#I am feeling a bit lost and so I took it out on Olive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alicerosejensen · 1 month ago

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All pets go to heaven

Warning: mention of pet deaths; hurt/comfort; angst; dad!Leon.

Synopsis: This is a tragedy in Leon's family. It was inevitable, but it broke one small child's heart.

A/n: I am writing this because my beloved cat who lived with me for 17 years died. It is a great pain to lose pets who have become part of the family, and even knowing that this is inevitable, the pain will not become less. Although I am already an adult, this is the first time I have encountered this pain. I'm just trying to distract myself a little bit and, as always, find solace in writing while my heart heals.

Everyone who has pets - love them because their lives are so short compared to ours. We are their whole life, and they are only a part of it for us.

Losing is always hard. Returning home after a difficult mission that somehow miraculously passed without unnecessary sacrifices, Leon hoped to return to the calm atmosphere of his house where you and your baby girl were waiting for him, whom he had just bought gifts. Some sweets, soft toys, besides, as he drove up to the house, he was thinking about a family outing somewhere to an amusement park and then drop into some cafe and eat ice cream. It would be a great therapy for him and a good opportunity to make up for lost time with his family.

He has already written to you about his imminent return, but did not expect that when he entered the house, he would feel some unusual emptiness. Something that was not as usual when he returned.

You immediately left the kitchen holding a glass of water in your hands when you heard the bang of the front door, which caused a slight smile to blossom on your sad face.

"Leon!" you shouted, putting the glass on the frame that he was home with you again. "You're back! Why didn't you call? I would have prepared something special for dinner."

Leon frowned into your eyes. It's like you've been crying recently. He put the bag on the frame next to the keys, hugged you to him, put his head on top of your head, feeling you relax in his arms.

"I texted you on your phone, wanted to surprise D/N, bought something for her and for you. By the way, where is she? And what happened to your eyes? Did something happen while I was gone?

You nodded softly, freeing yourself from the ring of his arms, and looked up at the second floor, which only made Leon tense, making him nervous.

"Let's go to the kitchen, I'll warm up your lunch" you took Leon's hand hoping that he would immediately follow you and not do everything his own way "And tell you everything. D/N fell asleep in her room recently. I'm sorry, I've hardly picked up the phone lately."

And yet, going into the kitchen, Leon could not help but feel the oppressive atmosphere involuntarily returning him to the distant past where he also sat at the table with an excess of alcohol before the next call from his superiors, waiting for him to be sent on a new mission. The feeling he hoped would never come back. You were sluggishly putting the leftovers of yesterday's lunch on a plate, putting it in the microwave to heat up the food, while Leon was behind you looking at the corner where there were always cat bowls with food and water for Oliver...

It's so strange that the darling of the whole family didn't come out to meet him, as it always was, and now his bowls are gone, but the first thought was that you just decided to wash them and just haven't put them in place yet, and Oliver sleeps on the couch in the living room or in the D/N room, lately because of age He slept a lot.

"The furry fighter sleeps with D/N" joked Leon, sinking into a chair and taking the fork in his hand that you put in front of him.

You shook your head negatively.

"You know, a few days after you left, he got really bad." you began to explain after a heavy sigh, "He was already old by cat standards, at first he began to eat less, then he stopped altogether. He drank only one water, the vet said his kidneys were failing. I decided not to torture him, after all, no matter how painful it was for me to say goodbye to him, I didn't want Oliver to suffer in the last few days, but he quietly died his own death. It makes me feel a little calmer, but D/N... Our girl has been crying for three days."

Leon felt like he had lost all his words. That's why he never got animals, probably because he knew that sooner or later he would have to say goodbye to the one he became attached to, but he met you when you took Oliver as a kitten, and therefore the "furry fighter" as Leon himself called him when they first met, one day also became part of his family along with you. A slightly naughty cat, spoiled, loving to beg for food, when someone just went to the kitchen, often gnawing wires, which is why they had to be hidden. And yet Oliver was part of this family, and D/N love him with all her heart, how could his little girl now know that her beloved furry friend will never come to her again and she will not be able to pet him? Inside Leon everything sank from this thought that his heart demanded to come to his little girl and comfort her.

His appetite immediately disappeared.

"Of course he was old, but it seemed to me that he still had enough strength. He wasn't that bad before I left."

"Yeah," you agreed, placing a plate in front of him.

"He sometimes lost his appetite, but I probably noticed the symptoms too late, although the doctor said that cats often have kidney problems. D/N is the hardest hit. I carefully prepared her for this moment, but three days ago in the morning when she woke up to pet Oliver, he simply did not react - he died peacefully in his sleep. D/N now does not want to do anything, cries all day long and hardly eats."

"I'll go to her," Leon said, getting up from the table without touching his food.

"Leon," you called out to him quietly, causing him to turn around to look at you. "Maybe you can do better than me, to be honest, I haven't been able to find the right words for her in the last three days."

"This... this is not easy for her. She has been with him since birth, but we will succeed, we just need to help her get through this together."

Those were good words. You probably needed them yourself, considering you were the one who picked up Oliver as a kitten, but it's never easy to survive someone else's death, especially someone you loved and cared for for years. While comforting your child, you comfort yourself with the thought that Oliver had lived a good, long cat life. No one had ever hurt him, he lived in warmth, care, and satiety. It was just that his life inevitably came to an end, no matter how much it broke your heart.

Leon paused for a few seconds in front of the door as he climbed the stairs. He often comforted Jane when she was injured or upset about something, but death... It was incredibly difficult for a child to face something like that, especially when his girl loved all animals so much. Leon quietly opened the door and immediately heard sobs that involuntarily made him feel guilty.

Of course he should have been there for her during this difficult period, but he wasn't there, and you alone weren't enough. D/N cries quietly, turning away to the window, hugging a soft toy, not even hearing the steps behind her, immersed only in her grief. Before, she would have jumped out of bed and run to her father, spreading her arms for a hug, and then would have hung on his neck for a long time, begging him to play with her until late in the evening, but now...

"Sunshine, daddy is here"

Leon whispered, sitting down next to her on the bed and putting his hand on her shoulder.

There was another sob. D/N didn't even turn around when she heard his voice, but she definitely realized that her father had returned. How could he blame her? In general, Leon often found himself thinking that it was in his nature to forgive everything to those he loved, especially if it was his own blood. It was more difficult than scraped knees or broken favorite toys. This is the realization to a little girl that her furry friend is gone forever.

She continued to squeeze the toy, sobbing, burying her nose in the pillow. Even when Leon bent down to turn on the night lamp.

"Oliver is gone," she lisped, sniffing loudly, "Mom said he's in a better place now, but I want him back.

"I know, sweetie, I know. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there at that moment." Leon bent down to her, brushing her hair from her face, still gently stroking her back, hoping to ease those tears a little, but it seemed terrible. This is not a situation where you could turn everything into a joke or make her pay attention to something else.

Father's mind rightly told him only that it was necessary for Jane to survive this. That sometimes those we love inevitably leave. An experience that no one wants to go through on their own skin, and Leon himself never wanted such suffering for his daughter.

Leon spoke again only when the children's sobs subsided under his caring hand.

"We all loved him very much, even when he was doing his cat chores past the tray or gnawing on the wires," he smiled, feeling that D/N had done the same, even if she wasn't looking at him. "But unfortunately, the life of animals is much shorter than that of humans. And yet, despite this, I'm sure he was a happy cat. Has anyone offended him?"

She took a deep breath, wiping tears from her cheeks with her palm, finally looking at her father with tear-stained eyes and quietly shook her head in denial.

"N-no" the stuffed toy was back in her hands "But you used to swear at him sometimes"

"Well, sometimes Oliver behaved badly, I mean that some animals are much less lucky. I've never been mad at him for a long time, even when you were very young. You were just born then and you were lying in your crib when Oliver scratched you because you cried."

Leon shrugged, remembering the past, smiling involuntarily.

D/N frowned, scratching her swollen face, clearly not believing Leon's words.

"He didn't hurt me. We always played and he slept next to me."

"It was the only time. I think you were just something new to him and he was scared of loud noises."

These words brought a short smile to her face, which couldn't help but please Leon. He settled down more comfortably next to her, pressing D/N to his shoulder, watching as she gradually began to calm down.

With a heavy sigh, a new stream of tears nevertheless gushed from her eyes after several minutes of silence. "I miss him".

"Shh, I know it's hard. It's really hard but it happened. His life is over and Mom didn't lie to you - Oliver really is in a better place now."

Leon held her small body close to him, letting her cry and cry. His strong embrace protected, but hardly comforted. Even when you came into the room, hearing another cry, this sight of your daughter's tears tore you apart. An endlessly long stage of denial of grief and a childish selfish desire for a beloved cat to come back to life no matter what. You wanted this too, but no one has such power.

You sat down on the other side of the bed so that D/N was in the middle of the two of you, however, it seemed that she did not notice your presence, but you still gently stroked her hair, looking into Leon's eyes, feeling helpless.

Until Leon took her on his lap and kissed the top of her head, ignoring the fact that his shirt and sleeve were now covered in saliva and snot. However, he is a father and this is not the worst thing he could get dirty in.

"Baby, listen to Daddy for a minute," Leon brushed the hair from her tear-stained face, forcing her to look at him, "Do you remember when we watched the cartoon 'all dogs go to heaven'? "

D/N nodded, clutching his arm. You were just reaching for the bedside table for paper handkerchiefs, taking out a couple of them, wiping her face while Leon was talking:

"Of course, the cartoon was about dogs, but it wasn't entirely true. In fact, not only dogs get to heaven, but also cats, birds, hamsters, guinea pigs, it doesn't matter, all pets. And our Oliver is there now too."

"So he's just like Charlie now?" Her voice was hoarse from crying.

Leon nodded, hugging her to him. "Yeah, our Oliver is in the best place now, just like Charlie."

"Can't he wind up the clock too and stay with us a little longer? "

You cast a brief glance at Leon, either rejoicing at the brief glimmer of calm, or on the contrary disapproving of using the plot of an old cartoon as a consolation. On the other hand, what's wrong with a child believing that a pet has gone to heaven after death? At least it would help her start accepting death, because despite still young age, you didn't want to deceive her by coming up with excuses just to hide the painful truth.

It didn't seem like a good idea. So you reached out to D/N, joining the conversation without abandoning your husband in trouble:

"Sweetie, alas, but no. Oliver can no longer come back to us, but he knows that we love him and miss him. And he loves us too."

"Besides," Leon chimed in, "if you remember, no one had the right to wind that clock."

There was that deafening silence again, broken only by sighs and sniffing. Neither you nor Leon dared to speak again while Jane sat quietly on his lap with her eyes downcast, thinking about something of her own. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. After all, this cannot even be considered as such a deception, just a way to cope with the loss.

Cautiously glancing at his wristwatch, Leon saw what time it was and realized that Jane usually falls asleep at this time, but leaving her alone at such a moment... After kissing her on the forehead, Leon easily lifted her into his arms, feeling her arms around his neck as he carried her to your shared bedroom. You didn't even have time to understand anything, just watching with wide eyes as he nods at you in the direction of the door.

"We're not going to cry anymore, are we?" he asked D/N, and although she wiped her cheeks, she still shrugged her shoulders from ignorance, "I bought us all ice cream, so now we're going to wash our faces with you, and then mom will bring us a bucket of ice cream and the three of us will eat and watch cartoon, how do you like this plan?"

Finally she smiled nodding her head in agreement. How could you object? While they were washing in the bathroom, you straightened the bed, took a pillow and a blanket from the nursery and put them in the middle of the bed, then went downstairs, took them out of the freezer, not forgetting the spoons. By the time you returned to the room, Leon and D/N had already selected a cartoon, launched it for viewing and were waiting only for you.

laying down next to her side of the bed, dimming the light, you could see Jane was tired, but she still ate ice cream for a while, after which she settled comfortably under Leon's armpit, falling asleep pretty quickly without watching the cartoon. At least you can all get some sleep.

"So all pets go to heaven?" You asked quietly as you got into bed and watched Leon carefully place Jane's head on the pillow so that he could take a bath and go to bed himself.

He just sighed, grabbing a towel and a set of clothes from the closet, turning to you, speaking in a whisper so as not to wake the child.

"So be it. In the end, despite all the cat's antics, I also want to believe that this cat is now somewhere where he is good." He bent down to leave a short kiss on your lips.

"You don't believe it," you said, stopping him in the aisle, forcing him to turn around and look at you again. "Allright, the main thing is that it worked and she was able to calm down a little."

Leon looked at you sadly as you put the empty bucket on the bedside table lying down next to D/N. After all, it was difficult for you too, but crying in front of a child was unacceptable. However, he knew that you were the one who sheltered Oliver, which is why his death hurt you no less, if not more.

"It doesn't matter what I believe, with my job it's hard to believe in something like that, but now I really want to think that all pets go to heaven. And not only them..."

Fair or not, you both lay in bed for a long time without falling asleep, listening to your daughter's childish snores. After the shower, Leon held your hand for a long time in silence, realizing that it was not only Jane who really needed comfort, but you too.

All pets go to heaven... falling asleep you also wanted to believe that your Oliver is now in a place where he will never feel bad or that perhaps he will really come back again in the form of another cat.

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bettyfrommars · 1 year ago

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I'm on Fire//biker!Eddie x fem!artist!Reader//Part 11

18+Only, pls no minors, jealous!Eddie, biker!Steve, possessiveness, mention of violence, alcohol consumption, mention of sex, rich people being rich, celebrity sighting, reader wears a dress and heels (for the sake of this story, please pretend that designers made dresses for all sizes in the 90's), dirty deeds, mention of an abusive relationship, being in love. Word count: 8.4k

Summary: As Eddie falls for you more and more, his jealousy comes to the surface. You have a scare as something reminds you of a bad relationship from your past, and you go out to dinner with a potential client, forcing Eddie to profess his feelings as he struggles with the fear of losing you. Steve is offered a new job opportunity that sounds almost too good to be true.

Series Masterlist

A/N: It's been a long time coming 🙃 I am worried that writing the next chapter might get me pregnant. Your comments/messages about this story mean everything to me, and this story wouldn't even exist without the love you've shown it. Thank you, I love you.

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I'm on Fire Part 11: No Ordinary Love

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Eddie showed up at the Velvet Hammer while you were working that night to make the non-verbal announcement that you were his girl to anyone who might not know it yet, and you took your break so he could fill you in on some of the drama with Steve. He sucked down two cigarettes in the span of 15 minutes, and you could tell that the stress was getting to him.

“Poor Robin,” your eyes glazed over a bit as you stared at the ground, your heart hurting. “She must be a wreck.”

Eddie nodded as he blew smoke to the side. “This isn’t even about Oliver, that greedy bitch just wants more money.”

You searched his face, trying to understand. “You mean, she doesn’t want Oliver in her life?”

Eddie shot the corners of his mouth down in a frown as he flicked ash to the pavement. “Hell no. Steve basically has to pay her off every now and then just so she will leave them alone,” and then Eddie’s eyes narrowed at the empty space in front of him. “No one is taking Oliver away, I can promise you that.”

Eddie stepped back to look you up and down, licking his lips, bucking his chin. “Has anyone tried to hit on you tonight?”

“Eddie…” you sighed and rolled your eyes a little.

“I’m serious,” he finished his cig and threw it to the ground. “I don’t want any of these fuckers thinking they can touch you.”

“Baby,” you wrapped your arms around him and put your head to his chest. “It’s just a job, and no one gets to touch me but you.”

“That’s fucking right,” he murmured, bending his head to kiss you. You still didn’t know that Charlene was the reason you lost the job you loved as a gallery director, and keeping that from you continued to gnaw at him.

He grabbed your chin to force your gaze up to meet his. “I’m dead serious, babe. It’s a respect thing. If anyone crosses a line with you in here, I’ll find out about it, and I’ll break their fucking hand.”

He wasn’t trying to scare you, personally, but his tone was intense, and a drastic change to how he normally spoke to you.

“I know, baby,” you answered in a whisper, suddenly feeling a damp heat between your thighs at his possessiveness over you.

The outfit you were wearing must’ve been turning him on too, because he groaned against your mouth, pulling your hips against his, not caring that the friction shot a ripple of pain into his stab wound.

“You’re gonna make me go back into work all turned on, babe,” you breathed between kisses. You slipped your hands around his ribs under the warmth of his leather.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, fingers digging into your thighs. “I’m about to take you right here. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

You pulled back to search his face, your brows knitting together. “Yeah, why have we been waiting?”

Eddie picked up the back of your skirt so that his middle finger could rub your slit over your underwear while he palmed your ass and it made you whimper. “I wanted it to be...special, I guess,” he admitted, brushing your lips with his, his finger teasing the soft skin at your underwear line.

“You just got stabbed, baby. I don’t want you to---”

“Shhhhhhh,” he said, rubbing his nose against yours. “It’s not my first stab wound baby, and it won’t be my last.”

“Wait,” you put your hand on his chest. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

Just then the door to the bar flew open with a bang, like someone had kicked it, Sex on Wheelz by My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult blasting into the alleyway, and Eddie did quick work of moving in front of you, blocking your raised skirt from view while you adjusted yourself, and he was glaring at whoever it was.

Jackie stepped out with a Pall Mall between her lips, and paused to shoot the two of you a curious look, wiggling her brows. “What’s been going on out here, kids? None of that hanky panky, I hope.”

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A day later, there was a very familiar hunter green SUV parked outside of your place when you rolled around the corner to park in the driveway after some grocery shopping. It as a fairly popular model, and so you didn’t think much of it until you saw that the plates were from Michigan---the state you’d lived in until a year ago when you finally accepted Katie’s invitation to move in with her.

A freezing cold flush of blood burst through your veins as you sat in your car, afraid to get out.

The fear that your ex-fiance Craig would find you and come knocking on your door one day never left you, but your defenses had been lowering as you got comfortable in Hawkins; maybe you’d gotten too comfortable. Maybe you hadn’t covered your tracks enough and someone from your past had told him where you were.

Everything you’d been through in the past few weeks, and now this? You were actually too petrified to move, thinking maybe it was better to start your car up and drive away. But, if he knew where you lived, you would never be free of him. You’d have to get another restraining order, which never did any good anyway. You might even have to move again.

Tears threatened behind your eyes, as adrenaline pumped through you, but then you glanced up and saw Katie come around the corner of the house with an older woman in a floral pantsuit and a bob of gray hair.

Katie paused, and bent down to give you a questioning look, wondering why you were still sitting in your car, lurking. You watched the gray haired woman walk over to the SUV and unlock it with her key, as a gust of stale air escaped your chest with a hiss.

The hunter green SUV belonged to another teacher from the school, Ms. Olsen, and later on, once you were in the house, you told Katie about your moment of panic.

“God,” she was perched on the arm of the sofa. “You really think that piece of shit would go through that much trouble to find you? And then drive all the way out here?”

“In a heartbeat,” you said, pressing your dry lips together. “But, as far as Craig knows, I moved to Oregon to live near my mom, so Hawkins would be completely off his radar. I hope so, anyway.”

Katie stood up. “Well, thankfully it was just a scare. Holy shit, by the look on your face I thought you caught Eddie with another girl again or something.”

You huffed a heavy breath as you dropped your bag onto the side table. “Yeah, I still have the photos. Maybe we should have them framed or something. To remember the good ol’ times.”

“I’m taking Robin out for happy hour to try and get her mind off of things,” Katie called to you as she opened the refrigerator and bent in to grab a soda. She was on her lunch break and on her way back to the school. “Do you want to come with? Just us girls? Steve has Ollie at the tattoo shop with him.”

You declined the offer only because you still needed to call John Gregson, and you wanted to catch him during office hours.

It took a while to get beeped through to his personal secretary, but when she finally took your call, she told you that Mr. Gregson was out of the office, but that she would get a message to him for you. Her snobby tone gave you the feeling that she was going to throw your message in the trash the second you hung up, but not five minutes later---he called you back.

“Hey there,” he beamed. You could hear him smiling through the phone. “I’m sorry my secretary made you wait. I told her to patch you through to my personal line next time.”

“I’m surprised you even remembered my name,” you were standing at the counter in front of a pad of paper with a pen in your hand just in case you needed to write anything down.

You’d be lying if you said the first few minutes of the conversation were completely innocent and did not dabble in flirtation. Your loyalty to Eddie was deep, but kindling a bit of a friendship with John was a necessary evil for the time being. A couple thousand dollars for a painting and a chance to let Charlene know you had tricks too? Priceless.

While he was letting you know what size canvas he wanted and some prominent color choices, you drifted off a bit, wondering if John knew about Charlene’s affair. Affairs, plural? You did not get the sense that he was at all lacking in cognitive function, and since he was such a successful business man, you assumed he could read people pretty well.

“Are you free for dinner tonight?”

He had to repeat it because your mind had gone rogue.

“Dinner? Tonight?” He continued. “With me.”

You had zero romantic feelings for John—your heart was very much engaged elsewhere---so you could shrug it off as a platonic business deal. But, you also couldn’t help but wonder how your newly christened boyfriend Eddie would feel about it. Appearances aside, he had to understand that, much like the guys you were nice to at the Velvet Hammer---it was just a job. Plus, John was very openly married, and attempting a blatant affair with you wouldn’t be a bright move.

Still, it felt like he was asking you on date.

“I could come to your office tomorrow? I’m free all day.” You offered.

“I won’t be in the office tomorrow, I’m flying to Boston for the rest of the week, but I could pick you up later today around 7:00?” He sounded humble, but at the same time very sure of himself. “You see, there is this new restaurant on the lake with a collection of artwork I’d think you’d enjoy. We could talk about the commission there in a more relaxed setting.”

You swallowed. He was very persuasive, you’d give him that. You knew the exact restaurant he was talking about; Sakura Black was owned by a movie star who had a vacation home in town. It was strictly reservation only and you’d always wanted to see what it was like on the inside. There was a private airport nearby and helicopter pad on the roof for the wealthy elite to pop over from the city for dinner to enjoy “small town life”.

You gnawed at your bottom lip for a few seconds, doodling frantic circles all over the pad of paper with your pen, and then you accepted.

“Well, you just made my day,” John told you.

After you hung up the phone, your hand stayed on the receiver, and you said, “fuck,” under your breath.

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“What do you mean he asked you out to dinner? You mean, like a date?” Eddie asked gruffly.

Eddie was in his coveralls with an over sized wrench in his hand with grease smeared across his cheek and thighs. You showed up at the garage about an hour after you’d talked to John, feeling like this was a conversation that needed to happen in person.

He frowned as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk in the office. His new part time helper Dana had just left and Wayne was away having one of his chemo treatments. He was leaning away from you, teeth grinding, jaw muscles flexing, as he absorbed the news. He had been damn near giddy when he saw you park and walk over; eagerly pulling your mouth to his as a smile stretched his lips. “Damn, I’ve missed my girl,” he’d murmured as he nuzzled your nose, and then the three other mechanics behind him started whistling and shouting, “get a room!” To which Eddie grabbed your hand and flipped them off.

“It’s not a romantic date, baby. He just wants to talk about this commission I’m going to do for him,” you soothed, giving him space as you rested your shoulder against the green metal door.

“Sure he does,” Eddie chided. But then he sucked his teeth and tried to cool the hot emotions that were bubbling up. “What did you say his name was?”

This was the even trickier part.

You sighed and rubbed your fingers across your forehead before you met his gaze again. “His name is John. John Gregson.”

Eddie snorted and turned on his heel, rubbing his hands down his face. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, babe. Please tell me you’re joking?” After keeping his back to you for a bit, shoulders tight, he finally turned around to face you and tapped the desk with his knuckle as he spoke. “You know who he is, right? Who he’s married to?”

You nodded as you gazed at the scuffed toes of his boots and the frayed ends of his coveralls where they sat at his laces.

Eddie gave a few slow blinks, spreading his fingers on the desk to brace himself as he leaned. “I don’t feel good about this, babe. I don’t want you alone with this guy.”

You did your best to explain the situation to him, going all the way back to when John purchased some art from an outdoor festival you participated in a few years ago, to how he recognized you at the Velvet Hammer, and then Steve giving you his card to hopefully bring some money your way.

Eddie waited, but his expression of doubt stayed the same. “Listen,” he ran the tip of his tongue over his top lip and came a bit closer to you, crossing his arms again. “I appreciate that you told me. But you don’t know these people, baby. They are rich and they are mean. They don’t care who they hurt, as long as they get what they want at the end of the day. John might seem like a decent dude, but I’d bet money that he’s no different.”

As Eddie said it, he knew there was a lot of his ego involved in trying to talk you out of it. It was his fault you lost the job as a gallery director—a job that you loved---and he wondered if he was being selfish in trying to keep you from whatever amount of money you could get from what’s his name. The last thing he wanted to do was push you away, and if anything could, it would be his jealousy. He was sure it had pushed people away in the past.

Eddie bowed his head, and you moved into his orbit, tugging his crossed arms down so he would lower them and let you in. “I’m fucking filthy, baby,” he said as you put your head to his chest and wrapped your arms around him. He placed his cheek on the top of your head. You nuzzled him, inhaling the scent of car exhaust and motor oil and the earthy soft undertones of his warm skin.

“Oh, god, don’t I know it,” you teased, pinching a handful of his ass.

He barked a low laugh despite himself and tightened his arms around you. “You make me this way.”

You swayed there together for a bit before he huffed out a heavy breath. “So, what time is your date?” He bit out the word ‘date’ so hard, his jaw clicked.

You pushed off of him, exasperated, and slightly offended. “Baby, it’s not a date. He doesn’t mean anything to me, it’s just like a…business thing. You know how much I love---”

But then the rest of it kind of choked in your throat, and you doubted yourself, and you clamped your mouth shut to keep any more from escaping. You didn’t doubt your feelings for him, but you doubted that blurting it out in that moment was the right thing to do.

Both of you were simultaneously paranoid that you’d scare the other one off by being too blunt about your feelings. Why? Because any time you had confessed your feelings to someone in the past, they either ruined your life or left you; there was no happy medium.

“Yeah? You love what?” Eddie waited, searching your face, interlacing his fingers with yours, anticipation burning in his chest.

You started to fidget under his intense gaze, shifting your attention around the room. “I-I love your stupid face.”

He squeezed your hand, and leaned in to press his lips flush against your ear, his warm breath making you shiver. “Ditto, babe.”

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Eddie was not smiling when you left the garage. You told him all of the details, including what time you were being picked up, the name of the restaurant (he rolled his eyes), and you told him you’d call the second you got home.

“Or, call me from the restaurant if he gets handsy or some stupid shit,” he added with a frown. “It would be my pleasure to go to jail for bouncing that clown into next week.”

You did all you could to comfort him, but at the end of the day, he was a grown man who needed to understand that you were excited for not only the money, but for the opportunity to be doing what you loved again. You felt like you’d lost your spark lately and you were anxious to get it back.

It was around 4 o’clock when you pulled up to the curb at the chocolate brown duplex with white trim that you shared with Katie. From behind the wheel, you spotted what looked like a big, flat white box with a string tied in a bow at the top. As you got closer, with your keys and bag in your hand, you realized there was a fancy note card on it addressed to you.

You put it on the island in the kitchen and started at it while your tongue slid across your teeth in contemplation. The store on the tag was from a French boutique in Chicago that you had never heard of in your life.

The inside of the card said: “I forgot to ask if you had something casual but elegant for tonight. See you at 7:00 -- J.”

Once you opened the lid of the box and pulled the tissue paper back, you let out a small gasp at the Dolce & Gabbana label staring you in the face. It was simple black dress with red lining, knee length but with a high slit up the leg, strapless, and there was a black choker and heels to match.

You hated to admit it, but perhaps Eddie’s read on John had been a tad on-the-nose.

--------

“Whoa there Julia Roberts,” Katie joked as you walked out to the living room at 6:45, trying to steady yourself on your new heels. “Is Richard Gere picking you up or what?”

Robin was there too and she spun around on the couch to whistle at you. “Good god, woman, Eddie should see you now. He’d blow a gasket.”

Under your breath you responded, “maybe, but not for the reason you’d think.”

Katie rested her hip on the back of the couch and combed her fingers through Robin’s hair as she raised her eyebrow at you. “Where are you going looking like a stick of dynamite? You look too nice for the Hammer.”

You opened your clutch to make sure you had the necessities. “I’m going to dinner with a potential client who wants to commission a painting,” you were withholding the bigger truth because you wanted to avoid getting into a discussion about it. “It’s not a big deal, I should be home in a few hours.”

Robin and Katie exchanged a look.

They did make sure to peak through the blinds when your ride arrived, though, and saw that it wasn’t just any old ride: it was a sleek, black Rolls-Royce, complete with chauffeur, and the man who got out to open the door for you was unarguably handsome and dapper. Salt n’ Pepper hair that was thick and a little wavy on top, tan skin, and what appeared to be an expensive, tailored suit. Once you had slipped into your seat behind the dark tinted windows, the man actually glanced up and caught the two girls watching, to which he gave a charming smile and a wave.

“THAT’S the client she’s going to dinner with?” Katie balked, realizing there was a lot you weren’t telling her. “He looks like Robert fucking Redford.”

“Oh, shit,” Robin whispered, her chin on Katie’s shoulder. “I think I know who that is. I can’t remember his name, but his face is always in the paper. Pretty sure he owns most of this town.”

You braced your hands on the smooth leather seat on either side of your hips as John found his place next to you and offered you a glass of champagne. “Or sparkling water, or gin, if you prefer?”

“Champagne sounds great,” you said with a quiver on your lips. You were too intimidated to admit you’d never been in a Rolls-Royce before, or any car worth its value.

He popped the cork and poured you a glass flute, his eyes covertly flashing to your legs as he worked. “I’m happy to see the dress fit. It looks like it was made for you.”

You cleared your throat as he passed your beverage over. “I’m nervous to spill on it. I think it costs more than my car.”

John smiled against the rim of his glass as he spoke. “If anything happens to it, we’ll just buy you another one,” he assured you with a wink.

----------

Around the same time you found the dress on your porch earlier that day, Steve picked up the phone at the shop after three rings, just before the machine was about to get it. He was in the middle of working on matching ankle tattoos for two sisters, and Oliver was at his special kid-sized plastic desk in the corner scrawling with crayons in a coloring book. Molly, the tattoo artist he rented a chair from was deeply absorbed in getting the lines in for a huge back piece on a client and she begged him to get it while Feel the Pain by Dinosaur Jr played in the background over the buzzing of a tattoo gun.

“Cutthroat Tattoo, this’s Steve,” his voice was a bit gruff, but he didn’t mean for it to be. It had been nonstop all day and the phone was ringing off the hook.

“You’re a hard man to track down,” the confident woman on the other end cooed. “Do you have a second? Is this a bad time?”

“Yeah, it is a bad time. Who’s this?” Steve frowned, running his thumb along the edge of the counter.

“I’m the one who bailed you out of jail,” she answered, with a hint of laughter in her voice.

Steve frowned even harder, walking further away from the customers so that he as at the corner of the desk against the wall. His mind was racing because he didn’t recognize the voice. Was it someone he fucked recently and forgot about? In that case, it was the least he could do to remember her name, but nothing was coming to him.

“Sweetheart, I’d love to thank you properly, but I still have no idea who you are,” he braced his hand high on the wall, his back muscles and tattoos visible under his thin wife beater. “Can I have a clue?”

She continued to ignore his question. “If you’re interested I might have a job for you. It pays well, and it will only be a couple hours out of your day.”

He dropped his hand from the wall and slipped it into his arm pit. “How much is ‘well’?”

She told him it would be a couple grand for a few hours, and he almost said yes before he even asked what the job even was.

“What’s the catch, baby?” He was still under the assumption that this was someone he had carnal knowledge of, and not a complete stranger. “Cause my days of being a high paid assassin are behind me.”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” she purred. “It’s just that I’m going to an event in a couple days and I need to hire a body guard to be my escort.”

Steve scoffed at the simplicity of what she was asking. “That’s all? Sweetheart, I’m your man.”

“I knew you were the right man for the job,” she praised.

“Hey,” he turned to give the woman in his chair a silent wink and thumbs up to let her know he’d be right there. “You still haven’t told me your name. I’m good with faces, darlin’, but voices? Not so much.”

“You can call me Char,” she told him, giving him her phone number. He took the cap off a pen with his teeth and ripped out a page from the phone book to write it down. “Give me a call when you’re done and we can work out the details.”

Char...Char...Steve’s mind raced with who that might be. But, damn all he could think of was how nice it would be to get his hands on that money. They’d been living paycheck to paycheck for a while now, and it would be nice to put a little extra in the bank so he could breathe for a fucking second. Body guard gigs were a piece of cake, and hell, if she wanted to pay him to have sex with her he might even agree to that as well, depending on what she was offering. Now, with Tina sniffing around again, he was on edge every second, and not sure if she really wanted to be in Oliver’s life, in which case he’d need to pay out the ass to hire a lawyer, or if she just wanted to squeeze his balls for more dough.

He couldn’t wait to brag to Eddie how mysterious women were stumbling over themselves to pay his bail and his bills.

--------

John made small talk with you as the driver, who was behind a black tinted partition, maneuvered the car up through the woods toward the lake. You passed a few MC members cruising along with the wind in their faces, and your heart stuck in your throat, hoping one of them were Eddie. Even Steve or Thumper would’ve been a welcome sight in that moment.

John was a gentleman, from what you could tell, and he was doing everything he could to make you comfortable, but you still felt terribly out of place; both in body and soul. To make matters worse, you were already missing Eddie. You realized that you could’ve gone to be with him that night instead, and the weight of your choice made your heart heavy. The song No Ordinary Love by Sade dripped softly from the speaker near your leg and it drowned out John’s voice for a few seconds as you thought about the beautiful, loving man you’d left waiting for you at home.

A magic, purple dusk exploded over the lake, between the trees as John came around to open your door and extend his hand for you to take.

“I don’t think I said it yet,” the side of his mouth lifted in a grin. He smelled like spices and expensive, Italian leather. “But you look absolutely stunning tonight.”

You rolled your shoulders and did the best to put all of your weight on the balls of your feet as you adjusted to the heels. He extended the crook of his arm to you and you took it, feeling like you were on some strange prom date.

Ahead of you was a walkway that led through a Japanese-style garden with a large Koi pond, on the way to a long, wide ranch-style building with gold lanterns dangling from the roof.

Sakura Black was known for it’s Japanese and Asian fusion cuisine. You’d only read about it in magazines, of course, and so it was a treat to see it all up close.

There was tight security from the time your chauffeur let you out at the curb to where you entered the building. A handful of muscular guys whose shoulders looked too big for their suit jackets, and whose necks were wider than their heads, talked to each other through ear pieces with dramatically serious faces, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were with the FBI or Secret Service. John didn’t even have to acknowledge them; they instantly ushered him through because they clearly recognized him.

You knew it was no secret that John was married, and you wondered what people thought your relationship was with him. Did they think you were one of his mistresses? Or was it a regular occurrence for him to bring young women there for dinner to talk over business deals? You honestly had no idea if you looked like a lucky girl or a fool to them.

Inside, the décor was warm tones and sharp edges; industrial design, with a pristine air of perfection and minimalism. You were a bit shocked when you realized that it made you miss the chaotic, clammy, nicotine saturated air of the Velvet Hammer.

The host with the wire rimmed glasses saw you and John coming, and got a bit flustered, before he stole himself for a proper greeting. “Your table is waiting, Mr. Gregson,” he extended his arm, encouraging you both to follow him down three steps to the main dining floor. There were solid windows along the back wall for a view of the lake at dusk, and the place was dimly lit, almost too dim for you to see if there were any celebrities in the crowd as you tried to scan around without moving your head. Soft murmuring voices heard over metal clinking on ceramic as waiters brought flaming dishes out on rolling carts.

John’s table was down close to one of the windows; there were two tealights burning in glass bubbles, and a bottle of red wine at the ready. You slipped free of John’s arm so that the host could pull your chair out for you, and you just so happened to move back two steps too many and you bumped into someone.

You both turned around at the same time to gush your apologies, and that was when you realized that the person you’d just smacked into was, in fact, the actor Richard Gere himself.

--------

Eddie was restless. He took a shower, and then nearly wore a hole in the floor from pacing.

He should’ve told you he didn’t want you to go. He should’ve told you...how he felt about you. God, was it too late? What if you realized that having an affair with with a rich dude was just what you needed? It would take away all of your stress, and you could stop working your ass off at the Velvet Hammer. It would help your art career, and you’d never have to worry about money. Surely, John Gregson was intelligent, well-spoken, successful—the type of man you deserved to be with. Since you met Eddie, your life had fallen into chaos and damn near poverty. In fact, the more he thought about it, what the hell did you even seen in him anyway?

He fully intended to wait by the phone until you called, but the minutes felt like hours, and he decided to take a ride over to Steve’s house for some company. Steve was still at the shop, but Robin had just arrived home after picking up Oliver, and it was a much needed distraction from his intrusive thoughts.

He read Oliver a bedtime story (it was coincidentally also one of his favorites: Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs) while Robin put away the dishes, and then the two adults had a beer out on the patio under dim yellow light where insects tapped and buzzed.

One sip and Robin sat up in her chair, regarding him with wide eyes. “Hold on, I almost forgot to tell you how hot your woman looked tonight. Wowza!”

Eddie’s beer paused halfway to his mouth and his smile dropped.

Robin licked her bottom teeth as she grinned, bending her knee to put her foot on the chair. “She was gorgeous, but also very sophisticated and elegant. Total show-stopper. You would’ve been on your knees.”

Eddie was gripping his beer can so tight, he crushed it a bit, forcing liquid to spurt out of the top.

“Yeah, how long ago was that?” Eddie asked in a mumble.

“How long was what? When I saw your girl? Um, maybe an hour ago. I left right after to pick Ollie up.”

Robin started talking about the whole mess with Tina, and a few minutes in, Eddie got to his feet. “I gotta go, Rob. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for the beer.”

“You have to go...right now? Seriously dude?” She balked. But Eddie was already grabbing his leather and taking long strides around the house to where he parked the chopper.

Robin sighed heavily into the mouth of her beer just before taking a few large gulps.

--------

Richard Gere reached out and put his palm on your elbow. “Are you okay? I didn’t meant to bulldoze into you like that.”

You were understandably speechless for a moment, mouth agape, as you looked from his face to the other people at his table. A part of you hoped to see Cindy Crawford there, but then you remembered they’d been divorced for a couple years. There were two other people with him: an older gentleman you did not recognize, and a woman who could’ve very well been a runway model.

You were about to speak when John came up behind you, resting his hand at your lower back. “Richard,” John greeted as they both shook hands. They knew each other? John introduced you. “This is that talented painter I was telling you about. I’m commissioning a piece for our lake house.”

Richard regarded you with invested interested. “A-ha, that’s right. I’d love to see your work. Do you have a card?”

“I don’t have one with me, but I---” you stammered, disbelief clouding your cognitive functions.

John’s hand made circles on your back as he spoke. “I’ll have my secretary send over her information tomorrow,” he told Richard.

Once the two of you were finally scooting into your table, John raised his eyebrow. “Richard’s a good friend, and an avid art collector. He loves finding new talent, that’s why I told him about you.”

Your heart raced as you put your napkin in your lap. Your seat faced the entrance where you’d just come in, and the side of Richard. He turned and winked at you as he put his hand onto the leg of the supermodel next to him.

The menu items didn’t have any prices on them, except for the wine list which had some going for hundreds of dollars. It made you gulp. You could probably live for a month on what these people were paying for one dinner.

“Is it okay if I order for you?” John asked, small, tortoise shell readers as the end of his nose. You were more than grateful for that suggestion, and he didn’t seem at all bothered when you said you were a vegetarian. Your waiter poured the wine, John started with appetizers, and the two of you proceeded to stick to the topic of business, and what he was hoping for in the artwork for his den.

It started to be less and less like a date and more like dinner with a friend, which made you feel a whole lot better about everything. You wondered what the story was between John and Charlene: how they met, how they fell in love, how they grew so far apart. There was probably someone there in the crowd who would see the two of you together and report back to Charlene. Would she even care?

Also, you really missed Eddie. You watched John hold his hands out in front of him, explaining a piece of art he bought while he was in Italy, with the romantic lake as a backdrop, and all you could think about was how you’d rather be kissing Eddie in the alley behind the Velvet Hammer, surrounded by the smell of rotting trash.

John expressly told the waiter to let the chef know which substitutions they required for your dietary needs, and he ordered another bottle of wine. You were watching him pour it when, several tables down, you spotted a waiter who you swore was your previous work colleague, Jeff. Just then, the guy with the golden blonde hair locked eyes with you at the same time and a wild look flashed across his face before he regained his composure and finished taking the order at the table he was at.

“Excuse me for just a moment?” You said to John as you got up from the table and placed your napkin on your seat. “I need to….” what was the phrase again? You couldn’t tell him you needed to use the toilet, that was vulgar. “...to go to the powder room. I’ll be right back.”

You made your way along the main floor and then up the steps, making eye contact with Jeff and motioning covertly for him to follow you. Jeff jerked his head, motioning you in the other direction, down between the bar and the kitchen. You both did good work of keeping your composure until you were hidden and out of ear shot.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jeff blurted, bouncing on the balls of his feet a bit.

“Um, I was about to ask you the same thing? Hello? You quit the gallery?” You exchanged a hug as you talked.

“Yeah, fuck that place,” Jeff adjusted the front of his shirt. “Besides you would not believe the celebrity sightings here. I’m gonna get swept off my feet soon.”

“Yeah no kidding,” you agreed in a whisper. “Richard Gere is basically sitting at our table.”

You were both speed-talking because neither one had much time.

“Who is that hot daddy you’re with?” Jeff asked.

“You’ll never believe it.”

“Try me?”

“It’s Charlene Gregson’s husband,” you said, exposing your lower teeth in a cringe.

Jeff made his mouth into an exaggerated “O” shape. “Girl, you have a lot of explaining to do. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Why didn’t you call ME?”

One of the other servers walked by and you hugged again, agreeing adamantly to meet up for cocktails as you wiggled fingers at each other to say farewell. You came up into the reception area, about to turn and make your way back down to the restaurant, when a deep voice made you freeze in your tracks.

“Hey.” It was Eddie.

---------

Eddie didn’t have a plan, he was just going. His hair flew in the wind, his hands twisting high up on the ape hanger handlebars, thundering along the winding mountain road like the devil was on his heels.

Sure, the restaurant you were at had tight security, but half of them were buddies of his. Plus, he wouldn’t have given a shit if he had to take them all on. In fact, bashing some heads in would’ve felt pretty fucking good in that moment.

He told Mick and Angus at the gate that he was there to cover for one of the guys, and they let him him right in; engine revving as the chopper crawled up the driveway and found a place right next to a red Ferrari. He ran his hand through his hair, rings clicking together as he swung his leg off the bike, adjusting his Coffin Kings leather cut over his plain white tee, exposing the tattoos from his neck to fingers. The black jeans he had on did not have holes in them but still—he was vastly under dressed for this crowd. God, he secretly hoped someone had the guts to try and throw him out; that would be fun.

He walked up to Rodney—a big dude with most of his dark hair in a buzz cut, but for the 5 inch long rat tail at the back---and offered him a smoke. Rodney had to wear his shirt buttoned at the collar and at his wrists to hide all of his tattoos. There were two other square-head dudes in suits positioned at the door, but Eddie didn’t know them.

He pointed his chin at the two in question, exhaling smoke. “Will I get any trouble from those two if I go in?”

Rodney wiped his nose with his thumb as his cheeks caved in for another drag. “Nah, they don’t mess with the Kings, man. They’re just gym bros. Say ‘boo’ and they’ll piss themselves.”

He made small talk for another minute or two, and then tossed his smoke when it was only halfway finished.

The two at the door moved immediately for Eddie, just as Rodney suggested they would. They even bowed their heads a bit, as if he were some type of mystical royalty.

The guy at the reception desk forgot to blink when he looked up at him, wondering if he should call the police or scream, but Eddie raised his hand with a partial smile, letting him know he didn’t want any trouble. “I’m just checking to see if someone is here,” he let him know. “It’s an emergency.”

“How about I check for you?” The guy in the wire-rimmed glasses asked nervously, shuffling papers. “Can I have a name?”

“No,” Eddie answered bluntly as he kept walking.

He stepped beyond a black partition to where he had a view of the lake windows and the people dining down below.

And then there you were.

Looking like a million bucks and then some. As confident as he’d been entering the building, now butterflies were exploding in his stomach and his face flushed with heat. If he didn’t know you, he’d be too nervous to even speak to you. You had always been way out of his league, but the way you looked that night really solidified the fact.

“Hey,” he said.

----------

“Eddie?” You stopped and looked around, not sure what was happening. “Baby, what are you doing here?”

You grabbed his hand and took him around the other side of the partition so that you weren’t right out in plain sight.

Eddie looked you up and down. “Did he buy you that dress?”

You only swallowed, and your silence said it all.

You took hold of his forearm, trying to meet his shifting gaze. “I promised you I’d call when I got home, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

He’d rehearsed the words over and over on the ride there, but now they might as well have been a foreign language.

Eddie cast his gaze beyond you to all of the people eating their dinner as he shifted his jaw from side to side. “Did you tell him you have a boyfriend? Maybe I should introduce myself.”

“Baby, baby, baby, look at me,” you coaxed; one finger hooked in his belt loop and one guiding his face so that he’d look at you. His skin was hot, like he had a temperature. “I can’t do this with you right now. Please. You’re stressing me out. I’ll come by your place as soon as I’m done here, okay?”

Eddie knew he was blowing it. Internally, he tried that little meditation trick when you count back from ten or whatever the fuck, and he took a deep breath, but it didn’t help.

He kissed your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he sucked his plump bottom lip into his teeth, biting down. “You’re just...so beautiful.”

You rose up to kiss his lips, and then you squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll call you once I’m home, and then I’ll come over okay? I promise.”

Eddie nodded as you got further away from him, so far that you finally had to let go of his hand as your reach stretched to its limit. After you made your way down the couple of steps, you turned around to make eye contact with him again, but he was looking down.

Once you got back to the table, you stretched your neck up to check, and you didn’t see him standing in the same spot anymore, so you let out a relieved sigh. Your meals were on the table, and you apologized for taking so long. “I ran into a friend,” you told John.

After a bit more conversation and a couple bites of food, you glanced over to see that Jeff was shuffling his way over to your table. The smile he had pressed across his face was not reaching his eyes as he came up beside you and John.

He asked your name, as if he didn’t know it. “There is a...telephone call for you. Follow me please?”

You exchanged a look with John as you finished chewing your food and pushed your chair out. You excused yourself, again.

“Take your time,” John called to you as you followed behind Jeff.

Jeff did not take you to a telephone; he motioned for you to follow him around the other side of the bar, to a narrow hallway hidden behind a black velvet curtain. The sounds of the shouts and pans clinking in the kitchen were clear as day.

There was Eddie, waiting with his arms crossed. Jeff patted your hand as he left you there and walked away.

“Baby what...” your shoulders dropped, exasperated.

“Hold up, wait,” Eddie put his hand out. “I have something to say, and then you can go back to doing...whatever.”

You leaned against the door that said EXIT above it in orange letters. You really just wanted to get this dinner over so you could, indeed, be with Eddie again, but he was intent on dragging it out.

Eddie cast his gaze to the floor, hooking his thumbs into his front belt loops. “Listen, I know I don’t deserve you, okay?”

“Eddie---”

“Shhhh,” he whispered. “Let me finish.”

You blinked and nodded, trying to be patient.

“So, I know I don’t have a lot right now, but one day I will. I’ll be comfortable at least. I’m not going to be in that apartment over the garage forever. I’ve made investments, I have some plans,” his eyes flicked to yours only briefly. “I’ve got enough money saved right now, what if I commission a painting from you? I can pay you whatever this dickhead is offering.”

You opened your mouth to speak but then--

He put his hand at your waist, urging you closer. “I wanna be the one you come to, baby. I want to take care of you. I will, if you’ll just let me.”

You couldn’t look at him for some reason, tears pooled at your lash line, and a lump lodged in your throat, your lip quivering. You’d been taking care of yourself for so long, you hadn’t realized how nice it would sound for someone to offer such a thing

The tip of his tongue came out to wet his bottom lip, and he slid his hand up along the side of your face, urging your eyes to meet his. “All I wanna do is make you happy and keep you safe,” his thumb brushed across the side of your mouth. “You’re everything to me, baby. I just wanna know that you’re mine.”

“But I am yours,” your voice squeaked as you sniffed back pending tears.

“Yeah, well, there’s something else,” Eddie’s heart rate quickened. He stepped forward to close the distance between the two of you and touched his forehead to yours briefly.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he continued, swallowing hard. Your wet eyes were possibly contagious because his chocolate eyes were glistening now too. “But I’m just so fucking in love with you that I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel like I’m---”

But then you smashed your lips to his, blinking tears down your cheeks, tasting the salt as it dripped down your lips and mingled with your shared saliva. Your hands wandered all over each other, begging for purchase, eager moans vibrating in your throats. His words and the sweet eagerness of the kiss threatened to make a mess of your underwear right there in the restaurant.

You blinked and sniffed as you met his eyes again. You were shaking your head, almost in disbelief at the circumstances. “I love you so much,” you admitted, relieved to say the words after they’d been living on your tongue for so long.

Eddie found your mouth again, clutching the back of your neck to pull you closer, speaking in between eager kisses. “You do? Say it again, baby. Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmured against his lips as he wrapped his arms around and crushed you to him. The last I love you made a little laugh hitch in your throat at the absurdity of where this confession was taking place.

Eddie picked you up so that your feet were off the ground for a second, making you squeal, and then he searched your eyes, his pupils blown. “God, I want to be inside of you so bad right now,” he breathed.

You reached down to feel the outline of his cock grow stiff in his jeans, and you thought about telling John that there was an emergency and you had to split.

He rubbed his nose on yours and then took your wrist and flattened your palm over his heart. “You can finish your dinner, baby, I’ll wait for you in the parking lot, I don’t care how long it takes. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Part 12

------

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lovecolibri · 2 months ago

Note

Am I a loser for fearing that this will be like BT 1.0 in that it is dragged out and remains stale and chemistry-less and harmful to Buck's character (for being with a not good person and not caring about said person's bad deeds) and the twist will be that it doesn't end 😭 Don't hate me for being negative...I was not negative until today, seeing that gremlin in the promotions and Tim showing favoritism to anti-Buddies yet again on FB.

And it's so funny that all my concern stems from social media activity and nothing about what I'm seeing on the show itself. Because the show has shown he is a non-entity - giving him and Buck no development, HIM no development, no evolution, no appeal, since last season. Yet maybe the writing and producing IS just that bad now.

Sorry to be a bit of a pessimist. I just feel like the vibe shifted dramatically over the past day and I'm in my feelings, I guess.

First of all, you're not a loser! There is a long history of TV shows NOT following through on things for fans of a popular fandom ship, including this one, back ins season 4, leading to that godawful BT 1.0 mess in the first place!

There is a lot of reasons this gets compared to the OG BT, because the show seems to be giving them no development and he's so clearly WRONG for Buck and seems to enjoy talking down to him and watching him deflate a little each time, and also it makes Buck look kinda shitty for dating someone who purposefully hurt, and delighted in hurting people Buck loves. I have said multiple times I wasn't ever worried about tay kay as a LI in s4 because she called him "needy" in that nasty voice on the heels of the audience seeing how absolutely shit his parents were and where all those issues came from, so I was sure that was the narrative telling us she wasn't going to work out. Only to get slapped in the face with an entire fucking season of Buck looking miserable with her, which was never addressed, him trying to talk about their issues and the firefam lecturing HIM about HIS failings instead of ever being allowed to talk about how they felt about her given their past (you can't tell me back in s4 Athena would EVER willingly let that woman in her and Bobby's home, much less feed her), and then watch her nearly get Chim and Hen killed and STILL get a fucking "amicable" breakup of the "oh no one was really to blame, it just didn't work out" variety. So like. Yeah, sometimes the writing is just That Bad 🤷🏻‍♀️

What I will say about all of that though, is we now have information we didn't back in s4. Information like, we weren't seeing things and there WAS a set up planned, and discussed with Oliver (at least, likely Ryan too since the shooting was Like That and what the fuck other bi realization was Buck gonna have, or gay realization was Eddie gonna have after his breakup with Ana was Like That), but the network forced the changes. Tim fucked off to go smash other dolls together (and lost his mind a little bit over on LS, probably because he leveraged that shit into getting to do whatever he wanted, plus the whole RL effect), and the story got changed and, as Tim pointed out, it made the show markedly worse. I'm not putting all my faith and trust in a network, but I will say ABC knows what kind of accolades, awards, and hype this kind of story will bring them and that is something I DO trust.

8x01 might be fluke like the handful of watchable episodes in s5-6, but it truly felt like the Buck we know and love was back, the focus was on the core four and on the emergencies, there was *heart* in the emergency, we got dispatch properly involved, and even the Athena stuff took a turn for a more rescue-focused adventure than the Con-Air prison transport plane mishap I was expecting. The bees sounded ridiculous and like they could be one emergency, like freeway shark my beloved, or *maybe* hold a whole episode, but I was NOT expecting much for a disaster opening and was fully prepared for s5 levels of zoo animals promotion vs actual 3 episodes of creeper being creepy cop storyline. But they actually...kinda pulled it off?? It's no tsunami or earthquake by a LONG shot, and I'm still reserving judgment until the arc is over (I enjoyed the cruise ship disaster but it needed more core four on sight helping with rescues which make it drag a little being so separate from everything else), but it felt like a season 2 or 3 episode at heart!

All this to say, *EYE*, notorious salt gremlin and hater (because trying for low expectations is what works for me!), am feeling more hopeful about the show as a whole than I have in awhile. And I'm going to hold your hand so gently when I give this advice, you can take it or not (for some people, needing to know everything is what works for them, so you do you!), but do not listen to that middle-aged white man and what he does on facebook. Or anywhere. Do not listen to that man! He is a shit-stirrer, and he is a liar! They all are in interviews! Him and Oliver both said "hardly any time skip" and then they did the exact same 3 month time skip they have ALWAYS done between the spring season ending and the fall premier! He lies! He interacts with shit he probably doesn't even read, just promotes his show! He does not care about upsetting us because people shouting over each other about the show just reads to him, and the people above him to let him do things, as the show having enough impact to be talked about! I personally have good feelings because he likes to get his way and ABC gave him something in 4 episodes he'd been trying to do since s4. And they originally green-lit it being another character so it feels like there were plans for both and timing just got switched.

DO NOT LET THAT MAN STEAL YOUR JOY!

I'm not going to tell you that of course it's all going to work out and be perfect and everything we wanted, but I WILL say, we all saw how fucking miserable Oliver was in s5 and 6, how checked out and disengaged he was (he was SO CLOSE and they TOOK IT from him! Fuck FOX forever!), and we saw how he was/is in interviews with or about that man, vs how happy and excited he was/is when talking about Ryan/Eddie/Buddie right now, how much he's engaging and sharing, and WHAT he is sharing. We saw the shift from filming episodes 5-6 to the back half of s7 for both him and Ryan. It's very loud, and while some kinda similar vibes have come through before, we have knowledge now we didn't before about why we kept getting those vibes and then having them pulled back. We know WHO was standing in the way and it wasn't Tim and it sure as fuck wasn't Oliver or Ryan, and that doesn't appear to be an issue anymore. 🤷🏻‍♀️

I hope my rambling incoherence was helpful, Nonnie!

#my sweet nonnie friends #911 #anti bucktommy #anti tommy kinard #to be safe #buddie #YES tim is a buddie warrior but he is also a troll and has an ego and does whatever the fuck he wants #like any other middle-aged white man #also like #we knew that man would be back because they told us he would be back #but they also told us there is something to tell there and if we're lucky it will tie into gerrard and the begins episodes #and make buck being the focus of that arc make some kind of actual fucking sense #unfortunately we will just have to wait and see which is always the worst part!#chin up nonnie! we made it through a whole fucking season of BT1.0 which should have ended before halloween #i don't think our suffering is going to be quite as long this time

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sweetpea-sprite · 5 months ago

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wait the wizard king is evil in dotdd??

hi anon. i've been putting off answering this ask for over a week. you know this. the thing about this ask is that i know. i KNOW. that if i answer this it will restart the cycle (lol) of me thinking about dotdd's wizard king and NOT STOPPING THINKING ABOUT IT for weeks if not months. i also think i've answered this before so technically i don't have to do this to myself but we all know i'm gonnaANGEL JUST DMED ME WITH A FIC SNIPPET ABOUT THIS VERY FUCKING THING. YOU'RE ALL TRYING TO DRASG ME BAVK IN I CAN'T FUCKING DO THIS AGAINNNNNN YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME I THOUGHT I WAS FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!! I THOUGHT I WAS FREE

just kidding i am never free ^-^ dotdd true ending spoilers under the cut

i don't even know where to start. like. i don't know. al-khemi's half human and his mother fucked a 10 story tall genie who can make buildings using alchemy?

that's the core concept of dotdd's postgame. is alchemising a building - moya tower - so that you can go to the top floor and defeat the evil wizard king. the wizard king who is evil. the wizard king who wants to be a god. the tower is 100 floors high; you get the key for the top floor from horace's final quest, where he reveals that he climbed the tower himself and tried to fight the wizard king, but was ultimately killed in battle. "ok ruby this all sounds cool but relatively normal in reference to wotww" WRONG! POPULAR FAN THEORY SAYS HORACE HAD A HUSBAND

("popular fan theory" means i came up with it because for a long long time i was the only english-speaking dotdd fan i knew and also separately i later discovered japanese fans came up with it so i'm basically correct and beautiful all the time always. anyway)

before we get into the miragapo trenches i do want to mention the evil shit the wizard king got up to here, most notably the fact that the three stone guardians are evil for real now, except cerboreas who turns out is just A DOG THAT THE WIZARD KING STOLE FROM A LITTLE KID. LIKE HE WAS A REALLY GOOD GUARD DOG SO HE JUST TOOK HIM. AND THE KID WENT INTO THE GLITTERING GROTTO TO FIND HIM AND GOT LOST AND DIED IN THERE. cerboreas's original name was grey. by the way. if you even care. also crossbones is a capitalist.? anyway

in dotdd there is a coliseum that is completely and entirely different to the solosseum in wotww. it's situated in del mokahl, a casino town (also unique to dotdd) and is sponsored by a man named giovanni gappolino, also known as the casino king. during the coliseum, you fight - alongside other opponents - nicky, your rival who is just deeply obsessed with oliver in a really. he's gay. so the prize for the coliseum ends up being a ticket to the next division of the coliseum, one where you fight all the great sages + solomon and umbopa + nicky as a fun surprise round where he tells you that mr gappolino is his dad and implies he's neglectful AFTER you beat him to a pulp just so you feel bad + finally giovanni gappolino himself.

after THIS division khulan comes out and reveals that giovanni is actually a sage who has been around since the wizard king was sealed by a deity. he has been masquerading as a rich man playing with his toys when in reality he has been desperately searching for someone strong enough to take down the wizard king for real this time, by running the coliseum and waiting for someone to get through it all.

we are not given a reason for why he is doing this. this is an appropriate time to mention horace's "friend".

when you meet horace in hamelin (notably, the town directly after meeting him in del mokahl; also notably, in del mokahl he gets especially frustrated about not having all his memories back and he and oliver get into a small fight about it) he's very excited because he remembers that he had a friend! and they went up a tower together! and they were besties! "an amazing, dependable, wonderful friend!" that's what he says! sounding a bit gay there horologium.

anyway. you can see the pieces slot into place. horace and giovanni climbed the tower together. they got to the top. they confronted the wizard king. he was sealed. giovanni made it back. horace did not. at some point during this whole process they probably explored each other's bodies. hopefully not after the death ! and then giovanni spent a thousand years trying to find someone who could avenge him.

they drive me fucking nuts and they're based on a theory that isn't even canon. do you understand what miragapo does to me. are you kidding? guy who has been trying to avenge his dead husband for a thousand years? AND he's a neglectful father? COME ON

...so that's the miragapo side of things. um. you asked about the wizard king. sorry you now know about the miragapo agenda

SO. you climb to the top of moya tower. you use the key that horace gave you. you get to the top.

it looks cool as hell. you walk forward to confront the wizard king, and mornstar, in oliver's hand, reacts to the presence of astra, in the wizard king's hand. you fight. his attacks follow a very specific pattern. when you whittle his health down, he gets a second phase where his attacks turn more unpredictable. also, he looks cool as hell

you defeat him. you go through the victory screen and discover that it's just oliver, no drippy esther or swaine, with the wizard king. and it gets horrifying and fun.

the wizard king gives oliver astra and teaches him how to use the spell, remarking that he won't be needing it anymore. oliver furrows his brow. and asks why he wanted to become a god. and he responds:

"hmm. i forgot. why did i want to rail against the heavens? i wish i knew. i've forgotten all of those things... it must be the fault of that... throne. or else... heh heh... perhaps it was you who caused me to forget...?"

he turns to oliver and starts to fade away, as all the other ghosts in the game have done. and he says to oliver - who still holds astra: "here... is where our shadows went. in order to figure out the mysteries of magic, for all curious wizards... i'm sure that will come in handy as you try to surmount the final hurdle."

"and so... you have become a fountain overflowing with power, you foolish young man."

and then he fades. and oliver's friends come back. and they celebrate the defeat of the wizard king, and oliver's new wand. and as they turn to head back down the tower, the scene lingers on oliver's laugh for a moment - and then pans up to the empty throne, with the giant eye above it looking directly at oliver. and then the credits roll.

this is what drives me fucking insane. in both wotww and dotdd, oliver has both wands; by all means, he should be the new wizard king. in wotww you don't really think about it too hard because the wizard king is a good guy, so oliver will end up like him; in dotdd it MAKES you think about it too hard because OLIVER WILL END UP LIKE HIM.

oliver's fate at the end of dotdd is unknown, but it's constantly said that he has a choice, and it's constantly implied that he will choose badly. there's more evidence for this throughout the game as well, a bunch of small things that seem innocent enough but kill you if you know what they're referring to. there's a fortune teller in hamelin who tries to read oliver's fortune and comes up confused because she can't, and remarks she's "never gazed into the future of one of his ilk". there's a skeleton in coconanda who wishes for oliver to live for a thousand years or more. by far the most prominent of these comes from nicky in the coliseum, who at one point asks oliver, "we have both hope and hopelessness waiting for us, don't we? which one do you want to hold onto, oliver?". hell, the ENTIRE COLISEUM you are competing for PANDORA'S BOX. THAT'S WHAT THE PRIZE IS. AND OLIVER OPENS IT AT THE END and gets a mandragorer out of it BUT THE POINT IS THAT IT'S PANDORA'S BOX!!!!!! THE BOX THAT CONTAINS ALL THE HOPE AND HOPELESSNESS OF THE WORLD. YOU KNOW PANDORA'S BOX. and if you've played wotww's own postgame you will know that the conductor very specifically calls out oliver's curiosity as a large trait of his. if you know anything about the myth of pandora's box you will know that she opened it because she was MADE TO BE CURIOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

however. you won't believe this but there's more. the most damning piece of evidence we have for this outside of the wizard king himself is actually the only thing we have officially translated, because it's in the wizard's companion - both of them! it made it to wotww's companion, so they translated it! on page 282-283 of wotww's companion, there is an illustration depicting the wizard king.

this is actually depicting dotdd's wizard king; at the end (read the story starting top left, then circle back around) you can see the wizard king attempting to get into heaven using a ladder, but being pushed out, followed by the moya eye and him sitting on the throne. you can also see that the magic he's putting out in the middle... isn't exactly friendly. in any case - there is nazcaan around the edges! it reads:

On the first day a wand will be held aloft; On the second day lightning will arc; On the third day a storm will rage; On the fourth day the earth will be rent asunder; On the fifth day a great wave will crash; On the sixth day flames will dance; On the seventh day a blizzard will howl; And on the eighth day a new king will bring the light; And the world shall kneel before him.

first of all: earlier i mentioned the wizard king's first phase in dotdd follows a specific pattern. this is the pattern! he follows this prophecy! he repeats this pattern over and over! it's really neat.

second of all holy fucking shit it's a cycle and he repeats it over and over.

the prophecy loops perfectly. the wizard king gives astra to oliver and effectively crowns him the new king. it's a LOOP!!!!!!!!!! the ouroboros (or oroboros. lol) consumes its own tail. oliver is prophecised to be the next wizard king and absolutely 100% it is not guaranteed that he will be evil. it is not guaranteed that he will fall to hopelessness. but HOLY SHIT it looks like that's what's going to happen.

and to loop back around to miragapo and nicky. because they're everything to me. i didn't even go off on a long tangent about nicky this post! i just mentioned him briefly! are you all proud of me. too bad i'm about to break it. the miragapo nickiver parallels... augh. what would you do if you found a kid to avenge your dead husband after a thousand years and he manages it only to then go on to become what you were trying to beat. AND your kid is in love with him and is the only one able to stand up to him. like what do you do in that situation. because truly i believe nicky wouldn't let oliver do that without a fight. they have a whole entire coliseum-based arc about which of them is going to be the one to defeat the wizard king. you think oliver's gonna BECOME the next wizard king and nicky's gonna take that LYING DOWN? NO. this is why nickiver does cocomelon shit to me

anyway. toooooo answer your question. yeah he is. ...and so is oliver, probably.

...i do really think we look over the "al-khemi is half human and his mother fucked a frankly too big genie" thing too often it's just that the rest of it is so Like That that you truly just forget

#THIS IS 2000 WORDS #THIS IS WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME. I'VE BARELY EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT THIS FOR LIKE A MONTH #...MAYBE A FEW MONTHS...?#ask #dotdd spoilers #don't play dotdd for the moya storyline btw watch a playthrough #moya tower gameplay wise SUCKSSSSSSSS #IT SUCKS BADDDDDDDD #if you wanna get the full experience of moya tower BEING BAD. FOREVER then you can #...it's not worse than nnk2's dlc labyrinth.#that's the best i can say.#ni no kuni #ni no kuni: dominion of the dark djinn

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askastillyquestion · 5 months ago

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Any and all headcanons of Adrien😫

I'm all ears 👁👂🏾

The way I like writing Adrien is blending his Chat Noir self with the canon parts of himself that he tries to show.

As for Maribat Adrien, give his man some love even if it is in the form of angst. He should be more of a 'main character' in fics.

Okay, mini rant aside. Here are some attempts at headcanons.

The Bio-Parent for Adrien should be Oliver Queen, Barry Allen, or a random af rogue that Emilie marries (or a mix of these)

The reason I see Oliver Queen is because he could keep that 'high class' type of thing with Oliver while dropping the crappy parent. This would also open up fun stuff like Adrien and Roy brotherhood or even romance so Roy truly becomes part of the family.

Barry Allen is because Adrien Allen. Okay for real though. Speedster Adrien just sits right in mind alongside Bat/Super Mari and Lantern Alya. He feels like a speedster. Also, think of the possible angst of Barry losing Iris and Adrien getting a positive experience of no longer having his mother.

As for the rogue thing, I just love the idea of Emilie sticking it to Gabriel and escaping. Adrien getting his quirkiness from Riddler or having a weird trait from Penguin would be so interesting to see.

Adrien makes more sense to be Adopted by Bruce than Marinette does

Okay, okay, put the pitchforks and torches down.

If you are taking the direction of Adrien's parents staying the same and Gabriel being revealed, no one can tell me that Adrien doesn't deserve to be adopted more than Marinette.

I understand that guardianship is super hard on Marinette but letting her parents stay alive instead of murdering them or turning them bad feels like it would give such a great connection moment. Let her grieve all of the time she has lost to fighting Hawkmoth by confiding into her parents. They're so accepting that I just wish they got more love (yes the Lila convincing them easily isn't good but the show makes her op at times with that).

Adrien might not fit the appearance quota of Black-hair, Blue-eyes but he fits that tragic tale. Why take Marinette and put her through everything to seem 'worthy of adoption' by Bruce when Adrien is living that life already? Usually, it is because writers feel more comfortable with Mari and the show does Adrien dirty.

The last bit on this one is I can see Adrien and Bruce having this awkwardness that they have to work through in order to connect. Adrien is thrilled to have someone who cares for him again, but needs to learn to work through the thoughts of 'am I just going to lose a parent again?' It just screams potential!

Adrien enjoys playing piano when he's not forced to

This one is relatively 'simple' compared to the others, but I feel like Adrien would use music as a way to express his feelings.

In the show, we see him play with Kitty Section and it feels like he enjoys it. That is something that Gabriel isn't forcing him to learn and he's enjoying it. Could that be from a general enjoyment of not having to do something purely because Gabriel says so? Yes.

Adrien continuing to play would be nice to see. Let him take one thing out of the experiences that Gabriel forces him into. The modeling being a thing he continues has always felt weird to me unless it is to help Marinette and she appreciates it. Otherwise, it just feels off to me.

That took so long to answer because I got stolen away halfway through but hopefully those scratch some itches! Adrien deserves more love in the fandom so I will always try to come up with ways to appreciate it.

Thanks for the ask!

#maribat #Adribat #adrien agreste #mlb x dc #asks are always welcome #Maribat Adrien headcanons #headcanon

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purrassicjet · 4 months ago

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@snakeoil2 thank you for endulging me <3 here's your reward, the first section of Jawbone/Oliver's perspective for Darkest Times, Brightest People:

Oliver O’Shaughnessy had never been one for the gossip magazines.

He usually walked right past, maybe skimming the titles if he was really bored.

But things change. People change.

Suddenly, the gossip magazines were the only entertainment he could afford.

The most recent scandal had caught his eye, though. He reached out for the latest issue of Hot Odyssey, who seemed to be covering the issue the most. Apparently they had managed to get an interview with the woman involved. She was on the cover. An elven woman with long brown hair who couldn’t have been older than him, younger even. She looked scared, but the magazine made it seem like she was some temptress. His brow furrowed. They had been at the throat of that woman for just over a month now, and she always looked… sad in the pictures they took of her. He flipped to the page with the interview, skimming the article and feeling a pit develop in his stomach.

Me: So, Sandra, what led you to try and break up the marriage of such a pillar of our community?

SS: I didn’t! I swear!

Me: Come on now, you can be honest with me.

SS: I am! Is this why you asked for an interview? Just to try and pin this on me?!

Sandra continued to become more enraged the more the interview went on, sadly, I cannot write down what she said, out of fear of risking my publisher dropping me.

He shut the magazine in frustration, an animalistic growl rumbling in the back of his throat. He hated how he didn’t sound human anymore.

He put the magazine back on the stand, stuffing his hands in his pockets. There was no way that woman was the temptress the magazines always said she was. She didn’t look like she would have done what she was accused of, especially with the way she talked in that interview. He regarded the woman for a few more moments, part of him waiting for her to spring to life with some sort of magic, but dropped his gaze. He turned it instead to the sky, watching it darken with sunset. A bit of anxiety hit him and he rifled through his pockets, pulling out a few silver pieces and a copper piece. He hoped it would be enough to get him a room.

Oliver walked a couple blocks before he found a motel with its sign flashing “vacant”. He slipped into the reception building, only to find a frantic half-elf searching below the desk. He leaned over, “You alright, kid?”

“Fuck.” Was all the kid said, popping up so that Oliver could read his nametag, Ian. “I left the vacancy sign on, didn't I? Oh… my boss is going to kill me.”

Oliver held up his hands, “Slow down. What are you looking for?”

“I lost the key to one of the rooms.” Ian muttered miserably, “I went to the bathroom for just a second and it was gone. I can’t go find it because I have to stay here.”

“What room?”

“103.”

Oliver paused, thinking it over, “What about I go investigate? I need a room, you need help, let’s help each other.”

Ian’s eyes lit up, “Really? You’d do that?”

A small smile spread over Oliver’s face, exposing his now overgrown canine teeth. He cringed when Ian flinched a little, “Yeah, of course.”

The boy popped back underneath the counter and returned with another key, “This is the master key. If the door’s locked, you can get in with this.”

Oliver took it. “I’ll be right back.” He promised and backed out of the building.

He repeated the room number under his breath as he made his way to the line of rooms, passing a couple before he reached the correct door. He picked up a faint shuffling coming from behind the door and leaned into the peephole, seemingly causing more shuffling.

A woman’s voice said something he didn’t quite understand, but it reminded him of someone shushing an animal.

“Is anybody in there? I’m coming in.” There was a string of swear words as Oliver put the master key in the lock and turned it.

The door swung open to reveal an elven woman trying to fit a full grown griffin into the small room. Her brown hair was cropped even shorter than a pixie cut, but longer in other places. It wasn’t a professional job, that was for sure. The haircut was the reason it took Oliver a few moments to recognise her.

It was the woman from the article.

“Sandra Sparkquiver?” There was nothing but confusion in his voice.

“Fuck!” The woman swore again, dropping her arms away from the griffin, who looked to be trying his best to fit into the small room, “How did you know? Are you press?”

He held his hands up in a surrender gesture, “Just looking for a room. The kid at the desk said if I got the key back, I could have it.”

Guilt washed over Sandra's face. “Yeah. That doesn't feel great.” But her face quickly shifted to a hardened expression again. “I need it.”

Despite the direction the conversation seemed to be going, Oliver couldn't help but feel calm. She was just… scared.

“We could share.” He tried to suggest, but that only made her recoil further.

“Woah, okay.” He held up his hands, “Bad idea. I get it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and raised her hands again, blocking him from the griffin behind her.

“Should I just tell him I couldn't find it?”

She looked like she was about to respond, but closed her mouth. Her eyes flickered to the bandage on his arm and her eyes widened. He could almost see the math in her eyes. After a few moments of silence, she dropped her arms.

“No.” She grabbed a bag from where Oliver couldn't see, hauling it over her back and slipping past him. “Bye.”

He didn't feel her pass by, but when the griffin basically shoved him out of the way he stumbled.

“Hey! I need the- key…” He raised his hand as she left, but quickly felt just what he was looking for. She must have slipped it into his hand as she passed. His gaze lingered on the key for a moment.

The back of his neck pricked and he turned quickly to reception. He was running out of time. He jogged back to pay.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #sandra lynn faeth #jawbone o'shaughnessey #darkest times brightest people

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officalroyalsofpierreland · 5 months ago

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Brotherly Advice

Woods Near the Royal Hunting Lodge, Argyll, Kingdom of Scots

Louis: Are you sure it's alright we've separated from the group? Oliver: Absolutely! I've been hunting these woods since I was old enough to safely hold a gun with Magnus, who is sadly left with Callen and his wild idea of where the deer went [Louis laughs] Do you hunt in Francesim? Uncle David mentioned he went with your father once. Louis: Sometimes, granted, the clothing is not as...practical... Though you lost me on the practicality when we drank 2 glasses of whiskey with breakfast! Oliver [laughing]: I am determined for you and Phillippe to get the full experience! It's more traditional in the colder months because some people says it helps them keep warm. I think those historically did not want to admit that a bit of a tipple in the morning was for relaxation and to ease into a hunt. That's what I do, sort of signals the mind that this is not all that serious and to think about the journey, not the fights like the one I almost got into with Callen. I love the man like my brother but he is stubborn. Louis[joking]: Should I be concerned for my sister? Oliver: No no. Honestly, I don't drink as much as the men in my family do historically. Which of course means I worry my father and uncle [Louis laughs] Louis: May I confide in you Oliver? On a personal matter? Oliver: Of course! Though we will be miles apart Louis we will be brothers and we will be one of the few people who understand the other's pressures Louis [softly]: I'm worried about leaving Charlotte for so long...especially with the baby on the way...I'm also worried she will be upset with me for this...in fact I know she is...

Oliver: Well...those are natural fears Louis. I imagine she didn't take you telling her your plans well? Louis: She did not...the reassurance of visits throught my 13 months of training did not do much... Oliver: I mean...could you blame her Louis? Imagine if I was to do the same to Hortense....how would you feel about it? Louis: I'd be angry...I guess, well... Oliver: Multiply the feeling by 30 and you will get closer to know how she feels my friend. My father has told me that...pregnancy is such a beautiful season, to marvel at the strength and resilience of women. Are you sure you'd want to miss that? Louis: There will be others- Oliver: How can you be so sure? It is your first child Louis, you feeling worried about leaving, your concerns about how Charlotte is taking all of this...heed those feelings. Your soul is telling you this may not be the best move. Louis: But I am a Simparte. I belong to a race of soldiers! It has been my dream to join the navy! You of all people must understand. [Gunshot rings out]

Louis: Excellent shot Oliver! Oliver: Thank you Louis…and I understand wanting to fulfill your dreams but during your coronation, did you not fully become the Emperor of Francesim, Napoleon V? Louis: Well yes but what does that have to do with- Oliver: The oath you took, vows you made, ceremony you undertook…the dreams of Louis Simparte no longer take priority. I am afraid to say this…because I do not want to offend you. Louis: Be honest with me Oliver…I find it…refreshing. Oliver [sighing]: The dreams of Louis Simparte died with your Father. Have you not though about how he’d handle this? Louis [dryly]: He never had to…he got to have his career.

Oliver: do not get me wrong, I support you Louis. But…I’d be leery of how much power you give your councilors…some of them may try to take advantage of the Emperor being away and Charlotte being somewhat vulnerable due to pregnancy. Louis: Uncle Henri and Phillippe shall be there. Oliver: They aren’t who I’m worried about. Those who are new to the power game and think they have footholds in the future may try to…how do I say this nicely, flex their imagined power.

@empiredesimparte

#officalroyalsofpierreland #story #collab #empiredesimparte #sim: oliver

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noforkingclue · 3 months ago

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Love to Hate and Hate to Love, Chapter 5 (River Cartwright x OC)

So happy Slow Horses day and of course I had to celebrate with some fanfiction. I feel like I haven't published anything in a while (at least for me...) and I wanted to get back in the swing of things with one of my OCs.

This is also the longest chapter I've written in a very long time!

So yeah, enjoy the fic and please be mindful of the warnings! I didn't say this was going to be a particularly feel good chapter, in true Slow Horses style.

Warnings: murder (including of children)

Slow Horses tag list: @cillmequick

“Who was he?”

“Hmm,” Laura looked up from her work, “what do you mean?”

“Fitz updated you right?” asked Olivia and when Laura and Kara nodded she continued, “so I was just wondering who the person who died was.”

Warren and Kara looked at each other and Laura drummed her fingers on the desk. They had only seen Fitz briefly that morning. He made a cup of coffee (which was unusual in itself) before he swiftly exited the office.

“Fitz has been, I don’t know, jumpier lately.” said Laura, “maybe this has shook him more than he’s letting on.”

“Nah,” Warren said, shaking his head, “Fitz operated behind The Wall. He’s not the type of person to get jumpy.”

“He seems distracted,” said Kara, “and we all know what happened last time he got distracted.”

“I don’t.” said Olivia

“Ahh yeah,” said Kara with a smile, “forgot you’re still new Olive.”

“Back with ‘Olive’,” muttered Olivia, “so are you going to tell me what happened?”

“It was back with the Hassan Ahmed situation,” said Laura, “before you joined. Fitz was off having private conversations with Lady Di.”

“And when Lamb got rounded up he was very fucking smug about that,” said Kara, “something definitely went on between them during the Cold War.”

“And this Peterson person is dragging it all up again,” said Warren bitterly, “and Fitz is hiding things from us. How is he expecting us to trust him if he won’t give us all the facts?”

“Maybe he’s expecting us to work it out for ourselves?” asked Olivia, “like an exercise.”

“Nah,” said Laura, “Fitz doesn’t work like that.”

“He’ll tell us eventually.” said Kara

“I doubt it,” said Warren bitterly, “but Olivia is right for once.”

“I am? And what do you mean by ‘right for once?”

“Maybe we’ll have to do our own investigations.” said Warren

“But if you say Fitz doesn’t operate that way, is that really wise?” asked Olivia, “Running our own investigations? Is that something we should be doing?”

The other three shared an amused look and once again Warren wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He gave her a comforting squeeze and said,

“Fitz has been told to look into this. We’re Fitz’s team therefore I think it’s alright if we help our boss out a bit, don’t you?”

“Well..” said Olivia although she still wasn’t sure

“And as you were right about that previous point you can go and get the coffee,” said Warren as he patted Olivia’s back, “usual order.”

“And best get a drink for Fitz,” said Laura as Olivia stomped towards the door, “you know how he gets!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Olivia said as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, “got it.”

Olivia let out a sigh when she was out of the office. Yeah, she cared about her colleagues but sometimes she still got treated like a child. She was the youngest, and newest, member of the team so it was to be expected. But still… She thought that maybe, just maybe, they’d stop treating her like a child.

She stopped by the lift and pressed the button to go down. She was still lost in thought when the doors opened and she stepped in. It took her a second before she realised that she wasn’t alone.

“Ma’am,” she said when she said that she was sharing a lift with Diana Taverner, “I didn’t realise… I’m sorry… I’ll-”

She stopped when Taverner held up a hand. She gave Olivia a sharp smile and said cooly,

“You work with Max.”

“Max? Oh Fitz. Yeah, I mean, yes I do.”

“Unfortunate business this,” she continued lightly, as though she was commenting on the weather, “I heard that Max took you down to Slough House.”

“Yes he did. It was an enlightening experience.”

“Enlightening?” This seemed to amuse her, “Most people don’t use that word when describing Slough House.”

Why did it always feel that time slowed down when in the company of senior staff? It felt like Olivia had been trapped in the lift for an eternity.

“Well,” Olivia continued, “it has given me extra motivation for not fu- I mean, screwing up.”

“Good. It’s always tense when an agent dies. Doesn’t matter whether they’ve retired or not.”

The lift came to a shuddering stop and the doors slid open. Olivia watched Taverner leave with an open mouth as she realised what she had given her.

An agent?

“Who was he?”

Fitz glanced up over the rim of his glasses at Olivia. He nodded at the drinks holder she was holding and she handed over his Earl Grey. He popped open the takeaway lid and inspected the colour before taking a sip. He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Decent,” he said, “you’re improving.”

“Is taking tea orders an integral part of becoming a spook?”

“It shows you’re listening. Come, the others should be hearing this as well. That is, if they’re not already at the door.”

Fitz raised his voice for the last sentence and after a second the door to his voice opened and Warren, Laura and Kara walked in. Laura was the only person who looked slightly guilty. Warren folded his arms and raised his eyebrows at Fitz and Kara collapsed into a chair. Olivia held up the container and everyone picked up their drinks.

“George Kelly.” said Fitz at last

“He retired last year didn’t he?” asked Kara

“Yeah, I remember his leaving card and collection going around.” said Warren

“I think I was doing training when that happened.” said Olivia, once again feeling left out of the loop

“Yes, of course,” Fitz took another sip of his tea, “Kelly was another Cold Warrior. Came to Berlin on occasions but mainly operated in London. He was largely focused on clearing our Soviet agents from The Service.”

“So he knew Peterson?” said Laura

“Peterson wasn’t just a defector,” said Fitz with a bitter smile, “he had to give the Soviets something. Kelly was instrumental in finding out what Peterson was doing.”

“And now he’s dead,” said Laura, “bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“More than just a coincidence.” said Fitz

“And does Lamb know?” asked Warren, “I guess that’s why you bolted off this morning?”

“Yes and yes.”

“But how can he-” started Olivia

“This is Jackson fucking Lamb,” snarled Fitz, “even stuck in Slough House he has ways of finding out information. Diana has given me,” he let out a bitter laugh, “permission to do whatever I see fit to resolve this.”

“Well that’s good right?” said Olivia

“Not sure yet,” said Fitz, “I still need to work out if she’s playing London or Moscow rules.”

“So what exactly do you want us to do?” asked Warren

Fitz smiled and wrote something down on a piece of paper. He tossed it to Olivia who quickly caught it.

“Had to get Molly Doran to send that over,” he said, “which pissed her off of course.”

“What exactly happened between you two?” asked Kara

“None of your business.” snapped Fitz

“Because it’s a pain in the arse to get any information from her,” Kara continued, “we’re part of your team and therefore we’re not allowed on her floor. Do you know how irritating it is to wait outside with Dogs?”

“Anyway,” said Fitz with a glare at Kara, “Olivia, this is where I want you to go.”

Olivia looked at the address and Kara looked over her shoulder.

“Where is this?” Olivia asked, although she had a sneaking suspicion about what it was

“Kelly’s address.” replied Fitz

“You want me to break into his house?”

“Any means.” said Fitz with a bright smile

“Hey Fitz,” said Warren, “you do realise that Lamb will be thinking the same thing.”

“Oh I do hope so,” said Fitz, “so please, don’t get caught. It’ll be bad enough if the Met comes but it’ll just be humiliating for you if you get caught by a Slow Horse. We are the professionals after all.”

“But I’ve never done this before.” said Olivia

“Then it’ll be good practice! Baptism of fire and all that shit. Oh and Olive?”

“Yeah?”

“You won’t exactly be breaking in. You’re going to be needing these.”

Fitz tossed over a pair of keys which Olivia stumbled to get. Fitz rolled his eyes as she dropped them and she asked,

“Where did you get these?”

“Off of Kelly’s body.”

“What?”

“What?” said Fitz, ignoring her shocked face, “he’s not going to be needing them anymore.”

It felt strange entering someone's house knowing that they were dead. Kelly’s house was located in Holland Park and Olivia couldn’t help but feel a stab of envy at the property. It was so much nicer than her pokey little one bed. It was a quiet street with few neighbours so Olivia wasn’t stopped although her Service ID was in her pocket. Olivia was suddenly acutely aware of its power. The power she held in her pocket. Something so small and yet it held so much sway.

“Are you in?”

Warren’s voice crackled in Olivia’s ear. That was another thing she was going to have to get used to- wearing an earpiece. Olivia rested against the front door and locked it behind her. You never knew who might be following her and after her run in with Cartwright she’d rather not take any chances.

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I am. What exactly am I looking for again?”

“Anything out of the ordinary.”

“Wow. Specific.”

“Just keep a look out and keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

Olivia slowly made her way through the house. She crept quietly along, trying to keep as silent as she could. She knew that it would take practice to walk silently. Fitz was a fucking master at it but he had been in this game for far too long. She pushed open the door which she assumed would lead to the kitchen and froze.

“Warren.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I…”

“Olivia. Deep breaths. Speak to me. I’m here.”

“There’s a body.”

“Shit. You sure?”

“Y… yeah. There’s a lot of blood.”

She leant against the wall as she took in the sight before her. The body of a woman rested against the island in the middle of the kitchen. The kitchen was white where the bright red of the blood clashed violently. Her throat was slashed and Olivia didn’t want to get any closer than necessary. The kitchen led onto the dining area where a glass wall showed an immaculately tended garden.

“Ignore the body,” this was said by Fitz, “carry on.”

“But Fitz-” started Olivia

“We’ll deal with this later,” said Fitz, “but right now there are more pressing matters.”

“There’s a dead body,” said Olivia, her voice cracking slightly, “we need to-”

“Right at the moment the dead do not matter. It’s the living you need to watch out for. The dead can’t hurt you but the living can. The living can kill.”

Olivia drew in a shuddering breath and nodded before realising that the others couldn’t see her.

“You’re right.” she said

“You haven’t thrown up have you?” asked Fitz

“No.”

“Good because that would contaminate the crime scene and compromise you.”

Olivia closed her eyes as she tried to ignore just how uncaring Fitz’s words sounded. He was just going into spy mode. She slowly moved through the rest of the house. It was unnervingly quiet, even more so knowing that there was a body downstairs. Olivia’s stomach churned and she was thankful that she had only had a cup of tea that morning. If she had eaten anything she couldn’t have guaranteed that the floor would be vomit free. On the other hand, she could feel her blood sugar crashing. She slowly walked up the stairs, wincing as the stairs creaked underfoot.

“On the first floor,” she said, “it looks like it's mainly just bedrooms.”

“You’ll need to go into them.” said Warren

“I know.” said Olivia

Again, why was everyone treating her like an idiot?

“You’re hesitating.” Warren said

“Can you blame me?”

“You can do this, Olive. It gets easier.”

“Great.”

The master bedroom was body free but not evidence free. Sheets were torn off the bed and clothes strewn all over the floor. A splattering of blood up the wall. The wardrobe doors were flung open and the drawers were wrenched free.

“Someone was looking for something,” she muttered, “not sure what though.”

“Interesting,” muttered Fitz, “very interesting. Is it the same in all the bedrooms?”

“Just checking.”

Olivia pushed open the next door and froze. She swallowed thickly as Fitz said,

“Olive?”

“I’m in the children’s bedroom.”

“Children’s?” she could hear the frown in Fitz’s voice, “Kerry is older then I am. Probably grandchildren. What’s in there.”

“Blood.”

A thick silence followed.

“Blood.” said Warren and Olivia could hear the crack in his voice

“In the bed. Lots of it. It’s… dripping onto the floor.”

“Are you ok to continue?” asked Warren

‘Do I have a choice?’ Olivia thought

“Yeah.” she said instead

Clothes were also strewn about in that bedroom. The third and final bedroom held the same as the second. A covered small lump was in the bed and a mess on the floor. Olivia closed her eyes as she tried not to think too hard about it. Suddenly she stiffened and looked towards the door. There was the unmistakable sound of someone moving about downstairs.

“Someone else is in here,” she whispered, “I’ve got to go dark.”

“Olive-”

Olivia froze as she heard someone climbing the stairs. Fuck, she should’ve insisted on backup. Yeah, Fitz and Warren were in the car but they wouldn’t be much use. This guy just slaughtered at least three innocent people. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

Well, escaping down the stairs was out. She looked around the room and grimaced as she made her way towards the wardrobe. She slipped inside and carefully shut the doors. All she could do now was hope and pray that whoever was outside wouldn’t go into this room.

A whispering voice grew closer but it was too faint to fully hear what it was saying. Definitely male but that was all she could hear. Most likely southern but Olivia was shit at placing accents. Laura was the Accent Queen. Olivia slowly slid to the floor and closed her eyes. Tears leaked down her face as her thoughts drifted to the body she was sharing a room with. What kind of person would fucking kill children? Even Warren and Fitz provided little reassurance. They were deathly quiet on the other end of the earpiece.

The creaking of the floor had Olivia’s eyes snapping open again. The person had gone quiet. Maybe they too had registered that they were not the only living soul in the house. Maybe they realised that they had missed someone and had gone hunting to finish the job. She put her hand over her mouth to try and muffle any sounds. Maybe she’d be lucky? Maybe this person would be satisfied for now and leave the room-

And then the doors were flung open.

A light blinded her and she shrunk back and closed her eyes tightly, preparing herself for the blow to come. The older woman had her throat slashed. A knife didn’t attract as much noise as a gun. She assumed that the children would’ve been slaughtered in a similar manner, a knife instead a bullet. However, nothing came. No hail of bullets. No repeating stabs. No hands curling around her neck as they squeezed the life from her one sickening breath at a time. So shakily she looked through her fingers and up into the face of River Cartwright.

His eyes widened when he saw her and he immediately dropped to his knees. He raised a hand and when Olivia flinched away he stopped. He pointed to her earpiece and she nodded before gesturing her head at him. He held up his phone which showed that he was speaking to Louisa. He walked out of the room to end his call and Olivia said,

“It’s ok. False alarm. It was just tension and I was hearing things that aren’t there.”

“Are you sure?” asked Warren

“Yeah. Look,” Olivia drew a deep breath, “I might sign off for a bit. Do my own investigations.”

“Are you-”

“Yes,” snapped Olivia, “I’m sure.”

And she disconnected the earpiece. She rested her head against the wardrobe panelling and took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Fuck, why did it have to be Cartwright. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She opened her eyes as she heard him approaching her. River looked away as she wiped her eyes, trying to cover up the fact that she’d been crying. He held out a hand and she gave him a disgusted look and he sat down next to her. The silence became increasingly awkward. She hated showing this weakness in front of him.

She'd rather it be anyone but him.

Well, apart from Ho or Lamb.

Louisa seemed sensible enough and Shirley was probably good in a fight. Marcus seemed like he’d be able to keep a cool head and if Warren liked him that was good enough for Olivia.

“So,” she said eventually, “how did you know to come here? Don’t tell me you followed me again.”

“No,” River said, “why the fuck would I want to follow you.”

“You were pretty keen last week.”

“Maybe I learnt my lesson.”

“That would be a first.”

The thick silence returned. The only sound was the occasional drip of blood on the floor. Olivia flinched whenever she heard it but it was less and less frequent as it congealed.

“I doubt it was Lamb,” said Olivia, “that gave you the information. From what I understood the only person he wants working on this is him. Well, apart from getting you to deliver messages. So that means you’re working on this by yourself.”

She could see the tension in his back and she nudged him with her knee.

“Am I right?” she asked

River grunted in response and Olivia smirked.

“Does Lamb know you’re thinking for yourself?”

River’s silence told Olivia everything. She shook her head and stood up on shaking legs. River watched her as she slowly moved out of the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he asked as he followed her

“Away from the dead body.”

“That’s… fair.”

Olivia found the study and gently pushed open the door. She let out a sigh of relief when she didn’t see a dead body. River poked his head over her shoulder.

“No body,” he said, “It’s clear.”

“Thank fuck for your keen powers of observation.”

Olivia sat down on the high backed, leather swivel chair and spun around. River gave her an unimpressed look as he walked to the other side of the desk. He slammed his hands down on the desk as Olivia swivelled to face him. She jumped in response and glared at him. At River’s smirk she rested her elbows on the desk and looked around at the mess.

“Do you think they found whatever it was they were looking for?” she asked

“How do you know they were looking for something?”

“Because of all the mess.”

“Oh. Right,” River picks up a sheet of paper, “possibly but I don’t know… something doesn’t feel right.”

“Spy senses tingling?”

River gave her an unimpressed look and said,

“It feels, I don’t know, frustrated.”

“Right.”

Olivia held back her comments about the bodies. She was trying her hardest not to think about them. Try not to think about just how small those bodies under the covers were. Try not to think about the blood saturating the sheets and mattress-

“Hey,” a surprisingly gentle hand was at her shoulder, “do you want me to look? You get some air.”

She glared up at River and quickly shook off his hand. River looked at her in surprise before quickly matching her glare.

“And let you walk off with whatever it is this murderer was looking for? No thanks. I’m going to be searching this desk so you can,” Olivia waved her hand about the room, “inspect the papers. Maybe you’ll be able to understand them.”

“Unlike our intruder?”

“Murderer. Well, your grandfather told you plenty of stories, didn’t he? Maybe one of those will crop up here.”

River sighed and turned his back on Olivia. With his attention off of her Olivia slumped back in the chair and closed her eyes. She couldn’t get the image of those bloodied beds out of her mind. Not being able to see the true extent of the violence and yet knowing exactly what lay under the covers.

No.

She needed to focus right now. Focus on the job and get justice later.

She sat up and pulled open a drawer. She wasn’t surprised to see it empty and she continued to pull open the others. She drummed her fingers on the desk causing River to look over at her. Olivia frowned as she looked at the top left drawer. She opened the top right drawer and looked between the two. There was something about it that seemed wrong but she couldn’t place her finger on it.

“Everything ok?” asked River, and then added quickly, “with your search.”

“I don’t know.”

River walked over and looked at the drawers. He gave Olivia and amused look and said,

“This one has a false bottom.”

“Huh.”

“If you’ll just-”

He leant over her, getting far too into her personal bubble for her liking. He pressed down on the left drawer and it popped open. Olivia’s breath hitched and he slowly lifted it up. There was a memory stick. For a second neither of them moved and then they both scrambled for it at the same time.

“Fuck you, Cuntwright,” hissed Olivia, “that’s mine.”

“You didn’t even notice that the drawer was fake,” said River, “I was the one who found it.”

“Oh yes, because Lamb is going to be so appreciative.”

“Lamb has nothing to do with this!”

Olivia staggered out of the chair. River wrapped his arms around her waist and practically lifted her off the ground. Before he managed to trap her arms Olivia briefly managed to curl her fingers around the stick but that was all she needed. She yanked her hand free and brought it closer to her chest and shoved the memory stick down her top and hid it in her bra. River paused for a moment and said,

“Did you seriously put that down your top?”

“I dare you to try and take it,” hissed Olivia as she tilted her head back to glare up at him, “go on. Try and see where that gets you.”

Once again she was close to the bastard. Noses touching, breath ghosting over her face, his face so close to hers that she could almost feel his stubble. But this was different to last time. His arms trapped her against him, pulling her tightly against his chest. She could faintly feel his heartbeat against her back and she was suddenly acutely aware of the position they were in. River seemed to realise it too and he let Olivia go and spun her around to face him.

Olivia was forced to look up at him and took half a step back. She hit the desk and winced and River smirked, knowing that he had her trapped. He put one hand by her side and slowly raised the other to her chin. However, he stopped when he saw the tears she hadn’t realised were dripping down her face. He gently brushed them away with the back on his hand before stepping away. The awkwardness once again settled between them.

“I won’t tell,” Olivia said, “that you were here.”

“Why.”

“Because now you’ll be in my debt.”

River rolled his eyes as Olivia walked on shaking legs towards the door of the study. She glanced at him over her shoulder and nodded before quickly leaving. The quicker she was out of this slaughterhouse the better. She didn’t fully relax until she was safely in Warren’s car. He and Fitz had parked several streets away in order not to attract too much attention to themselves. Fitz looked at Olivia in the rearview mirror as she said,

“Just fucking drive.”

“We’ll be talking about this later.” Fitz said

“Yeah,” Olivia made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror, “I don’t doubt it.”

#fanfiction #slow horses #river cartwright #river cartwright x oc

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thai-with-booty · 11 months ago

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Update - I am still at jibs home, been nice in a way to get away from my home life but does feel a bit like I gone from one madness to another. My neighbour messaged asking when I'm back, guess he hasn't had his dick sucked well for a couple of weeks and is missing it lol. I am meant to fly on the 2nd of January and I don't really see the need to hang around here causing more trouble. The time so far has been nice with Emil, there has been a lot of chatting and catching up as well as sex, I kinda wish I handnt started the whole thing with Oliver, it's causing me to be quite anxious.

So Friday night me and jib met some other friends and had a girls night out, it was great fun, I hadn't been out partying like that for ages and was nice, no men around for a bit and can relax and drink, drink too much, was calm at first but then start mixing drinks and doing shots. Me and jib get a taxi home, I help her to her room and she's pretty much passed out, she's still wear her dress and just laid on her back sleeping, I go to my room and get into bed with Emil, he's sleeping already. I got a message on my phone from Oliver, he wanted me to come down, I was tired and drunk and didn't want to, so first time I said no, there was a bit of back and forth and ultimately he sends me a really long message which was quite mean, even if it was true at parts. I get he was frustrated but writing a message like that was hardly going to get me to come down to him. Luckily for me I cuddled up to Emil and missed him lightly on the face, he wake and responded and we started kissing and leading into sex, we had sex and it felt better than usual, I think it was the alcohol and feeling shit with Oliver then being made to feel wanted. After he came I kept kissing him and basically in the moment I asked him to date me, looking back it was bad timing and not a conversation for then, he was saying not to discuss it now but I took it badly and know I was being dramatic, but I cried, and left him. He didn't bother to come after me, it was probably better, fortunately too Oliver wasn't around, that would have made it worse. I dramatically packed all my stuff and was sure I was leaving the next morning, I was feeling terrible about Oliver and now about Emil, I wasn't to get out. It took me a while to calm down but with my suitcase packed at the foot of my bed I fell asleep.

I woke Saturday morning to Emil bringing me some juice, he came to apologise, I did the whole feeling stupid, we talked and basically made up, we won't be dating, he still lives in Denmark being the main thing, but also he's studying and needs to focus on that and has a gf, though he doesn't mention her with me. We had sex, I felt ok at the time, I think I was still drunk, he left and I slept a little longer before waking with a hangover that pretty much wiped out all of Saturday. I kinda needed a day with nothing.

Oliver didn't really speak to me, though I was not around much during the day, he was watching football in the evening but I didn't go near, I stayed with Emil. I can't help but feel something is going to happen with Oliver, but hopefully he can just stew on it and I'll be gone soon. Jib and Oliver are hosting a big new year's party that they do every year, hopefully I can get a little lost in the crowd.

#oliver #emil

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stvrdrops · 1 year ago

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star like you pt 1 | pt 2 ☆ shuri x fem!reader (fame au)

you’re a superstar and she’s your producer. when you collide together again for the first time in a while since your listening party the two of you feel a spark.

warnings : i don’t think there are any!

word count : 2.9k+

note : hi !! this is basically my return to tumblr. i took such a long break because honestly my fixation on shuri ended and i lost a lot of my motivation. i also was figuring out a lot of college stuff and working on larger projects for my career. i didn’t want to push out mediocre content just to keep up with my posting, y'all don’t deserve that! this will be a series i plan on completing. it has a playlist attached in my masterlist but the song popular by the weeknd kinda sets up for how the story is gonna play out. so i would suggest listening to that one as you read. i hope you enjoy this ! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

“so.. what’s your name?” the man who approached you says with a nervous grin spreading across his face. it had been covered in sweat which made you guess two things. either he felt really hot in his navy blue suit, or he was entirely too nervous to be approaching you right now. you presumed it was the second option. this was only because just a few moments earlier you saw him chatting with his friends and how they would always look back at you.

you chuckle, “i’d rather you just ask me for the picture already, rather than play dumb about not knowing who i am.”

you turn your body to him, giving him your full attention. you watch as his eyes grow wide and he begins to play with his collar, as if it’s suffocating him. his sweat droplets glide down his forehead and absorb into his full eyebrows. you think it’s amusing, because you know he doesn’t just want a photo. he wants something much more.

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine.” you set your glass down, “so do you want the picture or not?”

“uh, yeah sure. i guess.” he says while fumbling to pull out his phone. you glance over to his buddies to see them with wide grins, so you decide to play along. you take his phone, brushing ever so slightly against his rough hands with your soft fingers. it leaves a trail of goosebumps rising against his skin that is hidden underneath the suit.

“get in the frame.” you say as you focus the camera mainly on you. that was just how you liked it, having all the attention on you. you weren’t sure how you would’ve lived any other lifestyle than the one you’re living right now. best selling new album, grammy nomination number three with one win already under your belt, sold out tour for next year, and all while you were just twenty. should you have been drinking a martini? not legally. however, the bartender was more than willing to move around the rules a little bit if he heard who track seven was written about.

he shuffles closer to you, the only thing keeping him from moving any closer is the aura you omit. he knew you weren’t on his level, especially because he was just some niche internet celebrity that only the incels of twitter knew about. you weren’t even sure how he made it into this exclusive bar.

the camera from the phone clicks and your toothy smile turns into one that shows annoyance. you hand the phone back and watch as his face is stuck in embarrassment. you soooo got off on that.

“hope you have a nice night.”

“y-yeah, you too...”

he shuffles away and you watch as he keeps his head held down low. he passes by his friends who all try to congratulate him upon his arrival back, thinking something entirely different took place during the interaction. he just walks right past them and towards the exit of the bar.

you turn your body back towards the bar and look back down at your glass. your acrylic nails play around with the olives at the bottom of the near empty drink. you hadn’t had a real motive for going to the bar. really you just wanted to escape your manager for a second and have a night out to yourself for once. living the socialite lifestyle meant you were hardly ever alone. your assistant stayed up your ass constantly and even lived in your guest house back at home in L.A.. you had to go out to places almost every night whether it be restaurants or brand launches with friends to keep up with the life that young girls only dreamt of. which, you loved it, but you also liked your own company a lot more than anyone else’s.

“here you are.” the bartender says, winking as he slides you another martini.

“who bought me this one?” you ask, considering you’ve been receiving drinks all night. to be specific, this was your seventh one. usually guys would send over fruity shots, which is what they expected you to drink. luckily you had a group of girls celebrating a bachelorette party right beside you. you had been giving them all of your drinks which they greatly appreciated.

this time the drink had been a martini. the exact same way you had been getting them all night. how thoughtful.

“cutie at the end of the bar. she said she knew you.”

your eyes glance over in the direction of where the bartender’s hand subtly points to. sure enough you saw the girl he had been referring to. she knew you, and you did know her. she was one of the producers on your new album. she’s up and coming and you knew you had to be one of the first to brag about working with her. sure enough the song was a hit and even one of the tracks off the album being put up for grammy nominations.

despite all that, you two had never actually met until your album release party. every conversation before that had been done on the phone since she wasn’t living in the U.S. at the time. it was safe to say you were surprised she was here in new york. even more surprised that she ended up at the same bar as you, on the same night, at the same time. you would say it’s fate. she would say she saw the paparazzi pictures of you entering the bar and she just happened to be in a hotel a couple blocks down. nothing an uber ride couldn’t fix.

she waves to you and flashes a smile. her pearly white teeth sparkle against her darker skin. you smile back, giving a little wave as well. she looked cute in her sleeveless shirt and dark green dress pants. Which you only saw due to her standing against the wall near the bar. the rest of the seats were taken, so she waited the long game and decided to stand until she made her move. her hair had been freshly faded and she had added a few more tattoos onto herself since the last time you two were together. you were unsure how you saw them despite the dim lighting, but you were just staring too hard to not notice.

you felt a bit overdressed in your vivienne westwood dress that accentuated your chest and sat high on your thighs. it wasn’t anything too fancy, but the black kiki marc jacobs boots you were wearing were anything but casual.

“oh yeah? tell her to come over.” you say back to him, and he gives you a look. “don’t worry i’ll tip you well.”

he smiles and walks away from you to the other side of the bar. you can’t see his lips moving, but you can tell they are because now she’s looking at him instead of you. then she looks at you, as if wanting you to say the words yourself. so you do, in a glance and a quick nod. her white teeth flash again when she smiles. she grabs her glass from the counter, filled with some type of expensive scotch. she had actually been old enough to drink, her being two years your senior.

your eyes trailed her as she made her way around. people crowded your vision of her every so often as they conversed with those around them, swiveling in their bar chairs.

“hi.” she finally says when she’s standing in front of you, looking even better up close.

“hi.” you say back as you take her in.

“mind if i sit?”

“not at all.”

share slides so easily into the seat with this energy that makes your stomach suddenly feel fuzzy.

“how’ve you been?” she asks.

“good, yourself?” you ask in return, your fingers trailing themselves around the rim of her glass. she glances at the action out of the corner of her eye.

“i mean, a lot has changed. good change though, all thanks to your album. let’s just say i won't be out of a job anytime soon.”

you laugh, “so is this drink a thank you?”

“you could say that. it’s also just a kind gesture. i saw that guy bothering you earlier.”

“bothering isn’t the right word choice. he was harmless really.” you take a sip of the martini, “besides, i know how to handle myself.”

shuri stares at you for a moment, entranced by your being. her hands are resting on her lap but they ache to reach out for your exposed skin. ever since the album party she couldn’t help but think about you. work crushes were extremely unprofessional and she prided herself on never mixing pleasure with business. you were just that one exception for her and it made her head spin.

that night at the party you had barely even talked to her, but she watched everything you did. which, she would be surprised if anyone had not been watching you that night. the party was all about you. granted, it was partly about shuri too considering she had collaborated on it. she was nice to the people who came up to her and congratulated her work. she watched as you did the same thing.

she barely got the chance to talk to you, so the fact she was talking to you now made her feel like it may be one of the last convenient chances she gets.

“do you turn down everyone who tries to flirt with you?”

“i’m not turning you down am i?” you ask her, moving your eyes from your glass to her. “why do you ask?”

shuri felt like she was caught, “i saw you do it at the party. i saw you do it tonight. i never see any media covering any dating stories with you so i’m just tryna see what the deal is.”

you raise your eyebrow, “so you’re trying to see if i’m fair game.”

shuri smiles again, this time it looks shy and innocent. it makes you swoon a little.

“yeah i guess you could say that.”

you can’t help but cling onto every word that she says because of her wakandan accent. it was so sexy the way she made every word sound so much more special than it really was. it had been sexy when you heard it over the phone and at the party, but it felt somewhat different this time.

“what time is it?” you ask her, which catches shuri by surprise.

“um,” she quickly pulls her phone out of her back pocket and opens it, “eleven fifty-six.”

you sit and think for a moment. you had to be back up at five in the morning for a photoshoot but you figured it was still early enough in the night to have some fun. lucky shuri.

“okay. let’s go to wherever you’re staying at.”

shuri was shocked by your response. she knew she was attractive and had some game. however, you were a task she couldn’t even begin to imagine tackling. you were on this pedestal to the entire world that almost made it impossible to see you as a fellow human being. with your millions of followers and “i’m the shit” mentality it made you intimidating. you were the prize and shuri had her eyes on you.

“okay, yeah. i’ll get us an uber.” shuri says while searching through her phone for the app. “it says it will be here in ten minutes.”

“cool, we can wait by the entrance.”

you get up from your chair and throw down a couple fifties. your drinks didn’t cost much but you did say you’d tip well.

shuri follows behind you like a lost puppy which makes her feel some kind of way. she wasn’t used to being the follower or the less dominant one. all you ever oozed was dominance and control. she was desperate to break that wall down and see what you were really like beneath it all. no one is ever that composed.

“so,” shuri starts as she leans against the wall next to the entrance, “what have you been up to since the album release?”

you can’t help but laugh, “everything i’ve been up to is posted on my socials.”

“oh, i know.” shuri checks her phone, “aren’t you going to ask what i’ve been up to?”

you hum, “shuri, what have you been up to?”

“nothing much. just done a lot of work producing wise. i’ve been attending a lot of events of my own recently.”

“i saw on your insta. i’m glad you were able to find a free night.” you stare into her dark brown eyes.

“yeah, me too.”

a silence consumes the two of you despite all the talking and low music filling the room. you’d never quite felt like this with anyone before. this feeling of being okay with being around someone other than yourself. shuri could sense you weren’t a person who let their exterior down easily. not your real one anyway. the wakandan knew she had a huge task ahead of her, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to do it all in one night. however, she knew you were feeling her, and that was good enough.

everything was going great as she continued to get closer to you with every slight step. she figured it was good for her to get closer since you weren’t telling her to stop. it wasn’t like she made the distance closing unobvious. then, of course, her phone went off.

“the uber is here.” shuri says while turning her phone off and looking back up at you.

“are you ready?” you ask her.

“yeah?” shuri says with curiosity. why wouldn’t she be?

“no, i mean are you ready?” you ask again while looking outside of the window closest to you both. shuri follows your gaze and notices all of the people outside readying their large cameras. now she knows what you meant. once pictures hit the media of you two in date outfits and getting into the same car meant all hell would break loose.

“are you ready?” shuri can’t help but ask. she was concerned about how much you’d have to deal with when the morning came. you were the shooting star and she was simply the sky that surrounded you. the attention would be on you, not her.

“i’m always ready.” you say while smiling and grabbing her hand. it made her eyes widen and she could feel the heat spreading across her soft face.

your feet pick up sooner than her own, so for the first couple steps you’re practically dragging her along. shuri eventually picks up the pace at the right time. she can see the paparazzi positioning their cameras on you and her before you’ve even exited the building.

“open the door for me.” you say under your breath as you finally make it to the big glass doors. shuri very quickly follows your command and it makes you smile.

voices begin to flood the entire entrance area, and they're all shouting for you.

“put your arm around my waist.”

shuri nods and does just that, confused by your motives.

you both begin walking down the sidewalk to the uber that seemingly couldn’t park any closer. clicks and flashes of light cloud your vision and ears but you were used to it. you hardly ever blinked anymore when one of them went right off in your face. however, shuri was struggling to make her way through it all. she wasn’t used to so many photos begin taken of her at once. she was someone who stayed in the background, never front and center.

“y/n, are you two an item?”

“maybe!” you answer with a soft, girl next door smile. you had been practicing it since you first got big.

“shuri! was this a date?” one of them asks as they shove a camera into her face. it was none other than tmz.

“well, um...” she fumbles to find the right words, afraid she may say the wrong thing and ruin her chances with you.

“it was a catch up. shuri produced one of the singles on my new album. you should def go and stream it!” you say, quickly recovering the conversation and making sure the camera grabs your good side. shuri is impressed by how good you were at giving the media not what they want, but just what they need.

“is her arm not around your waist? seems pretty romantic to me.”

“she’s making sure i don’t get lost in the crowds. besides, i don’t mind a cute girl on my hip.”

that part made her catch her breath a little. it was as if her heart stopped beating for a second and then continued on. especially when you looked up at her with sparkling eyes.

“sorry guys, we’ve gotta go.” shuri says when she realizes that you’ve both finally reached the car.

the paparazzi continued to take photos of the two of you as you hop into the car together. the driver doesn’t say a word. living in new york as an uber driver meant you picked quite a few celebrities. the less you talked meant a better tip.

shuri simply puts her hand on your leg, wanting to squeeze the skin beneath her fingertips. you lay your head on her shoulder, content with the touching. this was sure to be an interesting night as the two of you ached to touch one another in other ways.

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙✧⋆｡°✩☼⋆｡°✩☽︎

#stvrdrops #fanfic #mcu shuri #princess shuri #shuri #shuri fic #shuri fanfic #shuri fanfiction #shuri x reader #shuri x y/n #shuri/reader #wlw #sapphic #mcu fanfic #marvel #singer!reader & shuri #Spotify

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farfromstrange · 1 year ago

Text

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 16: Come Back To Me

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You and Michael deal with the aftermath of your separation. At the end of the day though, something happens that instantly draws you back together. You can't say no when the man you love needs you, can you?

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of child death, self-hatred, hangover, gun violence, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 7.1k

A/n: And I am back! Sorry for being gone for so long. I took some time for myself and it was an amazing week. I’m exhausted, but also fulfilled. I don't regret a thing. Now I'm back though with all the time in the world to write, and of course, I had to work on another chapter for Chaos Theory! So, here you go to everyone hungry for more Michael content. (I also remixed canon a bit for this, fight me!)

Expecting to see you at work the next day was a foolish thought of him. When he steps into the café with no sleep on his account, he looks around the space just to find it void of you.

Instead of you, Oliver is standing behind the counter with a member of staff he hasn’t met yet.

With his hands in his pockets, he approaches the counter. Oliver smiles at him, but as soon as he sees the empty space next to him, he frowns. “Where did you leave yer better half?” he asks.

Michael’s heart aches. He feels sick alone at the mention of you, and he gets even sicker when he thinks about you not being there. The fear that something might have happened to you nags him. Or maybe you hurt yourself. It’s something he doesn’t want to think about, but his mind tricks him into picturing the worst anyway.

Sarah told him you were in a dark place when you first got to Dublin, and now the same thing that drove you into this dark place seems to be back in your life and he’s scared you might get hurt in the process. He never wanted things to go so wrong.

He feels as if he has already lost you. You slipped through his fingers the night before; you slipped into the endless abyss of the ocean and now you’re floating somewhere he isn’t, drowning in your despair because you just won’t talk to him. He knows what that feels like, and while he has walls of his own built up, yours seem to run deeper, and that’s what worries him.

Your words hurt. Watching you lock down like a high-security prison is something that will never leave his mind again, but no matter how hard you push him back, Michael knows you. He likes to believe he knows your soul better than you do. You’re doing this to protect yourself and maybe even him; you’re not a selfish person, you have your reasons, and that’s why he can’t be mad at you. He tried, but he understands all too well what you’re going through.

He’s not willing to give up on you, that much he knows for certain. He wants you to be safe and okay and back in his arms. But that’s not where you want to be right now. You made it clear you needed space. He must have triggered something last night. He has his suspicions, but he doesn’t want to pretend as if he knows what’s going on.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, even harder to stomach, but he has no choice. He would never force you to do something you don’t want to, and he has to accept that you need space.

Still, the possibility of you being hurt and that’s why you’re not there bothers him and he can’t stop thinking what if. They are the worst kind of scenarios to think about, but they still have a constant vacancy in his mind, no matter who, what, or where. He’s always been somewhat of a pessimist. He can’t even disguise it as realism anymore; his mind is playing cruel tricks that he can’t get ahead of, and he’s getting so tired of it, he can barely breathe.

“I don’t know,” Michael answers after snapping out of his thoughts, and he tries to sound as calm as possible when he continues, “She didn’t call ya?”

“No,” Oliver says. “She hasn’t. She’s not that much of a talker. Are you guys okay? Did I miss somethin’?”

“No, we’re grand. Just haven’t talked much since last night, that’s all.”

He looks surprised, but he doesn’t question it.

The truth is, you aren’t okay. Michael is pretty sure you broke up last night, and spending the night without you next to him was impossible. You weren’t there to stop the anxiety spiral because you are the reason he even feels this way now. It sucks. He doesn’t want to blame you, but part of him does. He feels guilty and angry, and he feels guilty for feeling angry. His mind consists of pure chaos.

Ava comes in around five minutes before his shift is supposed to start, and she doesn’t look pleased. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she’s running rather than walking through the door.

She stops right in front of him and Michael almost cowers. “You better tell your girlfriend that she has to be careful what she eats next time,” she snaps.

He frowns. “Sorry?”

“She called in sick at three in the morning and now I’m here because Sarah can only cover from two to six, so you’re stuck with me ‘til then.”

Sick? He knows you and you are the kind of person who would never call in sick except for maybe when you’re dying. You’re dependent on the money. You need to work to pay rent and make a living. You would never call in sick, not even with a broken neck. As long as you’re still breathing, you’d always show up to work, so he gets even more worried when the words leave her mouth.

Thinking about it though, you might just be avoiding him. Not seeing him sounds like a valid motivation to call in sick after what happened. You might have died inside last night, and now you can’t come in, and he probably should have done the same because the memories tied to the café hurt him, even when you aren’t around.

And what little hope he had in reconciling with you fades away as he gets ready to spend a dreaded day in a strange workplace with the only person who truly supports him being Oliver. But he is not who Michael needs, you are. Without you there, this opportunity seems pointless, and the hours drag on as he grows wearier by the second.

Ava compliments his coffee knowledge, and he tells her that it was you who taught him, and she’s still not happy that you called in sick, but she appreciates the effort you put in the day before. He defends you, he tells her you’re really just sick and that you will be up and at it the next day, and she leaves it at that.

When Ava switches with Sarah, he expects her to punch him, but she seems just as confused as to why you’re not here. She approaches him and asks, “What happened?”

“She’s ill,” he lies again. “We ordered pizza last night and she woke up sick tonight. She won’t see a doctor so I told her to at least stay home today.”

He is a good liar when he needs to be. He wants to protect you the most, and if he told her the truth, Sarah would come knocking at your door soon enough and then you would hate him even more than you already do now. He can’t do that to you.

She nods slowly, but from the looks of it, she’s not all too surprised that you might have gotten sick from pizza. “Tha girl and her stomach problems,” she says. “Ya know, the last time we went out to eat together, she ended up being sick the whole day after. Not because she was throwing up, oh no! She just felt nauseous all day for no reason. It’s like no matter what she eats, there is always somethin’ wrong.”

“Right,” Michael fakes a smile, “Stomach problems.”

Sarah sighs. “Well, I’ll text her and check on her. If she has ta call in sick, it’s gotta be serious. Better to be safe than sorry, right?” she says.

He is about to ask her if she can ask the same thing from him, too, but he drops his hand again and continues drying the mugs because if he tells her you both had a falling out, Sarah will certainly kill him.

He took a step too far, but he apologized and he begged, and you still pushed him away.

During a quiet moment, his phone vibrates in his back pocket. He pulls it out, eagerly hoping it’s you, but when he checks his messages, Jamie’s name is the only one that pops up.

He takes a deep breath. His hopes are shattered, and he feels fresh tears welling up in his eyes. If only you told him the truth, Michael could help you, but you are drowning in despair and you force yourself to do it alone.

‘Dad asked if u want me to take u to the gym 2night. Said u needed to get rid of some stress. U up 4 it?’

If this is Jimmy’s way of trying to get him out a bit more or perhaps even genuine care, he can’t decide. Either way, he is unable to say no.

He sends a thumbs-up back. His finger ghosts over the chat with you. He’s about to text you to call him or give at least any sign of life when Oliver appears behind him.

“Michael,” he says, “I need you to grab some more milk. We’re all out.”

All thoughts about texting you dissipate and he puts his phone away, the frustration and anxiety wearing him thin, but he puts on a mask for the sake of this job, for the sake of Anna, and for the hope that you might come around eventually. With a last groan into his hands, he shakes it all off, puts on a smile, and then follows Oliver’s request to grab some milk from the basement, hoping that either he gets eaten by spiders or all of his problems will have disappeared by the time he comes back up.

Of course, neither happens, although he notes that you weren’t all that wrong about the size of the spiders stuck to the ceiling.

•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•–•

The sound of thunder breaks through the air outside, roughly waking you from your slumber. A sharp headache tears through your skull. You shoot up, the couch creaking under your sudden movement, and your vision starts to blur. The alcohol left in your system puts the water in your ear off balance.

The world around you begins to spin the second you open your eyes. Every muscle in your body aches, but it’s not the pain that bothers you; you only have to take a breath to feel the nausea settling into your stomach, and you can taste the tequila still burning through your esophagus. This time though, it is the other way around.

You jump up. Your knees buckle, but you’re determined not to get any puke onto the carpet, so you pull it together enough to stumble into the bathroom. The toilet seat hits the wall and you bend over, the alcohol making its way back up your throat, and together with what little you ate, the contents of your stomach land in the toilet. You almost miss, but your mind is present enough to aim for the bowl.

The liquor in your stomach acid burns and you find yourself gagging even harder when the flesh of your esophagus seems to sizzle away with every wave of puke that leaves you. You can feel your pulse thudding in both of your temples. The pain gets worse, but you also don’t feel anything at all.

Inside your chest, your soul has been torn apart and shredded many times over, and it’s a continuous process that won’t stop. Your body feels the same way now, only with the difference that it’s not nearly enough to hurt as much.

You’ve always searched for an escape in agony, but this time, your soul hurts too much to be overshadowed by anything other than the voices in your head, and these little monsters are precisely the problem.

You got drunk, but you still remember everything from the night before. You remember work, you remember dinner with Michael and you remember the exact moment everything went to shit. You remember how your entire heart locked up the second he opened that drawer and held that file in his hand.

Your reaction was uncalled for. You know you should have explained or at least told him that you don’t want to talk because you weren’t mad at him. It wasn’t his fault. You were the one who chose to hide away your past and he was bound to find a sliver of the truth eventually. You should have told him. You should have taken a moment to collect yourself and then talked to him like an adult. You screwed up. The reason you pushed him away wasn’t because of his actions but because of yourself and your incompetence. You feel so incredibly guilty, heartbroken, and alone, but maybe this is exactly the way you’re supposed to be.

You promised Maya you would do anything to get your father behind bars and get her into your custody so she could have a normal life. You want her to get a chance to heal. You never got to properly heal, so you want her to get the opportunity you never got. She’s your sister, she’s family and you need to do something after failing to do so for years.

You love Michael, but you would’ve had to push him away sooner or later because you weren’t made for relationships.

You suck at being completely open, your past exists and it will come to haunt you one day, and you can’t do that to him or yourself because one of you is going to get hurt, and then the other would never forgive themselves, and it’s just easier not to get attached any further than you already are. You need to fix your and your sister’s life and only then you can move on. You wasted too much time because you were scared; you refuse to let your fear keep you from doing the right thing any longer.

As someone who grew up a people pleaser, you were bound to reach your breaking point eventually, and now you are ready to burn bridges as necessary.

You brush your teeth to get the taste of vomit out of your mouth. Your head is heavy and you still feel sick, but your stomach is empty now.

Making your way back to the living room, you notice the state you left it in before you fell asleep. Legal documents, newspaper clippings, and pictures litter the floor. Some of them get stuck on your feet and you almost angrily collect them to put them back on the table. You don’t even know where to start. The notes you wrote along the way don’t make any sense at first glance, and you realize that you should have done this sober.

It’s frustrating to know that you’re getting nowhere even though you have been fighting for far too long. You don’t know what else to do, and yet you know you have to do something. It’s a primal instinct that drives you now.

So, you take the file and the pictures and you sit back down on the couch with your laptop, an iced caramel latte, and your phone right next to you, and you go over everything you read the night before all over again, including all the post-its you compiled in your drunken state.

Ava called you a few times, but you chose to ignore her. Around noon, a text from Sarah comes in, but you can’t be bothered to answer that one either. She tries to call you a few times. It’s easy to ignore your responsibility when you’re not thinking straight anyway.

Nothing matters but the file in front of you. You’re not a detective, you don’t even write mystery fiction; you go after common sense and instinct, and you l hope the crime shows you’ve watched on tv prepared you enough for this. But it’s confusing, and you’re starting to lose your mind. The memories come flooding back in and you find yourself craving another drink soon enough.

You hate this.

Your fingers are shaky when you type in the number on the old card you found in the file from six years ago. It rings only once before an automatic voice tells you the number has been disconnected. But you’re not ready to stop there. You pull up the official website of Scotland Yard on your laptop and call the number there instead, hoping the front desk can provide you with answers and give you a number that isn’t outdated.

You hate phone calls, but you are sick and tired of doing nothing. Pretending to be confident is better than cowering from the truth.

“You’ve reached Scotland Yard, how may I help you?” the voice on the other end answers. The woman sounds kind yet reserved, and you stutter for a moment to collect your thoughts. “Hello?” she asks.

You snap out of it. “Hi!” you greet her, your voice slightly higher than usual. You introduce yourself, and you know it sounds stupid and desperate, but you can’t help it. “I’m looking for an Inspector called Richard Jones,” you say. “I have a number here, but it doesn’t seem to be active anymore. I was wondering if you could connect me to him?”

“Richard Jones?” the lady questions.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Is there a reason you want to speak to him directly?”

“I, uh, have questions on a case…”

“Current or old?”

“December 13, 2015,” you say. Your voice remains eerily calm and steady. “My– a three-year-old died in a car accident that was investigated as a wrongful death case by the police… and I remember Inspector Jones supervising that case and he said if I ever have any questions, I should call. And I know I did many times before, but I haven’t for a while now because I moved, and right now… I just need answers, so if you could patch me through or give me his contact information so I could ask him some questions personally, that would be highly appreciated. I’m not asking for details or anything, I just–”

She interrupts you in a soft voice and yet it infuriates you how careless she sounds on the other end. “I’ve got the case information right here,” she says, “And since it’s still open, you’re right, I can’t provide you with any details without clearance, but I can pass your call on to the lead investigator. It’s protocol.”

Protocol is the last thing you need. You know it’s her job and you’re just a strange voice on the phone to her, someone asking for questions on a case that hasn’t been closed in six years, and you could be just about anyone, but this is your only chance at getting information from the source and you would be damned if you let this opportunity pass by without doing anything.

“I’m the sister,” you tell her. “Of that little girl.” Your voice cracks. “Please, I just need to talk to him. If you write my name down, he might remember me.”

“I can do that, but ultimately, it is up to him whether he wants to talk to you or not,” she says. It sounds like an automated response–you want to reach out and search her computer yourself, but you’re in another country, so you’re stuck where you are and you have to live with the way things go over there. This is life and you have to accept it, no matter how infuriating it is.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing, “I–I understand. Just tell him that it’s important and that I have a few questions for him. Nothing serious, I just… A lot has happened these past few days, a lot of which has been unpleasant and brought up some memories from six years ago, and I just need some closure. I can’t sleep, eat or breathe,” you say. “So if you could pass along my name and somehow convey that this is important so he’ll call me back, I’d appreciate that. Just please, don’t dismiss me.”

The silence on the other end stretches, and you imagine the woman typing your information into a database, your plea becoming just another entry in a long list of cases. The reality of your situation hits you, the limitations of distance and bureaucracy setting in. You're just a voice on the other end of the line, a stranger seeking answers to a case that has long been closed for others.

Her response finally comes after another second. “I will make sure to include your name and make sure to underline the urgency,” she says. “I'm truly sorry for your loss, and I hope you find the answers you need, but there is not much else I can do for you at this moment.”

“It’s…” You shake your head. “It’s okay,” you assure her. “I appreciate you doing this. Thank you, for whatever’s worth.”

She’s just doing her job. It’s not her fault you’re stuck and mad at the world, but especially mad at yourself.

The keys of the woman’s computer clack a few more times on the other end. “Alright, I’ve passed your message along to his office and his work phone. Everything else is out of the realm of my control. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for you.”

Grief never gets easier.

“Thank you,” you say again.

“You’re welcome,” she answers. “You take care of yourself, Miss. Have a nice day!”

You nod weakly. “You too. Thanks.”

The line clicks and it dies, and with the silence, your heart drops even further into your stomach.

You throw your phone across the couch, your lips parting in a silent groan before you bury your face in your hands. What little hope you had left slowly starts to die like a withering flower in your chest, and it makes you sick again.

You spend the rest of your afternoon alternating between swallowing Ibuprofen, throwing up, drinking coffee, and sifting through new articles you can find online that don’t match with the documents you’ve gathered over the years. You went through them a billion times, and nothing has come up so far, so you decided to turn to the internet and go through what you haven’t read yet. It’s a lot and you struggle; your printer is slowly running out of ink, you can’t find a way to filter through all the information, and you’re so incredibly tired, but you can’t stop. Your eyes keep flicking to your phone, but it’s void of any calls from a number you don’t know.

The next time your phone pings, Michael’s name pops up, and you freeze.

‘Hey, I hope ur ok. I’ve been worried sick all day. Please, just let me know ur safe.’

You leave him on read, hoping it’s answer enough for him. You can’t confront him, and you can’t stand that he won’t hate you like he is supposed to after what you did. He’s supposed to stay away, protect his own fragile heart and move on. You can’t deal with his love right now; it’s too much and it is suffocating you.

His texts won’t stop once they started.

The sea of information and your emotions start to blur. You’re shaking. The next time you see his name pop up, you snap and you text him to just leave you alone. You’re not sure why you’re being so harsh, but you’re overwhelmed and you can’t stand it anymore. You’re tired. You need it to end.

The next he sends you then though is worse than what he sent you before, and it sends you into a violent fit of sobs right on your kitchen floor.

‘I know you said to leave you alone and I will, I just need to tell you how sorry I am again, even if it’s the last time I get to.

I care about you more than words can express. So maybe this sounds pathetic, but I don’t care. This whole thing is foreign to me. I'm sorry that I crossed a line and I broke your trust. I didn’t know, and maybe I should have, but despite everything, I didn't mean what I did. You have to believe me. I’m not cruel.

I'm so, so sorry for everything. I never wanted things to end this way between us. It hurts to know you might hate me for it now. But maybe you have every right to. I’m not sure anymore. All I know is that I’m sorry and I hate not being able to hold you through whatever you’re going through.

I want you to know that my feelings for you haven't changed. I understand if you need space right now, but please remember that I'm here, always. I'm not going anywhere. I promised I'd always protect you, and I intend to keep that promise.

I wish I could hold you, comfort you, and let you know that you're not alone. I don't want to lose you, so please don't throw this away, okay? Think about it and then come to me when you’re ready.

Please take care of yourself. Whenever you're ready to talk or if there's anything you need, I'll be here, waiting for you. I won't give up on us. You're worth fighting for.

I love you.’

It is the last text he sends you, and it’s enough to take the broken shards of your heart and break it even further to the point it’s all blood and ashes, nothing more.

You love him too, more than anything. You want to tell him that. You want to text back he has nothing to apologize for and that you’re sorry. You’re sorry for everything and that he deserves better, that he shouldn’t fight for you because it isn’t worth it, but your hand goes numb. Your entire body crumbles. You find yourself on the cold kitchen floor, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, and your agonizing sobs barely breach the sound barrier as they tumble from your lips. You succumb to the pain, and you allow yourself to marinate in the misery like the mess you know you are.

You don’t deserve him, and he needs to realize you are not worth the fight. He needs to learn that lesson now. You have failed time and time again, and it’s time for him to see the bigger picture. You’re not who he thinks you are or who he thinks he loves. You’re nothing, and he deserves someone more than that, someone, who can love him unconditionally without hurting him further. You are not that person.

You must have passed out. When your phone rings, it’s already dark out. You’re still on the kitchen floor. Your heart races when you hear the familiar tune of your ringtone and you jump up.

Your hope crumbles though when you check your screen. Your eyes squint. It’s Michael. Out of all people, he had to be the one to call.

You consider pressing the red button and sending him to hell, but it keeps on ringing and you begin to worry something might be wrong. He wouldn’t cross that line if it weren’t completely necessary; he has always respected your boundaries before.

So, you pick up the phone.

“I told you to leave me alone,” you answer. You don’t sound rude, but there is a sense of reservation in your voice he knows all too well.

Silence follows your words. And that’s when you realize picking up was the right thing to do. You knew something wasn’t right or he wouldn’t have called, and the silence you’re met with tells you that this isn’t just a drunk booty call or a desperate attempt to get you back. Something is off.

Your eyebrows furrow and you move to your kitchen window. “Michael?” you ask softly. “You there?”

You can hear him exhale on the other end. It’s shaky. He doesn’t sound good and he hasn’t even spoken yet.

“Is everything alright?” Your heart is beating faster now.

He exhales again, but this time, he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice a hushed whisper through the phone line.

You watch the cars pass by your street through the window. “Sorry? For what?” you ask him.

“Somethin’–” He breaks off with a shuddering breath. You can hear him sniffle as he wipes his nose. “Uh, somethin’ happened,” he says.

You haven’t known each other for long, but you’ve seen and heard him vulnerable before. He cried in your arms. He confided in you. But even through all of that, he has never sounded as broken as he does now, and it alarms you.

Your voice softens, “What happened?”

“There was a shootin’...”

His voice reminds you of a wild roller coaster and his words are equally as messy. When he mentions the shooting though, your ears pipe up.

“You were shot at?” you ask.

He nods, the sound of his skin brushing against the phone signaling the gesture to you. Your heart drops.

“I, uh…” Michael sniffles again. “I know it’s… I shouldn’t have called, but–” He’s trying hard to get his words together.

You anxiously bite your nail. You don’t know where he is or if he’s okay, you just know he’s alive and he can talk, and while that reassures you that he must be safe now, he was shot at, and it freaks you out. You knew the risks that came with his last name, but you never thought you would have to hear the words come out of his mouth.

What if he had died?

His broken sigh causes your breath to get stuck in your throat. “I need ya,” he whispers. “I… I didn’t know who else to call.”

You move the phone away from your face enough to curse, “Fuck!” Then, you place it back against your ear. “Are you okay?” you ask him again. “Did you get shot?”

He shakes his head. Your name passes his lips. “No, I’m… I’m alright. You’re just… Yer all I have.”

A silent tear makes its way down your cheeks. Just a few hours earlier, you were sobbing on your kitchen floor because of him, but the second he calls, you answer. It’s messed up. But you’re all he has, the first person he thought about calling, and you know if you had been in his position, you would have done the same. You found each other because you were both lonely, and you are dragged toward each other like moths to a flame.

You wipe your cheek, finding your words again. “Tell me where you are,” you say.

“Garda Station,” he answers. He sounds relieved, but his voice is thick with unshed tears. He’s trying to keep it together because he’s surrounded by strangers and he doesn’t want to break, but you know him and it sounds as if he’s this close to breaking apart.

The desperate urge to hold him takes over. Nothing else matters but him. He’s in pain and how can you stand idly by and watch while he burns to the ground? You can’t. You’re not a monster. He needs you.

Michael adds during your moment of silence, “They took me in ‘cause I’m a witness, not–not a suspect. I didn’t–”

He must really take you for a monster if he thinks that’s what you think of him. You shake your head. “I know,” you cut him off. “I know you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry…”

You’re wearing sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, but you’re not about to walk a fashion show. You find a coat to wear somewhere in the hallway. “Okay, stay where you are,” you say as you slip into your sneakers. “I’m on my way.”

“Thank you,” is all he manages to say.

“Don’t thank me. You don’t… You have nothing to thank me or apologize for. It’s alright. Just… don’t move. I’ll be there in ten.”

Just as you’re about to hang up, he calls your name. You stop in the doorway.

His voice sounds breathy through the line. “I love ya,” he says.

You shiver. Your emotions threaten to overflow, but the response is only natural when you say, “Yeah, I love you too.”

The world goes silent and you simply pull away and hang up. That was all you could give him. It’s the truth, but the truth seems tainted. You don’t know if it’s worth anything now.

The facts speak for themselves; you were willing to drop everything for him and you did. If you didn’t see any point in your relationship anymore, you wouldn’t have picked up when you figured something was wrong, and now that he needs you, you can’t abandon him. He told you he loved you and you only said the truth back. You’re not sure what good it does now, but your mind is elsewhere. You can only hope he’s alright.

It must be a bad dream and you’re still asleep, but when you step outside and the sky opens up to unleash its tears on you, the universe’s pain mixes with yours and you realize you’re painfully awake.

You can break up all you want, it seems as if there is not a chance in the world you would be able to stay away from each other. You tried to run, but you didn’t get far, so you made your way back to where you belonged. It sounds so easy, but the situation is complex in itself, and only time will tell how things might end.

When you pull up to the Garda Station downtown, the rain has calmed down a little, but it’s still pouring outside. You can make out Michael’s silhouette through the runny windshield. You turn off the lights. Your body acts before your mind can come up with a plan.

You get out, slam the door shut, and sprint toward him.

The rain soaks through your clothes. You can barely feel it. When Michael sees you, his eyes widen almost as if he can’t believe you’re there. You stop in front of him, your hair stuck to your face while he’s still completely dry under the roof that covers the station’s entrance.

Your eyes meet. His brown meets with the sad color of your irises. He looks no better than you. On any other occasion, you would have used it as an argument to make you feel better, but not tonight. His hair is a mess, his eyes have sunken into his skull and he looks ghastly pale. It’s no wonder that he’d be shaken up after being shot at, but it’s even worse than you expected. And then your eyes fall on the red stains that start on his cheeks and travel to his neck. Even his hands are stained a faint crimson.

Michael tried to scrub the blood off his skin, but he had no bleach to dissolve the copper and the blood. He can’t feel it. His skin tingles, but the distance between what he can see and what he feels is grave enough to form an abyss.

You reach out. Your hands brush his cheeks. His eyes flutter shut. “Are you okay?” you ask. “Did you get hurt? What–” Your fingers trace his features, checking him for any obvious injuries, but he appears to be physically unharmed. “Jesus,” you shake your head when you feel the residue of blood on his skin, and your stomach twists. “Who’s blood is this?”

He can’t read you. He can’t even read himself. “Jamie,” Michael says. “Jimmy’s boy…”

Your eyes soften. If Jamie was Jimmy’s son, that would make him his nephew. “What happened?”

“I… I don’t…”

“I don’t need all the details, just a short version so I can understand.”

“Jamie asked me t’drive to the gym with him ‘cause his dad thought it’d be good fer me to let off some steam, and I said yes ‘cause I was angry and I–” he begins, but he quickly turns into a rambling mess.

You shush him softly. “Slow down, baby. Take a deep breath,” you say.

He inhales and exhales at your command.

“Good boy. Now, tell me what happened.”

His voice cracks. It reminds you of a needle breaking the silence as it falls to the floor in an empty room. “Jamie’s… he was seventeen, so he couldn’t drive on his own…I said yes ‘cause I needed a break. We talked about boxin’ on the drive there…”

You try to pick up as much of the information as he’s willing to give you.

“Eric had a flat tire. Jamie thought it was a prank and I realized too late tha… I couldn’t see ‘em, but someone drove by and they shot at us. They got Eric, too, but… Jamie’s dead. He’s gone. He didn’t… he was just a boy. Fuck!” He drops his head in his hands.

“Michael–“

“He was innocent,” Michael breathes your name and it sounds like a call for help all over again. “I was s’posed to protect him and he died ‘cause I realized too late tha the tires were fuckin’ slashed!”

The tears start welling up in his eyes, and you follow suit. The thoughts in your mind sound like gibberish–you can’t remember a single thing you could say to make him feel better. There’s a wall blocking your brain from functioning properly, and you feel the lump from your throat traveling to your chest, clogging every last life-sustaining artery.

Reality settles in and hits him like a freight train all over again. “It’s my fault,” he whispers, and he repeats the same three words over and over again.

You move your hands from his face to his shoulders. He’s shaking. In your head, you saw him as this invincible machine of a man, especially considering his history, but he’s just as human as you and the next person. He was just trying to forget and now he’s even worse off than before.

“Hey,” you say, “No, don’t even…It wasn’t your fault! You did all you could. Jamie died at the hands of someone who had no shame in pulling a gun on you. That doesn’t make it your fault.”

“No, I–”

“No, don’t even go there, okay? Don’t.”

You pull him into your arms without hesitation. Michael has been waiting for this ever since you got out of your car, and he loses himself in your touch completely. He doesn’t cry, not yet, but he shudders, and he melts into the hug like a hot candle.

“Shh, I’m here,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of raindrops and pounding hearts. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

He buries his face in your neck, and something resembling a choked sob escapes his lips.

“It wasn’t your fault, baby. I promise.”

You try not to cry, but it’s hard. You’re scared and frustrated and oh-so-worried about the man in your arms. The tears pricking in the corner of your eyes are silent, and you look up at the sky to stop them. To no avail.

As the rain continues to fall, you gently pull away. The rain hides the fact that you’ve been crying, which you’re thankful for. This isn’t about you, this is about him.

He looks lost, almost disoriented, and something inside of him starts to slip. He’s fading, you can tell. It’s normal after witnessing something traumatic, you know, but you can’t help but feel the nagging curiosity bubble up in your chest that there might be something more than he is telling you. But who are you to judge? You have no right to even think about it after what you did. You’re a hypocrite.

Your voice is soft as you ask, “Do you want me to take you home?”

It’s the least you can do for him after he called you. He has no one else, he told you. Or he doesn't want to face his family after what happened, and after what you could find out about them, you can’t blame him for wanting to distance himself. He’s grieving too.

Michael nods silently.

“Okay, c’mon.” With a gentle touch, you guide him toward your car.

During the drive, you steal glances at him. His eyes are focused on the streets that pass you by. He's somewhere else. You reach out to hold his hand; he holds on tighter in return.

You finally arrive at his house. He prepares to step out of the car, lost in his thoughts when he suddenly looks at you with a hint of confusion. “What’re you doin’?” he asks.

You undo your seatbelt and meet his gaze. “Staying,” you say.

The realization dawns on him. “Why?” he asks.

“Because you need me.”

He looks between you and his house, then stares at his hands.

“Am I wrong?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer. His eyes grow guiltier and he begins to fidget with his fingers. It’s a silent way of telling you that you’re not wrong, he just doesn’t want to admit it to you.

You get out, the rain soaking through your clothes once again. Each raindrop reminds you that the events that now lie in the past are very much real and that they severely affect your future. But you’re here now, and you can’t leave.

Michael takes a moment to collect himself before following you. Your car locks. Right in front of his front door, you stop. He stares at you, his eyebrows furrowed, and you don’t blame him for being weary.

He needs you, so you chose to stay, but that won’t make what happened between you go away. For tonight though, maybe you can put it aside and focus on him. He’s the one who needs support now, and you’re fully focused on that rather than the past. Shit will hit the fan soon enough.

You reach out to touch his hand. He takes it without hesitation. As the rain continues to come down on you, your eyes lock and a mutual understanding passes between you. It’s a silent agreement you come to terms with.

Michael opens his mouth, but only a breath comes out.

“It’s okay,” you murmur.

Closing his mouth again, he sighs and nods. Words are too exhausting to form in his current state, but his body language speaks loud enough for you to understand what he so desperately craves.

For tonight, you would stay with him. But just for tonight. After that, you would go back to how things ended before, and then… Well, you’re both not sure what will happen then, but at least for tonight, he won’t be alone.

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @acharliecoxedfan @glowstick-lesbian @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella #kin amc #reader insert #chaos theory #hurt/comfort #charlie cox #x reader

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