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400badrequest · 5 months ago

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Captain Money | John Price x F!Reader

SUMMARY: "It goes like this: Corporal Samuels - Sammie - a spunky blonde lesbian who has at least 15 clear plastic space holder piercings in at once (and we’re not just talking about ears here), spends a week on 141’s service. She’s not much more than a desk jockey for them, but Samuels starts sending photos to the girls’ group chat. Hidden ones - mostly of Sergeant McTavish eating shit and landing on his face, Lieutenant Riley at stupid angles that made him look like a thumb because of his stupid mask and Sergeant Garrick drooling on paperwork. And so, a tradition is born. There’s no prize, but whoever takes the stupidest photo wins. Wins what? Who knows."

WORD COUNT: 5K

cw: mild stalking (from reader), drinking

Crossposted on AO3. Insp by @abc-ok artwork here

There’s an ongoing joke amongst you and the other female recruits. It has a fair amount of tangled lore; spanning a lot of stupid drunken shenanigans, a busted humvee that’s hidden under a tarp at the back of the massive base garage and a group chat - that for all intent and purposes - is probably illegal to exist.

But it goes like this: Corporal Samuels - Sammie - a spunky blonde lesbian who has at least 15 clear plastic space holder piercings in at once (and we’re not just talking about ears here), spends a week on 141’s service. She’s not much more than a desk jockey for them, but Samuels starts sending photos to the girls’ group chat. Hidden ones - mostly of Sergeant McTavish eating shit and landing on his face, Lieutenant Riley at stupid angles that made him look like a thumb because of his stupid mask and Sergeant Garrick drooling on paperwork. And so, a tradition is born. There’s no prize, but whoever takes the stupidest photo wins. Wins what? Who knows.

But suddenly, it shifts. It starts with one photo - of Captain Price, taken by Corporal Ainsley. It’s probably a million degrees out, hot enough that there’s a mirage shimmering in the background. It’s shin up and despite the slight blur it's focused pretty well. He’s drenched in sweat, bare chest and beefy arms slick with it. All of him is covered in a thick dusting of dark hair that’s sticking to him from the heat. But that’s not the best bit; no, the best bit is that the only two scraps of clothing on him is a fucking jockstrap and his stupid hat. It hides absolutely nothing. His cock is flaccid, but the bulge is round and heavy. There’s two thigh straps pulled tight, the muscle squished to hold them, and a tact belt too, along with shoulder straps for what would be a concealed carry that outlines his large arms. The dark watch doesn’t help either. There’s a glock held comfortably in his right hand, and he’s standing casually, as if he’s not basically buck naked. Price is looking off, most likely listening to someone talk.

And from there on, the chat is called “CAPTAIN MONEYYY”.

As the corporals on the same base as 141, it’s not hard to sneak photos of him. Well… it’s hard because he’s vigilant and a bloody highly trained soldier, but you’re a group of women who grew up in the era of sneaking phones in class and zoom capabilities on commercial phones have gotten considerably better since you were using a shitty flip phone back in year 7.

You were almost notoriously good - it helped you had a bit of an eye for it too. It wasn’t as all your shots were art, but deciding to splurge for an olympus xa2 definitely upped your game. It wasn’t even about Price at this point; it was about being the best. The olympus xa2 was light weight, small enough to hide in the breast pocket of your fatigues and didn’t make a single noise, even when you wound it - except for the tiniest little click when you took a photo. It was so silent that you struggled to hear it over a single conversation. It being film meant that every Monday morning you’d upload a week's worth of photos of Price to the group chat - it’d become a bit of an event.

What the groupchat didn’t know was that you kept all the physicals - in a small shoebox tucked in the very back of your closet. It was definitely tipping into stalker territory if you thought too hard about it, but… no one knew.

“Here,” Samuels says, sliding you what looks like a… vodka redbull? The bar is bustling, you and the other female recruits crowded into a small booth. A few of them have disappeared - either to get laid, or piss; it didn’t matter so long as they were in pairs. Samuels takes a seat on your lap, and you instinctively slide an arm around her waist to hold her there. She’s taller than and generally larger than most of the women, but you’re stronger. You sip at your drink, twirling the straw in your mouth.

��Is that NSYNC?” Ainsley asks, tucking a dark curl behind her ear. She’s a small bright Scot, a few years younger than you, but faster with a knife than most. “Baby bye, bye, bye!” She sings along to whatevers playing over the din, and you have to bite back a laugh at her heavy Galsweian accent. It smells like salt, sweat and beer in here and you roll your eyes as she blows cigarette smoke across the table.

“That’s a disgusting habit Ains, and you know it,” you reply, nicking the cigarette and taking a puff before handing it back. The tipping paper is sticky with a myriad of shades of red lipsticks, glinting with lip gloss.

“What, singing?”Ainsley asks, brow furrowed.

“No, smoking,” Sammie corrects with a tipsy laugh. “They’re being a little hypocrite,” she smirks, scooching back to be comfortable. You grunt, readjusting her weight.

“I only socially smoke,” You say with a roll of your eyes, but you don't go to shuffle her off your lap, despite their being sitting space when a few of the girls get up to commandeer a pool table.

Ains and Sammie trade silly barbs for a while, while you tap your foot along to the beat of whatever divorced dad rock plays over the speakers. “It’s Green Day, actually,” you add aimlessly to the conversation as you scan the crowd absentmindedly - for what you’re not sure.

Until you spot him.

Price is lent up against the bar - a casual dried grass green coloured button down that was faded at the collar, sleeves rolled up, faded boot cut jeans and Timberlands on. You can see the jut of a concealed carry, almost completely hidden under his shirt. The warm bright lighting from behind the bar slides over him like water as he stands at an angle, hair slightly longer than you’ve ever seen but still sticking up. Price’s beard is shorter than usual and less mutton chops and more actual full beard. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he talks to the bartender - he’s distracted enough that you slide out your small camera without a second thought and there unheard click happens as you capture a casual Price. John. You capture a photo of John, and it almost makes you dizzy as you bring the tiny camera down.

“This spot taken?”

You startle, both Ainsley and Samuels shutting up as Sergeant Garrick smiles at the three of you. The camera slides easily into your pocket, unseen. “Uh, not at all,” you reply, and Ainsley shuffles so she’s pressed up against you. 141 slides into the booth - Garrick, McTavish and then Riley. Sammie - being the extrovert she is, immediately pulls the sergeants (“we’re off duty, drop the titles, please.”) into some colourful conversation about 90s pop music that Ghost adds to, in a way that always causes some form of loud outrage.

Eventually, Price slides in next to Ghost, directly across from you with a tray of drinks. Two beers, one whiskey and a coke. He gives you a small smile when the boys grab their drinks. It feels like the camera is burning in your pocket, and you resist the urge to touch it. You sip aimlessly at your own as the conversation shifts, more to sharing stories about missions that won’t get you in proper trouble. At one point you have to pinch Ainsley under the table when she starts to mention a certain humvee - you might be hanging out now, but they’re still your superiors.

You rest your chin hooked on Sammie’s shoulder, idly contributing to the conversation, but generally keep your gaze on the crowd - scanning around at the other women, making sure that there’s nothing but comfortable smiles on their faces. It’s an old habit from your uni days, being the group fighter (in both D&D and real life, always ready to smack down any woman) meant you also were preventing fights too. A good skill was knowing when to run away - pride was counterproductive.

Eventually your eyes slide to the group. Even in your slightly tipsy state, you can see Soap is poorly trying to steal Ghost’s coke, that Gaz has an arm stretched behind Anisely’s part of the booth, worn leather creased under his arm. You meet his eyes and quirk an eyebrow - he shoots you a cheeky grin. Price is chatting idly with Ghost, a small smirk on his face at whatever Riley is saying. His forearms look deliciously thick, sleeves straining a little around his shoulders. Whorls of dark hair peek out of the front of his shirt where the first few buttons are undone, a thin sheen of sweat on him from the heat of the bar. You want to lick it off him. Would he taste a little smoky? Faintly like soap? Or just like salty skin? The ice in your drink has melted, condensation wet on your fingers - would he like the cold touch of your fingers on his hot skin?

A loud laugh from Sammie snaps you from your day dream and when you look up, you realise Ghost is staring at you, gaze piercing. You force yourself not to flick your eyes away from him in the embarrassment of being caught staring at his Captain, but instead wiggle your eyebrows with a cheeky grin - his shoulders hitch a little as he huffs a small laugh.

“Ew, cmon,” Sammie bitches as you smear the cold wetness on her exposed midriff. “That’s gross,” she grouses, trying to wriggle away.

“It’s condensation, idiot,” you say with a laugh, eyes creasing with a smile.

“So how long’ve you two been together?” Soap asks as you press your cheek to her shoulder, arms wrapped around her waist.

“Oh we’re not- no that’s not-” Sammie says through a laugh, and Ains chokes on her drink. You slap her back until she stops, batting your hand away. “Jesus Ains,” you say, cupping the back of her head with one hand, gently pressing your mostly melted ice drink to her lips, getting her to slowly swallow it. “Good girl,” you say softly as she settles. “Solid?” “Solid,” she replies, taking your glass.

“We’re not together,” you clarify, turning back to Soap, while snaking an arm back around Sammies’ waist. “Samuels is just a clingy puppy at any given time.” You pause, realising all four of the men are staring at you with looks varying from hot to startled. “What?”

“A clingy puppy who can beat your arse,” She cuts in, pressing a sloppy wet kiss to your cheek, eliciting a laugh from you.

“Ew, don’t lick me you grot!” You shriek, shoving her face away while still holding her to your lap. You hear Soap laugh when you scrub your face on her shoulder. The rest of your drink goes down easy, more water than anything else at this point. “Alright, anyone want a drink?” You grunt as you stand up, sliding Samuels off your lap when you stretch to stand. You get a few answers and you nod, collecting all the empty glasses and piling them on the tray.

“Wait,” Price calls, slipping a few bills out of his wallet and pressing them into your hand. “I’m not going to let you pay for my team,” he adds. His hands dwarf yours, warm and a little rough. A flush burns hotly across your cheeks.

“Ah- no it’s fine-” you start. The sound of your heart beat drums harshly in your ears.

“No.” He cuts, not unkindly. “Please.” His eyes are warm and good natured, and you can hear Sammie sniggering.

“Captain Mon- ow!” Sammie yelps as Anisley jabs her in the side.

“Okay,” you squeak with a nod, turning on your heel and beelining for the bar. The tray is balanced expertly on your palm and slides perfectly onto the bar - the bartender thanks you and takes the cash from your hand along with your order. You fight down your embarrassed flush at hearing Sammie almost called Price 'Captain Money’.

You look back at the booth - they’d all fallen back into conversation. There’s a fine haze over the bar, someone probably smoking in a corner where they shouldn’t be, though it’s not as if you can really talk. The bar is a little tacky under your hands as you watch them. They’re shrouded in a slight shadow, tinted a warm amber. The camera almost slips unconsciously from your pocket as you line up the shot, zooming in on the Captain. He’s lent back in the booth, one arm up against the back of it. There’s a soft crinkle to his eyes as he smiles at something that Soap says, drink almost at his lips when you take the photo. The glass looks almost tiny in his hands.

“What’re you doin’?” Ghost’s rough voice comes from behind you.

“Christ!” you startle. The camera drops easily into the top pocket of your jacket, hidden away the millisecond you turn around. It’s not even an active move, but a reflex that you’d built at this point. “Don’t scare a girl like that!” you say with a grin. He stares down at you, eyes boring into you and it takes everything you have not to twitch or let your hand flutter to check that your camera is tucked away properly.

“Hn.”

“What are you, Batman?” you say with a grin. The bartender finally returns, sliding you the tray. Ghost goes to take it and you hip check him gently, taking it. “I was a waitress for a lot of highschool, I’m good at this,” you say, easily carrying the tray on one hand. You see his mask shift a little, indicative of an eyebrow raise. “What? Were you a waitress?”

“Waiter,” he corrects, and you wave him off.

“Same difference,” you say with a small laugh. “Were you?” you ask again, with honest curiosity this time as you weave through the crowd. They part for him, but you’ve learnt the art of sliding around people.

“...No. A shelver at the library,” He replies.

“Wait, really?” Your eyebrow jolts to your hairline. “That’s kinda cute.” He huffs a laugh at that, hands in his pockets.

“Don’t let Price here say that,” Ghost says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You get back to the table before you can ask questions. A small cheer erupts, a grin ticking at your lips.

“Uh…” you blink, realising there’s nowhere to sit. Ains has popped her boots in Sammie’s lap - to anyone else, you’d knock their feet off and sit in Sammie’s lap, but you know that Ains only does it when her knee hurts. “I’m gonna go get a stool-” Turning to walk away, you jolt when a large hand wraps around your wrist softly.

“Nonsense,” Price starts and gently drags you into his lap. You squeak, stiff as he pulls you so the swell of your arse is pressed back against his crotch and stomach. “We’re off duty. Relax.”

“I- uh-” you stutter out, looking at Sammie in panic who is clearly fighting back laughter. John copies how you were sitting earlier, wrapping his thick arms around your waist, chin hooked on your shoulder. His grip isn’t tight, but feels incredibly steady. The edge of his beard tickles your jaw.

“He’s drunk,” Ghost offers, sliding you your own drink. “We pregamed.” you wrap your fingers around your glass and take a few heavy sips before putting it down, wincing as the alcohol burns its way down.

“That’d do it,” you reply nodding, still twitching with nerves.

“Relax, lovie,” John murmurs in your ear. “Nothin’ to worry about.”

“Yes Captain,” you reply, doing your best. A small squeak comes out of you when he pinches the squishy inside of your thigh.

“Naw yer Captain right now,” He says. “Jus’ John’ll do.” The low rough brogue of his tone has you fighting down a whimper - but it shows enough on your face that you see Ghost smirking with this mask rolled up to take a drink out of the corner of your eye.

“Yes, John,” you reply obediently. He pats your tummy. A flush colours your cheek as he keeps his hand on the softness there, kneading a little. “Attagirl.”

You feel like you’re going insane - everyone acts like you sitting in his lap is absolutely normal, like he doesn’t majorly outrank you. He’s touching you; rough hand slipped a little under your shirt, fingertips skating across your ribs and tracing the underside of your bra. You fight to keep your breathing steady, unable to focus on the conversation. His left arm is crossed over you, hand sat on your right thigh like a seatbelt. Someone keeps feeding you drinks - Sammie, probably. The alcohol flows like oil over a raging fire.You can feel the swimmy lightheadedness that comes from drunkenness, eyes drooping a little. Your laughs come easier. At some point, you feel John tug your hair tie out, solely with the purpose of smelling it.

Eventually the drinks catch up to you, and you go to stand - John growls a little in your ear. “No.”

“I gotta pee, John,” you whisper, and he relents, albeit reluctantly. The table is cold and a little damp under your fingertips when you use it to steady yourself.

“Easy, doll,” you hear, and it’s not John, but Ghost who grabs your shoulder. “I’ll walk you.”

You nod, his big hand on your shoulder to keep you up right. Tension bleeds out of you when you walk down the hallway, the air clearer and quieter. “Here, give me your jacket,” Ghost orders softly. “Don’t want you getting it damp.” he tugs it off your shoulders, leaving you in a shirt.

“Thanks,” slurs out of you, and he nods.

The floor swims a little when you come back out, smelling like hand soap. Ghost gently guides your arms back into your jacket. “I think I’m done,” you say seriously. “Home time.”

He huffs a small laugh, guiding you outside. Even with a booze blanket, the cold air nips at your flushed cheeks. 141 is there, along with Ains and Sammie - who cheer when you appear.

“We missed yoooou,” Ainsley wails drunkenly, koala hugging you. You huff a little, shifting her a little higher so you can hold her comfortably.

“Don’t leave!” Sammie joins in, draping her weight on your back. A grunt is pushed out of you, as she stops supporting herself, arms wrapped around your neck. There’s a laugh from somewhere behind you.

“‘M not leaving,” You reply, starting to walk back to base. It’s about a twenty minute walk while sober, closer to forty while drunk and carrying two fully grown women. You get about eight steps when you feel Ghost sigh next to you.

“You really gonna walk back?” he asks. He doesn’t stop you as you continue to move forward at a surprisingly even pace.

“We walked here an’ I can’t drive,” you reply. “Sammie, stop dragging your damn feet.”

“Sorry,” she slurs, and awkwardly wraps her long legs around you, crossing them over Ainsley’s back. You take a steadying breath, but Ghost stops you.

“I didn’t drink. I drove. C’mon.” He takes your shoulder before you can protest and guides you into the back of a large Jeep. Gaz is sprawled in the back too, and John is strapped into the front. Somewhere along the way, the soft rocking of the car knocks you to sleep.

---

Ge’off me,” you groan, pushing Samuels off you. She moans in turn, rolling onto the mat. It’s midmorning, and the three of you are currently attempting to participate in training.

Attempting.

Ainsley threw up next to the mat about 5 minutes in and had been walked out. You and Sammie were shittily attempting to grapple, both of you buckling under crippling headaches, vestiges of last night.

You’d woken up tucked neatly into your own bed in the same shirt as last night but braless and pantless, shoes lined up neatly next to the foot of the bed. Two painkillers and a gatorade on the nightstand with a note that read ‘Didn’t peek. Got you to drink some water before you fell asleep. Samuels and Ainsley are in their rooms. See you at training - LT Riley’

Right now, Ghost wasn’t extending any of that friendliness to you.

“Get up, Corporals!” He barked, standing at the edge of your sparring mat. “Being hungover is no excuse for poor form!”

You groan and Sammie mumbles something foul under her breath as you sluggishly stand back in position. However she pales and turns around, immediately puking on Ghost’s boots. The yellowish liquid splashes onto the cuffs of his pants.

“Shit-” She groans. “‘M sorry, Ghost.” instead of yelling, he just sighs.

“Go to infirm. Take the day off.” He grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. She nods, shooting you an apologetic look as she scrambles out of the room. “Oi! All of you, get the fuck out of here!” Ghost snaps, and the rest of the corporals scatter quickly. “Not you,” He adds low enough only for you to hear.

You sigh tiredly, scrubbing at your face. “Thanks for getting us back last night.”

He nods. In the daylight, he looks sharper, less… friend shaped, without the blurry filter of drunkness over your eyes. “You’re a good bunch. Wasn’t just gonna leave you there after getting you drunk,” he replies, a smirk laced in his words. You laugh weakly, wincing as a bolt of pain shoots through your skull.

“Fair. We don’t usually drink on Sundays. We were stuck with backlogged paperwork on Friday and Saturday so…”

He nods, understanding. “I get it.”

A moment of silence passes. The plastic of the mats squeak under your feet. “Did you need something or…?”

Ghost doesn’t reply, just pulling your camera out of his pocket. It looks tiny in his hands, basically fitting in his palm. Your stomach drops. “Where- where did you-”

“You dropped it.”

You know you didn’t. You never drop it. It’s your baby, your prize possession. You’d assumed it would still be in the breast pocket of your jacket.

“I got the film developed for you,” he adds. “Some… interesting photos you got here.” Even with the balaclava on, you can tell there’s a mean smirk on his lips. Blood rushes in your ears, and the edges of your vision blur. “A lot of the same subject matter, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ghost- whatever it is you want I-”

He scoffs in his throat. “Do you really think there’s something you could give me that I’d want?” Anger flares in you, a scowl twisting your face. Fucking prick, you think, nose scrunched.

“Fine. What’s the point, then?” You ask, trying to hide the shake in your voice.

“Just… remember I know.” he replies, patting the breast pocket of his jacket - you hear the familiar thwum thwum of printed film. A snarl explodes from your throat, and for some damned reason you launch yourself at him.

“That’s mine,” you hiss, as you both hit the mats. Your fingers scratch at the front of his jacket as you try to grab them and he laughs, before grabbing you by the ends of your hair and yanking. “Fuck-” you gasp in pain. Ghost continues to pull, mean and harsh. He shifts so he’s standing, you stuck awkwardly crouched as he tugs.

“Really thought that was going to work, huh?”

“Give them back!” you yell, trying to hit him in the knees. He grabs your face hard, fingers biting into your cheeks.

“Lose the fucking attitude,” He hisses. “Consider this a warning.”

Instead of hitting you like you expected, he shoves you to the ground and walks off, leaving you sprawled on the mats, head throbbing.

---

You pull the coward move.

You disappear for a week - not AWOL, obviously, but you have more than rough backlogged PTO that no one really blinks an eye. It’s hard to convince yourself that this is a strategic retreat. To regroup, of course.

Home is too far, so you spend it holed up in a cheap motel, sitting in the scratchy bed while reruns of The Nanny and Seinfield crackle on the small box TV, staring at it unseeingly. Part of you just wants to get drunk; ugly sloshed, to the point where you puke up nothing but bile and clear fluid. But what good would that do? Ghost has the photos already. He has a week, maybe more, worth of film photos. It would be delusional to pretend that he wouldn’t be reporting them to Price - none of them were from missions, but out of the ones in your shoebox, a few of them were.

You where fucked.

“When’re you coming back?” Ainsley asks over the phone. It’s cradled against your ear while you paint your toenails, black polish wet. “It’s been 6 days.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” you sigh. “I just needed a break.” You hadn’t told them. It was stupid - maybe you should’ve. But the embarrassment of telling someone that you had managed to be caught with your metaphoric pants down was enough to make your face burn.

“You sure you’re okay?” Her voice is tinny through the speakers, small and concerned. A small smile twitches at your lips.

“I’m okay, Ains,” you placate. “Just needed some time off, okay? I’ll be back soon.” Sometimes you forget how young she is - that you and Sammie are all she really has here.

“...Okay.”

“I’m serious. One more day and I’ll be back to stealing your brownies,” You tease, cursing quietly when a bit of polish drips off the brush and onto the bedspread. Ainsley laughs and starts bitching about how it’s not fair you never take Samuels’s treats. The tension leaks from her voice and your shoulders as the sun slowly sets, your nail polish drying and lamps flicking on, washing the room in a faint warm glow.

“Oh, I forgot to tell ye,” Ainsley adds just before you hang up. “Captain Price was looking for you. I told him you were on leave, and he said to tell you to come to his office when you’re back.”

“What?” You croak.

“Yeah, he didnae say why. I gotta go, mess is starting! Bye!”

The phone beeps in your ear. You can’t help but curse lowly.

It didn’t make sense - why would Ghost show him? He had nothing to gain from torturing you like this!

You groan, burying your face into your hands.

---

“Price wants to see you,” Gaz greets you, leaning in the doorway of the corporal's office space. His hat is on, but tilted up so you can see the curiosity in his eyes. The only sound is your keyboard and the faint whirring of a desk fan. Warm noon sun filters through the slats of the window, along with a tepid breeze that smells like grass and gravel. “But you already knew that.”

“Mhm,” you reply, not looking up. When you had finally come crawling back, you had the decent excuse of backlog to avoid seeing the Captain. But three days later you were at the point of triple and quadruple checking your reports just to get out of seeing him.

Gaz doesn’t move, continuing to study you with interest. “You know why he wants to see you.” It’s not a question.

“Mhm.”

“Avoiding him isn’t going to make it go away.” He pauses. “Whatever it is.”

“I’ll be honest, I’d rather be dishonourably discharged than see him,” he laughs a little at that. “But I guess I’ve played the coward long enough.”

You groan as you stand, something in your back clicking. Gaz continues to stare at you, though out of his periphery now as you fall into step with him. The hallways are bustling with people as you walk side by side, doing your best to not drag your feet. Trepidation starts to burn in your chest.

“You know, I was instructed to make sure you made it to Price’s office no matter what,” He says conversationally, hands crammed into his pockets. “Even if it meant knocking you out or carrying you. It’s a bit of a pleasant surprise for you to willingly come with me.”

Your eyebrows jolt to your hairline. “Knock me out?”

“Or carry you,” Gaz adds helpfully. You glare at him. “So? What’d you do?”

You grumble. He raises an eyebrow. The crowd of the hallways has started to thin out the closer you get to the office. Your heart trips over itself in your chest.

“Nothing,” you lie.

“Sure,” he replies amicably, nodding along. “He’s just been in a foul mood since you left because of nothing too then, right?”

A scowl flickers across your face. He chuckles, and heat warms your cheeks at being caught.

“I’ll find out eventually.” You know it’s supposed to be a passing statement, but it feels like a threat.

Gaz doesn’t even knock - you feel a flicker of panic shoot through you. You needed that split second to steel yourself.

“I gottem,” Gaz says singsongly, the door swinging open.

You had been inside this office a few times - it always smells faintly like cigar smoke and printer ink. Today is no different. Sweat gathers on your palms as you walk in, and it feels as if you’re walking towards your death.

“Sit,” Price orders, not even looking up from his paperwork. You sit.

A few moments of silence pass, before he sighs and looks up. “Are you going to keep standing there?” he directs at Gaz who’s leaning curiously in the doorway. He shrugs with a grin. Price levels him with a look and Gaz sighs a little dramatically.

“Fine, spoil all my fun,” Gaz says with a slightly put on disappointment. The closing of the door feels like a death knoll.

#captain price #price x reader #price x you #cross posting #call of duty #WHY DOES TUMBLR COMPRESS PHOTOS GODDAMN IT

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couldawouldashoulda50 · 11 months ago

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Never Been Kissed - Part Three - Matthew Knies

Below is part three of my entry for @cellythefloshie's birthday BINGO, featuring Matthew Knies. Again, my 5 tropes (Virginity, Age Gap, Secret Lovers, Meet Cute, Pining) are spread across the 3 parts.

In case you missed it - linking Part One and Two

Warnings/Notes - general smut (p in v), allusions to smut (both m and f oral), swearing. For anyone who read the first two parts, I did adjust the OC's age slightly. I hadn't received any feedback, but after some more research to get a grasp of overall public opinion on age differences in dating, I did change Lana's age slightly.

Celly - I hope you had the most amazing birthday....you are truly one of my favourite writers on here so it makes me happy to try and do something for you. I hope you have enjoyed this journey with Matthew Knies -- I have really enjoyed writing him.

Word Count - 6.7k

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With the promise of their lunchtime rendezvous solidified, the pair went off in their separate directions—Lana heading into the office and Matthew to his condo and then to the gym.

Lana's casual attire—flowy linen pants and a t-shirt—was a clear signal that she did not plan to remain in the office for long. When Ainsley walked in and saw Lana's outfit, with her hair swept up in a loose bun, she knew something was up.

Ainsley approached Lana's office and softly knocked on her door. "Lana… are you okay?"

Lana noticed the concern on her assistant's face and tried to sound reassuring as she fibbed. "I'm fine, but something's not agreeing with me. Since it's slow today, I think I'll take the rest of the day off and deal with this at home."

"Is it like food poisoning or something?"

Lana wanted to tie up the line of questioning quickly and just get the hell out of there. "No—but let's just say my stomach isn't thanking me for the hot dog I had at the ball game yesterday."

"You ate a hot dog? Were you drunk or something? You never eat stuff like that…"

"Yeah, well, now I remember why." Lana rubbed her stomach for extra effect as Ainsley winced in a show of sympathy. "Anyway, call me if there are any issues. Looks like it might be a slow week anyway with the long weekend coming up. A nice relaxed week would be nice before the craziness of September hits."

Ainsley nodded and wished Lana well, telling her to go home and rest before the forecasted downpour begins. Lana felt a twinge of guilt for being untruthful to her assistant, but in this case, the less Ainsley knew, the better. Besides, Lana was aware that Ainsley had veered off the path of truth and accuracy on more than a few occasions.

Although it wasn't because of the hot dog, drinks, or anything else she had eaten the day before, Lana's stomach felt like it was turned upside down. Nervous energy swirled within her as she returned home with a few grocery items and one box of condoms that she painstakingly selected. After seeing so many brands, sizes, sensations, and everything else under the sun in the family planning section of the store, in a panicked state, she called Jason. Lana decided calling her brother would be awkward, and other friends might pry too much, so Jason became her unlikely condom consultant—a role he embraced with surprising enthusiasm.

Lana guesstimated that Matthew might return by about 11:30, so she had time for some personal care. With underarms, bikini line, and legs as smooth as silk, she slathered her favorite lotion from her neck all the way to her polished toes.

She dressed in a simple white t-shirt and loose-fitting pants and went about assembling fresh flatbread pizzas, salad, and some sweet but healthy options for dessert. Lana had no clue what hockey players ate while training, so she was forced to wing it to the best of her ability.

Meanwhile, across the city, Matthew smirked and shook his head as he evaded questions about his recent whereabouts from a few of his teammates, as he quickly packed up to leave the gym. Joe wasn't among those who kept pestering Matthew to come out with them after their session, but being one of his closest friends, he knew something was up with his buddy.

As Matthew smiled and bee-lined it to the door, giving a rather hurried wave to those around him, Joe quickly gathered his things, grabbed his bag, and bolted after him.

"Matty—hold up a sec…" Joe hollered as he ran to catch up to Matthew at the door. With a few long strides, Joe was next to him walking out into the parking lot. Joe chuckled at the determined expression on his good pal's face. "Hot date? Where're you heading off to in such a rush?"

Matthew decided to stretch and manipulate the truth as best as he could. Lying wasn't his forte. "I have an appointment with the realtor—just some things to, uh, you know… finish up—I guess…," his voice trailing off.

"How about we go out to that ping-pong bar tonight—y'know, get some of the boys and get some challenges going?"

Distracted by the rumble of thunder in the distance, Matthew fidgeted, shifting his backpack from one shoulder to the other. "Uh—yeah, maybe… I'm not sure just yet… let me do what I planned to do and I'll let you know after I get a nap in."

Given his recent mood shifts and the fact he'd been a bit of a ghost for the past couple of weeks, Joe had all but expected Matthew to decline. "Yeah? OK… yeah, man… sounds good… shoot me a text then and we'll figure it out."

Matthew hurriedly threw his bag in the backseat of his vehicle, quickly blurted a "I'll message ya later" towards Joe, and promptly sped off, leaving his good friend even more puzzled than before.

As Matthew eased along Dundas Street West, he thought solely about Lana. He knew he might be too young to even have this notion, but he had never known a woman like her. He scoffed at himself, acknowledging how much of a cliché it was to even think the thought. Falling for a bona fide woman—a stunning, successful, electrifying woman—is what Matthew realized he craved. Girls his age were fun, vibrant, and awesome to hang out with, but the influx of women who'd emerged this past season had provided Matthew with a clearer picture of what he didn't want.

Matthew realized he was licking his lips incessantly as the nervousness began to build when he turned onto Lana's street. Drops of rain began to spatter onto his windshield, filling him with anticipation of the hours ahead. Unless something drastic had changed, he would be making love to Lana sooner rather than later, and this time, he was prepared.

Using the garage pass Lana provided him with that morning, he parked his vehicle beside Lana's in the underground lot and used the elevator that stopped directly in her place. Lana knew he had arrived even before the elevator doors had opened, having spotted him on the security monitor in her kitchen. How the sight of him walking across the lot to the elevators felt bizarrely familiar, Lana would never know. It felt as though he was meant to be there all along.

Matthew's face lit up as Lana came to greet him. She was about to ask him how everything went, but Matthew's mouth was already on hers, muffling her words. She couldn't help but smile and chuckle into his kiss before Matthew's kiss became a little more hungry and his grip around her more needful. She closed her eyes and offered everything she had within her to him.

Matthew began to walk them upstairs to her bedroom, but the sight of the prepared lunch stopped him in his tracks.

He looked at Lana bashfully. "Oh—man, everything looks incredible—sorry, I didn't mean to just come in hot like that… I just couldn't help it. We can eat—I don't want anything to spoil."

With a newfound confidence, Lana spoke as she kissed him. "None of it's gone into the oven yet—so… it can wait… if you had something else in mind…," Lana said softly between kisses, followed by a wink.

That's all the invitation Matthew needed. Within minutes, the two found themselves naked in bed, hands and mouths exploring in tandem, drawing out the most erotic sounds from each other.

The now torrential downpour added a glorious backdrop of white noise which accompanied the sweet, suggestive murmurs spoken against each other's warm flesh.

The condom conversation eventually occurred, and they couldn't stop laughing when they discovered the new bounty of latex sheaths that each had brought.

Lana was ready for Matthew, but nervousness continued to twist in her stomach. She bit her lip and tried to catch her breath as she watched Matthew carefully roll the condom down his firmly erect shaft. Like the day before, she fixated on every detail of his cock, and she felt a greater need for him blossom within her.

Matthew's hips pressed against hers as he leaned over and kissed her deeply. She raked her fingers through the longer strands of hair towards the base of his neck before her palms descended across his shoulders and along the ridges of his back muscles.

Lana spoke near his ear. "I think I'm ready, Matthew. Can we try now?"

Matthew nestled his face in the crook of her neck and responded "Yes" while softly kissing along her throat.

He positioned his cock at her entrance, rubbing the tip through her inner pussy lips. Slowly, he guided the head of his cock into her entrance as he gently pushed the full tip inside of her.

Matthew was careful and studied Lana's expressions and movements after she encouraged him to keep going deeper. She moaned and gripped his rock-hard forearms as he gently pumped his hips, allowing more of his shaft to slide inside her.

Matthew's full length was inside of Lana. Their gaze trailed from each other down to watch his cock enter and stroke her inner walls. Matthew noticed Lana start to relax as her initial discomfort began to dissipate. Her eyes fluttered closed, her mouth fell open, and her head lolled to the side as her hands roamed along all of his well-sculpted muscle groups. He gently worked his thumb around her clit, using the same technique that had brought her such bliss the night before. Steadily, Matthew continued his fluid motions, gliding in and out while he carefully caressed her highly sensitive bud, only stopping to wet his thumb, tasting her on his tongue.

Try as he might to prolong it, Matthew was getting close. He threw his head back, grunting loudly as he pumped Lana a little more quickly. When he heard her moan his name, he stretched out on top of her while her hands grasped onto his ass. Lana cried out and held onto Matthew's body as he tried to maintain his rhythm, but she just felt so good. Matthew gasped out that he was going to cum and gripped the pillow on either side of her head, flexing his muscles as his body spasmed and twitched with his release.

He remained on top of and inside Lana for a moment, breathing heavily, knowing how incredible he felt but unsure about Lana. But when their eyes connected, they shared a moment that was full of awe and amazement as their rapid breathing slowed.

For Lana, she had no expectations of what her first time would be like. She knew there would be discomfort and it wasn't going to look like the glorified Hollywood sex scenes she had seen in movies. But Matthew made losing her virginity feel natural, beautiful, and more enjoyable with his attentiveness and care.

The rain continued steadily into the early afternoon, but the dreariness outside was a perfect recipe for some relaxation, which Lana realized she had been lacking. Barely clothed, the two brought the flatbread creations back to bed and only stayed upright long enough to eat and drink. They kissed, chatted, and laughed while their hands feathered over each other's bodies. As they lay together, she learned about some of Matthew's physical scars, and he learned about the more emotional ones from Lana's childhood.

Eventually, Matthew enveloped Lana in his arms and held her tightly as he settled in for a nap. To Lana, a midday nap was unheard of; however, not long after Matthew's rumbling snores filled the room, Lana's eyes grew heavy, and she nodded off to sleep as well.

She awoke hours later to Matthew's mouth kissing her shoulder and his arm reaching over her to grab his phone. She smiled, hearing him groan and yawn beside her. She could hear him swiping and tapping the screen as she remained still with her back facing him.

Lana stirred slightly to signal she was awake. The typing on the screen ceased, and Matthew promptly set his cell aside. His hands then roamed her body, fondling everything within reach.

"Do you have anything going tonight? Or is it okay if I hang out here? I hope you're not sick of me yet," Matthew said.

She visualized his smile, one she found so disarming that she'd immediately cancel her plans, if she had any.

Lana kissed along Matthew's arm. "No, I have no plans… if you would like to, I would love to have you stay." She shifted her body, turning to face him. "So, you have nothing going on? I thought you boys would be constantly out on the town during this last stretch of summer," Lana said with a grin as she ran the back of her fingers down his cheek.

Matthew had just sent a message to Joe cancelling their potential plans for that evening. He knew he had begun to raise some questions in Joe's mind—questions that he would need to address at some point. But how could he when he really had no idea himself about what he and Lana were—or weren't?

"My buddy—Joe Woll—not sure if you know him?"

Lana nodded her head that she did.

"We had talked about getting together tonight with some of the guys that are in town now. But I just cancelled—I sort of wanted to stay here… hang out some more with you." Matthew seemed a little sheepish, now that he actually heard how the words sounded out loud.

Lana's brows furrowed with Matthew's admission. "Matthew—I hope you didn't feel like you had to stay… I know you have a life too—I'm not looking to get in the way of that."

"I know… I'm just not ready to leave this little space that we're in right now." Matthew's voice trailed off and then he chuckled. "I really like being with you and I want to do so much more of this… like, the last couple of days—getting to know so much more about you—I just—fuck—I think you're amazing…." Matthew's cheeks flushed at his confession, uncertain of whether Lana felt an ounce of what he had been feeling. "I hate asking this but, do you feel the same about me? Sort of like—do you have a picture of what we are… or could be? Maybe I shouldn't even be asking this…."

Lana looked up at Matthew, her expression warm and soft and full of affection for him. It boggled her mind that the soon-to-be 22-year-old would ever consider a relationship with someone well beyond his years.

"I'd like to continue this—whatever 'this' is... spending time together. I'm not sure of the proper label. Dating? Seeing each other?" Lana nestled closer to Matthew's chest, her fingers tracing patterns on his skin. She paused, then added softly, "But there's something I can't quite grasp."

Matthew shifted to get a better view of her face. He hadn't anticipated Lana's question and had to bite his tongue, allowing her to finish before he spoke.

"Why me? I'm not meaning to sound like I'm putting myself down, but I have tried to consider a few angles—you've got this incredible career ahead of you. You could have your pick of women—women more your age. Young women—models, athletes, whomever—that you can start your young lives together," Lana paused, gathering her thoughts. "I'm just… worried… I have lived my twenties. I'm in a whole other decade than you. And please don't get me wrong, when we're together, I rarely think about our age gap. You're so mature, intelligent, articulate, thoughtful..." She punctuated each compliment with a soft kiss on his chest. Then, worry clouded her face. "But don't you ever worry—if we were to start a relationship—that your family, your friends might feel I'm too old for you? You might even feel that way at some point down the road. I've seen all sorts of relationships with athletes, but this—this with me and you is something entirely different—"

Matthew interjected, shaking his head. "God—no. I know there's still so much we have to figure out about each other, but this being different is exactly what I want. I know I might seem too eager with wanting to spend as much time with you as I can—maybe I come across as immature... but it's because ever since we met, I never want our conversations—our time together—to end. It's like the biggest no-brainer I've ever had. So no—I don't think about whether there's a difference in age… I don't feel anything like that. I just can't ignore how great I feel when we're together."

Lana listened closely to Matthew's words, trying to uncover any red flags in how he viewed her. This didn't appear to be a ruse or him looking for a mother-figure, or anything else of that nature.

"Lana—look, I've been on the other side of things with my past girlfriends, even more than once—when everything becomes an argument, when even the simplest things seem hard, and being around them feels like a chore or an obligation. Fuck, I wasn't even looking to start dating—meeting you took me out at the knees and every single time we were together… you just—you brought out the best of me—and I think I did that for you too. So... if you're willing to give me a shot, I'm all in."

Lana's mind, once again, instinctively drifted into her natural mode of calculating risk. She could certainly see risks with Matthew, not just solely from his age, but questioning whether it was emotion or logic driving his feelings for her. She was in her own struggle between using logic or emotion, which was proving easier said than done.

But as Lana ran her hands down his broad chest, she agreed with him in her mind. He brought out the lighter parts of her personality, and she liked it. "I'd like to try. Take things day by day… spend what time we can with each other. I'm not looking to rush anything, and until we're both comfortable, I would prefer to keep this totally private. Does that sound okay?"

Matthew thought for a moment, reminding himself he had to be patient—this was her first relationship and she was understandably cautious. Matthew lifted her chin and kissed her gently while saying "Absolutely."

The rain subsided just before dinnertime. The two hadn't ventured much beyond the bedroom, and Lana fully and completely reveled in their lazy day together. Matthew's mouth explored more of Lana, and she, in turn, fueled by her fascination and internal drive, gave him her very first blow job. She thoroughly enjoyed the act, but it was the praise she received which made her positively giddy inside.

In Lana's mind, there could never be a comparison for the day she just spent with Matthew. He eased her comfortably into a whirlwind of changes and new experiences. Nothing felt overwhelming. It all just felt exactly as it should be.

In the days leading up to the Friday before Labor Day, Lana and Matthew managed to deftly arrange their respective schedules to maximize their newly sacred alone time. Knowing that Lana would remain up north for two weeks from Labor Day, Matthew pulled out all the stops, with romantic gestures and all-out wooing her before she departed for Muskoka Friday morning.

First, the bouquet of 11 long-stemmed white roses and 11 chocolate-dipped strawberries that arrived the following day. Ainsley delivered the gifts to Lana's office just as she exited the conference room, bidding farewell to her new client. Lana stifled a smile when she saw Ainsley's puzzled expression. She knew her assistant was bursting at the seams to ask the million questions she surely had bouncing in her mind. Lana glided over to her desk, marveling at the perfectly formed rosebuds, blushing as she removed the sealed envelope attached to one of the stems, and another on the box of strawberries.

"LANA—oh my god, it's killing me… who sent you roses and strawberries? Please… I won't tell anyone… please—are you seeing someone?"

Ainsley did not know about Lana's personal history. Although Lana had a good relationship with her assistant, it was after careful observation once Ainsley was hired that Lana saw Ainsley might be a touch too comfortable in sharing the private matters of others.

Lana fibbed. "Just a thank-you from Aryne Tavares for helping Matthew. I'm just going to call her now—I'll stop by your desk afterwards so we can go over some things while I'm away."

Ainsley recognized Lana wasn't eager to dive into a personal chat and quietly closed her office door, stopping to gossip with another sales rep in the break room.

Lana double-checked the door was closed before she opened the first envelope. The card read:

"11 is my new favorite number."

Lana wasn't sure of the reference right away, but it soon dawned on her. Their difference in age.

She chuckled and shook her head, grinning widely as she opened the second envelope.

"Better than beet juice. You can share these at the office—there will be more later."

Lana pressed the card against her heart. There will be more later echoed in her mind.

And there was more.

After Lana sent Matthew a quick thank-you note, they swiftly made plans to meet as soon as she arrived home from the office.

Just as Lana returned home, Matthew arrived at her door with two more bouquets of 11 long-stem roses—one red bouquet and one yellow, as he wasn't sure which color she liked the most.

Matthew also brought a second box of strawberries, dipped in rich Belgian chocolate, which had a dual purpose.

The strawberries, which were later placed on Lana's bare torso, would serve as edible foreplay.

After the delectable appetizer, the sustenance it provided fueled the pair for a marathon in bed. The freedom of knowing they wanted to try for a future together proved to be a powerful aphrodisiac.

Night had fallen, and Lana lay across her bed, breathless. Her skin still rosy and flushed, covered in a light sheen of sweat as she watched Matthew return from the bathroom. He crawled onto the bed, placing kisses over her naked body as she lazily ran her hands through his hair and down his back.

Lana mused that she could get used to this.

___

The Saturday of the Labor Day weekend was picture perfect. Bright and sunny skies, with every shade of blue on display in every direction. Lake Rosseau was still for the moment, the surface of the water would rival the smoothest glass.

Lana and Andrew's shared lakefront home was already buzzing with activity. Their Labor Day shindig was one of the area's most popular get-togethers, as the brother-sister duo were known for their warmth, hospitality, and delicious offerings from local food and drink venues. Lana and Andrew had long ago decided to take turns organizing the annual event. After Lana threw one of their most revered parties the previous year, Andrew and Jason were determined to outdo her this time. This friendly sibling rivalry to host the better get-together likely made their end-of-summer event one of the most sought-after invitations around Port Carling.

Andrew spotted Lana stealing a few moments alone on the south-facing deck of a sitting area. He handed her an espresso, which she hadn't asked for but deeply appreciated.

"Just got a message from Aryne Tavares," Andrew said. "She already RSVP'd for her and John, but it sounds like they have a few guests staying at their cottage. She wondered if we could accommodate some extra mouths to feed. What do you think?" Andrew maintained a straight face until he saw Lana trying not to smile, as she quickly guessed who one of the "extra mouths" might be.

"Drew, this is all yours," she replied, feigning innocence. "If your numbers say yes, then there's your answer."

"Aryne mentioned one of their guest's names is Matthew Knies. Ring any bells?" Andrew teased.

"You're such a donkey sometimes, Drew. Total jackass." Lana scoffed and bumped against him.

"I actually cannot wait to meet him. See the guy that's lifted all of that shit off your shoulders that our mother laid on you. Did you know he was up for the weekend?"

"He messaged me that he was staying with John and a few teammates for the weekend. Said he hoped that he could stop by for a bit."

“Well, once we’re all cleaned up here after the party, Jason and I are going on a little road trip, so your two weeks alone will be starting tomorrow. Although, the alone thing…maybe not so much anymore, eh?”

Lana chuckled and shrugged her shoulders.

“Sound carries like crazy up here but the glass doors are sound proof - I recommend keeping them closed if you and Matthew are - you know…”

“Jesus Andrew - will you stop?” Lana laughed.

“I forgot to mention - well done too….Jason and I were watching some press conferences… he sure looks like he’s got stamina. Built like a brick shithouse, as they say….”

“Fuck - I’m outta here…you’re too much…”

Lana stood up but stopped to wrap her arms around her brother. “I love you, Drew.”

“Love you to sis. I’m happy for you. Jason and I both are.”

—

Matthew spotted Lana first. Her naturally wavy hair flitted in the breeze with the ends brushing the small of her back. She absolutely took his breath away. She looked happy, relaxed, and incredibly beautiful as the light wind off the lake swept her hair to the side.

The man Lana was speaking to was no less beautiful, and Matthew had to get his bearings and calm his mind before he approached her. It was difficult not to react to the knot in his stomach given how close Lana seemed to be with the unknown man, who appeared athletic, tanned, and pretty much perfect.

Aryne, John, Joe Woll and Fraser Minten (otherwise knowns as Mints), signaled to Matthew that they were heading to get a drink and waved for him to join them. When Matthew indicated he’d be there in a minute, barely taking his eyes off Lana, Joe - in a flash - pieced it together of why his good friend had been so distant since he first started his search for a new place to live.

Joe watched from afar as Lana sensed a presence behind her. She turned around to see Matthew's face, and her own lit up, with bashful adoring smile. Lana approached Matthew and introduced him to the man she had been standing with.

"Matthew Knies—this is Jason Morin, my brother's partner. Jason, this is Matthew."

Jason shook Matthew's hand. "Great to meet you. I'm a really big fan of yours - and the team. Hoping for an amazing season ahead for you guys."

Matthew’s eyes widened once he realized he had misinterpreted the situation. “Oh - Jason - wow, awesome to meet you too. Yeah, it’s going to be an exciting season I think.”

The three chatted for a few minutes before Aryne, John, and the rest of their group made their way over to greet them. Hugs and handshakes and introductions were made and the group fell into mostly a comfortable exchange.

Eventually Lana ushered Aryne back into the grand main cottage - Aryne had her eye on some fixtures and dressings throughout the main room and Lana was glad to give her the details of the designer.

John and Fraser wanted to go explore the massive boathouse and the multi-dock/deck system, leaving Matthew and Joe with their Corona beers. They did a quick cheers and silently surveyed the southern view from the main deck at the back of the cottage.

Joe broke the silence but didn’t turn his head from the view. “Amazing spot.”

“Sure is.”

Joe smirked knowingly. He could tell Matthew was aware that Joe's keen "spidey senses" had picked up on something.

“Lana seems nice. Oh - right - she’s the one that helped you find your new place?”

Matthew fought against wanting to smile. “Yep.”

Joe bided his time and took another sip from his bottle. “Yep. Seems really nice.”

Matthew tried to fight it off but he broke in to a laugh. “Fuck dude - just ask what you want to ask or say what you want to say man - might as well get it over with.”

Joe teased his buddy. “You better work on not cracking under pressure like that - jeez, I was barely egging you on…”

Matthew rolled his eyes and scoffed. “So? What do you wanna know?”

Joe shrugged. “Anything you’re willing to divulge….”

“Well….. Lana and I are seeing each other.” Matthew exhaled deeply without even realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Joe’s eyes smiled for his friend. “Good for you, man - that’s great…”

Matthew nodded and looked around at the groups of party goers that had congregated near the bar. “She wants to keep it private - she’s worried that my family and friends are going to think she’s too old for me.”

“Ahhh - yeah, I get it.” Joe knew Matthew’s family would just want him to be happy but he certainly saw Lana’s point. “How old is she?”

“32. So just over 10 years difference.”

“Shit, that’s not bad at all. You’re 22 next month so yeah, ten years isn’t bad.”

"But… Jesus, Joe. Fuck, I couldn't help it. I swear, she took me out at the knees — first time I saw her, I was standing in her office behind John worrying I was about to pop an awkward boner."

Joe laughed, nearly choking on his gulp of beer.

"I couldn't have cared less about viewing the condos — I probably could've gotten everything decided in the first couple of hours, but I acted all indecisive for weeks, just to see her again. Man — she's just such an amazing person. She really is."

Aryne's voice behind Joe startled him and Matthew. "Is John still down at the boathouse?"

Matthew peered around a few groups of people and pointed John out to Aryne.

"Lana — I'll be back in a sec…," Aryne called over her shoulder as Lana approached Matthew and Joe.

“How are you guys doing? Do you need anything at all?” Lana said as she assessed the remaining beer in each of their bottles. She pointed out so additional food stations that had just been set up and rhymed off the varieties of cuisines, if they were hungry of course.

Joe smiled widely and chatted with Lana briefly before excusing himself, leaving Matthew and her alone together.

Barely moving his lips and pretending to look around, Matthew spoke under his breath to Lana how gorgeous she looked. Blushing, Lana did the same.

She paused for a moment and then asked if Joe knew about them. Matthew glanced downward and then apologetically looked into her eyes. Matthew explained that Joe had guessed - and that Joe was also exceptionally smart and seem to notice….well, everything.

Lana’s soft voice soothed Matthew’s mild panic, telling him it was ok that Joe knew. Her brother and Jason knew so it really was only fair.

Matthew had a sudden need to be alone with Lana and he leaned in towards her. “Think I could get a private tour of the inside?”

Lana’s eyes were directed towards a local power couple as she smiled and waved at them, but her mind was solely on Matthew. “Mmmm…I can give you a tour a little later - I have something else in mind. There’s a main staircase inside - follow it upstairs and I'll meet you up there in about 5 minutes, okay?”

Matthew chuckled and jokingly looked over his shoulder, then back to Lana. “Yes ma’am.”

Long after Matthew left with the Tavares’ Saturday evening, and once Andrew and Jason had departed on their scheduled road trip the following day, Loren was alone. She traipsed around from room to room absorbing the tranquility of the house, and the bright a breathtaking scenery outside. She always loved this time of year, and there was an odd satisfaction with taking time off when it felt most were venturing back to the work week and school grind after their summer breaks.

Lana changed into her typical work out attire, and headed down to the lake where her one-person scull awaited her on shore. Lana loved her solo rowing trips, especially on a day where the lake was as quiet as it was.

She rowed the lightweight boat along the shoreline at an impressive speed, concentrating on her tempo, proper posture and breathing. She was far off in her own world inside her mind, and barely glanced at the million dollar lake houses with their enormous floating docks and monster ski boats and jet-skis tied to each one.

After an hour-long trip around the lake, she approached her own dock and spotted a tall figure standing by the swim ladder. She stopped rowing to shield her eyes from the sun to get a better look— unintentionally rocking the boat and squealing a little when she realized it was Matthew.

As fast as she could, she hopped into the water and dragged the boat onto the sandy part of the shore, and ran up towards the gangplank where Matthew was climbing down to meet her.

Lana wrapped her arms around Matthew. “I am so happy you’re here but - I thought you had planned to go back to the city yesterday?” She was still puffing - partly from rowing but mostly from Matthew surprising her.

“Sorry - I hated being sneaky but yeah, I really wanted to surprise you. Worried me a little when I showed up and I couldn’t find you. I came out here and kept seeing a flash of something - it was the sun reflecting off your oars. You’re such a badass out there….”

They strolled up the path and chatted animatedly about the hours that passed when they were apart. They entered the main cottage through the large glass doors just off the kitchen.

Matthew was still in awe of Lana’s lake front setup and as they talked, he would meander off, poking his head in and out of rooms with a “not too shabby” expression on his face.

Lana beamed, looking at Matthew as he approached her, backing her up against the countertop by the kitchen sink. He slowly pressed his mouth onto hers and asked if he could interrupt her "quiet time" and stay for a few days. He would need to make his way back into the city at some point that week, but it was Joe who encouraged him to take the chance, come back to Lana's, and spend time with her before training camp got fully underway.

Lana wrapped her arms tightly around Matthew’s neck, her kiss full of need and desire for him. She was elated that he came back, otherwise, the thought had crossed her mind to leave the cottage, surprise him at his condo door - like they do in so many rom-coms - probably drenched from rain, too.

Every moment that followed, a sense of peace washed over Matthew and Lana, which neither had even known they needed. They simply wanted to be together. Whether they were exploring the beautiful towns nearby, sunning themselves on the dock (Matthew couldn't believe what a rocket Lana was in her bikini), or enjoying dinner for two on the boat as they cruised the lake — anything that allowed them to be near one another.

If their shared sense of peace was a surprise to them, their appetite for each other was not. At the party, after they stole away into Lana's bathroom for a few minutes (in reality it was more like 30), Lana channeled her newly discovered sexuality. Behind the locked door, Lana stripped down to her strapless bra and lace panties, and promptly palmed Matthew's cock through his pants. It wasn't much longer before Lana had her hand over her mouth, stifling her cries of bliss while Matthew kneeled in front of her, her one leg draped over his shoulder as he dined on her.

A "Car Ride" soon took on a completely different meaning after their road trips would extend past sunset. Lana was surprised to find a number of secluded spots to climb onto Matthew's cock and experience heaven — sometimes more than once.

For Matthew, picnics in bed had become a fast favorite. The amount of teasing that they unlocked with various edibles was positively sinful. If things got too sticky or messy, well then a joint shower, and everything that entails, would need to be had.

It was Lana's appetite for Matthew that brought her back to the city early, well before her two-week break had concluded. After Matthew had left their bubble to go back to Toronto to buckle down with training, Lana tried to push past the longing that had settled in deep for Matthew. She knew how to be alone—she had always been comfortable with her own company. But she missed him, plain and simple. As Matthew drove home after a morning skate, he scrambled to press "read" on his dashboard after a text from Lana appeared.

"Good morning, Matty. Would you be around for dinner tonight, or sometime soon? Just arrived home. Was missing someone terribly."

Matthew called Lana immediately.

"You're back?! God—that's really—wow… really good news. I was missing someone pretty badly too." Matthew heard Lana giggle and he felt his heart could burst with happiness.

"So, I was wondering if I could take the someone I was missing terribly out on a date tonight? That is, if he's available?" Lana asked hopefully.

Matthew was positively moony. "Does he have to wait that long—or can you maybe fit him in before tonight? Like, maybe now, if not sooner?"

Lana's smile could be heard in her voice. "I can. I'll meet you at yours in the next half-second."

Matthew's cock twitched at Lana's suggestive tone, and he let out a little groan. "See you soon then."

The afternoon was mostly spent horizontal—limbs intertwined and lips connected to each other in every way possible.

They slowly peeled themselves off each other, enjoyed a long and lazy shower, and got ready for their date. Matthew peppered her with questions as to where they were going, and Lana simply answered, "To dinner… and then I guess we'll see after that."

The only other hint she gave Matthew was that she was taking him to her favorite restaurant.

From a window seat atop the ManuLife Centre, 51 floors up, Lana gazed out at one of the most stunning sunsets she'd ever seen—a breathtaking display of reds, oranges, and purples. It felt as if the universe itself was sharing a knowing wink with her. She had gotten her wish - and what a redemption this was from the last time she sat in this restaurant.

The only thing that surpassed the outside view was the man she sat across from. His magnetic charm, disarming looks, with a genuinely kind heart.

Matthew Knies had been well worth the wait.

#matthew knies #cellysbingo2024 #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs #matthew x lana #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey romance #nhl fic #nhl smut

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marcmarcmomarc · 4 months ago

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Camp Camp Audio Description notes: character name revelations

Characters will have placeholder descriptions until their names are revealed in the show. End credits and offscreen mentions do not count.

“Can you believe it, Max?” - David, 1x1: “Escape from Camp Campbell”

“I’m not here to make friends, David.” - Max, 1x1: “Escape from Camp Campbell”

“You must be Nikki.” - David, 1x1: “Escape from Camp Campbell”

“And you must be Neil.” - David, 1x1: “Escape from Camp Campbell”

“Thank you, Quartermaster.” - David, 1x1: “Escape from Camp Campbell”

“Get down from there, Space Kid!” - Gwen, 1x1: “Escape from Camp Campbell”

“Mr. Campbell? What are you doing here?” - David, 1x1: “Escape from Camp Campbell”

“It’s Gwen.” - Gwen, 1x1: “Escape from Camp Campbell”

“I know, Sal.” - David, 1x1: “Escape from Camp Campbell”

“And here, we have our time-honored camp mascot, Larry the Hamster.” - David, 1x2: “Mascot”

“There’s a raccoon trying to scavenge Nerris.” - Neil, 1x2: “Mascot”

“Harrison, that’s incredible!” - David, 1x2: “Mascot”

“Call me Snake.” - Snake, 1x3: “Scout’s Dishonor”

“Tabii, Erin, please.” - Sasha, 1x3: “Scout’s Dishonor”

“That’s enough, Petrol.” - Pikeman, 1x3: “Scout’s Dishonor”

“Cedar scout, first class, Edward Pikeman.” - Pikeman, - 1x3: “Scout’s Dishonor”

“Wow, Sasha, thanks.” - Neil, 1x3: “Scout’s Dishonor”

“I named him Timothy.” - Nikki, 1x3: “Scout’s Dishonor”

“Man, Ered never gets yelled at for not working.” - Nikki, - 1x4: “Camp Cool Kidz”

“Don’t make this lame, Preston.” - Max, 1x4: “Camp Cool Kidz”

“Me? I’m Jasper.” - Jasper, 1x5: “Journey to Spooky Island”

“It’s such an honor to have the Camp Critic Committee visit us again.” - David, 1x6: “Reigny Day”

“…was to make young Dolph here the camp counselor for the day.” - David, 1x6: “Reigny Day”

“What do you know, Nurf?” - Nikki, 1x6: “Reigny Day”

“Bonquisha, I’m sorry.” - Max, 1x7: “Romeo & Juliet II: Love Resurrected”

“Hello, Lester.” - Fred, 1x8: “Into Town”

“Hey, there, Fred.” - Lester, 1x8: “Into Town”

“Thursday’s over, Scotty.” - Max, 1x9: “David Gets Hard”

“My name is Daniel.” - Daniel, 2x1: “Cult Camp”

“David, fire that f***ing weirdo, because I found us a new camp counselor, Jen.” - Gwen, 2x1: “Cult Camp”

“My name is Jermy Fartz.” - Jermy, 2x4: “Jermy Fartz”

“Great idea, Darla.” - Gregg, 2x5: “Jasper Dies at the End”

“But if he gets lost or something, the legal fees are coming out of your paycheck, Gregg.” - Campbell, 2x5: “Jasper Dies at the End”

“Yeppers. It’s the Quartermaster’s Quartersister.” David, 2x6: “Quartermaster Appreciation Day”

“My name’s Jacob.” - Jacob, 2x7: “Bonjour Bonquisha”

“Good morning, Miss Priss.” - Flower Scouts, 2x11: “Cookin’ Cookies”

“Look, Dirty Kevin don’t sell to no kids.” - Kevin, 2x11: “Cookin’ Cookies”

“Well, Mr. Guzmán, our people are calling them Las Diablitas.” - Cartel Member, 2x11: “Cookin’ Cookies”

“The name’s Candy.” - Candy, 2x12: “Parents’ Day”

“Carl.” - Carl, 2x12: “Parents’ Day”

“I’m Agent Miller, and this is my partner, Agent Miller.” - Agent Miller, 2x12: “Parents’ Day”

“Uh, well, you see, Mrs. Nurfington, we…” - David, 2x12: “Parents’ Day”

“Lt. Stuart Houston.” - Lt. Houston, 2x12: “Parents’ Day”

“Everyone, let’s give a patriotic welcome to Vera from Russia, Dang from Thailand, and from the esteemed and glorious, better than all others, and benevolently blessed by the… um, from North Korea, Hwan. Oh, and also Brian.” - David, 3x3: “Foreign Exchange Campers”

“I wanna say Graggle.” - Gwen, 3x8: “Something Fishy”

“Campers, say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Campwell.” - Gwen, 3x12: “Camp Corp.”

“Are you okay, Mr. Allen?” - British Student, “Arrival of the Torso Takers”

Xemüg’s Guide to Eternal Salvation front cover - 4x9: “Camp Loser Says What?”

“My Mildred’s legs are as straight as Percy over there!” - British Soldier, 4x13: “Campfire Tales”

“Oh, Ainsley, honey, don’t apologize.” - Miss Priss, 4x14: “Fashion Victims”

“Good girl, Missy.” - Louis, 4x15: “Party Pooper”

“Lucky Louis, in the flesh!” - Campbell, 4x15: “Party Pooper”

“But I read more of your diary and was able to track down one of your many high school crushes, Jake Stonewall.” - Max, 4x18: “Time Crapsules”

“Ah, CJ.” - David, 5x1: “Welcome back, Campers!”

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gracec252 · 6 months ago

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Please read: Baby name lists just from google put into one post don't judge need a way to compact this into a document before changing computer I put so much work into this I need it saved

Aries

Aylee

Annie

Addelyn

Alexa

Aspen

Ainsley

Adelaide

Amberlyn

Ariella

Ava

Ameilia

Adley

Alabama

Alma

April

Abby/Abigail

Ally/Allison

Ambree

Aurelia

Aurora

Alana

Addison

Arizona

Audrey

Alyssa

Atlanta

Alexandria

Ambrose

Athena

Anastassia

Alice

Andrew

Alec

Axel

Asher

Arlo

Atlas

Arrow

Alfie

Atticus

Archer

Ace

Alexander

Austin

Abel

Augustine

Avi

Atlas

Ason

Avery

Andie

Ash

August

Atlas

Aero

Area

Adventure

Ackley

Aster

Apollo

Brigette

Bonnie

Bea

Bexley

Bailee

Bristol

Betty

Bay

Billie

Blair

Brixton

Brynn

Berlin

Beverly

Bloom

Brighton

Britain

Beatice

Brooklyn

Brinley

Brexley

Brandon

Beck

Beckett

Baker

Brody

Brooke

Brett

Bryce

Benj

Bennet

Braxton

Bradley

Bracken

Bryson

Bowen

Braydon

Bruno

Bryson

Bennett

Blake

Bishop

Bailey

Bentley

Bellamy

Blaize

Boston

Brogan

Brantley

Brixton

Carolyn

Cynthina

Cora

Cece

Candace

Constance

Clara

Cameriegh

Camrie

Chole

Callie

Cecily

Charlotte

Cassie

Clover

Cordelia

Cheyenne

Clementine

Cecelia

Celeste

Chastity

Cleo

Calla

Cassia

Calliope

Caroline

Carolina

Cheyenne

Charlotte

Collin

Charles

Connor

Colton

Callan

Cash

Colt

Cole

Callum

Chase

Cohen

Cooper

Corbin

Cullen

Caesar

Colson

Crew

Chase

Cooper

Cash

Castor

Clay/Clayton

Camden

Carter

Caden

Carlan

Camryn

Carson

Chandler

Channing

Cory

Callahan

Cadence

Corbin

Della

Daphne

Demi

Dana

December

Davina

Daisy

Dalaney

Daniel

Dean

Delcan

Diesel

Derek

Deaco

Damon

Dain

Dalen

Dani

Deven

Dakota

Denver

Drew

Dagen

Evie

Evelyn

Everlee

Ella

Emmy

Esme

Emily

Eden

Eleanor

Ellie

Ellis

Elise

Edith

Eve

Ensley

Elizabeth

Edith

Emma

Eliza

Ericka

Erina

Emerald

Emely

Eloise

Erza

Eric

Evan

Emory

Edison

Elijah

Edward

Eaton

Elian

Everett

Elliot

Eston

Ember

Emmett

Ellison

Faith

Flora

Fern

Felicity

Florence

Faye

Fiona

Freddie

Finn

Finch

Fox

Forrest

Foster

Falcon

Ford

Felix

Frankie

Fenton

Finley

Flynn

Gwen

Gabby

Georgie

Georgia

Gemma

German

Gianna

Ginger

Glory

Grace

Gia

Gabe

Grey

Graham

Gale

Gavin

Grant

Gannon

Gunner

Gabriel

Greyson

Grey

Harmony

Hazel

Honnor

Haelynn

Haven

Heidi

Hollis

Hannah

Hadley

Haeley

Hannah

Helena

Harriet

Hugo

Harris

Harry

Hayden

Holt

Hunter

Hamilton

Holden

Holland

Harlem

Hudson

Hal

Harley

Hartley

Haslett

Huntley

Hurley

Huston

Hunter

Hollow

Huxley

Isla

Ivy

Indigo

Iris

Ivory

Ida

Izzy

Isabella

Indie

Ian

Israel

Jane

Joan

June

Jacy

Juniper

Joise

Jenna

Jade

Juliet

Jaclyn

Josephine

Judith

Jack

Jaxs

Joseph

James

Justin

Jacob

Jasper

Julius

Jackson

Jonas

Jalen

Joel

Jonah

Judson

Jayden

Jagger

Jett

Jamson

Jamie

Jude

Kathleen

Kennedy

Kynzlee

Kaylee

Kora

Kamila

Kamie

Kailani

Kira

Karmen

Kimber

Kate

Kada

Kapri

Kaizlee

Kenley

Kayte

Kingsley

Kaelyn

Kenna

Kacie

Kelsey

Kinsley

Kiwesten

Kaleah

Kane

Koa

Kingston

Kole

Kaleeb

Kale

Kash

Kalvin

Karlton

King

Keon

Kruz

Kyler

Kai

Kohen

Kameron

Karter

Kasey

Kassidy

Kendall

Kody

Korbyn

Karson

Knox

Krew

Lauren

Lily

Laken

Lana

Layla

Lane

Lia

Lila

London

Leighton

Lacy

Lettie

Lydia

Lilac

Layne

Libra

Lexie

Lena

Louis

Lee

Leo

Laim

Lucah

Levi

Lux

Ledger

Lincoln

Lathan

Landon

Leighton

Lyric

Mars

Mary

Mabel

Marie

Mae

Marlow

Maeve

Maddison

Molly

Mila

Maisie

Madeline

Margaret

Miley

Meredith

Mia

Marigold

Mariana

Marlow

Mayven

Macy

Maelie

Magnolia

Madalyn

Marley

Meadow

Mel

Meilani

Maggie

Milo

Maverick

Miles

Mathis

Mateo

Matthew

Madden

Malakai

Maddox

Memphis

Micah

Morgan

Mason

Max

Maxton

Nova

Navy

Norah

Naomi

Natalia

Noah

Nico

Nash

Nathan

Nolan

Niles

Noel

Olive

Oliva

Oaklee

Opal

Ophelia

Oscar

Oliver

Otis

Owen

Ocean

Oak

Penelope

Phoebe

Poppy

Persephone

Peggy

Paige

Paisley

Piper

Pearl

Penny

Paris

Presley

Palmer

Porter

Phoenix

Parker

Paxton

Pierce

Quinn

Remy

Ruth

Ranye

Raelle

Rosie

Raylee

Roselind

Ruby

Rilynn

Reese

Riya

Rainney

Rae-lynn

Rain

Reagan

Renee

Raven

Rose

Ruth

Rhett

Reid

Rayson

Romen

Rylan

River

Rory

Rowen

Ryder

Ryker

Romeo

Rio

Rome

Reef

Ryland

Royal

Raiden

Stella

Space

Sadie

Sutton

Soren

Seattle

Scotlynn

Story

Sage

Sapphire

Savannah

Shiloh

Skye

September

Sual

Sophia

Scarlett

Stephine

Sabrina

Stephen

Sillas

Sebastian

Sawyer

Spencer

Shawn

Skyler

Samson

Shai

Saylor

Salem

Scout

Storm

Saint

Stellan

Sparrow

Sloan

Shane

Tia

Tayliee

Thalia

Teagan

Tallulah

Tinsley

Tara

Thomas

Theo

Toby

Tanner

Tate

Taylor

Tatum

Timber

Throne

Tristan

Victoria

Vanessa

Violet

Victor

Vale

Willow

Willa

Whitney

Wyatt

Wilder

Winston

Waylon

Weston

Wesley

Wren

Westlynn

Xena

Zoey

Zelda

Zain

Zayden

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yandere-fics · 1 year ago

Note

What’s the phrase or cadence the yanderes use to say “You can’t ever leave”?

I thought about this one alot.

Miriel: "Can you please tell me who told you to leave babe? I need to know who put that idea in your head, don't worry, you're never going to be apart from me!"

Eliza: "Silly, I'm always going to be at your side! Mates don't leave eachother!"

Selene is some version of telling you she'll forgive you for trying to escape because you're soulmates so at the end of the day you'll be back in her arms.

Kassien: "If you ever leave I'll break your legs so escape will be impossible."

Nikki: "Mate, as far as I'm aware there is no supernatural that would ever separate from their mates, the same goes for angels."

Nora: "I-I'm sorry, I can't let you leave, you're my reason for living, I need to keep you safe."

Runa: "M-my love, that's not a very nice joke, you know I'd never let you leave, please don't make that joke again."

Sawyer: "Dearest, you are aware I own this city yes? You're never going to be able to leave so I would appreciate if you would stop trying."

Theanna likes to see you wear yourself out running before she swoops in and reminds you she has more endurance and men at her disposal to always hunt you down.

Elisha it depends on the relationship status, if she's still playing coy it's more like reminding you you're much safer at her side, if she's honest she's killing everyone and telling you she'll do that until no one can seduce you away from her side.

Pauline doesn't speak, she has that stupid tripping curse and if you're trying to leave she's just going to mumble idiot under her breath and ignore you otherwise she might get angry or worse, cry.

Raffie: "Beloved Sunflower, I'm the only one who could take proper care of you, I can't let you go and fall into someone unworthy's hands."

Abigail: "Sweetheart, knights NEVER let their ladies go."

Veronia: "Dearest mate, forgive me but I must keep you with me in my territory forever, you'll get used to it eventually."

Bibi: "Pookie! You're such a bitch for trying to leave when you know you can't, leave the jokes to me cause your jokes are stupid."

Ainsley: "Babygirl, do I have to break you to get you to recognize this was love at first sight, I will if that's what I have to do to make you understand you're never leaving."

Skye: "I-I thought w-we were going to be together f-forever." You can leave for a little bit but don't worry once her sisters snatch you for her, you're there forever.

Sophie: "Doll, what do I have to do to get you to understand, you're mine, I'm keeping you, get those dumb thoughts out of your head, you're my doll, it's for your own good."

Darla: "I mean you could break up with me but everyone in town knows we're going to be together forever so you'll be back soon."

Ellie: "D-do I need to start biting you more so y-you'll understand we're going to be together forever?"

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klaine-a03-feed · 1 month ago

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Performing Under Stress

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/TaMbutP by Niall_fanatic19 What if The West Wing and Glee were set during the same time period? What if our favorite show choir from William McKinley high school went to perform for our favorite West Wing staff? Tragedy hits a family while the kids are about 450 miles from home. How will everyone cope? By singing a tune of course! Rated Mature due to some of the implied references. Words: 3137, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English Fandoms: Glee (TV 2009), The West Wing Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Carol Fitzpatrick, Ginger (West Wing), Bonnie (West Wing), Carole Hudson-Hummel, Burt Hummel, Sue Sylvester, Sheldon Beiste, Congressional Liaison Larry, Congressional Liaison Ed, Toby Ziegler, Donna Moss, Josh Lyman, Ainsley Hayes, Sam Seaborn, Danny Concannon, C.J. Cregg, Abbey Bartlet, Jed Bartlet, Leo McGarry, Margaret Hooper, Emma Pillsbury, Will Schuester, Santana Lopez, Artie Abrams, Brittany S. Pierce, Tina Cohen-Chang, Mike Chang, Sam Evans (Glee), Mercedes Jones, Quinn Fabray, Noah Puckerman, Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson Relationships: Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Quinn Fabray/Noah Puckerman, Sam Evans/Mercedes Jones, Mike Chang/Tina Cohen-Chang, Artie Abrams/Brittany S. Pierce, Dani/Santana Lopez, Emma Pillsbury/Will Schuester, Margaret Hooper/Leo McGarry, Abbey Bartlet/Jed Bartlet, Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Ainsley Hayes/Sam Seaborn, Danny Concannon/C. J. Cregg Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Possible Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Tears, Heart Attacks, Carole Hummel and Margaret are cousins, Performance Art

#IFTTT #ao3feed #klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine fanfic #kurt hummel #blaine anderson

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xarrixii · 8 months ago

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F/B Chapter_45 : "Operative"

CW: guns, gunshots, child trafficking, choking, police, overall violence previous chapter | beginning | masterlist

/ / / / / | ---

Liam’s eyes traveled up and down the neon-lit sign of a woman spinning around a pole and chuckled. “Y’know, last time we were here, I kidnapped you.”

Harlow almost snorted, watching Liam rifle through his vest and make sure he had everything. “I feel like you also called me hot.”

“Funny how that works, isn’t it?” Liam looked up into the blackened sky and adjusted his sunglasses and mask. “This place is different without rain. Feels dirtier.” Then he turned and knocked on the truck while leaning against it. “Ains, man, the gun?”

“Find it yourself if you’re gonna be pushy about it,” Ainsley growled from inside. “I’m not the one who loaded the truck like it was a cache.”

“They’re under the seats.” Then Liam turned back to Harlow. “It was a reflection of someone else’s thinking, by the way. I’m like fifteen years older than you, that’s weird. Spend too much time in someone else’s head and everything starts needing a distiller to separate.”

Harlow cracked a smile and raised an eyebrow. “That is the worst excuse I have ever heard in my life.”

Ainsley tossed Liam his semi-automatic through the driver’s seat window and then leaned out of it to stare at them both. Liam caught it, raising an eyebrow right back at Harlow before looking back at the sign and blacked-out windows.

“Remember, Bauer,” Ainsley took out a cigarette and lit it with his thumb. He gave himself a nice smoke before continuing, “No blood ‘till we get the marks out of there.”

Liam lightly punched Harlow’s arm. “Get in there and make a good impression, Ben.”

“That’s the best you came up with?” Ainsley took a long puff of cigarette before tossing the still-lit thing to Harlow.

“After this one’s favorite band.”

“When did you even learn that?” Harlow scoffed. He stuffed the cigarette into his pocket as Liam shrugged and grinned as a response. He walked across the street and past the drunkards leaning on the exterior walls and opened the blacked-out door, senses immediately overwhelmed by light and color and the reek of alcohol mixed with some kind of flower he supposed was trying to overrun the sickliness of the rest of the air. Or was that just...? No, that was definitely weed.

The cigarette fire bloomed beneath his hand.

“You must be Ben,” a man trilled with a rotted smile. Harlow turned his head, making sure to carefully place an expression of annoyance and disgust. “I understand, I understand! This place must be beneath someone like you. This way, man.”

“The depravity of you all,” Harlow mumbled for effect, adjusting the white glove on his left hand. The man gave a coarse laugh in response, leading Harlow back to a connected storage garage as though this were some funny occasion.

Harlow was going to hate every second of this.

The man pushed open the handle door after shoving his key into it and led Harlow into the small enclosure, clicking the door shut and locked while Harlow adjusted his tie based off feeling alone. Then he nocked his sunglasses back up his nose.

The overhead light came on with an audible dink, shrouding the garage that was longer than it was wide in a cream light. There weren’t any storage containers, just the stool the man immediately ventured to and scribbled Ben with capital BE and lowercase n.

Faint red light peeked out of the garage door to the street, and Harlow turned behind him where the garage ended at the other wall.

It took everything in him not to puke in that instant, to keep his face straightly dissatisfied by hygienic standards, to keep his entire body rooted in place as the overly-excited, weed-smelling man draped an arm over his shoulder and whistled.

“Aren’t they pretty?”

His heart crunched up. “With a bath, maybe.”

He feigned readjusting his sunglasses again, tapping on the radio insert close to his ear four times, once for each tied up and hand-bound kid in the corner.

The man grinned and gestured Harlow take the file gripped in a sweaty hand still swung around Harlow’s shoulders. He swiped it before smacking the hand off with as much indifference as he could physically stand. A lifetime of dinner parties with his mom’s army friends prepared him for this.

To stay calm in this moment.

“That in there is all correct?” the man asked, humming and jumping off the short ramp connecting the club and garage floors to hover near the kids, looking back only to smile at Harlow.

“Unless you count some of your spelling.” Harlow knocked some of the cigarette ash off the page before stuffing that hand back in his pocket and snapping the file shut. “Now that I know it’s alive, I’d frankly like to stop looking at it to go finalize.”

The man giggled. “Yes, yes! Let’s go. I have an office inside the club. You’re willing to take off that glove for your prints, yes?”

“If I wanted to shut down your operation, the cops would already be on their way.” Harlow strolled back to the door leading into the club, unlocking it and glaring as he stepped out, taking a deep breath before the man followed him back into the noise.

“This way!” the man shouted over some song Harlow didn’t recognize yet everyone else was singing along to just fine. Harlow watched one guy enter the garage as he was taken up a stairwell and two more guard the door. Obvious rifles on display.

Looking at it now⸺

Harlow made sure there was still a pistol beneath his buttoned suit jacket when no one had eyes on him.

This is about to get ugly.

He internally cringed at the thought, but the man in front of him—nor anyone else who seemed vaguely familiated with the trafficking—made a gesture. Which likely meant there was no telepath drifting at the edge of his head and that he could relax.

Just before my all clear, really? Liam posted back.

There’s a few more guns than we planned for.

Welcome to Cairn, land of the free and land of the gun. Liam internally scoffs, seeming to relay that information to someone else before asking, How many?

Along the lines of everyone who works here, Harlow took one final look at everything before being led into the office space cluttered with cheap storage containers on equally cheap wire shelving.

Oh, great.

Harlow’s eyes must have danced on the storage containers for too long because the man was suddenly in his face again holding a sheet of paper and an ink pad.

“Antsy, are we?”

“Didn’t realize this dump had so much business,” Harlow took both items and was guided over to a table.

The man hummed with a toothy grin. “We’ve been getting pretty good at it. Enforcement doesn’t really come around these parts anymore. Not to say this place isn’t secure, we still take every precaution.”

Harlow’s eyes sharpened as he removed both gloves and set them on the table.

“You need any help with that?” the man asked as though to distract from the more than obvious lie.

“No.” Harlow had only done it every time he went into rehab. He strengthened the fire in the cigarette still settled in his pocket, building it up as he stamped each finger onto the little stupid card for this idiot. The man turned to anxiously rifle through the wire shelf as Harlow swiped on a glove and got up with as little noise as possible, unbuttoning the stupid suit jacket on the way. Garage, now—“I’ll be taking the kids.”

One finger to the back of his neck. The man’s head hit the shelf on the way down, connecting to the concrete floor with an uncomfortable smack. Harlow put on the other glove again, tapping the paper card with just enough fire to get it burning as a woman opened the door with a rifle pointed at Harlow’s face.

He was already putting on a mask under the sunglasses.

“On the ground,” the bodyguard voiced before she, too, collapsed onto the floor. Ainsley snickered, stepping over the body with another member of Cinder’s arsenal.

“Cops ETA three minutes, make it count with that bagel-obsessed douchebag.” Ainsley nodded at Harlow as he left the room. The other person was immediately engrossed in the records when the first gunshot went off, followed by silence. Then the second, followed by screams running for the doors.

Harlow’s handgun was out, one bullet making peace with an armed bartender’s foot before he took cover behind the solid metal railing to a round of automatic.

Yeah, make it sixty seconds. Patrol just went by, all they have to do is round the damn block, Liam came through again. Kids are in the truck driving away, Urban, can you make it to their surveillance room?

I can sure as hell try, you know where that is by chance? Harlow took a chance to peek just over the rail, ducking as a round whizzed over his head.

Just under the staircase.

In that case, I’m trapped.

Liam paused, and a few gunshots slung through the room. Consider it covered. Move.

Harlow got to his feet and descended the steps, taking a glance up at the second floor as he rounded and crouched under a metal-backed booth seat. The frosted glass pane lining the top of it shattered and settled on the floor around him. Ainsley, guy at your door.

Appreciated, Ainsley gave back.

“Shit,” Harlow hissed after reaching and failing to unlock the door. Keycard chip, like this club knew it needed higher security, as if that hadn’t been blatant already. His first instinct was to ask Ainsley for the probably-unconscious guy upstairs above him, but...

He fiddled out the lit cigarette from his pocket, dragging it across the door’s handle side until it swung open, melted metal dripping onto the floor and cooling solid.

The gun spun out from his hand onto the tile, head thunking into the wall just as sirens started to whoop from outside the club, barely heard over the blaring music and the punch wound into Harlow’s face. The cigarette dropped and the security guard stomped on it before Harlow could gain enough sense back to use it.

Fuck, can’t, he sputtered mentally, fist closing around his neck.

“They brought a fucking D?” the assailant spat in Harlow’s face, actually laughing. “Sorry excuse for the underground police. That why you’ve all fucked off lately?”

Ainsley caught onto it quick. Liam, go after him.

I’m not running into whatever kinetic fuckery the cops brought with them.

Christ above, Ainsley flooded Harlow’s head with a low growl. I’ve got a flame for you.

Everything flooded in black, and it took every bit of himself to keep cognitive control over his kinetic. He felt desperately for Ainsley’s fire outside the room and latched on, finger curling where it gripped his assailant’s wrist, snapping the fire into the room. “Eat shit.”

The security guard dropped to the floor, Harlow dodging the grip as Liam yelled to get down and a spatter of ice shards came through at chest height, nicking the walls before melting and returning back to sender. Harlow’s head spun, coughing blankly into the floor. The world came back with one hand over his own throat.

We’ve got a Kepler, Harlow pushed.

Liam took no time in changing the plan, Raymond and Ainsley, switch, I need our marksman up front. Nick, where’s the truck?

Harlow scrambled weakly off from the floor while Nick—the one driving the kids to a safer location—and Liam argued about switching the original location to get the truck back. Nick was arguing that the kids couldn’t be left alone, and Ainsley shot back a remark to figure it out a little faster. Harlow was met with a password screen and cursed aloud while everyone else argued in his head.

Leave them on 2204 West Vanderpull. I know a guy that’ll guard ‘em there, Raymond cut in.

That doesn’t have anything to do with the other thing, does it? Liam queried a little angrier than he intended, evident by the voice’s snap backing off slightly after the words were out.

Shut up and do it.

Nick made some mental noise of affirmation.

Liam, Harlow took his turn, I need the password from this knocked out guy.

Are you fucking with me? Liam groaned back.

Cops know this guy, Bauer, Ainsley said.

Liam responded with some kind of grumble before actual words, Urban, we’re switching. If I find out the password is written on some sticky note under the desk later then Lord help me.

Cops. Harlow was more than familiar with dealing with police officers, especially since Raiden had introduced him to so many. Harlow’s main concern was why Kepler was already in this area. He didn’t typically do patrols as the chief. What had he been chasing after that he abandoned for the shootout?

I can make that work, Raymond chimed.

Harlow picked up his gun from the ground and met Liam in the doorway, taking his bag from Liam and crouching behind the ice-hole spattered booth seating. The only thing this provided now was a sight blocker.

He shoved the pistol back into the holster and opted for his lighter instead, collecting it from the combat leg-bag now fit tight against him.

Urban, can Kepler draw his water from the air?

He was tempted to say no. Weakly. Being A-class if you have a kinetic is a requirement for the force.

Right, damn it.

We’d still be removing his crutch.

Raymond considered that. Alright. Then we’re keeping my plan. I turn it to water, you evaporate as much of it as possible. Before I tire out while Liam fucks a guy in the head.

Kick yourself, Liam said.

Lots of swearing today, Ainsley hummed.

Some of Liam’s searching invaded the telecommunication as he talked, Yeah well shit’s going wrong.

Raymond’s plan ended up being scarily efficient, and soon they were back to defending gun rounds only from the other guys still in the club. Liam cursed at the same time as some form of joy.

Password obtained, but police are calling more backup. We need a safe exit. Urban, work on knocking out the guys with the shot feet. Ainsley⸺

Just one second, Bauer, I’m almost done. Files laid all nice and pretty on the table for our government enforcers in like one minute. Then I’ll get on cracking a hole open to the roof. Ainsley laughed. Not like they don’t have a helicopter on its way by now.

Nick, where are you? Liam sent.

Nick didn’t respond. Harlow had already surged a bartender, and another shot Harlow once in the vest before getting tackled and knocked out. Harlow let out a late yelp, seething behind the bar and immediately picking the metal bullet from out of the vest.

Nick!

Did she go out of range? Ainsley replied.

Stay still, I’ll redo the net, Liam hissed.

Harlow felt the three other voices in his head poke out as he made sure he wasn’t bleeding, then got to his feet again and decided to slice through each gun with a flick of enraged fire first before approaching. It was just gunshots and the shink of ice slamming into walls.

Fuckin’ ow, Liam said. Say hi everyone.

No one said hello.

Are we all ready? I’m like two blocks down next to a taco place. Nick seemed pleased.

Records set with the decrypter. Harlow looked up to see Ainsley giving the thumbs-up on the second story, running for the roof exit and passing by Raymond. Raymond nodded at Harlow to make his way back to the stairwell, which was significantly easier than getting away from it in the first place.

Liam left the security room and started firing off pretty much every round he must have had left to allow Harlow up the stairs. Harlow snapped the fire off his lighter to form a wall neither side could see through, other hand grabbing at his handgun and firing through it where he knew would be above peoples’ heads.

“Let’s go!” Liam shouted after catching up, and all of them—including Raymond—made like hell to the roof stairs where Harlow clicked the lighter shut to dissolve the fire.

“Ladder over here!” Ainsley beckoned everyone over just before sliding down with his gloves.

The four stayed quiet, running through an alley and then straight through a street Ainsley had gotten ahead to block cars from running through. Nick helped Ainsley onto the back of the armored truck first, then she ran back to the driver’s seat so Ainsley could help everyone else on as a police car rounded the corner.

“Shut the door!” Raymond yelled as the first few bullets whizzed into the truck, even though Harlow and Liam already had them halfway shut.

The truck kicked off.

Bullets ricocheted off the back a few times before stopping, but the sirens didn’t as Nick swerved the truck around corners. Liam watched Ainsley take a few shallow breaths and took the stray bullet from the floor to flick at him. “That’s what you get for getting out of shape.”

Raymond looked at the door. Why isn’t that officer firing ice anymore?

“Getting circled,” Nick called. “Gonna change the route, we have to pass by district one’s station to get out of this. I don’t have any other options and I will take no criticism.”

“Murphy’s the clerk,” Harlow climbed into the passenger to tell her. “He’s a geo, we can’t⸺”

BRACE! Liam’s voice racketed through everyone’s brains a second before the truck flew off the ground and a spike of ice shot the armor. Nick unbuckled from the now useless driver’s seat as another spike shot through the middle and stopped the truck from sliding.

“Christ,” Raymond breathed. “Poor infrastructure.”

Ainsley carefully moved from where he’d gotten pressed into the truck. It groaned beneath him. “Be happy none of us got fuckin’ impaled.”

Harlow’s entire body shook as he flattened against the nearest surface. They were getting trapped. Fast. A megaphone sounded from down below where they all hung suspended by ice quickly cracking under pressure.

Think, damn you. “Nick, the kids are on, what was it?”

“2204 West Vanderpull,” Raymond said before Nick. Nick nodded.

Harlow didn’t even get to say it aloud before Liam was responding mentally. Got it. Break for it, kid. Ray, time for a little platforming fun. Ains, cover. Nick, get Urban down there safely and find a god-damned way out of this. Urban, I’ll keep my head open for you.

“I hate you,” Raymond hissed back.

“Well I can’t exactly make solid ice platforms in the middle of the air now can I? Get your Morgen-trained ass going…” Liam’s voice trailed off when Harlow finished cutting a hole in the side of the truck and jumped out with a trail of unwound flame from the lighter.

Tuck and roll! Nick yelled as the telepathy cut, and the air beat against Harlow’s limbs as he hit the ground and took off down the sidewalk, pain racketing up from the safe but not quite cushy landing.

A siren whoop followed him, each swing of his arm through the pace used to charge up the fire. He was suddenly very thankful for the sunglasses scraping the sun from his eyes, for the years and years of running home late knowing it would only get worse.

It gets better, Harlow screamed to himself to overrun the thought. You’re making it better.

You’re making it better.

His feet packed into the concrete, throwing up the fire at each point of ice that tried to pin him to something, anything, for long enough to grab at him. Kepler was ordering pedestrians out of the way, the old man’s agility astounding enough to keep up when Harlow darted into the subway and jumped the toll gate without much thought about it, flicking the lighter closed.

Harlow pushed through the crowded congregation waiting for the next train, legs giving out as he looked behind him to see Kepler still on his radio, although with significantly more distance.

He jumped another toll and the lighter came open again. His bag slapped someone as he ran by, finally hitting dead in the middle of 2204 West Vanderpull with Kepler still on his trail, making a point to run past the four kids crowded just outside the closed arcade in a blanket with some guy who immediately halted Kepler about it.

Breath was failing to pass in and out of Harlow’s lungs in early January’s cold, shaking from the same adrenaline that pushed him forward as he found a safe space to fall against a wall and feel the biting air mixed with sweat.

Liam. Harlow set his head against the wall and sputtered wildly for a few breaths. I’m on Halver, behind a Five Guys with a hotel on top.

Heard, Liam returned.

Harlow laughed until it caused pain near where the bullet had hit the vest earlier, then hissed silently, then caught his breath. Minutes passed where he barely felt like he could see the wall in front of him.

I feel sick, Harlow drawled mentally, still out of breath when Liam, Ainsley, Nick, and Raymond caught up in some random black minivan. Where did this come from?

“Cinder’s got quick getaways littered in a lot of places,” Nick smiled with a full grin.

It was when they were debriefing in a Cinder meeting room that the police radio ticked off the initial investigation and subsequent arrests of potential trafficking suspects. An hour later the call came in that all four kids had been identified and were being brought home.

Harlow had given a sigh of relief and gone to his dorm for an outfit change.

Cheering followed behind the smile on his face.

next chapter | masterlist

/ / / / / | --- missing a content warning? let me know

if anyone's wondering what the first few paragraphs of this chapter are referencing, it's Chapter 6 / Acid Rain

also is this, does this count as whump?

taglist (ask to go on or off): @lychhiker-writes, @madeoforgansandtissues, @fins0up

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justinspoliticalcorner · 11 months ago

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Matt Gertz at MMFA:

Fox News hosts like Ainsley Earhardt are overjoyed about notorious anti-vaccine activist Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s purported ability to help former President Donald Trump’s campaign appeal to “moms” concerned with public health. “I think moms around the country appreciate his stance for trying to make our children healthy again,” she said on Monday. Earhardt noted that in Kennedy’s speech last week endorsing Trump, “he talked about how 75% of the budget from the FDA comes from pharmaceutical companies” and “said it's very profitable when a child is sick,” adding that Kennedy’s condemnation of “corruption in health care” is “music to every mom’s ears."

The culture warriors at Fox aren’t typically invested in talking about public health issues. But in one key health-related fight on which the network aligned with Kennedy — COVID-19 vaccines — the results have proved disastrous. Their combined assault on what Kennedy falsely termed “the deadliest vaccine ever made” helped trigger plummeting levels of support for childhood vaccinations among Republicans, with ongoing consequences for America’s kids. Fox’s unique pull with its right-wing audience gave it a moral responsibility to encourage viewers to take the life-saving COVID-19 vaccines. Instead, the network — led by stars like Tucker Carlson, Laura Ingraham, and Sean Hannity — pandered to anti-vaxxers like Kennedy. Fox conducted a yearslong campaign to undermine the vaccines, which the network falsely portrayed as ineffective and dangerous, while talking up the potential of fake cures for the virus. Its hosts were particularly scathing about public health efforts to require vaccination at schools and workplaces, which Ingraham described as a “crime against humanity.” The right-wing assault on the COVID-19 vaccines led to lower rates of vaccinations among Republicans — and consequently higher death rates. But the anti-vaccine sentiment unleashed by the likes of Fox and Kennedy was not limited to COVID-19: There have been broader impacts on GOP support for the full range of childhood vaccinations.

Gallup reported earlier this month that the percentage of Americans who say it is important for parents to get their children vaccinated has tumbled since the COVID-19 pandemic — and that Republicans and Republican-leaning independents are responsible for that decline. [...]

The result is skyrocketing outbreaks of preventable and dangerous diseases among children — but things can still get so much worse. Trump is more than willing to prioritize his political future over your kids. Playing to his base, he all but disavowed the COVID-19 vaccines his administration helped bring to fruition, and he vows that his administration “will not give one penny” to schools that require their students to be vaccinated. He sought Kennedy’s endorsement and is dangling the prospect of rewarding him with a plum post — potentially secretary of Health and Human Services, where the anti-vaccine activist would wield incredible power. Far from trying to hold him back, Fox hosts like Earhardt and MAGA princes like Charlie Kirk are celebrating Kennedy’s supposed health bona fides.

Right-wing media outlets, including Fox “News”, are championing anti-vaxxer extremist Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s anti-vaccine worldview as part of their war on vaccine mandates and the COVID-19 vaccine.

Kennedy Jr. recently dropped out (but will remain on ballot in non-swing states) and endorsed anti-vaxxer enabler Donald Trump. Trump, despite signing off on the beginnings of COVID vaccine distribution with Operation Warp Speed, has appealed to anti-vaxxer extremists with his “not one penny” pledge to schools with vaccine mandates.

According to a Gallup poll conducted between July 1st and 21st, the decline in support for childhood vaccinations and vaccine mandates came almost exclusively from Republicans and Republican-leaning independents.

#Robert F. Kennedy Jr.#Coronavirus Vaccines #Coronavirus #Vaccines #Anti Vaxxer Extremism #Vaccine Hesitancy #Public Health #Donald Trump #2024 Presidential Election #Vaccine Mandates #Operation Warp Speed #2024 Elections #Conservative Media Apparatus

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thunderstruck9 · 23 days ago

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Sam Ainsley (British, 1950), Red Cocoon, 1999. Screenprint, 71 x 51 cm. Edition of 50

#sam ainsley #british art #scottish art #f

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guinevere-of-smiths · 9 months ago

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a stained-glass variation of the truth

Book: The Unexpected Heiress

Words: ~6600

Rating: G

Pairing: John Somerset x f!MC (Celeste Hayes)

Characters: John Somerset, Celeste Hayes, Lady Ashbourne, Francis Somerset, Delia Hayes, Mrs. Watmore and Effie Ainsley

Warnings: I imagine Delia to be mildly emotionally abusive, but that isn't even really alluded to in this. She is just overbearing and unplesant.

Summary: John and Celeste think themselves safe after Lord and Lady Ashbourne agree to call of the engagement. They are wrong. Some in-between scenes for the beginning of Chapter 16.

Featuring, among other things: Lady Ashbourne having a soft spot for John, Delia not having a soft spot for anyone, Celeste being very determined and John being very fatalistic.

Fun Fact: The title is a lyric from Neptune by Sleeping at Last, which in my mind is the "John-romancing MC marries Francis"!AU song.

If John was hoping to find Celeste in the great hall, he was in for a disappointment. Neither she nor his brother were anywhere in sight, although they had been penning letters here only an hour or so ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Truth be told, it wasn’t all that surprising; both were eager to end their engagement officially. Certainly, they would have sent the letters out as soon as his parents had given them their approval. Someone of a more philosophical bent than John would find much to ponder about their unity in trying to disentangle their lives from each other, but as far as he was concerned, the sooner the better. He couldn’t wait for Celeste to be free of the engagement, if only because he would finally be able to court her as she deserved.

But that didn’t tell him where they were now or why Celeste hadn’t appeared for their stroll in the gardens as she had promised. It wasn’t like her to stand someone up without explanation.

He had just hazarded a step towards the family drawing room when a figure rounded the corner. He paused. “Mrs. Watmore. How fortunate to meet you here.”

Mrs. Watmore had never been overly fond of him, and her movements were clipped as she halted and inclined her head. “Mr. John. What can I do for you?”

“Do you happen to know where I can find Miss Hayes?”

“As far as I know, she is talking to Mrs. Hayes upstairs.”

At first, John thought he must have had misheard. Celeste’s stepmother wasn’t scheduled to arrive for a few days yet if his parents’ telegram calling off the engagement hadn’t postponed the journey altogether. “Mrs. Hayes?” he repeated, just to be certain. Mrs. Watmore sniffed and made a show of looking around, as if she wanted to make sure that no member of the Hayes family was within earshot.

“She showed up here a little while ago, without so much as a letter announcing her arrival, and wasn’t here two minutes before she started to make a scene to Miss Hayes about the engagement. Mr. Francis barely managed to welcome her before Her Ladyship arrived to take charge of the situation.”

Her dislike for Americans oozed from every word. Usually, John would have chuckled and gone on his way. Not this time. His blood went cold when he realized the implications of her tale. Francis, Celeste, and he had been so caught up in getting his parents’ approval to end the engagement that they hadn’t even considered that Celeste’s family might think differently.

Calm yourself. If his parents and, most importantly, Francis didn’t agree to the marriage, there was nothing Celeste’s stepmother could do.

And then he realized, to his horror, that that didn’t mean that she couldn’t sabotage her other marriage prospects. Celeste, at nineteen, wasn’t old enough to be married in England without her parents’ consent. He didn’t know where American law stood on that, but if Delia Hayes just carried her off, that didn’t matter either way. Maybe he would have to raise the possibility of his marrying her far sooner than he would have liked. Or maybe his mother, diplomat that she was, had managed to smooth the situation over already.

“Where is my mother now?”

“Her Ladyship is in her boudoir.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Watmore. That will be all.” His pace when he started towards his mother’s boudoir was far more measured than he would have liked, but even now, he couldn’t bring himself to run through the manor like a maniac. His mind was reeling. His mother would usually withdraw to her private sanctum to write letters in peace. Was that what she was doing now? If so, what about? Dread coiled in his stomach at the thought of the plethora of letters replanning the wedding would take. He stopped in front of the closed door to take several deep breaths, only knocking when he was sure that his face wouldn’t betray his inner turmoil.

The world hung in silence for a moment before his mother asked him inside, voice clear. Even if the morning’s events had upset her, she didn’t show it. She was even smiling, sitting at her small writing desk when he entered. That would have comforted John if he didn’t suspect that it was forced.

“Pardon the interruption, Mother, but I was informed that we have surprise visitors.”

“News travels fast, I see.”

Nothing was further from John’s mind than telling on the staff to his parents—even disagreeable staff like Mrs. Watmore—so he decided to keep the tone of her words to herself. “I crossed paths with Mrs. Watmore. If you want a thorough report on what everyone heard, I will certainly keep my ears open.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Sighing, she put down her pen and motioned for him to come inside. John closed the door behind him before taking a seat in the armchair nearest to her desk. “This entire situation is a debacle.”

He watched his mother put the cap back on the pen and waited a few more moments before speaking. He didn’t want to hear the answer to his question. He wanted to close his eyes and leave this room and stay in that blissful bubble he and Celeste had been in for the past few days. He wanted to court her until they were both certain that they were ready for marriage. He wanted her to be part of his life, but not as his sister-in-law, forever out of reach.

There were so many things he wanted, but he forced himself to speak. “Then she really demanded for the marriage to take place?”

“Most empathetically. I must admit, she is not wrong about it being a waste to cancel the wedding on such short notice.”

“Not such a waste as forcing Francis and Miss Hayes into an unhappy marriage. You’re not implying that your opinion has changed just because an American showed up and made a scene?”

"John," his mother scolded.

“It would have been good manners to at least take off her coat.”

His mother didn’t even acknowledge the quip. “Her demeanour wasn’t the best,” was her single reluctant admission. “And I still have no wish to force your brother into a marriage that would make him miserable, nor Miss Hayes. But that decision at dinner a few days back wasn’t easy.” She sighed. “The upkeep of both estate and servants won’t lessen, John. And if Delia Hayes wishes to, she could make it harder for us to make another lucrative connection.”

“There are plenty of wealthy daughters in England. Delia Hayes has no sway over them.” I’d marry Celeste. The words burnt his tongue, begging to be spoken. Marriage was a step he hadn’t yet wanted to put into words. Celeste and he had known each other for barely two months. Much as he wanted to remain part of her life, it wasn’t enough time to be sure that it wasn’t just infatuation, a reckless reaction on his part to a fascinating, vivacious, beautiful woman he had gotten close to only because of the thrill of a murder investigation. But he refused to let that chance be taken from him. If Delia Hayes insisted on an engagement, she would have it—if it proved necessary. “Did she really threaten you with destroying our reputation?”

“No. But we are in no position to take that risk.”

“Fear usually isn’t a good tool for judgement,” John said, feeling like a hypocrite. Why had he flown abroad, if not for fear? But that hadn’t gained him anything but guilt about wasting more of his family’s resources. “I’m sure that once she has calmed down, we will find a solution that makes everyone happy.”

“I hope so.” His mother gave him a direct look. “But you should know that she will likely insist on a marriage between young Celeste and Francis.”

She knows. Dear God. The foolish, inappropriate need to apologize seized hold of him. He hadn’t thought the attention he gave Celeste subtle—he hadn’t wanted it to be, especially during the last few days. And still, he wanted to assure his mother that it hadn’t been his intention to fall in love with his brother’s fiancée. That the hope the false engagement had stoked inside of him had burnt too bright, turning all his resolutions to stay away to cinders.

But he was no longer fifteen years old. Carefully indifferent, he raised his brows. “What, is a prospective husband only worthy if he is to inherit a title?”

“She is a very ambitious woman. She didn’t say so openly, but it was certainly obvious that she wants her stepdaughter to become a viscountess. And I can’t fault her for wanting the best for her family.”

“Why stop at viscountess? Why not find a willing duke?” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t say that out loud; that will only give her ideas. But still. Father and you said we’d find another way. I don’t see why we should abandon that stance now. It’s a matter of principle.”

His mother’s smile was sympathetic. “I fear if we don’t assent, Mrs. Hayes will look for another husband for her daughter. Possibly a duke.”

The implication was obvious. Regardless of whether Celeste married his brother or not, he would lose her. And he refused to accept that. “And it is certain that she would only accept Francis?”

“I think it's quite likely. With her family's... resources, she has bargaining power, and she knows it.”

I’d marry Celeste. The words were searing him from inside out. It might solve their problem, but he couldn’t bring the idea up to his mother before speaking to Celeste first. Even if his mother accepted that he had fallen in love with his brother’s intended, she would have expectations regarding Celeste that might prove too difficult to bear. Celeste had just escaped an unwanted engagement. He owed it to her—and himself—that she chose him of her own free will.

But that meant that he might lose her just because he hesitated, and he didn’t know if he could bear that.

His mother had watched him closely, shaking her head with a sigh after a few moments. “You have always been too stubborn for your own good, John.”

“How do you mean?”

His mother had been Viscountess Ashbourne and a member of the English Peerage for far too long to do anything as demonstrative as to lift a brow; considering this, it was a far more impressive feat that it still felt as if she did. “I can suggest to Delia Hayes that there is a far happier marriage to be made between our families, but first I need to know if that is in your and Miss Haye's interest.”

“Mother, certainly you are not suggesting that I fancy my brother’s fiancée.”

It was a last desperate attempt at decorum. His mother only smiled benignly. “I may have gotten old, but I’m not blind. You have never cared about your brother’s marital prospects as much as you do now about arguing against his marriage to Miss Hayes.”

“I…” He realized as he opened his mouth that he was struggling in vain. His parents might have been blind about Amelia’s death, but the revelations at dinner seemed to have opened his mother’s eyes at least. “She’s a charming woman.”

His mother was still smiling. “That she is.”

“Does Father know of your suspicions?”

“Not as far as I know, for now. Until now, I wasn’t certain myself if I wasn’t reading too much into your friendship.”

That at least was a small consolation. As generous as his mother appeared to be towards his indiscretion, he assumed his father would think differently. He had, led by his anxiety over the estate, urged Francis’ engagement with the younger Hayes daughter from the very beginning. But that was a problem for a different point in time. “If Mrs. Hayes could be talked into it, at least our fiscal problems would be solved. And it would spare Francis the guilt of marrying Amelia’s sister.”

“And you’d be prepared to marry her?”

“As I said, she’s a charming woman.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You’re right.” The boudoir’s windows looked out onto the garden, presently bathed in the most beautiful sunshine he had seen in days. Had Delia Hayes not made her abrupt appearance, he and Celeste would be promenading there now, talking about everything and nothing—a book she had read, their travel experiences, absurd anecdotes about social engagements, society, philosophy, whatever brought them joy. The end of her engagement and the murder investigation had given their conversations a freedom that hadn’t seemed possible before. Feelings they couldn’t afford to indulge in had always stood in the way of the friendship they could have had otherwise. Imagining all of that being taken away, hardly won, hurt more than he dared to admit.

But did that mean that he was ready for marriage? He felt he had been once upon a time. But that had been in another life, with another woman. And while he was sure that he could love Celeste, was well on his way to loving her, in fact, he didn’t want to give her less than his entire heart. If it weren’t for the fact that he would lose that possibility if he let fear get the better of him now. As his parents’ younger son, he would never face the same marital expectations from his parents as his brother—he could wait for years if he so pleased. But would he ever find someone like Celeste again?

“John?”

“Forgive me. I hope you understand that that is not an easy question to answer. I greatly enjoy Miss Hayes’s company, and I think we could be happy together. It wouldn’t be my choice to suggest marriage to her under such circumstances, but if there is no other way..."

“Do you think she would agree to such an arrangement?”

I love you too, John. “I couldn’t tell you. I hope so.” He took a deep breath. “I would be grateful to you if you could at least put forward the possibility.”

His mother regarded him for a few endless seconds before nodding. “I will see what I can do.”

“That’s all I ask.” Guilt crept up from his chest to his throat, heavy and dark. He could only pray that he wasn’t wrong about Celeste’s affections for him. If he forced an engagement on her out of egoism, she would never forgive him—and he wouldn’t forgive himself, either. He stood quickly. “I should let you write your letters in peace.”

He was almost at the door when his mother spoke again. “John, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

His mother hadn’t moved; she hadn’t even picked up her pen. She was just looking directly at him. “Should Mrs. Hayes insist on the marriage we originally planned, and should your father and I decide that it is what is best for our family, I’ll expect you and Miss Hayes to comport yourselves accordingly.”

He swallowed. He had expected no less, but the knowledge that his mother would be watching them and know of his desires filled his stomach with lead. “Of course, Mother.”

Then he left, praying to every divinity that might hear him that his mother would be successful.

~*~

Whatever it was that his mother said to Mrs. Hayes, it wasn’t enough.

He shouldn’t have expected any other result. Francis was their father’s rightful heir and would be viscount one—hopefully distant—day, while he himself was only the child his parents had taken in out of pity and sorrow and had never cared much about societal influence. Not only did his brother stand between himself and Windcroft, but his natural father did as well, if he was even still alive. Looked at logically, the decision made sense. Celeste had mentioned again and again how ambitious Delia Hayes was and how desperately she wanted her family to climb the social ladder. An adopted son without legal entitlements to anything of relevance was bound not to be enough for her.

And still, deep in his heart, he had nurtured hopes that died an agonizing death that very afternoon.

It was cruel irony that it was his mother that told him the news. A year ago, it had been her that had taken him aside after his return from India to tell him what had laid his world to waste back then—that bloody ship, Victoria’s father’s business trip, her mourning brother’s note that had ended the faint hope that she, at least, had been able to escape. He felt just as numb as back then when he nodded, excused himself, and left the room.

Celeste was alive. That was the small consolation left to him. He would still be able to see and talk to her. She would remain a part of his life.

Until the thought of everything they would never have drove him mad.

~*~

For the rest of the day, he didn’t get a chance to talk to Celeste. Even when they were in the same room, Mrs. Hayes successfully kept her occupied—on purpose, if John wasn’t imagining the glances she threw his way now and then. Considering the antagonism he felt towards the woman, imagining foul play where there was none was a distinct possibility.

Heaven knew how he had managed to get through dinner—he had blocked out so much of it that he wouldn’t have been able to tell. Still not seeing much of what was around him, he followed his father and Francis to the library, only to nearly collide with Francis’ back when his brother suddenly stopped walking.

It took him a few moments to grasp the reason for the sudden halt: Mr. Barnes was speaking to his father in a low voice. After a moment, Father sighed and nodded. “Then I’ll better have a look at it right away. You two go on into the library.”

He only waited for a nod before walking off with Barnes. A viscount didn’t need permission to leave people out in the cold, after all. Privilege gave them the right to destroy lives or to stand idly by while others did the destroying.

For God’s sake, don’t be so dramatic. It was unfair of him to even think like that, and he knew it. His parents had given him so much, and they were only doing what they felt was best. It was ungrateful of him to jeopardize that. “What happened?”

“There has been a letter from Mr. Giles that father was waiting for.”

“Ah.” Disregarding Francis’ raised brow, John walked past him into the library. “If it is legal business, we could be waiting for a while.”

Luckily, there was already a bottle of port standing ready on a side table. Drowning his sorrow in alcohol was neither healthy nor effective—he knew well his problems would still be there afterwards—but he wasn’t sure he would survive the evening sober. He went to pour himself one and looked over his shoulder at his brother. “Do you want some as well?”

“Yes, thank you.” Francis accepted the glass and sat down in an armchair without taking his eyes off him. “John, you have to know that I am sorry.”

“It is how it is.”

“I’m serious. If there had been any way to convince Father and Mrs. Hayes that—”

“Francis, leave it be. There is nothing we can do about it either way.”

The last thing John wanted were discussions about something that could only hurt him. He didn’t blame his brother for what had happened. At least he was trying not to. Certainly, Francis could refuse to marry Celeste, but then her stepmother would whisk her away to the States and find her another husband. This way, she at least remained in his life. Maybe, someday, when the wound wasn’t as fresh, they could be friends.

Until that day, he refused to spend more time thinking about it than he had to.

“Maybe there is.” His brother put down his glass and rubbed his forehead. “There has to be some way to make her understand that you’d be just as good a husband for her daughter as me.”

“Only that I am not.” John drained his drink. “You’ll inherit the title; I won’t. That’s enough for that woman.”

“But-”

“Francis, leave it be.”

His brother shut his mouth and looked at him with far too much pity for comfort. When he didn’t say anything, John squared his shoulders. “Don’t make the situation bigger than it needs to be. Miss Hayes and I have known each other for, what, two months? We’ll bear it.”

For a moment, he was certain his brother would disagree, but then Francis only nodded and released a slow breath. “You’re probably right. I’m sorry nonetheless.”

After that, neither of them uttered another word. John would have liked to say that this would change nothing between them. All of them were mature adults. They moved in circles in which marrying purely for love was a luxury. He would be expected to master his feelings and be the perfect brother-in-law to Celeste.

He repeated that knowledge to himself again and again. Tried to internalize it. Tried to remind himself that what he took for profound, fervent love could well be nothing but infatuation that would dissipate if he ignored it long enough. That was how feelings were supposed to work once one was no longer an adolescent.

If only reality were as simple as the theory.

~*~

He stayed in the drawing room for as long as he could stomach, but in the end, he couldn’t bear it anymore. Listening as Delia Hayes talked excitedly about wedding preparations with his grandmother, while his mother and father made polite replies, Celeste sat there looking as miserable as he felt, and Francis gave every appearance of wanting to disappear then and there, was a new form of torture.

The proper behaviour on his part would have been to listen with a stiff upper lip, but his patience was at an end. He stood, instantly feeling all eyes on him.

“I’m sorry, but I just recalled that there was an urgent letter from an acquaintance I need to reply to. It slipped my mind, what with everything that happened today. I hope you’ll excuse me.”

His mother nodded immediately. “Of course. Will you rejoin us once you are finished?”

“I don’t think so. I wish everyone a good night. Mrs Hayes. Miss Hayes.”

“Can’t your letter wait awhile longer?”

Of those present, most could not have made him hesitate, but he couldn’t ignore the sound of Celeste’s voice. Everyone’s eyes shifted from him to her. Her gaze was on him, her smile brave, but with a plea in her eyes that made his heart stutter painfully.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t think I have much input to give on the wedding preparations.”

“That topic will surely soon be exhausted.”

Her stepmother tsked. “Don’t be foolish, Celeste. We’re not nearly done even with the guest list!”

Celeste’s smile was as polite as it was impersonal. “The guest list has been finalized months ago. I can imagine that you’d like to hear what important personages will be in attendance, but everyone here should be able to participate in tonight’s conversation, don’t you think?”

“As yet, nobody has voiced a complaint about this topic, dear.”

Her smile was so patronizing that it made John’s blood boil. As if Celeste was nothing more than a misbehaving child that one needed to explain basic concepts to instead of a mature, intelligent woman that knew her own mind.

His grandmother waved her hand dismissively before he was able to rise to her defence. “I’d like to hear more about the intended guests. So, Blythe, Rebecca has made certain of the accommodation despite this unfortunate matter?”

The beginnings of hope that had crept into Celeste’s face for a few traitorous heartbeats vanished. She was still looking at him, silently pleading with him to stay. And he wavered. He didn’t want to abandon her. But she was his brother’s wife-to-be. The sooner he accepted that there was no future to this kind of closeness, the better.

So, he held her gaze for a moment, trying to silently give her the apology he was unable to speak aloud, and then left the room.

There really was a letter to be answered (the only thing that had been a fib was its urgency), but he halted at the foot of the stairs to breathe in deeply. He might not have been able to bear the drawing room, but the prospect of his empty quarters seemed no more inviting. If he went about it quietly, he would be able to sneak out to spend a few hours at the pub. Its laughter and noise were sure to distract him. Going there wouldn’t solve his problem, but it would help him forget for a time.

But first, he would have to change his clothes. His tailcoat was unlikely to be inconspicuous in a pub. He was so immersed in debating his plan that he nearly collided with Effie once he reached the upper floor. The maid only just managed to jump aside.

“Oh! Master John!”

“My apologies, Effie. I should have watched where I was going.” He made to move past her when she suddenly cleared her throat.

“Beg your pardon, sir, but I have a message for you.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

Against his better judgement, he had stopped, which allowed him to watch Effie look around furtively before pressing the sheets she was carrying to her chest with one arm and using the other to pull a sheaf of paper out of her apron’s pocket. “It’s from Miss Hayes. For you. She gave it to me before she went down to dinner. I was supposed to give it to you as soon as I saw you.”

If he were wise, he would dismiss the letter, especially after all his lofty professions of good intentions, but he couldn’t bring himself to. “Thank you, Effie.” He took the note from her and was about to turn away when she cleared her throat again.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Hayes asked me to tell you to read it immediately, so I can give her your answer.” She lowered her gaze, as if she expected an upbraiding for her brazenness. Even investigating a murder together couldn’t change some things.

Celeste’s letter was short. Instead of the unnecessary apologies and vows to never forget him he had expected, there were only two sentences.

John,

I need to speak to you. Tonight, at the top of the tower, once everyone has gone to bed.

All my love,

Celeste

He shouldn’t.

But he couldn’t resist, either. “I’ll be there," he said, pocketed the note, and continued his way towards his room.

~*~

Celeste threw herself into his arms the moment he reached the top of the stairs.

“Careful!” The unexpected force made him teeter backwards; only a quick grab for the railing prevented them both from tumbling down the staircase. Celeste backed up immediately.

“I’m sorry, but I’m so relieved to see you.”

“It’s alright.” He took a few steps away from the stairs, just to be safe. “Are you telling me that seeing you during that farce of a dinner wasn’t enough?”

“You mean the dinner where I hardly had a moment to speak to you?” Celeste, usually a picture of decorum and grace, laughed bitterly. At least she hadn’t completed the indecency of their situation by having shown up in a nightdress. She was still wearing her evening gown, merely without her gloves and jewellery. “I’m glad Effie caught you before it was too late, at least.”

“I wasn’t sure whether to come.” Every shred of common sense he possessed was screaming at him to leave, that there was no use, that their disappointment would only get bigger the longer he held on, but instead, he wrapped his arms around her when she embraced him again. “But I couldn’t stay away.”

“You better not.” It was her who pulled away, if only far enough to look up into his face. “John, I’m so unbelievably sorry. I tried to change Delia’s mind, but she twisted every word I said.”

“I’m under the impression that your stepmother is quite determined not to let anyone veer her from her course. Even my mother couldn’t do a thing about her.”

Celeste twisted out of his arms completely, her lips pressed tightly together, and walked a few steps away from him, only to turn sharply around. “Delia has always been like that," she announces, her eyes blazing. “Whenever something doesn’t fit into her plans, she just stops listening, no matter how many arguments one brings forward. And with this, it doesn’t help that it’s about our feelings. Who cares that I’ll still marry into English nobility, but will be happy about it, if she could brag about her daughter the future viscountess instead?” She looked on the verge of punching or kicking something.

John understood. He was just as furious at the powerlessness he felt.

“She can’t force Francis and you to marry.”

“But she can force me to go back to the States.” Sighing, Celestes dropped down onto the cushioned bank they had sat on only a few days ago when he had confessed his love to her. The memory turned his stomach. How naïve they had been. “I don’t know whether she’d use force, but I’m financially dependent on my parents. And, well, they're my parents.” She looked away. “I can’t simply break with them.”

“They’d really disown you?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment. “But I fear it. In any case, I doubt they’d agree to pay the large dowry that made me attractive as a daughter-in-law for your parents in the first place.”

“Even if I don’t marry for money, Francis could still do so in the future.”

“But will his marriage prospects be improved by a penniless American, disowned by her own parents and without any connections worth mentioning?” Her hands balled into fists. “And all this wouldn’t be such a problem if Delia wasn’t so good at dismissing anything that doesn’t fit into her view of the world!”

He would have liked to reassure her that all her stepmother needed was time to acclimate herself to the idea, but she had told him enough about the woman to know that that was unlikely. Once Delia Hayes had adopted a goal, she held onto it, even if she had to walk across corpses to reach it. “I’m sorry, Celeste.”

Immediately, astonishment softened her angry face. “Why? Nothing about this is your fault, John. If anything, I have to apologize for Delia.” For a moment, she seemed on the cusp of saying more, but then, she pressed her lips together and shook her head. “We have to come up with something, and fast.”

John laughed without joy. He had been wracking his brain since his conversation with his mother, without one decent plan to show for it. Only ludicrous, half-formed ideas. “Sadly, I don’t have any claims to titles I haven’t told you about. Without eloping to Scotland, I don’t see a way out.”

Celeste was silent for some moments. She stared out at the moonlit hills, her brows furrowed. “If this was only about showing Delia that she can’t control everything, I’d be tempted to ask you for precisely that.”

“I beg your pardon?” He was sure that he had misheard.

But Celeste merely met his eyes and shrugged. “That isn’t a new idea, is it? Two lovers throwing duty and opposition into the wind and running away together?” She forced a smile. “Aunt Maude, at least, would be thrilled.”

“Your aunt would probably even help us if we asked her to.”

“Oh, she would.” As if she had suddenly forgotten why they were meeting clandestinely and talking about hypothetical secret marriages in the first place, Celeste’s eyes took on the mischievous gleam he so loved. “If only to see Delia’s face when she finds out. You don’t know how much Aunt Maude would enjoy holding that over her head for the rest of their lives. That all her tyranny and propriety didn’t gain her anything in the end, I mean.”

“There isn’t only your family to consider, however. There’s mine, too.” John had meant to remain serious, but when he looked into Celeste’s sparkling eyes, the same recklessness he always felt with her seized him. “My grandmother might actually have a heart attack when she hears of it.”

“Your grandmother always seemed rather tough to me.”

“That’d be the alternative: her having both of our heads.”

“Obviously, there is only one solution for that.” He had sat down next to her by this time, so instead of continuing her speech, Celeste scooted closer to him, let her fingers wander down his lower arm until she could take his hand in hers, and looked at him so intensely with her warm brown eyes that his chest warmed. Only then did she speak. “We just turn our back on it all and make sure we are never heard from again.”

“Or we rely on your charm winning over my parents to our side and let them deal with Grandmother. Provided you don’t object to marrying a younger son without much to offer.” He held her hand tightly in his. All of this was nothing but idle daydreaming, but he couldn’t make himself let go.

“Only if that younger son doesn’t object to marrying said penniless, disgraced American.”

He swallowed with difficulty. The mischief had vanished from her eyes, although her gaze hadn’t lost any of its intensity, and without her having to say it, he knew what she hoped for from him. “If this was only about myself, I wouldn’t care a whit about anything else, Celeste," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I would go anywhere with you. But my family…”

His parents had done so much for him. He couldn’t repay them by not only foiling a lucrative marriage but making it harder to find another such one, at the very moment they needed the money the most. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he disappointed them like that.

Celeste didn’t seem to have expected another answer; she only nodded and took a slightly shaky breath without loosening her hold on him. “I understand.”

“But I’m grateful for the time we had," he said after a moment. “As short as it might have been.”

“So that’s it?” She looked up at him with those big, dark brown eyes he had found such joy losing himself in during the last few days, and his heart constricted painfully. It was obvious that she felt the same. He saw her swallow before she could speak again. “We just give up?”

It was as if her words pulled his fears and anxieties into reality with gruesome clarity. For a moment, he felt as if forced into icy water; his lungs closed as if every breath was pressed out of them, and his heart first stuttered and then beat thrice as fast as usual, painful and in panic. He had only just found her. No matter what they did now, their lives would alter forever, and both paths were littered with things they would regret.

But how was he supposed to put his own happiness over the financial security of his family?

“It was a beautiful dream, Celeste," he said, shaking his head. “But it was always too good to be true.”

“There has to be something we can do," she insisted, but at this point, she likely spoke out of stubbornness rather than real hope. He wanted to deny it himself, but the truth was that there was no escape. Hoping at all had been naïve, but he couldn’t regret having given into it. He was just about to say something to that effect when Celeste suddenly dropped his hand and stood. “We just have to find some means to delay the wedding; buy ourselves some time. Enough to come up with something to convince our parents to let us decide for ourselves.” She started to pace. “Maybe I can fake an illness. Effie would certainly aid me. How kind or liable to bribery is your family’s physician?”

“Celeste, even if we were able to fool anyone, which I don’t believe we could pull off, what good would it do? There is nothing that could make me look like a better match than Francis.”

“I refuse to just give up. After everything we’ve been through in the last few months, I won’t waste my life by being forced into a marriage that will make every single one of us unhappy.”

“Francis is a good man.” It hurt, saying the words, but someone had to. He had to make both of them realize that it was easier to look their fate in the eye. “He would never mistreat you.”

„He would do his best not to see Amelia every time he looks at me, you mean.” Suddenly, she stilled and looked at him with steel in her gaze. “How am I supposed to marry a man who I know wishes I were my dead sister, while he knows that I wish he were you? Just how do you expect this to work, John?”

“We would hardly be the first to marry other people than those we wish to.” She was right, of course she was, but what would admitting that aloud change? “It will hurt in the beginning, but we will learn to live with it.”

“Even if we could, that isn’t what I want.”

“It isn’t what I want, either.” He stood and walked over to where she was standing. In the dim light, her hair silvered by moonlight, her face gilded by the lantern’s glow, she looked like an ethereal creature out of a dream, hidden from daylight. Just what she had always been to him. And yet, she was so beautiful that he wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and kiss her until they forgot everything that had happened that day. The thought did nothing but feed his misery. “Believe me," he said, “I wish things were different.”

“John…”

“I can’t hang on to pointless hopes again and again, Celeste. Not after everything.”

“They won’t be pointless if we can find a way to convince Delia.” When he didn’t reply to that, because he honestly didn’t know what to say, she reached out a hand to gently stroke his cheek. The tender caress sent a shiver down his spine, and although he should have put distance between them, he leant his hand into her warm, soft hand when she let it rest against his skin. He didn’t want this moment, possibly the last they’d ever have, to end. Her thumb softly stroked his cheek. “Promise me you won’t give up, John, that you’ll at least try to come up with something. Then I’ll promise the same.”

It was pointless; it was foolish, but looking into her eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to say so. At the end of it, she was right: after everything they had seen and lost, sacrificing their happiness to duty was laughable. He could only hope that they would find a way to win this fight before it was too late.

#the unexpected heiress #playchoices #choices stories you play #john somerset #celeste hayes #john somerset x mc #tuh mc #francis somerset #lady ashbourne #blythe somerset #delia hayes

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archive-poetry · 10 months ago

Text

—Igor Gulin, Kontur, translated by Your Language My Ear

2024.09.30 - poets.org poem-a-day

[x]

Kontur

Igor Gulin

translated from the Russian by Your Language My Ear S

The angle is too wide. It’s really an angle, not a cone. I keep slipping down over and over. But—I catch on the vertices. I hang like a piece of seaweed at the periphery of the gaze. It’s the same story with the tables. It always amazed me how nothing falls off them in his work, and now it’s like I can understand the utter despair of these victuals. I’ve also fused into place—at a 25-degree angle. You can’t pick me up or drop me. But I’d like to slide off already, into the hungry rustle of antennae, to the local partisans’ camp. I lie at my quiet angle facing the cobalt contour and am afraid to touch it. I don’t know what unfathomable geometry preserves it. At one point I studied Italian but now all I can muster is an oily magari. It has to do with the relationship between what’s alive and what’s salty.

These figures are annoying when they’re the first to fall. They form predictable vacuums. There are two of them here. And also, in the shape of a small square, a spot of color—F. I have a hunch they named her in honor of an unsuccessful dancer, but I’d like to think otherwise. It always seemed to me that those splotches of his had a lot of, not passion, but love. They break apart the bedroom scene, let the paint run down and abandon the hopeless composition. In the awkward dubstep undertaken by F there’s a similar generosity. She pins my legs and gives my doomed hands a soft task. Tears, fisticuffs, the ritual sacrifice of round birds. Their fall happens at too great a distance to divine anything from the asphalt remains. Now I can’t turn my head, I watch the handless clock, and time settles in a stiffening vertebra like salt. In two days we’ll go to the factory to flirt with the spectors of labor. I will crown myself with the thorny wreath of inaction, slash open my hand, and that stillborn chick we couldn’t see from the balcony will ooze out, rise up from my blood. You’ll blow on it and my wound will acquire the gift of sight.

The metaphor is as old and precise as the devil. I want to be the text, you want to be the image. Fucking gender. You don’t want to be looked at. I am trying to become illegible. Fucking gender. One day we will be like angels. Composed of a single contour. Meanwhile, I watch the ink fill in your body.

About this Poem

“‘Kontur’ [Contour] was written in 2014 as a kind of postscript for a big cycle of prose poems called Encumbrances/Narratives. It was first published online in the digital magazine QueerCulture (no longer available), and then in Khlebushek [Lil’ Loaf of Bread] (Freepoetry, 2017). It is actually a rather straightforward lyrical piece. The situation: two people are lying on the couch. One is in love with the other; the second one is asleep; the first one gazes upon the loved one and endures a kind of noli me tangere experience. Instead of touching the loved one, he pictures the scene as a series of homages to favorite painters. In the first fragment, it is David Shterenberg; in the second, Francis Bacon; and in the third, Paul Klee.” —Igor Gulin, translated from Russian by Ainsley Morse

Контур

Угол слишком широк. Это – именно угол, не конус. Я вновь и вновь проскакиваю вниз. Но – цепляюсь за стрелки. Вишу водорослью на периферии взгляда. Та же история со столами. Я всегда удивлялся, как у него с них ничего не падает, а сейчас будто бы понимаю невозможное отчаяние этих продуктов. Я так же врос – под углом в 25 градусов. Меня ни возьмешь, ни уронишь. А хотелось бы уже скатиться – в голодный шелест усиков, в лагерь к местным партизанам. Я лежу под тихим углом к кобальтовому контуру, и боюсь к нему прикасаться. Не знаю, что за бездонная геометрия его хранит. Когда-то я учил итальянский, но сейчас все что могу вымолвить – промасленное magari. Оно касается отношений живого и соленого. **

Эти фигуры раздражают, когда падают первыми. Образуют заведомые пустоты. Здесь таких две. И еще – небольшим квадратом, пятном краски – Ф. Я догадываюсь, ее назвали в честь неудавшейся танцовщицы, но хочу думать иначе. Мне всегда казалось, в этих его пятнах много не страсти, но любви. Они разламывают сцену постели, дают краске сбежать, покинуть безнадежную композицию. В нелепом дабстепе, затеянном Ф., есть схожая щедрость. Она блокирует мои ноги и дает мягкое дело обреченным рукам.

Слезы, драка, жертвоприношение круглых птиц. Слишком далекое их падение, чтобы выгадать хоть что-то по асфальтным останкам. Теперь я не могу повернуть голову, смотрю в циферблат без стрелок, и время откладывается солью в каменеющем позвонке. Через два дня мы пойдем на завод, кокетничать с призраками труда. Я короную себя терновым венцом бездействия, рассеку руку, и тот, не видимый нам с балкона, мертворожденный цыпленок вытечет, проступит из моей крови. Ты подуешь на него, и моя рана получит зрение. **

Метафора стара и точна как черт. Я хочу стать текстом, ты хочешь стать изображением. Ебаный гендер. Ты не хочешь, чтобы на тебя смотрели. Я пытаюсь стать нечитаемым. Ебаный гендер. Однажды мы будем как ангелы. Состоять из одного только контура. Пока я смотрю, как чернила заполняют твое тело.

#poetry #poem #writing #poem a day #queerness #gender #love #prose poetry #translation #russian poetry #igor gulin #kontur

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mermaidsirennikita · 1 year ago

Note

I read your review of Earls Trip and was wondering if you had any other recs please where the heroine is not a virgin but has not had good sex? Thanks!

For suuuuure!

Contemporary:

The Next Best Fling by Gabriella Gamez isn't out until July but I'd highly recommend a pre-order because the heroine has never been given what she needs in the bedroom. Fortunately, the brother of the guy she thinks she's in love with DELIVERS.

Act Your Age by Eve Dangerfield. The heroine hasn't had the worst sex ever in the past, but she's very unfulfilled because she feels like she can't really indulge her kink (daddy stuff specifically) due to a fear of rejection? So it's a next level thing when she hooks up with the hero, who's totally compatible with her on that level. (It matters!!!)

Historical:

lmao like most widow books tbh

Scandalous Desires by Elizabeth Hoyt. Silence's sexual relationship with her husband was mid to poor and she doesn't even know what getting eaten out is until she gets turned out by a slutty pirate (as one does).

Joss and The Countess by S.M. LaViolette. Like, the big thing in this book is that all of Alicia's encounters in her marriages were either mid or awful (TW for past abuse) and after her second husband dies she starts trolling London for a good lay. With her bodyguard, Joss--who is actually a former sex worker and the D E F I N I T I O N of a great lay. And he knows that she what she actually needs is some rough attention, as they'd say, so he basically gets fed up one night and is like "THIS IS RIDICULOUS I'M TAKING OVER". I actually really liked that a lot of the issue was indeed Alicia sleeping with shitty men, but another part of the issue (because I believe her first husband was nice) is that she just... wasn't compatible with people who weren't going to rough her up. Someone being nice isn't enough for the sex to be good, y'all do need to be sexually compatible, 'tis a fact of life.

A Lady Awakened by Cecilia Grant. The heroine's sex life with her husband was so mid (both because he was boring at best and because of her own hangups) that she just lays there like a corpse after telling the hero to knock her up for plot reasons. It takes a while for her to actually engage and learn how to enjoy it.

The Duchess in His Bed by Lorraine Heath. Another one where the heroine is trying to get a dude to knock her up after her husband dies for heir reasons! The husband in this case really wasn't bad, but the fires, they were not a-lightin'. And then she ends up tangling with an incredibly slutty Trewlove hero, always a good move.

Waking Up with the Duke by Lorraine Heath. Jayne's sex life with her husband before he became impotent doesn't sound baaaaad per se, but definitely not exciting and NOTHING close to what she experiences with Ainsley. Also, I wanna call out that it is actually really shitty that her husband didn't even try to be romantic with her after the accident that rendered him impotent. Like yeah, your sex life may not be the SAME after that, but it can EXIST, and while what happened to him was horrible, closing the door on a romantic relationship with a spouse who loved him and couldn't leave was just such an asshole move. (CLIFFORD CHATTERLEY.)

The Many Sins of Lord Cameron by Jennifer Ashley. Lmao actually the heroine is named Ainsley in this one. Anyway, I think her sexual encounters were mid at best, she's a widow, she had this one incredibly charged makeout with Cameron while her husband was alive but it didn't go any further... And now she's getting, shall we say, wrung the fuck out.

For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale. Melanthe is in general one of those ice queen heroines where you get the sense that she thinks it's kinda not possible for her to super connect with someone in that way...? Her husband was actually very kind and she did love him, but it wasn't a romantic love situation--almost more daughterly, which is uh, messed up, as he did get her pregnant once so there was a sexual relationship. Yikes! Anyway, her deal with Ruck is much softer and sweeter and what she deserves.

Pippa and The Prince of Secrets by Grace Callaway. FUCK DUDE THIS SHIT. The heroine's husband wooed her and then totally fucked it up during the marriage, such a tool. And so much of this book is about her discovering herself emotionally and sexually with the hero, who was her first kiss when they were kids and is now scarred and ashamed of himself but also deeply capable of throwing it the fuck down. I need to reread this. God.

The Viper and The Recruit by Monica McCarty both star widowed heroines whose husbands frankly were dicks, and they both end up with men (in The Viper he's a grouchy asshole who hates women because of his mean wife which is difficult to sell but it works here, and in The Recruit he's a Hapless Slut who really bit off more than he could chew lol) who actually fuck ridiculous, very happy for them.

The Raven Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt has a widow whose husband actually, I think, got another lady pregnant while he was married to her. Nice! Anyway, she's fully unaware of what good sex is but she does know sex and desire and stuff, which is why it is extra difficult when she starts developing a lust for her ugly (HIDEOUS! HE HAS POCKMARKS!) boss.

Any Duchess Will Do by Tessa Dare has a normal, unwidowed shopgirl heroine who is pretty blunt with the hero about being experienced, but it's all been pretty mid.

Duke of Sin by Elizabeth Hoyt has a non-virgin heroine who like... they don't get into it, but I definitely got the sense that she'd only had mid sex. It's honestly very funny because after they fuck for the first time he's like (and he is CRAZY) "huh. you weren't a virgin I guess" and she's like "is that an issue...?" and he's all "oh no I mean if it was non-consensual I'll just have to go kill the dude but if it was consensual I guess I was just surprised anyway on to my evil schemes"

The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes by Cat Sebastian is a perfect example. Widowed heroine (who becomes a widow.... very interestingly) whose relationship with her husband was AWFUL. What's cool about her sex life with the hero is that she's basically like "I don't like penetrative sex and I can't get pregnant again ever because I cannot stand it", and he's like "ok cool then" and they have sex in other ways. It's great.

Heartbreaker by Sarah MacLean. I believe Adelaide has had sex before but mentions it being mid, and the Duke of Clayborn's ability to satisfy her praise kink is a game changer lol

The Marquess Makes His Move by Diana Quincy. The heroine is actually married when she meets the hero, and her husband is this shitty motherfucker who has her make these maps, and then HE takes credit for the maps. Anyway, the sex is understandably bleh. THANK GOD FOR THE HERO WHO'S DISGUISED AS A FOOTMAN TO TAKE HIS REVENGE ON HER HUSBAND.

Between the Devil and Desire by Lorraine Heath. Olivia's relationship with her husband wasn't abusive, but it was distant and the sex was basically there to produce an heir and didn't happen after she did. So her entire relationship with Jack Dodger is her suddenly discovering what being horny is like. Which happens immediately after she meets him, much to her chagrin. Like I can't get over how the opening pages in her POV are like "FUCK. SHIT. FUCK." looking at him. She's all "this BEASTLY man" while squirming in her chair

Then Came You by Lisa Kleypas has Lily, who was seduced by this charlatan type. But it was not all he made it out to be, sexually speaking. Enter Alex, with whom she has a SIZZLING tension even though they totally hate each other for sure! This book is what people thought Kanthony was, I'm gonna be real real.

A Scot in the Dark by Sarah MacLean. The heroine is not a widow, but she slept with an artist who again is not all he said he was, which does lead to her having to steal back a nude painting he did of her with the help of her guardian, a Big Scottish Man.

#romance novel blogging #book recs #romance novels

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