: Tristan nodded up the street. "This way," he said once Leslie was close enough. "You'll like this place, they make really good ceviche."

Leslie: "Anything sounds good right now. I haven't eaten since I got here."

Tristan: "When did you get here?"

Leslie: He glanced Tristan's way, smiled to himself. About the time you were walking out of the ocean like some Baywatch movie.

"Sometime yesterday."

Tristan: "You haven't eaten since yesterday? We definitely have to get you fed then."

Leslie: "You're a good egg."

Tristan: "I try," he said with a smile. "So where did you come from?"

Leslie: "Out from Charlotte. You've always been here?"

Tristan: "Oh, so not far then. We moved here when I was four. I was born in Kitty Hawk."

Leslie: Leslie rubbed his eyes again, as though attempting to wake himself up. "Kitty Hawk! I've been there." Some witches his mother was acquainted with.

"You always take strangers to lunch, or am I the lucky one?"

Tristan: "I don't really remember that much of it. I've only gone back once or twice since we came here." His mother didn't like to go back. Too many negative memories.

He chuckled. "I usually just give them directions." So yes, Leslie was lucky.

Leslie: "Score one for me." He smiled at the ground. Hands fell into pockets.

Tristan: "Scoring implies a prize. I don't think lunch counts."

Leslie: "It absolutely counts. I have diabetes," he laughed. A sound like a quick, feeble cough.

Tristan: “Damn, that’s gotta be rough.”

Leslie: A thumb was pressed to one side of his nose before a deep inhale. Something about the salty sea air was getting to him.

"Not much pasta or white potato in my life. No tubs of ice cream or chocolate eclairs."

Tristan: "At least there's still seafood." His brow furrowed slightly. "You all right?"

Leslie: "I think my city nose is rebelling on all this ocean."

Tristan: "It's all that smog and pollution leaving your body."

Leslie: "I didn't live downtown!" he laughed, something more genuine.

Tristan: "City air don't have nothing on ocean air."

Leslie: "Can't argue with that." He sniffed with the opposite nostril and shook his head. "Can't seem to wake up." Probably the malnourishment.

Tristan: "It's probably the sun. Been hot as hell for this time of year." Luckily, the restaurant was already in view.

Although maybe 'shack' would've been a more appropriate term.

Leslie: "Does this place serve something other than sweet tea?"

Tristan: "They have pretty much everything. It's one of those places that makes as much of their own stuff as they can."

Leslie: He would follow this man's lead, stretching out wherever Tristen chose to sit.

"So what kind of conversation shall we have?"

Tristan: Tristan chose a booth next to a window that faced the ocean, sighing in relief. It felt so good to be in air conditioning.

"Whichever kind flows," Tristan chuckled, handing Leslie one of the paper menus on the table. "But I'll start with the fact that I can give you the number of a guy who rents out and sells cabins and cottages. Just bought a house from him about a year ago."

Leslie: "Sells and rents. Man does well for himself. What's the price range? You know?" A little packet of stevia was opened, finger licked and dipped into the artificial sweetener. He needed something on his tongue.

Tristan: "Cabin'll run you about the same as an apartment, depending on the size. Anywhere between five to eight hundred a month depending on the size. Long term rentals are cheaper."

Leslie: The city boy coughed. "That's it?"

Tristan: "Yeah," he chuckled. "Where do you think you are?"

Leslie: "I dunno. A thousand? Twelve hundred?"

Tristan: "For a one-bedroom cabin? That's highway robbery!"

Leslie: "City!" He pointed to himself.

Tristan: “That’s crazy. Here you can have complete privacy and a nice place to live for cheap.”

Leslie: Leslie looked out the window, dark blue eyes thoughtful. He bit against his lip and sighed. So far so good. Maybe this was where he was meant to run out of gas.

"And everyone's as friendly as you?"

Tristan: “Pretty much. This is a small town, people are generally decent. It’s safe, people know their neighbors.”

Leslie: "Sounds too good to be true."

Tristan: "It's a whole other world over here." He smiled. "Ain't called Edenton for nothing."

Leslie: "So that's how I can get a gorgeous man to come to lunch with me. It's Edenton."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "I don't know about all that, but we are having lunch. What looks good to you?"

Leslie: "I know. Looking right at you." But he sighed. "What do you recommend?"

Tristan: "The ceviche is their most popular dish. Grilled salmon's good too, they serve it with wild rice. Oh, and the shrimp summer rolls."

Leslie: "Salmon and wild rice, then."

His phone buzzed. It was given a glance and ignored.

"Am I hitting on the wrong - Hello hon," he smiled up at their waitress with bright eyes and full teeth.

Tristan: "Hey, ya'll, welcome to The Clear Wharf! Hiya, Tristan."

"Hey, Amy. Doing good?"

"Can't complain. What can I get ya'll?"

"A gigantic glass of water and the ceviche in taco form."

Leslie: Leslie gave his order as well, handing over his menu. Unsweet tea sounded just fine by him. His gaze lingered on the waitress, and he knew she knew. Perhaps that was why she was blushing.

Tristan: Oh, she was absolutely blushing, and it was amusing Tristan to no end.

"You have a real gift for flattery," he chuckled once she'd moved away.

Leslie: "I didn't do anything," he laughed. The longer he was in Tristan's presence, the more honest that laugh became. More bubbly, forcing mirth into every word.

Tristan: "Sure you did, you made her whole day."

Leslie: "Well, then I'll keep smiling." He was well aware of what body language could do, and so far, he couldn't get a beat on Tristan. A good sport, but that was all he could gather. He could blame it on his high.

Tristan: "It suits your face." And it was such a good face. "So what do you do?"

Leslie: "Went to culinary school for five minutes. Worked here and there. Nothing, seeing as I just moved." Hadn't thought that far ahead.

Tristan: "Well, this is a fishing town so there are always jobs down at the docks and on ship crews. Few bars in town."

Leslie: "I'd rather not be around shit I can't even drink." Though he had no room for righteousness after what he'd been shoveling in his body.

"Docks? I've never been on a boat, if you can believe that."

Tristan: He nodded. "Yep. That's what I do, I'm a fisherman." And as a fisherman, he found it unacceptable that Leslie had never been on a boat.

"Seriously? Well we've gotta fix that."

Leslie: "Is this relationship expanding past lunch now? You should work for the welcome center."

Tristan: "Maybe I will if the fishing thing doesn't work out," he said with a grin. "And yeah, if being on a boat is something you want to do."

Leslie: "I'll probably get sick. Don't wanna ruin my image like that." Fuck, he wanted a cigarette. "If I find a place, then sure, handsome."

Which brought him to what he was going to say before the waitress. "You straight? Gay? Want me to shut up?"

Tristan: “There are ways to avoid that.  Take some Dramamine or a ginger pill and you’ll be golden.”

Tristan had to smile. It wasn’t often that people were quite so direct with that particular question. “I’m gay.”

Leslie: "But do you want me to shut up?" he grinned.

Tristan: “No,” he laughed. “I don’t want you to shut up.”

Leslie: "How is this town towards gay people?"

Tristan: “More tolerant than you’d think for the south.”

Leslie: "This is the last stop of "the south" so maybe that's why."

Tristan: "There's still a good chunk after this."

Leslie: "What?"

Tristan: “The south extends beyond North Carolina.”

Leslie: "We're the top of the south!"

Tristan: “Arguable. I think Virginia’s technically the top.”

Leslie: Leslie made a face. "Tennessee and NC are kings. Kentucky is some unloved middle child."

Tristan: Tristan burst out laughing. “Better hope no one from Kentucky just heard you say that.”

Leslie: "All the way down here? There aren't any horses," he laughed.

Tristan: There was another burst of laughter. “Oh my god. What did Kentucky ever do to you?”

Leslie: "Gave me a bad girlfriend. My ninth grade year was ruined."

Tristan: "That'll do it," he chuckled.

Amy popped over to bring them their drinks and disappeared again.

Leslie: "Bye, Amy," he waved.

Time to pile in some artificial sweetener. This felt surreal and yet somehow natural. Sure, he had struck up conversations with randoms before. A sort of talent of his. This was a little different. Leslie felt both awkward and completely at home with this man. There should have been a red flag somewhere. He was still looking for it.

"What do you do for fun?"

Tristan: "Sail, mostly." He downed half the glass of water in one go. "I swim, spend time at the beach, collect nautical antiques. I have fish and a hermit crab. Basically my life revolves around the ocean."

Leslie: "I gotta ask you something. Be honest." Leslie leaned in, whispered, "Are you a merman?"

Tristan: Tristan smiled and played along, leaning in and whispering back, "No. I just have really long hair."

Leslie: "Are you sure you're not a fish? Never seen any scales on your arms, legs?"

Tristan: "Very sure. No scales, no gills."

Leslie: "What do you do when you're not in the water or relocating hermit crabs?"

Tristan: "I read a fair bit. I watch TV. I make things."

Leslie: "What do you make?"

Tristan: "Jewelry and some decor."

Leslie: "You make jewelry?"

Tristan: "Yeah. Nothing fancy, mind you." He wiggled his wrist. There was a bracelet on it made of leather cord and a shard of sea glass. "Stuff like this."

Leslie: Leslie took hold of that wriggling wrist and brought it to his nose to better examine.

"I might want one in the future."

Tristan: "Sure, just say the word. I've got a few jars of shells and things I find on the beach. Got a crate of driftwood on my porch, too."

Leslie: Your home must have great energy, he thought.

"You have sea glass?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. “Yep, it’s my favorite. Want a sea glass bracelet? Or a necklace maybe?”

Leslie: "Necklace maybe. Sea glass is very you."

Tristan: “Is it?” He gave Leslie a curious look. “How so?”

Leslie: "Just a feeling. I get a lot of those."

Tristan: “Well it is my favorite, so your feeling is on to something.”

Leslie: "Good to know my clairvoyance is still intact."

Tristan: “Looks like it is.”

“All right, boys.” Amy returned with two plates. “Grilled salmon, and ceviche tacos for Tristan. Ya’ll need anything else?”

Leslie: "What's your favorite thing to do around here, Amy?"

Tristan: She looked pleasantly surprised at the question. "I love going to the beach. My family got jet skis last year and I swear we spent the whole summer on them."

Leslie: "Is this a fishing town or a beachgoer's paradise?"

Tristan: “Mostly fishing but we get a good amount of tourists,” said Tristan.

Leslie: He turned his attention back to Tristan. Eager to answer, are you?

"Thanks, Amy," he laughed.

Tristan: It wasn't that Tristan was eager, he was just better equipped to answer that question than Amy was. Or so he would tell himself.

Amy smiled. "All that fishing means that salmon you have on your plate is the best you'll ever taste."

Leslie: "So I have you to thank?"

A quiet blessing was thought over his food. Old habits he'd made no effort to remove. They mattered. Unless Tristan initiated another topic, he was going to be a quiet eater.

Tristan: "You should definitely thank him," Amy chuckled. "He caught everything on this table except the rice."

She topped off both their glasses and flitted away again.

Meanwhile, Tristan had taken his first bite of taco and looked thoroughly delighted.

Leslie: He smiled at Tristan's smile, then looked out the window. His gaze was becoming thoughtful, drifting off somewhere else. This wasn't about testing pleasant silence. There was still too much to unpack from his mind.

Tristan: Tristan didn’t mind the silence. It was peaceful and comfortable and gave him a chance to observe his lunch companion. To get a feel for him.

He seemed like a decent enough guy. No weird or off-putting energy coming off of him. What had led him here, Tristan wondered.

Leslie: Leslie side-eyed his eating companion.

Tristan: He smiled. “What?”

Leslie: He just smiled back.

Tristan: “How’s your salmon?”

Leslie: "As good as your taco." He gestured. Want some?

Tristan: "Just one bite." In exchange, he'd offer Leslie come of his ceviche.

Leslie: His salmon was offered from the fork. He didn't bother handing the utensil over. No one was looking.

"Wow, that has some tang to it."

Tristan: And Tristan thought nothing of simply taking the fish off the fork.

“Mm, that’s good. They didn’t cook it back to death.”

He nodded in approval. “All the lime in there. I love it.”

Leslie: "Ever make it out to Charlotte? Raleigh?"

Tristan: "Not often, but I do go to Raleigh. I think I've been to Charlotte once."

Leslie: "In how many years?"

Tristan: "Thirty-two," he chuckled. "I'm a small town boy, not much need to go into the city too often."

Leslie: "But you did for college." He was doing his own fishing.

Tristan: "Nope, went to the local community college. My mom is a professor there."

Leslie: "Oh yeah? What she teach?"

Tristan: “Literature.”

Leslie: "And your father?"

Tristan: Tristan shrugged. “Never met him. Took off when my mama was pregnant with me.”

Leslie: "Oh." He shrugged. "Saying sorry feels hallow. Besides, you seemed to come out just fine," Leslie smiled.

Tristan: “No need for sorry. I had everything I needed,” Tristan said with a genuine smile. His father had never been so much as a thought in his mind.

Leslie: "No siblings?"

Tristan: “None that are related to me. Only child.”

Leslie: "Team only child." He offered another bite.

Tristan: He took it with a smile. “Never felt like it though. I always had friends over, we all called her mama.”

Leslie: "Same with mine! She preferred everyone call her Hazel. Including me, but she's...she's mother to all."

Tristan: "I thought I was the only one who called their mother by their first name," he laughed. "I mostly do it when I'm annoyed with her or teasing her."

Leslie: "For my parents, I dunno. To see myself as equal. They're mentors, not gods."

Tristan: "Mama would approve of that sentiment. Part of being a teacher, I guess. She's always been about teaching and guiding and watching people grow."

Leslie: "I think our mothers would get along, but you never know."

Tristan: "They probably would. Megan gets along with everyone."

Leslie: "Seems you do, too."

Tristan: "Like mother, like son," he said with a smile. And proudly so. "Your folks live around here?"

Leslie: "Everything's in Charlotte." His answer much quieter than everything else, but still friendly.

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "At least they're close by. You should invite them to your new place when you finally find one."

Leslie: "Maybe." That's all he'd say on the matter; the invisible weight on his eyelids divulging that much.

Tristan: He nodded again and let the matter lie.

"Want anything else while we're here? Something for later?"

Leslie: "I'll be back. Love sleeping on the beach, but should probably find an actual hotel. Probably."

Tristan: "Try the Wayside. It's right on the beach and their rates are reasonable."

Leslie: "A beach hotel being reasonable?"

Tristan: "Small town, remember?"

Leslie: Tristan was looked up and down. Leslie was aware of how quiet he was being, but something about this man... He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

"Would you find it weird if I said you have good energy?"

Tristan: Tristan smiled and shook his head. "Nope. That's not weird at all. Thanks for thinking so."

Leslie: "You look like a surfer hippie."

Tristan: He laughed. "It's the sun-bleached hair and the tan."

Leslie: "The amicable company. That amazing, amazing smile."

Tristan: "Do surfer hippies usually make amicable company and have amazing smiles?"

Leslie: "Just you, sailor."

Tristan: There was that amazing smile again. "Well, we can pin the hippie vibes on my mother. She owns a VW bus."

Leslie: "Does she?" That was an amazing smile, and it made Leslie smile. One which, despite being tired, reached his eyes and brightened them. Something almost literal. Something which could be blamed on the sunlight pouring through the window.

"Cli - My father has a truck that looks like it was plucked from a period piece."

Tristan: "Yeah, she restored it to celebrate getting tenure at the college. It's the coolest damn thing I've ever seen." Like Meg had gone back in time and brought the 60s back with her.

"Oh, one of the super old-fashioned ones from like the 40s and 50s?"

Leslie: "Fifties for sure. It's the ugliest shade of green I've ever laid eyes on. He loves that thing. Takes it to car shoes."

Tristan: He laughed. "Bet he does. Put that much work and pride into something, you wanna show it off. Feel the same way about my ship."

Leslie: "Does your mother - How fully restored is it? The Scooby Doo van?"

Tristan: "Looks like she's about to drive it to Woodstock."

Leslie: "Would she take it to any show?"

Tristan: "With the right persuasion I'm sure she would. It's her most prized possession."

Leslie: "We can parent trap our parents into friendship," he laughed.

Tristan: "We should," he said with a grin. "They can bond over their cars and show them off together."

Leslie: Leslie straightened as their waitress returned. He gave her a smile every bit as delightful as he believed she had been. Something he believed she deserved to see.

"Thank you for being a beacon on my day, Amy."

His words were a distraction, see, to slide that check his way before Tristan could make a grab.

Tristan: "Aww, well thank ya'll for being such good customers! I swear some of the people who come in here try me like you wouldn't believe."

His distraction was working. Tristan took two seconds to finish his water and suddenly the check was gone.

Leslie: "I bet. I respect the hell out of you. Here you go." The check reappeared with green weighing it down. "And you keep the change, okay?"

Tristan: Amy laughed. "Oh my goodness, all my other customers are gonna look so bad compared to you. Thank you so much."

And off she went, leaving Tristan blinking in her wake.

"What just happened?" he laughed.

Leslie: "Hmm?" Such an innocent smile. No idea what you're talking about, sailor.

Tristan: He squinted. "Sneaky man. Gonna have to keep my eye on you."

Leslie: "Oh please do. Both of them and all the time."

Tristan: Tristan just smiled. "Ready to mosey?"

Leslie: "Where to now, captain?"

Tristan: "Kinda wanna show you the Wayside. You can see for yourself how nice it is."

Leslie: "You really should work for this town."

Tristan: "I do work for this town. I feed it."

Leslie: "I'll drive behind you. Sound good?"

Tristan: He nodded and got to his feet. "Sounds good."

The Wayside Inn wasn't far from the beach where Tristan had met Leslie. Just a quick seven minute drive and the gray building would come into view.

Leslie: Leslie pulled into a parking spot next to Tristan's truck and killed the engine. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do from here. He usually would. Everything used to be so much clearer before. Every sense of purpose flew away when he renounced his coven. Thoughts were lost in a fog.

Nothing doing. He stepped out and stretched. That smile would give nothing away.

"Thanks for showing me the place."

Tristan: "Of course," Tristan said with a nod, gesturing toward the beach. "That stretch right there is private for guests and there's a really good restaurant inside. They're one of my clients so anything you eat there will be amazing."

Leslie: "Because it came from you." He laughed through his nose.

Tristan: "Damn right. Having a good chef helps, too, but a chef is nothing without good ingredients."

Leslie: His hands slowly slipped into his back pockets. His smile, the one he'd tried so hard to maintain for this man, began to fade into maturity.

"But anyway, thanks again. I'll be seeing you around?"

Tristan: He nodded again. "Count on it. It's a small town," he added with a grin.

Leslie: "So you keep telling me. We'll see how small it really is."

Tristan: "Yes, we will. Take care of yourself." With one last smile, Tristan got in his truck.

[dannejavi]

Tales of Dusk: The Drinking Night

"So, mutt. Tell me about the Hale vaults," basking in the afterglow of sex, Lorna reclined on Derek's chest, as waited for his knot to deflates.

"Hale lineage runs as one of the oldest in the supernatural community, and my family wasn’t the only one. There is several of these vaults placed all over the world owned by other Hales members. They keep our heirlooms, valuable belongings and precious artifacts," Derek explained as caressed the old witch's wrinkly torso.

"Hmm, I suppose you can open them..."

"The vaults are protected by ancient enchantments, very difficult to break. It has a lock that only the claws of a Hale shapeshifter can open to ensure that their belongings are well protected. So, yes, I can open them. Why the question? Do you wanna see what's inside?" Derek smirked, teasing Lorna's earlobe with his tongue.

"Perhaps,” her smile was mischievous. “Where is located the closest one?"

"Since there are multiple branches of the Hale Family, there are also multiple vaults throughout the world. The main one is located in Beacon Hills, underneath Beacon Hills High School."

"Too risky to get back there," the witch pondered.

"There is another one in North Carolina, in a private plot of land near a nearby shanty town" Derek explained, nuzzling Lorna's neck.

Lorna smiled. "Great. You going to take me there. I wanna know what sorts of artifacts your family has been keeping hold all these centuries. Wouldn't you know what’s in it, would you, mutt?"

Derek shook his head. "I know its location but never been there"

"So, North Carolina is our next move" she gasped when Derek's knot finally deflated. Pushing the witch on her back, Derek spread her legs open and eagerly licked her vulva.

"You never did this before. You know there isn't any sperm left, my uterus absorbs every drop"

"I know, but I had an urgency. It felt right"

Lorna snickered. "You are more of a mutt with each passing day. But that's enough," she pushed Derek off, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You are here for my pleasure, and not the other way around"

"Pick up my clothes and then dress yourself up. Today is drinking night. Did you not forget, did you?

Derek did as commanded, and responded while pulled up his jeans.

"Of course not. Drinking nights are my favorite" his grin was large and malicious.

After covering her decrepit body with a long grey tunic, Lorna stepped closer and tapped Derek's cheek two times, speaking authoritatively. "Good. Now you go and put this stunning beauty you have to work. All that fucking got me thirsty"

Smirking, Derek pulled on his leather jacket, grabbed the Silver FJ Cruiser keys and headed towards the door.

The bar isn’t any different from several others they had visited along the Californian dusty roads. Its rustic decoration made the place looks provincial, with drunk patrons, a few hot chicks and loud buzzing to complete the scenario.

Derek spotted his next catch, a young and pretty blonde girl with a nice pair of breasts almost jumping out of an opened flannel shirt tied front, a lean waist and curvy hips accentuated by a washed off blue daisy dukes. The typical all American girl, but the kind of who goes to roadside bars searching for trouble.

She may have found, Derek thought.

Maybe she was the daughter of one of these old drunkards, maybe she was on a cross-state trip with a bunch of girlfriends that have decided to stop by. Whatever it was, it didn't matter.

Walking like a predator lurching after his prey, Derek flaunted his sexy self-confidence attested by his incredibly gorgeous looks. He was an Alpha, after all.

He took a seat by her side, glancing all nonchalant like the type of guy who knows what he wants when he wants. Derek has a preference. Some girls are easy to lure out. And they always fell into the type he was pulling out.

Charming. Cocky. Lady-killer.

She glanced over at him, smiling timidly as tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Derek smirked. He knew that gesture, the previous ones had done that exact same move. How predictable.

He could tell she was clearly interested, even if he hadn’t said a word yet. It was his manly features, Hollywoodian good looks on working that had that effect upon them. It never failed.

Derek asked for two beers. He offered her one as gave a long sip of his own, tilting his head back, showing off the sturdiness of his neck.

He could hear the girl’s heart skip a beat.

“Thanks” she blurted out, drinking her beer, her eyes scanning him with increasing interest.

“My name is Derek,” he said.

“Allana,” she responded.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl,” it was corny, Derek knew that. But despite his willingness tonight, he wasn't much for well-made casanova lines. He wanted to get back to Lorna as soon as possible. Also, Derek knew he could drop the corniest line ever, it would take just a flashy smile to make the girl follow him wherever whatever.

“It suits you”

He noticed the way her blue eyes wandered up and down his masculine form, could smell the lusting taking over every organ of her hot body.

Derek had gained some muscles over the passing weeks, adding to his already unbelievable, rip physique. The way his biceps stretched the leather fabric, how the dark blue jeans hugged his thighs nicely. Derek could practically hear her blood rushing down to her vulva.

They talked for about five minutes. Allana told him some things about herself that Derek doesn't bother to remember. He wouldn't need knew that, after everything is done.

Derek’s grin was charmingly enigmatic. He praised the silkiness of her skin, leaning in to kiss gently the long line of her throat, brushing lips right under her ear and scraping his stubble purposefully. He sensed her body shivering and arousing spiking up to the moon.

When she looked at him, Derek had a magnetic, dark glowing in his inscrutable green, predatory eyes.

When they get back to the motel, Derek just kicked the door closed, lifted Allana’s lightweight and tossed her violently into the bed in a single movement.

“Eager, aren't you?” she giggled, her words full of uncertainty. But it quickly dissipated when Derek got rid of his leather jacket and henley, exposing the glory of his perfect physique for her lustful demand.

He jumped over, ripping apart the fabric of her shirt. Allana’s protests were suppressed as he gropes her wrists and forced them up toward the headboard while dominated her mouth with harsh kisses, greedy lips and probing tongue.

Derek pressed down on her, pushing his boner against her pelvis. For a moment it was savage, passionate until it’s too late, and Allana’s wrists were magically bound to the headboard by invisible ties.

The kissing becomes hungrier, feral, and she yelped in pain when Derek bite her bottom lip, drawing a thin line of blood.

He pulled back, smelling her emotions shift from aroused to frightened. Then, Allana could see something more in Derek’s eyes, something that wasn't there when they met at the bar. She saw death.

She gasped when Derek lifted himself off of her, standing in the foot of the bed like a psychopath.

“Derek… What is this?” she asked, struggling in the bounds. “I don’t like this. Release me”

“I’m afraid this won't be possible, dear” purred raspy voice as a creepy figure of a cadaveric old woman came out from the shadows.

Hunched over herself, Lorna’s walked towards Derek, showing off her disgusting presence to the frightened girl. Allana soon noticed her wrinkled skin that seemed to stick to the bone, resembling a dead withered corpse, strands of white drought hair framing her long cadaveric face.

“Who are you? What kind of sick game is this? Derek?” Allana yelled out.

“Her screams…” Derek glanced at Lorna, ignoring her desperate pleas.

“Don’t worry. I put a cloaking spell on the room. She can rip her vocal cords apart, no one’s gonna hear a thing”

Tears gathered on Allana’s eyes, a chilling shiver ran up her spine as the witch scanned her with veiled, cataract glazed eyes.

“Hmm, interesting. You always pick them blondes,”

“Is this a problem?” he asked.

Lorna shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Derek, who’s this woman? What’s happening? I thought-”

“You really thought a gorgeous buck like Derek would sex you up, uhn?” Lorna cut her off, sliding emaciated, bony hands up Derek’s muscled chest.

“His craving for young sluts like you has ended a long time ago, bitch. He’s mine now!”

Derek grinned when Lorna’s hand trailed her down his chest and stomach, squeezing the bulge in his jeans. He leaned in, taking the witch’s disgusting mouth in an urgent kiss.

Squirming on the bed, Allana watched terrified the sick couple necking each other. She screamed her lungs out, a futile attempt to be rescued from the devious nightmare that was about to start.

“Should we begin now?” Derek asked, his tongue swirling around Lorna’s.

The witch snickered. “Yes, mutt. It’s drinking time”

Between swears and cried pleas, Allana struggled on her restraints. Derek and Lorna had her suspended in the middle of the room by magic, her arms stretched above her head bound together by invisible ties. She was naked as they had ripped out all of her clothes.

Several cuts on her inner thighs allowed the blood to freely drip down along her legs into a large bowl under her bound feet.

Still conscious, bleeding out like a pig, the girl was forced to watch Derek and Lorna fucking each other brains out.

Lying on their sides, Derek held Lorna’s left leg up in the air using his left hand, fucking the witch with heedless abandon. Lorna’s elderly body jerked at each impact of Derek’s hips, and Allana closed her eyes to not witness the repulsive act.

“Do you hear it, my dear? That’s the sound of Derek’s cock plunging my pussy,” the old witch moaned out, raspy voice describing the slurping noise of Derek going in and out of her. “Open up your eyes and watch it for yourself. It’s a grand sight to behold”

The girl started to sobbing, her skin getting more and paler, a twisted image of deteriorating youth that Lorna very willingly loved to drink from.

“You don’t have an idea how good he feels inside me,” she said, a wobbly voice from the force of his thrusts, as Derek eagerly licked the wrinkly folds of her neck. The witch let out a raucous laugh, bucking back to match him. Reaching her left hand back, she carded fingers through his hair, pulling him close.

It was insane, the way that witch’s frail body jolted with Derek’s ministrations, powerful strokes that seem too rough, capable of snap her in two.

Allana’s breathing was failing, her lungs trying to pump oxygen into her system. But along each inhale, her nostrils burn with the grimacing mix of musky and rancid smell that impregnated the air every time Derek and Lorna have sex.

“Yes, mutt. Give me your filthy cock,” she moaned, squirming under Derek’s hold.

While the Alpha kept focused on his task, she pulled out a half-empty whiskey bottle from underneath the pillows. But it wasn't alcohol that lay in it, and the realization hit Allana like a truck as she watched the witch popping the bottle open and taking a long swig of the red liquid sloshing inside.

She was drinking blood.

Grunting out in ecstasy, Lorna was relishing in the savagery of Derek’s dominance, the rush of pleasure at every plunge of his 10 inches cock, the slap of his heavy ballsac on her. She heard him growl and bottom out, as his knot swelled inside her at same time streams of semen flowed in like a steamy heated floodgate.

“Fuck! That’s it!” Derek groaned, feeling his nuts tingling.

They shuddered together, as Lorna’s infertile uterus absorbing Derek’s Alpha vitality. As the orgasmic wave subsided, Derek watched Allana agonizing like some kind of slaughtered farm animal. Unfazed by the sight, he took the bottle from Lorna and took three long gulps, as Allana’s life flow away with the blood in the bowl, leaving a spasming, dying body behind.

"She was a brave one, I admit. Took a hell to finally succumb. At least she died completely terrified. Imagine what she’s going to taste like, pure fear” Lorna caressed Derek’s naked flank as his knot throbbed inside her pussy.

He settled the bottle on the nightstand, whispering close to Lorna’s face with a dark, hideous smirk.

“I can't wait to drink it with you,”

She let out an excited shrieking, grasping his black hair and claiming his mouth in a bloody flavored kiss.

[projectsoleil]

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN WINTER | ANASTASIA IMAI | CHAPTER 4 EXECUTION

Minutes pass, more words exchanged, the time for the end of the hero’s life was drawing ever nearer...till finally it happened. The Sunscape Bot in the middle came to attention and began its path to Maxwell.

[ Ms. Imai, your execution is ready. Would you please take my hand and I will escort you there. ]

Anastasia had no choice but to accept… but she didn’t have to do so kindly. She yanks her hand away from the bot and sneers - if she was going to walk to her own death, she was going to do so of her own volition. Or, well… as much of her own volition as she can have, in this situation. It’s not like she has many options outside of ‘die’, but she can at least have some agency over how she faces her encroaching end. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me, I can walk myself.”

And with that the two began their final walk to the door, it never got more comfortable to watch, it was always so...haunting. Footsteps on the metal ground, the door sliding open. 

The two stepped through and turned to face those who remain.

There’s silence for a few long moments, and Anastasia’s eyes wander over every person in the trial room. Some she didn’t care to see again, some it hurt just to look at one last time - but she addresses every last one of them when she opens her mouth to speak again. “... There’s a lotta good people here. Sorry… I tricked a few of you into thinkin’ I had a shot at bein’ anything but a bad one. I’ll be rootin’ for you guys to tear this place to shreds from the other side, ‘kay? Don’t let me down, bastards.” She gives the group one final two-fingered salute before she turns her back to them, quiet defiance snuffed out by the realization that she can do nothing but play into the game’s hands one last time.

And with that, the door slams shut in front of them. It is only a few moments before the screen comes to life again...

[ PLEASE ENJOY THE PRESENTATION WE HAVE PREPARED ]

[TW: VIVID DESCRIPTIONS OF FALLING/HEIGHTS, GORE]

“Oh, Anastasia, how we’ve been waiting for you!”

A voice reminiscent of a town crier rings out loud and clear, a short figure approaching the doomed Anastasia.

“You’re our chosen hero, you see - it’s all been written in this here book!” The figure produces a grimoire of sorts from thin air, proudly showing it off. Anastasia simply sneers - and here she’d been hoping her death would at least be a little swift. The figure continues. “You see, Anastasia, our sun is dying, and you are the only one who can save it! Please, for the innocent civilians of our humble city, gather the paper feathers guarded by all those nasty troublemakers out there and soar to the skies! For the good of all our people, I implore you to accept this quest!”

Anastasia is speechless for a short few moments. A ques?  Is her execution really as pathetic as dying in some stupid battle? Yeah, she hoped it’d be quick, but she also kind of hoped it’d be… cooler. Still, something the figure says catches her attention - soar to the skies. If she can manage to gather these feathers, if she can just push through, is there a chance she could escape this? Could she play the system and return safe and sound? Could she live another day? If there was even the slightest chance at survival, she had to take it. 

“... Fine. Whatever. I’ll take your lameass fucking quest, but don’t expect me to be some perfect savior.”

The small figure claps in delight, overjoyed at her lackluster agreement. “Lovely, just lovely! We don’t have much time, Anastasia - you need to leave. Now!” The figure snaps their fingers, and suddenly, the scenery changes.

Anastasia finds herself in an alleyway in the dead of night - a familiar place, all things considered. Perhaps even too familiar. So too are the faces she sees. Four people stand before her, four people she hasn’t seen in six years… and four people she attacks without so much as a second thought. Her sketchbook is her weapon, as it always has been - her familiars fight for her, as fierce as always, fangs gnashing and claws flailing. She is hardly injured, and the four people are left dead on the ground, just like they had been so long ago. She collects her feathers nonchalantly, but before she can continue walking forward, a staircase appears, one that doesn’t seem to have an end.

Thus does she begin her ascent. Hidden from prying eyes below are floor after floor of enemies - dangerous people, violent and thirsty for blood. Though Anastasia sustains injuries from each battle, she reigns victorious every time. Her paper feathers stack. Wings begin to sprout. She presses on, determination plain in her eyes.

Slowly but surely, the landscape shifts; a simple cityscape is no longer the background of her fights. Dark streets and alleys grow brighter, buildings grow smaller. With time, concrete ground is replaced by clouds, and the sky is the only backdrop offered. Her growing wings carry her ever upward, and her pride is bolstered with every victory. No longer is she cutting down simple criminals and classic villains - her enemies are seemingly ordinary people, yet all as thirsty for blood as the last. She’s traveled many floors, and her injuries are numerous now, but the paper feathers amassing on her back are even greater in number.

The journey is long and unforgiving, but she reaches the end all the same. Finally, bleeding and bruised and out of breath, she reaches open sky. The only thing left for her to do is fly up, and fly up she does. She’s unsteady - she’s never been a fan of heights - but she rockets upward all the same, eyes searching for some sort of out.

An escape never reveals itself, though. Instead, as she soars skyward, closer and closer to where the sun should be, she’s greeted with a throne of clouds - and it is not empty. On it sits a form ever-changing, faces and bodies shifting from one to another. The heat is nearly unbearable, but she is desperate for some form of solace. Exhausted, she carries herself closer, fragile paper wings the only thing keeping her from meeting a grizzly demise. The throned figure speaks in a voice long-forgotten, and Anastasia’s eyes widen. She stares forward, inching closer, sweat beading on her brow.

“Mari…?”

She sees Marianne - a best friend, a lost love, the first person she swore to protect and the first person she failed. A girl who had brought life to a world she didn’t much care for, a girl whose own life was cut short all too early, all too gruesomely. She sees her face, warm and gentle, for the first time in six years. Her wings begin to burn as fiercely as her heart. 

She sees Sacha - a brother, a protector, someone that had always loved her despite the rifts she’d torn in their relationship. Someone she had promised herself she’d come home to, and another whose life was violently ripped out of her own. Paper feathers scatter, fire eating away at their fragile forms.

She sees Riley - a stable presence, a reminder of the past. She saw in him too much of someone she’d wronged once before. She had wanted to do right by him, at least, as vain as her efforts might have been. In a way, she had wanted to make up for the past. The heat burns her skin. Still, she presses on.

She sees Roger - a friendship destroyed with her own hands, an inspiration, one of the first to reach out to her and one of the first she’d reached back to. She remembers destroying that stupid action figure with him on the docks, how he’d stuck his neck out for her when he never had to. Her wings grow weaker still, feather after paper feather burning down to nothing.

She sees Shougo - an unexpected ally, a confidant, another she’d dragged down with her. The mistakes she made with them differ wildly from those she’d created with her brother, and yet the result was the same. She left both of them behind of her own volition; the only difference between Shougo and Sacha is that she got to say sorry to the former. Fire begins to prick at her skin, and ash permeates the air she breathes.

She sees Papillon - an enemy turned friend, a persistent presence she couldn’t get rid of, though she didn’t want to. Once, she was at their throat near daily, prepared to throw vitriol their way at the drop of a hat. Now, she trusts them with feelings she used to wish she could forget. It was them who showed her she didn’t have to let them go in the first place. The paper wings on her back are an open flame, burning her hair. She flies forward with what strength she can muster from them.

Finally, she sees Rina - a light in a dark, dark tunnel, a warmth she never thought she’d feel again. A new sun, someone who brought the life she thought she’d lost back into a cold, lonely world. She is bright and welcoming and beautiful, and Anastasia has hurt her beyond anything she could hope to repair. In a matter of a few hours, she has taken two lives from her, and one of them is soon to be Anastasia’s own. The strength of her wings, still ablaze, is nearly non 

existent now. The fire licks at her skin, and the heat from the figure threatens to burn her just as badly. And yet, she perseveres - if not for herself, for those she’d leave behind. But her efforts are all for naught.

She was never meant to save herself.

She can hardly keep herself afloat now; the once-great wings on her back have been whittled down far too much to support Anastasia’s weight, her injuries have begun to worsen under the pressure she’s put on her body, and the searing heat slowly but surely saps her of any remaining strength. 

If she could only get closer.

If she could only reach out.

But fate is not so kind.

…

…

[♫♪♫♪♫♪]

She tries, tries so hard, to close the gap between her and the ever-shifting being in front of her. She tries to grasp the hand of every person she’s ever loved and every person she’s ever lost, and yet, like everything else she’s done, it’s too little, too late. Her fingers just barely brush theirs, their skin hot enough to make her scream in pain at a small touch alone. Despite it, desperation takes hold - if she could just have one more chance -

But there is no second chance, not for Anastasia Imai. She flails, tries one more time to grasp the being’s hand, but it’s all for naught. Her wings, too fragile to offer support any longer, finally give out.

Her flight had been graceful, one worthy of a hero. She was proud, determined, even hopeful. Battles were fought and won, and her quest was fruitful. And yet her fall is ugly - she is battered and bruised and burned, no longer the hero she wished to be. She is screaming and scared. She is dying, and she is dying all too slowly. 

Her descent is as long as it is unpleasant. There is no peace - she thrashes against the wind to no avail, body still weakened by her earlier trials. There is no quiet, and there is no acceptance. Her efforts are fruitless, and yet she fights against the inevitable to the very end.

Finally, an end comes. With a sickening crack, Anastasia’s body hits the ground, and what remains of her is hardly recognizable as human. There is blood, flesh, bone, but there is little shape. Hair, eyes, limbs - they are there, parts of a human are there, but they are no longer whole. They are smashed and bleeding, no more than viscera staining the ground she had fallen into. It is an ugly end, not one fitting for a hero - but then again, Anastasia Imai had never been a hero. She had only been vengeance and hubris, spite and fury. Like Icarus, she had flown too close to the sun, and like Icarus, it was her pride that had been her downfall.

[ ANASTASIA IMAI HAS BEEN EXECUTED ]

[somethingdifferent-ff-blog]

27

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Dej

“Shhh don’t cry mama...don’t cry. Mommy is here.” I sang to n’t cry. Mommy is here.” I sang to Bella as I rocked her on my shoulder trying to calm her down. I glanced at the clock it was 8:30pm and Quis still wasn’t home. I thought by him working only in the shop and as a janitor, he’d be home more often but I was wrong.8:30pm and Quis still wasn’t home.

He worked as a janitor during the day and at night spent time in the shop. I think that he tended to get caught up in spending time with Keem and Marcus and would forget about baby Bella and I waiting for him at home.

I grabbed the phone and dialed his number once more but still got no answer. I sighed unsure of what to do, I had tried Keem and Marcus’ phones as well but got no response. I groaned thinking about the last person I could call and decided why the hell not. I dialed his number and waited several seconds before hearing the line connect.’

“Hello?” He said into the phone gruffly.

“Hi Caiden sorry to bother you...I was just wondering if you knew where Quis was. It’s not urgent or anything I just need some diapers and-” I was cut off by Bella beginning to cry once again and I sighed exasperated.Hi Caiden sorry to bother you...I was just wondering if you knew where Quis was. It’s not urgent or anything I just need some diapers and-” I was cut off by Bella beginning to cry once again and I sighed exasperated.

“He’s still at the shop doing stock and his phone is off. Don’t trip I’ll swing by with some diapers.” Before I could tell him it was okay he had already hung up and I stared at the phone unsure of what had just happened.

I knew how much Quis hated Caiden and I was almost positive Quis would be more than angry to know that Caiden had been to our house and had bought anything for our daughter. But I really needed the diapers

* * *

“No way! He used to have a gap when he was a kid?” I asked laughing as Caiden showed me more pictures of Quis as a kid. Quis had opened up to me about his childhood and shared some pictures with me, but none this embarrassing.

“Yeah well I should get going shorty. It’s late and I doubt Quis is gonna want to walk in and find me posted up here with you and lil mama.” He said with a dark chuckle. I nodded my head almost sad to see him go.

“Alright well thank you so much for coming by with the diapers and providing good company as well. It was much needed.” I said with a soft sigh. I felt like I hadn’t laughed this hard in forever. “I’ll let you out.”

“I’ll see you soon shorty and if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to reach out to me aigh?” He said, I nodded my head before opening the door and escorting him out. I went over to the rocker Bella was sleeping softly in and smiled to myself at how beautiful she was. She was the perfect mix of Quis and I, his complexion with my hair.

I picked her up careful not to wake her, and cuddled her up in my arms. I crawled onto the couch and laid her down on my chest. She stirred in her sleep ever so gently before curling up against my neck and I could feel her sweet breath against my skin as she snored softly in her sleep.

I woke up to the feeling of a blanket being laid across my body. I opened my eyes to see Quis standing over the both of us smiling like a fool. I reached up and cupped his face pulling his head down to mine before gently pressing my lips to his.

“Papi where you been at?” I asked him frowning as I sat up, careful once again not to wake Bella.

“I been at work mi amor.” He replied sitting on the other end of the couch. I crawled in between his legs and rested my head on his chest, keeping Bella on mine.

“I never see you anymore pa.” I said sadly turning my head so that I could look at him.

“I know but I have the weekend off so I can stay home with you and my little princess.” He replied playing gently in Bella’s curls. The way he was with her was genuinely amazing, he was so gentle and in awe of her. It melted my heart to see the two of them interact with each other.

“Good I can have you all to myself…” I murmured sleepily. The feeling I felt when the three of us were together was one that I couldn’t explain. It was the best feeling I’ve ever had and as I lay there listening to Quis’ heartbeat and feeling Bella’s on mine I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

Keem

“Me?” I asked in disbelief.

���Him?” Caiden asked with the same amount of disbelief causing him to receive a dirty look from me to which he responded with a laugh.

“Yeah you nigga. I told you with Quis gone things were going to be different, he was my right hand man in regards to that good cop bad cop shit. Now you gotta step up and be the bad cop.” Marcus explained to me.

I licked over my lips and raised my eyebrows a bit surprised at his words. I honestly didn’t think I had what it took to be the new Quis. People saw Quis and knew that he didn’t play just like Marcus, the two of them had that look to them. I didn’t.

“You sure about that Marcus? Why not me?” Caiden asked like the thirsty nigga he was. I fought the urge to tell him to shut the fuck up. Since I got jumped almost six months ago I had a strong feeling Caiden was behind that shit. I remember seeing the car those niggas all got into and it looked suspiciously just like his. I kept that shit to myself though, not wanting to stir the pot.

“You already got too much shit going on, we’re almost close to gaining that territory and I told you once that happens you’re in charge of that. You just need to sit tight.” Marcus said waving Caiden off and shaking his head no.

“Ion know Marcus I appreciate you having faith in me and shit but ion know if I can live up to your expectations. That shit ain’t me, I’m a goofy street nigga not a thug.” I said with a hopeless shrug.

“Nah Keem I have more than faith, I know you can do it. You just gotta tap into that place inside of you.” Marcus said. The way he spoke made it seem like he had made his mind up, there was no going back I was going to be the new Quis and that was that.

“Aigh well I gotta get going, I promised Sinai I’d pick her up from work.” I said standing up and dapping up both Caiden and Marcus. Once outside I made a left down 125th and saw a group of teenage boys posted up.

“Aye nigga I like your shoes. Run them shits.” The ring leader yelled out to me. I chuckled darkly and kept it pushing, I wasn’t about to entertain these little fools.

“Yo nigga I’m serious.” He said walking up behind me and pushing me in the middle of my back. I clenched my jaw and turned around eyeing him over my shoulder.

“Aye ion want no beef man, don’t fuck with me.” I said keeping my voice low. This little nigga laughed and shook his head.

“Ion want beef either folk, I just want them shoes.” He said eyeing my sneakers. If this nigga thought he was getting my sneakers he was crazy. I licked over my licks before chuckling.

“You ain’t getting them fam.” I said tilting my head up slightly and staring him down. It felt like everything Marcus had just said to me was playing over and over in my head. “You know who I am nigga?”

“You hear this nigga?” The boy laughed to his friends before growing serious and looking at me. “Nah nigga should I?”

“Yeah you should.” I replied before reaching back and clocking him right in his jaw. Almost immediately he felt down to the ground, I drew my foot back and kicked him dead in the center of his face hearing a loud crackkkk as what I assumed was his nose broke from the impact.

“Next time you fucking see me lil nigga you better ask if you can clean my shoes.” I growled at him before dusting my shoe off. “Fucking got blood on my air forces.” I then turned and continued walking down the block towards where I parked my car.

I looked calm and collected on the outside but on the inside I was shaking. I was starting to wonder if that was a set-up to test if I could be the new Quis or if that was just a coincidence. Whatever it was it left me feeling both shaky but also like I had just taken a shot of adrenaline. I wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing, but I kind of liked it.