#IC: I think I’ve met the definition of an enigma— | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 5: I’ve Lived The Life And Paid For Every Crime]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Some Kind Of Disaster by All Time Low.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to drugs and violence.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @writerxinthedark @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @loveandbeloved29

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

Easy Questions, Evasive Answers

“So it was nothing,” Archer said, glancing up from where he was tinkering around beneath the hood of my 1999 Honda Accord, checking hoses and belts and dipsticks. “This is pathetic, by the way. That you can’t change your own windshield wiper fluid. Dishonor on you. Dishonor on your cow.”

“I never had my own car in Phoenix!” I objected around a mouthful of a Starbucks pumpkin muffin, my first of the season. And that was true: Renee and I couldn’t afford one. “I didn’t have to learn about car things!”

“No, it’s great, I love it, I have a customer for life.”

“It was totally nothing,” I told him. Meaning the photograph in the newspaper article from 1979. Meaning my paranoia surrounding beautiful, brooding, certifiably lethal Benjamin Lee.

Not Lee, I reminded myself. Benjamin August Hardy, born November 3rd 1893.

“Was it really?” Archer asked, skeptical.

“Uhhh, you were the one who was making fun of me for thinking he might be a time traveler. Or a bigfoot.” Or a vampire.

“Yeah, okay, true...” He let the hood of the Honda fall shut with a bang, then wiped the muddy streaks of motor oil from his hands with a stained rag. “But you were freaked out. Like super freaked out.”

“I was, yeah. But it wasn’t him in the photo. I took another look, there were freckles and, uh, like, uh, some other things that didn’t match up.”

“Huh.” Archer watched me with an expression I couldn’t read. “I didn’t notice that.”

“Ben laughed about it. Probably thinks I’m an idiot. A stalker and an idiot.”

Archer smirked slyly. “He must not have held it against you too much. I’ve never seen that guy laugh in my life.”

I took a moody bite of my muffin, rolled my eyes, feigned shallow schoolgirl angst. “Trust me, he’s not my biggest fan.”

“Ohhhh, and this bothers you?” Archer sauntered over and stole a crumbling hunk out of the pumpkin muffin. “Does someone have a little crush on the gorgeous, grouchiest Lee?”

“Definitely not.” I sipped my chai latte, contemplative, debating telling him more.

“Uh oh. There’s something else, I can see it. Spill the tea, you walking college-chick-who’s-obsessed-with-fall stereotype.”

“I’m so excited! I’m going to get to see changing leaves this year!” Cacti are majestic, ancient, intrepid, and they remind me of home; but they never change. They’re like desert earth that way, like the ocean. Like vampires, actually.

“We’ll have to do all the Instagram-worthy stuff. Pumpkin patches. Hay mazes. Apple picking...you can even bring that Ben guy if you want to. If he promises not to murder me with his mysterious time-travelling demon powers.”

Oh, kid, you have no idea. “So...I am kind of into a Lee guy. But it’s not Ben.”

Archer gasped, inhaled pumpkin muffin morsels, bent over as he hacked them out of his lungs. “Who?!” he rasped, scandalized, and then coughed again.

I couldn’t help but smile as his name spilled out: “Joe.”

“Which one is that? The Middle Eastern Men’s Vogue model one?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, not Rami. He has a girlfriend, by the way.” And has for the past half a century.

Archer wiggled his eyebrows. “Just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score.”

“Oh my god, please never say that phrase again.”

“Joe is the...” He closed his eyes as he drummed his fingers against the metal workbench, trying to remember.

“The Italian one,” I finished for him.

“Ahhh. The annoying one.”

“He is not annoying! Why do people keep saying he’s annoying?! He’s hilarious, and sweet, and lowkey wicked smart, and, and, and...”

Archer whistled, grinning, his dark eyes sparkling. “Damn, girl. You do like him. You really like him.”

I sighed in defeat. “Okay. I really, really like him.”

“Like him as in would swipe right on Tinder, or like him as in you want to get married and honeymoon in Hawaii and have twelve pasty, angular babies?”

“Oh wow.” And for the first time, I was confronted with the singular enigma that was a future with Joe. Vampires had relationships with other vampires, obviously, even marriages; but that didn’t mean the same rules applied to humans. Did he like me? Could he like me? What would that even look like? How would it end? And it would have to end, of course, eventually. Unless somehow I stopped aging too. “More than just a right swipe. We’ll see about the twelve kids.”

“Just make sure he wraps it before he taps it. I’m too young to be an uncle.”

“Stop,” I pleaded, gulping down my latte, averting my gaze across Archer’s small garage filled with customers’ vehicles, pretending not to be intrigued and yearning and petrified. I couldn’t imagine hooking up with someone as faultless and—presumably—experienced as Joe and being anything but a disappointment. I’ve never hooked up with anyone. At all. Ever.

“What?” he asked, concerned, thieving another piece of my pumpkin muffin. Powdered sugar dusted his fingers like the snow I’ve only seen two or three times in my life.

“Nothing. I just really wish you went to Calawah too.”

“And give up all this easy money from clueless suburbs people like you?” Archer beamed, wily and proud and affectionate. “Not a fucking chance.”

No More Sad Spaghetti

Joe gawked in horror, chomping noisily on his Big League Chew bubblegum, as I unwrapped the peanut butter sandwich I’d packed for lunch. It was mostly cloudy in the early September sky overhead, but he was still wearing sunglasses. He had traded in his ubiquitous U Chicago apparel for a Cubs t-shirt. Squirrels scurried through the bigleaf maple trees that dotted the campus, snatching up acorns with tiny clawed paws, wriggling whiskered noses in our direction.

“What’s your problem?” I asked, taking a bite. “It’s not sad spaghetti.”

He blew a small pink bubble, then popped it with his teeth. “Yeah, but it’s...like...mangled.”

“It got trapped between my textbooks!” I protested. Admittedly, the accordion-shaped peanut butter sandwich—my vegetarian alternative to fishstick Thursday—kind of sucked.

“You can’t eat that. Oh my god. It’s making me so sad. Give it to the squirrels.” Joe pulled out his iPhone. “What’s your preferred pizza topping?”

“I can’t tell you,” I replied, tossing my sandwich towards the nearest tree. A hoard of squirrels immediately descended upon it and proceeded to battle for dominance, emitting shrill, peanut-butter-crazed shrieks.

His brow furrowed. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because you might not like me anymore.”

“Why would I not like you because of pizza...?” And then he knew. “Oh no, oh god, please don’t say pineapple.”

“I’m a pineapple pizza person.”

“Baby Swan,” Joe said, deadly serious, pressing his palms together. “That is straight up sacrilegious. You can’t put tropical fruit on a pizza. You realize I’m Italian, like an actual Italian. I’m so Italian I’ve killed other Italians for being the wrong kind of Italian. That’s how Italian I am.”

“I feel like maybe I shouldn’t socialize with literal mobsters. It’s unsavory.”

“Settle down, I’m ordering the half-pineapple pizza, you freaking barbarian.”

I watched Joe as he tapped his thumbs against the screen, humming to himself, amused, perpetually buoyant. And I couldn’t picture him as a monster, as a killer: pulling triggers, slitting throats, digging blades into soft vulnerable love handles, feeling for the mortal puncture of a lung or kidney. I asked him, my voice quiet, hesitant, almost lost in the autumn wind: “Did you actually hurt people?”

“Nah. I didn’t have the stomach for it, even back then. I was on the deal-making side of things. The business side. I was a people person, a smooth talker, astronomically charming.”

I smiled, mischievous. “That’s difficult to imagine.”

“Okay, so no cheesy breadsticks for you.”

“I’m sorry, mob guy. Please order the breadsticks. You’re so charming I can’t stand it. My jeans are unzipping all by themselves.”

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “So you’ll sacrifice your dignity for breadsticks. Good to know.” He finished typing and laid his iPhone on the grass. “Alright, next question.”

“Does your hair grow?” Joe’s hair—I couldn’t help but notice—seemed longer than it was the day I met him a week and a half ago, disorderly and auburn-tinted, ruffling in the breeze.

“It does, yeah. Hair and nails still grow. So you have to shave, but you can’t get razor burn. And any nicks close right up.”

“Very cool. How often do you need to eat? You know...actually eat.”

“It varies, but generally twice a week.”

“And what kind of animal has the tastiest blood? Besides...well...” I gestured towards myself. “The upright two-legged kind with opposable thumbs and a partiality for pineapple pizza.”

He blew another bubble, then leaned in towards me. And I realized, for the first time, that he had his own inherent, exclusive, totally Bath-And-Body-Works-worthy scent as well; Dr. Gwilym Lee was sandalwood and campfires and log cabins, Mercy was roses and vanilla...and Joe was pine trees, peppermint, cold night air, like all of that eternally youthful magic of Christmas Eve sieved into a bottle. I popped the sheer pink bubble with the cap of my blue pen. Joe asked: “Do humans like chocolate or vanilla ice cream? Coffee or tea? Baseball or something hella lame?”

“Depends on the human.”

“Exactly. Same deal for vampires. I prefer bears, especially grizzlies. Lucy and Mercy like deer, elk, moose, animals like that. Ones with hooves. Weirdly, Rami’s favorite is crocodile, I think because it was the first thing he ever tried in Egypt. He doesn’t get it very often, but has been known to buy them on the black market on occasion. Scarlett likes mountain lions. Also domestic cats, but you didn’t hear that from me. Gwil is a wolf guy, but he won’t kill the endangered kinds. Such a gentleman.”

“How about Ben?”

“Ben’s still coming around to the whole eating animals thing. I don’t think he has a favorite yet.”

Joe isn’t a killer, and he never was; I could believe that. But Ben... “Why is he so different than the rest of you?”

“That’s...kind of a long story,” Joe replied carefully.

“It wouldn’t be such a long story if people stopped talking about how it’s a long story and actually told it to me.”

He flashed a grin, revealing white canine teeth filed into points; they were subtle, yes, but they were there. Fangs. I envisioned pressing a fingerprint against them and feeling the flesh split in two, the blood dripping down onto his tongue like Washington rain. And unlike Joe’s skin, mine wouldn’t knit back together on its own. “But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of tormenting you with the prospect of incredibly juicy yet confidential information!”

I rolled my eyes, sipped my can of Diet Coke, returned my attention to our lunch plans. “So garlic doesn’t repel you. That part of the lore is completely made up.”

“Yup. Thank god. Eternal life would be worthless without pizza.”

“Can you do drugs? Get drunk?”

“We can’t overdose, but we can get the effects of anything we consume. It’s not a good habit to get into though. If you’re nodding on heroin for like four days at a time, it’s pretty easy for some other vampire to find and murder you.”

“So a vampire can be killed by another vampire.”

“Absolutely. Next question.”

I consulted my mental list. “Do you sleep?”

“Yeah. Well, kind of. We nap for a few hours a day.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“We get bitchy. Really bitchy. We essentially turn into Ben.”

I laughed, chewing absentmindedly on the end of my pen. “So that’s his problem. He hasn’t napped in a century. Now it all makes sense.”

“Something like that,” Joe said. “You gonna come over tonight?”

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to present The Walruses And Me tomorrow and I still haven’t started the book.”

“What do you know, I can tell you all about The Walruses And Me!”

“Seriously? You’ve read it?”

“No, but I can enthusiastically narrate the Wikipedia article to you while you pet Mercy’s alpacas.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Terrible for your grade in Marine Mammals. Good for your development as an interesting and happy human.”

“Nice try, but I’m already both of those things.”

Joe reached out suddenly, jarringly, and ran the back of his hand across my cheek. My favorite Lee, I thought, thoroughly transfixed but trying to hide it. Oh no. “Interesting, definitely. But I have this gnawing, distressing suspicion that you’re still working on the happy part.”

“I miss the desert,” I confessed. That wasn’t quite all of the problem, but it was accurate: I missed the heat, the sun, the parched prehistoric air I had always called home. Although I was beginning to find reasons to like Forks, Charlie and Archer and the promise of a Pacific Northwestern autumn; and then one big reason in particular. A very old, pale, chatty, Italian reason.

“A bit of a quandary for a future marine biologist,” he replied gently, perhaps apprehensively.

“I always figured I’d live somewhere like San Diego or Los Angeles or Galveston. Someplace on the ocean, but also sunny and hot and with palm trees. The best of both worlds. But you couldn’t go there with me, could you?”

Oh no.

Oh NO.

Oh fuck, this is definitely a crushing-on-Lee-boys zone.

Joe stared at me through his sunglasses, chomping on his Big League Chew, the corners of his mouth turned up and etching lines like parentheses into his face, pleased and nodding slowly and triumphant somehow. Then he struck out his hand again, this time with his pinky raised like a flagpole. “No more pathetic depressing lunches.”

“You got it. No more sad spaghetti. No more sad peanut butter sandwiches. You have my solemn, human vow.”

He smiled as his pinky entwined with mine. “No more sad anything.”

“So this vampire thing sounds like a pretty sweet gig. No dying, no consequences for a hellacious diet or wild condomless orgies, literal superpowers, perfect hair...why doesn’t everyone get to live that way?”

He shrugged; and there was an unfamiliar, meditative tension in his face. Almost sorrow. “It’s not all pizza and orgies and heroin. We have weaknesses too.”

“Like what?”

“Hey, look!” Joe piped cheerfully, twisting around towards the parking lot. “I think our GrubHub guy is here.”

Bad Blood

I was definitely regretting that fourth slice of pineapple pizza as I waddled into Chemistry, navigating sluggishly around the hulking frat boys and giggling sorority girls and mousy bookish types who lugged around colossal backpacks that were always threatening to knock an unsuspecting passerby off their feet at each unthinking turn. But while I was arriving in the classroom—physically, anyway; emotionally I was standing in an empty field somewhere screaming I cannot be falling in love with a hundred-year-old mobster vampire!! into the void—Ben was a countercurrent darting through the crowds and towards the hallway door.

“Where are you rushing off to, old guy?” I asked him. “Bingo? To renew your AARP membership? To walk vigorously around the inside of a mall?”

Ben responded in that deep, low, humorless voice. “They’re doing some kind of blood typing experiment today. I probably shouldn’t be around for that.”

“Oh.” I glanced over at Professor Belvin, who was indeed hunched over the table at the front of the classroom and laying out rows of Q-tips and rectangular paper cards and alcohol swabs and bottles of clear liquid, whistling what sounded like Time Of The Season.

Ben sighed irritably, rubbing his crinkled forehead. “I already used up all my absences. I’m gonna have to make up a compelling last-minute tragedy. Tell Professor Belvin my grandma died or something.”

“I mean, technically, she did at some point.”

“Ugh,” Ben replied, not consoled at all.

“Wait, I got this.”

I gripped my belly, sank into the nearest chair, and groaned dramatically. It really didn’t require all that much acting. Ben watched with huge green eyes, confounded.

“Miss Swan!” Professor Belvin cried, rushing over. He was wearing khaki pants, a white shirt, and suspenders and a matching bowtie patterned with bubbling multicolored test tubes. Belvin had been Charlie’s classmate from kindergarten through high school, and still palled around with him over Bud Lights and low-quality nachos on bowling league nights. Bowling was, evidently, the sport of choice for middle-aged Forks dads. Also for Welsh vampire pseudo-dads born in the 1400s.

I whimpered in reply.

“Are you alright, Miss Swan?” Professor Belvin asked worriedly. A few students had begun to congregate around the scene. I felt a pang of genuine nausea as perspiration beaded at my temples. You better appreciate this, Mr. Hardy.

“I’m okay,” I said, in my most pained and martyrish voice. “I don’t want to miss...today’s lesson...it looks so fascinating...but I didn’t wash my kale thoroughly last night and then I had a salad for dinner and now I might have food poisoning.”

“You poor thing!” Belvin exclaimed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about class. You can just answer some textbook questions or something, no problem. Please go get checked out to make sure you’re alright.”

“Could someone...maybe...help me get to the campus clinic...?” My eyes listed towards Ben. “Maybe...my lab partner?”

“That’s a good idea.” Professor Belvin turned to Ben. “Mr. Lee, would you be willing to escort Miss Swan to the clinic? You can do an alternative assignment as well. If you don’t mind missing the blood typing lab.”

“I’d be delighted to help,” Ben responded, still puzzled. I offered him my hand, and Ben took it, grimacing as he led me out into the hallway. As soon as we were alone, he dropped my hand and opened up several feet of space between us.

“Thanks so much, Miss Swan, you are a lifesaver,” I said, imitating his morose, rumbling British accent. “Oh, you’re very welcome, Ben. You can repay me in basic courteous conversation and Starbucks gift cards and by maybe not killing me.”

“So you’re totally fine?” Ben asked flatly.

“Of course. Nobody with taste eats raw kale.”

Frowning, frustrated, he started puffing on his vape pen. “You need to stop doing nice things for me. It’s extremely disorienting.”

“This may be difficult for you to come to terms with, but you, Ben Hardy, are worth being the recipient of nice things.”

“No, you still don’t get it,” he snapped, grabbing my wrist, spinning me around to face him in the empty hallway. “That’s all I’ve ever done. Kill people like you.”

The Fire

“Who is the cutest little alpaca I’ve ever seen?!” I cooed in a squeaky falsetto, scratching her wooly brown chin. “Who’s going to come home and live with me and Charlie forever?!”

“That’s illegal, ma’am.” Joe was watching me, arms crossed over his Chicago Cubs t-shirt, smiling wistfully.

“It is not!”

“It actually is,” Rami added. He was lying on the grass and gazing up into the roiling, grey, late-afternoon clouds with his fingers laced behind his black hair. None of the Lees were wearing sunglasses now. “A house has to be zoned as farmland to have alpacas, which ours is. Yours, tragically, is not.”

“What are you, a lawyer?” I shot back.

Rami grinned. “I was once. And I will be again, in approximately...let me count...five years.”

“That’s what you want to do with your boundless time and energy? Be a corporate shill?”

Joe cackled. “He tried that already. It lasted about five minutes.”

“Manhattan in the 1980s,” Rami reminisced dreamily. “Hundred-hour workweeks. Cocaine everywhere. What a time to be alive. And I hardly ever left the office, so the sunlight thing wasn’t a problem.”

“Okay, so you’re not in it for the Maseratis or the drugs...”

“I’m going to be an immigration attorney,” Rami told me. “Help refugees apply for asylum to come to the United States. Arabic-speaking refugees, in particular.”

“Wow. I stand corrected. That’s wonderful, Rami. I now feel like a total tool for only aspiring to save sea turtles.” But it made sense, of course. What would any good person spend eternity doing? Making the world just a tiny bit better. I glanced at Joe, teasing him. “And you just study how to get rich, huh?”

“I’m a venture capitalist,” he said brightly. “I invest in small businesses, counsel them, encourage them, connect them with other people in the industry, help them grow. And I don’t need the money, so I take a practically microscopic equity stake. I’m basically a professional charitable donor.”

“And you get to put all of those charming mob-guy skills to use.”

Joe winked. “Exactly.”

“Doesn’t it get old?” I asked both of them. “Being college students?”

Rami shrugged. “No really. The world changes, schools of thought evolve, our own interests fluctuate. Every few decades we circle back and go for another round, fresh degrees, maybe new professions entirely. You learn something new every time.”

“And I’ve been waiting for all my old professors to die so I could go back to U Chicago for fifty years!” Joe shouted. “I’m fucking pumped!”

“But...don’t you already know everything...?”

Joe chuckled. “We’re vampires, Baby Swan, we’re not prodigies. We’re sharper than the average person, sure. But it still takes effort to learn. And we all have things we suck at.”

“Like not being obnoxious,” Rami said, nodding to Joe.

“Like not minding our own fucking business,” Joe hurled back.

“I cannot control the fact that I’m a literal mind reader—”

“You boys behave yourselves,” Mercy called in her relaxed, drawling Southern accent, swinging a basket of carrots and zucchinis and cabbages that she’d dug out of her garden, wearing a long flowing yellow dress and her hair tied up in a scarf. She plodded over in her bare feet, handed me a few carrots, then pointed to the chocolate-colored alpaca I was petting. “That lady there is Athens. And the black and white one by Joe is Augusta. Then there’s Norcross, and Alpharetta, and Savannah...and that real chubby grey one heading into the barn is Marietta.”

“I adore them,” I replied, beaming. Mercy had sheep and pigs and a couple of cows too, all ambling contently around the emerald green field as the first threads of fiery, rust-hued sunset were lighting up the horizon.

“We used to have ducks, too,” Mercy mused. “But they disappeared recently...”

Rami passed Joe a knowing smirk. Joe mouthed back menacingly: Do not.

“Hey mom,” Rami piped.

Joe jabbed an index finger at him. “No, don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare—”

“Joe ate the ducks.”

“You bitch!” Joe cried.

“Oh, Joseph,” Mercy sighed mournfully, lifting a brush out of her basket and dragging it down Athens’ fuzzy back.

“I’m sorry! It was one time! I was weak!”

“I’m not angry, sweetheart,” Mercy said. “I’m just disappointed.”

“Mom, that’s worse!”

Rami climbed to his feet and swatted grass and leaves off his cardigan sweater. “Alright folks. My work here is done. Peace out.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to do a hit and run like that, hey, Rami, hey, hey, come back here!”

Joe trotted after him, shouting a litany of insults, as Rami laughed hysterically and careened into the house. Lucy and Gwil were in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies; Scarlett was in the garage changing the brakes on Ben’s Vantage; Ben was noticeably absent from the Lee household and presumably out hunting. It was remarkably easy to picture his fingers closing around bloodied flesh, a wolf’s or a bear’s or an elk’s, lowering his fangs to a pulsing jugular.

“So you’re really into this whole farming thing,” I said to Mercy, looking out over the field rimmed by towering western hemlock trees. I didn’t know exactly how many acres of land the Lees owned, but it was a lot. Mercy adopted rescue animals, donated vegetables from the garden to local food pantries, and occasionally rented out the barn as a wedding venue.

“I’ve always loved it. I had a farm, you know. Before I met Gwil.”

Before she died.

“I didn’t know that,” I murmured, wanting to learn more, afraid to ask, never meaning to pry or offend. “I remember you mentioned the Civil War, and a barn...being...well...being trapped in it. When it burned down.”

Mercy nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s the polite version of the story, isn’t it?” She set down her basket in the tall grass, tugged distractedly at a dark strand of hair that had escaped her scarf, stared glassily out into the sunset muted with cloud cover as Athens moseyed away. “Do you want to know what happened? I’ll tell you if you do. But I don’t want to upset you, dear.”

My voice was barely a whisper. “I’d like to know.”

“We had a little farm out in the middle of nowhere,” Mercy explained. “My husband Arthur and I.”

And it felt so outlandish to hear her say those words. Husband. She had a husband before Gwil. She had a whole life before this one.

“He had a bullet in one leg and a limp from a hunting accident when he was a boy, so he was never called up to enlist. It was a rich man’s war, but it was the poor men they sent to die in it. That’s how it always goes, I expect. And how it always will. We had two daughters, twelve and fifteen. I won’t tell you their names. Don’t take that personally, dear. I haven’t spoken their names in a hundred and fifty years.”

She turned her murky eyes—like homemade bread crust or coffee or the wood walls of a log cabin—to me.

“When the Union Army came through, they were beasts. Men like that...men who have been killing and looting and burning their way across hundreds of miles...all they want to do is get blood on their hands. That’s all they remember how to do. So that’s exactly what they did. They slaughtered our cattle for meat. They burned the house down. And then they took me and my girls, and they...they...well, you know what they did. What men do when they’re monsters. And when Arthur tried to stop them, they shot him in the chest and spit mouthfuls of chewing tobacco on him as he bled out in the dirt. Called him a coward and a deserter. Told him everything they were planning to do to me and my girls. And when they were done doing all of those things, they locked the three of us in the barn and set it ablaze. I was the only one still alive when Gwilym got there. And believe me, I didn’t want to be.”

“I’m so sorry,” I breathed, my throat burning for Mercy, for her family, for this divinely kind and benign and tender woman.

She patted my cheek fondly. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s not your fault. I got a second chance. Gwilym gave me a second chance. That’s what he does, you know. He finds broken people, fixes them, loves them fiercely. He gave me forever. Two more daughters. And three sons.”

Three sons, I thought. Rami and Joe and Ben. She counted Ben.

“Does someone have to be dying?” I asked her softly. “You know. To become like you.”

“No, honey. That’s just how Gwil does things.”

“But...why? What’s the possible downside? Why not change anyone who wants it?” Why not change someone like me?

And Mercy peered over at me, contemplative, curious, like tiptoeing gingerly over rotted floorboards, like weaving through a minefield. Like she was trying to figure out what I’d already been told.

“Hey Baby Swan,” Joe said, startling me. I whirled to see him waiting with a patient smile and his hands buried in his pockets. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

He led me upstairs to Gwil’s 1960s-style office, where Dr. Lee had cleaned and stitched the tiny gash in my forehead after my misadventure with Ben in the woods outside Calawah University, where the wall above the sturdy oak desk was adorned with a massive painting filled with gorgeous, unfamiliar, inhuman faces. Joe took a deep breath, and then he began.

“This,” he announced, introducing the painting, “is the vampire version of the mob. They can trace their existence back to before the Roman Empire. They find people who they think have potential, have talents. They turn them. And then they offer them a hundred-year contract. You sign it, or they murder you. When your term is up, you get to decide whether to renew or leave. But almost no one ever leaves. After a century of taking orders and guarding and killing, what else do you know how to do?” He pointed to the terrifying woman with long white hair and red eyes. “That’s Liesl. She’s literally Satan, only blonder. The chick with the tattoos is Akari. She can meet a human and tell what powers they’ll have once they’re changed. Very useful, obviously. The dude who looks like Idris Elba is Cato, and he’s actually an okay guy, he’s the one currently assigned to keep tabs on Gwil’s coven...”

I soaked the names in like rain into dark, lush Washington earth as Joe relayed them to me, strange and beautiful names: Aruna, Phelan, Morana, Adair, Zora, Araminta, Honora, Victorien, Rigel, Sahel.

“Who’s that?” I asked, gesturing to the young man standing at the center of the painting, the one with black hair and eyes so light and luminous a brown they were almost gold and a sinister, unmistakable magnetism.

“Very good question,” Joe complimented. “That’s their Al Capone. That’s Larkin.”

“And what’s his vampire superpower?” He has to have one. I know he does.

“How do I even put that into words? It’s more than charisma. It’s slightly less than mind reading. He can see through people, what they want most, what they fear. And he can make them do things.”

I gazed into those omniscient glowing eyes, feeling myself getting caught there, feeling some primal dread swelling in the capillary beds of my heart and lungs and bone marrow. “Joe, I’m thoroughly enjoying this captivating backstory, really, but...why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because you asked why Ben is so different than the rest of us. This is why.” Joe waved broadly at the painting, at the closest thing his world had to a mafia, to unrepentant killers, to actual demons. “This is where he came from.”

74 notes · View notes

ughseoks · 5 years ago

Text

lawnmowers & lemonade | jjk

— pairing; jungkook x reader

— genre; fluff, best friends to lovers (kinda)

— word count; 1.7k

— warnings; none, super soft flower crown making uwu

— summary; you and your family are new in town, and a cute boy named jungkook mows your lawn every week. he quickly becomes your best friend, and by the end of the summer, the two of you may end up being be even more than that.

— masterlist —

Every Saturday night, you double checked your alarm set for 7 o’clock Sunday morning. Why, some may ask? Well... the truth was, in all honesty, a bit embarrassing.

A really, really cute boy came to mow your lawn every Sunday morning.

Yes, you knew it was a bit stalkerish, but you couldn’t help how you felt about the situation. You’d moved across the country to the small town at the beginning of the summer for your dad’s promotion. Ever since he hired the boy to come around and mow once a week, you hadn’t been able to get the image of his chocolate curls and adorable bunny smile out of your head. Whenever he showed up, you’d sneak glances through your window that faced the front yard, trying to discreetly observe the enigma that was Cute Lawnmower Boy.

On one particularly hot summer day, you felt your resolve finally begin to crumble. The humidity had caused his normally wavy hair to become extra curly— a known weakness of yours. Unable to handle the butterflies filling your stomach, you pulled out your phone and called your best friend, venting to her about how cute he was and how it was such a tragedy that you’d never actually end up together.

“Y/N!” she yelled into her phone, “Are you kidding me? You’ve gotta talk to him!”

“Ohhh no,” you shook your head violently, glancing back out of the window nervously as if the boy could somehow hear her screaming, “No, no, no! What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, nice to meet you, I’ve been waking up just to watch you outside of my window for the past four weeks?’ That’s so creepy!”

“I’m ordering you to talk to him. You can’t back out, it’s happening. If you don’t, I’m telling Taehyung that you had a huge crush on him in seventh grade. Good luck!” she chirped before ending the call.

You pulled the phone away from your ear, facepalming. She knew all of your tricks, and if you tried to lie when she called you back, she’d definitely see right through you. More importantly, you knew for a fact that she wouldn't hesitate to tell her older brother about your hopeless middle school crush on him, and that wasn’t something you were willing to risk. So, when the next week rolled around and the boy showed up outside your house at the normal time, you were prepared.

After he was about halfway done mowing, you grabbed a glass of lemonade and took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for what you were about to do. When you opened the front door, you were met with the sight of him lifting his arm to wipe the glistening sweat from his forehead, a sliver of his toned stomach peeking out in the process. It took all of your self control to not accidentally drop the lemonade you were holding right then and there.

“Hey!” you called, waving to him from your porch before walking over to him with false confidence, “I know this is super cliche, but it’s insanely hot outside today, and I thought you might want some lemonade or something.”

Jumping slightly out of surprise, the boy turned to look at you with wide doe eyes. He silently noted that you were wearing shorts and a large t-shirt, paired with some mismatching patterned socks. Your hand was outstretched, offering the cold glass of lemonade to him.

“Uh, y-yeah, that sounds nice,” he stuttered, taking the glass from your hand while trying to compose himself. “I’m Jungkook, by the way.”

“I’m Y/N! Nice to meet you,” you offered, sticking out your hand towards him in greeting.

Shooting you a smile, he gave it a firm shake. You tried your best to ignore how his hand practically engulfed yours. “Are you new in town?”

“Yeah, we moved in at the beginning of the summer,” you shrugged, “I haven’t really had the chance to meet many new people yet.”

“Well,” he gave you a lopsided smile, “I guess that makes me your first new friend, huh?”

Jungkook had offered to put his number in your phone shortly after the conversation you’d had that afternoon. The two of you ended up texting back and forth for the entire day, somehow managing to organize an impromptu get-to-know-the-town tour (courtesy of Tour Guide Jungkook) for the following day.

True to his word, at exactly 11:30am, Jungkook was knocking on your front door. He hadn’t even dropped his fist back to his side before you were tugging the door open, a giddy smile lighting up your face.

“Wow,” Jungkook whispered, just low enough for you not to hear it. You looked incredible. A soft white shirt was tucked into your slightly ripped jean shorts; your hair was down, a hair tie resting on your wrist in case there was unexpected wind.

“Ready to go?” you chirped, flashing him a wink before hopping down the steps, pausing to let him follow you.

“Y-yeah,” he stumbled down the steps after you, “Right behind you.”

You had a wonderful time that day, walking around the city with an ice cream cone in your hand and Jungkook by your side. He pointed out various stores and attractions that he wanted to take you to see sometime, occasionally stopping to look inside of small shops with you.

Something about Jungkook made you feel light. His smile was like a breath of fresh air; his laugh lifted a thousand worries from your shoulders. The way his eyes twinkled with an unknown emotion when he looked at you took your breath away, a wave of butterflies erupting in your stomach every time he did so.

Jungkook must have felt that same feeling of right that you did, because before you knew it, the two of you were spending almost every day together. Whether it be going out for ice cream or binging hallmark movies in your living room, you somehow found a way to see each other as much as possible. You were each other’s best friends in a matter of weeks.

One morning after he’d finished mowing, Jungkook had opened his arms and wrapped you up in a sweaty bear hug, causing you to squirm in his grip as he laughed and squeezed tighter.

“Kookie! You’re so sweaty, let go of me! It's gross!” you grumbled as he let go of you, still laughing.

“Sorry, sorry!” he held his arms up in surrender, “Promise I won’t do it again!”

“We both know that’s a lie,” you pointed an accusing finger at him, letting out a giggle when he dramatically clutched his chest in mock offense, “You get too much pleasure from my discomfort. Anyways, I came out here to ask you if you wanted to go to the park with me later today.”

“You planning on proposing to me?” he grinned, trying not to laugh at the way your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head, “I knew you were in love with me, Y/N, there’s no need to hide it! After all, I am a handsome, kind, and funny young man--”

“Last night I was scrolling through YouTube,” you cut him off with a glare as he stifled his giggles, “And I saw this super cute tutorial for how to make flower crowns. Like, with REAL flowers. Isn’t that super cool?”

“Hmm… Sounds a little basic to me,” he pretended to think, yelping when you playfully punched his arm.

“You just don’t want to admit that you probably won’t be good at making them,” you shot back, knowing full well that he’d probably be amazing at making the flower crowns. He had a knack for… pretty much everything, really. It wasn’t fair.

“Well, now I have to prove you wrong,” he reached out and ruffled your hair, “I’ll pick you up this afternoon?”

You nodded. “Make sure you take an extra long shower. You stink.”

Something about Jungkook is off, you thought to yourself as you plucked yet another yellow flower from the ground and began to weave it into the crown. Stuttering and looking away every time you tried to talk to him, he was almost a complete opposite from the way he’d acted earlier that morning. You wanted to ask him about it, but you also didn’t want to pry. After all, if he wanted you to know, he would’ve told you already, right?

“H-hey, Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice interrupted your thoughts, “Can I, um, talk to you about something?”

Looking over at him, you nodded with a soft smile before continuing your work on your flower crown. Jungkook fiddled with a blade of grass, looking everywhere but you as be began to speak. “Over the past few weeks, I’ve had an amazing time with you. Like, a really, really great time. I honestly can’t remember the last time I was this happy, ya know? You’re my best friend.”

He paused when you sat up from your spot on the grass, giving you a confused look as he glanced at the completed flower crown resting delicately in your hands.

“Continue,” you prompted as you leaned towards him, lifting your hands up.

He cleared his throat, flickering his gaze back down to his lap. “If I’m being honest, I’ve kinda started to see you as- as more than just my best friend. I was wondering if… if you felt the same way?”

Instead of answering his question immediately, you laid the flower crown gently on Jungkook’s head, adjusting it carefully as his heart nearly beat out of his chest. His raven colored curls warm in the sunlight, the darker color a stark contrast to the bright yellow of the flowers. Once you’d adjusted the crown to your liking, you let your hands slip down to gently cup his face, your thumbs rubbing back and forth over his pink-tinted cheeks.

The sun was sparkling in his deep brown doe eyes, and after taking a moment to drink in his beauty, you leaned down, gently pressing your lips to his slightly parted ones. His lips were soft as they moved against yours; much softer than you’d expected them to be. After a moment, you pulled away, trying to contain the excitement buzzing all the way through your fingertips.

“Of course I like you, Jungkook,” you smiled, giggling when he pulled you down into another quick, chaste kiss, “Always have, always will.”

a/n; this was very fluffy and fun to write!!!! i love kook so much ugh

— masterlist —

351 notes · View notes

freshtomatoesddd · 4 years ago

Text

A TyZula Fanfic i wrote to avoid burnout.

A fanfic inspired by Lewin's Hyperventilation.

Ty Lee has always had difficulty breathing whenever she was mentally or physically overwhelmed, often hyperventilating. When she was a young girl, this was never much of a problem, as her life was comfortable. But as soon as she turned fifteen, her father chose to ship his kids to America for their senior education. As such, Ty Lee arrived in a foreign country with her sisters, realizing her life would never be the same. Having no real way to cope, Ty Lee would often leave home for long stretches of time, doing whatever it was she felt like doing. In high school, however, she fitted in quite well with her spoiled peers. She did so well, Ty Lee was awarded a position in Azula's posse. Confident and well put together, the young girl had difficulty not falling for teenage Azula, and their relationship soon evolved past platonic relations.

Five years later, Ty Lee found herself back in America at some reunion party her father made her attend, stuck in an old bar with people she'd rather not meet again. Mai couldn't come, leaving her with Azula. Through gritted teeth, Ty Lee allowed Azula to follow her back to her hotel, angst following suit. If you're interested, read after the cut off. :p

HYPERVENTILATION

An enigma, that was the best way Ty Lee could describe Azula. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know her, for it was only after high school did they grow out of touch. But graduating did that to people, especially if one made it a point to leave their past behind and start anew, away from the people and environment which brought one so much misery in the first place. And so, Ty Lee questioned why she had agreed to come to the high school reunion, the bar chalk full of people she had wished to never see again. Not that she despised them, she just wished they wouldn’t have showed up. But then again, she knew that it was her fault for accepting the invitation and for actually presenting herself in the stuffy, old looking bar.

A part of her wished she never opened her mail that day, begging and praying that by some miracle she hadn’t seen the invitation sticking out of her mailbox like a sore thumb. But another part of her knew that it was pointless to complain of it now, most definitely after she made the effort to dress herself and show up to an otherwise unremarkable party. It was lively, yes, but Ty Lee saw no need to further rub elbows with her former classmates. She didn’t even bother to drink, as the rather loud and cramped bar hadn’t given her the impression that such an occasion was one to celebrate.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” a voice called out to her.

The brunette looked up; met with the same golden gaze she had grown accustomed to throughout the years—the same person who caused her train of thought in the first place. Azula didn’t bother to drink herself, though she’d never been much of an alcohol enthusiast.

The brunette fiddled her thumbs for a moment, unsure of what to say, nor how to feel. Her juvenile crush had faded, but some feelings still remained. Not passionate by nature, but warm nonetheless... But this wasn’t high school, and Ty Lee soon found her words.

“I guess I just don’t feel like it.” Ty Lee leaned against their booth; eyes still fixed on her former classmate.

“Strange, I assumed you would be one to enjoy the bite of alcohol.”

Ty Lee shrugged, giving Azula a polite smile. “Guess I’m just not feeling it today.”

Azula stared at her for few more moments, Ty Lee counting down the seconds before she turned away. Even after five years, she was the same old intense Azula. But Ty Lee would be lying if she said she hadn’t grown more mature, crimson lipstick running along her lips. She made it a point to look professional, wearing quiet a business-looking pair dress pants and sweater, accompanied with a suit and black watch. How very boring, lacking the distinctly fiery aura Azula once bore back in high school. But along her dull outfit, Ty Lee caught a glimpse of gold on her finger, her ring finger. There was no mistaking it, that was a ring, Ty Lee uncertain how to feel about it.

Of course she’d be married, or at least engaged. Someone of her status and importance would practically be married off by the time they graduated high school, especially with Azula’s rather traditional father. For so long, he insisted she mingle with only the best, most prestigious group of people he chose for her, including her potential spouses. Being a conservative man, Ozai insisted Azula to marry men. But Ty Lee and Mai both knew she didn’t have any type of fancy for them, describing the entire male species as a ‘collective of lecherous creatures.’ But seeing as she had a ring on her finger, her father’s wishes finally got the better of her, though Ty Lee doubted she had any say in it.

“You’re awfully silent, did college finally calm you down?” Azula asked.

“Uh.” Ty Lee paused. “Actually, I think I’m gonna go.”

Azula was silent for a moment. “You mentioned you were staying near China-town.”

“Yeah.” Ty Lee scratched the back of her head, unsure of whether she should disclose her hotel location to Azula. “What about it?”

“Do you have any other plans for the evening?”

Ty Lee shrugged. “Not really.”

“Splendid, I’ll accompany you back to your hotel then.”

“What—why?” She gripped the fabric of her dress, her mouth agape.

Ty Lee’s eyes widened, taken aback by the suggestion. Though, she knew Azula well enough to know that her suggestion was a command, and that there was no use in arguing her out of it. Still, she was rather shocked.

“Who knows?” Azula stood up, grabbing her suit. “Call it a whim.”

Ty Lee narrowed her gaze, standing up not long after as she put on her overcoat and purse.

“Um, okay. But I’m not staying at the fanciest hotel, so sorry if it kinda sucks.”

“Very well,” was all Azula said.

They promptly exited the bar together, a few people whining and asking them to stay longer. Ty Lee nodded and smiled, stating that she really must go, otherwise she would wake up late for her flight. Azula, however, did not bother with pleasantries. She merely followed her outside, buttoning up her suit as they stepped out.

The cold air rudely greeted them, a quick chill running down Ty Lee’s spine. She wondered why she chose to wore a dress to the reunion, and heels as well, knowing full well that ice and snow were soon to follow the chilly cold. Well, at least she looked good, and that was all that mattered to the brunette then. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, ordering a taxi over, the two left standing in the freezing streetside.

“Unbelievable, you still have the same phone case.” Azula smirked. “You haven’t changed at all.”

Ty Lee looked down to her phone case. Yes, it was true, she didn’t bother to change it past high school. She fiddled with the bunny’s ear, the street lights illuminating the star shaped stickers on the back of it. It was pink, her favorite color, the same one as her dress at that. The brunette turned to her former classmate, a small smile on her face.

“Well, it’s still cute.”

“Perhaps.”

Azula re-adjusted her watch, her golden ring shining form the street lights. It shone almost like the sun on a winter morning, nearly blinding Ty Lee had she not squinted her eyes. She wondered what sort of a man Azula was married to, whether he was present in her daily life, or more likely absent. She wondered of whether their union was completely orchestrated by Ozai, or if Azula at least had some say in which man she’d spend the rest of her life with. And most of all, amid all her thoughts and queries, she wondered if Azula herself had changed. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. The last time they spoke, she wouldn’t allow Ty Lee to even run her hands up Azula’s shirt.

But now, it seemed that she had a better hold of herself, perhaps even able to handle the hourly stress of running a company like her father always hoped. But then again, Azula had always been amazing at projecting her best qualities, not allowing her weaknesses to show. That was who she was then, Ty Lee wondering if that was who she was now too. She looked the part of a well put together adult, only at age twenty-three, but Ty Lee wondered whether she had the emotional maturity of keeping the role. Whether her demeanor was nothing more than a facade, or if it were her true self. Such questions only confused Ty Lee, the brunette turning away to rub her temple.

“How long till the taxi comes?” Azula asked.

Ty Lee looked back to her, striking golden eyes piercing the brunette’s being. “Five minutes.”

Azula stared at her for a moment. “I hope you don’t think I’m pursuing you.”

“Yeah well,” Ty Lee clutched her purse, “Why else would you talk to me?”

“Is it so hard to believe I enjoy your company?”

“What kind of company?”

Azula chuckled. “Lee, what we had in high school has long passed.”

“I know.” Ty Lee pursed her lips. “Especially since you stopped talking to me.”

Azula scoffed. “How are you still upset about that?”

“How could I not be?”

Azula’s eyes widened for a brief moment. “I see you’ve become more vocal. Tell me, do you still hyperventilate?”

Ty Lee sighed, gripping her purse once more. “Why do you care?”

Azula fell silent for a moment, taking a few steps towards Ty Lee.

“Seeing as you’ve seen right through me, fine—I’ll be honest. I am pursuing you, but I won’t drag it out like I did in high school. It will only be one time, that’s all.”

“That’s what you always said.” Ty Lee turned away, praying for the taxi to arrive faster.

Azula placed a hand on her shoulder, the brunette flinching under her touch. The woman chuckled.

“You’re still sensitive when I touch you.”

Ty Lee gripped her hand. “Just get to the point.”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed by the number of times you’ve stared at me.” She paused. “I’m getting married, to a man I’ve never met at that. Father says that it would be beneficial for the company if we merge our assets together, though I’m certain he just wants me married off.”

Azula leaned in, whispering into Ty Lee’s quivering ear. “In light of that, I’d like to enjoy my freedom while I still have it.”

Though she felt bad that Azula would be forced to marry someone she’s never met, Ty Lee still faced the other way.

“Why does it have to be me?” she asked in a low voice.

Azula slowly trailed her warm hand down Ty Lee’s arm, snaking her arm around the brunette’s cold waist, Ty Lee now forced to stare at her former friend. Though her face bore a rather blank stare, Ty Lee could tell through her golden eyes that Azula wasn’t as excited as she initially thought. She wasn’t lying, this really would be her last chance at enjoying the little freedom she had.

“Because there’s no one else like you,” was all Azula said, the woman gently dragging her fingers along the brunette’s cold cheek.

Ty Lee bit her lip. She hated the idea of it, all of it, but she was sold either way.

“Just this once,” she muttered.

Hey there, thanks for reading all of that! If you want to keep reading the fanfic, i've already uploaded the 2nd chapter here Anyway, thanks again for reading the fanfic, and i hope you have a wonderful day.

-FreshTomatoesdevilish

#tyzula #ty lee #azula avatar #princess azula #avatar the last airbender #atla #atla fanfic #fanfiction #azula x ty lee #I don't know how to tag #Is there anything else i should add?#uh i don't think so

6 notes · View notes

quant-um-fizzx · 5 years ago

Text

Relenting

Synopsis: James Barnes had always been sweet, until he wasn’t. Somewhere along the way, your mutual attraction took a turn. Now, you can’t tell if he’s playing with you or playing you. Then, fate forces some honesty.

Warnings: Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader. Smut, Dub-Con (Sex Pollen, my friends), Language, (some) Angst, elements of stalking & emotional manipulation. Explicit, rough sex, slight anal play. Literally the most dirty talk I’ve ever written.

Word Count: 5900

If you’ve come here expecting the comedy erotica or angst I write elsewhere, this is not for you.

This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor‘s writing challenge from the prompt: “Just a little more, baby.” (How we got here from there, I’ll never know.)

I’ve labeled this Dark!Bucky, but he’s probably more gray than dark. But not the soft, uses-all-the-bath-salts-when-you’re-out-of-town Bucky I’d consider more canon.

*****

No one can pinpoint when, nobody’s ready to say it out loud, but Barnes came back different. Off.

Wrong.

Might’ve been that mission in the Midwest (of all places to find that kind of cult) or when someone got it in their fool head to send him to verify exactly what the stone status was on Vormir. Your money’s on the veiled gateway rift that sucked him in but spit two out; he’d beaten his wild-eyed spare and flung it back into the void the moment it’d lunged for you.

Chances are it’s not a solitary event, but the culmination of everything. One could hardly blame him if it were.

Whatever, whenever, he’s not the same. Speech now often sly, maneuvering. Manners slipping into predatory where they’d always been soft.

Sometimes, you think you’re imagining it - cold glint like metal chips in ice eyes - that maybe you only see him differently because of failed romance.

Now, he delights in flustering you. Taunting and near cruel one moment. Playful, protective the next. Makes it nearly impossible to get a read on him.

You find, in spite of your better judgement, uncertainty is its own kind of clever seduction.

“Hey, I know this isn’t really my business, but whatever happened there?” Bruce inclines his head toward where Barnes stalks by outside the lab windows. His second pass since you started to prepping vials for transport. Dark, rough strides. He slips out of view and the lab seems colder. Sleek, sterile. Your mind conjures up memories of sandalwood on fleece, in stark contrast to the lab’s xylene and bitter almond air. “Everyone thought you two were a good match.”

You smile, wistful. Mourning. “I had hoped so, too. But,” you sigh, “what makes good theory does not necessarily work in practical execution.”

Banner tsks. “Shame. Ever since you came on board, you both used to get along so well. Even now, he still looks at you like you ought to be picking out curtains.”

You scoff. “‘Used to get along’ until he...never mind. Whatever Sergeant Barnes might really want, it’s not that. And definitely not that with me.” He’d made that perfectly clear.

Suddenly, as if he’d heard you - but he shouldn't have, couldn’t have - Barnes pauses outside. His glance locks on your eyes. You fumble and clink the glass against the tray’s edge.

Bruce shakes his head, gently using a tremendously large, green hand to steady the tongs you hold. “Careful there. Breaking that in here? Could’ve been ugly.”

“Doctor Banner,” you say, placing the final vial in its slot and trying to shift your attention from the man outside, “your report indicated that universal precautions were sufficient for international transport of these ‘classified contagion’ samples. As I have committed to hand-carrying them, despite possessing insufficient clearance to be privileged with details, if it would be best to utilize hazmat gear and airborne pathogen protocols, not only would I appreciate a full disclosure I would consider it your due diligence to do so.”

He nods. “You’re right. You’re right. It’s really an unknown at this point. I’m just being cautious. Using any iteration of the Hulk as a guinea pig is a scenario I strive to avoid.”

“Fair enough.” You click the lid closed, the half dozen tubes of churning red haze goo nestled securely inside. “Do I wait there for test results?”

“Nah,” Bruce says, already on the way back to his microscope. “Thorough runs could take longer than we can spare you here.”

Smiling, you return your lab coat to it’s hook, smooth your hair, and give the station a once-over, making sure everything has been completed properly. This also serves as a welcome delay to going out those doors and encountering the long-haired enigma who has plagued your thoughts for longer than you care to admit.

“On second thought,” Banner says, peering up over the eyepiece. “She could have a prelim synthesis to send back in no time. Their tech is so different.”

Taking a deep breath, you gather your gear and subtly check if Barnes is still nearby. Being off-kilter around him, while handling what you suspect is more dangerous than Bruce is letting on, is the last thing you need.

Being around Barnes doesn’t feel cordial the way it used to. Warm banter that had felt safe.

You can’t get a read on him, aren’t sure how you feel around him, about him.

You don’t love him. Probably easily could.

You might fear him. Probably, definitely should.

You do...care.

Lately, day in, day out, he’s there. Stalking along the periphery, a shuck peering out from woodlands.

He’s charming, affable enough for everyone else’s comfort. He used to be with you, too.

Even in a crowded room, he - sullen growl of a man - used to seem alone. The kind of alone that oozes off a person, rolls out from his shoulders. Used to it. Accustomed to it.

Trust only it.

When you first tried - heart in your throat and skin gooseflesh - when you first stepped up to that guy, part matinee idol, part drive-in backseat rogue, he’d turned in on himself. Tried to force his large frame to disappear. Behind his barriers, he’d just watched you. Wary. Accessing.

But the next time he’d been holding the wall up, ale bottle in loose metal grip, you didn’t have to look for an opening. He’d lifted his chin and inclined his head toward chairs.

After that, the pair of you could be found engaged in long, private conversations. Content to let whatever ruckus go on around you. Foreheads nearly touching. Fingers not-so-casually brushing together. Your stomach flutters at the memory.

Now, his attention makes the hair on your neck stand up at least as much as it travels down your belly, between your thighs. Puts you on edge, mouse batted between paws.

When you exit the lab, he’s waiting. Leans his back against a column, arms folded. Legs crossed at the ankles, pants taunt were they wrap around his thighs. His eyes flick to you, his only perceived movement. “Whatcha got there, Red?” He draws each word out as if puffing smoke.

Your eyes go wide before you can stop them. Left corner of his mouth ticks up, goal met.

The nickname startles you for a moment. It always does. He dusts the name off, digs it out once in awhile, just when you’ve almost forgotten. When you’ve let your mind scab over that single, awkward date. Forgotten how once upon a time, even his team thought you’d “be good together” and made that final push to fix you up.

It had been right after the rift clone incident. If you’d not been so caught up in him - that red warmth that unfurled in your chest - you should’ve known. Paid attention to his shift, his change. The tragedy of it all.

You’d worn a crimson silk column dress, French twist, Replique dotted on pulse points.

He’d worn black jeans and blood-dirt under his nails.

Peering at you over his menu, he’d dropped it down and motioned between you both. “You took this seriously, huh?”

Only just enough to have waxed everything reasonably prudent.

Crestfallen, your shoulders dropped. Clearly, you thought, you’d misread the prior conversations, his lingering looks, mistakenly thought he returned your interest.

Cheeks on fire, you’d started to fold your napkin and push your chair back. “My apologies, Sergeant Barnes. I won’t take up any more of your time. You may return to the Olympic-level brooding of which you are so fond and I will retire for the evening.”

He’d thrown his head back, barked what might’ve been a laugh. “You’ll ‘retire for the evening?’“ Shook his head. “Red, you’re too much.” He grabbed a waiter - not ours, but Barnes didn’t let that stop him - “Bring us that special and a bottle of whatever makes uptight dames spread their legs these days.”

You sat still, mouth open, staring at your fork.

He reached out, took your hand in his. Seemed to apologize with his eyes. They held yours, sky fading into sapphire. Held you without touching you.

You look up behind lashes. “Dinner is just...we can have a good time. Talk.”

“Yeah, let’s have the Blue Plate. See how it goes.,” he said.

Then, the air had shifted, when he seemed...vulnerable...he pulled away.

By the end of the night, the pulse pounds in your ears. You’d talked and laughed and when he walked you home, you knew you’d invite him in. You’d always known.

He’d walked you to your door, eight-to-ten now-uncharacteristically chivalrous inches between your bodies on the way up the steps. Single bulb buzzing overhead. The key had proven elusive. Always on its ring and placed in the back pocket of your purse, your shaking fingers had let it slip down somewhere in your bag.

He stepped in closer behind you, looking over your shoulder, breath passing over the shell of your ear. “You need a hand there?”

You jolted up straight, back bumping into his chest. “Thank you,” your voice cracked, “but I think I can manage unlocking my own stupid door.” You inhaled sharply through your nose. “Excuse me,” you said, sounding mousy even to your own ears. “I didn't mean for that to sound so rude.”

“You didn’t, hmm?” He hums, breath slipping down your neck and he wrapped his right hand low around your waist.

“No,” you swallowed hard. Your skin on fire under his palm.

“So, you’re saying you would like a hand...” He whispered, smoothing cool fingers down along the space between your hip and thigh.

Limbs shaking, desire and curiosity and confusion swirling in your veins. You tried to find your voice, leaned against his chest’s blister strum. Shuddered as another warm breath huffed over your skin.

“Y-yes.”

He spun you and you found your back suddenly against the cold, wooden door. His face hovered, lips barely an inch above your own.

“As much as I think you think you want this.” He traced your collarbone, eyes burrowing into yours. “As much as I enjoy hearing your heart race.” His finger dipped inside your neckline, under the edge of your bra, skimming pebbled flesh. You shuddered, worried some neighbor might be looking, but unable to tear your gaze away from his.

“Today’s your lucky day, Red. I am gonna leave ya jus’ the way I found ya.” He pressed himself against you, thigh wedged between yours. “‘Cause, if I stay here on this porch one more minute, with you an’ your wide eyes, smelling like sins you don’t begin to understand…” Stubble grazed your cheek. He hummed, words hot and heavy in your ear. “I think I’d ruin you.”

You wanted to grab his hand and hold it there. To ask him in and show what he did to you, to prove to him...to yourself...that this could be good. Special. Right.

“You wouldn’t ruin me. I - I trust you, ” you squeaked, instead. Tentatively closed that fractional space, brushed your lips against his.

He didn’t let it become a kiss. “You misunderstand me.” He moved back a bit, pulled his arm free and ran knuckles down between you, tracing your chest and then grabbing tightly around your waist. Pushed you, a quick snap, deeper into the door.

“I want to.”

Then, he’d bound off the porch and down the steps before the night air had even cooled your skin. Calling out behind him as he cut across the grass, “You aren’t ready, little girl.”

His words play back every night as you fall into fitful sleep.

Now, he looks at you knowingly. Like he knows where your mind was, that shared flickering old film reel memory.

You hold up the vials and manage a small laugh. It’s short. Belies your nerves.

“Oh, I - I have some things to deliver to Shuri. To Shuri’s lab.”

“Shuri’s lab.” He says, mouth moving as if rolling around an invisible hay straw. He still leans, unblinking, trained on you.

A moment of silence as he considers you. Electricity buzzes across your skin. Words rush out of you to fill the void. “Shuri’s lab. In Wakanda. Shuri’s lab.”

His eyes crinkle, pleased as you stumble over your words. “Yeah, I’m familiar.”

Of course he is. You’re supposed to be smarter than this.

Across the hanger, Clint performs his pre-flight checklist.

“Change of plans,” he calls out, back still turned to you. “Laura’s got me roped into filming a play tonight.”

“Okay,” you say, unable to fault her for wanting to keep Clint as retired as possible. “I need to put these samples back on ice then.” You start to head back when a shadow emerges from inside the jet.

Clint says, dryly, “You’re going. Looks like I'm still the only one around here who doesn’t have a Wakanda stamp on my passport.”

Barnes peers down from the quinjet ramp, takes the checklist, and winks. Your stomach drops.

Clint claps him on the shoulder. “Say ‘hi’ to those damn goats for me.”

Once inside the jet, Barnes gestures toward the insulated box you carry. “That it there? What did Barton call it? Funky Cold Medina?”

Of course. Yes, naturally. That’s exactly what it would be. Aphrodisiac Pheromones. Sex Pollen.

The mystery of why evil organizations frequently leave a cache of screw-or-die juice sitting around abandoned complexes for wandering bands of Do-Gooders to uncover is as baffling as why they consider rampant libido to be a great offensive strategy in the first place.

Nodding curtly, acting unruffled by the news, you brush past him and secure it in the cooler.

The plane is at cruising altitude before either of you speak again.

“How long has it been since you’ve been to Wakanda?” You venture, throat tight.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, never looking away from the sky, then answers, “Haven’t been back since Strange showed up.” He pauses, then continues, “Used to have a nice place there. Best view. Sunsets over still water.” Leans slightly out of his seat in your direction. “I think I wanna take you there.”

A smile comes over you, wide and almost hurting your cheeks. This glimpse of how he’d been, hope tingles along your arms.

“I’d love that.” And you would. Have him let you in, return to where he’d been and who he was.

“Sure thing,” he says, voice lilting out on a devil smirk. “I could take you there. It’s...secluded. Make you scream.”

“Why do you do that?” The tingles take on a different tenor.

“Do what?” He sounds believably innocent in the way a prostitute dresses up like a nun.

You fidget, nails scratching a foreign itch on your palms, and chastise yourself, reminded again why it’s better when you don’t get your hopes up. Don’t act on your urge to spend time with him. Your once almost more-than-friend...your wishful thinking...seems gone for good. Now, when he comes around, it feels like finding yourself suddenly teetering on a high ledge when you’d expected grass between your toes.

“Why must you be so...so, crude?”

“It is. I am. That’s the point though, isn’t it? You like it,” he says matter-of-factly, looking you up and down, “Hell, you crave it. And that’s what’s got you confused, all tied up in knots.” He turns in his chair, arms bent and leaning on his knees, casual, is if he was discussing new coffee in the common room or a cell phone plan. “Because you’re stuck thinking the goal is a fella wife-ing you up,” he snorts.

“Hell, Red, you’re still stuck thinking you want a guy grunting on top of you Tuesdays from 9 to 9:10 with a meatloaf pan soaking in the sink.” He shakes his head. ”You have hangs-ups and I’m not gonna play along with them like that boring ass agent you wasted time on.”

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop trying to scare me.”

He blows out a lungful of air. “It doesn’t scare you. That I could just take it. That I could have you - have you in all the ways that you won’t let yourself think you want. The thoughts you kill before you can admit them in the back of that beautiful mind of yours. I could have you every one of those ways. But, that’s not how I want it. Not how I want you. What scares you,” he says, leaning in. “What scares you is, that I won’t. I won’t let you keep fooling yourself about what you really want.

“You know, deep down you know, that’s not how it’s gonna happen. You gotta admit what you need.”

He inches a little closer. “You’re gonna have to beg.”

Your heart stops, eyes unblinking. “You’re wrong.”

“No,’ he says, returning to the controls and beginning your descent. “No, you’re wrong - and I’m a different kind of wrong. I’m so wrong that I’m the only thing right.”

Your head pounds. Stomach lurches as the plane breaks beneath the clouds. “You used to be my friend,” you half-mumble, staring down at your knees. ��Sweetheart,” he punches the word out, saccharine-sweet, “I was never meant to be your friend.”

Silence stretches out for several more minutes. Only the engine’s hum, lull and dense, barely bats at the thoughts raging in your mind. Barnes’ words, his presence, suffocates you. Even strapped securely in his pilot seat, it feels like he’s crushing your lungs.

The plane lands in an outlying region.

“I should be back by four,” you spit, container swinging wildly from your fist. The walk is probably twenty minutes from here and you relish the idea of having the quiet to process things.

“Orders are I make sure you’re safe.” He falls in step.

You spin and push a single finger into his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Your services are not needed, Barnes.”

“Don’t be like that,” he snaps, serious. “Just because you’re pissed at me for saying shit you don’t wanna hear, don’t put yourself in danger.”

“Danger? I think I’m infinitely safer out here. It’s Wakanda, the most advanced place on the planet!” You sweep your arms wide toward the city in the distance, towers like exclamation points jutting out of fields. “I’ll be fine. Besides, the plane could have flown directly to the palace but you’re the one who elected to land way out here.”

He pushes his hair out of his face, holding it up and off his neck. You notice the curve, the warm, inviting color of his skin. He looks out toward the trees, calm as anything, like your outburst never happened. “Guess I can check out the old stomping ground.”

Fighting the urge to flip him off, you march down the ramp, leaving him standing there. “By all means. Go have congress with a goat for all I care.”

Mid afternoon, as soon as you break the tree line on your return, he emerges from the woods. Appears freshly bathed in the river, mane wet and loose, shirt clinging to his frame.

“After you,” he smiles, wolfish, and bows exaggeratedly, inviting you to go first up the ramp.

Your eyes narrow, but you climb inside anyway.

Suddenly, coming around from behind you, his hand reaches for the biohazard bag containing the single tube Shuri had sent back.

“What are you doing?” You snatch the bag away, crushing it to your body.

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Begging your pardon. Just trying to be a gentleman and carry your bag.”

“Knock it off, Barnes. If you’ve got a predilection for hearing every woman throw themselves at your feet, you can satiate it someplace else.”

“Oh, I can. Just don’t wanna.” His eyes narrow on the bag and he wrenches it out of your grasp, tosses it unceremoniously into the cooler and slams the door

You watch the cooler as if the door might burst open and the horny wrath of Hell take flight about the cabin. When it remains undisturbed until Barnes completes the pre flight rituals, you finally allow yourself to breathe a little deeper and turn away from it.

“And you wound me,” he croons, spinning his seat into position. “It’s not every woman.”

You roll your eyes, strap in, and swear you’re never giving him the satisfaction of hearing you speak again.

That resolve, among other things, breaks over the Atlantic.

The air fills, flowery. Like a florist’s shoppe - oh. Oh, god no - so many scents it feels fake. Cloying and sweet.

“Wha-What is- we need to land!”

He holds his hand up toward the windshield, water as far as the eye can see. “No problem. Just shout ‘ahoy’ when you spot some dirt.”

You fling aside the belt and run toward the cooler. Viscous sludge flows slick as mercury on the floor around it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Barnes yells from the cockpit.

You start rummaging through cabinets, looking for something, anything. “Maybe I can dilute it, cut the effects.” You open the cooler and pull the bag out. It’s ruptured, the vial broken and plastic cut, or eaten away by the chemical, it’s hard to tell at this point.

“By touching it?!” He punches in codes hard enough the key clanks echo. “Stop, just - just wait. Wait two seconds until I can find out what’s what.”

You fling the near empty bag at the back of the plane. “You! You did this on purpose!” The plastic thumps, hollow against the metal door. A roaring, mute thing.

Barnes shakes his head once, hisses between clenched teeth, “You’re the one who smashed it against their chest.”

Then, he cleanly switches tone - deep and clear - speaking into his earpiece. “Banner. Yeah, we have a situation here.

“The package Shuri sent back has been compromised. We’re mid flight, no safe place to put her down. Need to mitigate effects. Please advise.” He pauses, presumably listening to Bruce, then purses his lips. “Nothing? Banner, are you sure?” Turns again, gives you a gauging look.

This can’t be happening. Can’t. You start to shake, knees going out from under you.

He keeps his eyes on you, touches the earpiece. “Nothing. Understood. Barnes out.” Then rips it off and throws it hard enough to shatter.

A thousand thoughts swirl at once. Is it really going to work? How long do you have? What if you go at it like rabbits who just got out of prison and then have to face him day-after-day? What if it works on you both but he resists?

Preemptive humiliation, clawing feral behind your ribs, the terror of possibly being rejected if you, if you...finally admit...

Then, Barnes is there, crouched down beside you, offers you his hand. You wave it away.

“Doll,” he says, soft, like one might coax a fawn to take berries. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sniffling, you shake your head.

“C’mon,” he says softer yet and backing up, giving you space. “Get out of that. Come, sit.”

You look down and realize the liquid is seeping toward you. Some on your leg. Scrambling past him you make it to the other side of the cabin and slump back down to the floor. He moves away from the spill, but keeps his distance, placing himself on the other side of the aisle.

“Why?” Betrayal pours out of you.

He sits down on the floor opposite you. Legs bent and knees up, hands clasped and hanging between. “You gotta believe me, the very last thing I want is something happening between us that’s not real.”

You stare at him. He seems so genuine in this moment. But, you force focus, because this is how he always is, right before he pulls the rug out from under you.

When you don’t reply, he breaks the silence again. “Besides, maybe it doesn’t even work. Hasn’t kicked in already. That’s a good sign. I’ve been around that type of shit before,” he pauses, looking off to the right, unfocused on something that isn’t really there, remembering some horror you don’t want to contemplate. “It’s not always so bad.” He shrugs, picks a string off his pants. “Even if it is, if it is...bad, I know I can hold off.”

You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is soft and his words are kind and he reminds you so much of the man you fell...the man you...

dammit.

He gets up slowly. Checks the autopilot. Eases back down where he was. Boots scuffing out in front of him along the metal floor.

“Did you mean what you said?” You venture. He just raises his eyebrows. “When you said you wanted something real with me-with us?” You elaborate, barely audible.

He clears his throat, rearranges himself on the floor. Stares off at nothing. “Why else would I hold off all this time? At first, sure, I thought you were interesting enough. Probably good for letting off steam.” He looks to you for a moment, then away again. “Then, you just sorta snuck in. Took over. You and your little button up sweaters.” Gives a little chuckle. “Fucking seduced me with your cardigans and ‘Nova’ recaps.”

Mulling it over, you start to ask, “Then, why do you-”

“You know why.”

He blows out a lungful of air. “Because I’m not settling for half-ass. Never had much. But they always find a way to take even more.”

So torn up in your own stupid fears - selfish, petty girl - you never thought about his lot in this. A sob punches out of you. Made and unmade. So many times. Here’s another time, one more damned time, he faces control of himself being torn away.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into your hand. Eventually, he swipes a tear from your face.

He scoots back away. But his touch...lingers. He watches you trace where he’d been, little lightning strikes that turn and shift, then burn. Burns past your skin, thrums in your veins.

“It’s happening.”

“Nah, Doll. We’re halfway home, we’re not gonna do anything we don’t want to do.”

His voice, coffee rich and smoke, settles in your belly. Your hips clench, rock. You think, this must be the cusp, there’s more to come, but you want to tell him, show him...feel him before you’re so far gone it’s a blur.

Hazy want swirls around him, poppies and violets and jet fuel in the air. Your hand sneaks up under your shirt, the rough outline of it juts out over your breast. He’s sitting up now. Licks his lips.

“I can’t - noooo,” you say, breathless. It’s scorching now. Boiling, latent want bubbling up. You pull your shirt off, burning.

“I can’t wait,” you plead. He looks so good, always looks so damned good. “I don’t want to wait.”

His back goes straight. Muscles tense. Ready to pounce.

“Not like this.” His breath has picked up. “Not if you think you can tell yourself later that it was chemicals talking.”

“You want real, Barnes? I’ll give you real,” you purr. Stretch out lythe before him. It’s not so bad, but you know it will be. “I do want this. I want you. Always have.”

He smiles, crooked, but doesn’t move. “That’s nice. Real nice to hear.” Watches your hand go under your clothes, between your legs. “That’s not enough. I could’ve had you back then. Back on your porch. Had you a couple times. Taken the edge off. Maybe gotten it outta our systems. But,” he stops for a moment, seeming to reconsider when you moan as you slip between your folds. He palms the hard length of him. “that’s not enough. I want all of you.”

Electric yearning rolls your shoulders, pressure between your legs frustrating. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” He shifts again, watching you, sweat forming on his brow. Fists clenched at his sides.

“I don’t want to date you, Red. Don’t wanna be your boyfriend or any fucking trivial thing like marriage.” Stares you down, blue boring into your soul. “I want more than that meaningless shit.”

Your mind is nothing but the want of him - broad shoulders, his gravel-tired voice, the thick of him.

Skin on fire with tremors. “Anything you want, Bucky. Everything. Please. I just, just-” you moan, a twisted mess on the floor before him. Voice a shuddered breath. “You’re right. I want you everywhere. Mark me up. Show me - show me you own me.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Then, he’s there. Hands holding your jaw, angling you open, tongue a deep slide. He breaks free, swallows your breaths, presses his head to yours.

He’s out of his clothes while you fumble with what’s left of your own. They start to rip. “Shush. Let me.” Deftly, he undoes them, sets you free. “You need to wear these later. No one gets to see but me.” His eyes sparkle mischief until the thin sky edge gives way to black.

Cool fingers slide inside you. One, then two. Curl and pump, wet and obscene. Moments and, you’re there. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna come.”

He doesn't let up. “Yeah you are. Give it to me.” Your head falls forward, clinging, hanging on through a silent scream, wet rushes past his wrist.

“My turn,” he snarls. Towers over your, pushes a finger past your lips, hooks it around you cheek, and pulls you to his cock. Pressure and he angles your face up, finger replaced by thumbs at each side pulling your mouth wide - drool pooling - and pushes the tip onto your tongue.

You give a tentative lick. Try to work the girth of him while he holds you open. “Look at me,” he says, hair a veil framing his face. “You can do better than that. Don’t hold back.”

You keep your eyes on him, nudge his hands away, work him halfway down, salty musk on the back of your tongue.

“This ain’t about you being passive, Sugar. Come on. Show me what I do to you. Fucking treat me right,” he growls, grabs your head and shoves as you gag. “I didn’t spend months coming in my own hand, thinking about you, biding my time - waiting to do this right - for you to barely-”

Fast, determined, almost angry, you swallow him down as far as possible, eyes wet and blurred. Find the spot behind him, between his legs, warm, heavy, and rub in tight ovals. “Fuuuck - yesssss.” He twists your hair in his hands - holding you in your place.

“That’s it. Oh god, Sugar, you didn’t just come up with that. What else you got hiding, waiting to show me? So fuckin -“ he shudders as you massage him more, pinky brushing farther back.

He laughs, surprised. “Dirty girl.” He pulls out, then wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing himself there as he pushes back in. “You got the sweetest goddamn throat.” Thrusts while you run your circuits until he empties himself, head thrown back and thighs straining.

He moves faster than should be humanly possible, unfurls his jacket over the floor grid, and pulls you over it. Wads his shirt under your knees.

“Floor’s hard,” he says, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I only want you feelin’ me.”

“Spread.” He smacks your ass with a sting.

You obey, arch your back, offer yourself. He dives in with his mouth, tongue in deep. When he starts to thumb your clit, constellations bursting behind your eyes, you stop him. “In me. I want to come with you inside me. Only with you inside me.”

He smiles, face slick with you. Straightens, grabs your hips and pulls you to him as he starts his slide in.

You mewl, palms flat and fingers splayed. Try to relax through the stretch and drag, strain to take the rest of him.

He runs his hand over your spine. “Just a little more, baby,” he coos. “Fuck. Look at you. Takin’ me so good.

“You’re mine. The moment I heard your heart race, you were mine. When I made you wait, you were still mine. When I told you to beg for it and you did, you were mine. When I told you to spread your legs and you did it, you were mine.” He makes a final push, fully seated, sharp spark at your end. Holds you there, pulsing. Then, pulls out long, begins again.

It’s everything you ever wanted. He was so right. So, so right and you can’t believe you waited for so long and you really need to thank Shuri for not inventing vibranium test tubes.

“When that bastard wearing my face looked at you, looked at you like he had the right, that’s when-” He moans long and low, makes a particularly full stroke, air sucking through his teeth.

“That’s when I knew. No other man could have you. Even if that man was me.”

His hands dig into your hips. Anchoring you. He holds you open, watching. Cold thumb follows the line down the center of you. Stops above where you meet. Pad runs over where you’re tight and untested.

“Pleeeease,” you keen. You need him. Need him everywhere.

His hips falter, finesse sacrificed to curious need.

“Has anyone been in here before?”

“No,” you mewl, debauched, wanton.

His pace picks up. Harder, slamming, sting against cervix. “I need in there. Fuck. Sugar, let me in.”

Beyond words, you tilt your hips and push back, forcing him in knuckle deep.

“Only me,” he roars. “Promise me. Swear.” He angles over you, spreads you out, chest crushing to the floor. His free hand finds your neck. Pins your down. Breath harsh beside your ear.

“You. Only you.” You come, crying and clenching around him in all the places he is within.

He pulls out. Kisses your face as he lifts you, turns you to him.

He settles between your waiting thighs - surrounds, nuzzles in, taking in your scent - until there’s nothing you can see, or feel, think, that isn’t him.

Then he stills. Then watches. Then breathes.

Brushes his warm hand along the curve of your face. Presses a kiss, pillow soft. Weight pinning you down. He pushes fully back in, his head breaking skyward as you take him.

Hips rolling full - the drag and curve brings him to your chest. His tongue slips along you breast, seeks and teases. Licks and pulls you in.

His hands wrap around your thighs, anchors you, opens you up. Kisses deep and pushes in, until you’ve run out of you and he’s run out of him.

“Fuuuck, you feel so good. I knew you would. Thought about you every fu- every fucking day.”

He stops for a moment, beaming down at you. You realize you were the one talking.

“That’s my girl.”

Then, he’s moves, ruts, whispers faint praise into your skin. Low. Can’t quite hear.

And you want to hear.

You want to taste his secrets and feel his sounds and listen to his mouth on you.

You push up into him, hard, matching him. You explode again, suddenly.

“Fuuuuck. He swells. Rhythm falters. Marks your walls.

After, you tuck into his side, both of you curled up on the floor. His face is finally relaxed, serene. You press your lips above his heart.

“Bucky, I want you to know, I wanted this, I will always want this. I am yours. It wasn’t just the chemicals.”

He kisses the sweat and tears from your face. Tucks your hair behind your ear. “I know, Red, I know,” he says, eyes sparkling, voice sincere, “Bruce said there was ‘nothing’ to worry about. That wasn’t the pollen - that was just the antidote.”

#dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!fic

1K notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Sanctuary -Chapter 16

Fandom: Extraction, Tyler Rake

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

If anyone wants to be tagged, please let me know. I know there’s quite a few reading this ;)

Warnings: none really. Maybe some bad language.

“You're a natural,” Esme comments the next morning, as she and Nik lounge on a park bench; Yaz keeping the kids busy and laughing hysterically over his antics on the playground equipment.

They've all become restless being cooped up in the house with nothing more to do than count down the hours and minutes before Tyler leaves for Ireland. Opting to head into town for a late breakfast and some window shopping before taking the kids to burn off some of their excess energy. Tyler and Ovi had been gone for better part of the morning and wouldn't return to some time in the early afternoon; time at the shooting range, lunch, and long overdue talk about his expectations for the teenager while he was gone.

“I've never been told that before,” Nik laughs, as Declan bounces happily on her lap; tiny feet planted on her thighs, hands on her shoulders, her own resting on his hips to help keep him steady. He's a cute little thing: strawberry blond hair (inherited from Tyler's mother), huge, brilliant blue eyes, and quite possibly the most adorable smile and giggle she's ever seen or heard. Out of the four, he'd been the biggest: an impressive nine pounds, ten ounces. “Normally I'm told how uncomfortable I look.”

Nik remembers when Tyler had to actually teach her how to hold Millie. Back in nursery in that little apartment in Australia. How nervous she'd been when that impossibly tine baby had been placed in her arms. Never had she held something so fragile. Helpless. Priceless. A little human being that depended solely on her to keep them safe.

She's perfectly content being 'Auntie Nik'; she can spoil them rotten and love endlessly on them yet hand them back to their parents at the end of the day. With each passing birth, she's gotten more accustomed to the actual nurturing parts. She can feed them. Burp them. Bathe them. Clothe them. And is now able to successfully change a soiled diaper without promptly vomiting.

“You don't look uncomfortable to me,” Esme says, as she adjusts the snap closure on the back of Declan's baseball cap and then slips it back onto his head. “And he obviously doesn't think so either. Look how happy he is. He adores you.”

As terrible as it sounds to even to Nik's own ears, Declan is her favourite. He's vibrant and full of life; always smiling or giggling and very rarely crying of fusing. Infinitely curious. Simply loving life and everyone and everything in it. The twins rarely bother with her; they're head strong and wild, whereas she's very strict and routine orientated. Millie is a character all on her own. Five going on fifteen, full of sass and attitude. Never backing down from a challenge and very rarely showing any signs of fear. Very much her father's daughter. Right down to the bad habit of immediately distrusting others and shutting them out.

“You're a strong little thing,” Nik says to the baby, laughing and wriggling away from the hands that try to latch onto her sunglasses. “You're going to be walking in no time, I think. Those are some powerful legs you've got there! I remember when you were still in your mommy's belly and you would kick her hard enough to make her cry sometimes.”

“There were a couple times he nearly brought me to my knees,” Esme recalls, shaking her head in disbelief. “Like he would just get all that power into that one kick and just let me have it. If Tyler was lying up against me, it would even wake him up sometimes. All the kicking and the rolling around. You've just never sat still,” she addresses her son, tickling his stomach. “Always on the go! Even then. You never wanted to settle and now look at you. Still going about with your nonsense.”

“You're going to grow up and be big and strong just like your daddy,” Nik says. “You'll be able to put your older brothers in their places, that's for sure. And you'll be able to protect your sister from any mean boys in the neighbourhood. Or beat up any boyfriends that don't treat her right.”

“Boyfriends,” Esme laughs. “Bold of you to assume that Tyler is ever going to let her date.”

“Is he still bent out of shape over that? He's probably just worried because he remembers what he was like when he was a teenager. He doesn't want her bringing him any boys like him.”

“I can imagine how my dad would have reacted to me bringing Tyler home. That would not have gone well. I'm the first girl after three boys. He would have taken one look at Tyler and the hair and the tattoos and promptly kicked him out of the house. Trust me, that is not what he wanted for his daughter. Someone with an edge. He would have taken one look at him and that would have been it. I love my dad, but he definitely would not have approved. He would not have even given it a chance to get to know him. My dad had a certain vision for how my life would go. And a guy like Tyler was not part of that vision.”

“What kind of guy was he hoping for?”

“None, preferably,” she laughs. “He wanted the white-collar type. Boring. Simple. Vanilla. And as you already know, there is absolutely nothing vanilla about Tyler. In any aspect of his life. He's a little...”

“Wild?” Nik offers.

“Edgy. Dark. Dangerous. Fearless. A mystery. The type my father definitely did not want me to end up. I think once he realized I wasn't going to give in and stay away from him, he would have come around. Even teenage me would have been unable to stay away. I can't explain it. What exactly it is. But I felt it in Dhaka. Maybe I even felt it when I walked into his place in the outback. There was something different about him. Something irresistible, despite your brain and your heart telling you to just walk away. It was impossible. In Dhaka. I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it.”

Nik completely understands. She'd felt it too; the minute she'd met him a little more than ten years ago. He’d been a challenge. An enigma. And she hadn't been able to stop going to his bed even though she'd known he'd never want her for anything more than that. No matter how many times he told her, no matter how many times he insisted that he'd never want anything more, she'd held out hope. And sometimes she still did.

She hates how it still makes her feel; the bitterness that eats away at her when she sees them together. It’s been a little more than five years and it is still so hard. To accept the way things are. Even when it’s so blatantly obvious how happy Tyler is. How much he relishes and thrives on being a husband and a father. How it has brought out a light within him; a sense of peace and contentment that had been absent from his life since his son died, and his first marriage disintegrated. And she should be happy about that. That he’s far removed from the Tyler Rake that existed in that little shack in the outback. That he’d given himself the chance to actually be happy; that he’d let someone break down those walls and show him what it is like to be wanted and loved. But it’s difficult. He hadn’t wanted that person to be her. And now she had to sit back and watch as his life went on. A spectator to just how wildly and crazily in love he is with someone else.

“Have you given it much thought?” Esme asks. “About having your own family?”

“I have a family. I have Yaz. The team. All of you.”

“You know what I mean, Nik,” she sips at a takeout cup of piping hot ginger and lemon tea; a rather potent smelling concoction that she swears help calm her stomach and her bad nerves.

“I’m a much better Auntie than a mother. I’m too selfish. I enjoy what I do too much. I like being able to come and go as I please. Nothing tying me down. No one I have to answer to. That kind of life was never meant for someone like me.”

“Six years ago, you could have said the same thing about Tyler. That this kind of life wasn’t meant for someone like him.’

“That’s different. He wasn’t allowing himself to have this life. He hated himself too much. He was a mess and didn’t want to bring anyone else into it. But he thrives on this kind of existence. And he needed it. The stability. Someone to come home to. Kids that love and idolize him. Things that give him a purpose. Could imagine where he’d be if you’d never come along? He would have let himself die that day on the bridge. I’m sure of that.”

“Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago,” Esme sighs. “And then there’s other days where it seems like it was just yesterday. I’ve made peace with it. I’ve put it behind me. But sometimes…I don’t know…sometimes it just creeps up on me. Something just brings it back to the surface. I try not to let it get to me. But it’s in there. I can feel it.”

“You’re probably just on edge because he’s leaving,” Nik suggests, as she places the baby down on a blanket that lays spread out at their feet, then accepts the cup of coffee that Esme had been babysitting for her. “Are you feeling okay? The way you’re drinking that stuff, you’re not…”

“Oh my god no. There is no bun in this oven. Not yet anyway. It is definitely just bad nerves. And stress. I am so stressed, Nik. Not just about this. This is just the icing on the proverbial shit cake.”

“Talk to me. What’s going on? Are things okay with you and Tyler?”

“For once, it actually has nothing to do with him. I mean, other than the fact he’s leaving in eight hours and I have no idea when he’ll be back. If he’ll be back.”

The word ‘if’ hangs heavily in the air. It’s always a possibility that things will go to hell. That the job won’t go nearly as easily and seamlessly as hoped. It very rarely does. And there’s always that possibility that this mission may be the last one. That one bullet in the chamber with your named etched on it.

“It’s just stupid stuff,” Esme continues. “It’s Millie and the way she regresses like she does. It’s my parents and the fact my stepdad has been cheating on my mom for years and now they’re not even living in the same house. It’s my brothers and their relationship drama. And my sister. She’s met this guy and she’s dropped out of college and no one knows where the hell she is. And then there’s the ex husband.”

Nik arches an eyebrow.

“I guess he’s been friends with my mother all this time. Since things fell apart. And she had the nerve to tell him where I was. Address and all. He showed up at the house, Nik. When I wasn’t even there. He actually spoke to Tyler.”

Nik smirks. “And he lived to tell about it? Maybe Tyler is starting to slip.”

“He should have just killed him. No one would miss Mark. Not even his own parents. Well maybe my mother would. How screwed up is that? That she’s stayed friends with him but she hates Tyler? That she holds Mark up on some kind of pedestal but treats Tyler like he belongs in the gutter? It makes no sense.”

“She has it in her head that he took you away from her,” Nik reasons. “One day you left and never came back. You said you were going on a business trip and then you’re calling to say that you’ve met someone and you’re staying in Australia.”

“It was nearly six years ago. She needs to get a grip. He’s my husband. Whether she likes it or not. And he’s the father of my kids. Her grandchildren. You’d think that would mean something to her. He’s not a bad guy. You know that, Nik. He’s a big, strong man with an even bigger heart.”

“With the right people,” Nik stresses. “That’s the important thing here. Only with the people that he allows himself to be that way with.”

“It’s just so frustrating. That she just can’t give him a chance. Even if it’s just for the sake of her grandchildren. He went to see her the other day. She called him and asked him if he would drive up. Said they needed to talk,” she rolls her eyes at the last part, sips her tea.

“About what?”

“Who knows. Tyler came home and never even brought it up. And I know better than to ask. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past five and a bit years, is hat it’s better if you just sit back and let him decide when he wants to talk about things. You know what he’s like. He likes to keep shit in.”

“Until he snaps and it all comes out.”

“Exactly. Which I’ve pointed out many times and you can imagine how well that went. He’s so stubborn! So goddamn stubborn and it drives me absolutely insane.”

“Well…” she grins, and playfully digs her elbow into her friend’s side. “…now you know how he feels when it comes to dealing with you.”

“I am nowhere near as bad as him. Nowhere.”

“I’ll give you that. But you’re both horribly stubborn and you’re both enormous pains in each other’s asses. But it works. In its own way. Neither of you could live without the other. I’m one hundred percent sure of that. And he’s going to be okay,” she reaches out to rub her friend’s shoulder. “He’s going to come home. To you and the kids. I promise you. We’ll make sure of it. And I know you hate me. For putting him in the situations I do…”

‘I don’t hate you, Nik. I could never hate you. And you don’t put him in anything. Tyler manages that all on his own. If anyone is an expert on getting himself caught up in wild and crazy shit, it’s him. I just wish…” her voice trails off, a frown curving her lips as she lays a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun and peers into the distance. “…what the hell?”

“What?” Nik turns her attention to what has caught her friend’s eye. TJ wandering away from the playground, towards a stranger waving to him from a cluster of bushes and trees fifty meters away. “Yaz!” she yells at her brother, whose completely oblivious as he busies himself pushing Mille and Tanner on the swing. “What are you doing?! You’re supposed to be watching that one too!”

“It’s okay,” Esme assures her, and hands her the cup of tea. “Tyler’s fine. He won’t hurt him. He doesn’t hurt kids. Only women.”

“You know that guy?”

“Unfortunately,” she sighs, and slips her feet into her flip flops. “That’s my ex husband.”

***

“Tyler James Rake Junior!” Esme bellows, as she stomps across the grass, to where her son is immersed in conversation with Mark. As if they’re long lost friends. “Just what in the blue hell are you doing?!”

“We’re talking about football,” her son informs her. As if it’s perfectly natural to be making friends with complete strangers. “But real football. Like daddy likes. Not the stupid NFL.”

“You do not just go wandering off like that,” she scolds him, dropping to one knee in front of him, hands on his shoulders. “How many has daddy and I talked to you about that? That you stay where we can see you? That you just don’t go off on your own?”

There are many reasons for their warnings. And their worries. Yes, there’s a lot of unsavoury and sketchy people out there that are just waiting to take advantage of a child. But there’s also the possibility of there being someone out there just waiting to exact revenge. It is a strange way to live: always looking over your shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it’s the nature of the beast.

“He’s fine,” Mark pipes up. “I wasn’t going to hurt him.”

She ignores him and continues to address her son. “What did daddy tell you? About never taking off like that? About never talking to strangers?”

His chin falls to his chest, a pout curving his lips. “That I should always be where someone can see me.”

“You scared me. And Auntie Nik. Don’t go wandering off like that, okay? What if something happened to you? Mommy doesn’t want to lose you. She loves you way too much. Come here…” she draws him into her arms, a hand on the back of his head as he snuggles his face into her shoulder. “…I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. But you scared me, Tyler. Please don’t do that again, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees with a sniffle, and when he pulls back, she uses gentle fingertips to clear the tears off his cheeks and the sides of his nose. “I’m sorry, mommy. But it’s not a stranger. He’s my friend.”

“No. He most certainly is not. He’s not your friend.”

“But he came to the house and said he knows you and he talked to daddy.”

“He is not your friend,” she stresses.

“Everything okay?” a breathless Yaz inquires as he arrives on the scene. “I’m sorry, Esme. I just looked away from him for less than a minute. I was caught up with the other two and I just glanced away and…”

“Everything’s fine,” she assures him, wiping grass and dirt off her knee as she stands up. “He’s okay. A little too fearless, but okay. Can you take him back?”

“I want to stay with you,” her son argues, and wraps both arms around one of her legs.

“Who are you?” Yaz addresses Mark. No chill. Just straight to the point.

“I’m Mark,” he steps forward and offers a hand.

Yaz looks at his hand, then straight in the eye, and then back to the hand again. Giving a derisive snort as he turns to Esme. “Mark, Mark? As in…?”

“Just take him back to the others,” she says, and pries loose little fingers from around her thigh. “Go with Uncle Yaz,” she speaks to her son. “He’ll take you down to see the ducks and the geese. Mommy will be there in a few minutes. Can you do that for me? Go with uncle Yaz to feed ducks?”

He nods, and she takes his little face in her hands and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You’ll be okay?” Yaz asks. “If you need me to stick around…”

“I’ll be fine.”

He nods, then looks at Mark. “Just so you know, I know about fifteen different ways to kill someone without leaving any evidence behind. And my sister knows about five times more than that.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” he promises. “I’m just here to talk.”

“Yeah…sure you are…” Yaz mutters, and then takes TJ by the hand and hauls him off back towards the playground.

****

“He’s a little cutie,” Mark observes. “Looks nothing like you though. None of them do.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Esme hisses. “First you show up at my house and talk to my husband, now you’re following me around and talking to my three old? Are you following me?”

“You never called,” he attempts to reason. “I gave your husband my business card and he said he’d tell you to give me a call and…”

“He should have just punched you in the throat and threw your ass in a shallow grave. And believe me, he’s more than capable of doing it. And much worse things. What do you want? It’s been eight years. No contact. Exactly the way I like it. And all of a sudden you just show up out of the blue? Are you unhinged?”

“I’ve kept in touch with your mom. She’s the one who told me where to find you.”

“Oh, I know. And believe me, she’s going to be on my shit list for a long time. What do you want? Why are you showing up at my house? Why are you following me to a park and watching me with my kids? Do you realize how creepy that is? That you’re just hanging out watching us and talking to my son? That is creepy as fuck and that is a line you never should have crossed. My son, Mark? Are you serious right now?”

“You’re making way too much of a big deal out of this, Esme. I guess some things never change, huh? You still overreact.”

“Don’t even try that with me. I’m not the same person I was when I let you get away with all your crap. So don’t you dare try and gaslight me. For once just own up to your own shit. You never should have kept in contact with my mother and you definitely should not have shown up at my house. You talked to my husband? Like, seriously Mark?”

“He’s a nice guy. Not nearly as intimidating as he looks,” her ex smirks. “He’s a big boy, huh? Strong as hell.”

“Why don’t you show up at the house again and try your bullshit on him and you can see just how strong and intimidating he can be? I honestly would like to see that. I’d like to see him just hand you your ass. You have no idea what he’s capable of. And I don’t think you really want to find out.”

“I’m not underestimating him. I’ve heard the stories. They’re out there if you know the right people. I definitely would not want to get on his bad side. I heard what he did to those guys back in that apartment in Dhaka. I thought maybe it was all just a bunch of bullshit. Did he really kill a guy with a garden rake?”

“I’m not indulging you in this. I don’t care what you’ve heard. I don’t care who you’ve heard it from. You had no right going to my house and talking to him. And you definitely had no right coming here and talking to my son. How low are you willing to stoop? How much further down into the gutter are you willing to go? That is my child, Mark. My three-year-old. And you’re out here luring him away like some pedophile.”

“I was not luring him away. He saw me and wandered over to talk to me. That’s it. I would have never hurt him, you know that.”

“Because you only hurt women, right?” she crosses her arms over her chest. “Just tell me what you’re doing here. Why do you want to talk to me so badly? Can’t you just go back under whatever rock you’ve been living under for the past eight years? I have a life. One that doesn’t include you. I have a husband and kids. Can’t you just let me be?”

“I just want to talk to you,” Mark assures her. “I’m not here to cause problems. I just want to talk.”

“About what?”

“Can we go and sit down somewhere? Get a little privacy?”

“You either talk right here or not at all. I’m not going anywhere with you. So talk. Whatever you have to say, just get it out.”

His eyes narrow as he looks over her shoulder. “Your friend is staring at us.”

“That’s Nik. And she’s probably going through all the different ways she can kill you. You wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley, either. Stop trying to change the subject. What do you want? Why are you here?”

“To talk.”

“I got that already. About what? You’re testing my patience, Mark.”

“First things first…” he reaches into the breast pocket of his golf shirt and plucks out a small, sparkling and shiny object, offering it to her. “…you left it behind.”

The engagement ring he’d given to her many years ago. When things had seemed normal. Perfect. When she’d been convinced she’d found the love of her life and she’d wanted nothing more than to devote her life to him.

She slaps his hand away. “You’re lucky I didn’t shove it up your ass or down your throat. What is wrong with you? Why would you bring that? If I didn’t want it then, why would I want it now?”

“Well I noticed you don’t wear one, so…”

“So you thought I’d just take that one back and wear it? You really are a delusional, arrogant prick, aren’t you. You’re not part of my life anymore. You haven’t been part of my life in eight years. And I was perfectly fine with that. I don’t want your ring. I don’t want you showing up at my house. I don’t want you talking to my husband or my son. You’re messed up, Mark. You have serious issues. You need to just go. Go back to whatever cave you’re living in and…”

“Denver,” he interrupts. “I live in Denver now.”

“Oh, how convenient. Considering you hated Colorado when we were together. Well go back to Denver, then. Go back there and leave me alone. Leave us alone.”

She attempts to turn on her heel and walk away, but he captures her by the wrist and turns her around to face him.

“Don’t…” she warns, and yanks her hand out of his grasp. “…ever touch me like that.”

He releases her and then holds his hands up in surrender. “Just give me a chance, okay? Let me just explain what I’m doing here. It’s just to talk, I promise. There’s things I need to say to you. To get off my chest. Will you let me do that?”

She crosses her arms over her chest once again, head cocked to the side as she waits for him to continue.

“I’m in a program. For my drinking. I know what you’re going to say. That it only took eight years for me to get to this point. And that I should have listened to all the times you begged me to go and get help. That things would be completely different now if I had have.”

She doubts it. Their problems extended far beyond his alcohol issues. Getting help for that barely scratches the surface.

“One of the things I need to do…to make a clean break and start a new life…is to make amends for things I’ve done. It doesn’t erase what was said or what I did, but it’s an important step I need to take. For my own mental and physical health.”

“Because that’s all it was ever about, right Mark? You. I was never really in the equation.”

“Maybe it will give you some kind of closure as well. Maybe you need to hear these things just as much as I need to say them. So you can get on with your life.”

“I’ve gotten on with my life. I met the love of my life. The true love of my life. I got married. Had babies. I love the life I have. With the person I’ve made that life with. I don’t need to hear anything from you, Mark. But I understand why you need to say them.”

He gives a smile of appreciation, taking a deep breath as he nervously rubs his hands together. “I know that I hurt you,” he begins. “I know that I wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. Live with. That there were things I said and did that were horrible. That I was a terrible person to you a lot of the times. Especially after the baby.”

She nods in agreement, swallowing down the lump of emotion that has lodged in her throat.

“I think we just got caught up in things. I had just come out of a bad relationship and I was looking for someone…anyone…to fill that hole inside of me. And you were there. I met you and everything seemed right with the world again. And maybe it was wrong. Maybe it never should have happened. I was your commanding officer. But it did happen. And I don’t regret that. Because there were some good times. And when things were good, they were damn good. Weren’t they?”

“I never denied there were good times, Mark. But there were more bad than good and you can’t deny that.”

“And you can’t deny that those times weren’t all my fault. You’re not exactly the easiest person to live with, Esme. You don’t make it easy to love you. I’m surprised this guy’s held on as long as he has, to be honest.”

She smirks. “And you were doing so well there for a minute. You almost had me feeling sorry for you.”

“He must have a lot more patience than I do. Almost six years, right? And he’s still around? You must be doing something right.”

“I give amazing blow jobs and he gets laid nearly every day, twice a day,” she retorts, and he frowns. “You actually almost had me there, Mark. I was starting to feel sorry for you. I was actually starting to feel proud of you for getting help. And then you do this. You turn it around so you’re the victim.”

“I’m only pointing out that things fell apart because of both of us. Granted, I was a lot worse than you were and you put more into it when it came to trying to keep things together. You definitely worked harder than I did when things were falling apart. And I know I went off the deep end after the baby. I’m sorry. For the things I said and the things I did to you. The other women. The lying. The being a complete asshole. And that’s what I came to say to you. That I’m sorry and I hope one day you can forgive me.”

She nods, considering his words, arms still crossed over her chest, hands rubbing her shoulders.

“You have a beautiful family, Esme. You’ve got a guy that’s obviously crazy about you. Amazing kids. And I’m glad you found that. I’m glad you found someone that loves you as much as he does. Someone that could give you what I couldn’t. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the kind of man that you needed. I really am. Even now I wish things could have been different.”

“Things happen for a reason,” she says. “Had we…had you fixed things…I wouldn’t have what I have now. I never would have met Tyler. And that was the best thing that ever happened me. Even if what happened afterwards was screwed up. I don’t regret meeting him. Or going through what I had to. He almost died. I almost lost him and I had just found him. But I don’t regret how I met him or how things happened between us. And none of that would have happened if things worked between us.”

“Well I hope he appreciates it. How much you love him. How much you’re willing to go through for him. Because when you love, you love with your whole heart. Your whole being. And I just hope he realizes how lucky he is. I hope that you have a long life together. A happy life. And I really am sorry I couldn’t give you all that.”

“And I’m sorry too,” she admits. “For not being the person you needed.”

“That’s the thing. You were. And I was just too stupid to realize it.”

“Mommy,” Millie appears by her side, tugging at the bottom of her t-shirt. “I’m hungry.”

“Again?” Esme laughs, and scoops her up into her arms. “You’re getting to be just as bad as your daddy and your brothers. Can you say hi?”

“Hi,” the little girl chirps, and offers a hand. “I’m Amelia. But everyone calls me Millie. I like that better.’

He smiles and shakes her hand.

“I’m five,” she announces. “Those are my brothers...” she nods over her mother’s shoulder in the direction of where Yaz is helping the twins shake playground sand out of their sandals. “Tyler and Tanner. They’re twins. But they don’t look exactly alike.”

“Fraternal,” Esme explains. “Not identical. But you’d never know it if you saw them side by side. It’s hard for people to tell them apart, isn’t it, Millie? We can because we live with them and see them every day. But to other people it’s hard.”

Millie nods. “Sometimes, at school, if they have a new teacher or a new person watching them on the playground, they’ll pretend to be each other. Just to mess people up. They think it’s funny,” she rolls her eyes at that, then adds in exasperation, “Boys. They try at home too, but mommy and daddy know who is who. That’s my other brother,” she points in the direction of where Nik is buckling the baby into his stroller. “Declan. He’s just a baby. I like him better than the other two. I really want a baby sister. I’m tired of having brothers.”

“Well that’s something your dad and I have to decide. Whether it be a brother or a sister. We don’t really get to pick. It just happens.”

“Do you know my daddy?” Millie addresses Mark. “His name is Tyler too. My brother was named after him.”

“We met,” he confirms. “We don’t really know each other though.”

“You know mommy?”

He nods.

“How?”

“Your mom and I knew each other a long time ago. We met at her old job. Long before she met your dad or had you or your brothers.”

“You were friends?”

He smiles. “Something like that.”

“Do you like dogs?”

Mark blinks.

“I have a dog. His name is Macaroni. But everyone calls him Mac. I try telling everyone that’s not his name, but…” she shrugs.

“Welcome to the world of five-year old’s,” Esme grins. “Where your attention span is limited yet you can carry on six different conversations at the same time. I should go. The other three are probably hungry too. And we should get home before daddy and Ovi, right?” she presses a kiss to Millie’s temple.

“Ovi’s my other brother,” Millie explains. “But he didn’t come from mommy’s tummy. Mommy and daddy didn’t make him like they made the rest of us. I’m only five, but I know how these things work, you know. Ovi doesn’t look like me. But he’s still my brother.”

“The drug dealer’s kid?” Mark asks Esme, and she nods. “Pretty admirable. You guys taking him on like that.”

“He needed a family. Him and Tyler have a pretty tight bond. Even back then they did. And we couldn’t just leave him there.”

“He never would have survived. If you hadn’t have taken him. You realize that, right?”

She nods, then gives Millie a smile and a kiss on the forehead. “Hungry? Should we go and grab something to eat? Make Uncle Yaz pay? We should go. If all four of them start carrying on at the same time…”

“Thank you, Esme,” he reaches out and rubs her shoulder. “For hearing me out. I know it wasn’t easy for you and I know you didn’t owe me anything. And I hope one day you can forgive me.”

“Maybe,” she says. “I’m glad to see you’re getting yourself together, Mark. That you’re finally taking things seriously and getting the help you need. I really am. You deserve much better than the cards you’ve been dealt. You always did.”

He smiles, then reaches out to tuck a wayward piece of hair behind her ear. “Your hair has always done that,” he chuckles. “I always used to fix it for you.”

“Well, someone else does that for you now. So…” she backs away. Far enough that he can’t reach her.

“I really am happy for you. Genuinely happy. You got the life you wanted. Someone that loves you and can provide for you, give you children. He’s lucky.”

“I’m pretty lucky myself. Even if it takes something like this to make me realize it. He’s a good man. Not perfect, but perfect for me. And he’s a great father. Right, Millie? Isn’t he? Isn’t he a great daddy?”

“The best daddy ever,” she gushes. “Even if he won’t let me paint his nails or wear the tiara.”

“It’s a long story,” Esme says.

“But he does take me fishing,” the little girl continues. “And hiking. Those are pretty cool too. Do you have kids?”

“No,” he responds. “I was never lucky enough to have kids. Your mom’s a good mom, isn’t she?”

“The best ever,” Millie says, and presses a noisy kiss to Esme’s cheek. “Even if she does keep giving me brothers.”

“And that’s our cue to leave,” Esme laughs. “I need to get these guys fed and home. It was nice seeing you, Mark. For what it’s worth, I hope you got what you needed by coming here. I know it wasn’t easy for you, either.”

“If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll help anyway I can. Maybe we can start from square one. Be friends again. We always worked better as friends. Would you at least think about it? Give it a chance.”

“We’ll see,” she says. “If you don’t hear from me…well if you don’t hear me, just take care of yourself. You’re on the right path. Stay on it.”

“I will,” he promises, and then she turns on her heel and walks away.

#Tyler Rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #chris hemsworth character #sanctuary

12 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Girls Interrupted, Chapter 1: The Institution: 1, Katya: 0 (Vatya) 2/2 - Maeve

A/N: It’s Maeve again! I’m so freaking surprised and overjoyed at the positive reception Girls Interrupted has received. All of you who have such kind things have truly inspired me to keep going on this. I can now say I'm rewatching seasons in the name of research! As always, feedback is welcome. I write because I enjoy it but also so other people can enjoy it, too. So, really, I’d love to hear any feedback or suggestions.

P.S. I’m having so much fun writing the interactions between Katya and the other queens, but I think my favorite part of this chapter is either an especially cheeky Sharon Needles line or the gym teacher/coach that is very loosely based on a straight Santino Rice

This chapter picks up right where the last chapter left off: Violet and Katya’s ice breaker activity…

Fortunately, Violet realized that she would—at the very least—have to cooperate with the menial activity. “Violet,” she supplied cooly.

Katya tried and failed to stifle her laugh. The raven-haired girl looked at her challengingly.

“Tha-that’s a good choice. Very good. I love every color!” Katya stammered as she wrote down Violet’s response. She couldn’t be sure if her partner was filling out her own worksheet, but Katya couldn’t bring herself to care that much. She just wanted this over and done with. Each moment she spent next to the cheerleader made her feel more and more inadequate. Violet was judging her; she felt small enough on her own.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” Katya continued.

This one Violet was quick to answer, “Literally anywhere but here.”

Her passive face told Katya she wasn’t going to get a better answer. I’ll just put down ‘Everywhere. She loves to travel.’, she resolved. “I think it would be really cool to go to Russia,” Katya offered.

Violet’s eyes left her phone screen. They searched the face of the blonde across the table, traveled down to Katya’s communism-inspired name card, and finally met her partner’s ocean blue eyes. “No?” Her face contorted in mock shock. “Let me guess,” she pandered, “If you could have lunch with any famous person dead or alive, you’d choose Putin.”

“Good guess,” Katya shook her head with amusement, “But it’s actually Maria Bamford.” It was obvious that Violet had no idea who Maria Bamford was. However, a quick glance at the clock told her there wasn’t enough time left in the class for her to go off on another tangent. “What about you, Violet?”

“Dita Von Teese. Next,” she urged.

“What are your favorite TV shows?” Katya continued eagerly, excited that Violet was finally being an active participant.

Violet’s response was almost instant, “Forensic Files and Sex and the City.” Everything about the brunette screamed confidence and certainty—something that came through in everything that she did. Katya wished it were that easy for her.

“I really like Game of Thrones, The Heart She Holler, and Storage Wars: Northern Treasures��..It’s the Canadian version,” Katya trailed off. There was an unspoken ‘and?’ in Violet’s expression, but she couldn’t produce a single reason for why that mattered. But it had mattered. “Anyway…What’s next?” Katya pushed through her embarrassment. “Something I’m good at? Sleeping, I’m good at sleeping. I guess I’m very bendy. Flexible. I can do theater, too…”

“Just put down cheer for me,” Violet ordered without looking up from her own worksheet. The blonde hesitated at the instruction, and Violet let out an impatient huff. “What?”

Katya was quick to apologize, “Sorry, it’s just that I thought you might say something about fashion.” She swallowed thickly. “I’m-I’ve seen you in the halls before, and you look good. Great. Your clothes. You clearly put a lot of effort into your appearance, and I thou—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Violet spat. “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend like you do.”

The blonde hurriedly scribbled down the word cheer under question five on her page and grabbed both of their papers. “Right. I’ll just go turn these in,” Katya fled the table without a thought. She had clearly angered Violet. Didn’t the popular kids like it when you stroked their egos? Katya wondered. She hadn’t meant to come off as judgemental. It was obvious that they weren’t on the same level, and hopefully Violet would understand that she hadn’t been trying to judge her. She only wanted to get to know the girl better, but she knew know how stupid she’d been to think that possible. No one like Violet would ever waste time on her. Sighing, she placed the two worksheets in a plastic turn-in bin labeled ‘4th’, and made her way back to her desk.

Katya had been disappointed that she had double A Lunch, but the forty minutes were the perfect break before pre-calculus. While it meant she could eat earlier, it also meant that she had no friends to eat with. Ginger and Bianca both had B Lunch. So Katya found herself on the steps of the stairs in the courtyard by the fine arts wing, eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich. There was beauty in the simple things, though, and Katya could appreciate the warmth of the sun and the slight breeze that late morning.

Mrs. Hugh’s room was stuffy. Katya’s funfetti extravaganza was clinging to her yet again, but she couldn’t adjust the fabric too much without disrupting those around her. She wasn’t willing to risk it. Unlike in all her other classes, the blonde always sat front and center in math class. All of the numbers made a mess in her head, and it was easier if she had fewer distractions. No one else felt the same way, though. So when Alaska tumbled in just before the tardy bell, Katya was forced into yet another less than ideal situation.The sunny cheerleader didn’t share that sentiment. Alaska flashed Katya a hundred watt smile and whispered a hello.

Katya didn’t get Alaska. Alaska wasn’t your stereotypical dumb blonde. She struggled in some areas but always kept up with the pack. So she was smarter than she looked? Big deal. What Katya failed to understand was why such a kind, sincere, and smart person would allow herself to be bullied by her peers. The cheer squad clearly didn’t think she had brain cells; Alaska was practically their punching bag from what she’d observed. So why hang around?

Miss Honard, you are an enigma, Katya assessed.

Katya’s continued curiosity over the duration of Mrs. Hugh’s introductory speech gained her a very important piece of information: if she couldn’t get the lanky blonde out of her head, she was going to have to let her in. And Katya would not be friends with a cheerleader.

Katya praised Marx for the district employee who put Bianca Del Rio in her history class. She and Bianca were unlikely friends—a high school mascot and a theater kid didn’t really run in the same circles—but made an unstoppable duo. Coach A., their teacher seemed to get a kick out of them too.

Bianca was an unexpected constant in Katya’s life. The self-proclaimed bitch was Spartacus, the high school mascot, and the two would never have overlapped if not for their shared love/hate relationship with theater. She was a year younger than Katya but that didn’t stop her from providing Katya with the tough love she needed to keep her head screwed on. Keeping her head on straight was out of the question; Bianca did what she could.

The two girls schlepped over to the far side of the school where the gym was located. Katya, who had made the dumb decision to postpone getting her PE credit for as long, was not looking forward to an entire year of physical activity. Bianca, on the other hand, basically earned herself a double off campus by taking on the role of mascot. And yes, she definitely took pleasure in rubbing the fact in Katya’s face. Sucks to suck.

The other shit thing about a 7th period gym class was that Katya would be in uncomfortably close proximity to the cheerleaders. It felt wrong—almost like she was breaking a nonexistent restraining order. What sick bastard decided the plebs in “team sports” should be forced to observe the pretty girls in peak physical capacity while they drowned in their own sweat? Katya didn’t know the answer, and you certainly couldn’t hold her accountable if they were suddenly beheaded.

One locker and a stack of unisex uniforms later, Katya found herself entertaining the musings of Sharon Needles, resident goth girl.

“‘I look spooky, but I’m really nice,’” Sharon had said when they were assigned lockers next to each other. The witchy teen had a thing for reading people—not that an anxious Katya was hard to see through—and took one look at her and saw a kindred spirit. The funfetti dress and clown shoes didn’t scream normal, either. Katya had been uncharacteristically optimistic about befriending Sharon for all of ten minutes before everything went to shit. Phi Phi O’Hara, Sharon’s mortal enemy, also happened to be in the class.

“I’m surprised you took gym, Party City. Wouldn’t want you to melt in your own sweat.” Phi Phi snarked. The playground bully reclined herself against the row of lockers across from them and examined her nails.

Katya groaned inwardly. Sharon groaned outwardly.

“Fuck off, Phi Phi,” Sharon begged. “Don’t you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice? My ears are bleeding and not in a pleasant way.”

“Eat shit and die, Shar Bear,” Phi Phi called over her shoulder as she skipped off to bother some other poor shmucks.

Phi Phi the schoolyard bully reminded Katya of the villain poodle in one of those Open Season movies. Ironically, that poodle was also named Fifi, which was funny because the poodle was also a boy. Fifi the poodle was groomed like a pretty purse dog and had a little blue bow in his hair. Katya was inclined to take Phi Phi O’Hara—who was not incredibly dissimilar to a trophy pet—just as seriously.

“What crawled up her ass and died?” Katya scrunched up her face.

“If you find out, let me know,” Sharon deadpanned. “I need a smoke.” Katya watched in amusement as the locker room’s resident goth chick removed a pack of Marlboro’s and a lighter from her leather jacket. Sharon caught the blonde’s expression and raised her fist in response. “Fight the system,” she stoically decreed. Katya shrugged as if to say “what can you do?” and gestured for Sharon to walk back to the gym with her.

Their gym class had been banished to the wooden bleachers so the cheerleaders could practice for that Friday’s Back-To-School Pep Rally. The two girls tucked themselves into a far corner on the top row, and Sharon finally lit up.

Coach Rice, who had taken attendance at the beginning of class, had stepped in to assist Coach Calhoun with cheer practice.

Katya and Sharon were fortunate enough to have an unobstructed view of the girls shamelessly throwing themselves at the older man. The majority of the bimbettes were faces she expected: Detox, Roxy, Willam, Courtney, Adore, and Laganja. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for one Violet Chachki to be the leader of the pack. Stratford’s mean queen never sought out attention, let alone fought for it. Miss Chachki was a one of a kind collectible, and the entire student body knew it. You either wanted her or wanted to be her.

Today, it seemed her flavor of choice was Santino Rice.

Katya udged Sharon with her elbow. “What do you make of that?” She consulted the other girl.

Sharon took a moment to complete her assessment. “I bet a girl that tightly wound is a real screamer in bed,” she answered smoothly. Katya had not been expecting any response of the sort and physically toppled over as she was seized by laughter. Katya’s wheezing drew the attention of those nearby, and Sharon had to hold her cigarette in her mouth so she could flip them off with both hands. They could mind their own fucking business.

Katya was still clinging onto Sharon’s thigh when her fit died down. “You bitch!” She shrieked.

“I’m not wrong,” Sharon defended, taking another long drag from her cigarette. “Ten bucks says she’s hitting on him right now.” In her best Valley Girl impression she crooned, “Oh, Coach Rice, can you help me with my form?”

Katya wasted no time in contributing to the impression. “Can we go to Red Lobster?” The blonde begged in her best Violet-esque bedroom voice.

The absurdity of the request and the thought of Violet, herself, saying those words caused Sharon to half cackle and half choke on her own smoke. Her throaty laugh bounced off of the walls, and this time, it wasn’t just a few pairs of eyes that turned to them.

Uh oh, Katya cringed, busted.

“Sharon Needles, put that shit out and march your ass on over to Assistant Principal Visage’s office!” Coach Rice demanded.

Katya facepalmed hard. What is wrong with you, you stupid whore? She groaned. It’s your fault she’s in deep shit, and she’s never going to speak to you again. The blonde was about to lose herself in an abyss of despair when Sharon’s voice filled the room again.

“Oh no!” Sharon drawled, “Whatever shall I do?” Katya had brought her head up to witness the spectacle and was met with Sharon’s shit-eating grin.

Katya raised her fist in solidarity, referencing Sharon’s anti-establishment words in the locker room. Her spooky new friend shot her a cheeky wink before saluting her corporate whistleblower and unhurriedly leaving the building.

Katya’s eyes left Sharon’s retreating form just in time to catch Violet glaring at her.

The blonde did her best not to worry. It wasn’t like Violet could have known they were talking about her, right?

The bell rang at 3:00, and Katya still hadn’t managed to put the captain of the cheer squad out of her mind. She spent her entire 8th period dodging Bianca’s questions and pleading for some all-knowing entity to tell her just where in life she had gone wrong. Definitely new year, same bullshit. Katya had attempted to begin her junior year with a more optimistic attitude, but after a first day for the history books, she was ready to call it quits.

You win, Stratford, you win. I am but a shell of a man. Woe is the poor soul who dare enter thee, Katya scowled.

The rest of Katya’s will to live vanished when she finally reached her trusty blue Beetle in the junior lot.

“Mother, I am want to commit death,” she muttered.

The cherry red convertible parked next to Katya’s car belonged to none other than Violet Chachki. The bright red exterior was blinding under the afternoon sun, and Katya had to squint to make out faces. A swarm of girls in uniform short skirts and halter tops formed a green and white sea around her only means of escape. Not wanting to engage with Violet for a third time that day, the blonde chose to turn on her heels and pop a squat on the curb.

It was going to be a long year.

#rpdr fanfiction #katya zamolodchikova #violet chachki #alaska thunderfuck #vatya #high school au #lesbian au #slow burn #fluff #angst #enemies to friends #enemies to lovers #drama #maeve #girls interrupted #concrit welcome #tw anxiety and depression

19 notes · View notes

sometimesiwrite · 5 years ago

Text

A Pinter Pause (2/2)

Part 2 Summary: Terence and Katherine find themselves connecting on a deeper level than they had anticipated after re-kindling their acquaintance during an opening night reception at the theatre nearby. They hastily head back to Terence’s apartment to continue the evening.

Content Notes: Smut, condom use, oral, m/f intercourse, slight mention of BDSM/rough sex, discussion of emotional availability, fluff, explicit language.

Word Count: ~3,000

Again, I didn’t intend this as an imagine/fanfic piece but as with the previous story, but who am I to tell you how to use your imagination ;)

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Katherine climbed the stairs to the second floor, nerves fluttering in her stomach as she approached the top of the stair case and paused, realizing Terence still had the key. He squeezed past her on the stairs, taking a little extra time to linger across from her. How is he so...ugh! Katherine was both infuriated and incredibly attracted by his composure, meanwhile here she was with clammy hands, sweaty armpits and knees that made her feel like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time. Terence grinned, “Chanel, isn’t it?”

“Dior,” she answered back, a playful edge of defiance in her voice masking her desire to scream How is this happening?! in his face. She followed Terence the rest of the way up the stairs, trying desperately to stop the feeling of becoming increasingly less sexy. His apartment was tastefully decorated and mostly what she would have expected from the home of a well-dressed urban bachelor. The floors were a varnished honey-coloured hardwood and were warm underfoot as she removed her shoes, wincing a little as she let them spread back to their full width after being confined all evening.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, also removing his shoes and blazer, and loosening his tie.

“Vodka soda with lemon?” she asked, hoping it might combat some of the dryness in her mouth.

“Coming up! Feel free to have a look around, I’ll be back in a second” he called out on his way to the kitchen. She wandered into the living room area which was cozy-yet modern with an abstract shag carpet in front of the sofa and a few larger potted plants flanking the door to what could only be his patio. A desk and some tall bookcases filled a square of the living area which he had clearly claimed as a kind of makeshift office-library with a an easy chair under a reading lamp and a coffee table next to it. She made her way over to the bookshelves to have a look at his collection which proved to be wonderfully eclectic: A Picture of Dorian Gray, a bunch of old DC and Marvel Comics, notably Hawkeye, Justice League, and Spiderman, The Collected Works of A. A. Milne, Wuthering Heights, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, a few other fantasy novels she didn’t recognize by an author whose name looked Scandinavian—Sap…Sapkowski? Her eyes continued to scan the shelves. There were a fair number of playwrights featured in his collection as well, Beckett, Pinter, David Mamet, Sam Shepard, Hanna Moscovitch, Judith Thompson… So much for learning about a person from what they have on their bookshelves. What doesn’t this guy read?

In the kitchen, Terence took a stiff drink of whisky from his glass before pouring Katherine’s drink. He wasn’t nervous, per se... more than anything he was having a hard time believing that a woman of Katherine’s caliber was not only in his apartment, but wanted him, at least for the night if nothing more. Steeling himself, he left the kitchen half expecting her to have left, though he didn’t know why.

He found her in the living room and brought her drink over. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted ice so I gave you a little.” His finger lingered on hers as she took the glass from him, basking in the colour of his eyes, a clear water-y blue. “I see you’ve found my bookshelves,” he said, standing close behind her holding his own drink in his hand. She could feel the warmth of his chest radiating against her back. Again, she was impressed at how incredibly at ease she felt despite her nerves. Sure, he wanted her, absolutely he wanted her, if for nothing more than one night… but he didn’t need anything, didn’t have to have anything from her, which made her hope, at least somewhere in her jaded soul, that perhaps he would be interested in more than an evening.

“They say you can learn a lot about a person from their bookshelves...”

“What have you deciphered? Surely your clever mind has come up with something.” He gently stroked her arm.

“Well...”She leaned back against him and tilted her head to one side, a subtle invitation. “You’re a bit of an enigma, Terrence. You’ve got everything from early 20th Century romance to superheroes and Winnie the Pooh.”

He moved his drink to his other hand and gently swept her hair back. “But if you were to hazard a guess?”

“I would say that you’re very interested in people’s minds—”

His nose lingered at her ear for a moment as he leant down to kiss her neck, breathing warm air onto her and inhaling more of her perfume, and with it more of her.

“—and are probably more vulnerable than you let on.”

Terence chastely pressed his lips against the tender skin of her neck, felt her pulse quicken under the surface as his arm wrapped around her waist, a thumb just grazing the bottom of her underwire. “If all that were true, would you still want to stay the night?” Katherine turned around and took Terence’s drink out of his hand and walked to the coffee table where she set both drinks down. He watched with the smallest hint of concern on his forehead, wondering whether she had lost interest. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You bet I do,” she gave him a wide and reassuring smile, playfully biting her bottom lip.

Terence brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “You really are stunning,” he said, an earnestness settling in his features. Katherine’s eyes softened for a moment as she gazed at the man standing across from her, her internal monologue just as speechless as she was. They pressed together slowly, completely immersed in each other’s warmth as passion mounted and swelled inside them. It had been ages since she’d been kissed like this, Katherine thought, as firm hands circled the back of her neck and waist, pulling her close. Before she knew it, her fingers were in his hair and their kisses turned all tongues and teeth as they hungrily proceeded, buttons haphazardly fumbled with as shirts were worked open on their slow journey to the bedroom.

Terence turned on the lights. “How about a little ambiance,” he said, dimming them until a warm glow honeyed his soft blue-grey walls. “Better.” He smiled at her for what felt like the hundredth time that night and paused to read her face, his eyes scanning for signs of hesitation, but all he saw was Katherine smiling back at him. He plunged into a fresh kiss, stubble leaving her lips tingling, smearing what was left of her lipstick away. They reached the last button at the same time, peeling the offensive layers from each others bodies. Katherine ran her hands across Terence’s smooth cotton undershirt, his chest warm and firm under her touch as she tugged at the hem, wrenching it from the waistband of his pants. Realizing she was wearing a slip, Terrence skillfully unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor at her feet. Katherine firmly grabbed a handful of backside with a playful smile on her face and he raised his eyebrows at her. Terence returned the favour, except his hands were much larger and his arms much stronger. “Two can play at that game,” he quipped, and pulled her off her feet as she let out a shriek of surprise, laughing as he walked them toward the bed.

“Well, here we are,” he said matter-of-factly. “What should we do now?” She laughed gently as she tightened her legs around him.

“I’m really asking,” he said, lowering her to the bed and straightening up to remove his pants. “I want to know what you want. Because, thing is,” he continued, sitting down on the bed, “I can accommodate a wide range of preferences.”

She looked at him quizzically, wondering whether she was on the cusp of something she hadn’t expected. “I don’t, um… I mean I’m not into… at least I don’t think I am, but—”

“I enjoy sex with people who are enjoying themselves, plain and simple. No strings attached, no tricks. I’ll enjoy myself if you’re enjoying yourself. It’s just kind of how I operate. So: beautiful, charming, intoxicating woman, what would you enjoy, darling?” He playfully rubbed his hardened front against her and she inhaled heavily. He smiled as he felt her desire for him dampen the fabric between them, but he still waited for her answer. “I’m pretty sure my only kink is a man who knows what he’s doing,” she laughed, pulling him close.

“That is a need I can most definitely accommodate, at least so the reviews have told me.”

“Hmmm, I’d like to follow up on that, is there a reference I could contact?” Katherine teased.

“No, but there is a 100% satisfaction guarantee: if you don’t finish, I don’t finish.” Terence quipped, his voice muffled in Katherine’s neck.

“What do you want?” Katherine asked, seriously.

“Honestly?” Terence paused, “I would really love it if the neighbours heard you all the way from wherever the hell they are.”

"I think I can work with that,” Katherine replied with a hawkish grin. Terence immediately took off his shirt and helped remove her slip, revealing a black lace bra which he unhooked with one hand and let fall away.

“You’re already more proficient than 99% of the people I’ve been with,” she laughed.

“Let’s see if we can’t beat that last 1% shall we?” He pressed two fingers against her last remaining undergarment. “You’re so wet, darling, I can feel you through your underpants.”

He lay her back on the mattress, slowly tugging at her underwear. He kissed the margin where fabric and warm skin met, looking at her with a question on his face. She nodded enthusiastically. “Please,” she panted. He returned on top of her and she noticed he had removed the last of his clothing as well. She swallowed thickly at the sight of his naked body lowering on top of her. “Not too fast,” she murmured in his ear.

“Darling, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he reassured her, softly caressing her curves as she grew accustomed to his touch. He slowly kissed his way up her legs, teasing at the borders of her dark curls with his thumbs, listening to her hold her breath with anticipation. “If you want me to stop—”

“Don’t you dare,” Katherine blurted out, eagerly meeting his lips.

Terrence smiled against her as his fingers slowly found their way to her centre and dragged languorously to her tip where they circled slowly. She let out an exhilarated gasp followed by a gentle moan as she pressed lightly into his hand. Terence felt a rush of gratification at how responsive she was to his touch. He teased a finger at her opening. Katherine drew a sharp breath as she felt his finger slip inside her. She clumsily reached out with her right hand searching, looking to give him something in return. She found what she was looking for.

Terence let out a satisfied moan and kissed her hard, swallowing Katherine’s sounds of pleasure. He gently pulled himself out of her hand as he shifted himself back between her legs, “There’s plenty waiting for him later.” With that, he disappeared, his tongue and fingers now proficiently navigating her most intimate topography. Katherine pursed her lips trying to control the sound that was escaping from her unbidden.

Terence raised his head briefly and kissed her luxuriously on the thigh. “The neighbours won’t hear you if you don’t let your beautiful voice out.” He smiled at her, memorized the expression on her face—a mixture of pleasurable agony and astonishment—and then returned between her legs. A wave of icy heat shot through Katherine’s body as she began to tremble, her voice grew louder as her fingers clutched the sheets on either side of her. She fell silent in the last moment before full release shot through her. Terence emerged from between Katherine’s legs and the puddle that had formed beneath her, an impressed, slightly amused expression on his face. “Very impressive. There really is a first time for everything,” he panted as he gazed down at Katherine’s trembling body. “Fuck,” she panted, looking up at him trying to recover, “oh jesusfuckingchrist.” She laughed, realizing what he had just said: “Wait. Wait. You mean you’ve never had a… I mean no woman’s ever…”

“Cum all over me? No, I can’t say I have.” They both laughed as Terence settled himself down on top of Katherine, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes that said they weren’t done yet. He kissed her passionately, buried his face him her neck, found every soft and sensitive patch of skin he could caress with his lips, his fingers tangled gently in her hair.

“I take it the customer is satisfied?” He teased.

“I don’t think I’ll be asking for a refund,” Katherine laughed breathlessly.

“Well, hopefully you’re not too satisfied just yet. You see, that was just the test drive.” Terence grinned a wolfish grin and pressed his body against hers.

“You should be careful, Terence,” Katherine warned, half serious. “I could really get used to this.”

Playfully, he urged her back to the task at hand, eager to connect more thoroughly. “Permission to proceed further?”

“Permission granted,” she answered, gutturally as she locked eyes with him. He raised an eyebrow and the rest was a blur—gasps, shudders, and moans filled the room as the two became a tangled mass of hair, legs, and hands. Sweat gathered on their glowing skin as they basked in sensation, drinking each other in, grasping at each other wherever they could as if there were too many molecules of air separating them, as if they could always be a little closer and him a little deeper. They were completely lost in pleasure, moving from one position to another, Terence changing pace just often enough to keep them both teetering on a knife’s edge. Finally, Katherine felt a hand come to circle her sensitive bundle of nerves and she felt everything shake as her hips faltered in their rhythm. Her voice was full and round with pleasure as Terence felt her body turn on a dime, felt her start to clench around him, her voice and breath shift as she started to call out with every swear word she could think of as she felt everything go white hot. They came undone at the same time, pressing hard against one another, still somehow not close enough.

They stayed there, panting on one another for a little while as they got their bearings. Terence shot Katherine a goofy expression as he tied their condom in a knot and threw it in the trash. Finally, Katherine got up to pee and they both cleaned themselves up before flopping back into bed, gulping cool water from the glasses Terence had brought back from the kitchen. Finding a dry patch to lie on, however, proved difficult. “Come here,” he said, opening his arm for her to nestle into the crook of his shoulder. Katherine sleepily obliged, crossing a leg over him, tracing a circle on his sternum with her finger.

“I wasn’t kidding about me getting used to this, Terence. You should be careful.” Katherine joked.

“I guess we both should be careful, then. Because I think I could too.” Katherine’s eyes snapped to meet his, trying to see if he was joking, but all she found was sincerity and tenderness. She raised her palm to the side of his face and he leaned into its warmth before kissing it: “I mean it, Katherine. You’re magnificent in every way.”

They both lingered for a moment in the realization that this was likely more than just one night of passion and indulgence, simultaneously hoping it might be more but not wanting to say so and risk an uncomfortable conversation.

“I must say this was a pleasant surprise, to say the least” He left a lingering kiss on the top of her head as he inhaled. Exhaled.

“Something tells me you encounter ‘pleasant surprises’ on a regular basis.” Katherine hoped she was wrong but tried to sound casual.

“No, actually, not often at all. Only when I want to connect with someone which isn’t always easy for me… hence my efforts to be... accommodating. So that when I do find an interesting person, there might be less of a barrier.”

“So you’re very physically available…”

“But am I emotionally available, you wonder?” Terence was quiet for a moment, and Katherine raised herself up onto her elbow to see his face. He looked up at her, his eyebrows baleful. He sighed and Katherine felt her stomach sink. “Let’s just say you were right about my bookshelf.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Impenetrably enigmatic?”

“I’m more vulnerable than I let on,” he admitted with difficulty. “It’s—been a long time since I’ve been... open to someone. In that way.”

Katherine nodded, her jaw tightening as she broke eye contact and looked away. She was grateful for the connection they had shared, the chemistry, the banter and company—not to mention excellent physical compatibility. But...

“But,” he said, sitting up and placing a hand on her shoulder, “if you can bear with me a little bit, I could very quickly get back up to speed.”

Katherine smiled at him, relieved and surprised, affection swelling in her chest. “I would like that.” She settled back onto his chest and Terence rested his lips on the top of her head once more, feeling a piece of himself deep within crack open that had been shut tight for a very, very long time.

Tag requests:

@iloveyouyen

#smut #imagine henry cavill #imagine henry #short story #connection #romance #passion #fiction #tension #creative writing

2 notes · View notes

youremyonlyhope · 5 years ago

Text

The Haunting of Villa Diodati

I get to watch Doctor Who on my TV. Yay! First time in weeks there isn’t a Super Bowl or award show.

I literally forgot Cyberman were even coming to this season until I saw commercial advertising the rest of the season that played just now before the episode is starting. But that’s not until the finale I guess.

COSTUMES. PERIOD. COSTUMES. God I love historical episodes. Lord Byron!?!?!?! MRS. SHELLEY!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? YESSSSSSSSS Oh I am just so happy right now. At first I was like “Oooohh Northanger Abbey vibes” but no it’s like actual gothic novelists not a girl obsessed with them. Oh Fam. CAN’T SEE THE (ok I don’t know what I started typing here, the next line got me too excited and I forgot to come back to this one) “Because it is a truth universally acknowledged” AHHHHHH. I LITERALLY SCREAMED. IT WAS PROBABLY MORE OF A SQUEAK/SHRIEK THAN A SCREAM BUT STILL. GRAHAM. A MAN AFTER MY OWN HEART. “And nobody snog Byron.” I can’t. AHHH COUNTRY DANCING. Guys. Guys. GUYS. Is this episode made specifically for me!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Well, I’ve never read any Byron or Shelley, but regency era?!?!?! I completely adore it. This poor butler. “How about writing the most gruesome, spine-chilling ghost story of all time?” Doctor. Try to be a bit more subtle.

*Something coming out of the painting* Me: *Thinking of the Kasavin* No... *Something small breaks out of the painting* Me: Oh ok Skeleton hand: *Crawls* Me: NO.

Noooooo there’s a disappearing lady. Oh no Graham’s in a loop. NOOO THERE’S A CHILD. This is like actually creepy. “His answers only increase the enigma” “I know someone like that.” Cue the screams of every Doctor/Yaz shipper ever. Annnndddddd there’s the hand....

This episode. Is like. Everything I want. Period costumes, Regency specifically. Ghosts. Skeletons. Jane Austen references. Country Dances. Love love love love LOVE.

Oh and of course the Doctor gets to wear another outfit, or at least a new vest. Which I love. I want to see what the detailing is. Oh no. Oh NO. BYRON DON’T YOU DARE HIT ON THE DOCTOR. NO. “But she always said there’s no reason not to try.” Awwwwwww. Yeah, how have we met both Ada and Lord Byron in the same season... there’s gotta something there.... Oh Fletcher. He’s so annoyed. He’s either evil or the best person here. THANK GOD FOR FLETCHER. Oh Doctor don’t taste that oh Doctor baby no.... I love/hate Byron being in love with the Doctor. I love it so much but I hate it so much. See. I don’t know enough about Byron. But I vaguely knew he was like... super creepy. And... keeping a 300 year old skeleton from a battle is definitely creepy. “One hand gone.” “Both hands gone.” OH GREAT. DON’T. DON’T EAT THINGS GIVEN BY GHOSTS. OR IS IT FAERIES? EITHER WAY. NO. I mean I guess Graham has no clue. BUT STILL. They’re in a loop too. Byron, stop looking at her like that. Stop it. I refuse. Everyone’s in a loop. Annnndddd that’s a ghost. WAIT IS THE BABY ADA?! Oh no wait never mind it’s William. And yeah ok that’s a person over the lake. NOOOOOOOOOO. NOOOO HE DID NOT JUST WALK THROUGH A WALL. I SAID NO OUT LOUD. Like a dream? Was Poli asleep earlier when Graham got lost? Are they in his dream or something? Did Byron just hide behind her? Oh you coward. Not worthy of my Doctor. “May just say you are quite lovely in a crisis?” OH SHUT UP. A PERCEPTION FILTER?!!?!?!? Yeah ok that’s not fun. A skeleton in the place of a baby. That’s messed up. I feel like so much has happened, but it’s only been a half hour. There’s still 40 minutes, we’re not even halfway through. Where is this going? Also, I’m enjoying it a lot. This isn’t a TARDIS is it? Will the Master pop up? This isn’t like Hide is it? A traveler who we think is evil but is just lost? NOOOOOOO. OH NOOO. I JUST SCREAMED “NOOOOOO” IN COMPLETE AND UTTER FEAR. ANYTHING BUT A CYBERMAN PLEASE.

I didn’t think we’d see the lone Cybermen until the end of the season. I literally rationalized myself into being shocked. If I hadn’t seen the promo, I would have forgotten we’d Cybermen at all, but then I convinced myself we wouldn’t get them yet, and it surprised me.

So. Not like Hide. Definitely evil.

“I will not lose anyone else to that.” OH GOD WHY MUST YOU REMIND ME OF BILL. IT’S BEEN ALMOST 3 YEARS AND I’M NOWHERE NEAR RECOVERED FROM THAT PAIN. DOES HE HAVE A HUMAN EYE? HE’S TRULY UNFINISHED. WAIT THAT’S HALF A NORMAL FACE. NOT THE BABY. This nanny is like the best person ever. I appreciate her trying to save the baby. She did not deserve to die. Oh god it has one human hand. He tried to kiss the baby?!?!?!!? Yaz my girl no you don’t. Don’t look for loopholes. Oh spoilers from the closed captions I guess. It said “Ashad: Funny” so I’m guessing its name is Ashad, and that that’s going to be revealed at some point. I just remembered that the Cyberwoman was also a Chibnall story. Is this his patrially-converted-Cyberman redemption? Yeah the writing on the wall is creepy... Someone get Shelley some help. Who plays the Cyberman? Imagine if we get one of those Cyberbeast things from the Next Doctor. That’d be fun. Maybe I just want to see them again. Oh not Fletcher. “Guard him well.” Soooooo is Byron now a guardian of some sort... Oh cool, Shelley can fight back a bit. Oh great it’s in him. That’s great. That’s fun. Fantastic. Was it Jack who sent it back? Or maybe the Master? Oooh the Doctor is going off on Ryan. That’s some anger. “It’s a mountain. With me in the summit, in the stratosphere, alone. Left to choose.” Oh GOD Doctor. She’s just letting it all out. “A composite of parts?” Oh ok so there’s that inspiration. I was wondering why he hadn’t take the baby with him. I guess he did spare him. Well that sucks. He’s a lone Cyberman, what ship does he have? “We are inevitable.” THE APOTHEOSIS???? Sorry, had to make a StarKid reference. Doctor. Doctor. You had ONE job. Jack told you to do ONE THING. Ok well at least the Doctor’s like “Oh no I am well aware what I did was dumb but I will fix it.” She’s truly learned since she became the Time Lord Victorious when he didn’t care. I’m Mr. Poli half laughing as Miss Clairmont roasts Byron. I had forgotten about the lady and the child for a while though... I did wonder at one point how they fit into all this... and then forgot to keep wondering...

So that was a REALLY fun episode! I am happy with it!

Loved the costumes especially, but that’s just me nerding out.

This episode had me screaming “NOO” out loud multiple times so that’s fun.

I just checked IMDB to look at the cast since so many people looked familiar to me. And I realized that Nicholas Briggs was apparently playing the Cyberman voice again. That makes me so happy.

Update: I actually started proofreading this, then realized the ice cream place near me was closing in a half hour. So I stopped, left and got ice cream, and now i’m back. Yay! Doctor Who and ice cream! And I have the day off tomorrow!

Anyway. Yay! A better partially-converted-Cyberman story! IMDB says Chibnall didn’t write this one, but it’s in his era so I guess we can consider it like a half-redemption.

(Also I don’t even hate Cyberwoman as much as other people do. My biggest complaint with Cyberwoman was her design since they put her in a bikini and heels. The bikini could be justified that it uses less metal and conserves resources, that I can almost accept, but the heels have no justification.)

#hope watches doctor who #doctor who #dw spoilers #doctor who spoilers #ignore me if you want

5 notes · View notes

anothers-trash-my-treasure · 6 years ago

Text

Bittersweet - Chapter Two

Surprise I finished it tonight so HERE WE GOOOO. Sorry, this took me a hot second to get out, but better late than never I suppose. Enjoy!

Pairing: Merriell Shelton / Reader (femme)

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any?? Lemme know if I should change this.

Word Count: 2104

Tag List: @r-ahh-mi @the-almond-dinger @elliotmercury @fahrenheit39

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

A few days had passed. And with each passing day, my hope that Merriell would call faded a little more. I shouldn't be surprised. After all, I would only be in Louisiana for another week and a half, it’s not like anything serious could come out of it. But still, it would’ve been fun to just..fool around a little? When I voiced this to Chloe she laughed a little too hard.

“What?” I ask while taking a sip of my wine.

“C’mon y/n,” she starts, looking at me with a raised eyebrow, “You are not someone who just ‘fools around a little’. You won’t even kiss someone at the bar when we go out.”

She had a point. But I wasn’t about to let her know that

“Yeah, but did you see him?” I ask, letting my head roll back and a small ‘hmph’ leave my lips, “He was gorgeous.”

She agrees with me, taking a sip of her drink with a noise of approval before switching the conversation.

By the end of the night, I had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to call. It was a nice fantasy, but ultimately too good to be true. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been let down. Too many times I’ve let myself believe that I’m worth a little trouble. Let myself believe this time, this guy is going to fight for me. But time and time again, I’m let down. It happened with my last relationship; if you could even call it that.

I push the thought out of my head with a yawn, crawling under the covers. I turn off the bedside light and let the darkness of the room lul me off to sleep. And If I let myself dream of wide green eyes and sly smiles, well that’s no one’s business but my own.

I’m pulled out of my slumber way too early. I can hear my phone buzzing against the bedside table and the default ringtone blares way too loudly. I groan realizing that someone's trying to call me. Thinking it’s probably just my mom, calling to make sure I’m still alive, I reach out my arm and grab it.

“Hullo?” I say sleepily, trying my best to not slip back into the thick fog of sleep.

“Mornin’ sunshine.”

That’s definitely not my mom. I shoot up in bed, pinching myself to make sure I’m not still dreaming.

“Merriell?” I ask a little incredulously.

A low chuckle reaches my ear and it is way too early to be hearing that up close and personal, “the one and only,” he jokes before turning to more important matters, “What have you got planned today?”

I stutter a bit, “well, I’m not gonna lie I was really planning on sleeping past,” I glance at the clock, “6 AM, Jesus, why are you up so early?”

“Bold of ya to assume I eva’ went to bed,” He replies easily, “Seriously, whatcha up to later?”

I chuckle softly, trying to be aware that Chloe is sleeping in the next room, “Um, nothing, I don’t think. Why?” Okay, that was a lie. Chloe and I were supposed to walk down bourbon street today and possibly indulge in some serious day drinking but like hell, I was passing up the chance to see him again.

“Well, whatta ya say I pick you up around 10?” Before I can ask what we’re doing he interrupts me, “an’ don’t ask me what we’re doing. It’s a surprise.”

I sigh, laying back down on the bed, “You sure are an enigma, Merriell Shelton.” A yawn interrupts my sentence, “But yeah, that sounds great. I’ll send you my address?”

“Sounds great boo,” He says and I can hear the smirk on his face, “See ya in a few.”

I mutter a soft ‘bye’ before hanging up. I stare at the phone in my hand for a second, a feeling of excitement and nerves but mostly just happiness because he actually called. I let out a soft squeal before scrambling out of bed. I’m up, might as well get a head start.

Chloe still isn’t awake by the time Merriell comes to pick me up so I write her a note. Telling her to enjoy her day but I’ll be out with this stranger all day. She’s gonna kill me, but I can’t bring myself to care as I run out to his car. I feel like a teenager straight out of a 70’s musical when I see him leaning against the side of it, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He smiles when he sees me, letting the cigarette fall to the ground, putting it out with his foot as I approach him.

“Good morning, Merriell.” I greet him, a little unsure if I should hug him or not.

He nods politely, a sly smile spreading over his lips as takes me in, “Mornin’” he says before whistling lowly, “for someone who isn’t a fan of mornings, you sure are well put together for this ungodly hour.” he teases.

I narrow my eyes at him playfully, “trust me, if someone hadn’t woken me up at 6 AM, I definitely would not look this presentable.”

He hums, moving to open the car door for me, “I’m sure you’d still look just as beautiful.” He closes the door behind me before settling into his seat and driving off. He fills the silence easily, asking me about my visit, where I’m from and what I do. Everything is so easy with him, it’s a little startling. The banter comes quick and easy, the ability to make each other laugh right along with it.

What surprises me is that he has the whole day planned out. This is no half-assed date to try and take advantage of the next cute tourist he would lay eyes on. This is personalized, letting me get to know him without him telling me anything by bringing me to his favourite spots and letting them do the talking for him. He takes me to brunch at this little cafe/diner, claiming they have the best pancakes and of course, he’s right. The workers all know his name and his order, greeting him with warm smiles and laughing when he introduced me.

“Showin’ a lost tourist around. Found this one lurking around the french quarter, had to show’er that there’s more to the city than what Google says.” He winks at me and smirks when I blush and lower my head in fond-embarrassment.

After brunch, he drives me around, stopping when he wants to show me something or another that is clearly so much better to see that, as he put it ‘all that crappy tourist shit’. As we drive his hand finds the skin of my bare knee, the contact sending tingles throughout my body. He doesn't try to move it any higher, just enjoys the contact as we cruise down Louisiana back roads.

He laughs when Chloe calls and reams me out for abandoning her today while we’re sitting on the hood of his car near the crescent city connection.

“Why didn’t ya just tell me that ya had plans?” He asks, an amused smile spread across his face as he nudges my shoulder playfully, “That desperate to see me, huh?”

I run my hands through my hair, ready to deny it playfully but then I catch the way the sunlight plays with the different hues of green and blue in his eyes and I decide to throw caution into the wind.

“You caught me,” I admit, biting my lip coyly. When his eyebrows raise at my response I press on, “I mean can you blame me?” I ask playfully, “You were so charming the day we met, Mer. Kissing my hand and introducing yourself like such a gentleman.” My voice is teasing, but my words are true. I giggle a little when he looks at me a little too long without acknowledging my words, “What? Has little ol’ me made the Merriell Shelton speechless?”

He shakes his head with a coy smile, looking out at the setting sun before looking back at me, “‘m afraid it’s gonna take a bit more than a few lousy compliments to take the words outta ma mouth, sweetheart.” and with that he’s sliding off the hood, pulling me down with him, “c’mon, I betta get’chu back to your friend before she has my head.”

And although we spent literally the whole day together, I’m a little disappointed that it has to come to an end. He drives me back to the rented house we’re staying at in a comfortable silence, the only sound being soft music over the soft purr of the engine. My hand rests on his that sits on my knee, our fingers tangled in each others. When we pull up to the house, he shuts the car off, bringing our intertwined hands to his lips and kissing the skin of my knuckles softly.

“Thank ya miss,” He says between soft kisses, “For blessing me with your presence today.”

I smile at him shyly, suddenly not knowing how to end things, “Well thank you for calling.” I say softly.

Much to my displeasure, he untangles our fingers and gets out of the car to walk around to my side and open the door for me. I step out of it carefully, allowing him to shut it behind me. I desperately want this night to never end, but I know it has to. But there’s a part of my mind that tells me this might be it. He might not call again and this could be the last time I see him. He’d be nothing more than a story I tell my friends. A simple Hey, remember that time I let a complete stranger show me around a city I’ve never been in? And the thought alone has my heart clenching painfully. He must sense my change in mood, because he brushes a piece of hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ears and meeting my eyes.

“Whats’a matter?” He asks simply, his eyes boring into mine.

I shrug, avoiding his intense stare, “It’s nothing.” I insist, crossing my arms, letting my body language attempt to shield me from any future for a rejection I might be setting myself up from, “I had a really good time today Merriell.” I say honestly.

He smiles, taking a step closer to me, “I did too.” His voice is soft, almost a little lost.

His thumb and pointer finger take my chin in a light grasp, tilting my head upwards so I look at him, My arms uncross when his other hand finds my waist, one of my hands landing on his forearm while the other rests on his chest. Time seems to slow down, my eyes bouncing back and forth from his eyes, that have held me captive all evening, to his lips, that probably taste like cigarettes and faintly of the ice cream dessert we split at dinner. Lord help me I want him to kiss me. It’s the only thought that’s crossing my mind; What his lips would feel like on mine, what he’d taste like, how his hands would cup my face to deepen it.

Please, I think desperately, Kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

He clears his throat and steps backwards, removing his hands from my body and bringing one up to rub at the back of his neck, “I’ll uh-” He pauses, “I should let you go.” He looks away.

I feel an exhale leave my body but I nod nonetheless, a small ‘okay’ leaving my lips. Disappointment sits heavy on my shoulders as I watch him walk back around to his side of the car, He looks at me over the top of the car, a smile that looks way too forced plastered on his lips.

“I’ll call you?”

I bit my lip to stop myself from asking him to stay for a drink. If he wanted to stay, he would have kissed me, “Please do.” I tell him before waving half-heartedly and turning to walk inside.

I hear the car start behind me and part of me wants to turn around and ask him if he wants to keep driving around some more, anything to not have the night end light this. I keep walking, even as I hear the car drive away. When I reach the front door I turn around, staring at the retreating tail lights, whispering softly to no one;

“Goodnight, Merriell.”

Part 3

#rami malek #rami malek x reader #rami malek/reader #Rami Malek Trash #Merriell Shelton #merriell shelton x reader #merriell shelton/reader #merriell snafu shelton #Snafu Shelton #snafu x reader #snafu shelton x reader

100 notes · View notes

camillemontespan · 5 years ago

Text

the enigma [olivia nevrakis interview]

Drake’s Interview

Maxwell’s Interview

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @sirbeepsalot @moonlightgem7 @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @notoriouscs @be-still-my-aching-heart @katedrakeohd

Warnings: Mentions about sex toys. This is Olivia, after all.

**************************************************************

I am waiting for my interview subject to finish modelling for our cover shoot. We are shooting in a manor just outside of Cordonia and the room is filled with flowers, ornate chairs, glimmering chandeliers, fashion assistants, catering staff and our enthusiastic photographer.

The one person who isn’t enthusiastic is the model herself.

Olivia Nevrakis is lounging on the floor, silk and satin sheets beneath her with flowers strewn around the feet. She is wearing a pink and white gown with pink taffeta underneath the layers; she looks like she is wearing a rose.

‘I hate pink..’ Olivia grumbles in between photos. She holds an open book in her hand and flashes that famous Nevrakis stare at the camera. I look at the screenshots and can’t deny it; she may hate pink but she makes the outfit look regal.

‘You look gorgeous, darling!’ the photographer exclaims. Olivia arches an eyebrow. ‘Oh, I know..’ she purrs, before striking another pose.

Once the photographs are taken, Olivia is helped to her feet by an intern. ‘Get me a coffee,’ she orders him. The intern nods, clearly nervous. ‘Um, black? Latte? Cappuccino?’

‘Ask someone else your impertinent questions..’ Olivia drawls, before striding over to where I’m standing. She holds out a hand which I shake. ‘Let’s do this, shall we?’

I am also rendered speechless. Olivia has an air about her that is intimidating. I’m not the first journalist to feel nervous about interviewing her and I doubt I will be the last. She stalks ahead of me and I watch as she takes her hair clip out of her bun, shaking her red hair out so it falls down her back like a waterfall. We enter a private room and Olivia pulls off her pearl bracelet, tossing it onto a table. There is a Chinese screen in the room, which she goes behind and starts to undress. I stand awkwardly as I see the pink dress flung over the screen, landing heavily on the floor.

Olivia comes out from behind the screen wearing a red lace bodysuit and black stilettos. She is tall, creamy skinned and as she moves, I can see her muscles flexing under her skin. I know that she is trained in taekwondo; in clothes, her muscles aren’t obvious, it is only when she is bare that you can see the effect her training has had. She shrugs on a red silk dressing down and ties it up before settling down on the chaise lounge in front of me.

‘I feel much better now,’ she breathes, eyeing me. I clear my throat and set the dictaphone down on the table between us. The door opens and the intern comes in holding a tray with three coffee cups on it. ‘I wasn’t sure which one to get you so I thought, be safe and pick all three of our choices,’ he babbles, setting the tray down. Olivia looks down at the coffees, her nose wrinkled. She takes the black coffee and adds two sugars. She looks at me. ‘Do you want one of these?’

I take the cappuccino and smile at the intern. He leaves the tray on the table with the extra latte. The door closes behind him and I turn to Olivia, who has a Cheshire Cat grin on her face.

‘I know I may come across as a bitch to you,’ she tells me, ‘but in this world, you kind of have to be. See, extra coffee.’ She indicates the latte that is still on the tray. ‘That intern was too scared to bring me just one coffee so he brought me different kinds in case I bit his head off.’

I am immediately wanting to ask her why she views the world like this. I want to find out about her upbringing and her parents, her life as a Duchess. I bite the bullet and ask her.

‘My parents were killed,’ she tells me point blank. ‘I had nobody but servants for company.’

I tell her it sounds lonely.

She shrugs, brushing off my concern. Olivia then reaches down into her bodysuit and brings a dagger out from her cleavage. She twirls it around her fingers; I slowly edge away.

Olivia grew up alongside King Liam. He is so kind and gentle, it is hard to imagine the two of them being friends. ‘I like to think we compliment each other actually..’ she says quietly. ‘He tries to make me a little nicer, a little more understanding, while I try to get him to be less gentle, less of a pushover. More of a badass.’

I ask if Liam is a pushover.

‘Oh god, yes!’ she laughs. ‘He hates conflict. When we were growing up, say it was his birthday, if his brother asked for the biggest slice, Liam would give him the bigger slice even though it was his own birthday. If it was me, I’d have shoved the cake in Leo’s face. In fact, I think I did once.’

Leo. The King’s older brother. Leo had been the king first but then abdicated and left Cordonia to do God knows what. He is often seen as the party boy royal, kind of like Britain’s Prince Harry before he grew up. I have heard he is charming flirtatious and makes women go weak at the knees.

Olivia rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, whatever..’

I ask jokingly if she has ever gone weak at the knees when confronted by Leo. She bristles and raises her chin defiantly. ‘I’m not that kind of woman, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m not pathetic.’

I go quiet. Clearly, I’ve hit a nerve. Olivia takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes studying me from above the rim of the cup. ‘You’re a woman,’ she says to me. ‘Do you go weak at the knees over men?’

I ponder her question. I have interviewed many swoonworthy male celebrities. I tell her I met Tom Hardy and the way he called me ‘pet’ made me giggle. She looks like she has swallowed something inedible and wants to throw up.

‘The only time a woman should go weak at the knees over a man is when he leaves her alone in the bedroom with a rampant rabbit and comes back with champagne on ice,’ she tells me dryly.

I’m shocked at how quickly this conversation has turned to talk about sex. But this is a woman’s magazine, sex is a topic we cover widely, so why not? Let’s talk about sex with Olivia Nevrakis.

‘I mean, men are good for some things,’ she relents. ‘But most of the time, no. If I want something done, I do it myself and that goes for everything, not just sex. I love being independent.’

I ask if she’s ever had a boyfriend. ‘Nobody I deemed important enough to give that label,’ she says shortly.

Has she ever had a crush on anyone?

‘Sure. I’m not a total ice woman.’

I ask if she’s seeing anyone now. She stares at me, her face unreadable. ‘I’d rather not say.’

She definitely is. Whoever he is, he has got to be some guy. An alpha who can challenge her but also someone who can keep up with her. I think about her circle of friends and wonder if any of the men in that group are secretly dating her. I always thought she would be well suited to the Duke of Valtoria, Drake Walker, but he married Camille Montespan last year.

‘What the fuck? Me and Drake?’ she asks in disbelief. ‘You are aware that I’m good friends with Camille, right?’

I nod, feeling my face go red.

‘Good. Now wash your mouth out with soap. They are so well suited, anyone who says otherwise is a moron.’

I tell her it’s only because Olivia and Drake are both outspoken and Drake is often pictured looking.. well, grumpy. Pissed off. Like he doesn’t like anything.

‘Drake is actually a sweetheart,’ she tells me. ‘He only gets pissed off because of the constant paparazzi stalking him and Camille. Fuck, I get pissed off when I’ve got photographers hounding me. You would too.’

Since the King was crowned, there seems to have been a new obsession about him and his friends; this new generation of young Cordonian nobility who are making a difference to the country.

Drake Walker spreads awareness for mental health - he launched a successful campaign called Mind over Matter which aimed to get Cordonian men together, outside, trekking, abseiling, rock climbing etc., while talking about their struggles with depression and anxiety. The country could donate money to the campaign which was dispensed to various mental health charities.

Duchess Camille re-introduced Open Houses, a dormant feature from 200 years ago in which she and Drake open their doors for their citizens, who visit to discuss issues and the Duke and Duchess work with them to help.

Cordonia is becoming more modern and all the better for it. This brings me to why I am interviewing Olivia.

Because as cold and harsh as she may be, Olivia Nevrakis has a heart. She has been working with the King to make foster care more prominent in the country.

Cordonia is known for being traditional. Anything outside of the typical family dynamic of two parents and 2 children is seen as radical; this means that adoption and foster care is not prevalent in the country. As an orphan, Olivia is keen to change this.

‘As I said, I grew up surrounded by servants in an old, crumbling manor. I had no parental guidance, which forced me to grow up very, very quickly.’ I see that she is opening up more now; gone is the hard stare, the bored drawl. She is now animated and gesturing with her hands to discuss this topic.

‘When Constantine ruled, I saw orphans out on the streets, playing barefoot in dirty clothes. Most people avoided them; they would literally cross the street to stay away from them. I didn’t. I would offer them money so they could buy food or a drink.’

I did not see that coming. Olivia shrugs. ‘I don’t want children to grow up desperate. I know I brushed off your concern before, but that is just how I deal with things. I brush off people’s pity. But fine, I’ll be honest. I hated being an orphan. I hate that feeling of being helpless so I taught myself taikwondo and defence skills. My parents had already instilled in me from a young age to know it is important to fight. Lythikos is a cold, tough place; if you have no survival skills, you’re a goner. I learned how to look after myself and I’ll admit, I picked up some fucked up ways of thinking. Like, I always carry a weapon. You saw my dagger just now. I don’t trust anybody as far as I can throw them.’

I sit in silence, scared to speak in case I lose her sudden honesty. ‘So, when Liam ascended the throne, we talked and I asked him to consider the orphans of Cordonia. Now, we’re developing a programme which is open to adults who have a job but also free time to raise a child, and offering them the option to foster these orphans. By taking in a child, the King will give them a monthly income to help pay for the child’s upkeep and that way, it’s a child off the streets.’

I am sceptical. Surely, some adults might take advantage and abuse this? Foster a child so they earn extra money.

‘The adults are tested about their knowledge of raising children. They have to prove they want to help a child, not to do it for their own gain. They have to do it out of the goodness of their hearts. So more families can take in orphans, more single adults can do it too.’

I ask if she would consider launching a defence training course for children. She grins. ‘Maybe in the near future..’

The foster care programme launches next month and is named ChildKind. Olivia smiles and nods when I confirm the name and leans into the dictaphone. ‘Tell your readers that I say, ‘sign up, bitches.’

She is more humorous now, more easygoing. It seems that it takes a while for Olivia to relax in interviews but once she is over that hurdle, she is easier to talk to. We go back to different topics and she is more forthcoming now.

I ask how she deals with sudden celebrity that she has commanded since Liam came to the throne. ‘I have set up four restraining orders for four different photographers,’ she says wearily. ‘It can be exhausting. But last month, I got away from it all with Camille and Hana.’

From Hana’s Instagram feed- which I urge you to check out, it’s so pretty- photos were put up of a girls trip. The three women went on a girls break to Mykonos. ‘We rented a villa, it was so secluded. Just a week of sunshine, drinking cocktails and swimming in the pool.’

I ask if any debauchery was had. She smirks. ‘What do you think?’

I imagine Hana is the quiet, sensible one. Olivia bursts out laughing; real laughter. ‘You would think that! Oh my God, give that girl a Tequila Sunrise and she is on the table. Nah, she is the wild one when she lets go. Camille is the mom of the group; she makes sure we’re wearing suncream, have drank enough water... she still got wasted though.’

Duchess Camille is always pictured looking elegant and sophisticated with her usual uniform of pencil dresses, nude heels and chignon hairstyles. I can’t picture her wasted.

‘She is a fun girl, always,’ Olivia tells me. ‘But she does need to let loose now she’s a Duchess. Plus she’s from New York, of course she’s not going to be elegant 100% of the time.. Bertrand taught her well about etiquette and royal duties, but there is still a crazy New Yorker in there. Put her with Drake, who loves a whiskey, and they become more American as the night goes on.’

How?

‘I swear I heard Camille say y’all in all seriousness..’ she tells me, groaning. ‘Of course, she says she was joking, but I think she genuinely said it. She forgot she was talking to me.’

I ask what Drake does to be more American. ‘He has a tipsy habit of saying ‘fixin’ to. Like, ‘I’m fixin’ to get another whiskey. It means he’s about to get another whiskey. Why not just say that? He’s so Texan sometimes. His voice becomes more of a drawl when he’s been drinking.’

I wonder what Olivia is like under the influence. She smirks. ‘Am I hell telling you that.’

That is when I get it. Olivia is an enigma; she has these walls up which are hard to climb over and she won’t discuss anything too personal. She will happily make fun of her friends or talk about important causes such as ChildKind. She will talk about sex- hell, she mentioned rampant rabbits in this interview- but she has layers which she deliberately hides. I know she is kind and engaging, I can glimpse it. I just feel that she would rather show her true self to someone who is deserving of it. Someone who is prepared to deal with everything that she is. Anyone else is just lucky to see above the surface.

#olivia nevrakis #trr fanfic #the royal romance

17 notes · View notes

yanjuniverse · 6 years ago

Text

Make This Feel Like Home - Wang Linkai

*this imagine depicts mentions of depression and destructive behavior.*

[a/n: ANOTHER linkai imagine you may ask? why yes. yes it is. inspired by this picture and the song Home by One Direction. CREDITS TO THE OP]

“Xiao Gui,” you peak your head around the corner of and see him sitting in a chair, chowing down on a tub of ice cream while staring at the view. “What are you doing, silly? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Chillin’,” he nods before scooping up another spoonful of ice cream. “Want some?” You shake your head and scrunch up your nose. “Suit yourself. More for me then.” He happily pops the spoon back into his mouth and looks out at the view. “Come sit with me,” he smiles up at you. “It’s so beautiful out.”

“I’ll go grab a chair.”

“Nonsense,” he chuckles, pulling you down into your lap and locking his arms around you. “There. Even better than any chair,” he hums. You look down at him to see him absolutely beaming. “Told you not to be shy around me. We’ve been together too long for that.”

“Why are you in such a good mood today?” you ask, running your fingers through his hair. He shuts his eyes as he throws his head back, basking in the comfort you give him.

“It’s just...been a while since I just got to sit around and do nothing,” he explains, eating another scoop of ice cream. “S’nice,” the words slurred as he tries his best to melt more of the creamy dessert in his mouth. “Nobody yelling at me to get dressed and go somewhere. I haven’t even showered yet and it’s already,” he takes a glance at his watch, “eleven in the morning!”

“Linkai,” you smack his chest.

“I’ll go once I finish my ice cream,” he tells you, taking another bite. You look out at the scenery before you. There was a long, green grass and flowers. Butterflies fluttered aimlessly across the way. “You know,” he smacks his lips together, “it’s times like this where I’m glad that I didn’t do anything stupid when I was younger.” He whispers as the sun rays start to gently kiss his cheeks through the gaps of wood over the roof. “Everything is so beautiful, man. Do you think thirteen year old me would laugh if I told him nineteen year old him was making thousands on a song about unicorns?”

“I think you’ve had enough sugar,” you tease, trying to take the pint away.

“Hey! Paws off!” he whines, snapping his teeth together. You roll your eyes and continue to look at him. “Do you know what I want to do? Like, something I’ve always wanted to do for no reason at all?”

“What?”

“Go fishing.” His face is stone cold serious.

“Go fishing?” you repeat.

He nods. “You in the beginning of the Pixar movies where they have the little boy on the moon with a fishing rod? I have no idea why but it made me always want to try fishing one day. So I told Yanchen-ge about it and he gave me this cool ass bucket hat and a can of worms before we left.”

“We drove here with a can of worms in our car?” you cringe.

“Not just anywhere! Under your seat!” he laughs. You only rub your temples and shake your head, sighing at him. “Jie-ge said that he has a few fishing rods hidden in the shack behind this cabin. If you want, I’m going to the dock in a bit to see if I can catch something.”

His eyes are gleaming as he talks. They haven’t stopped since you got to Xingjie and Yanchen’s cabin in the middle of nowhere. Linkai was just so happy that he gets to spend a week alone with you. But to have a week alone with you in such a beautiful place? His eyes haven’t stopped sparkling since you guys pulled up.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll come,” you say.

“Best vacation ever,” he grins, kissing you on the cheek. He pats your thigh, signaling you to stand up. He follows close behind, placing his half empty pint on the railing. He stretches his back and shakes his hair. “Do I really seem silly to you?” he asks as you two travel back into the cabin.

“You’re just...really happy,” you explain.

“Would you like me to be angsty and sad?” he raises his eyebrows as he opens the freezer. You shake your head at him. “Don’t eat my ice cream, okay? I don’t get to eat it a lot during promotions and I want some after dinner.”

“Who said I want any of your nasty ice cream?” you cross your arms.

“Rocky road is not nasty. You’re nasty,” he sticks his tongue out like a child. You roll your eyes at him once again as he shuts the freezer. He turns back to you and starts towards the bedroom. “Jie-ge was right,” he says, staring at the messy bed.

“Right about what?” you plop down on the sheets.

Linkai falls on top of you, pressing an obnoxious kiss to your kiss. He hovers about you, eyes still shining brightly. “This really is a place to fall in love at,” he whispers, searching your eyes for a second. After a moment, he pushes himself up from you and grabs his towel. “Lay there and look pretty. I will be right back. Don’t go falling in love with anyone else while I’m gone. Got it?”

“Got it chief,” you salute him.

God, you want to say. You want to ask Linkai if he’s even aware of how etheral he is. His entire being an enigma of emotions. You want to ask if he was lost. That stardust like his is too bright for this dim world.

Wang Linkai, I’m so proud of you, you want to tell him. But you’re partly sure he knows because everytime you start to say it, he’ll cut you off with a kiss.

He’s come so far. You used to think that maybe, he was sad because he was lost. He wasn’t where he was supposed to be as he aimlessly went through the motions, day in, day out. But you still remember that one night when the two of you were fifteen.

Fifteen, running around in the streets, young and wild and free. Linkai pulled you under a street lamp and told you that he feels at home when he’s with you. That you made this, whatever this was, feel like home. And he tells you that it’s not good to make homes out of people - that those are the kinds of homes to go down in flames the easiest. But he didn’t care. He would salvage you from the wreckage and write his name with the ashes as he built a new foundation.

And the thing is, Linkai felt the need to take care of you before he felt the need to take care of himself. He never realized that maybe you were a mirror of him but the more he built you up, the more he built himself up without even realizing. He made two homes into one the first time he ever kissed you. Since then, it’s been you and Linkai against the world.

You were there for it all - his rise to fame, his big break, his break down, his revival.

“I have so much living to do,” he tells you one night, tears staining his porcelain skin. “I don’t - I don’t wanna go. Not yet. Not when you’re still here.”

You weren’t a cure, you wanted to tell him. But he didn’t think of you as one. He thought of you as the catalyst - that if there was one person he would get better for, it would be you.

He stops his underage drinking by eighteen, throws his pack of cigarettes down the toilet and screams no more! to himself. Because not only does he have so much living to do, but you do too. And he built his home around you, brick by brick. He’ll be damned if he burns the one person who held him in his firey anger.

So he breaks the foundation under his own feet and builds his side of the house back up. He’s still not sure how to put some things together but he’ll learn. He’ll watch Xingjie and Yanchen, the two strongest homes he’s ever stepped foot in. He’ll see the way they pave their paths of life and he’ll hold on for dear life even when the ground seems to want to swallow him whole.

Then there’s Yankai. His not-so-little little brother. Yankai who is still building his home out of sticks and stone. He’ll teach him a structure or two. He’ll show him where he went wrong. He’ll guide him the same way Yanchen and Xingjie did for him.

And then there’s you. You, who has grown up so much since the first time you two met at twelve. The one who kept his head above water when his tears seemed to flood his room. The one who taught him how to plug up the holes in his row boat. The one he would rebuild for again and again and again.

He fell for you a little before he turned sixteen and when he kissed you for the first time, he realized how easily your bodies fell into each other. They were like puzzel pieces. He held on to you that night and never let go.

As Linkai exists the bathroom, singing along to some Kendrick Lamar song, bouncing around, you can’t help but feel so grateful.

“Thirteen year old you would definitely laugh if he could see this now,” you comment as he combs his hair back, still rapping along. You wrap your arms around his waist and rest your head against his back. “But if thirteen year old you could see you now, I think he would be in shock.”

“By my hair?” he asks as he shoves the bucket hat on his head.

“By you in general,” you reply.

Linkai looks at himself in the mirror. He still remembers all the nights he used to scream at himself until his throat was raw. He remembers how he hated to see his reflection.

“No more,” he whispers to himself, grinning. “If I’m not okay today, I will be one day.” Linkai detatches himself from you and spins around, tugging you along as he exists the room. “Come on! Those fish aren’t going to catch themselves!”

So you guys spend your entire afternoon there, on the dock, feet in the water, screaming along to whatever song came on shuffle. You make a comment that maybe the reason why the two of you haven’t caught a fish yet is because the music scaring them off.

“Nonsense!” he cheers before putting on The Little Mermaid soundtrack. You double over in laughter at the boy who tries his best at a Carabean accent, singing along once more.

“This is boring,” he says at one point, pulling down on the bucket hat. “I kind of want to go and see if there are even fish in there. I feel like Jie-ge was punking me out.”

“Then go check!” you laugh before pushing him in.

His body splashes into the lake. When he resurfaces, he whines about how you got his hat wet before grabbing your leg and tugging you in with him.

You guys spend an hour or so in the water before heading back home to shower and prepare dinner.

He’s singing along to the song still. You take a note that they’re not sad songs anymore. He’s jumping around to Migos, singing into the spatula in his hands and so full of life.

God Linkai, do you even know how far you’ve come?

The two of you eat your supper that was prepared all by him. It’s a stir fry and he pushes some of his meat onto your plate. “Eat a lot,” he tells you. “I still need room for my ice cream.” You roll your eyes at that.

When dinner is over, he pulls his treat from the freezer and watches you wash the dishes.

“I wish I could come home more often,” he says as you scrub the dishes. “I miss it. I miss you.”

When the dishes are finally finished, Linkai pulls you onto the couch with him and spoon feeds you his treat, smiling as you tell him random stories that pop into your head. When he finishes the tub, he places it to the side and sighs happily.

“Remember when I used to cry,” he says, eyes heavy with sleep. “You’d always bring me that ice cream when I was sad.” You play with a loose thread on his shirt, nodding along. “And when I was away, I never really go the chance to eat it.”

“Because you were so busy?” you ask.

“Because I was never sad enough to eat it,” he explains.

“Are you sad right now?” You look up at him and see that he’s already looking down at you.

“No,” he smiles. “I’m home.”

masterlist

118 notes · View notes

choerry-moved · 6 years ago

Text

Okay so for the record i did my first one wrong and i mostly just wanted a redo and that’s why i wanted to get to 150 so bad, but also thank you guys so much! i didn’t think i would get more than a couple of followers and i appreciate you all!

(oh and its 153 now bc im late whoops)

@chatnotcat - hi, i Love you! It's so much fun doing rabbit sessions and joking around with you, and i hope we can do more of them soon. I'll try to be on the discord more than i have once im back from camp. thank you for being the coolmom ;)

@cverrybomb - hEY br02! i love you with my whole entire heart and i'm so thankful that you're my friend. You're really easy to talk to about either serious stuff or just messing around and i enjoy any time i spend talking to you. I'm also so thankful i get to be your editor and hear all sorts of your good ideas. It's really fun to run through the plot with you to get your thoughts in order and shit. Anyway ily and im Always available to talk if you want/need to

@egg-naut - i don’t even think i can express all my feelings through a little message on a tumblr post, but i love you so much, and i will support you until the end. You’re a wonderful person who i have seen grow so much over the past year even through all the shit. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, and such a light in my life, and i’m thankful for every moment i’ve gotten to spend with you, and i can’t wait to spend more ;)

@hyyhparadise - i considered making this message just "fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" and leaving it, but lucky you i actually have shit i wanna say. Thank you for setting up all the rabbit sessions and just being a generally joyful person despite life being shit. you seriously light up my life. i swear that laura's not Actually the only cool mom, bc i think you're pretty damn cool too! ily ;)

@jeonginyourdreams - hey b! I lovelovelovelove you! between convos about nct (weird and not), your unnecessary fear of our dear kun, and weird ass timezones, i'm so glad to be your mutual and friend. Thank you for finally talking to me because i was too scared (idk why lmao) ily bitch!

@kalicofox - hey ta idk if you'll see this or care, but i love you so much and wanted to put you on this bc it's a great chance to appreciate you. First of all, congrats on getting a place! It's something that you've been waiting for a while for, and you definitely deserve it. Secondly, thank you for giving me a gateway to dnd, a thing i had been wanting to do for such a long time before we started. It's really been so much fun, and my love for the game has really just multiplied since then thanks to you and our wonderful group of players. Thank you for being my friend and brain-doppleganger i can't wait to pick up playing again

@the-jin-reaper - omg hey i dont think i'll Ever be be able to express the amount of love i have for you. I met you on the first day of school, and it was wild and you never thought you'd see me ever again but hey bitch guess who! We've been in the same advisory and hopefully we'll be in some of the same classes next year. But beside that, you introduced me to kpop which i'll forever be thankful for, because it opened me up to a World of new experiences, friendships, and cultures (fan, and not), as well as a very wonderful source of comfort i really needed this year. Thank you for sending me never-ending support, and i promise to do the same to you

@tyracetrack - hey idk if i've ever talked to you about how much i love and appreciate you, but i want you to know that i really do. You always give support in the little ways i need when i ask, whether it be just letting me lean on your shoulder, or going walking, or jamming out with me and feeding me junk food, and i'm so thankful for that. I've known you forever and i hope i know you for a long time after this, i love you So much and i don't think i say it enough

@space-gabe - hey kiddo i remembered you this time! You're the most wonderful little brother Anyone could ever ask for. You're very sweet, and loving (though you tease me ahjsk) and i enjoy talking to you any time. I'll never stop supporting you through everything and i hope that even through the hardships you'll continue to keep smiling and brightening up my life like you have so far. I just wanna give you a Big ole hug and eat ice cream with you while watching cartoons. I'll talk to you soon <3

@vibin03 - i really hope this really Is theo bc you never told me if it was or not ahsjk. well either way i'm gonna keep going assuming it is. You're such a fun person to talk to and my go-to source of Anything florida sjksaj. I love talking about anything from girls to guys to weather to politics with you, and i love you so much. I value your conversation so much and im here to support you until the end

@01chai (i think your blog is super cute!) @9equals1 @absurdist-enigma @arialsal @babyz (ur blog lowkey scares me but i think you're cool n wanna talk to you) @bands-messed-me-up @bluefrenchhorn25 @clxmhood (hi i've never talked to you but i Love seeing you in my notes!) @crying-in-monbebe @cupidjohnny (your aes is cooler than i will Ever be tbh) @donttrybakingsalami (are you even on Ever? you made this blog as a joke) @donutlayloni @elvencadenza (hey sd ily) @embrace-the-gayyy (hi talk to me i miss you!) @habeenki @hollowcrescendo @joonierapmonie @larytello @leejenos (im glad i found your blog, and i think youre really cool ;)) @let-bi-gongs-be-bi-gongs (you're so Valid) @likem8stopprocrastinating @lizzygrcnts @lycheae @minycat09 @mlmchan (i’ve wanted to talk to you since i found you, sorry im too scared lmao) @molivier @myunghansgf @myungjunthehappyvirus @nolyriumforyou (i Love you) @nut4zyx @parkandzhong (an intellectual) @satanbagel @spacedracie @spxce-ham @ssojibae @the92liner @thewordbedlookslikeabed @trainerofgo (hi ily) @uwujinnie @welcometochanskitchen

and to every spacefam member who still follows me despite me veering off from voltron to kpop, thank you So much, i wouldn’t have blamed you for unfollowing and i really don’t blame the ones who did i love you all <33

and to ALL my followers, you all are amazing and i can’t believe yall put up with my libra sun bullshit, but THANK YOU!

#ff #ily all thank you #150 follow forever #feel free to rb with a message please lmao i need love #oh and if i missed anyone at ALL im so sorry i did Not have a reliable method of finding my mutuals lmao

10 notes · View notes

zydrateacademy · 6 years ago

Text

Current Activities - Conan Exiles #4

So I just posted my latest story “Assassination at the Summit”, and while I am proud of its contents, it has some background information. Basically starting at "Her outside clanmates had been navigating..." was practically written in a blind fury. I’ve calmed down now but this is my blog and I feel like ranting. First off, the character depicted in that story, Dey Yin, is an actual player. She’s an excellent writer and I strive to reach to her level of para-posting, as they give excellent opportunities to reply and react and I want to offer the same to other players when they interact with me. Also, she loves the story.

I am happy with the results as there was some effort put into it. Even in my blind fury, the last few parts turned out well. I’ve also been trying to work on my verb tense. Either I missed that class in school or over a decade of roleplaying has completely rewritten how my brain perceives verb tense. You might notice that my tenses swap between past and present, sometimes within the same line. This is why writers have editors, people. Anyway it was mostly a background plot, like many of my stories are. Basically I like to lay some groundwork before I claim things. I do not simply want to claim to be a whiskey baroness, I want to actually show it. I want people to see, through a narrative, the effort put in importing a whiskey from the outside world. The server is too small for specific events to surround these kinds of things, so I compensate by writing short stories instead. Quick aside; I actually did host an RP event with my character announcing the existence of her clan. It went very well with around ~9 attendees.

Whiskey and fun were had by all. Anyway. I spoke of this plot in-character with others and another player on the server, someone I’ve been trying to arrange RP with for... years, I think, across a few MMO’s. We’ve met on an ERP gathering website (ya’ll know the one) but our interactions could never quite get sexual. They’re a good writer and roleplayer and they definitely value quality over fluff. I can respect that. We had some meetups in GW2 but maybe we just don’t make characters that gel well because we just couldn’t quite get to the fluffy stuff. Anyway she happens to follow me on CE. Fair enough. No prompting, she just saw that I was playing a lot and figured she’d hop on the ship. She’s doing well on the server, has a whole clan, etc. Good for her. But upon hearing about this plot of mine, her character offers some... assistance. Instead of being a simple assassination, she wants it to be poison. She insists, having an IC personal stake against Khitan generals. Fair enough, but then she hands Livia an actual quest. Get three specific items. The items in question are in fact part of the several artifacts you need to remove your bracelet and “win” the game (which deletes your save file by the way). Not the whole thing, just three of them. The scourgestone was probably the easiest, and I had some IC help from a guy. It was all great fun. Admittedly I was salty at first, adding extra steps to a straightforward plotline. Then I got to writing it out and I enjoyed the idea of dungeon delving being written into it. It started to feel like an actual epic on the likes of Beowulf, Clash of the Titans, and indeed, actual Conan books and lore. Sword and sorcery. I’m not claiming to write as well as any of those (though I’m pretty sure the Conan movies didn’t have any writers, holy shit), but it started to FEEL like an epic RPG story. I didn’t have it completely written out but it had about three full paragraphs worth. Might have eked out an extra two before... bullshit happens. The salt starts to come back when the player drags their feet about getting the last item for the poison crafting. They are focusing on their clan base and that looks fine and all, but a boss hunt only needed to be asked in global “anyone want to help?”, 3-4 people would have done fine and we had 3 at any given moment, each of us with powerful weapons and armor. We could have gotten it at any time. Again, fair on them to a certain extent. I’m sure they have a job and when they were online, she was likely wrangling her clanmates and building assignments. I get that, but... again, we could have had this wrapped up in 15 minutes at any given point. Eventually my character tries to meet with another newbie on the server (as she does) but finds them already at this person’s clan base. Figure it’d be a good time for Livia to check in on the poison and see when we can go hunting but... Well. Let me give you quick context on this person’s character. John Mulaney has a comedy set talking about his father and how straight-laced he tends to be. He recalls a story (true or not, who can tell?) where John himself and some siblings (I think? Other kids?) were screaming for McDonalds. The father pulls into the drive through, orders a single black coffee, and drives away. John states something to the effect of “in retrospect, that was the funniest thing I’ve seen in my entire life”. Well, this person’s character is basically that guy. But a woman. Livia already has stated that she’s got quite the stick up her ass. Anyway they’ve traded barbs as you might expect, Livia being more of a carefree roll-with-punches and make-money kind of woman. Livia drops an offhanded line about “Maybe I’ll just get my people to slit the general’s throat and save me a headache [in dealing with this character]”. All we get in response is “So be it” and are then soon banned from her stronghold. That’s when I lowkey lose it. I don’t explode, I don’t rant, I don’t PM them. In fact, there’s almost no OOC communication between me and this person and I think it worked against us. She never once asked me permission to force a poison subplot in my story. The character just “strongly insisted” and Livia was like “fine, let’s make the thing” and I went off to get two of the three items THAT DAY. A week goes by, then that bullshit happens. What a waste of my time. I keep thinking back to a roleplaying guide I posted on this server’s website. It’s the same one I’ve copied and pasted across many MMO’s I’ve roleplayed on. There’s a section in there that talks about IC drama having no affect on OOC, or it shouldn’t. I’ve spent many years separating IC and OOC, often times whispering people after an OOC argument of like “That was fun, thanks for the RP!” That kind of thing. Unfortunately, this whole thing did have OOC consequences. The entire plot and story was essentially a gift to the player for being active, friendly, fun to interact with and being a good writer. I wanted to give the player and character something they would appreciate, but instead was delayed by a player insisting on adding a step. And then never stepped forward. It wasted my time and theirs and got in the way of that RP. Thus, I feel like my anger while perhaps not entirely justified, still makes sense in this context. My time was wasted, and now I’m possibly barred from RP with that person and their clan, or at least by going to their base. Not a single word OOCly was spoken between us throughout this. I remember PMing them the paragraph that featured them, asking if there was anything that needed to be changed. They said no, it was fine for the context and remaining an enigma. Fair enough. That was it. She never asked me permission to bullrush into our plot, nor did I outwardly refuse it. I thought nothing of it, and indeed as I mentioned earlier I did have some fun writing out dungeon adventures and Livia’s general hatred of the jungle biome. There was fun stuff there, class adventuring that I don’t write nearly enough about. Then it was all just negated because the other character absolutely refused to meet mine halfway in terms of diplomacy. Livia tried. I tried. So starting from “Her outside clanmates had been navigating the unknown country...” in that story, it was actually a rush job in fuming rage, so much rage my chest actually hurt for a few minutes. I do think it turned out well but I do believe I could have padded more with describing the architecture, culture, the nuances of Livia’s clan navigating the cities, dodging police and bribing informants. There’s a lot I could have done there but the story could have been done a week ago and instead I was left hanging because one player bullrushed into my plot and didn’t want to go kill a boss. I’m angry. I’m annoyed. Heavy sigh. Now, I still have two more stories to write. I have asked and received a new patron item (you can get some cosmetics if you donate to the server), a glowing polearm.

It looks very badass, especially at night. Actually hurts if you look at it too long. It’s great. I have it named “Imbued Polearm” and I have no idea why or how Livia would be in possession of it. I just saw someone having glowing purple daggers and thought “...I still haven’t requested a weapon decal for my patron perks. I want that a lot.” Was thinking of a Ymir ritual but white and blue is his motif so I’m not sure that’d work. Derketo is the goddess of sex, not weapons, and would sooner imbue Livia was a penis to properly spread seed long before she’d give her followers a badass weapon. Next story will be a little easier to write. I discovered with some proper dying the reptile armor does not look half bad at all. The aforementioned guy friend says it looks better on females than males, and I believe it;

Not sure why Tumblr blows that way the fuck up but there you go. Due to quality loss, it does look decent in-game. Definitely a “demon dragon slayer” type story to be had there. Was brainstorming that an alpha got tired of some adventurer killing all their babies at the spawning grounds... Next time Livia goes hunting she’d be in for quite the surprise.

All that and I didn’t even get into my clan growing and even having someone build me a proper stronghold.

Currently can house 6 clanmates with a master bedroom for myself. I plan on adding another floor to make way for 4 more rooms as I tend to get members when Livia goes save newly exiled players from the river. It’s actually in that building the above party screenshot took place. (There’s currently two spare rooms, I believe. Hint hint, come join us.)

#Conan Exiles #Conan #Exiles #Conan the Barbarian #Gaming #PC Gaming

1 note · View note

sunflowerseedsandscience · 7 years ago

Text

Someday Your Child May Cry

Previously: Question | Preparations | Irrational

4. Confession

With Scully taking a shift guarding Gibson, Mulder is free to take Diana to dinner, which he does. She fills him in- a bit- on where she’s been, these past six years, but since there’s a good deal she can’t tell him, they spend most of the meal talking about Gibson, about the possibilities he might represent. When they’re finished eating, Mulder drives Diana home.

In front of her building, Diana reaches across the center console, laying a hand on Mulder’s arm. Her soft smile takes him back years, back to the days before any of this… before cancer, before labs full of clones, before mysterious children appearing out of nowhere only to die… before Scully.

“Listen, Fox, why don’t you come up for a little while?” Diana asks him. “I don’t think either of us is ready for the evening to be over just yet.” Mulder hesitates. “Just to talk,” she reassures him. “We haven’t seen each other in years, Fox. I’ve missed so much since I’ve been gone… won’t you come up and fill me in on everything you’ve found since I left?”

Mulder glances at the clock on the dashboard. He’s due at the fertility clinic first thing in the morning… but it’s only eight-thirty, not really that late, especially not for him. He shrugs.

“Why not?” he says, and Diana beams. They get out of the car, and as he steps up onto the sidewalk beside her, she takes his arm, leading him into the swank apartment building. He gazes around the posh lobby as they pass through, impressed.

“Counter-terrorism must have paid a whole hell of a lot better than the X-Files,” he observes, as they step into a walnut-paneled elevator. Diana chuckles.

“I’ve made some wise investments over the years,” she says. “A few of them have paid off quite handsomely.” She cocks an eyebrow at him. “From what I understand, you could afford better than your Hegel Place apartment yourself, these days.” He ducks his head, and her face softens with sympathy. “I was sorry to hear about your father, Fox,” she tells him. “That must have been very hard. I know your relationship was… complicated.”

“To say the least,” grumbles Mulder. “What makes you think I inherited anything, though?”

“I assumed you would,” says Diana, as the elevator arrives on the seventh floor, and the doors slide smoothly open. They exit into a wide, stark-white hallway, and Diana leads him to the right. “I mean… there wasn’t anyone else to inherit his money, was there? Unless he willed it to your mother, which didn’t seem likely to me.” Mulder remains silent. Given the dubious origins of his father’s fortune, he doesn’t like to think about it that often, much less spend any of it… though, lately, he’s been wondering if maybe he could offer to pay for the next round of treatment for Scully, should tomorrow’s attempt prove unsuccessful.

“Yeah, he left everything to me,” he admits, finally. “I haven’t really felt the need to change the way I live, though. I’m fine the way I am.” They arrive at Diana’s door, and she lets them in. Her condo is spacious and lushly-appointed. It definitely doesn’t look as though she’s just moved in.

“It came already furnished and decorated,” she says, as he gazes around. “I traveled pretty light when I came back… I really didn’t want the added stress of putting together a place from scratch, not when I was anxious to get back to work as quickly as possible.” She crosses the living room to the bar along the wall, and from underneath, she brings up a bottle of Johnnie Walker. “Can I fix you one?” she asks, holding up the bottle, and he thinks for a moment. Dr. Parenti hadn’t said anything about alcohol. Mulder assumes that if it had been imperative that he abstain in the hours before his donation, the doctor would have mentioned it.

“Please,” he says, and Diana pours both of them a drink, bringing them over to the sofa and taking a seat. Mulder sits beside her and she hands him his glass. It’s easy to talk to her, as easy as it had been when they’d first met, and Mulder relaxes within minutes. Diana listens attentively, refilling their glasses at regular intervals, as he relates the adventures that he and Scully have had over the past five years, the things they’ve done and discovered together, the near-misses and narrow escapes, the myriad of personal losses they’ve both suffered- her, especially. When he finishes, Diana is quiet for a moment, looking thoughtfully into her glass of whiskey.

“You and Agent Scully must be very close,” she observes. “To have gone through so much together. I didn’t realize how much….” Diana looks almost embarrassed. “I’m sorry that I was so dismissive of her before, Fox, when I said that you could have used someone to back you up. She’s obviously been much more supportive of you than I realized.”

“Yeah,” says Mulder softly. “She really has been… and she’s paid the price, that much is certain.”

“Are you….” Diana looks away again. “You and Agent Scully, are you-“

“Together?” Mulder finishes for her. “No… it’s not like that. She’s, uh… I mean, we’re close, she’s my best friend, but….” He shrugs, not quite sure how to sum up the frustrating enigma that is his ever-changing relationship with Scully these days. One way or another, he doesn’t feel right discussing her with Diana. Scully is one of the most private people he’s ever known in his life, and he’s relatively certain she would be horrified that Mulder has already told Diana as much as he has.

“Well, in that case,” Diana says, carefully placing her empty glass on the coffee table, “I don’t need to feel guilty if I do this.” She slides closer, taking his face in her hands, and presses her lips to his.

It’s been so, so long since someone has touched him like this, and he goes along without hesitation. The whiskey has fogged his mind just enough that any protests he could come up with are quickly drowned- at least, until Diana reaches for his belt. He pulls back sharply.

“Diana,” he says, struggling to master his breathing, “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Diana frowns in confusion.

“Is there someone else, then?” she asks. “Apart from Agent Scully?” Mulder shakes his head.

“No, there’s no one,” he says. “And at another time, I’d be all for it, it’s just... there’s something I have to do tomorrow morning, and I can’t... I mean....” He sighs. “Look, there’s no delicate way to say this, but I have to provide semen first thing tomorrow morning, and I’m not supposed to... uh... provide it in any other circumstances for at least forty-eight hours beforehand.” Diana smiles, amused.

“Fox, if you’ve inherited your father’s money, you can’t possibly be so hard up for cash that you’re selling that,” she chuckles.

“I’m not being paid,” says Mulder hastily. “It’s not like that at all. It’s, uh... it’s a favor, actually.” He swallows. “For Scully.” Diana’s face goes cold so quickly, Mulder can feel the blast of ice from where he’s sitting.

“You’re helping Agent Scully have a child.” He nods. “And then... what? Are you going to help her raise it?” He knows it’s going to upset her, but he feels like he owes her the truth.

“If she’ll allow me to, yes, I am,” he says. Diana looks away from him.

“So when I asked you about having children, and you told me you had no intentions of ever becoming a father... that was a lie?”

“No, Diana, it was true back then. But... I guess....” Diana stands abruptly and takes her glass back over to the bar, refilling it. “I’ve changed, Diana. My circumstances have changed, and I feel differently about it now.”

“What, specifically, has changed, Fox?” she asks coldly, her back still to him. “From what you’ve told me, from what you’ve learned, the world can’t possibly look any safer for a child than it did when you used that as en excuse for me. So what’s changed?” Mulder remains silent, and finally, Diana turns to glare at him. “Because from where I’m standing, the only change I can see is the woman you would be having a child with.” Mulder looks at the floor. “So what you’re really telling me, Fox, is that you didn’t want to have a child with me.” He could deny it, certainly, but he doesn’t. He nods. “But you would consider it with her?” He meets her gaze.

“Yes,” he says. “I would.”

The last vestiges of warmth flee from Diana’s face. She tilts her glass back, draining it in one.

“I think you should leave now, Fox,” she says.

He doesn’t argue.

#x-files fanfic #my fic #Someday Your Child May Cry #no hate please #just trust me #have I ever steered y'all wrong?

192 notes · View notes

shsummertimefest-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Enjoy, @onthecyberseas!

Surprise OnTheCyberSeas!!🎊🎉🎊🎉 I’m your Summer Fest Gifter!!! I really, really hope you like this LOL 💚💚💚 HUGE HUGE thanks for the lovely souls Kriszti and Mac for letting me vent and for the Beta work 😁

~*~

Lydia plops the plate onto the countertop in front of Alec, a tense moment of them just eyeing the dessert promptly following. But her steely gaze never falters, a set jaw telling Alec she’s ready to fight him on any critique…of which there is aplenty if there’s anything he has to say about it.

“‘S too much frosting.”

“I like frosting,” Lydia grits out through clenched teeth, her glower only deepening further, and honest to God Alec wouldn’t be surprised if she just started too stomp her feet and shoved the pastry straight into his face out of frustration.

“It takes away from the cake itself.”

“Fine,” she snarls. “I’ll scrape it off. Anything else oh great arbiter of baked goods.”

Alec kindly chooses to ignore the snub, and moves to instead pick out a toothpick from the jar sitting precariously atop a shelf over his shoulder, piercing it into the slice of cake before him. “The middle’s too raw.”

“Is not,” Lydia squawks, hands flying to her hips. “You just have some anti raspberry agenda! Admit it!“ She waggles an accusatory finger at him.

“And if I did?”

“Well if I owned this joint, I’d let my hired bakers make whatever they please, and have total and complete faith in their pallets.”

“Good thing ’s not your bakery then,” he snarks back loftily, focusing more on the piping of some hedge fund banker’s anniversary cake, than on Lydia’s increasingly reddening face—Most probably looking like she might actually start fuming from her ears if you know—this were a Disney cartoon or some shit.

Alec here’s Lydia’s frantic sputtering before the tell tale smack of the kitchen door slamming shut.

“Why is Lydia cursing your name while smashing together a bunch of fresh pastries? Ooo wow the girl’s got some rhyming skills.” Izzy perches atop the stool opposite Alec, looking out of place in the vanilla scented, wet doe splattered kitchen in her pencil skirt and razor tipped red bottom heals.

“She was trying to get me to sell that raspberry concoction again.”

“Hey, I like her raspberry cheesecake,” Izzy defends with pinched lips, a discrete finger scraping across one of the bowls strewn across the counter top before licking it clean.

“Yeah,” Alec scoffs, spinning the cake to the next side. “Maybe if we were an amateur bakery run by a single mom out of her kitchen.”

Izzy cuffs him on the back of the head. “Rude.”

“Factual.”

She sighs through her nose. “You are such a neurotic perfectionist, do you know that?”

“You say that as if it’s news,” he needles with a hiked brow, Izzy’s lips twisting up in exasperated annoyance.

“Fine I’ll tell you something you don’t know loser,” she stretches across the island to smooth her thumb across his forehead consolingly. “IF you don’t learn how to actually relax, you’re gonna start getting premature wrinkles. And we don’t want this pretty face disappearing before ‘s time, do we?”

Alec smacks her away where Izzy’s moved to start pinching his cheek—like they were kids again and she was taunting him about his crush on Mr. Starkweather.

“You’re a pain.”

“You say that as if its news,” she parrots all too smugly, and Alec can’t help but smirk right back.

“Extra! Extra! Hot off the presses!” Max shouts out from where he’s marching through the doorway, ever a little shit.

“What the hell! Do you have to be so loud? It’s like eight in the morning.”

“Oh ho, big brother don’t you give me that attitude now,” Max kisses Izzy’s expecting cheek, leaning besides her. “I’ve got some intel on Code Name Sparkles.”

“Code Name Sparkles?” Izzy deadpans with a decidedly disapproving glower. “Dios, do you think you guys are actually in the FBI or something?”

“Oy, I’m affronted big sister,” Max grapples for his chest, pained. “The CIA is way more bad ass , and if it were not for the laws of this land, I would have you slain for your insolence.”

Izzy just rolls her eyes before locking her arm around his neck., and grinding her knuckles into his scalp.

“Ouch, fuck ouch! Iz! Uncle! Okay! Uncle, uncle! I give up, women are superior in every way! Your prettier than that dumb racist Ariana Whiteclaw from your finance class! You can totally borrow my car whenever you want!” Finally satisfied, Izzy pulls off with a smirk, and readjusts his bangs.

Alec watches the tableau with a very subdued downturn of his lips.

“Okay, now that you guys are done, Max, you said you had something on Bane?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Max straightens. “They’re having a huge half off any dozen purchased sale this Saturday at Pandemonium.” He passes over an almost obscenely pink flier.

“You mean the same exact day that we’ve been planning to reveal our brand new cake design for the past three months?” Alec seethes, almost ripping the paper in half with an iron clad grip.

“Ah, I guess—maybe it was a coincidence or something?” Max reasons with a noncommittal shrug, far more interested in the chocolate croissant he’s currently munching down, over any potential calls to arms that Alec’s way too close to declaring. “Dot just told me bout it today.”

With a start, Alec cuts a skewering glower at him, “That better not be a fucking croissant from the enemy Max.”

His lips pinch with a peevish scoff. . “Hey! Don’t bite my head off, It’s the only way I could flirt her up on a daily basis, Dot said that if I came back a hundred days straight with an original come on, and buying something from Pandemonium, that she’d let me buy her lunch, and tell me her favorite color. But I can’t miss a day or else I’ll have to start over.”

“She’s dating Maia! You do realize that right? You understand that she’s just playing you to spend your money there!” Alec feels like he might faint of fatigue over his sibling’s almost blasé attitude over this very real rivalry against everything that has to do with Magnus Bane and all his stupid hotness—NO! Not hotness! Stupidness—All his stupid stupidness! That’s what Alec meant—he definitely does not find Magnus Bane attractive in the least.. And even if he did, that would not detract from the fact that he is a total assmunch who’s trying to run Heavenly Sweets out of business.

“Oh hush Alec,” Izzy toots, carding a fond hand through Max’s mop of curls. “He’s in love.”

“She’s the enemy! We can’t be fraternizing with the enemy!”

“Doesn’t stop you from checking out Magnus’s ass any chance you get,” Max huffs, with a pointed crossing of the arms.

“That—That is not true! Slanderous! I have never! Nor would I ever! With the enemy? As if!” Izzy starts to cackle, and Max smirks like the cat who’s gotten into the cream. Alec hates them both. This is why Jace is his favorite.

“Jace told me that you were drooling last week when you ran into him headed to his yoga class,” Izzy snorts…And scratch that. Alec hates them all, every single one of them. He’s disowning himself—No better yet, Alec’s gonna fire’m all and pick out his own, personalized siblings. One’s who don’t tease him about nonexistent crushes, or broad around in his personal life, or eat half the merchandize before they could even get them out on the display to lure in paying customers. Honestly they’re all such blunders, Alec would be better off just starting with a clean slate.

Izzy just gives him a vapid, unimpressed look, as if she could read Alec’s every thought and is not amused in the least, —)Which actually maybe quite possible considering how she’s a certified, scientific super genius and is only helping out with Heavenly Sweets’ number crunching on her downtime between taking over the world, and going on romantic holidays with Clary. But not the point.

The point is that Bane is a bonafide douchesnozzle supreme, and Alec needs to beat him playing his own game.

“Staff meeting, in ten minutes stat!”

“That’s definitely not how you use the word stat…”

“Not the time Iz! We’re planning full out warfare!”

“Ah—Right?”

Max leans close to her ear, “I think our little Alexander has lost a few marbles.”

If he had the time, Alec would point out how he’s got a good five inches on Max—but he doesn’t because Magnus’s stupid face is searing through the paper in his hands and boring into Alec—taunting him, nudging him to do better, be better.

“This means war.”

“More than a few Maxy,” Izzy groans. “more than a few.”

~*~

Alec met Magnus for the first time on a Tuesday afternoon.

At first Alec mistook him for a costumer, and he was just this beautiful enigma that Alec couldn’t stop marveling over. All impossible cheekbones, and eyes that flashed molten when they hit the light just right, and a charisma that appeared to enrapture any and every passerby. And then his smile, his fucking smile, just a little, upturn of the lips, but it was so totally disarming. A small gesture that promised elicit nights and swept away whispers, and scorching touches on throbbing skin. And Alec just couldn’t reign in the hunger to lick off every rogue spec of frosting that dotted Magnus’s beautiful face…

But then he thrust out his hand, and opened his mouth.

“Hello, I’m the owner of Pandemonium—the bakery right next door.” he gave Alec a deliberate once over, leering in that coquettish way that tells Alec that Bane likes what he sees—And he might be just a tad bit smug that the visceral attraction is mutual. “sorry if we end up running you out of business cheekbones, you understand ’s just the rules of the jungle. Nothing personal on my end.”

At that, Alec kind of jolts back, affronted. “Put the champagne on ice, why don’t ya?” He scoffs derisively, to which Magnus just fucking beams, as if this is a fun little game he’s amused by—a dog chewing on his favorite toy. (Yiyks, Alec should definitely not imagine Magnus’s mouth doing anything to anything related to a bone…far too dangerous of a picture.)

“You sound doubtful towards my sincere apology,” he noted, rocking back on his heels.

“Ever heard of not counting your chickens before there hatched?” Alec needled with a one eyed squint.

“No, I must admit that particular idiom has never crossed my mind cheekbones.”

“Is that right sparkles—“ Okay, so admittedly a whole hell of a lot less charming than cheekbones, but it’s factual. Magnus’s got on this shimmering gloss, and his jewelry is all bright and shiny—and his personality…It’s just all sparkly and Alec’s always been a man of facts over opinion. It’s a fact that Magnus Bane is an all around sparkly guy.

“Well yes, it’s not necessary to heath that particular warning if you’re always right, don’t you agree pretty boy.”

And that was it. Their fate was sealed.

IF Alec was anything, it was competitive. So now it was his fucking duty to not only thrive, but turn the tables and make it so Pandemonium was the one hanging for dear life, and it was Alec offering up his condolences to the dying business.

Oh yeah, it’s so on.

Alec is going to destroy him. It’s law now…Admittedly not a very easy one to follow when Magnus is standing there before him, all haughty smirks and double edged words…But he can’t let a pretty face fuck him over.

“We’ll see about that Sparkles.”

“I welcome the challenge.”

~*~

It takes more like fifteen minutes for everyone to meander into the dank break room in the back of Heavenly Sweets, save for Izzy who magnanimously offered to man the register up front. (“Anything to get out of listening to Alec’s insane diatribe against Bane for the third time this week.” “I heard that Iz.” “You were suppose to loser, and while you’re listening take my advice and finally quench that thirst.” “I’m leaving.” “You know I’m right.”)

She is so wrong. Izzy is so wrong that Alec and all his entire one and a half semesters of law school could not begin to articulate each and every way she is mistaken. Seriously—it’s just a time concern, that’s why he can’t list off the reasons Izzy’s wrong—Alec’s to busy conducting a very important meeting that is not all about lamenting over Bane, and everything he has ever done that proves how awful of a human being he is.

A very important meeting.

“So, hold up,” Jace raises a placating hand after Alec’s finally finished. “You want us to come up with three brand new flavors to premier on the ninth?”

“Yes, what’s so hard to understand about that,”

“And then we’re gonna have a fifty percent off sale on every transaction—“ Raj tacks on doubtfully.

“Glad to see you’re all literate.,” he sniffs curtly.

“Bro, this wouldn’t have to do with a certain, sexy, owner for the opposing side, and your total rock hard woody for’m. Would it?” Max rolls back his entire head—obviously finding merely his eyes as to tame of a gesture to properly communicate his annoyance.

“I have no clue who you’re talking about,” Alec plays dumb.

“So the date was just a coincidence then?” Lydia challenges, her eyes sharpening, and looking as if she might just start to give him a lecture about etiquette or how his brash attitude is completely off-putting. (It’s happened before, and yeeesh Alec was properly chastised, but mostly just mournful for whenever John fucked up.).

“’s not important, this is our agenda for the next month. No questions asked.”

“Alec I love you, you know that right?” Jace’s face goes pained, but Alec just gesticulates with the paper in his hand for him to continue. “Don’t you think it’s gone a tad bit far…You know this rivalry thing—Like. both businesses are pretty well off. THere’s no need to continuously be at each others throats like this.”

“The north never forgets Jace!” Alec flails, very nearly toppling over a whole stack of order forms. “This is full out warfare!”

“A game of baker hats wouldn’t you say?” Max provokes with a shit eating grin.

“Shut up Max.”

“Hey, I’m just saying we better have some bad ass dragons to help us out on the battlefield. Bane ’s pretty fierce, and trust me Dot’s a force to be reckoned with all her own,” he gets heart eyes, earning a fist bump by Raj, a roll of the eyes by Lydia, and Alec shooting him what he hopes is the most terrifying glare Max has ever been on the receiving end of. (Well there mom is Maryse…So probably not, but it’s the effort that counts.)

“Listen, I’m just saying, the ninth is a big deal for Bane’s crew. That orphanage is locally owned, and they know the owner Catarina really good…and well they’ve been doing this drive for like the past three years. It means a lot to’m.”

“How do you know it means a lot to them?” Alec spits out to an increasingly reddening Jace. And yeah, his suspicions that Jace’s been seeing that fucking Pandemonium cashier—Sheldon or whatever—on the sly, are being so totally proved as they speak.

NO loyalty, Alec swears, every last one of them is sleeping with the enemy. Well not him, no, nope,, never Alec. His only intention in life is to destroy Bane, not to sleep with him. He has no interest in seeing all the lithe muscle Magnus oh so inconspicuously hides underneath apparel that makes Izzy green with envy—or to hear the way Magnus moans from being stretched out beneath him—or knowing how his face looks like when Alec is giving him the best fucking blow job of Magnus’s entire life.

Yeah—none of that.

Alec is a fucking temple of zen—And its definitely not zen getting all heated over the prospect of fucking stupid Magnus and his fucking stupidness and just generally fucking Magnus stupid.

Alec tries drinking some ice water as discretely as possible.

“Look,” Jace tries to temp down his still blazing blush, but to no avail. “I’m just saying, they’re doing a good thing for a charitable cause, we shouldn’t mess around with that.”

“Oh but brother you missed the best part,” Alec leers before presenting them all with the cover photo of the local Animal Humane Society, that he had printed off right before they all ambled in. “We’ll be donating that other fifty percent of the order to a local animal shelter.”

The room stays silent.

“Please, don’t bother keeping your applause to the end,” Alec snarks, tossing back the sheet of paper.

“So…We’ll essentially be making no money,” Raj deadpans.

“Not the point!” Alec reprimands with a huff. “The point is our name will get out there even more, and Bane won’t get any customers, and we’ll finally win!”

“Yeah, that definitely seems like a totally plausible sequence of events,” Lydia snorts flippantly.

“You guys should just fuck and get rid of the UST,” Max blithely recommends from where he’s moved to practice balancing a spoon on his nose.

Alec pointedly ignores him.

“Man, I still feel like this ’s a bad idea.”

“Warning noted Jace, but I’m the manager and I say this goes full force ahead.”

“This is gonna end badly,” Lydia jeers with a sing-song sort of voice, helping Max tare off the spoon he’s somehow gotten plastered onto his face.

Again—they’re all such blunders.

~*~

“Lightwood!”

With a bit of a start, Alec pivots around to meet a very blotchy faced, and scowling Magnus. curious Hazel eyes piercing into very cross Brown ones.

“Bane, hate to chat, but thankfully I actually work for a living.”

“What the hell is this,” he pounds a finger into the neon flier Alec had commissioned Clary to make, one which advertises the sale, and charity event that Heavenly Sweets will be holding.

“Paper…I didn’t think you were that daft.”

Magnus’s brows lower even more—Alec had no clue that such a deep vee could mold into the bridge of someone’s nose like that.

“You know what I meant,” he seethes. Alec should probably think it’s ridiculous that none of his staff is even bothering to glance there way, but has long ago been lectured by a very irritated Maia how they all have plenty better things to do than be witness to Alec and Magnus’s little melodramas whenever one gets all huffy and decides to storm the other’s grounds of operation.

Even though Alec is pretty sure he should still be concerned that one of them yells at the other so often that it no longer deserves even the slightest bit of attention, he always ends up just forgetting about the whole ordeal, unintentionally opting to just get distracted by everything Magnus whenever he so much as steps into a room, instead.

“Oh, you mean the sale we’re having?” Alec perks with a sneer.

“You know that we have our charity event for Loss’s Orphanage every year on that exact date.”

“Oh?” Alec blinks, eyes going owlish. “Is that right?”

“You are such a fucking piece of shit!” He fumes.

“Language Magnus, we’re in a professional setting,” Alec clucks his tongue and awaits the sharp comeback that Magnus always shoots back his way. Something debauched, and cunning and with a pixilated gleam to his eyes all the while. Probably an innuendo, or taunt about going somewhere a bit less professional—his words forever hugged with something this edge of dangerous. And Alec would just clip something back until they’re in the midst of a full out repertoire that makes Alec feel alive and giddy and just more buoyant than he ever has before. (And then Alec would usually round the day out by shamefully jerking off to the little sparring match in the secure darkness of his loft, where he is never forced to face any unwanted feelings.)

But the thing is, Magnus never opens his mouth to drawl out one of his artfully precise remarks. He just stands there for a moment longer, glare deepening, and this look about him.

This look that kind of shakes Alec to his very core—and Alec doesn’t care how fucking pretentious or trite that sounds, the feeling’s factual. Magnus is looking at him As if he could not believe the gall of Alec, as if Alec has just blazed across this line they’ve been teetering on ever since they had first met. As if Alec had gone so far past it that Magnus can hardly recognize him. And Alec’s actually tempted to ask what makes this so much worse than all the other slights they’ve doled out to each other throughout the years, but then Magnus just gives a rough shaking to his head, and sashays out of the building without ever looking back, or tossing Alec one last smirk.

And Alec feels hollow for it.

~*~

“You’re sulking.”

“Am not.”

“Jace is he sulking?”

“Hmm, well he did just eat an entire bowl of uncooked doe…”

“I did not,” Alec harrumphs, giving each of them a downright mutinous glower, stirring the ingredients with much more force than necessary.

“Well denial is the first step,” Izzy commends with a nudge of her elbow.

“That’s for grief.”

“Yes, and you’re grieving how a certain someone hasn’t bothered to even speak with you since the incident that shall not be named.”

Alec gives her a very flat look. “I have no idea to whom you’re even speaking of,”

“Sure,” she sneers. “So then you don’t want any advice from either of us—you know two people who love you, and are both in serious, fulfilling relationships themselves.” Jace doesn’t even try to flounder for a way to contend with Izzy, it’s basically common knowledge that he and that cashier have been sucking face for the past six months, no use in trying to deny it.

Alec’s gaze goes steely. “I don’t know why you think I’d want to relate with you and Clary or Jace and Stefan.”

“His name is Simon,” Jace cuffs him on the back of the head irritably.

“And you shouldn’t be sleeping with him in the first place.”

“oh, damn. Point,” they knuckle punch.

“Fine,” Izzy interrupts their little bro moment, flipping back a lock of her hair facetiously. “I guess I won’t tell you about this major fight me and Clary had way back at the start of our relationship.”

It’s an involuntary response when Alec strays his gaze to focus on her. and It’s something rote when Alec inclines his head, silently pushing her to continue, as if he were actually at all interested beyond the arbitrary older brother trying to protect his baby sister from the scum of the earth alertness.

Izzy’s smirk tells him she knows she’s caught him, hook line and sinker. “Well it wasn’t anything terribly serious, just about trying to balance our times so that we don’t sacrifice our relationship to all the other shit swarming around us. You know, just trying to get serious.”

“How did, erm,” Alec coughs, and tries to not sound so terse over how Izzy’s squeezed him into admitting how the severe lack of speaking with Magnus has effected him. “How did you guys resolve the issue.”

She beams like the fucking sun. “You’d never guess, it’s a totally retro practice!” Izzy leans closer, as if to divulge to Alec a long hidden cure to all relationship perils. “We spoke to each other, put everything on the table and went from there.”

Alec glares at her, but Izzy’s probably been long ago immune to Alec’s surliness considering they’ve been siblings for her entire life.

“I know, don’t go crazy over the sudden rush of information.”

“I loath you,” Izzy just pets him like mollifying an upset pug. “Does it actually work? Just talking I mean,” he directs the question to Jace, because again, he loathes Izzy.

Jace gives him a one armed shrug, “Worked last weekend when me and Si were trying to decide between Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars for our movie night.”

“Aww,” Izzy gushes, locking her arms around Jace’s bicep. “You guys are so totally like an old married couple.”

“Yeah, we are,” Jace’s face goes sickeningly fond, and his eyes look like they’re actually shining stars.

Alec’s heart gives a sudden thud when he thinks to how unbelievably happy his siblings are with their other halves—even fucking Max and his unrequited reverence over Dot.

Alec’s stomach twists when he pictures the face of the only person who has ever made him remotely that passionate.

~*~

He spends the remainder of the day telling himself that he won’t let Izzy or Jace’s words effect him, telling himself that he doesn’t care that he hasn’t spoken with Magnus since the verbal lashing Magnus gave him nearly three weeks ago. He tells himself that he’s fine, and he doesn’t need to see Magnus to alleviate this tension that’s begun filling the wholes that Magnus had once mended over with his megawatt smiles and dancing laughter that use to make Alec want to cocoon himself within it’s warmth.

Nope, he’s fucking the great wall of China, that’s how unmovable he is.

~*~

Alec is admittedly a very weak man when it comes to Magnus—and he won’t even bother to psychoanalyze that fact. So it’s unsurprising when later that day he finds himself standing outside of Magnus’s door, a tray of lemon squares in one hand, and hoping that they could convey how sorry he is to Magnus—even if Alec doesn’t know what it’s over.

“Okay Lightwood, you got this,” Alec hypes himself up, sucking in a breath before giving three quick wraps against the wood, holding in a gasp once detecting the subtle puttering of feet striding ever nearer.

Magnus swings open the door, finds Alec standing there, and promptly tries shutting it again.

“Whoe, just hold up,” Alec tries pushing his weight against the force, but fucking hell those bolding muscles are not just for show. Before the door could shut completely, Alec squeezes the lemon square tray to act as a temporary barrier.

“There’s nothing I want to say to you Lightwood,” Magnus growls, just glaring all the more mutinously.

“Okay, fine I’ll leave you alone,” Alec raises his hands up. “But I just don’t get why you’re angry, I mean we’ve always been in competition with each other. I don’t get why you find it so offensive that I bested you this time around.”

At that, Magnus’s pallor goes scarlet, and he moves so that he’s standing close enough that Alec could feel tendrils of Magnus’s warm breath skirting across his lips. “You don’t actually think I’m upset over this shitty rivalry, do you?”

Alec gulps dow a breath he hadn’t known he was holding—he thinks he never really knows what he’s doing where Magnus is concerned. “Well yeah—I mean why else?”

“God cheekbones I didn’t think you were this fucking dense.”

Alec parts his lips to retaliate, but then Magnus’s pressing a finger to his mouth in admonishment, and cutting his gaze to a clock behind him. (One of those posh, grandfather contraptions that only the elderly and people as staunchly fashion forward as Magnus, actually bother to keep in their homes.)

It’s still early, Alec knows that for sure. He had come straight hear after closing shop. It couldn’t be past quarter after three.

“C’mon, let me show you why I have a fucking problem with this shit you’ve pulled.”

Alec knows damn well he’d start spewing a thousand different questions, and would refuse to go anywhere until any of them were answered, if it were not for the fact that Magnus grabs his hand, and Alec kind of loses focus of everything but them, and where they’re interlocked, and how fucking good that looks, and how that’s not something someone should think about their fucking business rival.

Alec doesn’t care, because damn do they look good holding hands like that.

~*~

Alec isn’t really surprised when their little promenade through the congested Brooklyn streets ends with them standing outside of Loss’s Orphanage.

“Um, why are we here? I mean it’s not as if i didn’t know what charity you guys were donating to.”

“Just shut up for a while Lightwood,” Magnus bites back before strolling in.

He greets the pretty woman in the front, Catarina, easily, sharing a chemistry only developed between the closest of friends.

“Who’s this Magnus?” Catarina flashes Alec a kind grin after at least ten minutes of them catching up, and he thinks she might’ve been an angel in another life.

“Cat, this is Alexander Lightwood, cheekbones, this woman deserves nothing but the upmost respect, so cut the bullshit now.”

Alec glares at him, and Cat’s smile goes mischievous. “Oh so this is the James Dean wet dream you couldn’t stop talking about?”

“Oh, woah there Cat, you feeling okay?” Magnus pounces to clamp a hand over her lips, and an arm around her shoulders—Alec just standing there very confused. “Those kids running you so ragged that you’ve started spouting nonsense again?

“I like him,” Cat tells Magnus in a stage whisper, ignoring his antics.

“Can’t say I feel the same way about you at the moment my dear.”

Cat’s laughter is something booming and lively. And Alec can definitely see how the pair have become such close friends—both larger than life, and seemingly standing on a pedestal that normal folks could only dream of reaching.

“Testy, testy. Well I’ll go grab Madzie, stay put and don’t do anything I wouldn’t while I’m gone.”

Magnus and Alec burn matching shades of scarlet.

“You were leaving, yes?”

Cat just follies him another smirk before disappearing into the back dormitories.

Alec is jolted back to being a kid, finding Jace in one of these orphanages after his fathers death, and then the elation he felt once the two close friends could finally regard each other as brothers. It’s a strangely bitter sweet sensation, and Alec wonders if any of the kids in here are another family’s future Jace—someone to make them finally feel whole, and complete.

“You’re uncomfortable being in a place like this?”

Alec is thrust back to the present. “Huh, no…Why would you-?”

“You’v been pretty silent, even for your standards, since we’ve gotten here.”

Alec hadn’t noticed how close Magnus has gotten, his breath hitches with the proximity—the way Alec could take in every shadow that dances across Magnus’s lovely eyes, the way he smelt like the most darling combination of sunlight and sandalwood—Alec could feel himself losing touch yet again, but he can’t help it. He thinks Magnus is the embodiment of a fucking fire—awing, and beautiful and consuming, but when it’s gone all it leaves in it’s wake is ash and burnt embers—he could most probably destroy Alec if he let him, and the worst part is…Alec would. Alec would let Magnus destroy him over and over and over again, and that’s so fucking dangerous that he gives a harsh shake to his head, and chides himself to focus, all the while ignoring the pang of longing that hits his chest.

“Ah, no. No not uncomfortable,. I guess maybe wistful’d be the best way to describe it?” Magnus kinks his brow in question. “My brother, Jace, he was adopted, and I guess I’m just thinking back to when we first got to call each other brothers. Me, him and Iz all got these weird matching tattoos that were suppose to symbolize thicker than blood or some shit. Even colored one in on Max’s leg when our mom wasn’t looking.”

Magnus laughs, and Alec thinks he could live in that sound for the next eon to come.

“Mangnus! Mangnus!” Before Alec really has time to process it, a little ball of kinetic energy, and thick curls is leaping into Magnus’s waiting arms. She has big brown eyes, and sparkles in her hair, and a smile that could rival the fucking sun.

“Look, look,” Crowing, she smacks a small hand against Magnus’s cheek, using the other to emphatically gesture towards her hair. “S’pose to be just like yours!”

“It’s lovely love, absolutely beautiful. I must have you do my hair one of these days.” The little girl, Madzie, beams.

“My darling, I’d like to introduce you to a new friend. This is Alexander, he’s here to play with us today.”

With all the vitality of a five year old, Madzie whips her head towards Alec—big, cat like eyes brightening ten fold once catching sight of him. “Oooo he’s pretty, just like you Mangnus! ’S he you’re boyfriend?”

Queue another round of awkward blushing.

“You’ve been talking to Catarina for too long,” Magnus mutters morosely, to which Madzie just titters with glee. “No pumpkin he’s just a friend. Is that alright if he interrupts our playdate, just for today?”

“Hmm,” Madzie kicks against Magnus, wanting to be set down. Then, with assurance in her every step, she saddles up right to Alec, glaring up at him with a terribly adoring grimace. “Mangnus is the best,” she informs him.

“Ah, yes—I think he’s great also,” Alec offers timidly, knowing she wants a response but not knowing how to at the same time.

Madzie starts to rub her thumb against her little chin, assessing Alec—And Alec is really far too worried of what she’ll decide than what should be warranted.

“M’kay,” she finally decrees measuredly, taking his hand in her own, and then doing the same to Magnus. “C’mon, you can color in my unicorn.”

“I’m honored.” Madzie preens, and Alec’s overjoyed that he’s actually said something right.

~*~

It’s close to seven when Cat finally steps into the makeshift playroom and tells them that the orphanage will be closing for the night, and that Alec and Magnus have to see their way out.

It’s begun snowing once they finally meander into the open streets, and Alec can’t help but marvel at how the puffs of snow swirl around Magnus in a heavenly glow—It’s not the first time Alec has thought that Magnus is beautiful.

“I can see why you make such a big deal about that promotion at your bakery every year,” Alec shuffles closer to him, basking in the glow of fairy lights, and aroma of hot chocolate clogging the air. “Those children are remarkable.”

Magnus flickers his gaze up at him, a ghost of a smile dancing over his lips.

Alec feels lighter for it.

“Thank you Alexander, but I must admit my intentions are not as pure as merely adoring all the children, and Catarina to the moon and back.” Befuddled, Alec gives him a one eyed squint, hip checking him to continue. “The little girl we were coloring and playing dress up with today-“

“Madzie.”

“Yes, Madzie.” Magnus’s gaze turns softer when realizing that Alec actually enjoyed his time today. “You see, I’ve been trying to adopt her-“

Stunned, Alec petrifies right there, in the middle of the sidewalk. “No shit.”

Magnus hikes up both his brows. “Surprised?”

“Yeah, I mean—I guess just a little. Fucking hell, for how long?”

Magnus let’s out a breath through his nose, before continuing his walk a bit more briskly. Alec almost needing to jog to catch up. “Three years.”

“Wholly hell, does it ordinarily take that long?”

“NO,” Magnus shakes his head solemnly. “But I’m a single, bisexual, man…Not exactly prime material for a candidate to adopt a little girl.”

“That’s fucked up, you love her. A fucking monkey from space can see that.”

Magnus let’s out a little huff of a laugh. “Yes, well I did feel an immediate kinship with her—but that really has no room in the logistics of the whole ordeal. I just thought if the lawyers handling the case saw how I was donating, and helping the orphanage, while spending every afternoon with her…”

“That they’d see the potential of you guys being an amazing family. But then I just fucked it all up.”

Magnus just smiles at him consolingly. “Not your fault at all—They’ve been pressuring Catarina to close up the place for a while now. Too many kids and not enough resources, and trust me if you knew Cat you’d know how she’d rather quit eating for a decade than leave one of those munchkins without a toy for the holiday.”

“I fucked it up,” is all Alec could say. Over and over again.

“Alexander, ’s just how the cookie crumbles. I’m sure a nice, two parent, unit will find Madzie and demand to adopt her soon enough—just not me. Now c’mon, there’s a Gelato place a couple blocks down, and you’re not such terrible company.”

Mechanically, Alec follows suit, but knows that he needs to do something, to make a difference.

~*~

Izzy practically squeals with delight when Alec explains to her his intentions, and it’s not very hard at all to get the rest of the crew, from both Heavenly Sweets and Pandemonium, to join in on the plan.

~*~

The morning of the ninth Alec is leaning against the register of Pandemonium when Magnus pads through the doorway.

“Ah—Alexander, not that it’s not wonderful to start my day off with your pretty face, especially now that I don’t want to scratch your eyes out any more but-“

“Follow me,” Alec doesn’t give him time to shed off his jacket, just snatches Magnus’s hand, mildly notices how his heart still decides to do a gymnastics routine whenever they touch, and leads him into the back kitchen.

“What are you-“ Magnus’s words die on his lips.

The whole crew is piled on top of each other, mixing, and frosting and pulling out of ovens. Simon’s adoringly looking over Jace’s shoulder while the former ices very intricate roses onto a red velvet cake, while Clary, Meliorn, and Raphael are sketching out their intended creations for later on in the day. Maia, Izzy, and Lydia are pounding together the base of a particularly large project, with Dot sitting imperiously on the back counter, instructing them all, and basking in the fawning by Max and raj.

It’s a disarray, but a functional one.

“What, what’s going on?” He looks back up at Alec, as if seeing him for the first time—and yeah, Alec can’t help the swell of pride that comes over him when he sees that look on Magnus’s face.

“We postponed the pet shelter special for the eighteenth,” Alec just shrugs blithely, laughing out loud when Magnus punches him in the arm. “Look Bane, I don’t care what you say, it’s just fact that with us working together you guys will be able to make more goodies to sell out to the public, and get more money for Loss’s Orphanage, and it’ll just be better for all of us.”

Magnus still looks flabbergasted, scanning his gaze around all the faces of everyone that Alec’s wrestled together. “I still don’t get why you would do this for me?”

Alec feels his face heating up. “I wasn’t lying to Madzie when i told her that I think you’re great—I actually think you’re fantastic and brilliant and a bunch of other shit I’m sure a five year old wouldn’t have the patience to listen to.” Magnus laughs again, something light and wonderful. “Oh, by the way I got Cat to bring her and all the other kiddos over here to help us sell—You know using guilt against people and all that jazz.”

For a moment, Magnus just freezes, boring his eyes into Alec’s, and making him feel like his heart is on fire. But before he could try and lighten the mood, Magnus just pushes his head forward, and slants there lips together.

Alec thinks Magnus tastes like lilac skies and warm summer days and promises made to be kept and Alec thinks he loves him. Thinks he’s loved him for longer than he could remember not loving him, and it’s this edge of spectacular.

When they finally pull apart, they both pointedly ignore money being exchanged, for just kissing over again, and again, and again.

~*~

They make enough that day to safely say that the orphanage will be up and operational for a long time to come.

~*~

They get Lydia’s husband, John, to take on Magnus’s case for adoption, and he wins custody of Madzie six short months later.

On the one year anniversary of them being a family, Alec proposes. Madzie is the flower girl and couldn’t be happier over her pretty daddies.

Alec and Magnus still banter and jibe like nothing else, but now their words are lilted with fondness, and their feelings are modified by hungry kisses and proud I love yous screamed across any room.

#onthecyberseas #shgiftfest17 #fic #malec

7 notes · View notes