#and now people have seen me say I'm hard enough to cut diamonds because of chuckie t's smile

[homoeroticgrappling]

[twdmusicboxmystery]

Fear 8x06 - Maps, Clocks, Frosty the Snowman, Dwight and Sherry

@wdway

Frosty the snowman!! Not there, there, just gone.

@wdway

In the one shot where we see Morgan moving across, Frosty is still in the corner, we see two clocks, Tara would you take a closer look at that clock above Morgan, it seems like the numbers 7,8,9 are in white. Just look closely and let me know what you think. But then Frosty disappears.

@galadrieljones

I saw that Frosty and had a total brain fart moment. I was like, “I know that’s important but I can’t remember why.” LOL. Good call!!

Also, yeah that Frosty comes out of nowhere. He’s not in the original shots of the scene with Mo and Morgan in the boat. He shows up only after the cut to Madison’s situation. Idk if he’s just hiding, but it’s a little weird!

Unfortunately I can’t make out anything on that clock though.

@galadrieljones:

A couple of other things. I have some stuff I still need to look up. But, here’s the location of Madison’s coordinates:

Lea County, NM

A similar if not exact location is circled on the map in the coda

it’s where I maybe thought the Diamond was, but I can’t be sure about that.

I’m actually standing corrected on the Diamond now, so disregard that. The Diamond is estimated to be closer to Austin, in east Texas. In any case, there’s a spot marked on the map in the coda that looks like it’s at Lea County, NM, which is on the list of PADRE secret coordinates

Okay sorry I’m looking up all these places, but I may be in and out lol

Also weird discoveries emerging. I’ll be back lol.

@wdway:

I'm a little confused about the one location on the East Coast showing Savannah and that area. Are you saying that the location takes us there.

@galadrieljones

Yeah this is the location of the coordinates Madison broadcasts over the radio in the coda.

@wdway:

I understand your thinking about the possibility that it could be Troy. You've present a very good case. I think that most people that are Fear watchers from the beginning will follow that line of thought. Here are some of the things I'm hung up on whether it is Troy, Beth or someone from left field that we have no idea of. TPTB wants the viewer to think and talk about the possibilities here. Which is exactly what we're doing.

There will be very few people, numbers wise from the audience that will even connect Beth to this person. In looking at the map I assumed that the places that are circled were places that the Fear group had been. You mentioned the canteen as a Troy symbol. A water canteen is also a Beth symbol because water is a big Beth symbol.

The hammer I think you pretty well proved it is the same as the one that Madison hit Troy with. But a hammer can be a symbol for Tyrese, although I believe he had a claw hammer. The sunglasses do look like Strand's. But sunglasses themselves has been seen once on Daryl when he and Aaron first go out looking for people he's wearing them while on his motorcycle, in the same episode where they find the blonde girl tied to the tree. Sunglasses are also connected to Morgan, we see him wearing sunglasses when he takes off that strange mask and sunglasses in the coda of No Sanctuary.

We have talked for years about the possibility of sight issues with Beth, possibly sensitivity to light so the sunglasses would be a hint of that. I guess I go back to my original point of for whoever this person is supposed to be they left enough clues that could connect to Beth but only Die Hard TD'ERS would connect to Beth. I truly don't know that I believe it's her. I think it could be, but I would not be shocked if it's not and probably more shocked if it is.

We do know that Emily was in Savannah thanks to her letting us know that she was there for, "a friend's wedding" during the same time that we know Fear was filming. So the possibilities there. The radio is also this huge connection since we believe that that is how Daryl could possibly find that that is alive. So you see I'm totally back and forth open to all possibilities and not really wanting to eliminate any. But no matter who it is it makes me want to see part 2 of Fear.

I feel that this first half of the last season of Fear was about tying up Morgan's story and the characters that came on board once he joined the show. The second half it's going to be more about the characters that was on Fear the first 3 seasons before Morgan.

We need to keep in mind also that they're only 6 episodes left to finish up Fear. Doesn't mean there won't be things plots dangling, but overall they need to close it out.

@galadrieljones:

I have the EXACT same thinking as you, which is that they for whatever reason want us talking about this, and they want us thinking it could be Beth, but also they have planted the evidence for Troy’s return (or somebody avenging Troy). To me, that lock of blond hair is what does it most. I agree with you that I don’t really know if I think it’s Beth, but…what if it is?

I also had the same thinking about the hammer and Tyreese. The hammer is also associated with Nick, but I think that Nick is meant to be a Tyreese proxy in the end. The hammer I also associate with Christ imagery, as Jesus Christ was a carpenter.

@wdway

I agreed with @twdmusicboxmystery about how they wrapped up the Dwight and Sherry's storyline was abrupt. I could see if they had longer time then they could have gone through the mouring process and decide to leave because it was just too painful to be together always being reminded that their son was dead. They didn't have time to do that. I do assume that we'll see Dwight again and not Sherry.

I found it sad that Finch didn't live but then again I was totally ticked at so much time on this brother and sister duo that ultimately led to nothing but death and heartache. I truly think things had to change and they had to shorten the story because of the limited number of episodes for the last season. They did leave enough to go into other plot lines and they did show us that we have not been crazy in noticing all these things that must have come from other places like coffee, tropical fruit, different items like that. The Walking Dead universe is much larger than Georgia, DC or the CW.

@galadrieljones

I totally agree about Dwight and Sherry, and I feel they were treated with a bit of disrespect here in the end. Their story line was rushed and led to only pain with no hope and no catharsis. I don’t get what the message or point was for them. If they wanted to write Dwight into the CRM storyline they could have done that in a million ways. They could have even just had Sherry like, wake up and find a note from Dwight, saying he had to go do something and he was too scared to bring her with him because he couldn’t lose another person he loves.

As it stands it did feel like Dwight/Sherry whump, which I always dislike. I was surprise they let Finch die. It’s not that they haven’t let kids die before, but this was the first since basically Henry, and Finch is much littler than Henry. It felt like some sort of weird sacrifice.

Maybe it’s meant to communicate that the only way to survive the bites is to be exposed to radiation BEFORE you’re bitten, or to keep applying radiation for an extended period of time. I wondered if perhaps the thing that ended up killing Finch AND Grace was actually just the radiation and not the infection. A gnarly radiation burn won’t look much different than a gnarly infection.

It might also be communicating that the infection only goes dormant with radiation and doesn’t ever die. Remember, we all have it, whatever the infection is. I have begun to wonder if it’s something written in our genes, or if it’s like mRNA or something. Once it’s in us, it’s a part of us. Almost like a cancer.

Also, Alicia’s situation was so unique. She was exposed to constant micro doses of radiation, because she lived in an irradiated wasteland. She was also able to amputate, which may have prevented the full viral load from proliferating through her blood stream.

Speculation: Is this part of why they couldn’t let the wards go at Grady? Because they needed constant doses of the treatment for a long time? Or if because they were still being studied, in terms of how long and how much treatment they need? Do they need to be treated until they are able to survive the fever? It seems like we need the fever to burn off.

Also, does it matter where the bite is? A bite on a limb is simply further from the limbic system. Any infection needs more time to spread from a limb than from anywhere on the torso where all the vital organs are stashed. It seems like all of June’s patients were bit on inoperable parts of the body, like the back or shoulder.

@galadrieljones

In any case I will say I was very shocked that Dwight would want to separate from Sherry on purpose. His whole arc was about becoming strong for those who need him and not just capitulating in the face of threats. He is definitely a “quitter,” I think.

I think Dwight is in a constant fight for authority over his own life, and I think that Sherry sees this and she sees his lack of a core belief system. He is only ever fighting. He’s not doing it for any reason other than to protect the people he loves, and while this is fine we do see what happens to Shane in the beginning. He’s doing the same thing. He’s willing to go full-blown evil if that’s what it takes (or what he thinks it’s going to take). Anyway, I think they could have done this in a way that wasn’t so haphazard. I think it’s actually w the lowest point of the entire show.

I would have rather them just kill off Sherry, tbh.

But now I’m digressing lol.

Part of the issue I see with the show right now is that they are very hesitant to kill characters because they want the potential to bring them back later. Because the future of the franchise is a bit unclear right now, they don’t know how long or far they want to take things. They may want to reunite Dwight and Sherry again, as it’s a crowd pleaser. Part of me though doesn’t believe they’ll actually separate from each other as they’ve tried now a million times to do just that and it never takes.

But like imagine being all alone in this life and suddenly your husband of like ten years is like, “Well, I’ll go my way and you go yours.” I would be devastated, like, what am I supposed to do? Start over? Find a whole new community? Granted I am not Sherry, but still. It broke my heart.

It’s not like she can just move back to her hometown and live with her mom till things settle down. She’s just…alone…on an island…in the middle of the apocalypse.

@wdway

I think it really must have been that they wanted to leave the Dwight's character open-ended since he is going to head back to Virginia. Sherry, I'm assuming would go help June or Madison. I think the idea of Dwight leaving Sherry a note would have been a better ending. Dwight explaining that he couldn't bear to look at her because it reminded him too much of what they had lost and he will always love her, he just can't deal right now.

You talked about Grady and if the wards might have needed long-term exposure to radiation. I think they pretty well told us that when Dawn was talking to Beth saying that people always ultimately returned. Dawn implied that people had nowhere else to go but she did tell Beth that if she didn't eat Beth would start to feel bad and need more treatment. I think treatment is ongoing at least for a while.

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Love all the discussion today, Ladies! I’ve enjoyed popping in to read it a little at a time.

Yeah, I watched the end of the episode this morning, and was probably still sleepy. I totally didn’t register that the person in the coda has both hands, lol. But of course that makes the tease, and especially the blond hair, all the more intriguing.

I think the arguments about Troy are compelling. I equally think it’s possible that it’s Beth (and obviously I’m hoping for that). I also agree that even if it IS Beth, this probably isn’t Emily. They’re purposely making this person androgynous to keep us guessing on the gender.

Of course, even if it is Troy, that would still be interesting because, as you’ve both laid out, it would still be a “dead” person returning and reuniting with past characters.

And, it sounds a little weird to say it this way, but if it’s Troy and he suddenly has blond hair, it would be even more of a Beth hint, akin to Leah suddenly having blond hair. (Tho of course I would prefer I’d this was just Beth.

I also wanted to say that I thought their “we never really lose people” theme was interesting. It just feels very convenient to bring it up now, when Morgan is about to go looking for Rick and we’re going to head in to the CRM storyline.

@wdway

Have you guys noticed that on AMC Plus they have been pushing the origin stories of Maggie and Negan. Obviously it's part of the promotion for their spin-off. But I'm hoping that they do the same thing just before Daryl's spin-off which would mean the viewers hearing Daryl talk about Beth. Him acknowledging Beth being to only girl to be nice to him. ;D)

@twdmusicboxmystery:

I love that idea!

[the-firebird69]

Those diamond Spears can cut through kju a thousand miles tall and really big ones are 100 can cut through a Galactus it's a thousand miles tall, and by calculation now they be able to hold it off a little and jump out of the way but really if it hits direct Hit right away that Galactus is disabled and that's what we need and they're trying to put them in these big 500 Miles ships and our friend says those ships aren't big enough and we agree but there are plenty of them that are and they have a whole bunch of 1,000 mile and they're not big enough but they can put a few 20s into equal a 100 and we agree that would do it or death star or planetary the dust are would do it too and they have several and they're big enough they're going for other ships now and there is a comet empire ship and it's towards the west of the upper Midwest and it is a 400 Mile line coming empire ship and our friend says the other half is in the east and they say it's not that far east it's still in the in that area but it's more in Canada and the two halves go together and it's disguise as an asteroid and has actual soil and more it stays on it. Now we understand what that means it's going to be the celestial object probably near Saturn and stuff and there's so many out there it's hard to tell and people documented it but they changed and it should know but they did it really it's a good disguise and we can do this amazing these blasters are huge I've never seen anything like it and he explained what you are this is his invention and there they are they'll go through anything and possibly thorium which is what people really need and we have to get those and we can't let them at them looks like Bob birdies might grab one and it says it's possible because it looks like Jason grabs the alien chips and a saucers and we agree another little possessed and they mutate because of it and our friend is huge we calculated it could be 20 ft tall and fully grown he says I don't really need that I couldn't even fit in here what am I going to eat I have to go over that place take me 2 minutes to walk over there or I'd have to jog I need some cows in the morning. Just keep telling John Reema Lord that I'm eating his family. His smiling saying it's kind of my style and I taught him I taught him well he says he can like leave a few and cut them with weird stuff like lasers little ones you know how to do that with a sphere yeah I have Alicia pick it up and Neiman Marcus. At least he's out of here like the rocket. I don't even want to sacrifice those things it's not doing me any good the a****** keeps taking my stuff that I take I didn't find out that we're doing because he's so damned evil I'm trying to fight him and people are going to find out that he's really really awful. The last two sentences was John River Lord and we know what he's saying he hasn't really discovered the whole thing but when he does he'll agree it's way too bad it's awful and their armies will run around by Tommy after that not that it's terrible what's happened to them now they have an opportunity to get him back especially with the comet empire ships and all those brand new star Blazer ships are from the common empire are you inside it and they have a few of them so they understand it you said the date is probably on the ship about the comet empire ships and they look through and they couldn't find it and it's probably encoded in files that can't open and they said they can't open them and he said it's probably the manual so they're going to go look and some objects and so forth so they're going to go look now

Billium

I said thank God and he said no in this case thank William and Bill in the consortium of billium. He's never rude to me but boy I was rude to him this is how we operate so he knows about it and one of his programs was up there and father and mother actually Thor and Freya said it first and they knew about it we say this it's his camera idea and they named it Odin and this is horrible

[r0-boat]

Omega!Melli x Female Alpha!reader - IDK if you wanna read this but fuck it I'm going to bed now and I thought I'd send it - you don't have to post it if it's crap but I want to share it with someone who might enjoy it.  Also I honestly thought there'd be a limit in asks- this was like 4 pages long... if it cuts off anywhere lmk xx -- <3 (non-emoji heart anon that I can't make on my laptop r.i.p)

....

You had always found Melli entertaining but admittedly that was because he was always annoying someone else, unfortunately, some days he decided not even you were safe. It didn’t help that these were the days close to his heat, you could smell the horny brat a mile away. At this point you weren’t sure it turned you on anymore, it was just synonymous with a bad mood. Being an alpha was hard enough, close to your ruts you were constantly angry, which then became horny angry, which was usually the time to see sense and lock yourself away. Melli confused this cycle as his heat was never around the same time as your rut, well until now. You were in the woody area near the brava area trying to collect wood for the diamond settlement, volunteering for the job to try and get away from everyone before you got too annoyed at someone for something small and blew up. It was already shaping up to be a stressful day as a certain smell hit your nostrils and you reflexively took a deep breath. Oh Fuck! 

“Fuck off Melli” The poor boy had barely cleared the first line of trees and you had already snapped at him. You weren’t sure he had even seen you yet but you knew he was there and if omega’s senses were as sharp as alpha’s you knew he could smell you too.  

“Well, that’s no way to speak to the great Melli” He scoffed mildly offended. Of course, smelling your scent and knowing your rut was close, he knew you’d be aggressive and he’d been hoping for it, his particular brand of horny enjoyed degradation and being manhandled. If only he could annoy you enough to push him against a tree or something, that would be more than enough to help get him off when his heat started sometime in the next few days. Biting his lip, he decided he was going to push his luck as much as humanly possible. “It’s such a shame you have that temper, Darling. You’ll never find a mate at this rate, real men like their women submissive and breedable so I hear.” 

“Well then, if I find one, I’ll tell him where to find you.” Not your finest work you’ll admit but between the way his scent is making your head fuzzy as he draws closer and the ever-present rage that you’re currently feeling it’s the best you could do. 

“Wow, must be true what they say, alphas are at their stupidest when they’re horny. I remembered your insults being … well … good.” He smirked as he came to stand next you and felt his cock twitch when all you could think to do was growl in response. 

“Is there something you want from me Melli, or will you please fuck off?” Your volume rising as your skin started getting hot, you tried to remain calm but everything rubbed you the wrong way when you were like this, it’s one of the reasons you hated ruts. You missed being calm, usually you could handle Melli’s antics without an issue, although that’s in part due to the fact he usually tries not to annoy you, not the other way around. 

“Hmpf, I decide to grace you with my charming presence and all I get from you is hostility, how brutish. Although, that’s to be expected from an alpha, even if it is a woman.” He was never one to personally believe that women were inferior, however, he did know that you hated it when people assume that and he was not above using that to get what he wants. Losing himself briefly in daydreams of you knocking him to the ground and pinning him there. 

“Friend or not, oh great Melli, I will not hesitate to push you from the tallest part of the brava area I can find.” Your entire body was on fire at this point, you could feel your hands shaking as you reached to grab more wood for camp. 

“Please, you wouldn’t go through with it. Your weak girlish emotions would stop you. I believe you would miss me too much to kill me.” He crept ever closer to you to look over your shoulder, further serving to irritate you. He knew you hated people in your personal space at the best of times. Again exceptions were usually made for your best friend, the almighty and wonderful Melli, however today was not one of those exceptions. Considering the heat he could feel coming off your skin at this close he knew his plan was working. He briefly considered that maybe this was pushing a bit far? You were basically his only friend after all. In the end though, his lust won out, consciously deciding that he needed more, consequences be damned. “You do know you missed a twig? Right there”. 

You could feel his breath hot against your ear as he mocked you and as he finished his words, he moved his arm to point past your shoulder, likely at nothing, but it was enough for you. Dropping what little wood you had managed to collect at this point you grabbed his arm as tight as you could and yanked him around in front of you. One hand fisting the fabric of his tunic, you pushed him back against a tree until you hear him lose his breath as his back collided with the bark. You pressed your body close to trap him there and moved your hand from his tunic to his throat, not squeezing but making its presence known. You were burning up, seething in anger, when you felt something hard against your thigh. Staring intensely into Melli’s eyes you quirked up an eyebrow, not needing to look to know what it was, sneering at him when he averted his gaze. You weren’t sure when his cheeks had flushed red as you had been trying not to look at him but you were glad, the colour looked so good dusted across his cheeks. Seeking the colour to spread further, you felt the need to move your leg against his cock, slowly causing as much friction as you could with the small movement.  

“What’s wrong my love? Surely, it takes more than a little teasing to silence my one and only Melli?” You weren’t sure on your choice of words, it sounded possessive, as was your tone. He either didn’t catch on or he enjoyed it more than you knew as his previous whimper at the friction turned into a wanton moan as you spoke. Still no further response, other than his panting and the feel of his pulse beating rapidly beneath your thumb you decided to press further, literally. Your thumb pressed into his throat slightly slowing the flow of blood to his head. Immediately, you felt him twitch and a small wet patch form on his pants still against your thigh. Mirroring his movements from earlier you leaned your head close to his shoulder. Half whispering and half growling in his ear “You need to answer me Melli, you don’t want me to stop do you? I’d hate to have to leave you like this.” 

“Please” His voice was quieter than you’d ever heard him, it’d be concerning if you both weren’t so far gone. 

“Please? Please what?” embracing the situation your voice turned wickedly lascivious. “What does my great warden wish of me? I am so eager to please” 

Before he could answer, you remove the hand from his throat, causing a pout from your beautiful prey. Harshly, you grab his chin and force him to face you, lips inches from yours and eyes locked. 

A few more seconds pass without him speaking, much to your amusement. His eyes are blown out and wild with desire and you can see his lips quivering as though trying desperately to form words but nothing is coming. 

With a pout of your own you sign before releasing your holds on the man in front of you and stepping back entirely.  A whine escaping him as his eyes follow your movements betrayed.  

“Don’t look so sad, love. I’m only a stupid horny alpha after all, what am I supposed to do without instructions?” Your tone and smile had switched quickly into cruel. Your anger at least had somewhat faded but it was replaced with very wet underwear and a throbbing that you could tell was only going to get worse. Turning to pick up the wood pieces you had dropped, your heart was pounding and you wanted nothing more than to push Melli to the ground and ride him until he sobbed. Your nails were digging into the wood far harder than necessary as you struggled to maintain composure. “You should get back to the settlement, I can smell that your close to breaking into heat, it’s not safe to have it out here. I can lead you back but we need to be quick. I can’t guarantee I’ll be so … lenient soon.” 

For what you assumed was the first time in his life, Melli listened to reason and you walked swiftly back to the settlement remaining a safe distance away but still desperately wanting to be closer. By the time you got back to the settlement your skin was itching badly, a manifestation of your desperation, and you were barely coherent, you practically abandoned Melli by his tent as soon as he opened his door. 

“Wait.” You heard him call but you couldn’t stand to be close to him any longer, your pussy was aching and you needed to get home before you damaged your friendship irreparably. Dropping your pitiful pile of wood by the fire in the camp’s centre, you ignored everyone’s gaze and Adaman’s worried glance as you practically ran to your tent. 

Ugh! Stupid Melli, you know it’s not his fault but still. You’re angry and horny and your rut started early all thanks to that annoying prick! You were so desperate for release you were so tempted to go back to his tent, fuck what the settlement thinks. It’s almost dark outside now anyway if I wait a little longer no one would see. 

No but they would hear. Your brain chimed in. Oh Arceus, now there was a thought. There was more than one alpha in your settlement and where as your rational brain knew they had no interest in Melli even with his omega status the thought that they would hear you claim him as yours was so tempting. Just how loud would Melli scream as you bit down on his mating gland? Or would he go silent as he had in the woods? Would he enjoy making noise, would he get off too knowing the whole settlement could hear how well you were fucking him? Arceus, if ever you needed will power it’s now. 

“Arceus, please grant me the strength not to tear down his whole tent just to fuck him. Please. Please” 

Muttering your prayers to yourself and closing your door and sliding down the wall you began to shakily recall what the hell just happened. Feeling guilty at what you had just done to your friend and scratching at your burning, itching skin you couldn’t handle it anymore. Quickly getting up and washing your hands and face in cold water to try and cool down, you moved to lay on your bed, hand slipping down between your thighs and mind wandering back to Melli’s fuck me eyes. 

....

end

OMG anon that was beautiful. How much you wanna bet Melli is back in his tent fucking his hand

[tryingmybestpls]

Not A Team: Part 2- New World Order

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The Reader gives a speech at the opening of Steve’s exhibit and has a talk with Sam following his speech.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER, talks of death, talks of mental illness, feelings of isolation

Read Part One here

Listen to the playlist inspired by the series here

Y/N felt like coming here today was a mistake.

Her stomach tossed and turned like a stormy sea, threatening to send her breakfast all over Rhodey's shiny shoes. She was second guessing everything. Was her dress nice enough? Rhodey had told her she looked great, but she hadn't worn a dress since Steve's funeral-Oh God, what if he was lying to her? No, he wouldn't lie to her-but what if he felt bad? Jesus, dd her shoes look stupid? Maybe she shouldn't have worn heels-but then she always wore heels with dresses and if she wore flats that would look childish. Did her speech sound coherent? Fuck, what if she messes up. Would they think she was doing it on purpose out of retribution for what Steve did? No, they didn't know what Steve did, what he had done to her. What if-

"Hey, hey. What's wrong? You look like you're going to blow chunks." Rhodey cuts through her thoughts like a hot knife through butter. He puts his hand on her back, "Breathe, Y/N."

"Maybe this a bad idea, Rhodey. I mean they have Sam. I think Sam can handle this." She stumbles over her words, trying to calm herself down. Her heart was racing a hundred miles a minute and she swore her hands were shaking,

"You're going to be okay, but you need to relax. I've read and reread your speech a dozen times. It's perfect." Rhodey tries to soothe her, his hand rubbing her back. Y/N squeezes her eyes shut, working on slowing her breathing. In through her nose and out through her mouth.

"Hey pretty lady, I was wondering where the exhibit is. I'm supposed to be giving a speech there today." A voice calls out, sending Y/N's eyes flying open. She turns on her heels, being greeted by the sight of Sam walking towards them, holding the leather case that carries the shield. Y/N can feel the tension melting out of her shoulders as a smile spreads across her nervous face.

"Rhodey, I think they might be letting anyone speak here today." Y/N teases, the anxiousness slipping away, releasing its hold on her. Rhodey chuckles, shaking his head at his friend's antics. She hadn't seen Sam since the days following Steve's funeral and right now, he's a welcome sight. Sam rests his hand over his heart, feigning hurt as he gets closer.

"You wound me, woman." Sam jokes, smiling right back at her. They embrace, her arms wrapping around his neck as his go around her waist, "I missed you, kid."

"I've missed you too, Sammy." She murmurs back, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. They pull away and Sam smiles at her, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. Rhodey clears his throat, gently touching Y/N's upper arm.

"Hey I need to go talk to some people, alright?" Rhodey announces, almost as if he is asking permission. Y/N just smiles and nods, the smile staying on her face until he walks away from the two.

"How are you feeling, Y/N?" Sam questions, to which Y/N sighs, looking down at her shoes.  She stays quiet for a moment, feeling his eyes on her.

"You want the truth or you want me to tell you what I tell Rhodey?" She replies, looking back at him. Y/N shifts from one foot to another, glad they were far from the crowd that was gathering. He gives her a look, giving her an answer without opening his mouth. She sighs again, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

"I don't sleep, not really. I get maybe an hour a night if I am lucky. I-The house is filled with boxes that I can't unpack because-" Her voice cracks, her chest rising and falling quickly. She bites the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to not cry, "I thought that leaving the apartment would make him go away, but it didn't."

"Well Steve was always stubborn." Sam responds, making a laugh bubble out of her throat before she could stop it. There was an "I'm sorry" buried in the joke and Y/N knew it, but decided to only focus on the joke.

-

The stage looked daunting.

She forced herself up those steps, the person who had introduced her still had his hand outstretched towards her. Y/N wondered if she could make a run for it. Sure people will be mad at her, but she won't be forcing herself through this. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, the clapping nothing but a ringing in her ears. For a moment, her eyes landed on the giant banner of her husband, a lump forming in her throat. He was watching over her, his face emotionless as his eyes seemingly followed her every step. Cameras flashed as she stood on the stage, striding over to the podium. Once she stood in front of it, a hush fell over the crowd.

Y/N Rogers had saved thousands of lives. She was an Avenger and had faced countless foes. Hell, her wedding had more people in attendance than this event, but she still felt sick to her stomach. Y/N gave them all a smile as she forced herself to calm down, swallowing hard before speaking.

"To say that Steve Rogers was a special man is putting lightly. He was a hero that many of us, myself included, aspired to be one day. And while many of you only knew him as Captain America, I was among the lucky few that got to know him just as Steve Rogers. Now I could stand up here and tell you about every battle he won, how valiantly he fought-but everyone else is going to do that. Hell, you can read about it in the exhibit." Y/N chuckles, blinking away the tears in her eyes as the crowd laughs.

Y/N finds Rhodey and Sam in the crowd, both of them giving her smiles of encouragement. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the diamond on her wedding ring sparkling in the light. It's the first time she's worn it in a while, but it felt almost right to wear it. Once again, she's pretending like Steve didn't leave her. No, Y/N is ignoring that completely, almost blissfully. These people only know Steve as Captain America, as a god-damned American hero. She isn't going to tarnish that, won't ruin his legacy. And regardless of what Steve did to her, she is still in love with him and she wants to talk about the man she fell in love with, not the one that hurt her. Y/N inhales and exhales shakily before continuing.

"Steve was so much more than just Captain America. He was my best friend and my husband. He was the type of man to pick up flowers for you just because. The type of man to tell you that you looked really pretty even though you were covered in dirt and ash. He would let me go on and on about things that didn't even matter, but with the way he paid attention you would think that I was telling him the secrets of the world. Steve loved staying in and having movie marathons-he-he had a list he'd carry with him to write down things he needed to learn about. Before we dated, he would text me randomly, asking me why Jar Jar Binks is hated so much or asking me to explain what emojis are. He never quite got the hang gof the latter." A laugh comes out of Y/N's mouth, the crowd following suit. There was a smile on her face, a warmth spreading in her chest.

"He's the man I'll be in love with until the day I die, but then I'll fall in love all over again because I'll be able to see him again. Steve was the sweetest, kindest man I've ever met and while I will always wish we had more time together, I was lucky to have him as long as I did. We were all lucky to have him." Y/N pauses again, her throat constricting with emotion, "Even though he's gone, Steve lived a long life-a life longer than some of us get and I am happy that so many different facets of his life is going to be explored and shared with so many people. I hope you all enjoy the exhibit. Thank you."

The applause that followed was almost thunderous. Y/N smiled as her heart slammed against her ribcage, cameras flashing as she made her way off the stage. She was glad it was finally over as she moved to stand next to Rhodey and Sam. Sam kissed her cheek before he climbed up the stairs to the stage. Rhodey rubbed her back, telling her quietly that she did great. She just nodded in response, her eyes on her friend, watching as Sam leaned the shield against the plexiglass podium.

"Thank you Y/N for making my job a lot harder." Sam teases, causing everyone to chuckle. Y/N smiles right back at him, shaking her head as her friend carries on, "Steve represented the best in all of us. Courageous, righteous, hopeful. And he mastered poising stoically. "

Sam's a natural at this, standing up there like its nothing. And while Y/N should be focused on the speech, her eyes keep drifting down to the shield at his feet.

"The world has been forever changed. A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after five years away, sending the world into turmoil. We need new heroes. Ones suited for the times we're in. Symbols...are nothing without the women and men that give them meaning. And this thing," Sam chuckles, picking up the shield, "I don't know if there's ever been a greater symbol. But it's more about the man who propped it up and he's gone. So, today we honor Steve's legacy, but also, we look to the future. So thank you, Captain America. But this belongs to you."

Y/N feels sick to her stomach as she watches Sam hand the shield off. Her chest feels tight and she-she can't be here. There's a ringing on her ears and she can't breathe. Y/N pushes through the crowd, not bothering with pleasantries as she does it. A dozen emotions rack her body, causing her hands to start to heat up. She forces it down, deep down as she walks into an empty bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Sam gave away the shield.

He gave it away.

Like it was nothing.

And she wants to scream, wants to cry, but it won't come out. Y/N won't let it, not now when she is still in public. She walks over to the sinks, her hands gripping the counter. Her eyes are rimmed with red, eyes all watery. Her red painted lips press into a thin line as she forces herself to not cry, practically glaring at her reflection. What did her therapist tell her to do? Ah yes, breath in and out. In and out.

This was all too much way too soon. She couldn't handle this. She was being bombarded with memories and emotions already and now Sam giving the shield away? She felt like she was going to lose it. A part of her felt like she was overreacting. overthinking this whole situation. And maybe she was. Y/N did that from time to time. Tony had told her she was an expert of making mountains out of molehills. Maybe Sam just didn't want to be Captain America, didn't want to shoulder that burden. That was understandable. It was a shitty, shitty job-one that Sam didn't ask for. He shouldn't be forced to take on the mantle of Captain America, not when the previous owner had tossed it away so carelessly.

Yet, the bigger part of her was incredibly upset. Angry at the fact that Sam handed off the shield to be shelved in a museum. Overwhelmed by the amount of Steve that was everywhere. Confused over the multitudes of feeling that were swarming her body.

And there was nothing she could do about any of them. She just had to grin and bear it, just like she's been doing since Steve decided he much rather spend an entire lifetime with a woman he knew for a few months. So Y/N collected herself, blinked away her tears, and left the bathroom. Her feet had a mind of their own, carrying her towards the one place she didn't want to be.

The exhibit.

Steve's image is plastered on every single surface, telling the details of every part of his life. Scrawny Steve, bootcamp Steve, darling icon of patriotism during the war Steve, frozen Steve, Battle of Manhattan Steve, cartoon Steve punching Hitler, Steve during Sokovia, Steve on the run. Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve. He covers every single square inch, which makes sense because this is his exhibit. And while Y/N knows she should just turn on her heel and not put herself through it, she throws caution to the wall. She's already incredibly upset, so she might as well pour gallons and gallons of salt and lemon juice into that open wound.  So she forces herself deeper into the exhibit, running straight into the very last man she wants to see at this moment.

"You know I wasn't expecting to find you here." Sam tells her as soon as her foot enters the next room. She keeps her mouth shut, so he adds "Rhodey is looking for you."

"You know on his right sleeve of his suits, right near his wrist, he had my initials stitched. He told me he wanted to carry a piece of me into every mission, into every fight." Y/N announces as she looks at a picture of Steve on a mission, most likely taken by Natasha. Sam sighs, walking over to her, wanting her to see his point of view.

"Look I know you're upset-" He starts, but is immediately cut off by a dry chuckle slipping out of Y/N's mouth as she walks around the room. She wants to lay in to him, wants to give him a piece of her mind.

"Oh I am far past the point of being "just upset", Wilson. It wasn't yours to give away. I-I don't care if you didn't want the mantle, but..." Her angry words trail off once she realizes what part of the exhibit she has reached, her face dropping.

Y/N stops in front of a part of the exhibit labeled 'Two Heroes United'. Her eyes roam over the pictures of her and Steve's wedding and the pictures taken throughout the duration of their relationship, so much more than what the file Rhodey had left detailed. So many smiles, so much happiness filling each and every picture. Her facade is cracking, chipping away as she forces herself to study every picture, studying their faces over and over, trying to see if there was something she had missed, if-if there was something she could have said or done to hold onto him a little longer. If there was something hidden behind his smile, behind his touches, they don't reveal themselves in the photographs.

She's just a footnote in his life, a blurb at the end of a long story. A tool to make him look like an all-American family man. Bucky and Sam had much larger parts of the exhibit dedicated to their roles in Steve's life and who they are outside of being Steve's friends. Y/N-well Y/N gets this, a paragraph saying that she was on the team and then married Steve. She is just haphazardly tacked onto the story of his life, a cute story to make people feel all warm inside. He got his happily ever after, they'll say-or they'll whisper to one another God she was so lucky to have him. They won't ask if she got her happily ever after or if she feels lucky now.

Sam got to hand off the shield, got to throw away the title of Captain America. He gets to keep on living his life after this, but Y/N-Y/N will always be Steve's wife. And it doesn't matter how many people she saved or what she did with her time on earth, she will only be know for being the wife of the man who abandoned her. Y/N's tied to him for eternity, stuck loving a man who decided to love someone else.

And then, just like that, something inside of her just snaps. Her facade fully crumbles, leaving her unable to mask what she's going through.  Y/N's eyes fill up with tears and she's unable to blink them away before they spill over the edge, sending tears rolling down her cheeks. And as she stood there, crying in the middle of the exhibit dedicated to Steven Grant Rogers, a depressing epiphany popped into her mind.

The shield was the last part of Steve that she had that wasn't tainted in some way, a piece of him that she could still bear to see. And Sam had just given it away, leaving her with nothing but memories that would haunt her.

-

"I watched your speech. You did really good, Y/N." Her therapist praises, giving her a soft smile. Y/N nods, twisting her wedding ring on her finger. She had decided to start wearing it again, even though her feelings about Steve were still conflicted. While a part of her thought that this meant she was healing, Y/N knew it was more likely tied to the fact that Sam had given up the shield.

"It-It felt good." Y/N replies, shifting in her seat. She had thought it was a subtle movement, but Dr. Raynor gave her a look. After a few months of court-ordered appointments, the therapist knew Y/N all too well and she sure as hell knew when Y/N wasn't telling the truth.

"Something is upsetting you. What happened?" The doctor questions, clicking her pen. Y/N dreaded the noise. It meant a longer session, more bandaids being ripped off in order to force the wounds into the light. It would mean she would return to her home a little colder, a little emptier.

"Nothing happened. It-I had a good day. A good week." Y/N tries to reassure her, even going as far as to give her what she thought was a honest smile. Dr. Raynor held up her pad of paper, making a show of slowly bring the pen down to the paper. Y/N's smile falls and she looks down at her hands, letting out a small sigh.

"He-Sam gave away the shield. He gave it away like it was nothing." The ex-hero announces, feeling like a scolded child. Raynor lowers her pen and paper, settling back into her seat.

"And you feel like he shouldn't have?"

"No. No, Steve-Steve chose him. Steve gave him the shield because he knew that Sam was good, that Sam could handle it. And-And Sam just gave it away." Y/N stammers, picking at a thread that was hanging off her shirt.

"You know, I think that is the first time you have said his name aloud." Raynor mentions, causing Y/N to stop her movements. The thread is caught between her fingers, pulled taut. The doctor continues, "You always refer to Steve as 'he' or 'him' or 'my husband'. You never say his name."

"I don't think I was ready to be around...Steve. Not that much." Y/N tries to shift the focus, shame filling her, her face feeling hot. She knows she has her reasons not to say his name, but she still felt terrible about not being able to say his name.

"But you still spoke at the opening of his exhibit. I'm sure everyone would more than understand why you couldn't. So why did you decide on speaking?" The therapist asks, taking down a couple notes of her pad of paper. Y/N stays silent for a moment, letting go of the thread to start twisting her ring again.

"I-I don't know. Rhodey asked me and I-I guess I thought I could do it. And the speech wasn't bad I just-I wasn't expecting Sam to give away the shield." Y/N responds, her voice soft. She feels so small, sitting here on this charcoal grey couch. Y/N almost felt...stupid for being so angry at Sam. It wasn't his fault at all and as Y/N said everything out loud, she felt like such an asshole.

"If you would've known that Sam wanted to give the shield away, would you have stopped him?" Dr. Raynor replies, leaning forward slightly as she takes a few notes. Y/N feels herself sinking into the couch.

"I don't know. I-I wish he would have just told me so that we could've talked about it." She answers, looking out of the window. Dark grey clouds filled the sky, blocking out a lot of the sunlight that wanted to shine down on the city. Y/N didn't know if she would have actually forced him to keep the shield. That wasn't on him to have hold on to hat chunk of vibranium. It was wrong for Steve to have thrown that all on Sam. What would be the alternative? For her to keep the shield? Y/N highly doubted that the United States government would allow that.

-

Y/N was watering her garden when her phone started to ring in her back pocket. She quickly moves to shut off the water hose before she slips the phone about her pocket. Sam's name and picture appears on her screen, making uneasiness fill her stomach. Y/N exhales through her noise loudly before answering it, holding the phone against her ears.

"Have you seen the news?" Sam asks, not even letting her get a single syllable out.

"No, I've been outside-What's going on, Sam?" Y/N questions, making her way to the house. Something was definitely wrong. Sam never called her unless it was for emergencies. if they did communicate, it was mainly through texting. Her heartbeat started to race, as did her thoughts. A million different scenarios filled her head, each one worse than the last.

"You need to turn on the news right now." Sam replies as she opens the back door, quickly crossing the kitchen and walking into the living room. Her hands are almost shaking as she picks up the remote, turning the television on. Luckily for her, the last thing she had been watching was the news. Unluckily for her, she was greeted with a man holding the shield-Steve's shield, dressed in what looked like an off-brand, shitty version of the Captain America suit.

Anger filled her body. It had been four days tops since Sam handled off the shield and already, they had found their 'new Captain America'. The man in question was smiling smugly in the ill-fitting suit, waving at the camera, holding onto his shield tightly. God, Y/N wanted to beat the shit of the man and every single person who had okayed this. She could only hear bits and pieces of the speech as the news replayed it, but even that bullshit was too much for her to handle. She muted the television, tossing the remote on the couch.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?" Y/N exclaims, her hands getting warm. The Avenger was unable to get to anything articulate as rage filled her. She quickly put the phone on speaker, setting the device down just in case her hands caught flame.

"I know. I know. It's fucking bullshit." Sam replies, sighing. Y/N paced in front of the television, trying to calm herself down before she burned a hole through her rug. On the screen, the fake Cap was talking about something, a saccharine smile spread across his face. Y/N wanted to take that God damn shield and smash his teeth in.

"That asshole has my husband's fucking shield. They-He isn't supposed to be Captain America, okay? It's just not-It's not theirs to give away." Y/N's voice cracks towards the end, tears filling her eyes. While she wasn't Steve's number one fan, she hated that they had already chose someone to take up his title. If Sam wasn't going to be Captain America, then no one should be Captain America.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I wouldn't have given away the shield if I would've known...I'm sorry." Sam murmurs over the phone. Y/N covers her face with her almost glowing hands as she tries to control her breathing, not able to respond to Sam’s apologies. Her sadness and anger quickly shifted into something else. 

Something inside of her switched on, something that she hadn't felt in a long time, not since she was a hero, back when she was an Avenger.

Y/N wanted to go to work.

------

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Ace of Hearts

Sam “Ace” Rothstein x Reader

Hi guys! Corny title, I KNOW, but I’m so incredibly happy to finally be posting this. I’ve been working on it since December, and it’s probably the longest thing I’ll ever write! Just to give you a quick rundown: it’s based off of Casino so you’ll see some familiar events and verbiage, but it’s told out of order to fit what I wanted and there’s a new character (Miss y/n). I have worked so so hard on this, so I hope you all love it! Thank you so much!

TW: smut, anything in Casino that triggers you may be in here, violence, injury, drinking, smoking, drugs, death, threats, cheating/affair, divorce, cursing, etc.

Word Count: 17.9k

"(Y/N)! Good evening, it's nice to see you, hun," Sam says, wrapping his arms around your waist for a hug and giving you a kiss on the cheek, "Looking beautiful as always." You place a hand on his chest, taking in the scent of his cologne; he always smelled good and expensive.

You are at Sam's casino, The Tangiers; he had invited you for dinner, like he does regularly. You and Sam are good friends; you met through Billy, the casino manager, and so Sam invites you to dinner there quite often. When it came to the casino, he was quite the social butterfly: always wanting to show the casino off to people and being extremely hospitable so that word-of-mouth would travel and bring new people in.

"Thank you, Sam, how have you been since I last saw you?" Most people call him Ace, but he had introduced himself you as Sam, for some reason, so it just stuck.

"Really good, actually, I have some news for you," you had become a person that Sam likes to confide in; he trusts you, and he says it's nice to get a woman's perspective.

"And what is that?" you ask with a smile as you head towards your usual table.

"I'm dating someone," he says with a grin, trying not to be too proud of himself.

"Sam! Really? You found a girl?!" you stop, taking his hand, waiting for details.

"Yeah, we just got together a few weeks ago. She's... Well, she's like me, I guess," you both start walking towards the table again, "She's driven and she's got a big presence when she walks in a room. And she's just got this spark; I don't know what it is about her."

"Ah, he must be going on about Ginger," Billy says as you walk up to where he's seated, waiting on you, "yeah, he was starstruck the moment he laid eyes on her."

"She'll be here soon; I'd like you to meet her," Sam says to you. Despite being a very confident man, there were certain people he likes to get approval from; you feel honored to be one of those people.

So, you take your seats at the table, and as promised, Ginger is there only a little while later. You can tell it's her; she is exactly the way Sam described her. Her tall, blonde figure really captures everyone's attention, especially Sam's.

"Hey, gorgeous," Sam greets her, motioning for her to slide into the booth next you him.

"Hi, Sam," she hands him her clutch purse and sits down, giving him a peck on the lips. He goes around and introduces her to everyone at the table including you. She seems like she has a great personality and excellent people skills, but you couldn't help but feel a little jealous that she called him Sam too. You thought you were the only one, but it makes sense considering she is his girlfriend.

After everyone is settled in and food orders placed, Ginger leans forward so she can see past Sam to talk to you. "(Y/N)?" she says kind of quietly.

"Oh, hey!" you reply casually.

"I just wanted to say," she starts, "Sam talks about you a lot; it's nice to finally meet you, and I hope we can be friends. There aren't a lot girls in this business," she says with a bit of a chuckle at the end.

At that moment you both realize Sam is listening in on your conversation.

"Oh, well, thank you, Ginger. Any girl good enough for Sam must be really spectacular; he's a picky man!"

He puts his arm around her, "Spectacular is a good word to describe her." He takes your hand in one of his for just a moment, squeezing lightly and giving you a happy look, proud that you and her are getting along.

• • •

Over the next few months, you see Sam fall madly in love with Ginger. She couldn't deny that he was a very sweet man who gave her respect and anything should could ever ask for, but you could tell she never reciprocated those feelings as much as Sam. You get the feeling that she loved what he could do for her more than the man he was, but then again, maybe she's just slow to fall in love and you're being overprotective of your friend.

You trust Sam and know that even though he's in love, he'll maintain a level head. He treats everything like a business transaction.

As it turns out, that's exactly how he handles their engagement from what he tells you. You had stopped in for a visit at the casino, so he is sitting with you and catching up before he heads back out to the floor.

"Yeah, I told her that I know her feelings haven't developed as quickly as mine, but that if she lets me marry her, she'll be taken care of for the rest of her life, and she won't have to hustle the streets anymore. The love will come, I know it will," Sam explains to you, although it seemed like that last part was for him.

"And she said yes?" you ask.

"Yes. She said yes. She even agreed to have a baby with me." You'd never seen such a happy look in his eyes; Sam had always wanted a family, and it took a long time, but it's finally happening for him.

While this worried you a bit, you press on, "So, when's the wedding?!" you try to joke.

"Oh, well, uh... In a year at least. We want to have the baby first; it was part of our deal."

"What? Sam," you try to make sense of what he just told you, "you don't find it a little odd that you had to negotiate your own engagement, and that you can't trust her to have a baby with you 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 you're married?"

"I mean, it's unconventional, but that's just Vegas."

"No, love is love, no matter what city you're in. You deserve someone who will love you and respect you as much as you love and respect them. Not many people see it, but you have such a big heart, Sam; don't let someone take advantage of it," you place your hands on his, and his eyes glance up at you. You both share a knowing look. As much as Sam respects your opinion, nothing will stop him once he wants something, and he wants Ginger: her trust, her respect, and her love.

You see Sam and Ginger several times throughout their pregnancy, and honestly, they couldn't be happier. Sam is going to have the baby he always wanted, and Ginger is getting all the attention in the world for carrying Sam Rothstein's child. You think maybe this will solve all their problems.

• • •

Just a few months after the baby was born, you received an invitation to their wedding. You had been by their apartment a few weeks prior to visit and meet the baby, and gosh, she was so cute. Sam lit up when he held her; he was so proud of his baby girl, Amy. But Sam hadn't mentioned anything about a wedding happening so soon, although they do have the money to make one happen quickly.

The wedding is very nice, although it's more of a party than a wedding. Ginger is a socialite, so it only makes sense that there would be more attention on the reception than the ceremony.

You go sit with Nicky and his wife Jennifer so that you can hold the baby, while Sam and Ginger cut the cake and share champage. This is supposed to be a happy moment for them, but you can tell something is off. Maybe it's because they don't have baby fever anymore; parenting is not easy, so that's what you chalk it up to.

As you're making faces getting the baby to giggle, you see Sam sneak off into a back room, presumably looking for Ginger. You continue to entertain their baby while you wait for him to come back; you hadn't really gotten a chance to see him all night, and you want to show your support and congratulate him.

As you chat with Nicky, you see Ginger and Sam return from wherever they had gone; only problem is, they went two different directions and Ginger had clearly been crying. That's not normal behavior for newly weds. Nicky takes notice as well and says, "Eh, uh, why don't you go check on him? I'll take the baby."

And so, you hand him Sam's little bundle of joy, and make your way across the ballroom to your friend. He had been pulled into a conversation that he clearly didn't want to be having, so you tap him on the shoulder and excuse him from the group of people. He puts his hand around your waist as you walk off.

"Dance with me," you say simply, and he happily agrees. You knew you'd be able to talk privately because you'd be so close to him on the dancefloor, and it wouldn't look suspicious like if you swept him away to a different room.

"Trouble in paradise already?" you ask him, "You two have been so happy the past few months, what's going on?"

"Well, I guess maybe she realized this is the end of the road, and that I'm the one she'll be stuck with the rest of her life... Whatever the reason, she felt the need to call her pimp, Lester Diamond," he explains, pursing his lips at the end; he was really frustrated and trying not to show it.

"What did she call him for? She doesn't still love him or something, does she?"

"She says she called him to let him know it was over and that she's married now. He was her first love, and the only thing in this whole world she's got a soft spot for."

"Oh, Sam... You don't deserve that; you don't deserve someone that's holding onto their baggage with someone else."

"Well then maybe I should've married someone like you," he says with a small laugh and a look of longing in his eyes. He pulls you even closer to him, and you hold him a bit tighter in an effort to comfort him.

"You shouldn't say things like that on your wedding day," you say quietly next to his ear.

"But it's true. You've got the looks, the personality, a great heart, but for some reason, I only want Ginger, or at least for a while I did." With that, he stares into your eyes for a little while, before kissing you on your jawline and neck a few times.

After a pause, you say, "Well, I hope that was the last time she calls him. You deserve nothing but the best, but I know how much you love her, so I hope you two will find happiness with one other." You decide not to say anything about the way he implied that he wanted to be with you or the way he just kissed you; maybe that would make it worse. That probably isn't how he really feels; he's probably just speaking from a place of being hurt by Ginger. You stop dancing and hug him, "Congratulations on your big day, it was beautiful and glamorous in way that only Sam Rothstein could do."

You both share a laugh and hopeful smiles. His hand finds yours as you start to walk away, and he gives it a squeeze before letting his arm drop to his side.

"Everything okay?" Nicky asks when you get back to the table.

"Yeah, everything's gonna be fine," there wasn't much point in explaining it to him, he had a thing for Ginger, so he would make excuses for her. Plus it wasn't your news to share, Sam trusted that you would keep his secrets, because that's how you'd always been.

You grabbed your things to leave, and you shot one quick glance back at Sam before heading out. He was hugging Ginger, trying to comfort her; that didn't stop the nasty look she gave you when she saw you looking at her man. "Sadly, he belongs to her now," you think as you take in the cool night air outside the wedding chapel, "legally, at least."

• • •

The next several months of their marriage only take a turn for the worse. The issue isn't that they don't understand each other, it's that they're exactly alike: both strong-minded with the will to get what they want. The issue is that the things they want don't align with the other person's goals. Sam wants a successful casino and to have Ginger's love, but Ginger is someone who can't be tamed; she wants money wherever she can get it, and she wants to be the center of attention.

The thing that works on Sam's nerves more than anything is that Ginger just refused to cut ties with Lester Diamond.

"She just keeps- she- she asked me for all this money, and she won't tell me what it's for," Sam is fuming as he vents to you about his wife, "She knows I would give her anything she wants of she'll just tell me what it's for. She won't be honest with me, and that's how I know she's up to no good."

"What do you think the money is for?" you ask, placing your hand on his. He had come over to your house just to visit and have a few drinks. This has become a regular thing since he married Ginger; he relies on your company and your advice.

"Mmm, it's just a suspicion, but I think it might be for that pimp." He rubs his thumb across the back of your hand as he held it.

"I thought she ended things with him, but I wouldn't put it past her to go behind your back. I'm sorry that you can't trust your own wife; I know you value that so much."

"Well, I'm at least glad to know that someone in this world still has values like me. In a town like Las Vegas, everyone is so cutthroat. Sometimes I think you and Billy are the only ones left with a moral compass."

"You have one too, Sam, and a good heart," you pull him towards you, and he lies across the couch to place his head in your lap. He is only casual like this with a few people, but he finds it fun to kick back and relax with you. He looks up at you while you gently comb your fingers though his hair; eventually it will work the gel out of his hair, but you like it when he let his waves hang loose. "What are you gonna do about her giving Lester that money?"

"Hm, I don't know yet," he answers with raised eyebrows and a shoulder shrug.

"What if you let her have the money?"

"So she can give it to that scumbag?"

"Listen, honey," you chuckle at him, "what if you let her have the money, knowing she's going to give it to Lester, but you and Nicky's guys show up with her. Put him in his place, rough him up, that way he won't come begging on her doorstep again. AND she'll see what happens if she tries to give him your money again."

A surprised look appears on his face, "Damn, baby, you been hanging out with Nicky, taking some notes from him? It almost sounds like you hate my wife or something!" You both laugh together.

Your laughter dies off, and you look down at his face in your lap, "I hate the way she treats you." It's the simple truth; he deserves better.

• • •

A few weeks later, you're at a pool party at Billy's place. Las Vegas summers are hot, so pools are basically a requirement out here.

Normally, Sam brought Ginger to these kinds of things; that's just what you were supposed to do, but you had convinced him to come by himself. At first the thought made him uncomfortable, because he knew it would cause another argument at home, but he also just wanted to get away for a while. And so, he left Ginger with a stack of cash, told her to go shopping, and came over to Billy's.

You don't notice Sam when he first arrives; you're in the pool taking to some of Billy's business associates, some you had met before, some you hadn't. One of these guys has made himself really comfortable with you: grabbing at your hips and trying to keep you close to him. You're used to men like this putting their hands on you, and it's normally very casual, but this guy is being more aggressive than you are used to.

He's putting his arms around you and pulling you really close to his chest. You use your arms as a barrier between you and him; it's really more awkward than anything.

"Excuse me?"

You look over your shoulder to see Sam standing at the edge of the pool.

"Yeah?" the guy asks, adjusting his arm around you once again.

"Would you mind if the lady came with me?" Sam asked, pouring on the charm.

"She's fine here."

"Looks like she'd rather be with me" Sam says giving you a coy look.

The guy look at you, then back at Sam, "And who the fuck are you?" he replies, rudely.

"Someone you don't want to piss off." Sam takes your hand, and you free yourself from this other man. Sam helps you out of the pool and snags a towel for you to wrap yourself up in.

"Thank you for that," you tell Sam as you walk over to a table where Billy and his wife are.

"Eh, I'm sorry that he felt he could treat you like that. He'll be taken care of." You know what that means.

There are several people gathered around the table, people Sam and Billy work with at the casino, but they're also friends. Sam takes a seat in one of the lounge chairs and pulls you into his lap. Everyone at the table says their hello's and Sam whipsers to you, "Thank you for inviting me... And suggesting I leave the wife at home." He rubs a hand across your thighs and the other rests on your back.

This is a crowd that you and Sam are comfortable being close in. You two were always like this before he got with Ginger, so it feels nice to have him close to you again. You gently squeeze at his side, while he lights a cigarette and takes a puff. He offers it to you, but you just smile and shake your head.

"Hey, Billy," Sam starts.

"Yeah, Ace?" he asks, turning his attention to the man next to you.

"You see that dopey ass motherfucker in the pool over there?" Sam asks, pointing with his cigarette between his fingers, "The tall one at the center of that group?"

"Yeah, yeah, I see him. Did he do something?"

"He thought it was okay to make (Y/N) here uncomfortable, and he tried to mouth off at me about it," Sam explains.

"(Y/N), is that true? What did he do to you?" Billy asks you.

"He was just being weird and way too handsy. I tried to get away from him but he would just grab me if I did that. I didn't wanna make a scene though."

Billy turns to look back at the group of guys in the pool, "And all those guys with him just let it happen, huh?" He turns back to you, "It'll be handled. That's unacceptable."

Sam gives your waist a squeeze, and you share a look with him. "You gonna get in the pool at all today?" you ask him, motioning to his outfit: khaki slacks, a button up shirt (unbuttoned a little bit), and a pale pink sports coat.

"I don't know, I'm having a good time right here. You look good in that bikini, baby," he whispers the last part, rubbing his fingers over the string on your back, "it doesn't leave much to the imagination..."

"Just the parts that all you boys want to see," you bite your lip, and you both giggle quietly.

The afternoon goes by with casual conversation as you and Sam lounge back in your chair with you leaning against his chest and your face tucked into the crook of his neck. He keeps his arms around you, as he chats and enjoys some drinks and cigarettes with the guys at the table.

Soon, the sun begins it's descent before the moon comes out, which means the temperature is dropping too. Vegas has some of the hottest days and the coldest nights.

You sit up from your cozy spot against Sam's chest and pluck the cigarette holder from between his lips. He raises his eyebrows at you as you take a drag off of it, then you exhale the smoke at the same time as him.

A warm smile spreads across your face as you return the cigarette to him. "I'm gonna go change," you whisper to him before getting up and heading inside Billy's house.

Upstairs in the bathroom, you take your change of clothes out of your bag and lay them out on the counter. You hear a small knock at the door before Sam enters the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

"Sam? What are you doing?" you ask him.

He walks over and places himself behind you, looking you up and down in the mirror. He wraps his arms around your midsection and rests his chin on your shoulder, making eye contact with you, again in the mirror.

"You're so beautiful," is all he says before one hand travels to your hip, and his lips find your skin. He kisses at your neck slowly but sensually; you close your eyes as your back arches into him. He has you turned on in a matter of seconds; you had never realized you wanted him this bad.

One of his hands slides up your back and pulls the string of your bikini top, untying it and leaving your back bare. Your top hangs on by the knot at the back of your neck.

His kisses grow increasingly sloppy as he becomes more turned on for you. One of his hands cups at the underside of your breast, while the other holds your hips in place. You feel his erection in his pants against your backside, as he unties one of the knots at your hip.

"Sam-" You want him badly, but your conscience won't let you do this. "Sam."

His motions stop and he looks up at you in the mirror. You turn around in his arms so that you can look him in the eyes. With a bittersweet look on your face, you say, "We can't do this. You're married, Sam. We can't do this, especially not in Billy's house."

A look of clarity comes to his eyes as you talk some sense into him. "Yeah, yeah, you're right," he answers. He reaches for a towel and wraps it around your body, as if to cover up the thing that was tempting him. You tie the towel in place and go ahead and remove your bikini, dropping it to the floor. Sam pulls you into a hug, holding your toweled waist tight, "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I'm so sorry."

• • •

The next time you see Sam is just for a normal get-together at The Tangiers. Being the gentleman he is, he treats you as if the incident at Billy's place never happened, and it's best this way; he's one of your best friends after all.

This dinner is anything but normal, however. Ginger had started to catch on to Sam leaving her at home. You got the feeling Nicky was the one who let her in on that secret.

Ginger storms into the casino, making a scene like she always does; she's always been the kind of person you hear before you see when she's angry. Security follows her over as she makes her way to the table with their little girl on her hip. Sam stands up and rushes over to her, in an effort to keep Ginger away from everyone at the table. It doesn't work that well, she continues pushing towards the table as she screams at him about leaving her at home and making her take care of their toddler.

Sam gets the kid from Ginger, and she pushes past him and towards you, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU PUT THE IDEA IN HIS HEAD TO START SNEAKING AROUND ON ME!"

You sit there, completely taken back. You would try to say something, but you wouldn't get a word in as Ginger is letting you have it.

Sam comes over, grabbing Ginger's arm and pulling her to face him, "What the fuck is the matter with you? What the fuck is the MATTER WITH YOU?! Bringing our kid here at this time of night! Screaming at (Y/N)!" He points at you, "You ain't had nothin' to do with her since you met!! And you wanna come in here and blame your problems on her?!"

You had never seen Sam so angry before, screaming at the top of his lungs like this in front of everyone, in his own casino. There was a pause as everyone waited for what was gonna happen next.

Quietly, Ginger speaks, "Oh my God," her voice cracked like she was about to cry, "oh my God, you're defending her..." She turns to walk away, crying into her hands. Sam quickly hands Amy over to you and runs after Ginger.

Security follows them, and everyone at the table sits in silence as you all listen to Ginger yell and cry at Sam on the way outside, "You never defended me! To anyone! For anything! You've never defended me like that!"

• • •

A few days later, flowers show up at your house with a note from Sam.

"I'm so sorry for the other night and how crazy things have been lately. Let's go out and I'll make it up to you. -S. R."

Attached is a reservation card telling you that you're having dinner with him tonight at a small restaurant you used to go to when Sam first moved out to Las Vegas.

"I'm so glad you actually came. I thought maybe you didn't want anything to do with me after Ginger yelled at you like that."

"Have I ever been the type of girl that would blame you for your wife's actions?" you say greeting him with a kiss on the cheek, "it's good to see you all in one piece; I was worried what she might do to you." You both chuckle and sit down at your table.

"I just- uhh, I just wanted to take you out like we used to do before everything got so crazy. Back when I was still getting used to the desert and Billy introduced me to you; it was just simple... and always fun when you were around. So I just thought maybe we could re-live that for a night," Sam explains his reasoning for bringing you here alone.

"Well I think it'll be fun," you say reaching over and giving his hand an encouraging squeeze, "This place always had great food!" You lean back in your seat, slide your heels off under the table, and prop your feet up in Sam's lap across from you. He raises his eyebrows, giving you a look. "Well you said you wanted it to be like old times!" you exclaim.

After dinner and dessert, you both sit back with your bellies full. The food was so rich and lovely; you both ate so much more than you normally would have, but you aren't in the company of anyone fancy so you cut loose.

"You wanna get out of here? I got somewhere I'd like to take you," Sam asks.

"Ooooh, honey, I don't think I can move, I'm so full!" you groan at him, "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere you took me when I first moved here and I needed some peace and quiet from the city."

And with that, you let him take you by the hand and lead you out to his car. When you cruise past the strip and out into the dark dessert, you lean on his shoulder and ask, "You're not gonna whack me, are you?"

"Now, I couldn't tell you if I was. Typically the guy you're gonna whack doesn't ask ya, and typically the guy you're gonna whack is a guy," you both laugh. Tonight really had been like old times.

You slide over and lay down, laying your head in his lap. He put his arm across your chest and shoulder as if you were an arm rest, and he looks down at you. "Eyes on the road, Mr. Rothstein!"

"Yes, ma'am" he cracks a smile and looks up like he's supposed to.

Parked just a few miles out in the desert, Sam gets out the car, grabbing a blanket from the back, and tossing it across the hood of the car. He also grabs an extra jacket for you for when it gets cold.

"Alright, get outta the car," he says, looking at you laid across the front seat of his Cadillac.

"Mmmm... but I'm so cozy here," you whine.

Sam grabs you by your feet and drags you across the seat to pull you up out of the car. Once you're on your feet, he grips both of your shoulders and looks you over, "Princess. You're a spoiled princess, you know that?" He grabs your hips and lifts you onto the hood of the car before walking around and hopping up to sit next to you.

"It's been forever since I came out here... Thank you for bringing me," you tell Sam as you lean back on the windshield of his car and look up at the endless sea of stars in the night sky. Out here in the desert, there was no light pollution, and it was such a clear night, it felt like there were a million stars up there.

"Want this?" Sam asks holding up his extra jacket.

You take it from him and bundle up in it. It was warm and smelled like him, like he had worn it recently or perhaps sprayed his cologne on it.

He put his arm around your shoulders; together, you looked up at night sky and talked, occasionally pointing out constellations or planets.

The lower the temperature drops, the more you snuggle into Sam. Every few moments you glance at each other, sometimes making eye contact and smiling at each other.

"Mm, come here," Sam grumbles pulling you into a full-on cuddle.

"Cold?" you joke.

"Nope, you're just too far away," he nuzzles his nose into your hair and leaves a kiss there.

You turn your head to face him, "Sam."

He places his hand on your cheek and sarcastically replies, "(Y/N)."

Your eyes linger on one another's for what feels like several minutes; for a moment, the whole world fell away and it was just the two of you. You both lean in, gently pressing your lips to one another's. You move your lips together slowly and carefully, as if you might break something. The moment lasts a long time, but not long enough.

Sam pulls back to look at you, "I love you."

You open your mouth to protest, but all that comes out is, "I love you, too."

Without another word, you both agree to not discuss it. Whether you liked it or not, things were about to get complicated, so you both just want things to be simple for the night.

• • •

You had always assumed Sam was the kind of man to take a woman to bed quickly in a relationship. Of course, your relationship is anything but conventional; you'd been friends for years, but now it was obvious those feelings of friendship had been something more all along.

You had spent some time together a few times since your outing to the desert. He greeted you with a kiss each of those times you met up, because you made sure to meet in private; word couldn't get out about this, or it would cause trouble with Ginger and the crime family Nicky and Sam were in. The family wouldn't take so kindly to Ginger causing a big scene over Sam's infidelity.

You and Sam also really wanted to take things slow; you didn't want to ruin a good friendship by rushing. So when he came to your house or you met in his office, you spent a lot of time in his arms, kissing him, and not too much more.

But your job right now is to act like none of that exists, like everything is just the way it's always been. You're at a big celebration for Sam; the gaming commission is giving an award to him for being such an important asset in the success of gambling in Las Vegas. Everyone who knows Sam is there; it's his big night!

As events like this usually go, Sam is at a table on a stage at the front of the room. His closest friends are all sat together: you, Billy, Nicky, Ginger, and a few others. On the surface everything is cool, but you know this mix of people isn't good news.

There are rumors floating around that the FBI agents keeping an eye on Nicky had gotten some pictures of him and Ginger together. Sam didn't want to pry into it; he didn't want another reason to be mad with her. Sam had also recently told you that Ginger's mysterious phone calls had started up again, and she refused to tell him who she was calling at all hours of the day. You and Sam both knew what that meant: Ginger is being anything but faithful to him.

It's a lovely dinner, aside from Ginger's remarks. It's almost like she knows about you and Sam somehow. Every time she mentions him, she makes sure to watch your reaction, and she makes several remarks like, "proud to call him my man," and, "so glad he belongs to me," while staring you down.

In an effort to try and make friendly conversation with Ginger, you lean over you her to say, "You know, I think Sam likes girls like us, because we're both like him: social and in the business. We make what he does look glamorous." You give her a hopeful smile.

She cuts her eyes and hits you with, "No, Sam likes a woman like me; we both came from the streets and had to hustle our way into money. Anyone can be a socialite in a nice gown. Some of us have more to show for it."

Upon hearing that, Billy gives Ginger a look of disapproval and puts his arm around you to comfort you. It couldn't be more obvious that she is trying to get a rise out of you, but you won't stoop to her level making a scene like that.

Ginger leans into Nicky, and you don't say much the rest of dinner.

After the award was presented to Sam and it's time to mingle, you work your way over to Sam, stopping to chat with several people along the way. As you approach him, it seems like the two of you only have eyes for each other. He greets you with a big smile spread across his face, a hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

With his hands on your waist, and your hands on his chest, you tell him, "I'm so proud of you. You work so hard, and you've been so good for Las Vegas."

"Yeah, well, Las Vegas has been good to me," he says looking you in your eyes lovingly, and raising his eyebrows briefly.

What you don't realize is that Ginger sees the whole exchange, but she does something very out of character: she keeps her cool... For now.

• • •

"It was... It was the way you looked at her. You didn't have to look at her like that," Ginger sobs into the pillow on her and Sam's bed.

"How did I look at her? Huh? What did I do?" Sam questions her, pacing around their bedroom.

Ginger shifts to look up at Sam with tear-filled eyes, "Like you love her... You looked at her like you love her."

"Ginger-" Sam starts and pauses to keep his composure, "What do you care how I look at her? You me you didn't love me! And I thought I could change you!"

There was a pause before he continued, "You're not making any goddamn sense; I don't know why I'm trying to talk any sense into you. You been drinkin' all the time, and those fuckin painkillers you took have your brain so fucked up right now... I don't even know why I'm trying; it's not worth it."

"You really feel that way?" she asks quietly.

"Feel what way?"

"That I'm not worth it. You really think that I'm not worth it?" she sits up and pushes some of the hair out of her face.

That small bit of love Sam still had for Ginger creeped back up; he couldn't hurt her like that.

He sat on the bed next to her, "No," he says as he pulls her into his chest, "I don't feel that way." He simply holds her as she cries into his shoulder.

• • •

"I guess she's spread herself too thin," Sam vents to you as you lie on your couch cuddling, "I think the drinking and the drugs are a distraction from all the men she's trying to hold down. She's never been able to keep Lester under control, Nicky is getting all kinds of heat on him with the cops in Vegas, and she's realized I don't love her the way I used to, or maybe the way I thought I did."

The last part was mostly directed at himself; Sam is coming to terms with the decision he made when he married Ginger, and he's realizing that maybe it wasn't love at all. After all, lust isn't built on trust and respect.

"Don't blame yourself for falling for her. She said something to me the other night, and as hurtful as it was, it was true."

"What did she say to you?" he asks, sitting up a bit and furrowing his eyebrows.

"Well, uh, I just told her that I think you like girls like us because we're like you, but we make the business more glamorous. And she told me that you would only like a woman like her because you both worked for the success you have, and that means you and her have more to show for it."

"She said that to you?"

"Yeah, but don't worry about it. If you went to her about it, it would only cause you more problems," you try to get him to relax. There was no point in him getting stressed over it.

He sighs and lays back down, holding you tight, "I'm so sorry she said that to you. It's not true. I think her and I understand each other because of our backgrounds, but I think you know I like you just as much, if not more than I ever liked her."

"I thought you might say something like that. That's why I tried to not let it bother me," you look up and kiss him a few times.

He turns you to lay on your back, and he puts his head on your chest. You run your fingers through his hair on the back of his head.

"I wish we could just run away. I made such a mistake starting a life with Ginger. I meant it-" his voice catches a bit, "I meant it when I told you I love you. I wish I could just put her in the past and spend the rest of my days with you."

His voice got so soft at the end of his statement. From this position you couldn't see his face, and you figured there was a reason for that, as you felt some dampness forming on your shirt.

You had never seen Sam cry over anything. In that moment, it made you realize how real his feelings are. Even after all the hell Ginger put him through, it didn't break him as much as the idea of being with you.

He lies there and tries to keep his breathing even, while you wrap your arms around him and hold him. He just desperately needs love and comfort from a woman who really cares about him.

• • •

Sam and Ginger got to the point that they could hardly stand to be around one another, so they take periods of separation from one another, and they trade off who keeps Amy. Although, Sam will admit that he's more at ease when his little girl is with him.

Whenever Sam has Amy, he tries to take at least one day off work every week to spend with her. She's getting to be more of a kid than a toddler now, and she enjoys spending time with her daddy.

Today, Sam invited you along to the park and a for a picnic with Amy; it's what she asked for!

"You look pretty in your little sundress, baby," Sam compliments you, as he pushes his kid on the swing.

"It's nice seeing you dressed down a bit, too. Turns out it isn't the suit jacket that makes you so handsome!"

He was just wearing slacks and a button up shirt: sleeves rolled up, no tie, no sports coat. Oh, and don't forget the sunglasses and cigarette holder.

"Hey, Amy?" Sam calls to his daughter while she swings up and down through the air.

"Yeah, daddy?"

"You wanna go eat lunch, sweetie?"

"No!"

"No?!" Sam exclaims sarcastically, "You don't wanna go eat your lunch? I packed your favorite."

She shook her head, despite the big smile on her face.

"PB and J's?!" he asks.

She shakes her head again.

"Applesauce?"

Another no.

"Hmmm... How about those cupcakes we picked up from the bakery?"

Her little face lights up and she tries to stop the swing. Sam scoops her up on his hip to carry her over to their picnic blanket. The whole exchange is extremely adorable; you love watching Sam be a daddy to his little girl!

At lunch, surprisingly Amy stays near you. You've been babysitting her since she was a baby, and now she sees you hanging out with her dad a lot; luckily she likes you. It's really important to Sam that you two get along.

"You're gonna make a great mom one day," he says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"Hmm? And what makes you think I'll be a mom?" you ask him, helping wipe something off Amy's cheek.

"If you stay with me, and if we end up together, you'll be Amy's new mom... aaaand maybe if you really like me, we could have a baby together," he looks down at his hands with a smirk on his face.

You put your hands over Amy's ears, and joke with him, "I think we should probably have sex before you ask me to have your baby! Although, you can trust me to have your baby 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 the wedding."

You let go of Amy's ears, while you and Sam double over in laughter.

"What's so funny?" she asks sassily, sounding just like her dad.

"Nothing, honey, you'll understand when you're older," Sam replies, petting her hair.

"You always say that, daddy. Can I go play?"

"Yes, but stay where we can see you, okay?"

"Okay!" she says, already running off. She's a busy body, just like him.

Sam pulls you into a spooning position and holds you so you can both keep an eye on Amy on the playground.

"So, you want me to make love to you, huh?" he grumbles lowly in your ear, placing some kisses on your neck.

"Mmm... Why don't you come over to my place one night and find out?" you tease at him.

• • •

You assumed tonight would be just a casual night at home, and you appreciate that, because it isn't often you get alone time. You had just gotten out the shower and decided to relax in your robe on the couch for the night.

That all changes when you hear the doorbell ring.

"Who could that be? I don't think I invited anyone over," you think as you walk to the door.

"Sam!" you exclaim, seeing him on your front stoop, "what are you doing here-"

You're cut off by his lips meeting yours in a fiery kiss. He pushes you into the house and shuts the door behind him all while his lips never leave yours. He pushes you against a wall, grabbing at your hips. When his lips move down to your neck, you gasp out his name.

"Sam! What has gotten into you?" you breathe out, "What is this?"

"Mmm..." He moans, leaving little kisses at your ear, "Ginger and Amy are out of town, and... you told me to come over and make love to you."

"That's not how I said it," you laugh, before letting out a soft moan at his actions.

He reaches over and locks your front door before leading you over to the couch. His lips find yours again, then he gently lays you down, positioning himself on top of you. His hands roam your body, as your lips move with his; his tongue enters your mouth and sends chills across your skin.

You pull away from his kiss to look at him in the eyes, "I know we've been seeing each other and doing a lot of kissing, but I don't want to make you a cheater."

"Baby, it's not about cheating. Ginger and I don't wanna be together as it is; I 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 to be with 𝘺𝘰𝘶."

"Sam... are you sure? You can't go back from this."

"(Y/N), I already told you I love you. There's no going back from that." His hand snakes down to the ties on your silky robe, and pulls them loose. With his legs on either side of one of yours, he presses his hardness into your thigh. As he pulls your robe to the side just a few inches, he places soft kisses on your chest.

He pauses and looks up at you through his lashes. You place your hands on his face and shoulder, and he gives you a smile before he pulls your robe open, leaving you naked in front of him, except for the sleeves on your arms.

Sam kisses your lips lightly, then your cheek, then your neck and chest, where he starts leaving heated love bites. He gently squeezes at your breasts, as he teases them with his tongue and teeth. Soon after, he leaves a trail of kisses down your belly, leaving you with a few nips on your hipbone.

He sits up on his knees, taking your body in: your plump thighs, sensual hips, the way your breathing had become heavy, and obviously your naked parts he had always wanted to see. He moves to place himself between your legs, and he pulls one of them up, hooking your ankle on his shoulder and pressing a few kisses to your calf.

"You're beautiful," he tells you before he turns his attention back to your leg.

Sam really made you feel beautiful, but it was nothing in comparison to the way he looks: his dress shirt unbuttoned a little, shiny suit pants, large erection pressed against the fabric and poking at his waistband, his tight leather belt keeping it tame.

You're pulled from your thoughts by the feeling of Sam kissing your inner thigh; he had worked his way up to the soft, sensitive part of your leg.

He grabs you by your thighs, scooting you up the couch, giving him more room to work. Now he's bent over a bit more, placing sloppy kisses and and nibbles on your thighs as a way to get you to spread them apart. Finally, he gets down all the way, and you feel his hot breath on your center.

Seeing him crouched down on his elbows and knees, head between your legs... It's enough to make you want him. When places a few hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses on your labia, it makes you lose any fight you had to turn him down.

"Oh, Sam..." your hand slides into his hair as his tongue laps at you. He looks up making eye contact with you, and enjoying how flustered you look because of him.

He simply grins to himself and goes back to pleasing you. Your grip on his hair tightens each time he does something that you like, and he's smart: if you like it a lot, he does it over and over and over.

A few times, he moves down, licking at your entrance, testing the waters. When he hears a whine from you, he decides to stop being a tease and presses his tongue in past your lips. Your back arches up off the couch and you take in a deep breath; Sam digs his fingers into your thighs, keeping your hips firmly in place so he can continue swirling his tongue around inside you.

After a few minutes, he has mercy on you and goes back to your clitoris. He doesn't let up too much though. He slides his middle finger into you, slowly, and when he can't go any further, he curls it in a "come here" kind of motion.

"Oh, God," you let out, toes curling in pleasure.

Sam puts his lips on you and pulls your clit into his mouth, sucking on it. Jackpot. Your hand pulls his hair and you throw your head back; you can feel your climax coming. He lets out a low, grumbly moan, and it helps push you over the edge. Your orgasm comes in waves as Sam continues sucking and curling that finger; he's reveling in the feeling of you losing control at his hand.

When he decides you've had enough, he eases his motions to let you down from your high. The way he has total control over you and your body... You had never seen anything like it.

Sam crawls over you until he was face-to-face with you again to kiss you and make you taste yourself on his lips. He wraps his arms around you and picks you up, hands roaming your back as your robe hangs loosely behind you. With your legs wrapped around his hips, he takes you up to your bedroom.

"Can I ask you something, Sam?" you start.

"Of course you can, baby girl," he answers.

"Why would Ginger treat you so badly if you're this good in bed? And we haven't even made it to bed yet," you chuckle at the last part.

"I guess that's more of a question for Ginger than it is for me, but I'd really rather not talk about my wife right now," he says dropping you on your cozy bed. You lay there, arms above your head, your hair and silky robe spread out around you. Sam grabs you by wrapping his large hands around your ribcage and sits you up. It always impressed you how large and strong he is, because he keeps his muscles covered with all those suits. He pushes your robe off your shoulders, "That's better."

You giggle at him and reach out in front of you, giving his aching erection some much needed attention with the palm of your hand. Sam let's out a breath, and you take that as a sign to undo his belt. After opening his belt and unzipping his pants, you pull them down just a little, leaving them hanging on his hips. Your hand finds his member again, rubbing it through a much thinner layer of fabric, "You gonna show me what this thing can do?"

He puts a hand on the back of your head and pulls you to him. Your face nuzzles against his pelvis; you leave a few kisses on his groin and look up at him, "You want me to use my mouth on you?"

His eyes are fixed on yours as his lips pull into a half smile, "No, another time. I can't wait any longer to have you."

And with that, you pulled his pants off of his hips. He quickly works out of his shoes and pants and climbs on top of you.

"Oh, no, Mr. Rothstein! We are not doing this if you have those socks on!" you giggle at him.

He looks back at his feet, "What, you don't think they're sexy?" He turns back to you and kisses you, "I'd fuck you if you were wearing socks," he jokes before reaching back and pulling them off.

When he lays down on top of you, you work on unbuttoning his shirt while he kisses your lips and neck. A few seconds later his shirt is thrown to the floor. He wraps his arms around you as you make out, pressing your bodies together; like this, you can feel his muscles, his warmth, and his love, as if he was the thing you always needed.

His kisses slow down, and he pulls back to look at you, "I love you, (Y/N), and I mean it."

"I love you, too, Sam," you nearly whisper. After a short pause and Sam rubbing your cheek with his thumb, you ask, "Will you take those underwear off already? You're going awfully slow for a man who said he didn't want to wait anymore."

He smiles and shakes his head sarcastically at you, but he sits up on his knees and pushes them off, "Better?" he snarks.

"Better."

He was sexier than you ever could've imagined. He left a lot to the imagination with all his suits, but like this, you got to take in his loving eyes, messed up hair, soft skin, toned arms, and the chest hair that made a lovely trail down to his large member that's standing at attention for you.

"Come here, sexy," you command.

"Who? Me?" he points to himself, jokingly.

You reach up, and grab his hands, pulling him down on top of you again, "Yes, you."

He lets out an excited moan, kicking his underwear to the floor and snaking a hand down between your thighs. As his fingers tease at your clit, he asks, "You ready, baby doll?"

"Very ready."

That's all he needs to hear before he's pulling your legs up to wrap around his waist, slicking up the head of his cock with spit and a little precum. The next moments are filled with moans from the two of you, as he lines up with your wet entrance and begins to enter you. His hips work slowly, giving small motions to sink into you.

You could tell from the way his hips were bucking lightly that he was torn between taking things slow and fucking into you hastily, right then and there. It's the neediest you'd ever seen him; it's sexy the way you make him lose a bit of that control he always has.

As soon as he's got enough length inside you, he starts rocking into you, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. "Baby, you feel so good," he says as he buries a hand in your hair and his face in your neck, kissing you. His breathing becomes more intense, and his back arches a bit allowing for some room for him to work his hand on you again.

As if the feeling of his hardness pushing in and out of you wasn't enough, his fingers start making circles on your clit, drawing moans from your mouth. "Oh, God, those noises... You're gonna drive me crazy," he whispers in your ear before leaving a few bites on your lobe.

He moves so he can kiss you and look at your pretty face while he makes love to you. He's so excellent, pleasing your clitoris while thrusting his hips into you. You lean up to leave a series of kisses and nips on his neck and collarbone; your fingernails leaving scratches on his back and hands tangling his normally perfect hair.

"Oh, fuck..." you hear Sam say as he slows down his movements.

"You okay, honey?" you ask, concerned.

"More than okay, baby, I just got close," he answers, looking almost embarrassed. It's hard to tell if the flush on his cheeks is from answering your question or from pleasure.

"You could've finished if you wanted," you say with a warm smile.

"Oh, no. I'm not done with you yet, princess." He sits up on his knees, snaking his arm around your back and gripping your hips to lift you off the bed. His other hand rests on your pelvis, and his thumb flicks over your clit. He starts rocking you back and forth on his dick, "How about that? You like that?"

Judging by your moans and the way your back arches for him, he got his answer. He picks up his pace until he's fucking into you with quick, hard thrusts, and your thighs clap against his belly. His fingers relentlessly try to please you, and it's working: you're coming apart at the seams once again for him.

When you feel your second orgasm coming on, you can't help but also feel a little surprised... but also so turned on that he made a mess of you, twice.

Feeling your orgasm and feeling you tighten around his hard length, Sam loses himself. His hips buck into you wildly as he cums deep inside you. He sits back on his heels, and pulls you up to straddle his lap. He pumps into you a few more times while he holds you close to him, kissing anywhere his lips can reach.

Your lips meet and you kiss him several times, both of you feeling very satisfied. You comb your fingers through his hair, fixing it a little bit; he seems to like that. His arms are wrapped around you, and he just holds you on his lap like that for a few minutes, kissing your chest.

He lays his head against your shoulder, and let's out a deep breath, "Yeah, I'm in love," he giggles and stares up at you with an innocent, happy look.

"Me too," you say quietly, kissing his head with a bit of a sad look on your face.

"Hey!" he gets you to look down at him, "You okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah... I just wish we could be together, and that it wouldn't be so complicated," you tell Sam.

He lays you down on the bed, pulling out of you, then he lays next to you and holds you in his arms, "Me too, baby, me too. I just feel bad because it's my fault we can't be together like we want to."

"Oh, Sam, you know I don't blame you for that. No one enters into a bad marriage on purpose."

"No, but you were always right about her. I should've listened to you, considering I came to you for advice. She never cared about me."

"Yeah, but you cared about her, and you still do," you say with a warm smile, "she's the mother of your child. You have a big heart, Sam."

You wrap your arms around his neck and hold his head against your chest. "I care about you, too," you hear him mutter.

"I know you do. I care about you, too," you whisper, snuggling into him to drift off to sleep in his arms.

• • •

The sex was amazing, but there's nothing like waking up in the arms of someone you love, at least, that's how you feel this morning. The way Sam clings to you, almost desperately, lets you know that while you may not wake exactly like this every morning, you will wake up loved each morning.

As you begin to stir a bit, Sam's arms squeeze around you, not wanting you to leave your comfortable spooning position. He grumbles to himself a few times before finally cracking his eyes open to tell you, "Good morning, beautiful."

"Good morning," you respond, as he lies there with his eyes closed like he may go back to sleep.

He opens his eyes again, slowly, and you feel his hand gently move the covers off of you. You groan when the cool air hits your skin. "God damn, baby, you look so good," his voice rumbles.

"Mmm... You pushed the blankets off me just to tell me I look good?"

"Well, no..." he starts, and he finishes his statement by kissing your shoulder blade and neck, teasing at your thighs, and feeling your breasts. He presses his hips into your backside, letting you feel his morning wood.

"Oooh, someone's happy!" you giggle, pushing your butt back into him to give him some friction.

"I think you meant horny," he slides a hand down, grabbing at your butt before sliding further down teasing between your legs. He slowly runs his middle finger back and forth along your clit and your entrance, getting you wet for him.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Hm?" He mutters between kisses.

"I love you. I wanted to make sure to say it first for once."

He chuckles and continues what he's doing, "And I love you, and I wanna make sure you know this isn't about sex."

"Well, it's a little hard to believe that when you have a finger inside me, but Sam Rothstein is a man who's good on his word, so I'll believe you...just this once," you look over your shoulder, both of you grinning uncontrollably. You reach back and take his member in your hand, stroking it, "However, for the next few minutes, I'd like to make it about sex."

"Mmm, yes ma'am!" Sam exclaims, attacking your neck with sloppy kisses, and repositioning himself to enter you. You both relax into those feelings of pleasure as his warm cock fills you. He grips your hips loosely and thrusts his hips into you almost lazily, but it feels good.

His hand creeps down and grips your thigh, gently lifting your leg up in the air. You both light up with noises, moans, whines, heavy breathing. Within a few minutes, you hear Sam breathe out, "Baby, baby, I'm gonna cum."

You let out a hum, "Cum for me, sweetheart."

Sam pulls you close to him, moving against you with quick, small pumps. You grab his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, while he holds you tightly. After his orgasm, he slides out of you easily and turns you over to kiss your lips for the first time that morning.

Sam is so needy after sex; he wants to hold you as close as possible and shower you in kisses and affection and sweet words.

"I'm sorry I didn't finish you off, honey," Sam says to you.

"It's okay, sweetie, I'm just glad you felt so good," you hold his head in your hands, nuzzling your nose against his.

He lowers his voice as if someone might hear him, "I'll make up for it in the shower," giving you a little wink.

And he does, because Sam Rothstein is a man who's good on his word.

• • •

Since you and Sam spent that weekend together, you start fucking like bunnies. That is to say: you find time to make love to one another often, especially when Ginger is out of town. You both prefer to do it at your home, but when Sam has Amy, he will sometimes invite you over; you quickly get past sleeping in another woman's bed, because you know Sam's heart belongs to you. Sex for the two of you isn't about getting off; it's one of the many ways you show your feelings for one another.

You both find it very hard to hide your feelings for one another in front of others. You can be so open with one another and your feelings when you're in your little bubble. Despite that, you have to put your feelings aside for The Tangiers charity event tonight. Sam has a lot of big spenders flying in for this event; it's going to bring in a lot of money and a lot of publicity for the casino.

"Hey, baby," you say, sneaking into Sam's office, closing the door quietly.

He's standing by his desk signing a few papers; this is probably the one quiet moment he'll have all night. "Hey, princess," he gives you a cute look, signing a few more papers. You sit in comfortable silence, while you wait for him to finish his work. "Alright," he says, tapping his pen on the final paper, "Bring that sweet ass over here!"

He sits on the edge of his desk and pulls you into a hug, taking in your scent and the way your dress feels against your body. He lets out a relaxed sigh, "I missed you."

It has been few days since you've seen each other. With Ginger being home in preparation for this event, you and Sam decided it was best not to see each other. "I missed you, too," you nuzzle into him.

You feel his hand under your chin, lifting your face so he can kiss you. You kiss slowly at first, letting Sam explore your mouth with his tongue, but things quickly get more heated since it feels like it's been so long since you had each other.

He turns you around, sitting you on his thigh as he leans against his desk. You both crane your necks to keep your lips connected. Sam presses your back against his chest before dipping his hand into your dress, fingers teasing your nipple. You inhale sharply and brace a hand on his hip.

"You like that?" he purrs in your ear.

"Mm-hmm," you hum, leaning your head back against him.

His free hand pulls your dress up and disappears between your thighs, touching you through your panties.

"Sam..." you whine, moving your hand to squeeze at his half-hard length.

"Seems like someone misses me, needy baby," he whipsers to you.

You urge his hands off of you and stand up, facing him, "Now let's get something straight, Mr. Rothstein: I wasn't needy when I came in this office. I patiently waited for you to finish signing things, and then YOU made me needy."

There's a long pause between you before Sam cracks a little smirk and says, "You're sexy when you're mad."

Once you head downstairs to the casino floor, the party is on. Millionaires and billionaires fill the room, enjoying slots, tables, and free champagne. Sam always thought it was funny how rich people love a free handout.

Every business associate that Sam knew was here, plus the rich friends they brought with them. Those of you who spend a lot of time at the casino mingle with the guests who came to spend money; your job is to keep them spending money, because a hefty portion of what the house makes tonight is going to be split between a few charities. It was Billy's idea, saying that a charity event would be great publicity and raise goodwill with the people.

Most of your evening goes by playing table games with people you barely knew, so it's nice to see Billy, a familiar face. You hadn't seen him since you got there.

He hands you a glass of champagne and you find a more secluded place to talk while Billy watches the floor. You see Sam doing the same from his usual spot; Sam sees you and gives you a cute look, scrunching his nose when Billy isn't looking.

Almost on queue, Billy smirks, "So, you and Ace, huh?"

"Huh? What?" you stammer, caught off guard.

"Don't worry, I haven't told anyone. You know my lips are sealed," he has a pleased look on his face, and he gives you a wink.

You sigh and give Billy a knowing look, confirming his suspicions, "How'd you know?"

"Well, I'll admit it took me a while to catch on, because you two have always been close. Sam's been much happier the past few weeks, but I chalked it up to Ginger getting out of his hair with her little vacations. Tonight has been the first dead giveaway: you sneaking up to his office and coming down to the floor together, and the way he's been keeping an eye on you all evening, like he's worried about you getting too far away from him."

If Sam had been watching you like that, you hadn't noticed, but it was endearing. "You should tell him not to blow our cover," you smirk at Billy.

"Oh, I plan on it," Billy leans into you, "Let me tell you a secret, (Y/N). I've always liked you two together, and I think you have always liked one another; maybe you were just too blinded by the Vegas lights to see it... So, I'll keep your secret, because you two deserve to be happy." His hand squeezes your shoulder, and he clinks his glass with yours before leaving you to go stand with Sam so they can watch the floor together.

As you walk the floor looking for a group of tycoons to mingle with, you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn to see Ginger who is now leading you across the casino floor.

"Hey, girl! Wanna work a table together? Maybe if we put our heads together, we could pull in more money." She is oddly pleasant in her tone of voice, but the way her nails grip your arm gives you a different vibe; however, you don't feel you have much choice in the matter. You are swept off to a table far away from the center of the casino, far away from Sam and Billy.

Unexpectedly, Ginger is nice to you and even jokes with you as you hustle all the rich men gathered around the roulette table, getting them to spend all of their money. When that's over, it's like a switch flips.

She drags you aside away from everyone except a few bouncers, and begins her tirade, "It's you. I know it's you." She's doing her best to remain calm with all of the donors around, but you knew she was high; she was always on something anymore.

"Ginger, what are you talking about?"

"You- your perfume! I smell it... in my bed, on Ace! I know you're sleeping with him!"

You can tell she's getting worked up, and you really don't want her to start yelling. "Now, we don't want things to get out of hand. You know I spend a lot of time with Sam; I've been helping him babysit Amy more since you guys have been more separate. Isn't it possible you smell my perfume around him because of that? You probably smell it on Amy too, right?"

Ginger is frustrated and confused, unable to make sense of things with all that junk in her system, "Yeah, yeah, I guess that makes sense," she pouts.

"Yeah, see? It's okay, everything's okay," you try to calm her down, resting your hand on her upper arm.

"No! Don't touch me!!" she shouts.

"Ginger, don't get excited; we don't wanna ruin the event."

"I don't care what you say; I don't trust you, and I don't trust you with my husband!" she sneers at you, "I have my connections just like your 'Saaam,' and if I find out anything is going on with you and him, you'll be nothing more than one of those holes in the desert these guys like to talk so much about. You're nothing but a whore as it is."

Her face is inches from yours. She had insulted you and threatened your life in a single statement, and clearly she had decided Sam was too personal a name for her husband, since she chastised you for calling him that. You decide to do your worst; you doubt she'll remember this interaction anyway.

"This coming from the woman who can't seem to shake her pimp."

Thankfully the bouncers nearby saw how heated things were getting, and they came over to break it up. They even called Nicky over talk Ginger down. It's pretty bad that even the casino staff knew about Nicky and Ginger, and that bringing Ace over would just make it worse.

But word quickly made it back to Sam about what Ginger had done to you, and so a few days later, he sent her to Beverly Hills with Amy; besides, he only needed her home for that one night at the Tangiers.

• • •

Despite all of his efforts to run a clean joint, it all came crashing down when Sam got word that the FBI had heard all about the casino and the Midwest bosses from that grocery store tap back home. Luckily, they couldn't really bring any heat down on Sam, because he didn't know much; he had been put in Las Vegas to run the casino, and he was even working on getting his gaming license which looked good on him.

Nicky, however, did get a lot of heat. He already had the attention of the Las Vegas police for a number of crimes, and he was the liaison between Las Vegas and and the Midwest bosses.

Sam had already been trying to pull away from Nicky and that meant also pulling away from the gangster business that had made him so successful as a handicapper.

Thankfully with Ginger out of town, you got to be with Sam when he found out about all this. There isn't much he can do, but he knows it's a possibility his whole casino could go under.

In order to cheer him up, you invite Sam to your place for a few days, so he can use your home as a getaway to just relax as much as he can. Despite everything going on, you both actually have a pretty good time. Sam only takes the calls he absolutely has to take which mostly meant Billy, and you both enjoy cooking together, showering together, making love together...

Unfortunately he can't stay for more than a few days or people will start to realize he isn't home, and any calls other than to Billy needed to come from Sam's house, especially any calls to Ginger. And so this morning you head off to Sam's place, so he can call the hotel in Beverly Hills to check on his wife and child.

He gets on the phone and cheerily greets the hotel receptionist before asking to be put through to Ginger's room. His tone quickly drops when he questions, "𝘔𝘳. and Mrs. Rothstein?"

You give him a concerned look as he wraps up the conversation and slams the phone down on the hook. He lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs his chin before he says, "She checked out of the hotel with another man and my kid."

"It's not Nicky, is it?" you ask.

"No, it's not Nicky, I know it's not Nicky; he's got too much heat on him to leave Vegas." That could only mean one thing: Lester.

Sam immediately gets back on the phone calling the police, the FBI agents he'd been in contact with, even Nicky, to try to find where Ginger and this pimp had taken his daughter. The FBI is very gracious in helping track down Ginger and Amy, quickly getting back to Sam with an address and phone number for where they are.

After a phone call with Lester that didn't really go anywhere, Sam is feeling helpless about what to do. He's so furious with Ginger, but he needs her to bring their daughter home. He sinks down into the couch when he looks at you desperately; he doesn't know what to do.

You quickly rush over and curl up next to him, taking the man in your arms, rubbing his shoulders for comfort. "How do I get her home? I just want Amy safe; she's not safe with that pimp, and clearly she's not safe with her mother anymore either."

"You're not gonna like to hear this, but I think Nicky is your best bet to get her back," you suggest.

He simply nods his head as he realizes you're right, then he picks up the phone to call his friend.

• • •

The next few days Sam and Ginger are walking on eggshells. It couldn't be more obvious that Ginger doesn't want to be home, but Sam had to know that Amy is safe. Since Ginger has to be home, Sam even tries being sweet to her again. He had tried to cuddle with her a few times, something they hadn't done in years, but she would just reject him each time, typically leaving the room. Sam is at his wits' end; he doesn't know what else to try with Ginger, what other approach he could take.

One night as Sam is about to leave the casino to head home, you follow him out to his car, "just to talk," you tell him. You hadn't seen him in days and you miss him.

"Hey, baby," Sam says wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"Hey, honey. I missed you," you smile at him.

He hums, "I miss you too, and I'm sorry you're in the middle of all this... It's not fair to you."

"It's okay, Sam. You're the one who's in a tough spot here. I'm just here to support you and love you and... make you feel better..." you trail off as you squeeze his thigh, your fingers gracing past his crotch.

"Oh..." Sam says, giving you a cheeky look.

You slide your hand back and forth over the front of his pants, getting him hard, while you lightly kiss at his neck and ear. "You've just been so stressed lately, sweetie; let me help you relax."

When his breathing becomes heavy, you know he's ready for more, "Baby girl, I need your mouth on me, now." He lets out a groan when you open his pants and stroke him through his underwear.

You don't waste much time before you're going down on him, kissing his leaking member before taking it in your mouth. He looks down at you and tries to keep his breathing even; all this came on pretty suddenly so you've got Sam very worked up. He takes your hair in his hands, forming a make shift ponytail to keep your hair out your face. He also likes to watch your face bob up and down on his cock.

You hollow out your cheeks and Sam savors that intense sucking feeling. Between that and your tongue pressing against his tip, he can hardly contain himself. You wrap a hand around the base of his member, pumping what you can't take in your mouth.

Sam's hands push you down making you take as much of him as you can, and his breathing becomes labored, letting out little moans as he climaxes in your mouth.

You take down what you can and lick up any of the rest. You look up to see Sam giving you a look with raised eyebrows.

"I didn't want you to make a mess..." you say with a raspy voice as you wipe your lips.

He simply stares at you, as if he was still trying to make sense of what just happened, before he grabs your hair and pulls you into a rough kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. When he pulls away from you breathing heavily, he says, "Baby, you have no idea how bad I needed that. Thank you." He softens up and pulls you back towards him, this time laying your head in the crook of his neck.

Sam leaves you at the Tangiers and at home, walks into a nightmare: his kid is tied to her bed and his wife is nowhere to be found. Despite the flood of panic and anger that he feels, he keeps his wits about him and calls you to come get Amy; with you is the safest place for her right now while Sam searches for Ginger. You only see him for a quick moment, before he rushes out the door, leaving you to pack Amy a bag and take her to your house for a few days.

Sam knows Ginger is at Nicky's new restaurant; he had called before he left the house. His tires screech to a halt as he rolls up to the place of business.

After a run-in with Nicky at the door and a quiet altercation in the corner booth, where Sam definitely threatened Ginger's life for what she did to Amy, Sam managed to get his wife in the car. On the ride home, oddly, all Sam could think was, "Where does Nicky get off asking 𝘮𝘦 to be civil, when he's the one that always gets heat brought on us?"

It's probably just a temporary distraction from elephant in the room, or car, in this case.

Sam has to admit: he's at his wits' end with Ginger. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about leaving her or kicking her out. But when they walk into the house, and he sees the apologetic look in his wife's eyes, whether honest or manipulative, one thought crosses his mind, "She's the mother of my child."

How could he walk out on her? He had promised she'd be taken care of, and even though he really only meant financially, his big heart wouldn't allow him to hurt her.

She doesn't care what he does; she won't be bothered as long as she gets the money she's promised.

"Come on, honey, let's go to bed," Sam says softly, taking his wife's hand. They take a few steps together before the man stops and turns to her; he places his hands on her sides, seeing if she'll hug him. When she does, sadly, it leaves Sam with a shred of hope for their relationship.

• • •

Sam had been exhausted, so he went to bed with the promise that Ginger would meet him there after she gets a shower. However, when Sam wakes up, seeing the time on the clock and the other half of his bed empty; he's immediately filled with suspicion.

At 3:03 A.M., he finds himself sneaking down the hallway--sneaking... in his own house. He shakes his head and quietly shuffles down the hallway towards the living room, where he can hear Ginger's voice moving at a rapid and excited pace.

"I don't care- I don't care!! I want that fucker dead! I want him dead! And that little slut too!! Sleeping in my bed- No! No, I will not calm down... I want a hit on that bitch, that way he can 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵! The same way he hurt me!" Ginger snarls and sobs into the phone.

Sam's heart sank. The thought of losing you--no, he couldn't think about that right now; he simply springs into action, grabbing the phone from Ginger's hands. "Who's this?" he demands to the person on the other end of the line, before slamming the phone down only a second later as Ginger leaps up, practically attacking Sam by pounding her balled up hands against his chest and arms.

"You want me dead, huh? You want me outta the picture?!" his voice booms as she starts to wrestle with him, crying and screaming. "Come with me, come on!" He gets her flailing hands undercontol and drags her down the hallway; Ginger's feet come out from under her, and he just keeps dragging her, both of them yelling at each other.

"I hate you!!! I hate your guts!" Ginger shouts at Sam from where she's laying on the floor of their walk in closet, her face red from crying.

"I know, you evil bitch! What did I ever do to you, huh? I tried to love you and look where it got me..." He slaps a duffle bag down on her lap.

"What's this?" she asks.

He follows it with a pile of clothes, gorgeous, expensive fabrics hitting the floor, "Get your shit, and get out," Sam growls, fire and pain in his eyes.

"You can't kick me out, you can't put me out on the street with no money!!!" She jumps up and starts grabbing expensive clothes.

"Money's all you care about, huh?" he questions, bending down to a shoe box under his clothes; he pulls out all that would fit in his hands, bringing it over to her on the floor. "Is this enough?? You'll probably blow through this in a week!" He dumps the cash in her lap, storming off from her to rip more of her clothes off hangers.

"You can't abandon me!! You told me I'd be taken care of! If you kick me out, I'll go take all my jewelry out the bank!!" she threatens.

He grabs her set of keys, taking her house key off the ring, leaving her with car keys and her bank keys. "And I will not stop you," Sam says, almost calmly.

He knew the key to his millions was still in his desk drawer upstairs, she'd only be leaving with the key to what's hers. He'd been feeling unsure about walking out on her, but Sam made his decision the moment Ginger threatened your life.

• • •

For the next week, you and Sam were waiting for the ball to drop and for Ginger to come storming through that door. But in another way, Sam didn't care; he had you over all the time, even when people came over. He started to put his hands on your waist or even kiss you in front of others. It made you so nervous the first time he kissed you in front of Nicky, but Sam knew what he was doing. Nicky couldn't run to anyone about it, because what Nicky had done was worse in the eyes of the Midwest bosses: sleeping with his best friend's wife, their precious "Golden Jew."

But that isn't the reason Nicky's here right now.

"Ace, they took the bosses in. Arrested every single one of 'em. The FBI knows what's going on, all of it, but they ain't got nothing on me or you, because we don't go in room where they count the money. That doesn't mean they won't question us though."

And boy did they. Sam was already irritated that his name was in the paper every time Nicky went to court for some crime, but now it was coming out that him and Nicky were both being held for questioning for the crime bust in the Midwest.

Nicky pretty much refused to give them anything, but Sam had a reputation with the law and a relationship with the FBI out here. They had helped him get his kid back after all. So, he didn't give them any new information, but he didn't mind confirming certain things they already knew, as long as it didn't incriminate him.

Because of his cooperation, the authorities left Sam alone after a little while. Most of the attention was on Nicky and what his connections were to the Midwest bosses and the casino. Somehow Nicky got himself out of it without getting arrested; Sam had to wonder if it was Nicky's rambling or his threats that did the trick.

Weeks went by, and it was clear that the casino was going down. It wasn't for trying though. Sam fought so hard to keep his precious establishment running, but the place had been riddled with scandals. And even with the bosses facing trial, the powers that be decided to get rid of the whole scam; Sam losing The Tangiers would just be a necessary evil to them.

Sam decided it was a better time than ever to leave the business behind. Besides, he'd never been into crime the way Nicky was; he'd just been pulled into this because he was a money maker.

So as Sam walks out of the casino for the last time, locking the doors to the completely empty building, he lights a cigarette and heads over to his car with only one thing on his mind: going home to you and Amy. Unfortunately, he won't make it home as soon as he would have liked, as his car goes up in flames from a car bomb that must've been rigged while he was inside the casino.

Sam had planned for this kind of thing though, and he had the manufacturers of the vehicle place a special metal plate under the passenger seat, giving him a few valuable seconds to save his life.

You get the call during Sam's ambulance ride to the hospital. At first you're devastated--why would anyone want to hurt your Sam? Before you could find to a conclusion, you quickly snap out of it, getting Amy into the car to get to the hospital.

"Mr. Rothstein-"

"I told you, I don't want-

"Mr. Rothstein, we think it's important that we run this test," the doctor speaks over Sam. Must be an important test for him to interrupt Ace Rothstein.

"I'm fine!" your boyfriend groans, "My arm is burned, but I feel fine."

"But sir, it's possible the adrenaline in your system-"

"Sam Rothstein!" You cut the doctor off, storming in with Amy on your hip.

"Hey, baby!" he holds a hand out towards you.

"Don't you 'baby' me. I know you're not arguing with this doctor, refusing medical advice!! You don't just have yourself to worry about here, you have me and Amy- and I swear to God, Sam Rothstein if you die on me, you'll have more than heaven and hell to worry about! You'll have me to answer to," you finish your rant with a stern look.

His face drops for a moment before a little smirk forms, "You're sexy when you're mad."

Ignoring him, you turn to his doctor, "Run any tests you need to. I'll deal with him." You pat the doctor on his tie.

"Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Rothstein," the doctor says as you walk away, giving them room to do what they need to do.

"Oh, we're not married... yet," Sam explains, scrunching his nose cutely at you.

"Well I'm not gonna be the one to tell her that," the doctor says under his breath.

As they wheel Sam out of the room to take him for some tests, you hear Amy's voice, "Why are you mad at daddy?"

"I'm not mad at daddy," a little chuckle leaves you and you hug the child close to you, "I just love him, and so I had to make him listen to the doctors."

• • •

You pick Sam up just a few days later, perfectly fine, except for some burns on his arm. He sits in the passenger seat of your car with a pile of things from the hospital: his coral pink suit in a plastic bag, burned in a few spots from the bomb, a folder with some information about caring for his burns, a packet full of bandages and prescription ointment, and a large yellow envelope.

"Now, don't be mad," Sam starts.

"What did you do?" you glare at him for a second before turning your eyes back to the road.

"I, uh, got a real estate agent to start looking for new homes for us."

"Sammy, why would I be mad about that? We practically live together already!"

"These homes--they're not in Las Vegas."

"What?!" you practically give him whiplash, pulling the car into a random parking lot. "You wanna leave Las Vegas? Sam, I grew up here..."

He looks down at his lap and back up at you, "I know," it comes out so quietly, "I just don't think we're safe here anymore... I'm not in the business anymore, I'm but afforded the same protections as I used to be. What if they come after you next? Or Amy? Right now, I know enough people that we could get out quietly..."

"Oh, Sam..." You cup his face in your hands, "I'm sorry I reacted like that, I'm scared too, and now I have a kid to worry about. I know she's not mine yet, but if anything happened to Amy-" You have to stop yourself before you cry.

"Here," he says, grabbing the yellow envelope, "I gave some pictures of some houses, and there's one I really like."

Instead of driving your boyfriend home, you sit in the car looking at pictures of beautiful homes, and daydreaming about where how you'll arrange the living room, where you'll put the bed, Amy playing in the backyard.

"Hey, look at this last one," he tells you.

"Is this the one you like?"

"Yeah," his face has a happy, soft smile as he thinks about moving into this house with you; he just knows it's perfect.

"Hmmm... San Diego, huh? 4 bedrooms and a mother-in-law suite. Sam we don't need 4 bedrooms," you look up at him.

He gently places his hand on your belly, "We might."

Your heart just melts... Even if you aren't sure about kids, clearly the thought makes him happy.

"Okay so there's a pool and a lot of grass, maybe we could put a trampoline there..."

• • •

Boxes are scattered all around your new home; you picked the one in San Diego, of course. It's completely perfect.

The movers had dropped off all the big furniture and help you set it up; Sam even got them to help set up Amy's trampoline, and he was so thrilled to surprise her with it. But it will be a few more days before the decorators can come to paint, unpack, and lay out the rest. Nothing but luxury for Sam Rothstein and his "wife."

Right now, Sam is dropping Amy off at the neighbor's house for a play date, so she can get to know the kids in the area. Of course, you two had been sure to meet with this couple first to scope them out, making sure they are safe for Amy to be around.

The plan is to get some unpacking done when your man gets home, but you thought it might be nice to spend some quality alone time together in your new home.

"Honey, I'm home!" Sam chimes at the front door; it makes him so happy to be able to say that. Sam stops at the door to look around for you.

You saunter down the hallway, wearing a black trench coat and bright red high heels, "Hey, sexy!"

"Mmmm," Sam moans, "I think I should be saying that to you. What's this, baby?"

You stop just out of his reach and untie your jacket, holding it open to show off a new set of candy red lacy lingerie, "Just a little..." you turn around and drop the coat to the floor, revealing a big red bow at the top of your ass, "house warming present." You throw him a sultry look over your shoulder before walking into the kitchen, heels clicking loudly on your new porcelain floor.

Sam pulls his jaw up off the floor and quickly follows, watching as you crawl up onto the marble-top kitchen island. He walks over, appreciating your body by rubbing his hands on your sides, eyes roaming the red fabric hugging your frame. You rake your hands through his hair, and pull him into you, landing his face right between your breasts, which he seems very okay with judging by the way he closes his eyes and starts kissing at them. He wraps his arms around your waist, trying to pull you off the counter.

"Oh no, sir, Mr. Rothstein, you're not taking me to that bedroom. If we're gonna break this house in, we're gonna do it my way. What's that thing you like to say?" You look up acting like you're trying to remember, "There are three ways of doing things around here: the right way, the wrong way, and the way that I do it..."

You practically yank him up onto the counter with you, his legs fumbling with the bar stools to help get him up there. Before Sam can even get his bearings straight, you have his back pinned against the marble, your lips taking his in a passionate, sloppy kiss.

Sam pushes you off of him, breathing heavily, "Damn, baby girl, where's this coming from? Not that I'm complaining."

"Well, my sexy, rich sugar daddy just bought me a nice, new house, and I just wanna thank him," you nuzzle into him.

"Sugar daddy, huh? Is that all I am to you?" he gives you a loving look, both of you smiling at his joke.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Moneybags..." You sit up and stretch a leg across his lap straddling him. As you grind your hips back and forth against his hard on, you both let out some light moans and hot sighs. His belt buckle makes some clinking noises as you unhook it before swiftly tugging it from his belt loops and dropping it to the floor.

Zip! You open his pants and pull them down just a few inches so you can return to grinding against his member through a much thinner layer of fabric. When Sam's fingers snake towards his groin so he can further please himself, he's met with a harsh smack on the hand.

"All the pleasure you feel is gonna come from me, got it?" you tell Sam.

He raises his eyebrows, surprised by this change that's overcome you, but down for the ride--literally. The pressure of his hardness against your clit is a great warm up for you, so you keep at it until Sam has a couple of wet spots on his underwear: one from you and one from his pre-cum soaking through.

At that point, you move off of him enough to pull his pants and boxer briefs down to his upper thighs, his erection springing free. You crawl back on top of him, pinning his wrists to the counter just above his head while you kiss him. You pull away, stroking his chin and swiping your thumb across his lips.

"Ready, baby?" you ask, kissing his cheek lightly.

"I- uhhh, yeah," he breathes out.

"Cat got your tongue, silly?" you giggle.

"No, I just, I've never -uh- had a girl top me quite like this," he explains.

"Oh, um, should I stop?" you ask innocently as you grind against his dick again.

"NO- no. I, um... You shouldn't stop."

The way Sam is fumbling through the conversation tells you that he probably likes the treatment he's being given, and so you move your hips against him a few more times before moving your panties to the side and guiding his member to your entrance. Your boyfriend let's out a low groan when he feels that warm wetness surround his sex; you think that's probably his favorite part of making love.

You start by setting a leisurely pace, knowing Sam will want more, but, gosh, the tease is so satisfying too...

"Please, baby," Sam breathes.

"Please what?" you play dumb.

"Go faster... Please, baby." So predictable of him.

"Mmmm, you mean you don't like when I take my time with you?" You speed up juuuust a little bit, but not nearly as much as he would've liked.

"I thought I was in charge in the bedroom," he groans.

"Well, we're not in the bedroom are we?" You lean down to kiss him, pinning his hands down again, next to his shoulders this time. You continue to hold them down while you pick up the pace, leaving Sam feeling a bit helpless as he can't touch you.

You take a little break from all the bouncing to slide back and forth, achieving a new kind of friction. Sam curls his hips up into you, clearly enjoying the sensation.

"Let me touch you, please?" Of course you're going to give in, but not without hearing him beg a little more. No one has this kind of control over Sam "Ace" Rothstein; no one but you. "Babyyy... Please, you know I like to hold you."

He gets nothing but silence in response, oh, and your hips working even faster, which only serves to make him more needy. "(Y/N), please... please, baby, I wanna hold you so bad."

You let go of his wrists and intertwine your first with his for a moment before his hands move to your face to cup your cheek. Afterwards, his palms smooth over your chest and arms; he's looking up at you: your pretty face, soft skin, the way your hair bounces along with your breasts as you ride him.

His hips become less tame the closer he gets to his climax. He's a man who just can't help himself; he likes to be in on the action, even if he isn't on top.

You lean yourself back, placing your palms on the cool countertop, giving him a great angle to attack your g-spot. Sam's hands roam your thighs until you find your rhythm with the changed position, but once he knows he's hitting the right spots, his fingers dive in to stimulate you from the outside as well. One hand pinches and rubs your nipple while the other sets a dangerous speed on your clit.

Despite you trying to have so much control over him, Sam just knows exactly what buttons to push on you, and you're cumming in a matter of seconds. The way it snuck up on you causes you to bend forward as your orgasm pulses through you.

The man beneath you takes advantage of this by pulling you flush to his chest, bracing his feet on the counter top, and railing up into you as fast as he can. You turn into nothing but a noisy mess as he uses your body to get off.

"Fuck, baby, I'm cumming..." Sam finds his release before he even realizes it; he just feels so tangled up and lost in the pleasure of being with you.

A few seconds later, you both find yourselves lying on the kitchen island, completely limp and trying to catch your breath. Sam lazily rolls onto his side, rolling you onto the marble counter beside him. Goosebumps litter your skin as the cold countertop comes in contact with you. You both lay on the counter, staring at each other before you both brsk out into giggles.

"I can't believe you let me fuck you on this thing," you laugh, patting the marble, "and I can't believe you let me fuck you... Like that. I wasn't being too much, was I?"

Sam tucks himself back into his pants, zipping them up and buttoning them before wrapping an arm around your waist. "What? You being a little dominatrix? No, I don't think it was too much," he nuzzles his nose against yours and gives you a few soft kisses. "But," he starts, "the only woman allowed to have me like that is Mrs. Sam Rothstein..."

"Well, uh- that's not me..." you say, a little confused.

"It could be," he says in a low, soft voice, "Whaddya say? You wanna marry me?"

"Sam-" you start to feel overwhelmed for a few reasons: 1. He literally just proposed to you, but 2. "You're still married, Sam. I couldn't be your wife even if I wanted to!" Tears start to form in your eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey, shhh..." he says, pulling you into a cuddle, "You remember when I flew back to Vegas last week to go close the sale on the house there?"

You sniffle and look up at him, "Mm-hmm."

"Well I ran into one of the judges that used to come by the casino all the time, he was a big spender, but we treated him real nice. He told me he had heard everything from his friends on the force, everything about Ginger and the car bombing. We talked for a while, and he told me to stop by his chambers before I left the city," Sam fishes in his pocket for some folded up papers, "and he gave me this."

He hands you the papers to unfold and look at. "Oh... Oh, Sam! He granted you a divorce. Why didn't you tell me??"

"I wanted to surprise you..." He smiles that charming smile.

"Well, I'm certainly surprised," you hug him by nuzzling into his chest, "I didn't even know you were considering this yet."

"I've been considering it for years, honey," he whispers, kissing you on the temple, "ever since I told you I love you."

You both pause to simply take in the other person for a moment: Sam's clothes all disheveled and your still in your lingerie, cuddling on the stone counter.

"You know I think you're perfect, right? If there was just one thing I could change about you, it would be your last name. So, whaddya think, princess? You wanna try Rothstein on for size?"

The tears quickly return to your eyes, "Yeah, yeah- yes!" You grab his face and start kissing him over and over.

He can hardly pull you off of him for all the kisses, not that he wants to. However, when you decide you're done loving on your fiancé, he apologizes, "I'm sorry I don't have a ring for you right now, but ummm," he reaches for his little pinky ring; it's gold and pink to match his outfit for that day, "you can wear this for now." He slips the piece of metal onto your left ring finger; it doesn't fit that well, but you're honored to wear it.

Sam sits up, sliding off the counter. He stands at the edge of the island, pulling you towards him and wrapping your legs around his waist. He cups your head in both his hands and kisses you softly. "Wanna go to 'break in' the bathtub, Mrs. Rothstein?"

[tinyboxxtink]

"Caught In The Storm" *Part 7*

I'm sorry I cut the last one at a REALLY bad part and this chapter HAS to end here. I'M SO SORRY It's so short!

....Especially because I think I'm gonna wait to post the rest tomorrow. {later today?}

I'm so sorry don't hate me!!!!

PART 8 IS HERE!!!

Tag List

@wanniiieeee

@gibbs274

@lolliepopsicle

@milkshqke

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@aprildecker-blog

@word-scribbless

@objection-argumentative

“Hey baby I grabbed us some champagne,” Nathan smiled, coming back with two glasses of champagne. “Hey guys isn't she amazing?” He acknowledged the others.

“She really is,” Olivia smiled back.

“Hey So--sweetie, I know that this is your big night. But I've got a really big case tomorrow so I need to take off. Are you going to be okay?” Nathan made a “Sorry” face.

You looked back at him, stunned. Was he really going to take off on your big night? You looked at the group of your family who didn't seem as offended as you felt; which was weird, because they usually feel more protective of you than you do.

“Are you serious?” Rafael suddenly came up from behind you out of nowhere. “You're going to abandon your girlfriend on the biggest night of her life?”

“Rafael.. I don't think you need to be so hard on him,” Olivia told him through gritted teeth.

Something was going on. Something Rafael was clearly not in on. He looked at Liv, still confused.

“How are you not more upset about this?” He asked her. “I'm the biggest lawyer in New York and I'm not even leaving for a case!”

“I just think that you should let Nathan do what he needs to do,” Olivia insisted.

“Whatever,” Rafael rolled his eyes while You looked between all of them with a super confused look on your face.

“I mean if you have to go, then you have to go. I'll see you tomorrow,” You smiled awkwardly at Nathan.

“Thank you baby I promise I'll make it up to you,” he smiled. “I love you very much and congratulations again I'm so proud of you!” He said before running off into the crowd.

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” Rafael scoffed

“Why do you care so much?” You suddenly turned back to him with an angry look.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you care what my boyfriend does?” You asked him again angrily. How dare he just insult Nathan like that.

“I don't,” Rafael scoffed.

“Bullshit,” you spat. “You constantly drag on him at work. He tells me things, Rafael. That’s what two people do when they love each other, they TELL each other things,” You enunciated, making it clear this was bigger than Nathan.

“So why are you so mean to him?” You accused him.

Olivia, Nick and Fin watched the fight unfolding between you two in nervousness, looking around as if they were waiting for something to pop off quickly.

“I just don't think that he's good enough for you!” Rafael finally yelled, causing the others to gasp softly.

“Barba, I really don't think that now is the time to start this…” Amaro tried whispering to Rafael, but he was too angry to hear anything.

“I'm sorry, he's not good enough for me?!” You laughed sarcastically. “Then tell me Rafael,” you started, with tears starting to form. “Who is good enough for me?”

Before Rafael could answer, you heard someone tapping on a mic. You looked to the stage to see Nathan standing there with a huge smile. You looked to the left and saw Sonny and Amanda had returned with food watching anxiously. You looked at Rafael who was staring in horror. You felt your heart racing.

“Please don't be happening….” You begged Silently.

“Hello all. I don't know if you know me but I'm Nathan Price, Y/N’s boyfriend. I know that this is the biggest night of her life, I know it's something she's wanted for a very long time, and I am so proud of her.” He looked at you with love and affection.

“And I know that tonight is all about her and her album, and her accomplishments and I don't want to take away from that but..”

“No no no…” you thought you heard Rafael whisper. You glanced over but Nathan started talking before you could see him.

“Y/N could you come up here please?” He asked.

Everyone in the room turned to look at you. You took a shaky breath and made your way up to the stage. You could feel the hot lights burning down on you like the sun. You knew that you should be absolutely ecstatic In This moment, if it was going to be what you expected it to be.

“I love you so much Y/N and I am so proud to call you mine,” he started. “And I want to be able to call you mine for the rest of my life so…” he knelt down and pulled out a huge diamond ring.

“Will you marry me?”

You could hear the whole room gasp and then go so silent, you could hear a pin drop in the room.

You looked out into the crowd searching for Rafael's face to see if he was excited for you or something else. But all you could see was the bright lights, nothing else. You felt your hands shaking, your whole body was shaking, your breath was quickening, you were sweating. You should be absolutely happy in this moment, here was this great man, asking you to be his.. his? Like you were his property? Whatever. He's asking to spend the rest of his life with you and he was a good kind man. And you didn't have anyone else.

After a very long time of you in your head, in a very awkward silence Nathan jokingly whispered. “Kind of leaving me hanging here babe,” with a nervous laugh.

“I am.. I.. well..” You took a deep breath and put on the biggest smile you could.

“Of course I will, Nathan,” You answered as tears were lining your eyes. You knew that people would think that you were crying in happiness, but you knew that they were for a different reason. Nathan smiled hugely and put the ring on your finger and then picked you up and spun you around.

“Now it's the happiest day of my life!” He laughed.

Afterwards you went and found your family in the crowd. They were all smiling hugely.

You knew this was going to happen didn't you? You asked

“Maybe... Olivia smiled. You looked over to Kelsey and Kenny. “And you too? Maybe…” Kenny Laughed.

You looked at Kelsey, who had a guilty look on her face. This is exactly why she was trying to talk you out of being sad last night. She knew that Nathan was going to ask you to spend the rest of his life with him, to trap you. Trap you shouldn't be the first thing you think of when being engaged you realized. Then you also realized that Rafael was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did Rafa go?” You asked innocently and you saw everyone's faces but Nathan's turned into weird looks.

“Oh I think he left,” Kelsey piped up. “I think he actually did have a case in the morning,'' she added with a smirk. You wanted to yell at her that he wouldn't do that, especially after he gave Nathan such a hard time.

You wanted to yell at her that she should have minded her own fucking business, and now she was setting you up to be stuck for the rest of your life. You wanted to tell her that a best friend would never let their best friend be anything but happy. But instead you just smiled sadly and said:

“I guess so,”

Outside the party, Rafael was standing outside practically hyperventilating. He couldn't believe that he had screwed this up so bad. He couldn't believe that he didn't stand up and say something while that stupid prick was talking. He couldn't believe that he hadn't said anything sooner. He regretted so many things, so many times and now he really had lost his chance and he'd have to live with it forever. He broke down crying as he sadly walked away from the party and you, forever.

[copias-thrall]

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his  casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

[thefreakydeaky]

"Another?" Simon made to pour you a shot of rum.

You covered your glass and shook your head.

Dwight's hand landed heavy on your shoulder.

"Come on, Y/l/n. You gotta be able to hold your liquor if ya wanna run with this crowd." His thin lips were pulled up in an uncharacteristic smile.

You chuckled lightly and held your cup out to Simon.

"I get the feeling, I'm being tested."

Simon only smirked.

"Well y'all sons of bitches are in for a surprise. My blood used to be 90 proof."

Dwight snickered.

You couldn't help but turn your gaze in the direction of the man who's approval you needed the most.

Negan watched on, not the barest hint of a smile on his lips. You sat up straight as you held up your glass.

You gave Negan a nod of respect, "To the good health and prosperity of El rey del sur, Our King of The South."

His dark eyes narrowed at your words.

The men around you remained half frozen, unsure how the enigmatic man would take your speech.

The corner of his mouth twitched. It was the closest you'd ever gotten to a smile from him. He nodded and the celebration resumed.

Your eyes followed the movement of his body as he stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle.

There was only one thing Negan had that you truly envied, the luxury of being his authentic self.

Hazel eyes glared right at you. You looked away.

As the night wore on, the saviors began to trickle out of Negan's sitting room and into the adjacent rooms with some of the wives.

Crude sounds and lusty moans pervaded the air.

And then there were three. You thought sharing an awkward laugh with Dwight.

"Welp," He said standing. "It's getting late. I better turn in."

Your gaze strayed to Negan and found that somehow you were only the width of a sofa cushion away from him.

Your shoulders tensed.

His olive and honey eyes met yours, a dare in their depths.

"I'll walk you." You offered to Dwight and started to stand.

You swayed and would have lost your balance if Negan's hands hadn't suddenly been there to steady you.

"He can walk himself. Can't you, D?" His husky voice interrupted. His hands on your hips eased you back into your seat.

"Uh, Yeah. Thanks, Y/l/n, but I'm good."

You frowned, but didn't protest.

"Night." Dwight said again and left you alone with Negan.

Although he was no longer touching you, you could feel him staring.

You uncrossed and recrossed your arms over your chest.

"You are so tense right now, I bet if I stuck a lump of coal up your ass, I'd have a big fucking diamond by sunrise."

"What're you gettin into the jewelry business?" You huffed.

"Your little comedy act might work on my saviors, but it ain't getting you anywhere with me. So you might as well cut that shit out."

Your mouth opened in surprise.

"Why the fuck do you try so hard? What do you get out of being a fucking clown?"

You pursed your lips.

"I want to be liked."

Negan snorted in derision. "Being liked is of absofuckinglutely no value."

"Well, it was valuable enough to get you to the top." You replied morosely.

"Are you serious? You mean to tell me that after everything you've fucking seen, you think being liked is what got me this gig?"

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

"From what I've seen, it's a balance. You are feared, because you aren't afraid to get violent." You fixed your eyes on the empty glasses scattered across the coffee table.

"You are respected because you take the responsibility of protecting the weak. You charm people with your joking and teasing."

Negan scoffed.

"Not everyone can be naturally attractive and charming. Respect, I can earn by doing my share and having their backs when we're out there doing pick ups. Will they fear me? Probably not, but I am smart and I know how to be funny. God willing making people laugh will make me well liked enough to bring me opportunity."

He became quiet.

You groaned internally.

Had you been too honest?

"Opportunity for what?" He gazed at you intently.

"Opportunity for advancement of course." You said evenly.

“Are you fucking flirting with me?”

Your eyes widened.

" You are aren't ya? You're fuckin flirting with me." He grinned.

"I was just being honest with you. How is that flirting?"

Negan smirked.

"Well let me fuckin see here, you called me naturally charming and attractive. Add to that the many times I have caught you eyefucking me."

Your face became hot with embarrassment.

"Unless you're looking to challenge my leadership, the only opportunity you've got is filling the recently vacant position of wife number seven."

You looked over your shoulder at the door and cursed yourself for letting Dwight leave without you.

Negan stretched his arm over the back of the couch and leaned in close.

Your pulse quickened.

"Look at me." He commanded.

You wondered not for the first time, why his husky voice had such an effect on you.

Regardless of what he was saying, the sound of him always made you think of sex. It also made you want to do everything he asked.

You turned toward him, slowly.

Negan cupped the side of your face, stroking your cheekbone lightly.

You gasped at the unexpected gentleness of his touch.

He leaned in. You felt his warm breath on your skin. He smelled like a combination of aftershave, sweat, and the whisky he'd been drinking. Unfortunately for you, you found the scent alluring.

He tipped your face up toward his.

You half wondered if you had passed out on the sofa. Perhaps this was a bizarre alcohol induced wet dream.

He licked his lips.

You swallowed nervously. He seemed like he kissed well. You hadn't been kissed in such a long time. You worried that you had forgotten how-

"You implied it."

"I-what?"

"Your reaction to me invading your personal space is proof that you meant it."

Your gaze slid from his olive and honey eyes to his lips and back again.

"You find me attractive and charming."

You could see by the smug smile already forming on his ruggedly handsome face that he wasn't going to let you live this down.

This could not stand. You made the first counter move you could think of. You slapped him.

Negan's eyes widened in surprise as your palm hit his cheek.

"ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod I'm so sorry!" You covered your mouth with your hands.

A smile that was as dazzling as it was dangerous spread on his face.

Your breathing excelerated at the thought of what he might do to you as punishment.

Your mind flipped through the horrors you had witnessed at his hands, the iron, the smell of burnt hair and burnt flesh, His fists pounding relentlessly into a guys face, the sharp smell of blood, lucille coming down on some poor sonofabitch's skull, making it rain skull fragments, blood, and brains.

"I am going to make you pay." His tone was filled with promise as he yanked you to him by the collar of your jean jacket.

Your hands went to his shoulders with the intent of pushing him away.

Negan was on you in a heartbeat stealing your next breath with a brutal kiss.

He left you no choice but to mold your mouth to his. He slipped his tongue into your mouth and found yours.

You attempted to take control of the embrace.

He nipped at your lower lip in warning. His tongue delved once more tangling with yours in a battle for dominance.

You refused to submit.

His fingers hooked their way into your belt loops. Strong hands pulled you by the waist, propelling you forward, effectively forcing you to straddle the erection straining against his pants.

Your hips ground against his. He sucked at your lower lip and rocked up against the apex of your thighs.

Your breath hitched.

"I knew you were into me."

You turned your head to prevent him from kissing you again and rolled your hips.

He groaned.

"I am not into you."

Negan held onto your hips, threw his head back and laughed.

"Well I'll be damned. You finally said something funny."

He ran his hands over your ass, kneading your ample cheeks.

"I think we should fuck. Are you interested in the full experience or are you gonna settle for just a taste?"

"I wish you would stop saying shit like that. It makes my pussy go dry."

His jaw clenched in annoyance.

"You are a much better listener than I thought you were."

Rather than fly into an angry rant riddled with 'fuckyous' his hand shot out, pressing at your throat.

"Why is it you think you can get away with saying whatever you fucking want?" His fingers applied pressure to the side of your neck.

Your pussy clenched, dampening your panties in anticipation.

"Answer me." He demanded, pressing harder still.

A dulcet moan passed through your lips.

Negan's eyes narrowed.

He brought his other hand up to encircle your neck and squeezed experimentally.

You couldn't help the needy whine you emitted. The tension in your shoulders began to melt away as his thumb stroked along the curve of your neck.

"Ho-o-ly shit, You're really fucked up aren't ya?"

"You have no fucking idea." You purred.

[sumisuchan]

Those Who Know

Hey guys, here’s a piece I’m posting for the Bellow Diamond Summer Sugar Bomb Liberate the People 2020 *or whatever it was called. This is also probably going to be my last Bellow Diamond fic, because I’m not quite sure what more I can say about this pairing, but I wrote this because I was a little sad the show didn’t tackle a fusion between them. I hope you enjoy, and here’s the Ao3 link for those who prefer reading there: (Also I love comments!) https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757537

---- 

On that day something had changed.

In hindsight, it seemed perfectly normal. Yellow and Blue were sitting in the garden amongst all of the new plants, mostly flowers, which had been collected from other worlds. It was a community effort. Gems who still traveled to the far corners of the universe were encouraged to bring back anything beautiful with them, which resulted in a garden overflowing with sundry plants and no semblance of unity between them. Most exploded with petals in shades of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet—a competition for the frilliest gown with the most shapely seams. The chaos was encouraged. The garden could be anything. The gems could be anything, and Yellow and Blue sat amongst every color and cut of them, even some fusions.  

A comforting breeze picked up. Blue sighed and leaned back.

“It’s such a lovely day today.”

Amongst all the flowers swaying gently, the gems were sighing, letting go.

“I should probably get back soon,” Yellow said. “I left off when I was just about to put together a whole gem. I was just missing one piece...”

“No,” Blue touched her hand. “Stay a little longer.”

It wasn't the first time Blue had touched Yellow’s hand, made her skin bumpy, but now she wove their fingers together. She had captured Yellow’s entire hand and left her no choice.

Yellow sighed too. She forgot her responsibilities. “All right,” she said, “I'll stay.”

Blue continued holding her hand until the sun lazily changed positions.

                                                              * * *

As soon as the next day, Yellow caught herself reaching for Blue’s hand during inappropriate times. They were at a meeting sitting next to each other, suggesting ways to better Homeworld.

“I think if we make a separate larger building I could go to, I could make even more clouds than what my room can hold, and I know that there are so many gems that could use my help…”

Yellow almost went as far as touching Blue’s pinky. Her fingers had made contact, but as if receiving a shock, Yellow remembered it was a meeting and pulled them away.

White spoke. “Oh, that's a lovely idea, Blue. I know many gems still feel as though they are unwelcome into our rooms, so perhaps they might be more comfortable in a separate building.”

“I can send out a poll about it,” Yellow added.

“Would you please? Now on to the next order of business…” White continued but Blue had reasserted herself over Yellow’s pinky, touching it with the tips of her careful fingers. Yellow’s face felt as though it had caught fire. She couldn't focus.

Whenever they were apart too long, Blue would come drifting back. Sometimes Yellow would hear her singing from the next room, making her hand unsteady as she worked with the tweezers. Blue blurred the hard edges of her room’s clean lines and made the air feel warm, though any newly resurrected gems didn't comment.

Alone, Yellow would still play music. Gems would create and upload songs she could access from her communication device—formerly forbidden dance beats about going out, finding someone, spending an evening together. Yellow patiently sorted the shattered gems’ pieces on beat.

Most of them were vague enough to be about anything or anyone, so when they sang about dancing and dreams, it was easy to imagine taking Blue by the hand and leading her back to the garden. The electronic beats suggested neon colored plants against the black night sky. Maybe they would dance there too, or just sit, or lock their hands together and—

Yellow would stop there. She used to stop before even letting it go that far. Sometimes she might stop before even reaching the garden, before taking Blue by the arm. Yellow would remove herself from the music to stare from the window. The gems would come back apologizing, believing that they had upset her.

                                                               ***

It kept getting worse. During walks, Blue would link their arms together and Yellow's head would swim. Her legs would threaten to collapse. Blue would laugh at her musically, then hold her tight to keep her from falling.

“I don't know what's gotten into me. I feel so overwhelmed.”

Blue patted her shoulder. “Maybe it's the first time you're allowed to feel this way.”

“Feel what way?” They stopped walking. “Don't tell me White's rules were the only thing keeping me together. You don't think I'm—gems don't fall ill, do they?”

“Hmmm…” Blue leaned in, trying not to smile. She pressed her hand to Yellow’s forehead. “You do feel awfully warm, but it could just be your lightning. I've also noticed that sometimes you have trouble paying attention. White has to repeat herself because it seems you’re somewhere else.” Blue took her hand away. "Where could that somewhere be ? Is it always the same?”

Yellow grew hot. Her feet had trouble staying connected to the ground. “Stars—it's happening again. This terrible feeling—what's going on with me?”

“I don't know, but it seems very serious.” Blue was beginning to laugh.

“Don't giggle at me. You don't have any idea how unbearable this is.”

“I'm sorry, Yellow. You're right. There's no possible way I could know what you're feeling. I promise I'll try to be more sensitive next time.” Blue kissed her on the cheek and led her along by her wobbly legs.

                                                              ***

Yellow didn’t leave her room for an entire day, the longest amount of time yet. As the time passed, she slumped over at her desk, listening to music released the day before. These were fast-paced, mostly about fusion. She had to remind herself that it was okay that they mention it.

Only some of the songs were truly good but Yellow listened to all of them, staring out the window. When someone knocked on her door, she only turned around when it opened. It was White.

“Yellow—” The sun had begun to set, but White lit up the purple room with her glow, a perfect night light.

Even with a visitor, Yellow didn’t intend on moving.

“What's wrong?” White said, taking a few steps into the room. “Blue and I haven't seen you all day.”

Yellow turned back to the window. Stories below, gems were out for evening walks, linked at the elbows. She felt warm again. “I don't know,'' she said. “I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm so warm and dizzy all the time, and sometimes my chest tightens. I wonder if I'm corrupting...”

“Corrupting ?” White came and, like Blue, pressed her hand against Yellow’s forehead.

Where Yellow expected to swoon, she didn't. If anything, having White’s hand upon her head sobered her.

“You are a little warmer than usual. I suppose it could be your lightning.” White sat at the edge of Yellow’s bench, balancing somehow on her long legs. “But your physical form seems fine. Could it be emotional?”

Yellow burned into herself.

“If it is, maybe you should talk to Blue.”

“No. I can't talk to her.”

“You can’t? But I thought you two talk all the time. Oh—” White’s face turned pink around the nose. “Oh, Yellow,” White touched her shoulder. “This is my fault, isn't it? Now that you two are finally free, I'm sure the emotions are overwhelming. I'm so sorry. Have you told her?”

“Told her what?”

“Come now. I won't be upset. You're more than welcome to talk about it.��

“Talk about what? ”

“Yellow! You really don't need to upset me this way. I feel terribly enough for everything I put you both through!” White stood, wrapping her cape around herself dramatically. “Well, you have my blessing. Tell her, please. For my sake.”

White fled, leaving Yellow to holler after her. “Wait! Tell her what?! White! ”

But she had already escaped, leaving a trail of sparkles behind her.

Still, Yellow yelled. “Tell me what I should say to her, please!”

White, however, did not return.

                                                              ***

It was only a while later that Yellow found herself next to Blue at the site of the new Happiness Center, where a team of Bismuths had begun to build. They asked her to hold large objects in place, such as a pillar, around which they cemented. Yellow held a pillar too, watching as Blue lifted the Bismuths and set them down.

She placed one upon the uppermost floor, at her waist. “I never knew how much fun it is to be an elevator. Yellow, why don't you try it? It looks like someone is waiting for you.”

Yellow found another Bismuth at her feet, who gave a shy smile, setting her hand upon the back of her head. “If I could, My Diamond.”

“You don't have to call me that anymore,” Yellow said, lifting her.

Blue was giggling again. “What a good elevator you make, Yellow. How efficient.”

“You're acting like it's difficult.” But there was that feeling again. Blue’s gem magnified angles of sunlight overhead, glowing, making Yellow dizzier.

“Well, I suppose it really isn't,” Blue said, “I just wanted to compliment you.”

Yellow held the pillar a little tighter; she had to. She also looked away, toward the capital, whose new buildings were drenched in colors. They used to be organized in sections, strictly divided along arbitrary lines. Without the full consent of her brain, Yellow said, “You're so beautiful.” Then as soon as it came out, quiet as it was, she covered her mouth, turning to Blue, who was yet again trying not to laugh at her.

“Thank you, Yellow. You are too.”

Yellow returned that evening a mess. Any composition unraveled, she sat at her desk, stared even harder out the window, head full of sappy electronic music as the night flowers opened. She caught them in the corners of her eyes—neon-fleshed and thirsty, because she couldn't observe anything else. There was just her breathing, which she never paid attention to before—painfully alive and full of sweet, floral air. She wanted to keep it, forever. She felt like crying.

The door opened on beat, but even if it hadn’t, Yellow wouldn't have seen the light.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to check on you.”

Blue entered. The door locked out the hallway light as it closed, leaving only the deep purple and glow-in-the-dark flowers. Yellow hurried to turn off the music.

“You don't have to,” Blue said. “I like that song.”

Yellow only turned it down, enough to hear Blue’s skirts rustle to the bench. She hesitated before sitting, but did, her legs pointed away from the desk so they could face each other.

The music thumped gently. “I wanted to tell you that I’m not upset about what you said today. You looked so nervous, but I like it when you share your thoughts.”

“I didn’t want to insult you by saying something inappropriate.” Yellow couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. “Especially something so out of nowhere.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I like your inappropriate, out-of-nowhere thoughts. We don’t have to keep such things to ourselves anymore.” Blue leaned in closer until closing the gap by embracing Yellow. “Aren’t you glad?” Her voice was low in her throat, her fingers trailing up the nape of Yellow’s neck. They could taste each other's shared breathing, Blue in, Yellow out. Out, in, scented of flowers.

“Blue—”

There was something between them they both reached for. Just for a moment, their bodies turned to light, grasping, casting a glow against the neon plants and the star-filled window. Just for a moment, they were huge. Just for a moment, they were green.

Then they popped apart on the floor, Yellow and Blue again.

The force of separating left Yellow lopsided on her bench, tilted with one side touching the floor, and Blue a short ways across the room.

“I'm sorry—I didn't mean—” but she was already heading for the door.

“Wait—!”

“I'm so sorry,” Blue said finally, and left Yellow with her photons buzzing back into place, and a snapshot of herself where Blue had stood.

                                                              ***

The next day, Yellow went to Earth. She didn't tell anyone she was going, nor Steven that she was coming. She simply arrived that evening, apologetically, in front of the beach house.

As Yellow stood there, waiting for someone to acknowledge her, her gem shined over the entire house, bright enough to signal a plane. Meanwhile, gems who used to be hers passed below, pausing as if to bow, but not many committed.

Finally, the door opened. Amethyst came out.

“Uh… Hey, Yellow Diamond.”

Neither spoke.

“Do you need something or... You're just... Standing around?”

Both fought the urge to cringe, sweating profusely.

“No. I'd like to talk to Steven.”

“Umm. Sure. Hold on a second.” Inside the house, her voice could be heard calling, “Steven! Yellow Diamond is here to see you!”

“What?" There were footsteps, nearing the door. "Did she say why?”

“I don't know, dude. But I bet you're in trouble —”

The door opened again, and Steven shielded his face from Yellow’s rays. It occurred to her to cover her gem.

“Hey, what's going on?”

Yellow explained as he walked her to the beach. She told him about her shortness of breath, her episodes of sighing at the windows while listening to dumb techno songs. She told him about her dizzy spells and how her mind always returned to—

“Blue?” Steven asked. He had taken his flip-flops off and dug his feet into the sand. “I don't know. It sounds like you're experiencing some emotions. Have you talked to her about them, or...?”

“It seems that she wanted to talk last night. She came to my room and well... We almost fused. In fact, I think we did.”

“Hmm.” Steven lifted his feet from the sand, upsetting a crab from its burrow. “So you said you feel woozy around her, and you get tongue-tied, and you can't stop thinking about her. And you feel like you can't tell her any of these things?”

“That’s right.”

“And no one else makes you feel this way?”

Yellow glimpsed out to the ocean and the sky turning peach, orange, and purple. “Not even close.”

“Sounds like you might be in love.”

“ What? ” Yellow practically snapped her neck. “I can't be in love! That's ridiculous . I've known Blue forever and—” Her eyes widened. “ Oh, stars .”

Steven unstuck his feet and slipped them back into his shoes. “You came just around dinner time, so I'm going to go back in. I'd offer you a place, but…” Steven took a couple of steps, hands in his pockets, but turned back. Yellow was still having an existential crisis.

“The same advice doesn't work for everyone, but... You should tell her. No matter what happens, it will probably make you feel better, getting it off your chest.”

Yellow’s palpable dread seemed to dissipate. “Thank you, Steven.”

“You're welcome. Good luck.”

The waves crashed as Steven left footprints back to the house. Yellow stayed put, boots in the sand as the tide rolled in. She focused on the color-gradient horizon, forgetting to blink.

                                                                ***

Yellow stayed by the ocean, the waves crashing in and out punctuating the time. The moon rose high over the water, casting a silver shadow upon its surface. Along the beach, a few humans had set a bonfire, and just as it extinguished, Yellow’s communicator rang.

It was Blue.

“Hello?”

“Yellow, where have you been? I checked in your room and you weren't there. And why do you have the video function turned off? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” The ocean crashed again. “I went to Earth, to clear my mind.”

“To Earth? Did you talk to Steven?”

“Yes...how did you know?”

“I had a feeling.” There was a short silence. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Yellow froze for only a moment. “No, I don't mind.”

“All right.” Blue set something down. “I'll be there soon.”

It took a few minutes. Even though their ships were impossibly fast, it still wasn't instantaneous. Yellow, without realizing it, held her breath while searching the stars, waiting for Blue.

The ocean even seemed to slow, meeting the shore a little more gently, and in an eternity stretched over no time at all, Blue arrived. She parked her ship next to Yellow’s and joined her on the sand.

“It's good to see you again,” she said, sitting down. “Thank you for letting me join you.”

Yellow, finally, took a breath. “Blue—”

Blue held her hand.

“I love you.”

There it was. Yellow had finally said those words. Her body caught fire internally, and Blue smiled. She squeezed Yellow’s fingers atop the sand.

“I know,” she said. “I was waiting so long for you to finally realize it. Stars , I've never seen you swoon like that. You looked so cute.” Blue kissed her cheek, painfully close to her lips, and used their proximity to embrace her. “Do I have to tell you that I love you too? Or have you known?”

“I was hoping—”

Blue kissed her, fully on the mouth. She held her a long time before letting her go.

“I'm sorry I fused with you. I mean—I'm not sorry that it happened, but the rules have been laid out for so long for what we weren’t supposed to do that now I'm not sure what you're comfortable with.” Blue kept her from falling. “You felt so overwhelmed. Even this seems like it might be too much.”

“No—” Yellow said. “I'm euphoric.”

“Euphoric? And I didn't even need to use my clouds.”

“Let me kiss you again.”

Blue smiled. “No. Come with me.”

Yellow was a little slow to stand, legs stiff from staying in place for so long, but she followed as Blue pulled her into the ocean. The water was cool as it lapped against her kneecaps, more and more softly the further they went. They stopped about waist-deep, when Beach City appeared as a series of dim lights. The moon was bright overhead, and Blue took both of Yellow’s hands.

“Do you want to try fusing again?”

Yellow held hers firmly back. “I can try.”

“If this is ever too much–” Blue kissed both sets of her knuckles, “I want you to tell me. I want you to tell me everything. Promise you will.”

“I promise,” Yellow said, and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you, Blue.”

“I love you too, Yellow.”

They embraced as the moon moved straight overhead, illuminating the greenish ocean water beneath them.

[astranne]

ROYAL - Bruce Wayne

I've never seen a diamond in the flesh 

I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies 

And I'm not proud of my address, in the torn up town

No post code envy

I looked up. My gaze caught every little detail. The beautiful but fake-looking women, the handsome men, smoking expensive cigars and talking about money and their big houses. Houses like the Wayne Manor. I felt the glances of the rich men trying to undress me with their mere eyes. But it didn't really bother me, I always liked the attention of men. I always loved the way how I affected men. But this was different. They had women by their side and fucked me with their eyes.

Slowly, I made my way upstairs. My long, black coat hid my dress. Everyone wore pastel colors, it was the dress code after all. The butler of the family Wayne smiled pleasantly and nodded in my direction.

„Miss Jackson, it's a pleasure to see you at the gala. May I have your coat?"

„Alfred, please, call me Lara. You've known me for many years."

„Indeed, Lara." I smiled and took off my coat. Alfred raised an eyebrow at my dress but didn't say a thing.

„You look like your mother, Lara. She would be very proud of you."

„Thank you, Alfred. But I couldn't have done it without you." He reached his arm to me, I smiled and took it.

„I'm afraid, but Master Bruce wouldn't approve that," he made reference to the dress. It was scandalous. Scandalous red.

„Well Alfred, you should know, I don't care about the opinion of a rich man. I never did."

„I know, dear. I know." Our way led us to the big saloon, full of laughter and rich people. It wasn't my world, it will never be and still, I'm here.

But every song's like gold teeth, 

Grey Goose, trippin' in the bathroom 

Bloodstains, ball gowns, trashin' the hotel room 

We don't care, we're driving Cadillacs in our dreams 

But everybody's like Cristal, Maybach, diamonds on your timepiece Jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash 

We don't care, we aren't caught up in your love affair

I inspected every woman and every man. There were models, actors, politicians, businessmen... rich people. Before I could do my way to a waiter serving the champagne, a young man stopped next to me. Another followed him and flashed a flirtatious smile towards me. Both had black hair, blue eyes and were muscular. They were handsome men. But too young for me.

„Good evening, my lady. You look beautiful." The one with the longer hair took my hand and kissed it.

„I must say, red fits you well, beautiful lady. May I know your name?"

„Lara Jackson. With whom do I have the pleasure?" Before any of them could answer, a little boy stepped between us, he looked like ten, but his hard look didn't belong to a child.

„Grayson, Todd. If I find this woman in anyone's room tonight, I will kill you. We don’t have time for this."

„What do you want, demon spawn?" The child huffed and crossed his arms.

„Father wants to speak with you. Both of you." Both rolled their eyes.

„I'm sorry, beautiful lady. The old man can’t have a fun night. We will see us again." The one with the white streak in his black hair kissed my cheek, the other my hand.

„Idiots. Please forgive my brothers, they don't have any respect for a good looking lady."

„It's okay. And thank you."

„You're familiar", he noticed. I just raised an eyebrow. This child was odd. Just like his father.

„Well, I know your father, Damian." His head shoots up and he frowned.

„How do you know me? Or him?"

„It was many years ago, but your father and I had a great friendship. One day he went missing and the day he came back, he wasn't the same anymore. Still, I stayed in contact with Alfred, he was a great friend and like a father to me."

„Why did my father abandon you?"

„I'm not rich." He looked confused but didn’t say anything.

„He never said something about you. Why not?"

„Again Damian. I'm not rich. I will never be like these models or actresses. I'm just a simple girl, that lived alone with her mother. It was a coincidence, that your father and I met."

And we'll never be royals 

It don't run in our blood 

That kind of lux just ain't for us 

We crave a different kind of buzz

„Then why are you here, Jackson?"

„I wanted to see Alfred. I wanted to see the house since it was my second home. And for the last time, I wanted to feel the atmosphere at a gala."

„It sounds like a goodbye. Why? What did my father do that you are such full of hate?" I looked surprised at him.

„How?", I just asked.

„I know that look. You don't hate my father, you hate that rich life, you hate his behavior. I'm also like this. I hate my mother, well, if you can call her a mother. And I hate my stupid brothers, who get more attention from my father then I do. I know they spend more time with him and know him better, but it’s..."

„Frustrating", I finished his sentence.

„I like you." I smiled and sipped at my champagne.

„Well Damian, I like you too."

„More than your brothers." He smiled smugly and I snorted silently.

Let me be your ruler, you can call me Queen B 

And baby I'll rule (I'll rule I'll rule I'll rule) 

Let me live that fantasy

„If you see them, could you clarify for me, that I'm definitely not interested? They are too young. Goodlooking, but too young."

„With pleasure, Lara."

I stayed the whole evening with Damian. He was a cute child, but he would never allow anyone to say that out loud. And he looked like his father. Well, almost. His eyes were green, they must be from his mother. But I didn't ask since he made clear, that his mother was a forbidden topic.

After that evening, I spent the night with Oliver Queen. We were both drunk and afterward, I found out that he had a girlfriend. So I did the one most logical thing, I ran away and swore, I will never be just a woman for a night. These times are now past, I want to be someone special, someone, that my mother can be proud of. So I began to search for my father. I never knew or saw him. But I wanted to find him.

My friends and I we've cracked the code 

We count our dollars on the train to the party 

And everyone who knows us knows that we're fine with this 

We didn't come from money

After months of searching and traveling around the world, I found him. Well, he found me. He didn't know he had a daughter. My mother never told him about me. But he didn't abandon me like other people. He gave me a new home, a new task. He gave me a new family. I began to train, train to defend myself, train to defend others, train to kill. Especially rich people who were assholes. I just followed my father's footsteps. You may ask now, who my father is. Im a Wilson now. My father is called Slade Wilson but feared as Deathstroke.

I was educated by the League of the Shadows also called the League of Assassins. Ra's al Guhl himself trained me and let me fight against his daughter, who is the mother of Damian. Talia al Guhl, or whatever they call her. I hate her. I hate her for manipulating Bruce and abandon her son. I hate her for her behavior, I just hate her presence. And everybody knows that. Because I almost killed her. Well, I killed her, but she was brought back with the Lazarus Pit. My father was really proud of me since nobody can stand her. I mean, she is a fucking bitch, she betrayed the League just for a son of Batman. And did so many other awful things. But that's not my problem anymore. Ra's send me to protect his grandson, the heritage of the League. The fact, Damian liked me, made my job so much easier. But I had no idea, how to become one of the Wayne family members. So we built a plan. My father as Deathstroke, would try to kill Robin and Batman, and I would save them both. After all the planning, it worked perfectly.

„Who are you?"

„Your pseud, deep voice doesnt scare me, Batman. You've just could thank me."

„Lara?"

„Hello, Damian. Its nice to see you again"

„I thought you would never come back to Gotham." I fake sighed and crossed my arms.

„Well... I was all around the world. I met your mother and I must say, she is a bitch. Sadly she survived our meeting." Batman huffed.

„And how did you know about the whole hero thing?"

„Talia is a really shitty secret keeper. She told me all about it, in the hope, I would show some mercy. Its nice to see you, Bruce."

„Who are you?"

„Its a shame, you dont recognize me, Brucie." I took my black hood off, also my mask, that hid the lower half of my face. I could feel the confusion of my childhood crush.

„Lara Jackson?"

„What a welcome." I was surprised after he hugged me. Awkwardly, I tapped his back.

„Im so sorry." That was easier than I thought.

„It’s okay, Brucie. It’s okay." Damian coughed and crossed his arms.

„Umm... can I have a bed for tonight?", I asked silently.

„You can have a bed as long as you want, Lara."

„Thank you, Bruce."

„Lets go home." He jumped off the roof, Damian followed him. I turned around and saw my father in the shadows. With a smirk, I followed the Waynes.

But every song's like gold teeth, 

Grey Goose, trippin' in the bathroom 

Bloodstains, ball gowns, trashin' the hotel room 

We don't care, we're driving Cadillacs in our dreams 

But everybody's like Cristal, Maybach, diamonds on your timepiece Jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash 

We don't care, we aren't caught up in your love affair

I was now a month at Wayne Manor. Bruce acted a little bit strange but I didn't mind. But what I minded was his big family. He has five sons and two daughters and other family members. They didn't trust me. Richard and Jason always flirted with me, the other women in the house hated me for that. Until one day.

„Hey, beautiful. What are you doin’?" I just rose an eyebrow, a move I would do every day.

„Do you have eyes, Jason?"

„Yes, why?"

„Well, then you can see, I’m reading." He sat aside me and wiggled his eyebrows.

„Mind, if I take this book and we do something?" I tried to ignore him.

„Darlin', I know you would take me. Don't act so heartless even though its hot as fuck." And then I had enough.

„Okay, listen, Jason. I'm not interested to fuck you or Richard. I'm so much older than you, I could be your fucking mother! And if you don't stop, I’m gonna kick your fucking ass so hard, that the pit wont help you come back to life! So shut the fuck up and just let me live my fucking life! Without you or Richard or any playboy." He just blinked.

„How old are you?", he asked bluntly. I slapped him with the book. Jason yelled and ran away from the couch.

„Jason Peter Todd! Come back, you fucking asshole! I'm going to fucking killing you, you dipshit! You don't ask a woman about her age! COME BACK!" I ran after him, passing next to Richard and Tim.

„Jason!", I yelled. „Come back, you motherfucking bastard!" He sprinted downwards, trying to escape. With the speed I had gained, I jumped down and rolled off.

„What the fuck! That woman! Help! Anyone!"

„Shut up!" I tackled him down and began to punch him. Blood spattered out of his nose, ruining the expensive carpet.

„What the fuck?! Lara? Jason?" Dick tried to separate us but he also collected a punch in his nose.

„Don't touch me, you pervert!" Jason managed to escape out of my hold and we began to fight, Richard joined, after I kicked him in his stomach.

„Bruce? Alfred? Anyone? Lara is going crazy!", Tim shouted. He was smart enough to stay out of our fight. I swiped the blood out of my face, not knowing to whom it belonged.

„Still imagining how to fuck me?" Both men grunted, trying to punch me, which I easily caught. My hands gripped Richard's shoulders and I let his nose met my head. He groaned and held his nose, trying to kick me.

„Enough!" I heard Bruce's voice and stepped a little back. Jason didn't stop and punched right in my jaw. I growled and rushed forward, my legs slung around his neck, and threw him on the ground.

„Lara! Enough!" It took Bruce, Tim, and Alfred to keep me away from the second oldest.

And we'll never be royals It don't run in our blood That kind of lux just ain't for us We crave a different kind of buzz

Bruce himself stitched me up, doesn't allow anyone to come too near towards me. He forbid everyone, even Alfred, to come to the Batcave.

„Why?", he just asked. I huffed and crossed my arms.

„Why? Both were flirting with me! Its disgusting! I could be their fucking mother!"

„They are kids, Lara", he sighed and sat across me. I rolled my eyes.

„Kids don’t fight the Joker, Bruce." It was silent, we just sat there.

„Why are you like this?"

„What do you mean?" I frowned.

„You're cold. Towards me. I have the feeling, you only like Alfred and Damian", he almost whispered. I swallowed and tried to avoid his gaze.

„Bruce, I...I had a hard childhood. I just had my mother and you. You were my best friend, my first love. And when my mother passed, I was alone. I know, you were there for me, but not like the way I wanted. I changed Bruce, I'm not the glamorous girl anymore."

„Why you didn't say anything?"

„You were Bruce Wayne, the son of millionaires, the heritage of Wayne Enterprises. I was madly in love with you, I never said something because I was so scared. Scared, that you wouldnt love me back, scared you would see me just like as a friend. So I started to date other boys, boys who gave me attention in a way, who filled the gap my mother left. It was like a drug. I loved the way I affected every man. They gave me love, physically." At the end of my speech, I'd met Bruces eyes. They were soft and full of love.

„Im so sorry, Lara. I never- If I ever would know that...Do you remember your first boyfriend?" He didn't wait for an answer.

„I was so jealous and I saw you at his side it made me clear, you weren't the little girl anymore, who I met at my parents funeral. In my eyes, you were a grown, beautiful and independent woman. That day I realized, I loved you from the first day and still do." My eyes grew big. How?

„You still love me?", I whispered.

„I do." I almost melted at these words. My fucking childhood crush, my first love, loves me. He smiled and leaned towards me. Our noses touched, my eyes fluttered. He stopped, obviously waiting for me. I sighed when our lips finally met. We kissed slowly, without any tongue. It was a romantic kiss, heck, he would top every Hollywood movie. We parted, his lips brushed against mine. Bruce cupped my face with his hands and kissed me again. Roughly. A light moan escaped my lips, my hands tugged his black hair. He groaned deeply and heat rushed downwards all around my body. His arms pulled me nearer to him. Slowly, while kissing him, I climbed on his lap. But before it could go any farther, Alfred cleared his throat. I blushed and tried to hide my face in Bruce's neck while he just chuckled.

Let me be your ruler, you can call me Queen B 

And baby I'll rule (I'll rule I'll rule I'll rule)

Let me live that fantasy

Everything was perfect. As perfect as it could be in such a chaotic family. Since I beat up Jason and Richard, everyone tries to not piss me off. I warmed up to the girls and also Tim. Everything was perfect until Talia showed up. She and some traitors of the league managed to break into the Manor and tied the whole Wayne Family up.

„Hello, Lara. Its nice to see you again." A mad smile graced her face. I didn't respond and gripped the handle of my sword harder.

„Why are you here, Talia?"

„Oh I don’t know, maybe to kill you?" I rolled my eyes.

„Besides that." She grinned widely at me.

„I want my son back."

„No." She frowned, the Waynes behind me began to protest.

„No? Who do you think you are? I’m the mother of him!"

„Well, I don't care who you are Talia. You're a traitor and I don't listen to traitors."

„Wilson", she growled.

„Al Guhl."

„My son."

„No."

„I want my son! And I will kill you to get him!"

„Try me, bitch. I killed you once and I will do it again."

„Why are you here?", she asked out of nowhere.

„Classified."

„Really, Wilson?"

„Why is mother naming her Wilson?", whispered Damian to his father. Before Bruce could answer, Talia rushed with a war cry forward raising her sword. I easily dodged, spinning around and kicking her in her stomach.

„You have a deathwish, Al Guhl. Stop it and I will let you go."

„Never, Wilson", she spat and rammed her sword in my leg. I gritted my teeth but fought on. I felt, how my wound slowly stopped bleeding until it closed completely. But the pain was still there.

„How-?", she stuttered.

„You should've known, dear Talia. The reason, why Im a better fighter than you, the reason, why I could kill you. All because of my fathers powers."

„Your father has powers? But he is no metahuman."

„Who said he is a mutant? He's an experiment, he's an improved human. So am I."

„That's why you could learn so fast to fight", she realized.

„Yes. And now, get out of here, or I kill you and your friends."

We're bigger than we ever dreamed, and I'm in love with being queen (Ooh ooh oh) 

Life is great without a care 

We aren't caught up in your love affair

„Who is your father, Lara?" I sighed at Damian's question.

„Does it really matter right now?"

„Hell yes it does!", shouted Jason. „I want some awesome powers too!" I rolled my eyes.

„I never knew my father, Bruce knows that. And my mother never told him, that she was pregnant. After I met Damian, I began to search for my father. Without any results. Then, he found me. He's a member of the league of the assassins, so he brought me there and I was trained."

„You didn't answer Damians question”, Bruce noticed. I sighed again and shouldered my backpack.

„Because I knew, you all wouldn't like it. Damian, your grandfather send me to protect you. My job is done, I will go back to Nanda Parbat."

„What?"

„No!", they cried out.

„Why? I thought you-", I interrupted Bruce.

„Bruce, I love you. I really do. But I know, when you learn, who my father is, you will abandon me. So I better go by myself."

„Wait, what? Are you and Bruce a thing?" Jason's eyes switched between us.

„We were."

And we'll never be royals 

It don't run in our blood 

That kind of lux just ain't for us 

We crave a different kind of buzz 

Let me be your ruler, you can call me Queen B 

And baby I'll rule (I'll rule I'll rule I'll rule) 

---

Masterlist

This was my first oneshot in english, I hope you like it. You can also find it on Wattpad, there I have the same username like on Tumblr. 

I’m aware, that not everything I wrote matches with the personalities of the batfam, I have more knowledge of the MCU and MARVEL. And if something is wrong with my english (my first language is german) please tell me. :) 

[bleepblopbloop56]

The Murder in the Dressing Room

Chapter 8: Because I Love You

Just a small note: im so excited for you guys to read this one you have no idea. going through the editing process this week has somehow made it my favorite chapter in the whole story i swear. Alright also need the routine stamp of Edited By @pathos-logical who made this what it is today i swear

Warnings: unsympathetic deceit, abusive deceit, manipulative deceit, toxic relationships,slight blood mention, slight medication mention, unwanted kissing, a litttlleee bit of unwanted touching.

---

"Hey there, beautiful~" A handsome stranger in a yellow button up smiled down at him, sliding into the stool at his right. "Can I buy you a drink?" Normally Roman wouldn’t have thought twice about refusing the offer, but the irritation lingering in his chest made him reckless. He traced his eyes over the man’s face, gaze catching on his green eyes. He couldn't tell what it was, but something in them made Roman want to say yes, want to listen to every word he said. 

… Just one drink can’t hurt, he decided, requesting just a diet coke while raising his eyebrows at the man. He didn't complain, which Roman took as a good sign.

"I'm Ethan, but you can call me Dee," he introduced himself, offering his hand.

"Roman," he said, taking the hand and holding it for a moment longer than necessary. He couldn't help it- those eyes were sucking him in and putting him in a daze. 

"So what are you doing here, Roman?" The way the man- Ethan- said his name made his heart skip a beat. "Looking for anything from tonight?" The way he smirked made it clear he didn't mean anything so much as anyone, and he was looking at Roman like he was the most beautiful man in the world. It felt good to be flirted with. Logan sure as hell didn't do that too often. 

Logan… 

"Me and my boyfriend are fighting," Roman chuckled nervously. “I just wanted to have fun for a bit and forget about him." Roman scooted away, suddenly rethinking coming here. He loved Logan, he just… got so frustrated with him sometimes. He'd spent nearly every day at work for the past few months, even his days off. He worked and worked and left no time for Roman. All he wanted was some attention. That wasn't too much to ask, right?

Ethan frowned like Roman had just told him Logan had locked him up in a tower. He leaned forward a little, seemingly unconsciously bridging the space Roman had put between them. The shifting lights of the club shadowed his eyes and threw the scar on his face into sharp relief for a second, making him look… dangerous. "You deserve better."

Roman laughed purely out of shock, a little taken aback by how serious he sounded. He tried to deflect, to take some of the blame off Logan, but Ethan steamrollered right over him. "You look lonely. Don't you want to forget yourself and be someone else for a night? Don't you want to the star of the show for a change?"

Ethan had seen right through Roman- hell, he'd practically read his mind, reaching down into his soul and pulling up wants he couldn't even admit to himself. Roman wanted to move back and put some distance between himself and Ethan- or maybe just the uncomfortable truth- but then Ethan smiled, slow and deadly as any poison. "A guy like you shouldn't be lonely tonight."

Roman’s breath sped up against his will. A hopeful grin crept across his face in a way he hoped didn't look too eager. "Maybe…" He leaned in, maybe a little more than he should. "Could you… could you make that happen?" 

Ethan… no, Dee, quirked an eyebrow at him, his smirk deepening to something lethal, and struck the killing blow.

"Anything you want…" 

And god, Roman wished he could have the excuse that he was drunk that night, to say he wasn't thinking clearly when this man pulled him away into his huge house and made him feel like he was the most precious treasure in his collection. To say he was high or drunk or drugged when he woke up in another man's arms wishing this movie star life could always be his. He wanted to say that he didn't enjoy that night, that he thought of Logan the whole time, that he didn't mean any of it. But he couldn't lie to Logan… Not like that. 

Street lights lit up Dee's face as he drove down the winding streets. He'd been quiet since they'd left the hotel; whether that was good or bad was anyone's guess. Roman sat beside him just as silently, lost in thoughts of the night everything went wrong. The first of many "worst mistakes of his life". Without even realizing it, tears began to slip down his face.

Dee's hand rested on Roman's knee, thumb rubbing in small circles but not moving any farther up his leg like they usually did. He glanced over and put a fake pout on his face, the kind he was so good at. It made Roman sick. 

"Why are you crying, baby?" Roman stayed silent. "We're going home! Don't you wanna go back home with me?" Dee took his eyes off the road to wipe off the tears, and despite being a sweet gesture, Roman could only read it as a threat. Everything Dee did now felt like one- he'd never be safe around him again, not after this.

He forced himself to nod his head slightly, sniffing and wiping at his own eyes. He was lying, but he had a feeling saying "no, I want to go back to Logan and I want you to leave me alone forever" would make Dee slam the car into a tree. Dee smiled at him, turning back to the road.

“Why are you doing this, Dee?” Roman asked quietly. He didn't know what he was expecting to hear. Maybe “because I'm evil’ or ”because you’re mine”- something he could understand, something that would make sense, at least with Dee’s twisted worldview in mind. What he did not expect was the soft “because I love you” that came from the man, sounding as genuine as it had all those months ago.

“Because I love you, Roman,” Dee smiled, cupping his cheeks in his hands, "and I want to marry you." Dee hadn't waited for an answer after proposing- he’d immediately slipped the ring onto Roman’s finger, pulling Roman back in when he stumbled back in surprise. He leaned down and kissed Roman, not caring that he didn't reciprocate, ignoring how Roman tried to squirm out of his grip.

Roman's mind was racing a million miles an hour. Marriage? He had been trying to work up the courage to break up with Dee for weeks, and now he thought it was the time for marriage? 

"Don't you think that's a little fast?" Roman tried nervously, putting his hands on Dee's chest in an effort to keep him away without showing it. "I mean- Dee, baby, we've only been dating for a year," he chuckled, trying desperately to keep his voice light. He looked down at the ring. The bright diamond caught the light, a promise of more of this picture-perfect life to come… The sex, money, clothes, attention- all of it was right in front of him. Everything Roman had ever dreamed of, and all he had to do to get it was say yes.

"Do you not want to marry me?" Dee's eyes held something dangerous in them, and Roman read the question for what it was- not a question at all, but a threat.

Roman stared back at him, trying to make his mouth form any words that weren't "of course I do" trying to say that this had gone too far, that he wanted to go home, to see his friends, family, Logan, all the people Dee had made him cut ties with. 

"I'd love to, Ethan," he smiled wearily, standing on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Even at that moment, he’d felt like he’d made a deal with the devil, and every time he looked at that ring he was reminded of the price he paid.

"How's your head, baby?" Dee asked. "I have some ibuprofen in the glove box if you need it." Roman wasn't all that willing to take anything Dee offered, but he was reluctantly grateful to hear it- getting slammed into a wall hadn't exactly left him feeling peachy. It could've been worse, I suppose, he thought. At least he didn't hit hard enough to dent the wall… or my skull.

He reached in the glove box, muttering a meek thank-you as he did. His hand hit against something long and thin wrapped in cloth, and when he peered in to get a better look, he was met with the sight of spots of dark red covering the fabric. He almost jerked his hand out and slammed the glove box shut, and only the knowledge that Dee was watching kept him from doing it. He slowly pulled out the bottle of pills, shaking so badly that he almost couldn’t unscrew the cap.

When his hands finally steadied, Roman took three and popped them into his mouth, wincing as he swallowed. While mumbling out another thanks to be safe, he vaguely made the connection that when Dee had apologised, it was specifically asking for forgiveness, not to make Roman feel better. Had it always been like that? No… He had to have been earnest in the beginning. Roman wouldn't have gone with him if he wasn't. Right? 

"Why are you so quiet, my prince?" Dee cooed, glancing over every few seconds to look at his love. His Prince Charming… 

"Hey, Prince Charming!" Virgil called, throwing a pillow across the room at the pair. "Back off on the PDA, I have virgin eyes." He dodged the pillow when Logan threw it back at him, laughing. He had started calling Roman that after he’d walked in on Roman serenading Logan with Disney songs in the kitchen, and Roman would be lying if he said he didn't like it.

Roman dropped to a knee, bowing to Virgil with a look of mock regret on his face "Oh King Virgil the Virgin, how will you ever forgive my misdeeds?!" He threw a hand on his forehead, flopping onto his back like a Victorian mistress who’d just gotten a whiff of her vivid green wallpaper. "My only hope is that you continue to let me rule over this humble kingdom under you!" Roman kept his eyes shut tight, trying not to break, but when Logan of all people started snickering, he burst out laughing and let the act drop. Virgil was laughing too, they all were, and that was the best thing about them. They were always laughing, everything was fun with them.

And now Virgil was gone… 

And now he was back with Ethan… 

Now he'd ruined it all.

Roman let his tears fall freely. Sitting beside the murderer of his best friends and his brother, it occurred to him- not for the first time in the relationship- how completely and utterly trapped he was.

"I'm just… thinking about Remus," he whispered, wiping his tears with the top of his shirt. It was only partly a lie; he wasn't just thinking of Remus, he was thinking of everyone. Remus, Virgil, Thomas, Logan- all of them were clawing out of his brain and finding their way down his face. But Remus was family, and hopefully that was someone Dee would allow him to grieve for…   

But Dee didn't look sympathetic. "You didn't need him," he said coldly, pulling into their house- no, his house. Roman didn't belong there anymore. "I did you a favor, Roman. Now you can focus on me." Roman must've done something with his face, because Dee's coldness turned right back to sweetness. "Now we can focus on us."

Roman nodded even though he knew that wasn't right, stomach twisting in knots at the reminder that he was the reason people died- that no matter how indirectly, it might as well have been him who’d killed them. That he was only here so Dee wouldn't hurt anyone else

"Remember the rules?" Dee asked, staring down at his passenger before unlocking the doors. The light, casual malice in his voice made Roman think of the knife in the glove box, and he nodded jerkily, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. They'd gone over them three times in the car; they’d been drilled into his brain by now. He thought he’d break down if he had to hear them out loud one more time, but- "Say them," Dee demanded, and Roman obliged. 

"One hand on you at all times." He started with the easy one, voice strained to the point of breaking to keep from bursting into tears. "If I run, you'll kill Logan. If I scream, you'll kill Logan." His voice was cracking. "If I call for help, you'll kill Logan…" Dee smiled at him, leaning in and kissing Roman sweetly as he unlocked the doors to the place Roman had once called home. Hand on Roman's back, Dee pushed him gently through the house. They walked through the living room, spare bedrooms, the small library, passing everything until they were in the very back. Roman almost lost himself in the haze of familiar scenery for a few minutes, but then-

"Dee? Dee, our room is back there, Dee where are we going?" Roman couldn’t help how his voice pitched up in terror, and his attempts to dig his heels in were to no avail; Dee just shoved him forward more forcefully. He threw open the door to the basement- the one room in this huge house Roman had always been too afraid to go into, the one that locked from the outside. 

"I have some business to do, my prince, I'm going to have to leave you here for a bit," Dee said with a fake pout. Nonsensically, almost hysterically, Roman thought that all his expressions were fake- nothing about him was real. Not anymore.

"Please don't leave me here, Dee," Roman cried, trying to follow him up the stairs. "Please, I promise I won't leave, Ethan-" but the door slammed shut, and the lock clicked behind him.

---

One thing that Ethan didn't mention was that no matter how closely Roman followed the rules, no matter how good and obedient he was, Ethan had always planned on killing Logan. Nothing Roman could do or say would've convinced him otherwise. 

Ethan was in love with the idea of Roman, in love with having someone beautiful to wake up beside and do everything he said. He loved having his little plaything, and one person was trying to keep that from him. And that just wouldn't do… 

The murder in the dressing room taglist:

@cataclysm-al @knightinsoftpastels @intrurality-fusion @katie-the-noble-fangirl @whizzie72 @grayson-22 @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @winterwonderland7669 @missieluvsmurder @sign-from-god-complex @dragonindigo245 @angryfanboyscreaming @ninja-wizard101 @sombraookami @crystalistrappedintheinternet @imtooaromanticforthis @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @dragon-hair @satanblessi @spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence @skruffy901 @selectivereality @nonbeenary-enbee @imbasicallyshakespear @cats-vetal-miking-vomit @incoherentfangirl @oofmood @nonbianary-pineapple @royalnerd829 @unicornlogansanders @magma-llama @chumo-cookie

[d-noona]

MAKE OVER

Chapter 16: New Year’s Eve | FINAL

Jung Hoseok x Reader

Reader as Kang Hyeonji

SUMMARY: When Kang Hyeonji transformed herself into a striking redhead, the entire male population of Seoul stood up and took notice. But her make over was for Jung Hoseok’s benefit alone. He began to show interest in the new look but not in the way she wanted. Suddenly he was over-protective, perhaps a little jealous. It seemed that the idea of having a relationship with her couldn’t be further from his mind. The girl however wants more. So it was time for an ultimatum. If Hoseok didn’t want Hyeonji to lose her virginity to another admirer, he had no option but to make love to her himself.

The party was in full swing, a large motley collection of people having gathered in the Jung's house to celebrate New Year's Eve, plus the engagement of Hoseok to his long-time girlfriend slash next door neighbor, Kang Hyeonji.

As the glamorous guest of honor, the happy couple were dressed for the part. The proud groom-to-be was resplendent in stylish Balenciaga navy trousers, an open neck Gucci blue shirt and a suave cream silk sports jacket by Supreme. is bride-to-be was stunning in a strapless party dress of emerald satin by Chanel, with an even more stunning emerald and gold choker gracing her elegant neck. It had been a Christmas present from her adorning fiance, one of many he'd lavished on her during the past year.

Hoseok had, in fact spoiled Hyeonji rotten with gifts of expensive clothes and jewelry, not to mention his myriad smaller purchases of chocolates, flowers and perfume. He'd taught her to drive in his precious car, and would've bought him a new car if she'd let him. Then there were the fantasy getaways he'd taken her on, weekends here and there at romantic places designed to seduce and soften even the hardest of hearts. Not that Hyeonji was a hard girl. Hoseok knew she wasn't.

But she'd been surprisingly difficult to win, he'd found to his consternation. He'd never been quite sure of her feelings. She'd keep him dangling, had often been late for dates, and had sometimes even dared to cancel them. He'd never quite known where he stood with her, which had been both irritating and intriguing. Only in the love making department had he been sure of his domination over her. There, she was a putty in his hands, melting at his touch, quick to be aroused and always willing, no matter how often he wanted her, or where.

She'd never said no, even when there;d been some danger of being discovered. His choosing precarious places, such as behind rocks at the beach or in a sparsely filled movie theater - had sometimes soothed the sense of emotional insecurity she instilled in him, he'd almost felt loved. There'd been no doubt she craved him sexually; could not deny him. But was that love?

Till Christmas Day, when he'd produced an engagement ring for her which would have done Elizabeth Taylor proud. It was huge brilliant-cut yellow Argyle diamond, set in white gold. But it had been his words as he'd given it to her that had seemed to do the trick. "This cost me a fortune, Hyeonji," he said. "But a fortune means nothing to me without you. Marry me, my darling. I love you so much and I think you love me. You don't have to say you do if you don't want to but it would be nice, just once, to hear it from your lips."

Hyeonji had stared at him and then burst into tears. He gathered her to him and heard the words he'd been dying to hear all year. "Of course I love you. Don't you know that yet? I love you, Hoseok. With all of my heart, I love you. I love you..."

He looked over at her now across the crowded living room and caught her eye. She smiled at him, brown eyes sparkling. It wasn't so much different from the smiles she'd given him before, but tonight he saw the love in them. Why hadn't he seen it before? Hoseok was about to walk across the room to join her when someone tapped him on the elbow.

"Hello, you gorgeous hunk, you. If I wasn't married, you know, I'd given Hyeonji a run for her money." It was Choon Hee, from the library. One of Hyeonji's best friends.

Hoseok smiled "You would have to be good."

Choon Hee nodded up and down. "You're right. Hyeonji's a grand girl and I'm very happy for her. You don't know how lucky you are."

"Oh, I think I do..."

"She's loved you for so long, you know." says Choon Hee

Hoseok was about to say he didn't know at all when he stopped himself. It was then he realized Choon Hee was off in another world, smiling at something in her head.

"I can still remember the day she came into the library and told me about Mr X. You must remember Mr X, Hoseok," she added, glancing up at him.

"Only too well," Hoseok said dryly, and he lifted the glass he was holding to his lips.

Choon Hee chuckled. "I nearly cracked up when she told me about him, especially when she said you hadn't twigged. I mean...you have to admit it's very funny, but rather typical of men, not seeing beyond their nose. But I dare say you've laughed together about it since."

"Laughed about what?"

"About you being Mr X, of course."

Hoseok's drink froze midway to his mouth. He stared at Choon Hee over the glass. She grimaced, then groaned. "Oh, dear heaven, you didn't know. I always assumed she'd told you. Oh Lord!"

Hoseok could hardly think. He was Mr X. His head spun with the news, and all it implied. Hyeonji had loved him all along. But she'd also lied to him, laughed at him, manipulated him. She'd been a schemer, as Tinashe had warned she was. He recoiled at his thought, and his feelings showed on his face.

"Don't you dare take that attitude," Choon Hee warned.

"Dont you DARE! That girl loves you. No, she adores and worships you. Always has done. But did you ever see it? Not on your nelly! You sailed on through your glamorous privileged life, tossing her a few crumbs from your table when it suited you. You didn't give a fig for her feelings. You took her for granted and you broke her heart."

"But that's not..."

"Oh, shut up and listen!" Choon Hee snapped. "So what if she protected her self-esteem by inventing Mr X? So what if she had some fun with it? She'd had little enough fun in her life at that point in time. Give credit where credit is due, Hoseok. When she saw her chance she went after what she wanted. She changed for you, lied for you, fought for you. And she won you, by God - won your love and your respect. Look at her, Hoseok. She's beautiful and very brave woman; a woman in a million. Don't you dare tell her I told you about Mr X. Don't take her pride. Go on letting her think you believe she once had a Mr X in her life, because maybe she needs that Maybe she...Oh my God, she's coming over. Promise me, Hoseok. Promise me, you won't tell her I told you."

"I promise Choon," he said faithfully. "And thank you...for making me finally see the light."

Hoseok watched the girl he loved walk towards them, a lovely smile on her lovely face. He felt humbled and incredibly moved as the full import of Choon Hee's words sank in. Hyeonji had always loved him. Oh, how cruel life could be sometimes. And how wonderful. He saw now why he loved her so much. Because she loved him so much. He must have sensed in it at some subconscious level, had known that to let her go would be the worst, most stupid thing he could ever do. He vowed now he'd never let her go. Never.

"What are you two sneaky devils talking about over here?" she asked, glancing from one to another. "You two were looking rather very serious, Choon Hee. You too love."

Hoseok's heart kicked over. Never had the word "love" on her lips sounded so sweet, or so touching. He wound his arm around her slender waist and pulled her against him. "We were having a very serious discussion on having children in this day and age, weren't we Choon?"

Choon Hee laughed. He could see the flicker of surprised pleasure in her eyes "I've been wanting to discuss children with you. I would like to have a baby quite soon, but I wasn't sure about you..."

No, he thought, understanding dawning. She still wasn't sure of him. It was a cruel legacy of all those years when he hadn't noticed her, hadn't wanted her. That's why she kept him unsure. She'd been protecting herself, had made him keep proving his love over and over. There was still a lot of work to be done, he realized, before she would feel totally secure in his love. But having children together would be a good start. He gave her a reassuring smile, and a loving squeeze.

Hyeonji gave a self-conscious laugh. "How about nine months after the wedding day?"

"How about six?" he returned, squeezing her again. The wedding date has been set in March.

"I think this conversation is getting too private for me," Choon Hee exited.

"Hoseok laughed "I like your Choon Hee. I think we'll ask her to be Godmother to our first child."

"Our...first child?"

"You don't honestly think we're going to have only one child, do you? Only children are notoriously spoiled."

"Yes, well..."

He kissed her. Then kissed her again. "Wanna get out of here?" he murmured

"Where?"

"Your room" Hoseok smirked.

Hyeonji sucked in a startled breath. "Mine? But it...it only has a single bed in it."

Hoseok took her hand and began drawing her from her room. "Single beds were just made for lovers." Hoseok loved her, Hyeonji, the simple, solid girl who'd always loved him. He would make sure she would never doubt it again, and he would never cause her to.

Midnight came with cheers and shouts, whistles and car horns. People spilled out of houses into the streets below. Everyone was kissing.

No one missed the guests of honor.

Back to Masterlist

[the-firebird69]

I told him Titans on me like 3,000 mi across they said that's even worse cuz he doesn't have to go deeper than most can go and that will see a that last sentence with CAA and I said then what is it then he said well probably a 500 mile across root system then they get smaller on each tree and then I said okay and it says probably deep like 500 miles and that's as deep as you'd have to go so I get this it made a ball and I did this test and it works great take the welding torch mask and put it on and you take your orb and you sell them they made a crystal and take a halogen being white and they sell them at Walmart and all over the place and you adjusted until it creates a beam and with Crystal you can sear a hole through your wall made out of CMU in about 2 or 3 seconds if the ball is about a foot in diameter. So I asked further and he said it's big enough to form a huge diamond it would be round and then he said oh and Trump is up there saying he got deep Rock and roll screwed and he's sticking in my face and he was up there for a while building ships it was on Bill chips and that's what's under the ground and Billy zee took it over supposedly and we believe he did and that's probably how he did it the other ones are not powered by the wrong diamonds or ball diamonds we think and our friends says if they are everyone's kind of screwed they're much more powerful and much easier to fire and you can fire multi-directions with ease as well with a cradle and so the cradle has to be gigantic and Tommy F would have needed tons of ships but still you would have seen that with a scan what he's using for a source you would think and we have deep scans but we can't see that deep but Trump is the one in question and the beams did come from the direction of Titan so we have to figure out what's really going on because Tommy F says I'm not using those diamonds and says he didn't discover them and he was at the root taking at it and Trump went down there and was fighting him here and when our friend says is Tommy F had plenty of time to scan with his clothes and nobody to fight them off so there's both of them are lying and that's the secret they have between them what a wonderful boy it's too bad for these two losers they don't understand what rulership is like but he does and he has to tell because they're both sitting there saying their bloodthirsty all day long to him about him there's the biggest losers you've ever met these two idiots now there's going to be a lot of people greedy for this and they'll be able to tell he says those big balls too and some have found some big ones and I've seen diamonds 14 ft across and around and people are experimenting can't do it it's really simple you just take a computer and you set the light to be adjusted and certain distance he says like a small spotlight on that one and you have yourself a laser that kicks ass and you can put it you can experiment with what color light and what type of light and what beam and what color beam and intensity and so forth and find the one that's perfect for the ball after a while and that's 14 14 ft it's like the mega AI like a 14 ft diamond is probably as powerful as like a half mile or some stupid thing an Olympus says yes but you can't keep firing it after that cool off so I'm saying this a half mile that's not bad those things are pain but boy they work really well his teeny little ship will come up and cut you in half

I'm interested in all this stuff we have to get everything so we have to get going Max we need to leave this trash behind including my son Tommy f is unwilling to join us even if we succeed and stopping him and the idiot it's time to make that decision

Mac Daddy

Wow this is amazing that he didn't know that I find it hard to believe but I know what the truth is and he was hesitant to say it but really he couldn't go that deep and nobody was and the roots go down here to depth but there's a huge barrier, and although it's continuous you can skin it looks like the same thing and it's kind of fused together so it really can't tell it's really impossible and we we did tests with their equipment and even willing bill they can't tell so it looks like a big hunk of it and I thought it was nothing and a bunch of s*** here you'll see these old people running after each other and dying instantly

Thor Freya

Our sun is laughing hysterically because of such a pain and Hera is too she's characters here and what a pain in the ass. John reload you're a Deadman cuz he told everyone to be forced it out and I'm issuing the proof and evidence now not going to wait it's tortures for him he doesn't deserve it

Olympus

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 12 cont’d

Med-Tek Research was surrounded by ferals.

“This is why I haven’t gotten it by myself,” MacCready muttered. “There are even more inside. Hey, maybe there’s a benefit to bringing a synth. I mean, not like there’s anything on you to chew. You could -”

Valentine scoffed, “First time I met a feral, I hoped it would ignore me because I wasn't made of meat. Turns out, they'll eat anything.”

“Of course they will,” MacCready sighed. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“I appreciate you changed your mind after finding out they’d still try to eat me.”

“Yeah, well, the boss likes you.” He aimed his rifle. “You guys ready?”

Between the three of us, the ferals were dispatched and the way made clear for us to head inside. I thought nothing of the ferals at first - many medical facilities are often filled with ferals, due to the population being unable to escape when the bombs fell. However, Med-Tek had a more sinister background.

The facility was in lockdown; our initial task was to find the executive terminal and turn it off so that we could proceed into the labs. After a hard fight through countless ravaging feral ghouls roaming the dilapidated and darkened halls, we found the terminal. I lifted the lockdown… and paused to look at the data I’d found.

“Come on, we don’t have time,” MacCready impatiently whispered. He was right, and I’d seen more than enough. We made our way down to the sub-level, where the bulk of the research was done. A nauseating smell assaulted us; it was clear we were the first people to descend in likely centuries. We soon realized, however, that there were quite a few people who had never left. We found a series of rooms, all sealed, all with ferals inside.

“Must have been locked up in here when the bombs fell,” Valentine said, “but why?”

“The terminal in the executive office,” I explained, “recorded an authorization of lethal force on anyone who tried to escape the facility after it was put in lockdown, anticipating the War. The executive then made his own escape.” I didn’t bother trying to contain my disgust, “The terminal also recorded patient procurement costs rising.”

“They were bought!?” Valentine was outraged.

“And experimented on, likely without consent. Then left to die, locked away.”

“Only they didn’t die.” MacCready fumed, “What the hell was wrong with these doctors? How could they just “switch off” their morality?!”

“I don’t think it was called the “Hippocratic Suggestion,”” Valentine agreed.

“I’m in full agreement,” I said, “but there were a great many things before the War that would put the criminal activities of the Commonwealth to shame. It just took the world ending to bring them to light. Come, let’s find the one bright point in this godforsaken place.”

In a lab on the lowest level was a single small red syringe labeled Prevent; the miracle cure. MacCready was overwhelmed. “We did it... holy crap, we actually did it! We just gave Duncan a fighting chance to live. I don't know how I'll ever be able to pay you back for this... I owe you big time.”

“Still balancing the books?” I asked, bemused.

He grinned a little, “Always.”

“You just worry about getting that cure to your boy,” Valentine said. “That’ll be payment enough.”

He was touched, “Thanks. I'm… I'm getting tired of taking instead of giving. Maybe one day I'll learn to get my priorities straight.” He took a breath, “Anyway, the last step ahead of us is getting the cure to Daisy in Goodneighbor. With her caravan contacts, she's the only one I trust to get this to Duncan on time. This is the last favor I'm going to ask, I promise.”

We got out of that horrible place, prize in hand, and ran to Goodneighbor as fast as we could. Daisy, who must sleep even less than I do, was counting her stock. She greeted MacCready fondly, a sentiment that MacCready returned, and was thrilled to hear about our success. The cure in Daisy’s capable hands, her reassurance that it would be delivered as fast as possible, and it was as if a great weight lifted from MacCready’s shoulders.

“I still can’t believe it,” he said to himself as we left the store. “Here. I know you keep saying I don't owe you anything, but I do, more than I could ever repay, so… take this.” He handed me a carved toy soldier. “My wife Lucy gave it to me, back when we first met. I know it's a strange reward for risking your life, but it means a lot to me.”

“A soldier?”

“Yeah. I, uh, told her I was a soldier and she made it for me. Never could bring myself to tell her the truth... that I was just a hired killer. The soldier story was the best thing I could come up with. I didn't want to lose her because of what I was.”

“Did she ever find out the truth?”

“No. It doesn't really matter anymore... she died a few years back.”

“May I ask how?”

“We made the mistake of holing up in a metro station one night. We didn't know that the place was infested with ferals. They were on her before I could even fire a shot. Ripped her apart right in front of me. There was nothing I could do. Took everything I had to escape with Duncan in my arms.” He sighed, “Maybe it would have been better if we'd died there with her. I guess that’s awful to say, but sometimes…”

I understood what he meant far too well. “You miss her.”

“Damn right I do. No matter how bad things got, she was always there with a shoulder to lean on. It gave me... well, it gave me the courage I needed to press ahead... to never give up.”

“You’ve kept pressing ahead, even in her absence. You may have lost your wife, but you saved your son. Twice, now. That counts for something.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Will you follow the caravan?” I asked.

He was surprised. “I don't know. Didn't think I'd get this far… I want to see my son, but between you and me, I was a lousy farmer. He's been staying with friends of Lucy’s, but I don't think they can take me on, too. Not sure I could stand it if they did.”

“Why not bring him to the Commonwealth?”

“Are you serious?”

“Once he's made a full recovery, of course.”

“And then what? I'm still a hired gun living in bars and hotel rooms.”

“You could be a soldier.”

Valentine chuckled, “You sure got a thing for taking in strays.”

MacCready stared at me a moment, then looked at Valentine. “... he's not joking?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“There are a number of settlements that would be happy to have an extra gun,” I said, “and have more than enough resources to provide for you and your son.”

“You’re serious.”

“I am. Consider it, please.”

“I will.” He laughed softly, bewildered, “You have the world's problems on your back and here you are helping me with mine, for the third time since we met.” He stuck out his hand, “I got a lot of business to take care of before I catch that caravan.”

I shook his hand with a smile, “Good luck, Mr. MacCready. Send word to Diamond City if you need anything in the future. Or to any Minutemen base, they’ll get your message to me.”

“Thanks. You’ll be hearing from me, as soon as Duncan’s better.”

“I look forward to meeting him.”

He went back inside Daisy’s Discounts, and judging by her expression told her his plan. She gave him the information he needed, and he hurried off. She smiled at me when he left, and went back to polishing her counter.

“Well,” said Valentine, lighting a cigarette, “I’d call that a day’s work well done. Day and a half.”

“Yes. I hope the cure works.”

“If there’s any justice in the world, it will. Get a room at the Rexford or head home?”

“Neither. The Railroad has urgent business with me.”

He sighed, a cloud of smoke streaming from the gaps in his neck and jaw. “Alright, I’ll bite. How do you know that?”

“Deacon has been watching us. Drifter, no hair, sunglasses, pretending to be asleep on the bench.”

The “drifter” in question sat up in a huff, coming over to us. “Oh come on,” Deacon scolded in a harsh whisper, “don't blow my cover like that!”

“Change your style of sunglasses. Or better yet, don’t wear them. That would truly be a disguise.”

“I don’t think I can anymore. They might be permanently grafted to my face.”

“We’ve had a long day,” Valentine cut in. “So if you could cut to the chase, we’d appreciate it.”

“A bunch of Coursers escaped the Institute before it was destroyed, and every single one of them seems to have taken it personal. Pam managed to track one down to the Wattz Electronics building northwest of here. I’d go myself, but Carrington also got word of a synth refugee in need of rescue. He was captured by super mutants. I’m good, but not even I can be in two places at once.”

When I asked where the super mutants were located, Deacon named a scrap yard another five hour walk to the southwest. Valentine spoke before I had a chance. “I’ll take care of the rescue, you see to it that Courser isn’t going to be a problem anymore.” He turned to me, “And you head straight over to the hotel and get some damn sleep. You’ve already been up for twenty-four hours straight.”

“I've gone far longer than that -”

“Yeah, you've told me. The great detective putting his body through hell for the sake of a case, and before the War when all you had to worry about were idiots with guns you could probably do it. Nowadays, that sort of behavior will get you killed by an overgrown mosquito. I don’t have to stop to rest, and we don’t have time to argue.”

It rankled, but I conceded. Deacon handed him a care package for the synth, everything a refugee searching for the Railroad might need, and the two of them went their separate ways. I can’t stop thinking about the sheer number of ways this could go wrong. There’s no hope of my sleeping while he’s gone. I thought writing would help, but if anything I’m even more anxious now. It’s utterly irrational, I know full well that he is perfectly capable of getting a single person out of a bad situation… though there’s no way to know how many mutants are encamped, or how heavily armed they are. Damn it, I’m worrying too much.

[qqueenofhades]

I'm just going to keep asking for more of the story where Lucy is Flynn's wife until you acknowledge that it is a full on wip fic with an actual name and everything. (Of all the wips I'm reading right not, it's the one most invested in. And I don't even know if you meant it to be more than an angsty oneshot.)

Anonymous said: “I need my soldiers.” Hehe… Fixed your statement Lucy. You’re welcome. Part 3 killed me! But I loved it. I’m interested in hearing the conversation over drinks. *hint hint* :)            

NO. NO I WAS NOT INTENDING THIS TO BE ANYTHING OTHER THAN AN ANGSTY ONE SHOT. THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED TO ME WITH THE TRASH SAGA AND IT IS INTOLERABLE I TELL YOU, UNACCEPTABLE.

…. on that note, I definitely did not spend my break today writing this.

I hate my choices.

The team doesn’t exactly go out for nights on the townanymore, even when they’re home, what with the whole have-to-avoid-Rittenhousething they are struggling to pull off. Jiya visits with supplies and so forth,but she can’t risk being seen too often or in the same place, which has beenhard on her and Rufus. Still, though. Tonight feels like it justifies anexception. They’re obviously not about to stroll into a bar and get nabbed likeidiots, but there are a few places where they can go when they need a drink onthe down-low, and one of those is where Flynn and Wyatt are currently sitting,not talking much, just trying to get a sufficient quantity of booze into theirsystem to make it even possible. Both of them are still banged up from theirscuffle, and Wyatt’s split lip stings from the alcohol. Not that this stopshim. He takes another pull.

The bartender leaves them alone, as the people who come inhere usually do for similar bottom-of-the-barrel reasons, and they both havetheir guns, so Wyatt figures they’re safe enough, for now. At last, quietly, hesays, “You know she’s right. She usually is. We gotta cut this out.”

Flynn grunts noncommittally. As if to remark that of course,Wyatt needs to stop what he’s doing,but it’s less clear that he himself intends to.

“It’s just one of those…” Wyatt traces the scarred woodof the bar. “Fluke things. It’s nobody’s fault. I guess I have to stop feelinglike…” He trails off. Finally, “That if anyone, I would be the one entitled to that accident.”

“Believe me, I didn’t ask for it either.” Flynn glances athim sidelong, in what can almost be interpreted as a peace offering. If yousquint. “And if it happened to you, are you really going to sit there and tellme you wouldn’t have done the same thing? I know you, Wyatt. I know we’re morealike than you want to admit. And you went through the same thing. With your wife.”

“I… yeah. Yeah, I did.” Wyatt blows out a breath. “I’d wonder if I was dishonoring Jessica, if I’d been cheated, if I’d ended upwith something I wanted but in the worst possible way. Like of course Icouldn’t earn it properly, that I…” He stops, struggling over the words.“That I’d lost whatever I had before, sacrificed it, burned it, and no futurewas worth that.”

“Yes.” Flynn’s voice is very quiet, barely a whisper. “Yes,that’s about it.”

“Hey.” Wyatt reaches out, puts a hand on hisshoulder. “I stole a time machine trying to save my wife too. And I did thatbecause you told me the name of the guy. I don’t know why it didn’t bringJessica back, I don’t know what happened, but…” He pauses. “Thank you. Forat least giving me the chance. I was the one who screwed it up.”

Flynn looks as startled as if a hunter approached an animalin the woods and wanted to chat, rather than whipping out a high-caliber rifleand turning it into a pelt. After a moment he says, “I’m not sure you can thankme for that. I was trying to divide you, distract you, keep you off my tail soyou wouldn’t interfere any more. But I did think it would work. That you’d haveher back. And that if it succeeded for you, I’d know it would for me.”

“Go figure.” Wyatt grins bitterly. “Guess we’re both justfuckups then, aren’t we?”

Flynn quirks a dark brow, as if to say, yes, yes, that isone word for it. He takes another drink, hand drifting to his pocket, touchingthe rings stashed there. After another moment, as if having ensuredthat this won’t cause Wyatt to recommence with the punching, he takes them out,staring at the slender silver circlets. Picks them up and turnsthem over, as if trying to decide if they’re something that any version of himmight give to Lucy. Both the men have to admit that they suit her. Nothing toofancy or ostentatious, rings for working hands like hers, slim and tasteful. Asmall diamond and a matching wedding band that looks very much like Flynn’scurrent one, but styled for a woman. Whichever timeline-Flynn did this, well,he could have done worse. A lot worse.

Flynn glances at Wyatt again, and there is clearly aquestion as to whether he should hand them back to Lucy. And if so, how. Thereis a difference between giving them,an implicit acknowledgement of what they are and what they mean and awillingness to take that up, and returningthem, shutting that door for good. As in when Flynn saw Lucy throw them onthe floor, there is that ever-so-slight awareness that perhaps it’s not what hewants. As if he has been dragged kicking and screaming and struggling into it,and tried at every turn to stubbornly reject it, but maybe – here, now – hecan’t. Not altogether. Because the greatest betrayal, the most unforgivable sinis, to his mind, not that he doesn’t want it. It’s that he does.

“So,” Flynn says at last. “Do I just…get rid of them?”

“I don’t know that I get to tell you that.” Wyatt finishesoff the dregs of the nearest bottle. “I mean, technically. They’re yours,aren’t they?”

Flynn supposes so. He looks at them again, one more time, thencloses his fist around them and slides them back into his pocket. Looks at hiswatch. “We should get back.”

Wyatt agrees, and they fish out some crumpled bills to settlethe tab. They check the street outside before leaving a few minutes apart, andtake different routes back to the safe house, stepping inside and checking thelocks. Rufus is never far from the alert that will go off if Rittenhousejumps again, as thanks to Flynn, the Mothership doesn’t need the samerecharge as the Lifeboat. Both of them devoutly hope they might get at least alittle rest before this happens. Not that evil organizations bent on takingover the world schedule their conquest attempts according to the convenience ofthe Rebel Alliance, but still.

Wyatt, yawning, claps Flynn on the shoulder again andtrudges off toward his bunk, leaving Flynn standing in the middle of the darkhall. He thinks about doing the same, but finallylets out a slow, jagged breath and heads upstairs. Down the hall to the room atthe end, then knocks.

“Lucy?”

There is a pause, as he can hear her deciding whether shewants to answer. He wouldn’t blame her if not. His behavior hasn’t been thekind that warrants an invitation in late at night for a private chat, but aftera pause, she opens the door. She’s in her pink flannel pajamas, dark hairspilling loose on her shoulders, but it’s clear she wasn’t asleep. She foldsher arms reflexively at the sight of him, as if bracing for more accusations.“Yes?”

“Can I – ” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Can I come in?”

Lucy considers, then steps back, making a slight gesture of permission,and he ducks inside. Her room isn’t much, as none of theirs are, but it’sstacked with her books, her piles of papers, the endless research she does totrack Rittenhouse through history, to try to judge where they’ll target next,to see how far the effects have spread. She works harder than any of them onthis, and Flynn feels a faint, oblique pang of guilt. He and Wyatt have been soinvolved with their own damn pride that they have left her – and Rufus, he supposes, he still has troubleremembering that he’s part of a team – to twist in the wind. He nods at it.“Any luck?”

“Maybe.” It’s clear that Lucy doesn’t think he’s here totalk about potential trajectories and vulnerable targets. She shuts the bookshe appears to be looking through, marking it with a picture of herself and Amy– the only one she has, the one she managed to salvage from thetimeline with her sister’s existence. Flynn’s guilt settles onto his shoulderslike a heavy black mantle, bending and warping. It’s because of Lucy – herwriting, her journal, her persistence – that he’s here at all, that he’s beendoing this. Him with Lorena and Iris, Wyatt with Jessica – Lucy’s lost someonetoo, but you’d never find her giving in, crumpling, flying apart. She glancesup at him. “Well?”

“I…” Flynn rarely finds himself at a loss for wordsoften, but when he does, it always seems to happen with her. He thinks heshould sit, though the options are only on the desk chair or the bed, andneither of those feel quite appropriate. “I’m, well. I’m sorry. For the…last few weeks. It hasn’t been fair on you. I’m sorry.”

Lucy’s eyelashes flutter slightly, lips tightening, as if shewas going to ask when he’s ever been terribly concerned about being fair on her, but decides to accept thewhite flag rather than open up another artillery salvo. Instead she nods once. “Yes. Thankyou.”

Technically, Flynn supposes, that’s all he needs to do. Hecould get up and leave now, and assume that he has cleared the bookssufficiently that their next mission might have a chance of not being acomplete disaster. Instead he stays where he is, looks at her when he thinksshe isn’t looking, discovers her trying to do the same thing, and they bothglance away in haste. The silence remains raw. Then he says, “So you really dothink we’re – you know. We’re…” Cravenly, he can’t even get the fuckingword out.

“Married.” Lucy, as always, is braver. “Yeah.”

“We’re, though. We’re…” He hesitates. “We’re not.”

Her mouth tightens again. “Fine,” she says evenly. “We’llaccept it as a timeline accident and nothing else. After all, if I onlyremember something that didn’t technically happen, then there’s no way to sayit did. We might change it back one of these days anyway. Then that’s – that’swhat.” She puts a hand on her desk, as if steadying herself. “That’s what’sbest.”

Flynn knows he should agree to this, that this is sensible,that this is even what everyone concerned should want. Instead, his eyesflicker to the worn picture of Lucy and Amy, the one keepsake she has left of alost loved one, and he knows, however little sense this makes to him or howmuch it can only be described as a sheer and improbable twist of fate, thatLucy is voluntarily suggesting to give up another one. If that’s what it takesfor Rittenhouse to be defeated, if it’s going to stop the team from comingtogether, then fine, she’ll make another sacrifice, when Wyatt and Flynn havebeen so jealously hanging onto any possibility of retrieving the one they neverwanted to. And she won’t say another word about it, most likely. She’ll justquietly go on suffering by night, and working still harder by day.

Of course she will.

Even if the loved one is somehow – even more improbably – him, and as far as he can tell, givinghim up should be no struggle at all.

He looks down at his hands on his knees. Knows he couldagree, and knows beyond all doubt how selfish of him it will be if he does. Notthat this has ever been something he’s been terribly concerned with before, butthis is different. How could any of them claim with a straight face that theyjust wanted their own loved ones back, that they were doing this altruistically for someoneelse’s sake, if they keep letting Lucy get caught in their crossfire like this? She’sthe best of them. (Or possibly that is Rufus, but still.) Destroying her, somehow, isnot acceptable collateral damage.

Flynn takes half a step, not knowing what he intends to do.Lucy tenses, and he almost stops, but instead he makes himself lift his hands.They hover in the dark air, and then settle onher shoulders. He hears her draw in a quick gasp, as it’s certainlythe closest he’s been to her in weeks, the longest conversation he’s had, or byfar the most he’s ventured to touch her. A faint shudder ripples through herfrom head to toe, and her own hands come up to cover his before she can stopherself. She squeezes, briefly. Then she lets go. If that was all he was goingto do, she’s managed to make peace with it. Somehow.

Flynn considers it. He can still feel the slight weight ofthe rings in his pocket. He’s not about to reach in and give them back justyet, but he also doesn’t want to go. She might remember this, but it’s thefirst time for him, and since it seems to be something she wants, it gives hima strange sort of courage to try. He clumsily slides a hand down her cheek,touches her chin with his thumb, brushing the back of his fingers across herface and tidying a strand of hair out of her face. She stands very still, as ifmoving might frighten him off, and he feels the soft wisp of her breath againsthis skin. He is so much taller than her that her nose could fit neatly in hissolar plexus, and he feels that odd urge to draw her closer, to shield her, toprotect. He most likely would fail her. He did with Lorena and Iris. But foronce, he pushes that aside.

He runs his thumb across the curve of her lips, parting themslightly, and rests in the corner. Moves his hand to the back of herneck, opening his palm against the shape of her skull, dark hair ribboningthrough his fingers. Then still, slowly, sacredly, he tilts his head. Letstheir foreheads brush, then their noses. Plants the lightest, faintestghost of a kiss on the bit of her cheek by the corner of her lip, but she turnsher head halfway through, and their mouths lock instead.

Any coherent thought in Flynn’s head almost vanishes withthe shock. Her mouth is warm and soft and open, trusting, as for her, clearly, this is something she remembers, acomforting and everyday act rather than the nearly mind-blowing event it is forhim. His other hand comes up, cradling her face, as she rises on her tiptoes, herfingers carding through his hair, and he feels brave enough to open his ownmouth slightly. She tastes like mint toothpaste, and there’s the faint,fragrant whiff of her shampoo. He utters a muffled sound in the back of histhroat, feeling molten. Thinks of the light through the windows of the church,variegated through the stained glass, as he asked for absolution. Knowing, eventhen, he wasn’t likely to ever find it.

He tastes just that bit of it, that breath of life, in herkiss.

It staggers him.

Lucy makes another soft noise and presses herself closer,fisting a handful of his jacket, pulling his mouth more firmly against her own.Flynn’s hands drift down to her hips, returning the favor, and the kiss getsdeeper and hotter and more involved, as if she’s been hungry for him all thistime, starving, but still did not intend on saying a word, since she has gottenso used to patiently classifying her own pain as insignificant. To putting itaside. Now, finally, somehow, she’s getting a scrap of solace from that burden,and the sensation of such relief must be – well. Incalculable. Unspeakable. Healmost can’t stand to put it back on her.

At last, however, he breaks the kiss, their faces stillclose, sharing breath, noses brushing, mouths open as they struggle for air.He knows he can’t go any further without crossing the point of no return, andthat’s not something he’s ready for tonight, not now. He doesn’t want to leaveher, but this is still not his own, is not real. Just a mirage, shimmering awayin the distance.

“You need to sleep,” he whispers in her ear, as her arms arestill around his neck, her body surrendered against his. He gently disentanglesher, sets her down. “It’s late.”

Lucy hesitates, biting her lip. It’s clear she’s strugglingalmightily with the urge to beg him to stay, to sleep with her, in whateversense of the word that could entail. But she doesn’t. Instead, as always, shenods. Then rises on her tiptoes, and kisses him quickly, chastely, on thecheek.

“Good night, Garcia,” she says, and opens the door. Stepsback, and beckons for him to go. “So do you.”