#Man-Thing tries to just extricate himself from the situation entirely but it ends with both the fugitive and the cop dead

[theodore-sallis]

“No Choice of Colors!” Fear (Vol. 1/1970), #12.

Writer: Steve Gerber; Penciler: Jim Starlin; Inker: Rich Buckler; Letterer: John Costanza

[drowningbydegrees]

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Read on AO3

He can’t remember the last time waking up was a remotely soothing experience. Geralt’s sleep muzzy mind has no other word for the body plastered against his front from shoulder to hip, the steady heartbeat against his palm where his hand is splayed out across someone’s chest. His nose is tucked against the nape of someone’s neck, and the scent is far too familiar to be jarring.

“Jaskier,” he rumbles quietly, his mouth miles ahead of the rest of him. The quiet, absent pleasure of waking up tangled with someone who smells sleepy and content and like they’re his leaves no room for reason. There’s no room for anything really, except to press a kiss to whatever patch of skin he can find, savoring the soft sigh it earns him.

Jaskier is… The night before rushes back to him, and Geralt almost jerks away, even though it would be entirely pointless to bother with that now. He cracks an eye open and is met with the disaster that Jaskier’s hair, mussed in the night by sleep, and by Geralt’s fingers buried in it before that. Even as worry begins to creep in, he sort of wants to do it again.

This isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed. This probably isn’t even the hundredth time they’ve shared a bed. This is most definitely the first time they’ve done so with so little clothing between them, none to be exact. There’s only the blanket tucked around them both, warm and lovely and unexpectedly distressing.

Geralt isn’t sorry, per se. Jaskier’s chest rises and falls under Geralt’s palm in the slow rhythm of sleep. It’s the loveliest thing Geralt can remember waking up to, and therein lies the problem. An emotion fed only grows, and this unruly, sprawling affection is the worst offender. Stupidly, Geralt had thought getting this out of his system would quell it, but the longing reaches a fever pitch instead.

Jaskier is beautiful, all the more so for the way he shifts in his sleep, closing the gap Geralt has tried to put between them. Geralt could happily wake like this every day for the rest of his life, but it isn’t a fair thing to ask of someone who flits from one love to the next like a butterfly between flowers. He will not trap Jaskier in this just because he happens to be besotted. Somehow, the resolve not to try to keep this does nothing to ease the guilt welling up that he wants to in the first place.

Nothing Jaskier said the night before conveyed meaning beyond a playful desire to tumble into bed together. Moving the target now would only be cruel. He should be rolling out of bed, hastening them back to normal. He should be proving that this has done nothing to harm their friendship. It isn’t Jaskier’s fault, after all, the way Geralt wants to breathe him in and kiss him senseless and forget the rest of the world until the innkeeper boots them out.

“Geralt?” Jaskier startles the witcher from his worries, wriggling impossibly closer and laying a palm over his knuckles. “You okay?”

“Thinking,” Geralt replies vaguely.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Jaskier teases, still warm and lethargic with sleep. Geralt almost manages to take advantage of the levity of the moment and extricate himself, but before he can, Jaskier rolls over so they’re nearly nose to nose. His fingers cradle Geralt’s cheek and any attempt to escape now would just be graceless. “What about?”

Geralt doesn’t know how to answer, so he only hums noncommittally and hopes Jaskier will let it lie. Of course, Jaskier being Jaskier, does no such thing. He takes advantage of the change in positions to tangle his legs up with Geralt. “I can’t tell you to knock it off if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“We should get going.” Geralt tries once more to escape, frowning when Jaskier shows no sign of releasing him. It’s silly of course. Jaskier couldn’t hope to hold him here if Geralt was set on leaving. He just can’t actually make himself do it.

“Was it that bad a night?” It’s an easy opening, an invitation to stray back to their usual banter, but Geralt gets no further than a raised eyebrow before Jaskier is clasping a hand over the witcher’s mouth. “Wait. Don’t answer that or I might have to smother you with a pillow and that’ll just be unfortunate for both of us.”

Right there, with Jaskier smiling at him, Geralt can almost believe they’re going to survive this. Almost, but almost still leaves a distance he cannot cross. As soon as Jaskier pulls his hand back from Geralt’s mouth, the witcher opens it. “They’re not going to let us sleep in forever.”

“They might if I convince them to let me play again this evening. We could move on tomorrow,” Jaskier ventures, but something in Geralt’s face must give him pause. “Oh do not look at me like that. The world isn’t going to end just because you stop to take a breath once in a while, Geralt.”

“That’s not…” Geralt starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish. There are no words that convey the razor wire sensation of facing down the impermanence of Jaskier’s affections, of realizing how deeply his own feelings run far too late.

“Shh.” Geralt knew what to do with impulse, with Jaskier’s mouth crashing into his, with Jaskier’s hands scrabbling at him to shed his clothes. He doesn’t know what to do with the tender, intentional way Jaskier regards him this morning, lips pressing to the witcher’s brow and lingering afterwards. Does it mean something, or does Jaskier grant all his lovers this subdued, aimless devotion? Lust was so much simpler than this aching sort of affection that puts down roots even as Geralt tries to burn it away.

Geralt doesn’t precisely surrender, but he resigns himself to the lazy attention Jaskier is so determined to lavish on him. If he lets Jaskier turn him away later instead of now, there will be at least this one pleasant thing to remember. So he doesn’t complain at Jaskier’s fingers combing through his hair, or the bard’s body pressed warmly to his. If every touch feels like a harbinger of their demise, it’s still hard to let go of.

He almost passes things off as okay, he thinks, until Jaskier kisses him. It’s a brief thing, immediately withdrawn. “Geralt?”

If realizing the hopeless situation he’s stumbled into was uncomfortable, the idea of talking about it is nothing short of torture.

“Well, you haven’t shoved me out of bed yet, so you’re not mad. Talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, his expression so openly concerned and affectionate, Geralt could scream.

“It’s no-” Geralt starts, but Jaskier shut him up with a theatrically sour look.

“I swear if you say nothing,” Jaskier threatens aimlessly, an easy smile on his lips, but underneath, Geralt can hear the way his anxious heart threatens to vibrate right out of his chest.

“I don’t know what this is,” Geralt admits because that, at least, is safe. It’s nothing about how he feels in relation to anything. It’s nothing about the want that simmers under the surface despite his guilt.

Jaskier’s brows scrunch in a way that would be endearing if the entire ordeal didn’t feel so fraught already. “I don’t think I follow. I mean, I know having a conversation isn’t your usual wheelhouse, but it’s not exactly a foreign concept.”

“Not. That.” Geralt bites the words out, tight and clipped while he gathers his frayed nerves enough to explain. “You’re not in the habit of keeping people. I don’t know what you want.”

For just a second, Jaskier looks like he’s been struck and Geralt wants desperately to take the whole thing back. But the bard’s expression smooths out and then twists up in a wry smile. “Of course I don’t. What would I even do? Drag someone else along on our travels?”

There’s a point Jaskier is making. It’s right there. He knows it is, but it eludes Geralt anyway. “You could have stayed somewhere if there was someone you wanted to stick around for.”

Jaskier laughs, just a giggle at first, and then so hard that even his efforts to bury his face against Geralt’s shoulder do nothing to stifle it. “You are absolutely right. I could fall completely and utterly in love with someone and choose to stick around.”

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” Geralt says flatly, staring at the far wall of their room. The urge to curl around Jaskier and forget the whole stupid conversation in strong, and maybe he’d have been better off doing that in the first place, but he doesn’t surrender to it.

“Well, you’re one of the smartest people I know, so these moments where you decide to be an absolute idiot happen to be hilarious,” Jaskier teases. The bard must take pity, because his palm slides to cradle Geralt’s jaw, and Jaskier puts himself right at eye level where the witcher can’t look away. “Don’t you realize? I fell in love with someone, and I chose to stick around. It happened ages ago.”

Geralt has long since given up on trying to anticipate what Jaskier will say to any given prompt, but that is… somehow not even on the same continent as anything he might have expected. “What?”

“You really are determined to make this as difficult and stressful for me as possible, aren’t you?” Jaskier asks. There’s a tightness around his eyes when he looks at Geralt, leaving the witcher with the awful realization that Jaskier must be flying as blind as he is. He’s probably as unsure of Geralt’s intent as Geralt is of his. And yet… “I chose you, you ridiculous man. I always choose you.”

That… that explains a lot, actually. Geralt swallows thickly as Jaskier’s nose bumps against his. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

“Ah yes. ‘Hello my very dear emotionally… hampered witcher who will sometimes, on a very good day, admit that we are friends. Would it it complicate things overly much if I also happened to be completely, utterly in love with you?’” Jaskier huffs out a helpless, almost panicky sort of laugh. “Tell me Geralt, is there any time in the last few years where that would have gone well?”

Years? Now, confronted with the full force of it, Geralt isn’t sure how he even missed it last night, let alone for so long. Now that he knows it’s always been a bit painfully obvious. And much as he’d like to, he can’t really argue against Jaskier’s point that it probably wouldn’t have gone well to say so. “What changed?”

Jaskier sighs in that dramatic, overdone way he tends to when he’s being asked what he thinks is an exceedingly silly question. “You did.”

“Hmm.” Geralt doesn’t comment and Jaskier doesn’t press for further conversation. It’s peaceful, this thing blossoming between them, now that his most immediate concerns have been silenced.

That Jaskier laid his heart on the line and asked for nothing back isn’t lost on Geralt though. The words catch and stick on his throat, so Geralt writes them into the tender way he traces the curve of Jaskier’s spine with his fingertips. He presses them against Jaskier’s lips, jaw, throat with lazy, lingering kisses.

“So tell me-” Jaskier starts, the words interrupted by a soft sigh as Geralt’s thumb skims the divot of his hip. It’s an unmistakably promising sound all by itself, even ignoring that delightful way Jaskier presses into the touch. He finishes his thought, but it’s unmistakably breathless. “What are you thinking now?”

The recognition that this isn’t some fluke settles warmly around him. This could be always. There are so few things a witcher really keeps, but for now he’s willing to entertain the notion that this might be one of them.

“I’m thinking…” Geralt mumbles against the side of Jaskier’s neck, delighting in the way the bard’s fingers tangle in his hair and tug. “That maybe we’ll leave tomorrow.”

[aureutr]

Luke Skywalker grew up in a Jedi enclave. There aren’t many of those in the world, and Jedi in general are considered myths in most corners of the Earth. They largely keep to themselves but do seek out Force-sensitive children to help and try to be of service whenever they run across those in need. There are very few of them in the world.

He left when he was a young adult, wanting to experience more of the “real world.” He went to college, but struggled to pay his bills. He ended up selling edibles to get by, which in turn made him realize he absolutely loved baking. After college he didn’t return to his enclave but instead opened Toffee Station Bakery. He still makes edibles, but only for personal use or for good friends.

Luke still lives by the edicts the Jedi taught him and is always keeping an ear (and the Force) out for those he can help. And for Force-sensitive children who don’t yet know how to control their abilities. Both fall into his lap at once one day.

Din Djarin is the owner and operator of the restaurant Tiingilar. He opened it with his late wife, Omera, and they served traditional Mandalorian fare. Around the same time Omera passed the business was failing, and Din could barely keep it, his child, and himself together. He was approached by some shady individuals who offered to “invest” in the business. And that was how Tiingilar became a money laundering front for the local Hutt mafia.

Business has picked up in the last couple of years, though. Din is looking to get out from under the mob’s thumb and go fully legit. His son is four now, and though Grogu is non-verbal and still young enough not to pick up on what’s going on that won’t last forever. But how does one extricate themselves from that sort of situation?

Toffee Station Bakery is between Din’s apartment and Grogu’s speech therapy clinic and so every week they stop in for a treat after a session. By sheer coincidence Wedge, one of Luke’s few employees, is the one up front. Luke is usually in the back when the Djarins come by.

Until one day he isn’t.

Luke knows Grogu is Force-sensitive the moment the bell above the door dings. He stands there, frozen, realizing after several seconds that he’s been staring. He goes back to stocking the display case until the child and his father get close to the counter and that’s when he notices that the dad is also extremely attractive and his brain fritzes out for a second time.

Din is tired enough that he doesn’t really notice. He registers that the man behind the counter is beautiful, if a little quiet, but not much else. Grogu selects a frog-shaped cookie and Din goes to pay, as usual.

“It--it’s on the house,” Luke stammers out.

Din tries to insist, that’s no way to run a business after all. Maybe part of him is afraid of the Hutts gobbling up another business. But he’s also just flummoxed. They’ve been coming here for a few months, sure, but he’s never seen this man before.

“Your boss won’t like that,” he settles on, teasing.

“Good thing I’m the owner then,” the joking tone seems to bring Luke out of his stupor.

From then on they meet once a week when Din brings Grogu in for his post-therapy treat. Slowly, over time, they exchange names. Small bits of their lives. Din holds back that he’s in trouble with the mob and Luke holds back that A) he used to be a drug dealer and B) he’s a Jedi. Jedi are so rare that most people either don’t know about them, think they’re a cult, or that they’re just made up entirely. And the whole time Luke and Grogu are having full on conversations in the Force.

He’s trying to figure out how to explain to Din about Grogu’s abilities when he realizes there’s a major complication:

He’s in love with Din. How can he responsibly help this child if there’s this sort of conflict of interest?

Meanwhile Din is having absolutely no luck extricating himself from the mafia. The few questions he’s asked and things he’s tried risk tipping their point man, Fett, off and he’s nervous about it. He keeps noticing cars with tinted windows tailing him. He’s afraid for Grogu, but also for Luke. It’s very much in the Hutts’ MO to hurt people close to you to get what they want.

And he wants Luke to be very close to him indeed.

So instead he pushes him away.

But Luke is determined. If Din doesn’t want a relationship that’s fine, it makes things simpler. Even if it breaks his heart. But Grogu needs some degree of control over his abilities or he’s going to attract the wrong sort of attention.

Inevitably it all comes out, Din’s unwanted mob connections, Grogu’s powers, Luke’s own abilities and the history of his people. And they determine that the only way forward is together.

Along with the help of Luke’s powerful politician sister (who did not grow up in the enclave) who may have experience freeing people from the Hutts. People like her husband.

In the end the little family lives happily ever after with two wildly successful businesses. The adults eat special brownies when the kid goes to bed and Grogu has two dads who love him very much. And one of them can make things float, just like him!

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

"the way you flirt is shameful." Klavier (klapollo) and ema ?

"short fics," I said, like a liar.

anyway please enjoy almost 2k of Klapollo Nonsense.

Send me a random line of dialogue and some characters, and I'll write a short fic!

---

Another grey morning, another lukewarm cup of coffee. Apollo pulls his coat a little tighter around him, scowling at nothing in particular. It’s just his luck, isn’t it, that this week’s defendant is a fisherman, accused of murdering their boat’s captain out on the docks.

It’s also just his luck that it’s March, and he hadn’t even thought anyone would be out on the water this early in the year. Shows how much he knows about the fishing industry.

He jumps when an arm lands around his shoulders, and has to fight to keep his awful beverage from sloshing entirely out of its styrofoam cup. With an irritated huff, Apollo turns to reprimand his unexpected company, but the words die in his throat when he looks over to see Klavier Gavin—and, more specifically, the woolly hat perched on his head. It appears to be lovingly hand-knitted, in a shade of purple he’d swear he’d seen in scraps of wool lying around the office in previous weeks. It also happens to be emblazoned with Gavin’s ridiculous logo, the angular G as distinctive as ever.

“Uh…” he says instead, eyebrow raised in what he hopes is a skeptical, yet bewildered expression. He’s not sure he succeeds with that, though, considering the way Gavin’s casual smile crooks up at the edges into a more genuine grin.

“Ja, Herr Forehead? How goes the investigation?” Lazy curls of steam rise from the stainless steel travel mug clasped in his hand, dissipating into the pervasive fog that’s blanketing the docks. Typical. Apollo considers asking him if he’d like to swap drinks.

“Cold. Damp. And is this a good time to mention that I’m allergic to shellfish? I think that’s probably an important detail, considering….this.” he replies, poking an errant mussel with the point of his dress shoe. His dress shoe that he’s for some reason wearing to a crime scene out by the harbour, because Apollo has misplaced ideas of professionalism, apparently.

“Ach, it’s not that bad! For one, you have my company to brighten up your day! And for another thing...I have news for you about the case.”

“Really. And it’s not just going to be something that you’ll immediately rescind in court tomorrow?”

“HerrForehead, what kind of prosecutor do you take me for? We’re on the same side, you know—both seeking the truth.”

“That’s cheesy as anything.”

“But correct! Anyway. FräuleinSkye has just uncovered something tangled around one of the fishing lines on the boat, and she’s attempting to piece it back together. If you hurry, you might get a glimpse before it goes straight into the evidence dossier.”

Apollo hmms, considering. He’s not sure he wants to just take Klavier’s tip-off; it could be seen as collusion under some circumstances. But he’s really not accomplishing anything on his own, and any new evidence could help him prove Annette Sloop’s innocence.

He also realizes, belatedly, that Klavier still has his arm around his shoulders, and that he’s been unconsciously leaning into the warmth of the taller man’s down jacket.

“Okay, sure—it’s gotta be better than anything I can find here,” Apollo decides, and tries to subtly extricate himself from Klavier’s grasp without drawing attention to the fact that he’s actually found some kind of comfort in their proximity, that he’s really not particularly enthusiastic about losing his human space-heater.

Luckily, Klavier realizes that he’ll have to grant Apollo his freedom if he wants the shorter man to be able to take advantage of his newly-gained intel, and drops his arm back to his own side. Apollo stifles a shiver as the cool, damp air rushes back against him, clinging to his skin with a pervasive chill.

He’d assumed that Klavier had business to take care of on the dock, so the fact that the prosecutor follows him as he boards the fishing boat takes him by surprise. What also takes him by surprise is the intensity of the fishy aroma around the vessel, something that Apollo really should have considered as a factor beforehand. He wrinkles his nose and tries to breathe shallowly—and when that doesn’t work out, he buries his nose in the collar of his jacket.

And that brings with it its own set of problems, because somehow the short amount of time his jacket was in contact with Klavier’s own was enough to allow the other man’s sandalwood cologne to seep into the thin fabric. Apollo wishes this wasn’t his life. Isn’t this the kind of stuff teenagers write about?

Luckily, his panicking is cut short by Ema Skye clearing her throat from the other end of the deck, midway through spreading fabric scraps onto a plastic folding table. She appears decidedly unimpressed, but waves them over.

“Justice. I take it you were informed of the recent developments by the fop here?” she remarks, as disinterestedly as possible for someone who’s practically vibrating with the excitement of being able to do something actually forensically significant.

“Er...yeah, Klavier told me that you’d found something?” Apollo replies, trying to look as though he understands more of the situation than he actually does. He thinks he pulls it off. If not, Ema doesn’t comment on it.

Klavier, however, smiles impossibly wide at Apollo’s words, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s because he’d called the man by his first name, as opposed to his more professional title. A slip of the tongue, nothing more! And yet…

If it’d get a reaction like that, Apollo might start using Klavier’s first name significantly more often.

“Oh, come on, do neither of you actually care about this T-shirt I found? This apparently-bloodstainedT-shirt?” Ema taps her foot against the plank wood of the ship’s deck. Apollo breaks out of his thoughts with just about enough time to look marginally interested in the new evidence—which he hopes is convincing.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want to solve the murder! It’s really just that—well, Klavier is just there, being distracting, like he always is—except it’s worse, recently, somehow. Apollo swears he used to be able to spend time focusing on other things, that he wasn’t always this preoccupied with what the prosecutor was doing, where he was standing, if he was looking at--

“Oh, for God’s sake. The way you flirt is shameful,” Ema says, entirely exasperated. She also seems to be looking at Apollo, for some reason.

“Are you talking to me?” he asks, confused. The detective rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically, visibly resisting the urge to throw up her hands.

“You, him, both of you! This used to be almost funny, you know, watching Gavin be all glimmerous in your direction and seeing you shut him down. But recently you’ve been playing into it and—you know what? I’m done! You don’t get to listen to my stunning forensic breakthroughs until you’ve sorted your shit out, because I just can’t be doing with this. It’s ridiculous. Why can’t you just act like adults?”

The outburst is followed by Ema Skye whirling around, the sensible shoes she’s wearing clacking against the ship’s deck. Halfway to the door to the crew’s quarters, she remembers that she’s left all her forensic materials spread out next to where Klavier and Apollo are standing, and backtracks with increasingly evident frustration.

“You know what? I’m not leaving! You two—off my ship!Go figure yourselves out, and I won’t tell you about this case-changing evidence until you’ve stopped acting like this.”

Apollo’s a little taken-aback—not the least because he doesn’t think that he’s been doing any flirting, especially not with Klavier. He’s been hiding his feelings far too well for that—right?

Klavier looks at him and shrugs, motioning with his head that they should retreat the way they’d arrived. It’s not necessarily the most dignified thing, climbing off a boat in shame after being reprimanded by the detective on the case.

Once they’re back on “solid” ground (as solid as one can call a fishing boat’s dock, anyway), Apollo turns to Klavier.

“So, what was that about? I’ve never seen her that angry.”

Interestingly enough, color rises to Klavier’s cheeks. “Well...I think that, perhaps, she’s...misinterpreting the situation?”

And if Klavier’s strange statement hadn’t been enough to tip Apollo off that maybe something strange is going on here, there’s the familiar pinch of warm metal against his left wrist, his bracelet constricting at the taller man’s fib.

And—they know each other well enough, by this point, that all Apollo has to do is level an unimpressed stare in the prosecutor’s direction, and deadpan “Klavier” with all the air of a man who is taking no bullshit for an answer, for him to deflate and give up, shoving a hand in his back pocket awkwardly.

“Ugh. Okay. Erm. So, HerrForehead, this wasn’t...exactly...unprovoked. It’s possible that FräuleinSkye has been on the receiving end of many conversations about how I would like to….uh…”

It’s quite something, seeing Klavier at a loss for words. Apollo hadn’t thought that the former rockstar could look as awkward as he does now, the hand not trapped in his pocket fiddling with a loose strand of his hair.

He really, really tries not to think about how endearing it is.

Klavier seems to have reached a point, however, where he’s just decided to say things and worry about the consequences later. So Apollo’s contemplations are brought to a screeching halt when the man sighs, flips his hair, and stares at him straight-on, enunciating with perfect clarity:

“Apollo Justice, would you like to go out with me? On a date? Because I must say, I’ve been trying to find the best way to ask you for a while now, but unfortunately all I’ve succeeded in doing is, apparently, annoying the FräuleinDetective until not even Snackoos are a valid enough weapon.”

And—this isn’t the setting Apollo had pictured, in his often-hastily-repressed daydreams about Klavier asking him out. For one, he’d not quite imagined the quantity of fish, or the less-than-steady footing. But Klavier looks so earnest about his request, and Apollo can’t deny the way his heart’s skipped a beat, the way he’s almost petrified to say anything just in case this isn’t real—and so, he takes a deep breath, steps forward, and twines his fingers with Klavier’s.

“You know what? I’d love to. I’ll go anywhere you’d like—with the exception of a sushi restaurant” Apollo smiles, hesitantly at first, and then more genuinely as he sees the softly disbelieving expression on Klavier’s face.

“Really?” the prosecutor asks, and isn’t that incredible—that Klavier Gavin had been worried about being turned down. Apollo can’t quite believe it himself, yet.

“Yeah, really,” he says, smiling up at Klavier, who beams down at him in return. He feels the other man squeeze his hand briefly, and can’t quite contain the impulse to lean in closer to him, consciously this time, sharing both warmth and physical contact in a meaningful way.

When they return to the fishing vessel, Ema takes one look at the two of them and narrows her eyes, proceeding to mime nausea at the way they’re still holding hands.

However, she does follow through on her promise—and by the time they’re ready to leave the crime scene, both Klavier and Apollo are fairly certain of the next day’s trial’s outcome—as well as of the location of their post-trial dinner date.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

starker - “you’ve been crying. i can tell.” w/ peter saying it to tony, pls

do the thing - send in all the prompts. 

Ohh, this gave me drug lord!peter / mechanic!tony vibes (you can find that verse here & here). Thanks so much for the prompt, I hope the angst is what you were looking for! 

warnings: mentions of violence, Tony has mad PTSD. 

Being on the arm of one of the biggest drug kingpins on the east coast was never something Tony sought out for himself. For the most part, he led a pretty simple life. He had the garage and a few friends that he trusted enough to work in his place of sanctuary; until he met Peter, the thought of needing anything else never crossed his mind.

Fate worked in weird ways, though – in one fell swoop, Tony found himself the boyfriend of Peter Parker, drug lord of the Upper East Side. No matter how much he tried to extricate himself from the situation when everything started, Peter crawled under his skin, the man there now – his life forever changed because of it.

There were many great things about being with Peter. In his entire day’s work, the man probably dealt with more bull shit than Tony surrounded himself with in a decade. When Peter got home, he wanted to give up control and place it eagerly at Tony’s feet. There was nothing like it – being looked at like he had the key to unlocking every hidden desire Peter never thought he had or wanted. The pure devotion of loving and being loved by a man that did not give his heart to just anyone – it was intoxicating.

Peter also had a penchant for interesting conversation and learning as much as he could about a subject. After Tony picked him up because of a flat tire, Peter demanded he teach him how to do it – it was a life skill that everyone needed to know, he remembered him saying. He posed the question with heated kisses and the closeness of his body – Tony couldn’t possibly say no to a request like that.

In a lot of ways, Peter Parker was everything Tony wanted. The demands on his back were minimal, he got to have glorious sex with a gorgeous man, and he satisfied his soul. There was something to be said about that – Tony’s life was far from easy, his entire being restless most of the time. Peter brought a sense of calm with him that didn’t make sense but felt good all the same.

Truthfully, the only shitty part about being with Peter was the imminent danger they were always in. After getting kidnapped, Tony started to really pay attention to all of the interactions around him. Peter’s crew was used to him being there, so they didn’t bother trying to filter their thoughts around him. Most nights were filled with protection detail and surveillance – everyone involved with the operation waiting to strike when the other shoe dropped. Sometimes it did, mostly with a lot of shots fired and a few dead bodies.

And sometimes, it didn’t – every now and again there’d be peace to soak up and enjoy.

No matter what, though – Tony was in it for the long haul. Even if he wanted to (which he didn’t, he really, really didn’t,) there wasn’t leaving the crew now that he was so deeply tangled within it. He’d never once gone out on a job or taken any sort of payment, but that didn’t matter – Peter came with a price that everyone needed to pay, Tony included.

Those thoughts were floating around in his head all day. They’d both been particularly on edge the last couple of days – Peter was expecting a delivery, the man a little edgier than usual. Things were easy to handle when Peter touched back down to Earth and took them hand-in-hand with Tony. Shit got hard when Tony was forced to wade through the waters of a world he didn’t really know very well all by himself.

It’d been hot in the shop that day, so Tony stopped off in his apartment before heading to Peter’s place. In the 18 months they’d been together, Tony hadn’t spent a night in the big bed he splurged on a few years back in quite some time. The whole debacle of getting stuffed in the back of a car, being severely beat up, and shot at made the thought of sleeping anywhere but in the protection of Peter’s presence less than appealing. He rarely even stepped foot in the place these days, most of his stuff tucked into the dresser he’d been using for what felt like forever.

Stepping through the door, Tony immediately felt like something was off. His skin prickled, a hand moving to his hip to press against the gun he kept on his person at all times now. With his coveralls tied around his waist, he had perfect access to it if the need struck. Swiftly kicking off his boots, Tony trailed into the room, his footsteps light now without the clunky footwear. He kept his head on a swivel, his eyes wide as he looked around the room.

The further he walked into the room, the harder Tony’s heart started to thud against his chest. It seemed silly, being so paranoid in his own home – but he’d been pulled from the most unlikely of places before and couldn’t be too careful. Opening the door to his room, he sucked in a deep breath, his forehead breaking out in a sweat. The room was pitch black, the only light in the room coming from the wide open window. Frowning, Tony took a step in the room only to backpedal out a moment later.

Below the open window was a set of boot prints that did not belong to him. 

Heart in his throat, Tony slipped his work boots back on and quickly left the apartment. His hands shook as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to dial Peter’s number. Tony knew the man had a lot on his plate, but this seemed important, another person coming after him – the end goal here more than likely Peter and the enterprise he juggled so precariously at such a young age.

It only took one ring for Peter to pick up. “Tony, what’s wrong? I was expecting you to walk in the door any minute,” Peter said, his voice picking up an octave, the worry in his tone evident.

“I think there was someone in my apartment. I stopped in to take a shower and grab a jacket I’d been wanting to wear from my closet. When I unlocked the door, something felt off. My bedroom window was wide open, Pete. Wide open with a set of boot prints on the floor below it. I got out of there as fast as I could. I’m scared, Pete. There was someone in my house.” Tony didn’t take a breath the entire time he spoke, his chest heavy by the time he was done.

He heard Peter inhale sharply, the sound audible, even through the phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do you want me to have Happy come and pick you up? He can be there in a couple of minutes,” Peter replied. Tony could hear the gears grinding – his boyfriend probably already planning something.

Sighing, Tony ran a grease stained hand through his hair – now that he could hear Peter’s voice, he already felt a little better. “No, it’s alright. I’m going to head over there now. Just keep your head up, alright? If they’re coming after me, it’s to get to you.”

They hung up the phone a couple of minutes later, Tony packing himself into his truck and cranking the music loud to play over the thoughts that were running across the forefront of his mind. There were a few things not sitting right in the pit of his stomach – the intrusion to his house setting his nerves on fire, his kidnapping still so fresh, so present in his thoughts.

Tony pulled into the driveway and slammed his truck in park, his feet carrying him impatiently through the door on the side of the house, Happy letting him through without a second look or thought. Peter would be heading out soon to supervise the delivery, after everything with Doom, the man was extra careful and took to making sure things ran smoothly without outsider influence.

Glad to have made it back before the crew headed out, Tony let out a sigh when Peter’s arms wrapped around him. The dual guns strapped across Peter’s back dug into his chest a little with Peter holding him so close, but he didn’t care – having this proximity was more than enough in that moment. 

Pulling back, Tony cupped his cheeks, his fingers gripping harder than usual. “Be careful, Pete. Promise me,” Tony whispered, the fact that Happy and several other members on Peter’s payroll were in the room not registering.

Peter leaned forward and drew him into a kiss, the touch tender. “I’ll do my best. It’ll be okay, baby. Happy is doing most of the work, anyway,” Peter mumbled, the man only pulling away enough to speak. “See you when I get back. I love you.” He wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and gave him a brief squeeze.

“I love you too, Pete,” Tony managed to get out before Peter was pulling away, a forced smile on his lips. He reached out to snag Peter’s hand, fingers holding on until the time to let go couldn’t be ignored anymore. Tony turned to watch the flood of guys leaving the room, Peter bringing up the tail end.

“Wait up for me,” Peter threw over his shoulder, the man turning to look at Tony one more time before walking out the door.

Tony did his best not to be nervous throughout the rest of the night. There were a few guards outside the door, so he was perfectly safe within the confines of the house. His mind ran through all the different possibilities of the harm that could come to Peter over and over again – the prints in his house throwing him off way more than he originally realized. He hadn’t felt this jittery since his kidnapping.

A lot of time past – there was no denying that when midnight turned into 2AM, which slowly trickled into 4AM, that things might not be as okay as he expected. All of his text messages had been ignored, that in and of itself a little unusual. The situation must have gone bad – the entire list of instances getting ticked off one by one, regardless of the fact that he literally had no fucking clue what was happening.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Tony leaned forward, his elbows settling into the muscle of his thighs. Both hands were in his hair and before he knew it, he was crying – his chest shaking, the tears streaming down his cheeks like water from a faucet. The choking sobs made the muscles in his stomach hurt; at this point, his entire body ached from the lack of sleep and overabundance of nerves that refused to stop rushing over him in waves.

Time didn’t matter in the state he was in – his soul needed the cleanse, so he let the tears come. He was scared to turn on the TV, to check his phone, to even think now that the possibilities seemed more real than before. It’d been almost twelve hours without any communication – that was not standard operating procedure, not when Peter knew how on edge he already felt.

What could have been seconds, or minutes, or hours later, Tony felt the bed shift, a warm arm enveloping him, Peter’s scent there and real – the man alive and well despite the bumps, scrapes, and bruises that littered his face and neck. Thankfully the tears stopped falling sometime during his break down – his boyfriend didn’t need to see his complete lack of control and composure. One of the things Peter liked about him was his ability to handle every situation, even if it scared the living shit out of him.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” Tony mumbled, his head turning to press into the skin of Peter’s neck. His own arms wrapped around the other’s middle and pulled him as close as he could. Maybe he didn’t deal with his kidnapping enough – the neediness overtaking him speaking louder than the courage he portrayed on a daily basis. Falling apart like this, it didn’t feel normal.

“I’m here, baby – I’m here.” He shifted, pulling back to get a better look at Tony – his gravelly voice probably giving him away. “You’ve been crying. I can tell.” Peter moved the hand wrapped around Tony’s shoulder to his cheek, the action separating them a little more. “I’m here, Tony – it’s okay. I promise, it’s okay.” Peter pressed a kiss to his nose, then each cheek before finally landing on his lips – the caress tender and slow, Peter’s lips soft against his own.

“I don’t think I’m okay, Pete,” Tony admitted, his eyes dropping, the idea of locking gazes with the man before him a little intimidating – he’d never said anything like that to another person in his entire life. The shame of weakness washed over him. Tony always kept it together, he could defy or outsmart anything; except, it seemed, PTSD.

Peter let his thumb slip across Tony’s cheek, the softest look in his eyes Tony could ever remember seeing. His head was nodding, eyes tearing up slightly.

“I know.”

[nayutai]

Wins and Losses

Summary: Aleecia’s mother tries to play matchmaker with someone her daughter would rather not see again

Word Count: 10K+

Genre: Mostly fluff and smut....maybe a little angst if you squint

Warnings: Foul language, unprotected sex, and I think that’s it. This is pretty tame compared to my other stuff lol

The smell of hot sex and the sound of heavy breathing fills the air as my latest hookup rolls off of me. I take a few minutes to regain some semblance of composure before swinging my legs over the side of the bed to start gathering my clothes. I can already feel that familiar soreness settling in at the apex of thighs as my legs tremble slightly. Definitely a ten out of ten on the hookup scale.

“Well thanks for the dick...” I draw a blank on his name as I turn to face the naked man lounging in the mess of sheets that we’d just been rolling around in.

“Hoseok,” he replies with a sly grin on his face as he watches me get dressed. The way he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth almost makes me want to jump back in bed with him but it’s already two a.m. and I have things to do in the morning.

“Are you gonna give me your number? We should do this again.” He says as he shifts around on the mattress. I mentally pat myself on the back for managing to snag such a fine ass man to end the night with. He runs a hand through the mess I made of his jet black locks and now it’s my turn to bite my lip. For a second, I contemplate breaking my rule of not sleeping with the same hookup twice but I stop myself.

“These situations are called one night stands for a reason, bub. Besides I have things to do in the morning well in a few hours.” I inform him as I slip my feet into my heels. “You be blessed though.” I blow a kiss in his direction, which he playfully rolls his eyes at, before grabbing my phone and keys and leaving the lavish apartment without a backwards glance.

“Aleecia, darling, you look absolutely dreadful.’ I roll my eyes at my mother’s prim and proper face that’s delicately twisted into a scowl.

“Good morning to you too, Mother.” I quickly kiss her cheek before turning too my dad. “Daddy.” I peck his cheeks several times much to his amusement. The side of my face burns as I turn to place my clutch on the chair next to me after taking my seat across from my parents.

“Don’t listen to your mother, sweet pea.” My father reaches across the table to place his hand on mine. “You look just as pretty as the day we brought you home.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” I return his bright smile then turn my attention back to my mother. “Are we expecting guests?” I ask, gesturing to the three empty chairs at our table. Our weekly brunches very rarely consist of anyone but us so I’m intrigued. The fact that my father rolls his eyes and looks at my mother lets me know that she’s got something up her blush pink suit sleeve.

“I invited one of my bridge friends Cindy and her husband. Their son just took a job at one of those investment firms downtown and I figured you could show him around.” My sly mother explains as she smooths out the napkin she’s carefully placed in her lap.

Now I see why my dad was rolling his eyes. This smells like my mother attempting to marry me off to the son of one of her prissy friends.

“Mom how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to get married right now?” Of course, she just waves me off as if I’m still a child and not a twenty five year old woman capable of making my own life choices.

“Maybe if you had someone to come home to you’d stay out of those filthy bars you like to frequent. Don’t think I haven’t heard about you, missy.” I roll my eyes skyward as I prepare to get lectured on my “heathen antics” for the millionth time this month. I’m just having fun and I don’t plan on letting her desire for grandchildren she can show off ruin that any time soon.

Fortunately for me, my mother’s friend and her husband choose that exact moment to make an entrance. God bless them. I stand from my seat to greet them properly.

“Oh my, Aleecia! You’re even prettier than your mother said you were.” The sweet older lady kisses me own both cheeks as she squeezes both of my hands in hers. Her husband, Andrew, shakes my hand before moving on to my parents, clapping my dad on the back heartily.

“Where’s your son, Cindy?” My mother questions as we all take our seats around the table.

“He’s running a little late.” She informs as she spreads her napkin in her lap. “They needed his signature on some important paperwork. There he is!”

I turn to look over my shoulder to see the man I’m sure Cindy has bragged about endlessly to my mother. My stomach threatens to fall out of my ass when my eyes take in the man walking through the restaurant with a good looking black man hot on his heels. Of all times for me to run into one of my hookups it has to be when I’m about to meet a potential suitor. To my surprise, the black man greets a woman seated at a table near the door while the man whose bed I’d rolled out of less than twelve hours ago continues strutting towards us.

Now I barely made it through biology in college but…Cindy and Andrew are most definitely African-American like my own parents. I distinctly remember Hoseok mentioning last night when we were talking at the bar that he was from South Korea. As I watch him hug Cindy’s petite frame close lovingly, calling her mom, I come to the conclusion that he must have left out the part about him being adopted. My parents show absolutely no sign of the shock that’s coursing through me so apparently, I was the only one left out of the loop here.

Hoseok introduces himself to my parents before seemingly making a single white rose appear out of thin air. The mischievous glint in his eyes as he holds the rose out to me makes my heart skip a beat. The smile on his face is rated PG but the way he looks at me as he lifts my left hand to his lips suggests a hunger that could never be satisfied by food. My breath hitches as my mind reminds me of how those very lips had made a meal of me last night.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Aleecia.” I don’t miss his enunciation of the word pleasure in the slightest and it’s obvious that he intended to give it a double meaning only I would pick up on. Cocky fucker.

“Likewise, Hoseok.” He pulls my chair out for me before taking the only empty seat left at the table which of course is the one next to me. This is going to be a long brunch.

My assumption on brunch dragging on could not have been more correct. It seemed like I would never be able to escape from that table. Both sets of parents kept asking leading questions in a poorly veiled attempt to show that Hoseok and I have a lot in common which we do. However, my rules are my rules. I’ve taken a ride on his rollercoaster once and, as great as it was, I don’t plan on lining back up for it.

“Well this has been great but I need to get going.” I gather my things, kissing my parents on the cheek hastily as I try to extricate myself from this weird situation.

“Wait, I’ll walk you to your car.” The strength of my ancestors is the only thing that keeps me from openly scowling at his offer. Our respective mothers on the other hand look down right delighted at us getting some one-on-one time together. If only they knew just how close the two of us had gotten back at his apartment.

Hoseok has the audacity to put his hand on the small of my back as he holds the door of the restaurant open for me to pass through. He’s practically vibrating with barely restrained laughter as we walk towards my car. It soon becomes too much for him to hold back and the dam of laughter breaks. He cackles like a hyena, clapping his hands together animatedly. I wanna smack him but he looks so cute that it’s hard to follow through on my devious thoughts of violence.

“So this is the thing you had to do today?” He questions as he tries to get his breathing under control. He’s still chuckling lowly though and my left hand itches with the urge to smack him. 

“Shut up. It’s not funny.” I stomp my foot like a child that didn’t get the toy they wanted. He simply leans back against my car that we’ve finally reached.

“I don’t know, babe.” The sly grin that had initially attracted me to him graces his features as he looks me up and down, licking his lips. “It’s pretty damn hilarious from where I stand. If I’d known this was going to happen I wouldn’t have let you leave my bed so soon.”

The implications of his words sends a shudder through me. My mind races with all the possibilities the statement could entail and each thought makes the damp spot that’s starting to form in my panties to grow exponentially. I cross my arms across my chest as if that’ll protect me but I only succeed in drawing his attention to my chest.

“You’re impossible.” I mutter almost to myself to which he shrugs his shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me you were adopted?”

“I don’t make a habit of telling hookups my life story.” He cocks one perfectly groomed eyebrows before he continues. “Although if you’d like to turn that one night into two I’m totally game. You looked so pretty under me last night.”

“And that’s my cue to leave.” He falls into a fit of giggles once more as I shove him away from my car.

“See you soon, Aleecia.” He winks at me before turning to walk back towards the restaurant.

Not likely bub.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite financial analyst.” The sound of that all too familiar voice has my fingers freezing above my keyboard. My eyes remain glued to the email I’m typing to my friend in HR as I count backwards from ten hoping that I’m just hearing things. It’s been three days since that god forsaken Sunday brunch and entirely too soon to be having another run in with the devil’s protégée.

“Ignoring people is very rude, Aleecia.” The arrogance in his voice as he flops down in one of the leather chairs across from my desk makes my hand itch to smack him again.

I finally look over my screen at him, not surprised to see him wearing a shit eating grin. I am surprised by how well he’s wearing the obviously tailor made white button up and navy slacks. A man in a suit has always been my weakness and I can already feel my defenses crumbling at the sight of Hoseok in his. I find myself drawing my bottom lip between my teeth as I take him in. Before I say something I know I’ll regret, I reach forward and press the speed dial number for my secretary Cedric.

“Yes, Ms. Hartford?” He answers mere seconds later.

“Ced, why is there an unscheduled visitor in my office?” Hoseok snorts, rolling his eyes when I glare at him.

“I’m sorry Ms. Hartford. It won’t happen again.” He responds without excuses.

“Thank you.” I turn my attention to the intruder, giving him the full force of my “Elsa” glare as my colleagues refer to the icy stare that’s brought many a foe to their knees. Hoseok on the other hand seems wholly unaffected.

“Don’t be so hard on him. I’m known to be a smooth talker.” He informs me smugly. “It’s why I’m so good at what I do.”

“Is that so?”

“It worked on you, didn’t it? Or was it my boyish good looks that sealed the deal for you?” He’s got me there. Hoseok has game that I can’t deny as much as I’d like to.

“Why are you here?” The smile on his face lets me know that he’s well aware of me avoiding answering his question but fortunately he gives me a pass.

“Your mother kindly informed me that you’re free for lunch today and what a coincidence so am I.” I arch an eyebrow at him. My mother’s sudden cancellation of our lunch date today is making a lot more sense now.

“And what makes you think I’d want to have lunch with you, Hoseok.” I rest my chin in the palm of my hand as I observe him. He seems entirely too at ease with the situation our mothers have placed us in and it’s bothersome.

“I’m buying that’s why.” He responds matter of factly. I have to admit that the thought of free food sweetens the pot deliciously but, considering our circumstances, I know I have to decline.    A ping comes through signaling that Rian, my HR friend, has sent me a follow-up email to the one I’d been interrupted trying to respond to.

Rian Draughan: Aleecia do you want to do lunch or not? I’m starving and you’ve had me waiting forever. Stop torturing me and my stomach.

Saved by the bell, well, email in this case. I’ll have to pay for my own food but it’ll be worth it if I can thwart my mother’s dastardly plans. 

“Thanks, but no thanks.” I say to Hoseok in the sweetest voice I can manage. “I made replacement lunch plans after my mother cancelled on me.” He searches my face shrewdly looking for any hint of a lie. It’s then I’m reminded that while Hoseok might be laid back and easy going he’s a force in his own right in the business world.

“Rain check?” He questions with the slightest hint of hope in his voice and I can’t wait to crush it.

“Don’t hold your breath on that one, buddy.” I reply as I lock my computer, reaching into my bottom drawer to grab my bag. “I don’t intend to give our mothers the satisfaction of getting what they want so if you would be so kind as to go along with my master plan it would be much appreciated.”

Hoseok tilts his head to the side as we face off in my office. The weight of his stare makes me shift from foot to foot. It’s almost as if I can feel his gaze cascading across my skin as he looks me over and heat pools in my lower stomach.

“I have another plan in mind and it involves a less avoidance and a lot more,” He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his solid frame. “contact.”

My heart is beating frantically in my chest and for a second I’m worried that he might actually be able to hear it. I know that I should probably back out of his embrace but it’s as if my feet are glued to the floor.

The breath in my lungs rushes out when he leans in closer to me. My head lolls to the side almost on his own accord as he places gentle kisses along the column of my throat, ending at my ear. He pulls the lobe between his teeth and tugs softly. I never knew that was a turn on for me but the sudden gush of wetness between my thighs informs me that it is.

“I always get what I want, Aleecia.” He whispers in my ear. His voice is rough with desire and a shudder runs down my spine. He finally steps away from me with a satisfied smirk on his face. “I’ll see you soon, babe.”

Hoseok exits my office with one final wink and it feels like I can breathe again. I’ve never been with a man that was so in control of my body the way he is especially after just one night together. A night that was nearly a week ago. I decide then and there that this man is a demon who must be avoided.

When I step out into the small foyer outside my office, I’m not surprised to see Rian waiting for me. What is surprising is the smug look on her face. She looks like the cat that got the cream and my gut clenches in fear of the interrogation I’m surely in for during lunch.

“So, how good was the dick?” Rian asks as she daintily cuts into her stuffed chicken breast. I nearly choke on my water although I should’ve seen it coming. Rian and I have been friends since sophomore year of undergrad and we’ve always been super open about our sex lives with each other.

“It was life-changing.” I answer with a frustrated groan. “I almost considered breaking my rule for another night but my mother made sure I stuck to my guns.”

Rian arches a perfectly sculpted brow in question so I launch into my story about The Brunch. She listens intently, cackling when I get to Hoseok’s “grand entrance”. For a second, I’m sure she’s about to choke on a piece of broccoli as she tries to control herself.

“So, what are you gonna do, sis?” She asks around her chicken, serious for the first time since we sat down.

“I’m going to ignore him.” I answer before taking a sip of my water. “I let my mother meddle in my love life before and all it got me was chlamydia and five years of wasted time.”

Rian nods in concession to my statement. My ex-fiancée Derek had been my mother’s first foray at matchmaking and for a while I thought she had the golden touch. He was three years older than me, the son of one of the lawyers my mom played tennis with and already a senior in college when we first met. We became joined at the hip almost instantly. If you saw one of us the other wasn’t far away.

I was worried that we wouldn’t last after he’d graduated and taken a job at a law firm in the neighboring city but Derek had shown me that he was willing to do whatever was necessary to make our relationship work. Looking back, I should’ve seen the signs. After a routine check-up, I was able to see through the smokescreen of dazzling smiles and sweet nothings that had been my life. What hurt even more is that he hadn’t even been sorry. If anything, he was relieved that all of his secrets were finally out in the open so that he wouldn’t have to hide anymore.

Derek took five of the best years of my life and ever since then my view on love has been jaded. I gave a man my heart and thought I was getting his in return but it was all a bunch of lies wrapped up in a pretty bow. Never again will I let a man play me like that. Love doesn’t live at my address anymore.

“It’s been almost two years though. Don’t you think it’s time to get back out there in the dating world?” Rian asks curiously.

“Maybe one day,” I answer pensively. “but that day is not today.”

A deep sigh leaves my throat as I drop yet another bouquet of flowers into the garbage can next to my desk. It’s been a week since Hoseok’s surprise visit to my office and the flowers have been coming every day since. I almost feel bad throwing them away because I’m sure they cost him a pretty penny but there’s no way they can stay here.

My eyes start crossing up at 11 o’clock on the dot as usual which means it’s time to make my daily trip to the break room for a cup of caffeinated gold. Otherwise known as a giant cup mocha cappuccino with copious amounts of sugar and hazelnut creamer. I ask Cedric if he wants anything from the break room while I’m gone, nodding confirmation at his request for a donut.

On the way back to my office I notice my supervisor ahead of me walking next to another man with an artfully disheveled head of hair that looks much too familiar. My heart clenches when I watch them stride past all of the other doors on the hallway which means they can only be going one place, my office.

“Please, God no” I whisper to myself as I contemplate running away from the building entirely.

Cedric gives me a weak, knowing smile as he accepts his donut when I step into the foyer. Boisterous, male laughter erupts from my open office door, making me cringe. Ced gives me a thumbs-up for encouragement as I take a deep breath and steel myself to face the two men currently cackling in my office.

“Ah, there you are, Ms. Hartford.” My supervisor Mr. Branson stands to shake my hand after I shut my office door behind me. “This is Jung Hoseok. He’s on loan to us for the next few weeks for that audit project with Axis Banking that I was telling you about last month.”

A dreadful groan claws at my windpipe but I manage to choke it down. I’d been incredibly excited that my name had been picked to head this massive project with our sister bank but now I’d gladly accept death. Satan really doesn’t want me to prosper. My office is huge, one of the perks of it being the old office of our CEO before several floors were added to the building, so I’d foolishly offered to temporarily make room for the Axis rep so that we could work on the project together. The thought of being trapped in this office with Hoseok for hours upon hours makes my blood run hot for various reasons.

“I’ll leave you two to get to know each other a little bit before you get started tomorrow. The movers will bring in the necessary furniture and equipment so you’ll be ready to go in the morning.” Mr. Branson claps us both on the shoulder good-naturedly before dismissing himself.

“I take it roses aren’t your thing, huh.” My eyes go wide as I realize that he’s seen the bouquet peeking over the edge of my trash can. I open my mouth to respond but he stops me. “Don’t worry I expected a much worse outcome for those flowers if I’m honest. This just means you’re warming up to me.” I scowl at his megawatt smile and wish I’d dropped those damn flowers in the bin heading for the incinerator.

I take a long drag from my coffee and flop down in my chair. He walks around my desk to prop himself against it next to me, crossing his arms over his chest as he observes me casually. It takes me two tries to type my password in under the weight of his gaze. I don’t know how I’m going to survive working so closely with him over these next few weeks when I can barely handle him looking at me without flooding my panties and making a fool of myself.

“Did you know I was working on this project?” I ask, breaking the thick silence between us.

“Not until your boss brought me to your office.” He answers without hesitation and the look on his face makes me inclined to believe his words. Hoseok didn’t’ seem like the type to outright lie to me.

My hands creep up the sides of my neck to rub at the muscles there that suddenly feel tense. A gasp sounds through the air when Hoseok slaps my hands away and replaces them with his own. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud at the rush of pleasure that flows through me at the loosening of my stiff muscles. This man has magical hands although on some level I guess I already knew that about him.

I don’t realize just how into the massage I’ve gotten until the soft sound of his laughter makes me open my eyes, even though I don’t remember closing them, giving me a lovely view of his amused face. Embarrassment floods my system almost immediately as I roll my shoulders and roll my chair closer to my desk.

“See you in the morning then I guess.” I clear my throat and focus all of my attention on a stack of paperwork on my desk. He hums noncommittally, letting the tip of one of his fingers drag down my arm.

“See you soon, princess.” He lifts my hand to his lips when he reaches it. The feeling of his plush lips on my skin makes me long to feel those same lips all over me again. I curse internally when my door clicks softly behind him before practically diving for my phone.

“Rian, I have a problem.” I whisper the second she picks up her phone.

The darkest pair of sunglasses I own cover my eyes as I approach the front door of the building, waving at the security guards on my way to the bank of elevators. My stomach churns dangerously as I chug more of the coffee from the giant cup I’m nursing. Rian and I had a “game planning” session which basically means we drank excessive amounts of wine while she laughed at my current situation until we passed out on my couch. I woke up still slightly drunk this morning and contemplated skipping work but that wouldn’t look good on my part since Hoseok and I are to start this stupid project today.

My stomach lurches once more as I think about having to deal with him today and for the millionth time this morning I bristle with jealousy at the fact that Rian is comfortably lounging in my bed sleeping off of the rest of her drunkenness. Lucky HR bitch.

Cedric the Saint has a bacon and egg sandwich and a bottle of ibuprofen waiting for me as I’d desperately requested. My mouth waters at the smell of the meaty goodness as I graciously take the bag and pills from him.

Hoseok has beat me to the office unsurprisingly, lifting his eyebrow at my strange appearance as I flop down in my office chair. I immediately begin tearing into my sandwich, moaning unabashedly. I hear Hoseok choke on air off to my left but I can’t be bothered to care right now.

After devouring my sandwich and popping a few pills, I finally feel ready to try and start my workday. I reach into my bag to grab my laptop so that I can plug it into the docking station on my desk only to come up empty. My head drops to my desk with a thud as I realize that I’ve left my laptop at home which means I have no computer unless I go back and get it.

“Rough morning?” Hoseok asks and he sounds much closer than he should. I simply nod, not bothering to lift my head from its current position.

“Come on,” he says as he slowly spins my chair to face him. “What’s wrong?” he grasps my chin gently, tilting my drooping head up to look at him. It’s unfair how pretty he looks so early in the morning.

“I forgot my laptop.” I mumble out, looking everywhere but at him. I’m almost surprised when he releases my face from his grasp. The sight of him pulling a set of car keys from his pocket as he makes his way towards my office door definitely catches me off guard.

“Well, do you want your laptop or not?” He questions from the now open door to my office. I nearly trip over myself trying to get to him.

“You’re a fucking lifesaver.” Before I can stop myself, I peck his cheek once I’ve caught up to him at the doorway. This time it’s his turn to freeze as I move past him. A huff of laughter escapes me at the red tint that blooms across his cheeks as he fights a smile. Working with Hoseok might not be so bad after all.

Twenty minutes later Hoseok is parking is sleek Audi in my driveway which isn’t something I’d ever imagined would happen. I waste no time unbuckling myself and making a mad dash for my front door. The keys to my own car are next to my charging laptop on my nightstand where I’d dumped them the previous night. I grab both items, smacking a still sleeping Rian on the ass to annoy her before leaving my humble abode once more. Hoseok rolls his window down when I approach the driver’s side of his car, eyeing my keys almost suspiciously.

“My headache is gone now so I’ll just dri-”

“Nope we’re doing dinner after work and then I’m bringing you home so get in.” As if on their own accord, my feet carry me around to the other side of the car.

“What makes you think I want to get dinner with you?” He glances in my directions fleetingly before backing out onto the street.

“Because you need it after a morning like this.” He responds almost immediately. “There’s no ulterior motive going on. I just feel like doing something nice for you.”

“Driving me to my house to get my computer isn’t doing something nice?”

“Who says a man can’t do more than one nice thing a day?” I nod once in agreement with his point, spending the rest of the ride back to the office staring out at the city.

Working with Hoseok is surprisingly…efficient. I was fully anticipating wandering hands and suggestive innuendos, but when it comes to his work the man plays no games. The change in his demeanor is almost palpable as the smiley persona he normally exhibits fades in favor of the shrewd, calculating man that sits across from me.

“No one in their right minds would buy this shit. Who gave the okay on buying this dumpster fire?” He questions almost to himself as he goes over the financial reports from the company our parent corporation is trying to offload.

“I don’t know but the amount of short-term debt alone is making me sweat.” Hoseok quickly scrolls to the balance sheet, cursing to himself at the exorbitant figure listed.

“They should’ve audited this mess before they spent,” his jaw drops when he looks at the file in front of him at the purchase price “260 million dollars. They really spent that much money on this?” The incredulous expression on his face probably matches mine.

“We work for absolute idiots.” He whispers and I wholeheartedly nod in agreement.

After work, Hoseok makes good on his promise to take me out to dinner. We drive past numerous restaurants downtown and yet he stops at none of them. My brow furrows in confusion when Hoseok slots his car into a parking space at a rundown looking diner called Pete’s Place. It looks old enough to have served Benjamin Franklin but I cautiously follow behind Hoseok anyway. The promise of free food is much too good to pass out. I nearly salivate when he holds the door open for me allowing the smell of untold deliciousness to hit me in the face with the force of a bullet train. My attitude quickly changes as I hastily slide into the first empty booth I spot

An older woman in an apron with a dazzling smile comes over to our table, sitting an orange soda and small cup of lemon wedges in front of Hoseok before ruffling his already messy hair even more. I’m starting to get the feeling that he’s a bit of a regular here.

“Where ya been, kid?” She asks as she smacks away on a piece of gum. “Me and the girls have missed you around here.”

I see I was right about him being a regular.

“I haven’t been home in a while but I just took a job here in the city so I’m going to become a full-time pain in your ass again, Sher.” He gives her one of his trademark smiles, giggling as he dodges her hands when she swats at him.

“Stop being rude and introduce me to your girlfriend, Hopie.”

“I’m no-”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Sher.” Hoseok interrupts me, effectively communicating what I was going to say anyway. “Aleecia here just wants me for my body.” I kick my foot at him but he catches it as if he was expecting my foot to come flying out at him.

“Her loss.” Sher replies with a shrug of her shoulders before handing us a couple menus. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your orders.”

“You must want to die, Hopie.” I make sure to put sinister emphasis on the nickname Sher had called him but when a shudder visibly rolls down his spine I can tell it backfired.

“It sounds so hot when you say it.” I scoff, watching in disgust as he squeezes the lemon wedges into his soda before dropping them in.

“Where did that name even come from anyway?”

“Would you believe me if I said I had a short-lived rap career?” Never in a million years would I have imagined that the man sitting in front of me would have ever been a rapper. Maybe in some alternate universe but definitely not the one that I exist in.

“No way. Really?” I lean forward, resting my chin in my hands like a child. I’m thoroughly intrigued with the thought of the man across from me being a rapper.

“Yep, I called myself J-Hope.” He nods with a faint smile on his face as he busies himself with stirring his lemon wedges into his soda. A disgusting combination from my point of view but he seems satisfied with it.

“Can I listen to some of your music?” His head snaps up so fast I’m scared that he might injure himself.

“You-…I…you actually want to hear my music?” He seems genuinely dumbfounded that I’d ever be interested in hearing his raps.

“Yeah why not?” I answer as I finally pick up the menu in front of me to peruse my options.

For the first time since I met him, Hoseok is speechless. Sher saves him from floundering for a response when she returns to take our orders. He seems to have recovered by the time she walks away and returns with the sweet tea I’d ordered.

The conversation flows easily between us as we wait for our food although that was never an issue for us. As promised, the conversation never once veers in an inappropriate direction and the longer we sit here the more I wish that it would. I keep catching myself staring at the way his lips move as talks animatedly about a giant dog he’d seen at the park a few days ago and each time I have to damn near force myself to look away.

When our food arrives, it’s just as delicious as I expected it to be. My eyes roll skyward when I get a taste of the blueberry waffles I’d ordered. If not for the fact that there’s a decent amount of people in the diner I might’ve moaned out like I’d done in my office this morning.

“Good?” Hoseok asks on a laugh. He obviously already knows the answer but I humor him with a thumbs-up anyway as I rock happily in my seat.

When we get back into his car after dinner, Hoseok presses a few buttons on the radio until a calming beat diffuses out of the speakers. He looks so tense that I can only assume that this is one of his songs. My assumption is proven correct when I hear his voice through the speakers rapping in Korean.

“What’s this one called?” I ask curiously as I bob my head to the beat. Whatever it is it’s catchy as hell.

“It’s called Airplane.” He answers, scratching at the back of his head nervously. “It’s part of the mixtape I made my senior year of college. Figured I’d do it in Korean to reconnect with my roots ya know?”

I nod my head in understanding. Being able to connect with who you are culturally as someone adopted into a family so drastically different from the one you were born into was probably really big for him.

“Can you send me this? Like the whole mixtape?”

“Uhm yeah sure.”

I beat Hoseok to the office the next morning and seeing his face when he walks in on me singing along to another song from his mixtape was worth getting up twenty minutes early. His entire face turns red as he avoids any sort of eye contact with me on the way to his desk.

“Good morning, J-Hope.” I cackle at the way he cringes at his old moniker.

“I feed you and this is the thanks I get?” He asks ruefully as he crosses over to my side of the office. I quickly remind him that I did in fact thank him for dinner when he dropped me off at my house which he seems to have so conveniently forgotten. I also make it point to inform him that dinner doesn’t guarantee his safety from my taunting either. He hums out loud as he considers my answer for a moment.

“How about whoever gets to the office first gets immunity from teasing of any sort?” I suck in a dramatic breath as my brain comprehends his proposal. The smug grin on his face lets me know that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“That’s not a fair deal, Hoseok.” I narrow my eyes at him. Not only does he live closer to the downtown area and therefore closer to work, but I don’t believe in getting to work early while Hoseok believes in getting to the office 15 minutes ahead of everyone else like a demon. I know this is a deal I should refuse but I always did love a good challenge.

I groan internally when I open my office door the next morning to see Hoseok already seated at his desk.

“Good morning, Lee Lee. Did you sleep well?” His smile is turned up to sun-level intensity and it pisses me off.

“What the hell is a Lee Lee? My name is Aleecia.” I emphasize my name as I drop my bag onto my desk a little more aggressively than necessary. A scowl clouds my face as he gleefully tells me about the internal monologue he had with himself in the elevator about ways for us to better our working relationship to make the project run smoothly. Apparently, nicknames was step one so now I have the weekend to come up with something “cute” to call him as well and I want to shoot myself.

 Dinner at Pete’s becomes a routine of sorts for us after that week. Step two in Hobi’s plan after the completion of the nickname phase. I loathed it at first simply because he’d suggested it but I’ll be damned if it didn’t actually work.

Every Thursday, one of us picks the other up from home and after work we claim “our” booth for dinner. The “tradition” continues even after we finish the audit project so now every Thursday is a race to see who can beat the other to the diner. Loser pays.

For the past two months since the project ended I haven’t had to pay for dinner once and today I feel like I might be dangerously close to losing my streak. My eyes dart to the bottom right corner of my computer screen every few seconds as I not so patiently wait for an important file to download. The second it’s done, I snatch my laptop from its docking station and unceremoniously shove it into my bag before running towards the door.

Traffic is a mess because that’s just my luck and at this point I’m positive that Hoseok is going to beat me. However, his familiar vehicle is nowhere to be found in the parking lot when I arrive. I check my phone to see if he’s texted me and it’s then I realize that I haven’t actually talked to him since yesterday which is weird considering that we’ve developed somewhat of as friendship over the past few months as a result of his plan and text regularly.

“Where the hell are you, Hoseok.” I whisper to myself as I press the call button under his name.

When he answers, I immediately know why he’s missing in action. The poor man sounds like microwaved death.

“Now I know why I’m at Pete’s by myself.” I say playfully.

“Fuck it’s Thursday.” He interrupts himself with a short coughing fit, sniffling before he continues. “I’m sorry, Lee Lee. I should’ve called” I have to stop myself from smiling like an idiot at the nickname that he’d created. I’ll never admit it but it’s grown on me.

“Don’t worry about it, Hobi. Have you eaten? Taken any medicine? Drank enough water?”

“Uhhh...no.”

“Ugh you men folk are absolutely defenseless. I’ll be there in an hour.” I drop my phone into the passenger seat before peeling out of the parking lot.

Exactly an hour later I’m punching in the elevator code to Hoseok’s penthouse apartment, both arms weighed down with bags. When I stroll out of the elevator into his foyer, he’s cocooned on his couch in several blankets fast asleep. I kick off my heels and put away the groceries as quietly as I can before heating up the soup I’d brought him. I cross the room to stand over him, setting the soup and a box of cold pills on the coffee table behind me. My heart melts a little at how small he looks tucked underneath the blankets.

“Hobi, Hobi, Hobi.” I repeatedly call his name while poking his cheek until he finally wakes.

“I hate you.”

“Uh huh sit up and eat some soup so you can take something.” I say as I rest the back of my hand against his clammy forehead. He definitely has a fever.

He begrudgingly follows my directions, glaring at me for interrupting his sleep the entire time. I pick up the bowl of soup and hold it out to him. He sniffs at it for a second as if he’s contemplating not eating but he eventually grabs the dish from my hands. I return to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. One of the few things he actually had in there other than the groceries that I’d just bought.

Hoseok drains the soup bowl in record time but absolutely refuses to let a single cold capsule pass between his lips. At one point I try to physically pry his jaw open just for him to bite me like a rabid dog.

“Fucking hell Hoseok just take the damn medicine so I can go home.” I screech as I lunge for his face again, attempting to catch him off guard. He grunts out his disapproval against my hand as he struggles beneath me before rolling onto his stomach.

“I don’t need pills.” He yells into the fabric of his comforter. “My white blood cells are fierce warriors and don’t need any help!”

I take a deep breath and remove myself from his back and stomp loudly to the kitchen. I slam a few cabinet doors and grumble to give him false hope before tip-toeing behind the couch. The second he raises his head to look around, I pounce.

“Gotcha, fucker.” I announce triumphantly as I finally get the pills in his mouth, clapping my hand over his lips to make sure he doesn’t spit them out. “Swallow. Now. You owe me dinner so you need to get better.”

He glares at me but I watch his throat bob twice as he struggles to swallow the pills down dry.

“That was horrible.”

“Well you could’ve had water if you weren’t such a child about it.” I announce as I retreat to the kitchen to get a bottle of water for myself. Fighting with this errant man child has left me quite parched.

“I demand cuddles and a kiss for this disrespect.” Water nearly spews out of my mouth at his outlandish request.

“Are you high? Drunk? Both?” I question incredulously as I fight not to choke to death on my own shock.

“No, what I am is lonely.” He pouts. “Please Leecia just cuddle with me.” He grabs one of my hands and attempts to pull me down onto the couch with him. Sure, I consider Hoseok a friend but the only friend I’ve ever cuddled with is Rian and he’s nowhere near Rian’s platinum friendship level at all.

On top of that my mother’s face keeps floating around in my head. She’d probably love nothing more than for the two of us to cuddle on this couch into the wee morning hours. Giving into Hoseok means giving into my mother and that’s just not something I can do so I steel the resolve his begging had begun to weaken and pull my hand from his grasp.

“I think I need to go now. I can’t do this.” I mumble and make a bee line for the door. I’ve got one heel back on when Hoseok speaks up.

“Why did you go to brunch that day if you didn’t want to be in a relationship?” He asks in such a small voice that I almost don’t hear him. “Or is it you don’t want to be in a relationship with me?” He tacks on almost as an afterthought.

The look on his face reminds me of a wounded puppy and I find myself genuinely upset at the fact that I’m the cause of it. I take my shoe back off before padding back over to him, plopping down onto the couch next to him.

“What’s the correlation to that godforsaken brunch and us being in a relationship?”

He explains to me how he was under the impression that I knew exactly what the purpose of that ironic get together was and had been in full support of it. Apparently, my darling mother had pulled out all of the stops for this meeting and told him that I was looking to finally settle down and anxiously anticipated meeting Hoseok. He’d never seen a picture of me which is why he didn’t put two and two together that night in the bar plus the amount of alcohol in his system made it seem like a perfect coincidence that his last hoorah would be with a woman by the same name as me.

I wish I could say I’m surprised by all this but it’s not all that out of character for my mom to try something this sneaky to get what she wants. It’s probably why she made such a good defense lawyer back when she still practiced. She has no qualms about being underhanded to achieve her goals.

“Hoseok I-” I open and close my mouth a few times as I try to be as tactful as possible. “I had no idea that my mother was trying to set the two of us up. She’s tried playing matchmaker once before and it nearly ruined me so if I’d know what she was up to I probably wouldn’t have shown up at all.”

I take a deep breath and recount the horror story that is my ex-boyfriend. He listens intently. Not interrupting one which is honestly a bit surprising. When I conclude my tale, I actually feel lighter. This is the first time I’ve told anyone other than Rian exactly what happened between Derek and I all that time ago. My own parents don’t even know the full story. For a long while we just sit in silence as Hoseok figures out a way to respond.

“That dude is an asshole.” He finally speaks, wiping at the couple of tears that I hadn’t even realize had started to fall. “Doing that to anyone, you especially, should be considered a crime against God and nature.” A small laugh escapes me as I reach for the box of tissues he has on the coffee table.

“Yeah well it’s over and now I’m pulling a Maxine Waters and reclaiming my time the only way I know how.” I shrug my shoulders, laying my head on his shoulder when he pulls me into him for a much needed hug.

“Is that where your rules come from?” I nod yes and I feel rather than hear the sigh he lets out at my confirmation. “I think you should go now.” My head jerks up so fast it’s a wonder that I don’t give myself whiplash.

“You want me to leave? Why?”

“Because now that I’ve got you in my arms again I don’t think I’ll ever let go.” He starts. “I think I started falling for you from all the stories I heard about you, but actually meeting you and knowing you? I’m in deep, Lee Lee, but I know this isn’t what you want right now.”

My heart nearly seizes up at the raw emotion laid out on his face. His eyes are full of a longing and desire that has me choking back a sob. I throw my arms around his neck haphazardly, holding him as tight as I can. He sniffles a little against my neck. A damp feeling against my skin tells me it’s not from his cold.

I pull back to look him in the face once more, letting my eyes scan every inch of his face. One of my hands cups his jaw while the other rests against his collarbone. I’m not sure who leans in first but I soon find my lips pressed against Hoseok’s and for a split second I freeze up. I haven’t kissed this man since that one fateful night when he entered my life in more ways than one. Now, totally sober and in control of my impulses, I don’t recoil from him as I’d expected to. The restrictions I’d worked hard to maintain on our relationship to keep it platonic crumble and fall like the Berlin Wall. Our lips continue to move softly against each other when I more pressing thought comes rushing to the forefront of my consciousness.

I’m going to get so sick.

Thoughts of congestion and a runny nose are pushed to the back of my mind when Hoseok runs his tongue across the seam of my closed lips. A tortured groan sounds from deep in his chest as I finally grant him total access to my mouth. Hoseok detangles himself from the pile of blankets he’d buried himself under to pull me into his lap. His hands slide up my thighs to my ass as he pushes my dress up past my hips. He grabs and squeezes at the supple cheeks of my ass while he forces my hips to rock back and forth over the tent in his sweatpants.

“Please let me inside you.” He pleads against my skin as his mouth travels down the column of my neck. “Let me make you feel good.”

I nod my consent, shivering when his hands ghost up my back to grasp the zipper on my dress. My breath hitches in my throat as he eases it down. A muffled curse falls from his lips when I pull my arms from the sleeves to reveal the pale yellow lace of my bra.

“Please tell me your panties match.” He groans, eyes never leaving my heaving chest. I smirk mischievously before removing myself from his lap.

I turn my back to him once I’m standing between his outstretched legs. I tease him a little by raising and lowering before finally bending at the waist to lower the little black dress down my legs. An audible gasp followed by a low moan comes from behind me as Hoseok takes in the sight of my matching lace panties.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Aleecia.” He whispers as he wraps his arms around me from behind, peppering kisses across whatever skin his lips can reach. His fingers walking along my spine is the only warning I get before my bra suddenly loosens around my torso.

He releases me to shove his sweatpants down his legs along with his boxers. His hard length rests against his lower stomach as he strokes it lazily with one hand. He reaches for me with his freehand to pull me back into his lap.

I slide my hands under his white t-shirt and hope he takes the hint that I want it gone. Fortunately, Hoseok is intuitive, yanking the fabric over his head and tossing it somewhere over my shoulder. I dip my head down and worship the tanned skin I can reach with my lips. The sound of his moans and groans in my ear makes a fresh wave of arousal wash over me.

Hoseok reaches between us to slide my drenched panties to the side to gain access to my soaked center. He circles my entrance before relocating to my engorged clit, working it in languidly as I grind against his hands.

“No more foreplay. I need you. Now.” I whisper into his ear as I pull his hand from between my legs.

Air whooshes out of his mouth as I slide my wet heat along his erection. He reaches down to line himself up with my entrance, head tossed back in pleasure as I begin my descent. I grasp my breasts in my hands, squeezing them together when my ass finally meets his thighs.

“Fuck, your pussy is so good.” He tilts his hips forward slightly which changes the angle in a way that has me clenching around him tightly. “That’s right, baby. Milk my cock.”

I start up a steady rhythm. Lifting and dropping my hips in his lap. Hoseok braces his feet on the floor to meet every downward stroke with an upward thrust of his own. It’s as if I’m constantly full of him. His very being seems to overwhelm me as he sucks a nipple into his eager mouth. He pinches and pulls at the other nipple with one hand before switching it up.

“More, Hobi.” I plead as I twist my fingers into his hair. “I need more.”

I’m not really sure what I’m begging for but Hoseok definitely seems to know. He releases my nipple with a pop to latch onto my ass. He spreads and squeezes the flesh there as he lifts me up before pulling me back down, forcing my hips to roll forward before doing it all over again. I can feel the knot in my lower stomach tightening to near bursting levels as I bite down on his shoulder.

“Soak my dick, baby. Wanna feel you cum around me.” His husky voice in my ear is all I need to push me over the edge. Every muscle in my body feels like it’s seizing up as lighting bolts of pleasure shoot down my nerve endings.

Hoseok lifts me off of him just in time to cover my abdomen in his release. His chest is heaving as he reattaches his lips to mine for a brief kiss. My eyes drift down to the mess on my stomach. I run a finger through the white strings before bringing it to my lips to sample his release. It’s bitter as expected but there’s a slight sweetness to it that takes the edge off that’s so uniquely him.

“That was the hottest shit ever.” He muses with a goofy smile on his face.

Hoseok and I make love late into the night. Taking our time exploring each other’s bodies and figuring out what makes the other tick the fastest. It’s no surprise when I wake the next morning sniffling just like the man to my left

After calling Cedric and letting him know that I won’t be coming into the office, I resign myself to spending all day in bed with Hoseok. We’re five episodes into the second season of Grey’s Anatomy, according to Hoseok it’s blasphemous that I haven’t seen it, when something one of the characters said triggers a thought in my congested head.

“If you were so set on being with me before we even met, why were you trolling for a hook up in that dirty ass bar?” I ask, feeling some type of way the more I think about it.

“I wasn’t trolling for a hookup as you so eloquently put it.” He answers after blowing his nose. “I wasn’t planning to sleep with anyone at all. A few of my friends from college came into town so we were reliving our glory days of getting trashed and singing bad karaoke.”

“But you still went home with me though.” He nods in concession to my point.

“I don’t know. I just remember seeing you walk in and just feeling drawn to you like a magnet. When you told me your name was Aleecia, my drunk ass probably thought it was a positive sign from God since I’m getting set up with someone who has the same name.”

I ponder his statement for a moment. “That’s dumb.”

“Men aren’t smart creatures. Alcohol just makes it worse.” We stare at each other for a second before dissolving into a fit of laughter. It gets cut short by us hacking our lungs out but the sentiment still stands.

“I know I probably seem like jackass for sleeping with someone the day I was supposed to meet you but the fact that it was you makes me feel like it truly was a sign.” He says soberly after we get ourselves back together.

“So why did you offer to take my number? You even asked to meet up again.” I point out with a raised brow.

“I was about to nut early so I was looking around trying to distract myself and I saw a notification on your phone reminding you about brunch at Le Chateau and I kinda just put two and two together.” He explains sheepishly.

I try to hide my laugh behind my hand but I can tell by the look on his face that I’m unsuccessful. “Don’t tell anyone else that story.”

“I won’t. I like my pride intact thank you very much.” He settles back down against the pillows to unwrap a throat lozenge, passing me one as well. I take in the small pout on his face as he fiddled with the wrapping and feel an ache in my chest.

“Fuck I’m really about to let my mom win.”

“You know, letting her win doesn’t mean that you lose.” He mumbles as he finally gets his throat lozenge unwrapped, popping it in is mouth.

“Yeah yeah yeah whatever, Plato. Are you my boyfriend or not?” I ask bluntly. Chucking a little when he nearly chokes to death on the lozenge.

“Yes! Shit, you can’t just say stuff like that without a warning. I’m sensitive.” I smile as I tuck my throat lozenge against my cheek. He pulls me over into his side of the bed so that my head is laying on his chest. His lips press against my forehead gently before grabbing the remote to rewind the show that we’d stopped paying attention to.

“You know it’s pill time right?” I ask with a grin on my face as his chest rumbles with a groan beneath me.

“This relationship already sucks.”

[a-memory-of]

It was well into the morning bells by the time the fits finally quieted. Kazha'a Anhsari was still pale, feverish, and delirious, but the bouts of intense pain seemed to be over. He had not said much since he was first laid on the bed, he didn't really have the strength. But he seemed aware of Laurens’ presence, either way. Whether by choice or instinct, he had curled against the other's leg in silent appreciation for the effects of the spell.

As he slowly eased more into awareness, Kazha'a let out a low groan, shifting on the bed slightly. All his muscles ached from the repeated fits. Blearily, he turned his head, trying to take in where he was. He tried words, but his mouth and throat felt incredibly dry.

Laurens Lalier had truly fallen asleep at some point during the quieter times. He sat beside Kazha'a, his back bowed and his chin touching his chest, his hands loose in his lap. When Kazha'a moved, however, he came awake all at once.

"Nngh?" Laurens blinked against the light that filtered in through the windows, one hand moving to gently stroke Kazha'a's hair upon seeing him awake with eyes open. He smoothed the two-tone strands back from Kazha'a's forehead in order to touch his hand to skin and feel his temperature. "How are you feeling?"

Kazha'a felt the hand at his head, but did not fight the touch. He was aware enough to notice the other had been asleep. And the sun creating patterns on his face showed it was indeed morning. The Keeper honestly did not remember much of the night. For all he knew, several nights had passed. His body ached that badly.

Considering the question a moment, Kazha'a closed his eyes again. Yes, his body still was pained and he felt weak and ill, but... he felt. So he finally settled on an answer, "...Alive."

"Alive is a good start," Laurens said. Relief washed through him at the single word; it meant that Kazha'a was feeling well enough to say anything at all. Coupled with the fact that he was no longer burning up like a small sun under Laurens' palm, it was enough for Laurens to hesitantly think the worst of this phase might be over.

There was dark blood on the blankets, rumpled as they were from thrashing and kicks. Laurens noticed, but it was far less important than the Keeper's well-being. "I'll get you some water. Even if you find you can't keep it down, it's the safest thing to attempt." With great care Laurens extricated himself from the tangle of blankets and limbs and rose from the bed in order to fetch the water he'd promised.

Giving a grateful nod, but saying nothing more, Kazha'a shifted as much as he was able so that Laurens could leave the bed. His mouth was still dry, and he could taste foul blood, smell it. His eyes drew down the blankets, seeing spots of the dark substance over them. His brow furrowed.

Left alone as he was, even for such a small amount of time, Kazha'a was driven to those dark and lonely thoughts he often had. Of dependence, of debt, of burdens, and of weakness. He owed Laurens far too much, and he was not sure how to give proper payment for all of it.

Laurens had forgotten about his meal. He gave a wry half-smile at the abandoned pan and retrieved a mug and a small pitcher instead. A mug would be easier to hold than a glass, and a pitcher could be kept at the bedside for additional drinks as necessary. He brought both back into the bedroom and poured water of about half the mug's capacity before very carefully offering it to Kazha'a.

"Are you all right to drink? I can help you sit up if you like. After all that, I'm surprised you're awake right now." Laurens had not way of knowing the things Kazha'a worried about. His focus was honed in on taking care of the Miqo'te who was his charge; he had made a promise and he would honor it. Debts were not a thing that even crossed his mind.

Kazha'a eyed the mug warily, swallowing thickly. In his usual stubbornness, the Keeper shifted again and tried to sit up himself. But his body rebelled, his arms shook and he could not find the strength for even that. That small motion shot pain through his form, and for a moment he lay there and expected another fit to come.

Thankfully, it did not. His gaze looked away. He still had his pride, despite everything. And he was not sure how to ask for help.

With @ffxivaltstars

Laurens winced as he saw Kazha'a struggle. He set the mug down on the bedside table and climbed up onto the bed once more. It was clear that he would need to be careful handling Kazha'a; the poison was nothing to trifle with, and the seizures that had wracked his body through the night had not been gentle. Laurens did the best he could to put as little pressure on Kazha'a as he could, sliding his arms under the smaller form and moving him up into the pillows at the head of the bed.

There wasn't much that Laurens could do to keep him propped there, as gentle as he was trying to be. The most expedient was to simply have Kazha'a lean against Laurens himself after he'd finished reaching over for the mug. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he said, holding the mug for Kazha'a to take if he felt he could - and ready to help support it in his hands if necessary. "I will always do my best to not."

The Keeper grit his teeth, but it wasn't out of pain this time. There was still something in him that rebelled against such delicate, close gestures. And of being so vulnerable and reliant with someone else. His body, however, did not protest as much so long at was not him using his muscles.

As he was made to lean against Laurens, he felt... heavy. It was a strange passing feeling that almost made him want to cry again, but he tried not to pay attention to it. He tried not to focus on the way the solid warmth at his back gave him relief.

His hand rose up, touching the mug, "It's... fine." His voice was low and strained. "It's not you." Laurens would have to do most the work when it came to the mug. Kazha'a only guided it with slow movements to his mouth, sipping. He waited, his stomach turned like it might rebel, but he swallowed it down.

The angle for it was unique, certainly, but Laurens had some experience in caring for those who had little capability for caring for themselves. It was just a matter of taking that experience and using it as needed in this particular situation. He held the mug steady so Kazha'a could drink, but was careful not to tip it too far and slop it down his chest. "If there's anything you need, you only have to say it." It was a relief to know that his actions hadn't caused more pain.

Laurens stayed steady, unwavering from his task until given some sign. "I don't know if that spell from before was any help to you. I don't rightly know if anything I've done has been helpful, really. But I hope you aren't regretting letting me be here for this. Even if all I can do is watch over you, I'm glad to do that small thing. I owe you at least as much."

A few slow sips more, and Kazha'a finally relented, pushing the mug away despite not finishing it. He did not want to risk not keeping it down. He went quiet again, thinking on what was said. His brow furrowed again, and when he spoke, his voice did not sound as strained as it had before, "I'll... try. Asking for things is... difficult."

Perhaps the poison had eaten away at more of Kazha'a's walls than originally thought. The words seemed incredibly open, honest, and yet almost unsure. Kazha'a did not often admit his weaknesses, or seem willing to talk about them at all. And yet, "I don't... regret it. But I am the one who owes you. I didn't..." he paused, glancing away. "...want to be alone."

Laurens allowed the mug to be moved and carefully set it aside while still trying not to jostle Kazha'a. He kept an arm around the Keeper to stabilize him as best he could. "I understand. I can't read your mind, but I'll try to draw on experience to anticipate things rather than forcing you to ask." He sighed softly, feeling the small aches and cricks from sleeping as awkwardly as he had.

"You don't owe me. You're allowing me to help you, humoring a silly old man who pushed his way into something where he shouldn't have been sticking his big nose." Laurens smiled slightly and leaned his head back against the headboard. "I didn't want to let you be alone for this. I didn't want you to suffer alone. I didn't-" the smile faltered and vanished. "I didn't want you to possibly die alone trying to do this."

Kazha'a had purposefully kept his eyes away, quietly listening. As his hand dropped back from the mug to lay on his lap, he started running his thumb along the side of his index finger. But as Laurens continued to speak, he slowly frowned, glancing up as best he could with such an angle.

The Keeper drew in a long breath, ears lowering back. His eyes dropped away again, and the movement of his fingers slowed. "I used to... be fine with it. Accepted it. I did everything else alone... why wouldn't I... die that way too." For a brief moment, his thoughts wandered to that night in blindness, walking into the end.

He could feel his strength starting to waver. The night had been long and hard. His eyes felt heavy. "But I'm tired..." he admitted, not speaking of the feeling coming over him in that moment, but of something else entirely.

"Nobody should have to die alone unless it's through their actual desire." For the briefest moment, Laurens' arm tensed and tightened the barest fraction around Kazha'a's middle, but he relaxed and the moment passed as if it had never been. At the admission of being tired, Laurens nodded slightly. "I can imagine you must be. Try to get some rest. I have a spell that will help you sleep if you think you might need it. I can use one for any lingering pain, as well."

It was again with great care that Laurens tried to move Kazha'a, this time helping him to lie down properly on the bed. He stole the lighter extra blanket from the foot of the bed and drew it over Kazha'a and, rather than leaving him immediately, stayed where he was and pushed the Miqo'te's unruly forelock back out of his face again. "Even if you wake and I'm not right here, I promise I won't be far."

Feeling the arms around him tighten, Kazha'a furrowed his brow, briefly glancing up at Laurens. But whatever the reason had been passed too quickly for him to comment. The motion, however, reminded him of how close he had allowed the other. He was all but laying against him, and yet, Kazha'a had no desire to move. It wasn't his lack of strength that kept him still, but he did not know what else it was.

Perhaps it was that tiredness that he spoke of. His body was tired, yes, but so was his soul. As he was laid back against the pillows, he drew in a deep breath. Whatever all these strange thoughts were, would have to wait. The Keeper looked up to Laurens as his fingers trailed through his bangs. Quietly, he nodded, managing an equally quiet, "...thank you," before letting his eyes close.

[raywritesthings]

A Different Return 1/?

My Writing Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor, Shaun Temple Pairing: Doctor/Donna Summary: When an accident brings Donna Noble back just before the Doctor's prophesied death, how might events change? AO3 link

Yeah, this fic was actually originally supposed to be a prompt fill for an anon who requested the ‘getting hit by a car’ scenario off a list of sentence starters....needless to say it’s kind of gotten away from me a bit. Sorry about that, anon, but who doesn’t love a fix it?  

The Doctor left the cafe in, if possible, worse spirits than ever. He tried not to blame Wilfred for it, yet the trick the man had pulled to place him nearly in Donna’s path felt like a knife to his hearts.

Probably he ought to be glad to know Donna was getting on with her life as best she could. He ought to be happy for her. But being barred from her life, on the outside looking in like a window of glass was permanently between them, was the very last place he wanted to be. Though he only had himself to blame for being in such a predicament.

Better she be living than dead, he reasoned. Only one of them needed to face that inevitability this Christmas. His footsteps took him on a winding path back to the wasteland, knowing it was vital he locate the Master again as soon as possible before he hurt anyone else, yet knowing how that altercation was fated to end.

Perhaps he ought to set his affairs in order first. Make sure the people he cared about were taken care of before he was no more. He could set Donna up so she and her fiancé wouldn’t be struggling to get by — though that would involve seeing the wedding.

That would make it real.

He didn’t realize when pavement had turned to road until the screech of brakes pierced through his thoughts. The Doctor had the time only to turn and catch a blur of blue before—

Funny how the mind worked, trying to shield itself from harm. The Doctor could not recall the next few moments, only that suddenly he was splayed on the ground with a sharp pain above his right eye and a dull ache everywhere else.

Gradually, he became aware that someone was talking to him.

“Hey, stay with me, mate. Can you hear me? Try to talk.”

The Doctor groaned something of a curse, then added, “I feel like I got hit by a car.”

“Er, yeah, there’s a reason for that,” said the voice.

The Doctor squinted up at a man who looked vaguely familiar as best he could with his eyes and his everything not wanting to cooperate. “Wait, I did?”

The man grimaced, but before he could speak there came the slam of a car door.

“They said not to move him. Is he still alive?”

“Yeah, Donna,” said Shaun, because of course it was Shaun and of course it was Donna who now appeared in his field of vision. Well, her shoes appeared first, then the rest of her as she crouched down.

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry!”

“And it was your car?” The Doctor was teetering somewhere between laughing and screaming.

“I swear, I stopped the second I saw you. I know I shouldn’t have been talking to Shaun—”

“Yelling, more like,” Shaun muttered.

“Oi!” Donna’s hair whipped around with the speed at which she turned back to him. “Sorry.” Then she peered at him more closely. “Hold on, don’t I know you?”

“Uh, yes.” He shrank back, body protesting even that slight movement. “Coincidence. It happens.”

“Christ, he’s bleeding,” Shaun said. “Must’ve cracked his head on the curb.”

Oh. That probably explained why his vision seemed to be growing dark around the edges and the cold that was creeping into his fingers and toes.

“Oh, God!” Donna was crying now, definitely, that was her crying voice.

“S’alright,” he grunted. It actually wasn’t, but he’d have to hope she believed that this time.

It wasn’t fair at all, he reflected dimly. Nobody had even knocked. Unless that bit in the wasteland had counted, but this seemed a rather anticlimactic and unrelated way to go.

The Doctor forced himself to refocus. He was going to regenerate likely at any minute, and he needed to be far away from Donna as possible when that happened. With great effort, he heaved himself half-onto the pavement.

“Oi, where are you going? You have to stay still!” She grabbed at his hands to stop him from pushing himself up to standing.

Then the hands started glowing.

“What?” She gaped at them.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he growled, yanking out of her hold. Only then he realized it wasn’t actually his hands that had started.

“Donna, what’s happening?” Shaun was watching with eyes even wider and more panicked than Donna’s.

“I- I don’t know.” Her gaze locked on him, as if on some instinctive level she expected him to have the answer. The closer she brought her hands to him, the brighter they seemed to shine.

Trouble was, the Doctor had no clue what was happening either or what was safest for Donna. He couldn’t just leave when she was in this sort of state; his defense mechanism hadn’t accounted for what appeared to be her own regeneration!

“You stopped bleeding,” she said, hardly louder than a whisper. “Right after I touched you.”

“Donna,” said the Doctor, though he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to know what to say next.

“Look, this is- this is mad.” Shaun had scooted back about a foot, and he reached for Donna’s shoulder. “Donna, I think we should get away.”

But Donna shrugged him off. She stared first at her hands, then at the Doctor, and there was something...something so close to recognition in her eyes. It was at once wonderful yet terrifying.

“I think I know what to do.”

She seized both his hands again and the golden light of regeneration engulfed them both. He couldn’t let go even if he tried.

The Doctor felt the fire, only like the last time before the Crucible and everything had gone wrong it just as suddenly cut off.

“What?” He looked down at his hands, still the same, then touched the spot where his head had impacted the ground. Completely healed, and the same head. “How?”

“Uh, I transferred the bit of regeneration energy needed to heal you, and we didn’t have the rest so you didn’t have to change,” Donna rattled off. “And why should you?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Time Boy!”

He blanched. “Donna—”

“Do you know what ‘no’ means? Cos you say it often enough, you think you’d have the idea!”

“You were asking me to watch you die, Donna.”

“I was dying either way!”

“What the hell are you two on about?”

They both jumped, remembering they weren’t the only ones on the street. It was a small mercy they hadn’t had any other witnesses, actually, which was probably owed to the last-minute Christmas Eve rush. He and Donna looked to Shaun, who didn’t seem to know what to make of either of them now.

“Oh, Shaun! Right! Um.” Donna’s eyes darted down to the ring on her left hand, then turned to him in clear panic. He supposed it wasn’t entirely convenient to remember the last year or so of space and time adventures right in front of her fiancé.

“Is someone dying?” Shaun demanded.

“Well…” The Doctor turned to Donna. He knew he was fine, but what about the metacrisis?

He brought his hands up to her temples, and she flinched away which he knew was deserved.

“I just want to make sure. I won’t do anything, Donna, I promise.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then leaned forward to allow him access. He closed his eyes and entered her mind.

It was immediately clear that things had changed. He couldn’t locate even a trace of his own consciousness or memories. Just Donna. Beautiful Donna, alive and safe and whole again.

“You’re smiling,” she said, drawing him back into reality.

“You’re fine,” he answered the question she hadn’t asked aloud. “Completely fine. You must have transferred all the regeneration energy to me, which undid the metacrisis.”

“I’m me again.”

His smile only grew. “Yes, you are.”

With a sort of lunge, she was hugging him. The Doctor moved his hands from where they’d been framing her face in order to return it. He couldn’t believe this was real; this sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

He’d been so sure he was going to die. How could he feel alive again?

“Seriously, could somebody try to explain?”

They didn’t quite pull back from each other, but turned to face Shaun.

“I mean, he was dying, and then that light — and what’s a metacrisis — and - and you know him now?”

He decided the best thing to do was put it all out in the open. If this was indeed Donna’s husband-to-be — and his own feelings on the subject would have to be shelved for now — he had a great deal of catching up to do.

“Yes. I’m the Doctor, Donna’s best friend.” He offered his hand for Shaun to shake. “Don’t worry that you haven’t heard of me. She sort of forgot I existed for a bit.”

Donna scoffed. “And whose fault was that?”

“Donna, I don’t understand what’s happened to you,” said Shaun, looking a troubling mix between scared and confused. He still hadn’t shaken his hand either. And people called him rude.

Donna did extricate herself from him, scooting over towards her fiancé. “Look, Shaun, I’m sorry. But it’s like he says. I sort of had to forget most of what I’d been doing the last year or so because of, well, alien stuff.”

“Aliens? What, you’re not saying they’re real?”

“Oh, don’t tell me he’s had a hangover on Christmas, too?” The Doctor muttered. Donna reached back and swatted at his leg.

“Anyway, now I’m back to normal.”

“What’s that mean? I mean, you’re still Donna, aren’t you?”

Donna grimaced. “Well, yeah, but you have to admit I was a bit rubbish.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Donna, you’re not rubbish. Now or before.”

Shaun was a bit slower on the uptake. “I don’t get it. You’re saying you’re not the same person anymore?”

It was clear Donna was struggling to see a way forward. The Doctor didn’t have any ideas either, not that he was particularly interested in helping the situation, but then his head tilted to the side at a sound in the distance that seemed to be growing louder.

“Hold on, is that an ambulance siren?”

“Yeah, I called one.”

He stared at her. “Donna, I can’t go to a human hospital!”

“Well, I couldn’t remember that, could I?”

“I have to go,” he said, scrambling back onto his feet.

“Where are we going?” She’d grabbed for his hands, and he pulled her up out of habit.

“Donna—”

“Well, I’m not stupid! You wouldn’t be here if something wasn’t happening, and you clearly haven’t got anyone with you.” She let her hands fall from his. “Unless you’d rather I not.”

“It’s not that,” he said, his eyes falling on Shaun who was only now regaining his feet. It wasn’t fair of him to expect Donna to drop everything for him anymore, not when she had her own life and relationship going on.

“Donna, I don’t understand,” the other man said.

Her expression turned pained. “I know. But this is really important. Like world-ending stuff.”

“Then why are you going with him?”

“Because it’s what I do. What I love doing. This- this is who I really am.” Donna took a step towards Shaun, but when her fiancé continued to stare at her like she was a stranger, she stopped. “Look, just tell the ambulance it was a false alarm, take the car back to my mum’s, and I’ll come back and explain the whole thing soon as I can. We’ll sort it out.”

He spotted the ambulance rounding the corner a couple blocks down. “Donna? Got to run.”

“Okay.” To his admittedly selfish relief, she placed herself squarely at his side.

“Donna!” Said Shaun.

“Tell my family I’m with the Doctor and I’m alright!”

“Her head’s fine, make sure to mention that!” The Doctor added.

Donna nodded in agreement. “Right! See you!”

They reached for each other’s hand at the same time, and, together again, they were off.

[inkstainedfanfics]

Frustrations

Request: "Yo may I request an imagine? Newt x reader, where newt is too shy to ask reader out, but Theseus is like some secret matchmaker and often creates 'situations' between the both of them and newt is forced into a deal where Theseus won't stop until newt asks reader out 😂 oh well this sounded a lot better in my head :) also brotherly, playful Theseus sounds nice"

Word Count: 2,271

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by @myrtus-amongst-the-stars but also tagging @caseoffics @red-roses-and-stories @dont-give-a-bother @fangirlingandcrying @ly--canthrope @benniesgalaxy @thosefantasticbeast2

Though he’d never admit it, you frustrate the hell out of Newt. You frustrate the hell out of him with your clumsiness when you drop a week’s worth of work. You frustrate the hell out of him with the way you wander into the fields, untraceable, for hours at a time to play with the diricrawls. But most of all, you frustrate the hell out of him because you had to go and be so damn lovable.

Newt doesn’t know how to approach you now. Anytime he says something, it’s a quiet stumbling of words that don’t make much sense. You used to be the one dropping vials everywhere, but now that’s him, one slipping between his fingers anytime you lean just a little to close and accidentally brush his arm. When he tries to focus on research, all he can imagine is the face you’d make and the joke you’d have lined up.

And it frustrates him to no end. How in the hell did he end up like this? It’s not like you’re the first girl he’s ever felt this way for. There was Leta, so long ago. A picture in a frame now, but once a girl with the most beautiful smile and a way of captivating Newt like no one else. Yet with her, he’d been confident, honest from the start. It’s different with you. He doesn’t know what to say, how to act. It’s like he’s a stuttering sixteen-year-old on a first date except he hasn’t even managed to make it that far. He doesn’t know how to ask you on a date, for Merlin’s sake.

So when he shows up at the hotel room the two of you are currently renting in Nebraska and a surprise visitor appears to be in the middle of an interesting conversation with you, he’s immediately tense.

“I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Newt!” Theseus shouts, standing from his chair to cross the room and pull his little brother into a hug. “It’s been so long since you last stopped by. I thought I should come check on my little brother.”

Newt extricates himself from the hug and steps around Theseus. “Terribly sorry, but I’m a bit busy.”

“Too busy for your older brother? Nonsense. I’ve come all this way to see you, you can’t turn me out at the door.”

Newt putters around the room, straightening things, eyes darting to you, asking a silent question.

You shrug in response. Theseus seems nice enough, but it’s clear by Newt’s behavior that Theseus agitates him.

Newt frowns once at you before stopping in front of his brother. “You could’ve written first.”

Theseus, noticing the looks, starts to realize exactly what’s happening. “Ah, yes, well, if you’re busy, don’t worry about me.” Newt’s shoulders begin to relax, but Theseus starts again. “I’ll just pass the time speaking with your assistant.”

He smirks at the reaction he earns: a red-faced, thin-lipped Newt glaring at him. “Are you all right, Newt? You look a little upset about something.”

Newt straightens. “Not a thing. Would you like some tea? I was just about to put some on the stove.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll have some.” Theseus grins and falls back into the chair he’d been sitting in before Newt entered. “So tell me, has my brother ever shown you how he dances?”

Newt’s low voice snaps through the room. “Theseus, enough.”

Intrigued, you shake your head. “He dances?”

“Oh, he was quite the dancer when we were younger. Mum would always catch him dancing around the hippogriffs.”

“Theseus, that’s a lie.” Newt says through grit teeth.

You don’t care if it’s a lie, the image’s funny enough. “Newt’s never mentioned that.”

“Because it isn’t true.” Newt’s sentence goes ignored.

“He’s a bit embarrassed by it. I don’t see why. He learned so much. Hey,” Theseus says, spinning to look at Newt, “perhaps you could show your lady how to dance.”

Newt’s face is a tomato. “She’s not my lady.”

“Assistant, sorry.”

Newt glances at you, heart thumping oddly at the blush in your own cheeks. “I’m not putting her through that.”

“Come on, Newt, you know you’d like to.”

“We don’t even have music.”

“Funny enough, I have some in my suitcase if you’ve a record player.”

You perk up. “We have one just over there. Newt and I picked it up a few months ago. Our old one broke when…” you glance at Newt, guilt clear on your face, but it disappears behind giggles at his own martyred expression, “when Newt spilled a potion all over it. Fried everything.”

Theseus’s own grin widens. “Well, we have music, Newt. What do you say you show the woman how to dance?”

Newt drops his head, eyes squeezed shut for only a brief moment before he looks up and mumbles. “You don’t need to dance. I’m sure you’re plenty busy.”

Theseus interrupts, speaking for you. “She can’t be that busy, you aren’t doing anything. And a waltz won’t take that long.”

Newt pleads silently with his brother, but Theseus doesn’t back down. You sit there the entire time, an odd feeling in your stomach, praying Newt will ask for a dance. You’d be more than happy to pretend you don’t know a simple waltz if it means being close to him for a few minutes.

Then a record’s floating from Theseus’s suitcase, landing in the player, and spinning, spitting out a soft tune.

Newt sighs softly. Knowing he’s lost, he turns to you, extends a hand, and asks for a dance.

You accept with a small laugh, teasing him about looking so tortured over such a small thing. You worry Newt can hear your heart through the entire dance.

Theseus sits back, winking at his brother whenever your back is to him, and wondering just how long he’ll be here before Newt works up the courage to do what the both of you obviously want.

“You know, a certain girl mentioned a fondness for these chocolates.”

Newt looks briefly down at the box of truffles in Theseus’s hands before returning to the shelf in front of him. “Yes, she enjoys them every now and then. Have you seen the book on doxies?”

“Doxies?” Theseus scoffs. “You have a beautiful woman over there making doe eyes at you and you’re worried about doxies? Priorities, little brother.”

Newt resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I need to be certain of their habitat.”

“Newt, honestly, when are you going to ask her on a date?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” The words are sharp, a warning of Newt’s growing irritation.

“It wouldn’t be if either of you could just confront the elephant in the room, but you insist on tiptoeing around it like it’s not there. Come on, charge the damned thing. Tell her how you feel.”

“That’s enough, Theseus.”

“You need to say something, or I will for you.”

Newt’s eyes dart up to Theseus, measuring the honesty in the words. “You don’t have the nerves.”

“Newt, a blind man could see what’s between the two of you. Tell me you haven’t imagined sitting over dinner with her, talking about something other than that case.”

“I haven’t.”

“Bullshit. Listen, you need to say something or someone else will get her. You willing to let her get away because of some nerves?”

“Theseus, I asked you to –“ Newt doesn’t get to finish his sentence when Theseus shoves the chocolates into his gut.

“As far as she knows, you found these, all right?”

“No.” Newt’s about to elaborate when a familiar voice comes from the store aisle behind him.

“No what?” You question, a jacket in your hand.

Theseus elbows Newt, knocking away his stammer. “Nothing. We were just…”

You raise your eyebrows, smiling that damn smile Newt loves so much. “Just what, Newt? Spit it out.”

He glances sideways at his brother. “Just wondering if you’d like some chocolates.” He gives in, showing you the box. “Courtesy of me, of course.”

You light up. “Those are my favorites. How’d you remember?”

Newt shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets when you take the box from his hand to read the different flavors. “You talk about it plenty. I’m bound to pick up something.”

“Well,” you say, lowering the box, “this is definitely the best thing I’ve ever said that you could remember. Thank you!”

Newt nods awkwardly. “It’s my pleasure.”

Theseus walks away grinning, leaving the two of you plenty of space.

You spin the vase of colorful flowers on the table, searching for a tag. “Who’re these for?”

Theseus looks up from the morning paper. “You, I believe.”

You frown. “From who?”

Theseus lets his gaze purposefully wander to the red-head crawling out of the case, Dougal on his back. “Could be anyone.”

Your cheeks are hot, and butterflies flutter in your chest. “Oh.”

Theseus smiles. “Good morning, little brother.”

“Morning.” He mutters, still angry about the past week’s events. It’s all too much. Theseus is going to drive you away. Who’s to say you even feel the same? Perhaps you’ll quit if you feel pressured into a date. Merlin’s beard, Newt kicks himself as he realizes just how little he wants that. It’s time to tell Theseus to leave you be, he decides. Someone has to put their foot down. He’ll tell him over a late supper, after he’s sent you to check on the bowtruckle trees.

Then he sees the flowers, and his plan evaporates. “What in Merlin’s name are those?”

“Haven’t you ever seen flowers?”

Newt’s glare could burn a hole through his brother. “What are they doing here?”

Theseus shrugs innocently. “Someone sent them to your lovely assistant.”

You’re beaming. “You’re too sweet, Newt.”

“You think I sent them?” The words form a question, but the sentence seems more a fact than anything. Though it’s directed at you, his eyes don’t leave Theseus’s face.

“Well, that’s what Theseus said.” You trail off, embarrassed. Holy niffler’s paws, how could you just assume Newt would send you something like that after nothing for so long? How could you be so silly?

Newt’s entire attention is on Theseus, though, as his face grows redder and redder. “For Merlin’s sake, Theseus, get out of here.”

“What’d I do?”

“You know damn well what you did.”

He raises his hands, palms toward the ceiling. “I don’t.”

Newt stalks toward him. “I am more than capable of asking a woman out on my own, thank you.”

“Are you, though?”

“Certainly better than you.”

You’re absolutely mortified to be caught in the center of this sibling rivalry; it’s as if you don’t even exist. And to add to it all, you’re fairly certain Newt is confessing to being attracted to you, which is information you’re not sure how to process. You don’t dare hope it’s true in case you’re misunderstanding, but you also can’t help the off rhythm pounding of your heart.

The two are just staring each other down, Newt with clenched fists and a heaving chest, Theseus with crossed arms and a smirk. You wonder if it’s over, if they’ll separate and cool down, when the two words that fuel all sibling rivalries are said.

“Prove it.”

Newt stares at his brother a second longer before nodding and looking at you.

You try to smile at him.

The anger in his face vanishes at your small grin, and he can’t help but smile back as he steps toward you, quickly closing all but a foot of space between the two of you. “I’m sorry about this.” He murmurs. “I meant for it to be more special.”

“No, this is fine.” Is it? You’re not sure, not really processing everything that’s happening.

Newt takes a deep breath. How in Merlin’s name did he let Theseus goad him into this? “I really care for you, you know, and I’d like to take you to dinner tonight at seven. I know it’ll be late but –“

“You have the potion finishing up at six. I know.” You finish automatically. Heat instantly creeps into your cheeks at Newt’s stunned expression.

His expression quickly morphs into something sweeter, a mix of appreciation and amusement. “Yes, well, thank you for understanding.”

You nod. “Don’t forget that you’re supposed to clean the fields at five.”

He laughs gently at your reminder; you’re always thinking of work. “You’re not – it’s just… “ He gives up on whatever he intended to say. “I’ll order us a taxi. Dress well. I mean, you always do, just tonight, perhaps, moreso, not that you don’t…”

You giggle as he drops his head into his hands and groans.

“Please don’t expect much from this. You turn me into an absolute wreck.”

“You think you don’t have the same effect? Do you know how many times you’ve caused me to drop a tube of poison?”

Newt grins. “You mean you aren’t naturally that clumsy?”

“Heavens no.”

“Good. I was beginning to worry I’d hired the worst possible assistant.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Rude and unnecessary.”

The two of you grin at each other.

Theseus breaks the trance as he begins clapping. “Well done, little brother. I’m glad you finally did it. I didn’t feel like cooking up a picnic basket tomorrow.”

Newt shoots a spell at Theseus’s feet, just a small one that erupts into flames that can hardly cause damage. Still, Theseus jumps away, earning a laugh from you and Newt.

As he turns back to you and sees your smile, though he’d never admit it, a small part of him is grateful for his brother’s interference.

[hamlet-writes]

Double Jeopardy- Part 1

Harvey Dent heaved himself up the last flight of rickety steel stairs, regretting his choice of hideout for the third time that week.  The derelict apartment complex had been abandoned for years, and the homeless had flocked to it like rats before he had arrived.  Now it was silent and empty, save for the constant drip drip drip of water damage that had been omnipresent for his entire tenure, and the flocks of pigeons who roosted stubbornly in its open-air windows (luckily for him there were no other winged animals roosting there.)  He stumbled with a heavy sigh to the door of his hideout, shoving it open and flipping the switch on the wall next to it.  The lights flickered miraculously to life (they had a 50/50 chance of working on most days,) and the sputtering electricity illuminated a before-unseen figure sitting calmly in his chair, studying the head of his cane with a smug expression. "Well, it's about time you arrived!" the green-clad man exclaimed. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show."  In an instant Harvey had his gun in his hand, aiming it straight at the intruder. "Who the hell are you?!" he growled.  The man chuckled, irritatingly calm for someone with a gun pointed at him. "Ahh, I'm disappointed Harvey," he said, clucking his tongue. "We've met before, albeit under different circumstances.  You were to be the one prosecuting me before I was declared unfit to stand trial- don't you remember?" "Nygma," Harvey realized.  Edward rose from his chair with a flourish, laughing. "So you DO remember!" he said. "Delightful!"  Harvey cocked his gun, scowling at the man in front of him. "How the hell did you find us?" he growled, reaching for his coin. "A simple matter, really," Edward said, ignoring the gun aimed his way in favor of admiring the enormous window overlooking the city. "I have a way of finding out things everyone seems to think I shouldn't know- besides, this place was almost obvious.  Look at where we are, Harvey!  Hmm, I wonder if you even realized it when you picked it out.  This building is smack-dab in the center of the doorway of Gotham- to the right you can see all of her dark corners, nestled away in Crime Alley, and to the left you can see Wayne Enterprises, her crowning glory!  With your bifocused tendencies, you would have to be right in the center." "Congratulations, you found us," Harvey said, advancing on the shorter man.  Edward turned to face him just in time to find the end of his gun shoved forcefully against his forehead, pinning him to the wall. "Give us one good reason why we shouldn't kill you right now," Harvey growled. "Well, for starters you'd have an AWFUL time getting all that blood out of the carpet, although I don't suppose you care much about looks," Edward said, chuckling. "But the reason I'm here is to make a proposition." "A proposition for what?" Harvey asked, rubbing his coin with his thumb. "Why, for a collaboration, but of course," Edward said with a smug laugh. "You've proven yourself to be quite the up-and-coming player these last few months, but you very nearly got caught last night.  You need someone with a plan, and I need someone who can demand his presence be noticed.  We get rich quick, and then we move into deeper waters.  It's a win-win situation." "You make a compelling argument," Harvey admitted. "However, you broke into our home and risked exposing us to the Bat.  So, heads we accept, and tails we blow your damn head off."  The coin flew skyward with a fateful ring, and both men watched its descent with baited breath.  Harvey caught it in a deft hand, and Edward cringed slightly as he opened his palm to reveal the answer. "Looks like it's your lucky day, kid," Harvey said, pulling his gun away and flicking the safety on before tucking it back into his pocket.  Edward released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and laughed, clapping his hands together. "I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, partner," he said, flashing a smug grin. "Just you wait and see." TWO WEEKS LATER "GO GO GO!" Query yelled, firing off three pot shots over her shoulder that sent Batman temporarily diving for cover.  Civilians scrambled out of the way as Edward and Query dashed through Wayne Memorial Plaza.  Echo roared across the snow-covered cobblestones in their getaway car and screeched to a stop in front of them (right on time, Edward noted with a hint of satisfaction.)  Query put on another burst of speed, sliding across the hood and throwing herself into the front seat. "C'mon!" Harvey called as he threw open the back door.  The sound of boots thundering across the cobblestones behind him was enough to motivate Edward- he slung the bag of cash off of his shoulder and chucked it into the back before diving in after it, landing with an oof! across Harvey's lap.  Echo floored it before the door had the chance to close, peeling out of the plaza and out into the crowded streets.  Cars swerved out of their way as they screamed down Main Street, honking and telling them exactly what they thought of the quartet's driving.   "We lose 'im?" Query panted, sticking her head out the window to look behind them. "I think so," Echo said, not taking her eyes off the road.  All four of them screamed as Batman landed with a thump on the rim of the open back door. "Stop the car!" he demanded. "I think the fuck not!" Eddie objected.  Harvey's coin sailed through the air, and he caught it in a deft hand. "Sorry Bats," he growled. "Today's just not your lucky day."  With a snarl he fired two shots directly into the symbol on Batman's chest.  His eyes widened in surprise and he lost his grip on the doorframe, disappearing from sight.  Edward shot forward, grabbing the handle and slamming it shut before craning to look out the back window, just in time to see Batman tumbling head-over-heels down the street.   "Lost him!" he exclaimed, then fell back onto Harvey's lap, laughing exuberantly.  After a moment he realized what he was doing and collected himself, looking up with a testing glance.  Harvey started down at him with a look of bewilderment, unsure what to do.  The coin sailed through the air, and Harvey leaned back in his seat, neglecting to push Edward off of him.  Edward in turn neglected to extricate himself, grinning widely and running a hand through his hair. "Where to, boss?" Echo asked, choosing not to acknowledge the elephant in the room.   "Drop us off at the back entrance to the penthouse," Edward said. "Then take the car and drive it across town and switch it out for one at that drug house before you meet up with us.  Police won't notice it's missing." "Aight," Echo said, gliding down the streets leading towards uptown Gotham. - Edward and Harvey sat cross-legged on the plush green carpet of the former's luxurious penthouse.  Towers of hundred dollar bills reached towards the high, arcing glass ceiling, and were ever-growing as the two counted out their ill-gotten prize.  Edward hummed contentedly to himself, nimble fingers deftly sliding each individual bill into its place.   "Not bad at all," he said with a delighted laugh as the towers rose. "At this rate we'll be ready to move on in a week or so, my friend!" "Move on?" Harvey asked, fumbling with the stack he was sorting. "Well, yes," Edward said. "That was what you originally had in mind, wasn't it?" "We, uh," Harvey started, clearing his throat. "Yeah. Originally." "That doesn't necessarily have to be the case, of course," Edward said. "I think we can all agree that this partnership has been quite fortuitous."  Harvey's coin pinged as it sailed upwards, landing in his outstretched palm.   "Nygma," he said. "Hmm?" Edward asked, not looking up from his work.  Before he knew what was happening Harvey leaned forward, grabbing him by the chin and turning his face towards him before pressing his lips roughly against Edward's.  Edward's eyes widened in surprise, and he dropped the wad of cash he'd been counting in his shock.  Harvey tried to pull away with a look of embarrassment, surprised when he found that Edward had a hold of his tie. "Well, why didn't you just say so?" he purred before pressing his lips to Harvey's.  One hand pushed itself against Harvey's chest, forcing him to the floor and sending their carefully sorted stacks of money fluttering into the air around them.  Edward smiled against his kiss, snaking his hands up Harvey's body and, when he didn't stop him, pressing them to both sides of his face.  Harvey's hands roamed, one worming its way into Edward's hair, the other finding its way to his waist and pulling him even closer.   Finally the two were forced to break apart, gasping to catch their breaths. "Very fortuitous," Edward panted, laughing to himself.  Harvey somehow managed to flip his coin, glancing briefly at the result before grabbing a handful of Edward's hair and rolling so that he was on top of him, pinning him to the floor.  Edward's heart fluttered as their lips collided with renewed fervor, his hands drifting downwards to his partner's collar.  Painfully slowly, he loosened Harvey's bicolored tie, sliding it off with a deliberate motion and tossing it to the side.  Pulling out of Harvey's kiss he smirked mischievously, trailing his lips teasingly down the sensitive red skin of Harvey's neck, smiling when Harvey tightened his grip on his hair.  He ran his hands languidly down Harvey's body, taking his time in undoing the buttons of his suit jacket and sliding his hands inside, pressing them slowly and deliberately against the small of Harvey's back, who wrapped his entire arm around Edward's waist, pulling him closer and purring his approval.  Edward stopped his descent, pressing his lips purposefully to the hollow of Harvey's neck and grabbing a fistful of his undershirt, one leg drifting up to wrap around his waist. "Bet we're having better luck than Bats right now," said Harvey breathlessly.  Edward broke away, laughing. "I bet you're right," he said.  The two of them took a deep breath before diving back in, Harvey smashing his lips ardently against Edward's. It was at that moment that Echo and Query decided to let themselves in. "Hey boss, whaddo you want us to-" Echo began, then stopped in her tracks. "Oh.  Well.  Uh..."  Edward and Harvey completely ignored them, preoccupied. "We'll...We'll come back later," Query said, clearing her throat and grabbing her partner's arm, pulling her back into the hallway. "Told ya so," she hissed triumphantly. "Yeah yeah, I'm gettin' my wallet out, just hold your horses..." Echo said, fishing around in her coat.  The two of them disappeared from sight, until Echo popped back through the doorway, hurling a handful of condoms at the happy couple before running like hell after Query, sniggering loudly the entire time.

[igotapps]

Sandra Bridewell

Biography

Sandra Camille (Powers) Bridewell, was born, April 4, 1944. She was adopted as a child by Arthur and Camille Powers of Sedalia, Missouri. She was known primarily as a destructive con-artist, as, over the course of more than 3 decades, the woman who became known as the “Black Widow”, deceived both lovers and friends for hundreds of thousands of dollars. She is also suspected of being a part of, atleast one of her husbands and also a close friend death.

It all started in a disconcerting and traumatic childhood. Reports indicate, that at the age of 3, her adoptive mother, Camille, was killed in a car-accident. Bridewell’s father, Arthur, who both managed and commanded a Dr.Pepper bottling factory, eventually re-married, and the family were re-located to Oak Cliff, Texas, a suburb of Dallas. He resigned from his previous position and found new employment, becoming a cemetery plot salesman.

Bridewell discovered that adjusting to her new surroundings was not the problem, the problem was adjusting to her new stepmother Doris. The two of them were continuosly fighting, whilst Bridewell would protest that her stepmother regulary locked her inside a closet, refused to send out birthday party invitations and enjoy telling her that nobody wanted her.

Bridewell graduated high school in the year of 1962. As a high school student, she would rarely date, however after graduation, she soon began dating a series of different men. She was extreamly seductive, many of the men became totally smitten with, what a later friend would describe as, “her, ‘lady-like’, ‘poor-helpless-me’ routine”. Bridewell attended junior college for a single year, it seems Bridewell had already decided her intentions, she wanted to marry into money.

Crime

For Sandra to achieve her intentions, she began living a life, littered with deception and deceit. She would tell some friends, that both of her adoptive parents were killed. She would tell some others she was daughter to Irish aristocrats. The most common deceit that she used with regularity, was the “West Point Boyfriend”, this entailed the story of a boyfriend who shot himself while she sat next to him in a car.

Despite Sandra’s continuous deceptive nature, she was able to convince many people to believe her lies, especially men. Many stories from these men, were very similar and followed a general theme, recalling, “She had a way” and, “Men, just sort of… were fascinated with her”. Sandra through the course of her life, would intensify the deception and lived with many different aliases.

There were many victims, from her guiltless deceit. One such victim, was the up-shot dentist, David Stegall, who was schooled in Los Angeles and was a regular dentist for high-status Hollywood stars. Stegall had a compulsion towards, Cadillacs, large homes and pretty women. Sandra noticed something she liked about Stegall, and by the year 1967 she had married him. Within the first few years after the marriage, the couple began to raise a family, and soon had 3 daughters, Britt, Kathryn and Emily. The family enjoyed a high-class lifestyle and lived in a most desirable Dallas neighbourhood.

Sandra’s taste and passion for the finer things were even more profound than her husbands, and desite the massive salary and reputation of Stegall, Sandra’s tastes were beginning to strain and taking the family to the brink. Sandra was a connoisseur of many things, she loved beautiful artwork and expensive furnishings. By the year 1974, the couple’s marriage was in turmoil and the family was in severe debt, forcing Stegall to loan a substantial sum of money from his father to pay off a number of the hefty bills.

By February 1975, the situation had over-come Stegall, and he tried to commit suicide. Reports indicate that Sandra discovered a distressed Stegall closed in a closet with a gun pointed at his head. Sandra was then able to persuade Stegall to re-consider. However this did not change Stegall for the long-term, and a few weeks later he was discovered dead. Lying on in his bed with both wrists open and a.22 caliber gunshot wound through his head.

Sandra swiftly took action towards straightening her financial situation. This started with the collection of her husband’s life insurance policy, sold the lat Stegall’s practice and began dating other wealthy men. After a mere 3 years of her husband’s death, Sandra was married again, this time to well-known Dallas based developer, Bobby Bridewell.

Soon after the wedding Bridewell took the decision to adopt Sandra’s 3 daughters and the family made their’ home in the fancy Dallas neighbourhood of Highland Park. However in 1980, life changed and in dramatic and tragic twist Bridwell was diagnosed with cancer. Sandra found the diagnosis extremely painful, as she continued her life in her usual way, with an elemental grieving. During her husbands battle with the illness, Sandra decided to have the family’s entire household remodelled, forcing the weakening Bridewell to move into a friend’s house. Bridewell after a 2 year struggle, finally succumbed to his diagnoses and died.

The impact of Bridewell’s death was hard-felt by Sandra. At least for the short-term, she was able to gain support and hope, in the friendship of Bridewell’s oncologist, Dr’ John Bradwell and his wife Betsy. In the beginning the couple were more than happy and open to offer support to their friend. Sandra over-time, began visiting the Bagwell household with more frequent persistence. Whilst the doctor and his wife were enjoying a vacation in New Mexico, Sandra went as far as to show up unannounced. Her ever increasing requests were frequented with pleads of childcare and harassment through phone calls.

The Bagwell’s soon decided upon action, and attempted to extricate themselves from the relationship with Sandra. Sandra however would not allow it. In June 1982, she made a phone call to Betsy, and requested she take her to the hospital, so she could rent a car as her’s wouldn’t start. Betsy supplicated and would take Sandra to the hospital, and then back to the Church were Sandra was previously parked so she could retrieve her license, which she claimed on arrival, had been forgotten.

The exact details of the encounter remain shrouded in mystery. What is understood, is that on June 16, 1982, authorities discovered the 40-year old Mrs. Bagwell, dead in her Mercedes i the airport parking lot. There was a large gunshot wound in her head, and a stolen.22 caliber pistol held in her right hand. when the verdict was given, it was concluded as a suicide.

Despite the verdict, there was still many questions unanswered. The police were aware that Sandra was the last person to have seen Betsy alive. Questions emerged about the death, these included the absence of a suicide note. The police however refused to re-examine the case and it remained closed.

As was so accustomed to Sandra, she non-chalantly continued with her life. As of June 1984, another man had fallen into her clutches. The victim, a good-looking 29 year-old, Alan Rehrig, had just moved to Dallas to begin work for a mortgage company. Sandra was conversing around her yard, when Rehrig, searching for a place he could call home, happened to pass by in his car. Pulling his Ford Bronco over to the side of the road, he asked Sandra if she knew of any apartments to move into. She admitted she did not, instead, agreeing to help him out.

Within just a few short weeks the pair became inseparable. Rehrig was extremely fond of Sandra’s 3 daughters, who, at their’ mother’s calling would announce themselves upon an unsuspecting Rehrig, whilst he was busy working at his office. Sandra, by the fall of 1984, had some unexpected news for Rehrig and delivered the news that she was pregnant with twins. This situation was even more curious for one important reason, 7 years previous Sandra underwent a successful hysterectomy. This was yet more deceit from Sandra, feeling that as she gained some weight around her stomach, that she could lie effectively. There were of course more lies, lies including her age, telling Rehrig she was 36, when she was in fact 41.

A trustworthy Rehrig, had no reason to doubt his new girlfriend, as he still felt the were getting to know each other. Despite the intervention of friend’s to demonstrate to Rehrig the speed at which his life was changing, he was also in love, and, December 1984, Sandra Bridewell and Alan Rehrig became husband and wife.

There was always the awareness to Sandra, that the pregnancy lie could only take her so far. With, Rehrig committed entirely to his wife, Sandra was able to easily change the story. So, in February 1985, she made a phone call to her husband and told him the unfortunate news that she had a miscarriage.

The news was devastating to Rehrig and the marriage began to suffer as a result. Like her previous two husbands, Rehrig was beginning to realise that his wife a pallet for expensive tastes. She would push him to make more and more money, and made him take out a big life insurance policy. Friend’s recall how Rehrig complained of Sandra’s habits, as she spent $20,000 a month on clothes, food and travel.

November 1985, and the couple separated. Rehrig was convinced he had to end the relationship with Sandra and moved into a friend’s home. The two of them, were separated for a period of several weeks and they didn’t so much as set eyes upon each other. Then in early December, Sandra phoned Rehrig and arranged a meeting at a storage facility at which the two had stored some items.

The true happenings of what ensued over the next several hours have never been determined. What is understood is, Rehrig was located slumped over in his Bronco in Oklahoma. The were vast gunshot wounds to both the head and the chest. It was also determined that Rehrig has in fact been driven all the way to Oklahoma. The death of Rehrig was heavily scrutinised, Sandra was suspected of his murder, however nothing could be pinned on the woman who had become known around Dallas as the, “Black Widow”. Her demeanor under interrogation could be described as coy, almost playful. There was then a total switch in behaviour from the “Black Widow”, and she became completely uncooperative, refusing anyone to talk to both her and her daughters.

If there was any grief towards her husbands death, then it was being hidden well. Sandra, was scrimping on funeral expenses, selecting the most in-expensive casket possible for Rehrig and then convincing her friends to cover the burial costs. On the day of the service, she arrived late, dressed head to foot in a rich mink coat. This was an affordable expense, Rehrig’s death had provided her with a $220,000 life insurance claim, dropped straight into her bank account.

Sandra’s reputation however was in tatters. A popular local magazine, detailing Sandra’s curious past, and recounting her behaviour was to serve to this. Sandra was soon to leave Dallas for good, she re-located herself and her family to the San Francisco area. Sandra still contained the same charm and engaged it upon Marin County, she soon began dating a gaggle of wealthy men, who were sympathetic towards her past story, this story would often incorporate the use of a trust fund that she was about to be receiving and her non-restrained sexual inhibition. One of the men loaned her $23,000., whilst another was suckered into parting with $70,000, which he pulled up through a pension. Neither of the men received a single penny of their loans back, even though they took their’ claims to court. Soon, the same and similar stories that had surrounded Sandra in Dallas, began to appear in San Francisco.

By the early 1990′s, Sandra changed her name and was now known as Camille Bridewell. She had left California, and moved to Boston, where she took up residence with a boyfriend. She was also a resident in Connecticut and Hawaii. Despite the change of addresses, the same meanness still stewed in her underbelly. She would now steal the Social Security numbers of other people, she would take out credit cards, and rack up huge purchases, without an intent to ever pay the money back. she was so malicious in her actions, that she even destroyed the credit of her daughters.

As the millennium came around, Sandra was now middle aged, and shifted from sexuality to religion, as to draw her victims closer. The basis of her stories would now involve the invention of stories such as, she was a missionary who had traveled the world and work with orphans. As usual she was very persuasive and had a way to make people submit to her wants. She then befriended a couple who owned and managed a motel in the state of Alabama. Despite the fact that she was unable to even pay for a room, she was receiving food and money from the cople.

she continued with the missionary story, and as she moved herself to Atlanta, she would change her name slightly, from Bridewell to Bridwell. She then convinced a woman she met at church to split with the cost of an expensive condo rental. After a little time passed, Bridwell’s new housemate, found she was paying for everything, as Sandra claimed she was waiting for a large sum of money to be delivered form her trust fund.

As 2006 ensued, Sandra surfaced in North Carolina, at a new church and changed her name to Camille Bowers. Later that year, in September, she moved herself in with Sue Moseley, a 77 year old woman, residing in a million dollar home on the Carloina coast. Sandra struck up a deal with the son, Jim, that in return for the management of the housekeeping, she would receive free room and board.

She began to build a respectable reputation around the local community, and spoke several times at a local women’s club. Sandra then began the process of acquiring the finances of the Moseley’s. She gathered tax records, collected her Social Security payments into a separate account, siphoned off mortgage money, created credit charges and used Mosele’s bank account to fund her personal expenses, including spa treatments and expensive shoes.

Jim soon became suspicious of the new housekeeper, and early in 2007, he stumbled upon a length newspaper story in a Dallas publication, chronicling the exploits of her life. Jim, working alongside the police, as a front man in a sting, aided the arrest of the “Black Widow”, on 2nd March 2007 in a cafe in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Aftermath

The story of Sandra Bridewell culminates with numerous charges under her name. She was committed of, identity fraud, fraud, mail theft and Social Security fraud. After the arrest and the heavy publicity, the police took a renewed interest in the death of Rehrig and the police of Oklahoma City, pour more resources and more manpower towards the case.

February 2008, and Sandra Camille Powers, pleads guilty to one count of identity theft, later the same month she was formally sentenced by the judge. The “Black Widow”, had left a lasting impact and trail of destruction wherever she went, leaving a trail of victims desperate for her sentencing. When justice was finally insued, she was ordered to pay a $250,000 fine,a dn pay more than $1,600 dollars in restitution to the Moseley family.

Source by Matthew A Black

The post Sandra Bridewell appeared first on Development of application specific interactive software.

from Development of application specific interactive software https://igotapps.com/sandra-bridewell/