#because it's not just them tucked into a booth at the little italian place barely disguising their longing

[lisbonsteresa]

the height difference oh i'm bordering on certifiable

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin pt. 4 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series

~Elain~

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” 

That’s what I��m supposed to say, right? That’s what they say in movies, I think. Does it count if it isn’t in Italian?

I rub a hand across my forehead, shaking my head at myself. I’m not even religious. I haven’t been to church since I grew out of the pastel pink Easter dress my mother used to love forcing me into.

Yet here I am, sitting in a dark, hot box, attempting to confess my sins.

I think I’m losing it. 

Five days with no Azriel, and I’m turning to religion.

The dark shadow on the other side of the confessional doesn’t help me in the slightest or even tell me if I’m doing this right. He just sits in silence and waits for me to pour my heart and soul out.

So I say, in an embarrassingly shaky tone, “Well, I... I’ve been sleeping with someone.”

That gets me a low hm.

“Someone I shouldn’t have.” Before he can get the wrong idea, I blurt, “He’s not married or anything. At least, I don’t think so. God, what if he’s married? Oh, I probably shouldn’t say God’s name in vain in church. Sorry.”

Father gives a deep sigh, and I take that to mean I should hurry up. “Anyway, he’s just... not a good guy. I won’t confess his sins for him, but believe me, he’s committed his fair share.”

Still nothing. 

I think he’s waiting for the actual confession part of this thing.

So I say the words I’ve been trying to fight for the last five days. “I told him I don’t want to see him anymore, but I don’t think... I don’t think that’s really true.”

Another hm, this time more thoughtful. 

“I keep thinking about him, all the time. Even though I know it’s wrong. He’s like a tumor.”

There’s a huff, like he’s amused. 

“I’m worried I’m not a good enough person to say away from him,” I murmur quietly, which is the understatement of the century. 

I know I’m not, which is why I’m here. 

I’m pre-confessing, because if the way Azriel’s been on my mind the past couple of days is any indication, it’s only a matter of time before I get desperate enough to call him and tell him his... occupation doesn’t change things.

There’s a bit of a pause, like he doesn’t know how to reply, and then for the first time, I get an actual response. In a very thick, very German accent, the... priest? replies, “His sins are not yours.”

He’s taking the stance opposite of what I thought he would, but that’s a good point. Good enough I don’t bother asking myself why a German priest is in an Italian church.

“True, but if I stay with him, aren’t I condoning them? Don’t they become mine?”

“His sins are not yours,” he repeats.

Helpful.

I’m about to ask for a little bit of actual advice when he asks, “Do you regret it?”

“No,” I answer almost immediately, knowing that no matter how much I hate what Azriel does, I could never regret the time I spent with him.

He’s silent, probably thinking of my punishment for being such a scheming harlot.

I’ll likely have to do a million hail Mary’s once this conversation is over.

But instead of telling me I’m going to hell, he surprises me by asking, “So you plan to sleep with him again?”

There was something familiar about the tone of his voice, but I don’t know anyone German, so I don’t ponder it for long. His question doesn’t require pondering, either.

“No,” I answered with fake certainty, even though the thought of never having Azriel’s calloused hands all over me makes me unspeakably sad.

“Are you sure? Forgiveness from the Lord requires... repentance.”

I sigh at that, hesitating even though I shouldn’t. “I’m sure. No matter how much I want to or think about it, I can’t.”

“I think you should.”

My mouth drops open, not only because the words he just said or the sudden disappearance of his accent, but because the screen separating me from the man on the other side of the confessional drops, revealing the bane of all my problems.

Azriel sticks a cigarette between his full lips, lights it casually, and smiles the devil’s smile. 

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I demand, barely resisting the urge to fling myself over to his side and strangle him.

“Listening to a very insincere confession.” Even though I narrow my eyes in the most threatening gesture I can make, he continues, “You know, if you feel like you need punishing, I can always take you over my knee.”

A strange tingle shoots through me and makes my spin straighten, but I ignore it and glare at him harder.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I look him over, ignoring how good it is to see him and asking, “Aren’t you worried you’re going to catch on fire?”

He grins, blowing smoke around him. “If I’m the devil, does that make you my angel?”

“I’m not your anything.”

He just watches me and smokes his cigarette, something I’m sure is frowned upon in church. Probably right beneath sneaking into a private confessional. 

“Are you even religious?”

My lips twitch as I lie and say, “Recently converted.”

Azriel braces his arms in the small hole of the wall between us, looking unconvinced. “Yeah? What are the Ten Commandments?”

My head tilts as my eyes narrow. “I don’t know them all, but I have to believe one is about not killing people.”

“Number six,” he tells me, surprising me with the fact that he knows that. “You know, there’s also one about not stealing. And I happen to know for a fact you stole my sunglasses that day we were on the beach.”

Comparing those two sins is so ridiculous, a laugh bubbles out of me. He killed someone, yet by his logic I’m just as bad a sinner.

I knew this religion thing wasn’t for me.

“Why are you here, Azriel?” I ask, trying to get back to normal footing.

He takes so long to respond, I’m almost convinced he isn’t even going to bother. He runs a hand across his jaw, through his hair. Looks around at the plain little booth. Smokes some more.

When I’m about to give up and just leave, he says quietly, “I can’t stop thinking about you, either.”

My heart starts to pick up pace. “Yeah?”

I know I shouldn’t encourage this conversation, but hearing that he thinks about me the way I think about him... it means something to me.

“Yeah,” he agrees after a few moments, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear. 

It falls silent, and something grows in the silence, building between us until all I’m aware of are the small sweeps of his thumb against my cheekbone. 

I don’t know if he pulls me forward or if I take the step myself, but suddenly I’m right in front of him, our faces lined up through the small hole in the wall.

There’s a Bible in a little cubby that’s pressing into my stomach, and I’m sure there’s no better sign to resist sin than literal scripture digging into you, but I can’t bring myself to care.

It’s been less than a week without him, but it’s like my body is touched starved. The single inch where we’re connected is a live wire, and I close my eyes, trying to figure out what we were even talking about.

Releasing a tense breath that sounds a whole lot like relief, he slides his hand to the nape of my neck and leans his head to rest against mine. 

“Fuck,” he says, like it’s an all-encompassing statement and not a single word. “Come back to me, carro.”

He smells like rain and smoke and something dangerous I never understood until now, and it’s so intoxicating I almost lose myself. Brushing my nose against his, I breathe him in over and over, never getting used to it. “You want me?”

A nod, so small it’s almost imperceptible. But it’s there, and we both know it. 

Making sure my lips brush his, I lean in and whisper, “Then beg for me.”

He goes still, tension coming to rest in the hands still gripping my nape.

See, I realized something in the five days since I last saw him. 

He wants me to say that him being in the mafia doesn’t change anything, confess to lying about it in the first place, and beg him to fuck me, yet hasn’t even apologized for lying to me in the first place.

Sure, I lied, but he got us in this mess, not me.

So he gets to beg.

Azriel pulls back, and there’s such dark depths in his eyes that I shiver. “What did you just say?”

I don’t respond, because I don’t need to. We both know he heard me. 

He releases me with a huff, stepping back and practically growling, “No.”

Raising an eyebrow, I challenge, “Why is it different? You want me to confess to lying about saying that what you do changes things? Fine. I confess, Azriel. I have feelings for you that, whether or not I like it, outweigh the moral part of me that tells me to run in the opposite direction.”

Despite how casually I say it, that realization almost breaks me to admit. 

I realized it when he popped up in this booth, looking every bit the villain and completely making my day. Wrong or not, he makes me happy.

“You have my confession, but you know what? I want yours.”

He shakes his head, seeming to not understand, so I elaborate. “I want you to actually apologize for lying to me. I want you to admit that you put me in an impossible situation, then acted like it wasn’t a big deal. And I want you to beg for my forgiveness.”

The muscles in his jaw are clenched so hard I don’t think he can even open his mouth, but he manages to say, “That will never happen.”

Something inside my chest collapses, so suddenly and painfully I can’t hardly breathe. I hadn’t realized how much I needed it until now, how much it actually meant to me. 

The fact that he won’t make that compromise for me threatens to send my emotions scattering, so I stiffen my spine and force the words out.

“Then we’re done.”

He smacks a hand against the wall of the booth but doesn’t say anything, not even as I fling open the door and flee. 

I rush through the thankfully empty pews and outside, right into a downpour. 

The urge to laugh rises as I become instantly soaked, my dress sticking to me and my hair flattening to my head. It isn’t funny, and would be considered normal any other time or place, but we’ve had a month of paradise without a single rainy day. 

Until right now. It’s almost like the sky’s mood matches mine. 

Practically running, I make my way towards the townhouse. At least it’s close, I think as I hurry. If it was far away I’d probably collapse in a side alley and just let the rain wash me away. 

When I reach the door, unlocking it in a hurry, I feel someone walk up behind me. Stepping inside, I turn to see Azriel staring down at me.

Rain washes over the planes of his face, and while I probably look like a wet rat, he looks like something out of a movie.

"Why do you need this?” he asks, the anger thick in his voice. 

“Why do you?”

He doesn’t make a move to come in, practically ignoring the rain as he asks in a dry tone, “You mean why do I need to hear that what I do and have done--that this fucking life I was forced into--doesn’t make me a monster?”

“Azriel-”

“Because you’re the one person in this entire goddamn world who knows me.”

I give him a look that conveys how little I believe that. 

I don’t know anything about him. That’s the problem.

He shakes his head. “You know who I could’ve been, Elain.” 

It’s my turn to shake my head, because I don’t understand.

He seems to make the decision of whether or not to tell me at once, saying, “Who I could’ve been if I hadn’t been born into a sadistic fucking family who beat the shit out of me for existing.”

Raw anguish lines his voice, and I stop breathing, stop thinking. 

“You know who I wanted to be, who I dreamed of being, when I was in the hospital with a fractured skull or in lockup for stealing a car to run away.” He throws a hand out, yelling, “I didn’t ask for this shit! I wanted to be who I am with you. But when someone came and said they could get me out of the life I knew would kill me, I fucking said yes. And I don’t regret it.”

Tears are streaming down my face, mixing with the rain bouncing off the door. I never knew. “Azriel...”

“The day my older brother took a hammer to my hands because I scratched his CD was the last time I apologized. And I haven’t begged for anything since I was old enough to know better.”

There’s a set to his jaw, a hardness in his body I’ve never seen. “But none of this shit even matters, and it isn’t an excuse, because you’re right.”

The rain comes somehow harder, almost drowning us, but I’m rooted to this spot.

Especially as Azriel slowly lowers himself to his knees, right there on the threshold of the door. 

“I’m sorry, Elain. I’m sorry I lied to you and put you in this position and acted like an ass about it. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I shake my head again, whispering, “Stop.”

I can’t bear for him to be like this after hearing what he said, can’t bear to be the reason for the strain in his voice.

He doesn’t listen. Just looks up at me with such open, deep eyes I almost choke. “Please.”

A sob escapes me as I make the decision instantly, falling to my knees and throwing myself at him.

He grunts as we collide, but I capture the sound with my mouth, seeming to take him off guard as I kiss him without abandon.

His hair is like wet silk between my fingers, and I realize the door’s still open and that rain is still getting everywhere, but I don’t care about anything but him.

His hands grip my waist, holding me steady, as I kiss him until I’m breathless, until I know he’ll believe me. 

“You’re not a monster,” I tell him, pulling back to palm either side of his face. “I know you, and I know you’re not a monster.”

He leans in again, but I keep going, knowing that he needs to hear this as much as I need to say it.

“I decided before I saw you today that what you do doesn’t change things for me. I just want you.” 

The knowledge of how deep we’re in this settles between us, growing into something undeniable as we stare at each other.

This time, when he kisses me again, I don’t stop him.

We fall over, him landing on top of me, and roll until we’re far enough inside that he can kick the door closed.

It’s silent besides the sound of our breathing, the rain pounding against the windows, and the deep, wet slide of our mouths coming together.

I tug at the hem of his shirt, and he pulls back long enough to rip it off. His skin’s hot compared to the cool water all over us, and I’m dizzy on the feel of him. I feel like I can’t get enough, can’t have him fast enough.

His hands are rough against me, tilting my head where he wants it, gripping my hips, putting my arms above my head.

Reaching between us, he fists the thin fabric of my dress, and then there’s a ripping sound I don’t even care to protest because now his skin’s against mine, and I don’t think anything has felt better.

A thumb on my jaw pushes my head to the side, and then his mouth is on my neck and he’s kissing me over the spot where my pulse flutters as proof of my pounding heart. 

I tug his belt open, and he toes his boots off, pulling back to finish getting rid of his jeans then settling back over me.

I tilt my hips up, not able to take the wait anymore, but he has more self control, taking the time to kiss my throat, my jaw, the tip of my nose.

“Please,” I beg. “I need you. Please, Azriel.”

He’s inside me with the next breath, filling me so deeply I can’t think. 

“Merda,” he curses, forehead dropping to mine. “Questa figa e stata fatta per me.”

The dirty words just make me burn hotter. 

Or maybe it’s the fact that I have one of the most dangerous men in the world between my thighs, waxing poetic about sex with me.

His teeth tug on my earlobe, and I arch up into him, making him sink deeper in me. 

“Dimmi- shit,” Azriel chuckles, almost like he didn’t realize he wasn’t speaking English. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Knowing that won’t happen, I nod and open my mouth to ask him to hurry up with it.

But I never get the chance, because the next second, he’s pulling out and slamming into me so hard I slide across the floor. I don’t get far, because one arm goes under my head to grip my shoulder and the other lifts my leg to keep it in place. 

And then he starts to move.

His hips hit mine hard enough to bruise, his mouth is demanding against mine, and his grip on my shoulder is unshakeable. It’s rough and restrictive and something I never knew I needed.

He’s turned me into this wanton, thoughtless thing, and all I can do is burn and burn and pray I survive. 

A moan escapes me with every thrust, almost like he’s pushing them out of me, and I know I’m loud enough the sweet old lady next door will hear, but I can’t stop. 

“You have to be quiet, or this’ll be over before I’m ready,” he warns in a breathy voice that makes it even harder to keep quiet.

It gets worse as he starts to repeatedly hit the spot only he’s been able to find, like he’s in perfect sync with my body. 

“Fuck, Azriel,” I moan, losing my mind at how good he feels against me. 

I try to fight it off, try to prolong this longer, but one of his hands slips to my throat. And as he lightly squeezes the sides, the blood rushes through me in a heady current, I come so hard I almost pass out.

Shaking beneath him, I release a loud moan he covers my mouth to stifle. When he pulls it away, I see slight indentations and realize I must’ve bit him. 

I make a note to apologize later. Even if the way his eyes go almost black tells me he isn’t mad about it. 

I’m almost comatose, but he isn’t even finished. He just grits his teeth, pauses to throw my leg over his shoulder, and keeps going.

My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and trying to keep him exactly where he is, doing exactly what he’s doing.

Thunder breaks outside, but it isn’t loud enough to mask the sound of us coming together or the moans he’s no longer masking.

Despite my body being sensitized and exhaused, when he cups my cheek, kisses me softly, and says, “Come with me,” I do.

He groans, hips churning messily against mine, as release finds us both. My legs shake, squeeze his waist like a vice, then go limp. 

All of me does, actually. I’m boneless and pliant and couldn’t move if I was paid to.

Azriel isn’t much better off, collapsing on top of me and suffocating me with his warm weight. 

“Holy shit,” I whisper after a moment, smiling at the amused huff he lets out. 

Air starts to become hard to find, so he rolls off me, then sits to lean his back against the door.

“We’re on the floor,” he says, almost like he didn’t even notice before now.

I shrug, not caring in the slightest. “I can’t move, so we’re going to have to stay here.”

He chuckles, something entirely male in his eyes as he looks at me. My cheeks grow warm as he looks at the complete mess at apex of my thighs and murmurs, “Fuck, that’s pretty.”

“You are so inappropriate,” I mumble, covering my face with my hands.

Nodding his agreement, he grips my hips and practically drags me on top of him. “You like it, though,” he teases, putting a sweet kiss to my lips. 

“I do,” I admit, kissing him again. 

Something brushes against my thigh, and I look down between us, then raise a brow. I knew he had stamina, but this is...

“Consider it making up for lost time.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, and he smiles, one of those full, beautiful smiles I’m helpless to resist. 

I know everything’s complicated now and I know he does horrible things, but when he smiles at me like that, it’s hard to care about anything except how happy he makes me. Right or wrong, good or bad, there’s something between us I’m powerless against. 

“It’s been five days,” I remind him, running my hands up his chest and into his hair. “Better get started.”

~

The floor. The wall. The stairs. The shower.

He gives me a tour of my own house, fucking me on every inch of available space. 

I’m just as much to blame, I guess. Any time he tries to do anything besides me, I tug him back, unable to stop myself. 

He’s the drug I’m happily overdosing on, and fuck, does it feel good.

When we finally end up in bed hours later, I expect to immediately pass out. He definitely looks tired, and I’m sure I’m not much better, considering the amount of... activity my body’s been through tonight.

But despite the lingering exhaustion, we lay there, just looking at each other.

There’s still so much left unsaid, so many unanswered questions and untold stories, but I don’t want to ruin the moment by talking, much less asking questions, so I stay quiet.

His lips twitch, almost like he can see what I’m thinking.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he murmurs a second later, proving that thought correct. “I won’t lie to you again.”

I nod, thinking of what I want to ask first. 

I also think about the pain in his eyes earlier, when he gave me that piece of himself. I don’t ever want to be the cause of that pain, so I ask something I assume is unrelated. 

“Who was the man I hit with the wine bottle?”

The corner of his lips tip up. “That was Luca. I guess you could say he’s my friend, but more officially he’s my Underboss. We worked our way up through the ranks together.”

“You’ve known him a long time then?”

He nods, propping his head up with an arm. “We were in prison together.”

Questions bloom, but I don’t want to pry, so-

“I was sentenced to three years for grand theft auto and another for assaulting the cop who booked me. Luca was in for intent to sell.” 

At my blank look, he says, “Drugs, Elain.”

“Oh.” I feel stupid as hell, so I deflect by asking, “You were cellmates?”

“No,” he laughs, running a hand over his jaw thoughtfully. “But after he saved my ass from getting jumped one day, we stuck together.”

It’s quiet until I ask, “How’d you get out?”

“Well, this was in Chicago-” 

My eyes grow wide as I cut him off. “You’re from Chicago? You’re American?” 

He laughs at the disbelief in my voice, nodding while my brain explodes. He’d never told me, but I’d just assumed he was born in Sicily. 

“Anyway, this was in Chicago. I was seventeen, but got tried as an adult because of my record with juvie. I spent two years inside, then the Capo there just showed up one day and told me he could get me out.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he says, rolling on his back and looking up at the ceiling. “I remember it like it happened yesterday. He’s only three years older than me, but he was wearing a two-thousand dollar suit and had everything I didn’t. He said he needed someone to work for him, to do the shit no one wanted to.”

Sliding closer, I prop my head up with a hand. “And that was you?”

“He said he looked at my records and that I had potential.” He laughs, almost unbelieving. “I was nothing more than an angry fuckup from the south side, and he said I had potential. He said he knew who my father and brothers were and could help me get revenge. I knew it was crazy, but I said yes. On the condition Luca got out, too.”

My eyebrows go up as he says, “We were out the next day.”

“Powerful friends,” I mutter. 

He toys with the ends of my hair, slight smile on his face.

“I worked in Chicago for about a year, then was sent here. He said he needed someone over here he could trust. My family’s Italian, so I knew the language, and with my baggage, I wanted out of the city anyway.” He takes a deep breath, running his hand down my arm. “So I moved here and worked my way up.”

He picks my hand up, measuring the difference between our palms.

“And now you’re Capo.”

“Mmhm.” 

Tugging my hand, he pulls me closer, burying his head in my neck and inhaling. 

“I have the Capo of the Sicilian Mafia in my bed,” I remark almost unbelievingly, making him laugh.

He shifts to lay down, holding me in his arms, and I marvel at how small and delicate I feel with him. My head’s against his chest, and he’s curled around me, making me sigh. 

“The Capo is a snuggler,” I murmur, running my hands across the smooth expanse of his back and smiling when he makes a low sound of contentment.

“I haven’t slept the past five days,” he tells me. “I couldn’t sleep without you in my bed. You have no idea how much it pissed me off at the time.”

Laughing, I snuggle closer. He’s so big and warm, and I’m so tired. 

Eyes struggling to stay open, I realize I never told him something. 

“You’re forgiven,” I whisper. 

I feel his lips on my brow, kissing me so gently my heart clenches. And I swear I hear him say something, but I’m soo tired to stay awake to hear it.

I fall asleep in his arms, and even though he’s dangerous and everything I should hate, it’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt.

I’ve said the past month with him has felt like a fairy tale, and that’s true. 

Maybe just not with the knight in shining armor, but with the villain instead.

______________________________________________

stole a couple lines from Danielle Lori

Part 5

@elorcan-trash @acreativelydifferentlove @loosingdreams @poisonous00 @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod​ @full-tilt-diva​ @biggestwingspan-az​ @bookstantrash​ @mari-highladyof-feels​ @pilesofriles​ @teddytdr​ @perseusannabeth​ @cursebreaker29​ @a-bit-of-a-cactus​ @elriel4life​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @shinya-hiiragi​ @bamchickawowow​ @live-the-fangirl-life​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @highqueenofelfhame​ @autophobiax​ @rowaelinismyotp​ @nahthanks​ @ghostlyrose2​ @lovemollywho​ @inardour​ @tillyrubes10​ @tswaney17​ @greerlunna​ @rowanisahunk​ @superspiritfestival​ @thegoddessofyou​ @awesomelena555​ @booksofthemoon​ @jlinez​ @studyliketate​ @over300books​ @justgiu12​ @maastrash​ @aesthetics-11​ @b00kworm​ @sleeping-and-books​ @musicmaam​ @hizqueen4life​ @maybekindasortaace​

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sunshine City: Three

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read/reblogged/commented on the last chapter. You are all lovely and deserve a Whiskey of your own. This chapter still revolves around the plot of the film, so if you have any questions just let me know! I hope this little story can make you smile at least for a moment. My asks and DMs are always open.

Pairing: (Eventual) Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 5.7k

Rating For This Chapter: T for guns, blood, injuries

Catch up on the Prologue, Chapters One, and Two here!

Y/N sat at the bar and ordered a cranberry juice.

Butterfly Guy was sitting with Eggsy, Whiskey, and a guy who insisted on being called Merlin in a booth near the window.

“Rough day, sugar?” Paula the bartender asked as she set down the cloudy glass filled with purple-red juice.

“Rough couple of days,” she muttered and handed over a handful of crumpled bills that Paula methodically straightened out before placing them in the till. Paula was basically an agent in her own right. She’d been part of the bar for nearly twenty years and since only Statesmen drank here and knew of its existence, they spoke freely about their work. She probably knew more classified intel than some junior agents.

“You sure I can’t get you anything stronger?” She asked, her bleach blonde hair swiping over her shoulders. “Something with a little more oomph?”

“Just the cranberry juice for now.” She smiled and sipped on the too-bitter drink and resisted puckering her lips at the taste. “But thank you.”

Paula nodded and cast a glance at the table where the agents sat. “You know, Whiskey keeps lookin’ over here.”

She ignored the twisting in her stomach and took a large gulp. “ ‘s just post-mission jitters.”

“Uh-huh,” Paula said with a roll of her eyes. “Sure. When a handsome man looks at me like that…” she drifted off with a raise of her eyebrows.

(But she wouldn’t deny that she noticed Whiskey looking at her a little more often. When they met up after she implanted the tracker in Clara, she noticed Whiskey kept turning away every so often, a hand tucked in his front pocket. It was a common gesture used by men to hide an erection, she knew that—she just didn’t believe he would have one at that moment. They were in the middle of a mission. There was no way he was hiding a boner. But the thought was fun.)

Thankfully, Agent Moonshine started hollering and she sighed into her drink and got up from her barstool and walked behind the bar.

Paula was watching the scene unfold like she hadn’t watched a million bar fights before and looked ready to piss herself. Sunny patted her on the shoulder and signaled for her to hide in the little cubby beneath the register.

The Butterfly Guy quickly made a fool of himself, trying to teach Moonshine and his buddies some manners and she leaned against the sticky bar to watch as Whiskey stood from his seat. It wasn’t the first time she would watch Whiskey kick Moonshine’s ass but it was always fun to witness.

And those tight jeans did wonders for his butt.

While she would never understand his affinity for his lasso or his whip, it was nice to watch him work (and to see Moonshine bleed a little).

As he finished, Moonshine and his hangers-on all unconscious or bleeding enough to keep them still, Whiskey adjusted his hat and let out a whistle. “I feel like a tornado in a trailer park.”

She snorted and finished her drink as Paula slowly came out from the cubby and gaped at the mess. “It looks like a tornado came through here, boss. I think you owe Paula another window.”

“And new glasses!” Paula said with a frown.

She patted Paula’s shoulder again with a promise that the window would be fixed within a handful of hours as the televisions switched from the football game and were overtaken by a wash of yellow and red with an obnoxious chime.

A woman draped in a horrendous yellow outfit with fiery red hair soon filled the screens. “Mr. President, my name is Poppy Adams. I believe the UN has no teeth. So I've selected you, as leader of the free world, to receive this communication. And I invite you to begin negotiations on the largest scale hostage situation in history. A few weeks ago, an engineered virus was released and contained in all varieties of my product: cannabis, cocaine, heroin, opium, ecstasy, and crystal meth.” Each line item popped up on the screen in a pretty font. Cap looked over to see Whiskey already looking at her, lips pulled into a frown. “Some of you are already infected. And this is what you can expect in the coming days. After a brief incubation period, victims present with stage one symptoms: a blue rash. Next, second stage symptoms appear: mania, as the virus enters the brain. Very distressing to the victim and those around them. Stage three: paralysis. Muscles enter a state of catastrophic seizure. And once the muscles of the thorax become affected, breathing becomes impossible.” She watched as one new victim after another was revealed on the screen until blood spurted out of the last man’s eyes and nose, dead for millions to witness. “This leads to a very nasty death within 12 hours. But I have good news to the millions already affected. It doesn't have to be this way. I have an antidote.” Poppy held up a clear vial filled with an amber liquid—and Elton John behind another glass wall.

“What have you done to me, you fucking bitch?” God bless Elton John.

Undeterred by Elton John’s outburst, Poppy continued, “100% effective and ready to ship out worldwide at a moment's notice. I will do this if the following conditions are met. First, you agree to end the war on drugs, once and for all. All classes of substance are legalized paving the way to a new marketplace in which sales are regulated and taxed just like alcohol. And second, my colleagues and I receive full legal immunity. Meet my terms. I look forward to helping you keep our beloved country great, boosting our ailing economy, and easing spending on law enforcement. Or continue this blinkered, outmoded, and, frankly, disastrous exercise in prohibition, and live with blood on your hands. Save lives. Legalize.”

The broadcast ended and the televisions screens quickly flipped back to the football game. Whiskey was at her side in a blink of an eye. His hand brushed down her back. “We gotta talk to Champ, Sunny.”

And that was how she found herself bundled in winter gear on an Italian mountainside. Clara had called Charlie, and thanks to the tracking device she had implanted at Glastonbury, they were able to pick up the conversation. Charlie told Clara (who was now covered in the blue rash) to meet him at the ski resort they’d visited last year so he could give her the antidote. The tracking device could pinpoint their exact location and everyone was betting that the Italian resort was one of the storehouses for the antidote.

But she was also wondering, once again, why she found Whiskey attractive. He was in a terrible blue and white snowsuit that had to have been made in the 1970s. And he still refused to take off his damned cowboy hat. She appreciated the dedication to his aesthetic but it still seemed…ridiculous.

And he’d been grating on her last nerve on the flight over.

Ginger had buzzed in and suggested that Cap be the one to retrieve the antidote because only Clara would recognize her as opposed to Charlie possibly recognizing Eggsy or Butterfly Man (who she was told to call either Galahad or Harry). Whiskey then laughed—loudly—and stated plainly that he would be planning the mission and Ginger should stick to her computers and gadgets. “It isn’t like ya have any experience in the field.”

She really thought about murdering her boss for the rest of the flight. Her plots to kill him only got more creative when he told her to stay at the safe-house when they landed.

She was tired. She was angry.

And that was probably why she finally snapped. “If you didn’t want me to come along, you could have just told Champ. God knows you don’t listen to anyone else.” She hefted her bag filled with her own weapons and ammo higher onto her shoulder and turned away from him, readying to hike up toward the house and stew in her lonesome until the three men returned—hopefully with the antidote in hand.

But his hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop before she could get very far. “That ain’t fair, Sunny.”

She pulled out of his grip with a poorly hidden snarl. “No. You’re not fair. To me. To Ginger. All because of some bullshit you think is right.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection. I’ve been in this game a long time-”

“And I’ve been in it longer-”

“-and I can take care of myself. What you’re doing to Ginger is so fucking backwards I’m surprised you can see straight,” she hissed it out like a curse. “I’m tired, Whiskey. I’m so tired of watching her jump through hoops trying to get you to notice that she could outperform half the agents in the field and you want her stuck behind the desk until she dies. I’m tired of you thinking you know best in the field. Why do you even request me to go with you if you’re going to undermine me every step of the way?”

Whiskey’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Her shoulders slumped. Harry and Eggsy both looked like they were very interested in the calibrations of their earpieces and not listening to what just happened. God this whole situation was pathetic. They were trying to save the world and she was waffling between yearning and rage for her stupid boss. She trudged away in the snow toward the safe house and barely heard Whiskey say, “what are you lookin’ at, Butterfly Guy?”

But she continued on, up the mountain and found the small shack of a house and swept the perimeter before settling in. She comm’ed in only to say she reached the safe house. Eggsy responded cheerfully but she didn’t respond when Whiskey also chimed in with a, “good work, Sunny.”

Time ticked by.

There was a commotion on the other end of the comm line when Butterfly Guy wouldn’t respond—and then all she heard was Eggsy and Whiskey screaming. She rolled her eyes. They were so dramatic. But soon, the trio was making their way toward the safe-house and she didn’t bother to open the door when she heard them outside. They all hobbled in, mid-argument.

Eggsy pulled out a small vial and showed it to her with a smile she had to reciprocate. “You got it.”

“We did. A little dicey—Charlie recognized me.”

She glanced at Whiskey who frowned in return. It didn’t matter. Ginger had been right and now he knew it.

“Can I see it, kid?” Whiskey asked with his hand outstretched as he walked toward them. But then his dark eyes tracked to the window and widened. “Get down!” Whiskey all but tackled both Eggsy and her to the dusty ground of the house as bullets started to fly. Glass shattered. Wood splintered.

She watched, unable to do anything from her pinned position, as the small vial was all but knocked from Eggsy’s hand and shattered on the ground.

“You fucking dickhead!” Eggsy hollered as he scrambled out from under Whiskey to look over the spilled antidote, almost uncaring of the bullets whizzing by.

“Fuck you, I just saved your life!” Whiskey retorted.

“Yeah, and cost millions of people theirs!”

She had to slap at Whiskey’s thigh to get him to move off her and she rolled off into the corner when he did. The rain of bullets stopped for a moment and she looked out the window. “They’re reloading.”

Whiskey nodded. “All right, I'll fix their wagons. Cover me, boys!” And then he all but bolted out of the house, guns blazing.

With a roll of her eyes, ignoring how Whiskey had told the ‘boys’ to cover him, she followed suit and ran out into the snow, pulling her guns out from their holsters. The shootout was nothing she hadn’t seen before and, while she didn’t have all the flair most of the Statesmen agents had, she could mow down people just as efficiently. (The acrobatics the Statesmen and Kingsman agents seemed so fond of really just seemed…excessive.)

Whiskey went through the left flank so she went through the unlucky men on the right.

It was easy pickings, really. Despite the heavy artillery and uneven numbers, it was almost too simple of a gunfight. But the adrenaline rush was nice. It had been too long since she had felt her heart beat this fast. Bullets were flying by her head as she dove behind a tree and then twisted to shoot down the other man. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Whiskey pull out his electric lasso and then cut a man in half who came out with a knife.

“Fucking ridiculous,” she muttered as she stood, lowering her guns and quietly thankful that Whiskey wasn’t hurt.

There was a single gunshot and she froze. A familiar cold crept up her torso and one last man stepped out from the tree line with his gun raised right in her direction. The barrel smoked. But his eyes were wide like he couldn’t quite understand that he’d actually managed to shoot her. With a snarl, she pulled her guns up again and fired twice, painting the trees and snow behind him in a spattering of red.

“Sunny!” Whiskey yelled as he spotted her.

She pressed a hand to her stomach and felt the terrible, wet warmth soak her palm. She holstered her guns again and stepped out to look at him, turning ever so slightly to hide the blossoming red from him. “We’re good.”

“You should’ve stayed in the house.”

“You needed back up!” She said, marching toward the house despite feeling her legs shake. Pressing against the wound only made bile rise in her throat.

“The kid and Butterfly Guy-”

“It’s over, boss. Let’s just-”

Whiskey suddenly grabbed at her waist and all but threw her into the house and she nearly lost her footing. She barely had time to recognize the pain suddenly roaring through her system as the adrenaline started to fade.

“Troop carrier coming in. And I’m out of ammo—whaddya got?” He asked, pointedly looking at Eggsy and Harry.

But they were both looking at Whiskey’s hand.

He slowly raised it to his face and saw it covered in blood. His head snapped to the side to look at her. “Sunny?”

Her knees finally buckled and she hit the weathered wood. She shakily caught herself with her other hand, feeling blood slip between her fingers. She coughed and watched as blood splattered against the wood.

“They’ve got Gatling guns!”

Whiskey was yelling. Bullets whizzed by. And the beat of her heart started to drown out everything else.

“Harry, no!” She barely heard Eggsy shout.

And then, in her quickly-hazing vision, she watched Whiskey’s body crumple to the floor beside hers. She reached out a bloody hand toward him without thinking, pressing crimson-colored fingers against his face as if that would stop the bleeding.

“He broke the vial on purpose, Eggsy. If we made it out of here, he was gonna kill us both!”

The world went dark.  

                                                     **

The sterile scent of HQ’s medical wing was a welcoming aroma as her eyes opened.

“There you are.” Ginger leaned over her with a soft smile. “How ya feeling?”

“Tired.”

“No pain?” She asked as she helped Cap sit up slowly.

“A bit tender—but I know what feeling shot in the chest feels like so I would prefer this.” She pulled at the bland, cotton-blend shirt she was dressed in and saw her stomach covered in a bit of gauze and tape. Despite Ginger telling her not to, she pulled at the coverings to reveal the mostly-healed bullet wound and then pushed back into the pillows. It looked like it had already been healing for weeks instead of a day or two. Statesmen truly knew how to patch someone up. But then a thought struck her. “Where’s Whiskey?”

And Ginger’s soft, answering smile calmed her suddenly clenching heart. “He’s in the next room over, Cap. He’ll wake up soon. Eggsy gave him the Alpha Gel and it worked like it was supposed to.”

She pushed out a long breath through her nose and nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

Ginger’s watch beeped. She looked at the small screen and sighed. “I will be back. Don’t get into any trouble, okay?”

“I promise nothing.”

Ginger chuckled, having heard that answer many times before, and let herself out of the room. 

She let herself stew for a moment (it was really about an hour). Her life had really gone off the rails since Vegas. It was one thing to secretly harbor amorous thoughts about your boss. It was another to scream at him, get shot, and then see him get shot after seeing him (possibly) thwart any efforts to get the antidote and save millions of people. And she had a chance to say something to Ginger. But she didn’t.

Hm.

She carefully slid off the bed and winced when a bolt of pain zig-zagged through her body as her feet touched the cold floor. Shuffling over to the door, she peered out into the hallway and then stepped out. Whiskey’s holding room was only a few footsteps away.

Should she go in? But then what would she say?

Should she just go back to her room and pretend she was unconscious the entire time and remembered exactly nothing from Italy? But what was she trying to forget anyway?

But, thankfully, Eggsy found her in the middle of the hall and broke her rambling thoughts. He pocketed his phone and looked a bit worried as he noticed her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Better than I should be after being shot. You?”

He started to nod but then shook his head. “My girlfriend…she, uh, she’s got the blue rash.” He rubbed at his forehead.

“You care about her. Probably more than you should, right?” That was easy to see. Eggsy was a good kid, probably a little too easy to read. “Especially in this line of work.”

“You get it—Kingsmen aren’t allowed to have attachments. And I…” he tried to grasp at the words he needed, “love her.”

“Statesmen doesn’t have that rule. Probably because we’re very bad at following any sort of guideline anyway.” She shrugged and regretted the movement as it pulled at her wound. “But that means you’ve got less than 12 hours. You got a plan?”

Eggsy quickly explained that they had been able to trace Poppy’s location to Cambodia and they were heading out there now. But his eyes quickly widened as he realized he had just revealed a plan to a potentially dangerous adversary.

“Relax, Eggsy. I’m not the one you shot in the head.” She waved him on. “Go. Save the world. Look out for landmines.”

“Landmines?” Eggsy parroted, face scrunching into a confused frown.

“If Poppy’s as crazy as I think she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has nonsense like that. Who knows? Maybe she has a fleet of man-eating robots, too.”

“What are you on about?”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

He smiled and started to walk away. “You should come to London when this is all over. I’ll get you a drink!”

She smiled a bit and watched him disappear around a corner before her eyes once again drifted toward Whiskey’s door. “…fuck.” Against her better judgement, she walked up and let the door glide open without a sound. The room was quiet. Whiskey was motionless on the bed, face still covered by the machine to help the Alpha Gel finish its work. His vitals were steady, displayed on large screens across the wall.

He would be fine.

He would be fine.

He would be fine.

She slipped gingerly into a chair near the bed and resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hand. He just looked so…vulnerable. It was so unlike him. An angry, terrible twisting pulled at her chest. “I’m not sorry I yelled at you, you know.” She wasn’t sure why she was talking to him but the words kept coming anyway. “You need to let Ginger out in the field. She’d be a better agent than me. I don’t know why you’re… I don’t understand you at all, actually. I wish I did, I think. I wish I could understand you and why you do things and say things. I wish I could understand why you make me feel so stupid.”

Maybe being this close to death—again—was making her sentimental. Or maybe the pain medication was making her crazy.

Probably the second option. Hopefully, anyway.

The door opened again and Ginger stepped in. “I knew I’d find you in here.”

“How’d you figure that?”

Ginger gave her a look but didn’t answer. “It is about time we wake him up. You remember how it’s like, right?”

She nodded. She had heard stories about how most agents needed a ‘reminder’ of a traumatic event to bring them back to the present and how their minds could be a bit foggy for a few days after, but she had never seen it in person. But she basically knew what to except--right? 

With a flip of a few switches, the machine receded and Whiskey’s eyes opened. He was up and off the bed with a spring in his gait that had her laughing as he gave some terrible pick-up line to Ginger. But the laugh drew his attention and his body went rigid as his eyes landed on her. “Sunny.”

She felt tension she didn’t realize she was holding leech from her shoulders as he smiled at her. “Hey, boss.”

Ginger tucked something back in her pocket and her smile seemed to reach her ears. “I’ll leave you two…alone. But I’m just outside if you need anything.” She then scurried out and left her alone with Whiskey and her hammering heart.

“Sunshine.” The new nickname was all but crushing to her heart, caving in her chest.

She waved him back to the bed and told him to rest before she curled her fingers around his hand. It was warm and calloused and, as cliché as it sounded, seemed to fit hers perfectly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot in the head.”

She almost laughed and her other hand carefully pushed his still-impeccably styled hair away from the bandage covering a small bit of his temple. “Yeah. You look great for a dead man, though.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” But he said it with a smile and squeezed her hand. “Say it again.”

“You look great.” And her smile grew, heart a little lighter.

He huffed out a laugh but then a long silence stretched between them. She looked away from his dark eyes but didn’t pull her hand away from his, fearing he’d disappear if she did.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sunshine?” He squeezed at her hand until she looked at him again.

“I’m okay. They fixed me up just fine. A new scar for the collection.”

His smile slowly dropped and he placed his other hand over hers, too. “I saw you drop. You were bleedin’ out and I-”

“I saw you get shot, too, you know. Butterfly Guy has an interesting way of showing he doesn’t trust someone.” She shook the thought away. Harry’s brain was scrambled, too. “I’m just happy you’re okay. Your brain might feel a bit funny for a day or two, but I’ll be here.”  

“Where are they now? The Brits?”

“They’re on their way to Cambodia. They think they’ve found Poppy’s base.”

Whiskey all but yanked his hands from hers and threw his legs over the side of the bed before standing on his long legs. She quickly stood too, chair clattering backward. “We’ve gotta go. Tell Ginger to get the Silver Pony on the runway.” He started toward the door before she grabbed at his arm.

“Boss, c’mon. You need to rest-”

“I need to make sure that bitch doesn’t get what she wants.”

She was scrambling then, hands pawing up his arm to grasp at his face. Her heart was in her throat as she looked at him. His dark eyes looked so cold. Unfocused. She knew the Alpha Gel could scramble someone’s brain as it physically repaired it, pushing them into old habits and thoughts and fears. She knew Whiskey wasn’t thinking right at the moment—no matter how soft he had been with her moments ago, this wasn’t her Whiskey. Her mouth went dry. Thoughts raced by as the pit she had felt growing in her stomach expanded to an abyss. She knew what he’d been through. The death of his wife at the hands of some coked-out druggies was an open secret. And she knew her own grief, dealt with it in her own way—not all of it healthy, she knew. But she had to try. She knew the look of a man who wanted vengeance no matter the cost—and, right now, the cost was millions of lives. “Do you know why I don’t drink?”

“We don’t have time for this,” he said as he pulled out of her grip.

“Drunk driver plowed into my dad’s car. I was at the local pool with some friends and Dad piled everyone in to pick me up so we could get ice cream after. They never made it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you think I hold it against everyone who likes to put a little something extra in their coffee? Likes to have a little liquid courage to talk to the cute guy across the bar?”

Whiskey’s face twisted and his eyes seemed to dilate before he scrunched them shut. A shaking hand pushed through his hair.

“I work at a distillery for a man named Whiskey.”

Another silence stretched between them. She would swear he could hear her heartbeat in the quiet of the room.

A careful hand reached out to touch his wrist, too afraid to do much else. “Stay,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”

And his eyes finally opened.

                                                        **

Champ smiled and congratulated them on a job well done. It was a week since the entire Golden Circle situation had been handled. Tequila was well. Whiskey’s mind was clear. And their profits had never been higher.

Merlin, Harry, and Eggsy were standing at the end of the table and each held a glass of amber liquid as everyone raised a toast. Whiskey was sitting across from his Sunny, golden glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He probably should have been listening to what was Champ was saying but all he could see was how she licked her lips after taking a sip of her cranberry juice.

Statesmen, knowing an ally when they saw one, had purchased a distillery in Scotland. It was the perfect guise to help Kingsman rebuild and keep their money looking “clean.” Yes, he should have listened.

Because the Kid opened his mouth and said Kingsman needed more agents.

“I think Ginger would be a great Kingsman,” Sunny said with a smile.

Ginger, tucked into a corner a drink of her own, smiled in return. “I…”

“Agreed,” Whiskey heard himself saying. And he quickly realized that he meant it. 

Ginger’s eyes went wide and she nearly sloshed the entirety of her drink across her shirt.

Champ laughed. “Alrighty then. Ginger Ale, well, I guess you’ll get a new code name, won’t ya?”

But the Kid’s smile widened. “And I was thinking Cap could come, too.” He turned to her and shrugged a shoulder. “Whaddya say, Cap? I’ll show you the real London.”

Whiskey looked at her, feeling like someone had shoved their fist down his throat. Don’t go. Don’t leave.

“I always wanted to be a knight of the round table.”

The men at the end of the table cheered again and Ginger walked over to knock their glasses together.

And while everyone continued to pat themselves on the back for completing the mission, all he could feel was cold.

The revelry eventually died down and Whiskey found himself the last one seated at the table. Everyone else filtered out to ready for the next mission—or the move to London. It was just him and Champ. The older man plopped down in the seat beside him and refilled his empty glass.

“London is only a few hours by plane from New York.”

He took a long pull from his glass.

“I’ve never known you to wait for something you wanted, Whiskey. But sure seemed to drag your ass on this one.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Champ?” He finally asked after another large gulp of alcohol.

But Champ just shook his head with a throaty chuckle. “You two are a mess.”

                                                     **

Royal weddings were…an event, she was finding.

After nearly losing Princess Tilde to the Golden Circle, Eggsy actually proposed. And with Harry now known as Arthur and presiding over Kingsman, the rules changed. Attachments were allowed. And because Tilde knew his fellow Kingsman were like Eggsy’s family, they were invited to the wedding. A handful of Statesmen, too. It had been a year since Poppy’s demise in Cambodia and the world was (mostly) at peace. Kingsman managed to salvage quite a bit from the wreckage of their former bases and Statesmen funded the rest of their necessary rebuilds. It was slow-going, and a handful of new agents were still finding their footing after graduating from the selection process.

“Please tell me Tequila is not wearing jeans,” she muttered.

Ginger, now known as Agent Percival, rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile as she spotted the jean-clad man amid the rest of the American crowd. “I could but that would be a lie.” She paused. “But Whiskey certainly dressed for the occasion.”

She leaned forward just the slightest bit to see Whiskey dressed in a fine tuxedo. “Is that one of ours?”

Ginger hummed. “He came in a few days ago for a fitting.”

She swallowed the saliva filling her mouth and turned back to watch Eggsy nervously fidget with his cufflinks at the end of the aisle. “Looks good.”

The ceremony finished after the vows and a bit of perfunctory reading and singing before the guests were all chauffeured over to the reception space at the royal palace. “You know, Merlin told me that you and Whiskey are quite fond of using emojis in your emails,” Ginger said as dinner was cleared away and dessert started to be served. 

Her glass of water nearly slipped from her grip as embarrassment washed over her. “I was told those were private.”

“Nothing’s private in our line of work,” Ginger said with a pat to her hand. “But you haven’t really explained what is going on between you two.”

She rubbed at her temples. How could she possibly explain that she knew Whiskey, while his brain was still scrambled, wanted to let everyone infected with the Blue Rash die? How could she explain that she, despite all that, missed his smile and stupid mustache? Missed how he had terrible pick-up lines that always made her roll her eyes? Missed how she always seemed a little lighter whenever he would waltz into her office in New York?

Their constant contact devolved away from work and missions and into their private lives. He would ask after Bela and she would ask him to tell her about the view from his office window. It was now a strange sort of friendship that she treasured and protected despite how they hadn’t seen each other in person in over a year. She had taken the position at Kingsman, took the code name Agent Mordred, moved to London. It should have been a clean break. She could have kept their communications purely professional. But she didn’t. She just couldn’t truly let him go.

But on the outside, she shrugged as her hands dropped away from her face.

“It looks like I’ll be able to see for myself because he’s on his way over here.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of Ginger’s smug tone and, sure enough, Whiskey was on his way over, walking through the dancing crowd and wandering guests, right toward their table.

“But oh no. Would you look at that, I need more champagne.” Ginger then scampered off and left her alone.

Whiskey easily took Ginger’s vacated seat and smiled at her. “Hey, Sunshine.”

“Hey, bos-Whiskey.”

He chuckled at her slip. His head tilted to the side as he looked at her, eyes trailing down her form and she resisted a shiver like a teenaged girl but was silently thankful for the designer dress that fit her like a glove in a soft blue silk. “You look good.”

“You too.” And he did. The tuxedo was impeccably cut and the darkest black. A pristine white shirt was held back with a matching cummerbund and a black bowtie was slightly crooked around his neck. She reached out and straightened it.

He reached up to keep her hand pressed against his chest with a small smile. “I miss you.” It was whispered like a secret.

“We talk every day.” But she didn’t pull her hand away.

“ ‘s not the same and you know it.” He squeezed her hand. “Dance with me?” Wordlessly, he led her out onto the dance floor and pulled her close.

His expensive cologne made her mind swim but she resisted the urge to rest her cheek against his shoulder despite every nerve in her body telling her to do so. The music was slow, soft, and romantic. The lighting was low and accentuated by flickering candles that danced across the golden walls of the royal ballroom. If she could let herself remember anything—it would be this moment. Held in the arms of the man she loved even if it was just for a tiny sliver of time.

“I never thanked you, you know.”

“For what?”

“Saving me. My head was a mess—even before Butterfly Guy put a bullet in it. It took me a while but I…” He shook his head. “You’ve given me a second chance.”

She cocked her head to the side with a smile. “To save the world?”

Whiskey’s smile was small and his cheeks reddened the slightest bit but his dark eyes never left her face. His grip on her hand and waist tightened the slightest bit. “A second chance at everything.”

She chuckled and ignored how her chest tightened. Reading into it would only make it hurt.

A/N: Thank you for reading!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm​ @honestlystop​ @paryl​ @fioccodineveautunnale @lackofhonor

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 29

Summary: Kate is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 29: Kate tells her truth

            Francis Lynch was a wreck. She could barely stand or hold her head up and it had been three hours since the police had left. Three hours since one of the detectives informed her of her husband’s accident. In the wee hours of the morning, Ryan Lynch, drunk as a skunk, had fallen into the Boston Harbor and drowned.

            “What am I going to do?” She wailed from her seat at the kitchen table. Her head was in her hands.

            Her eighteen-year-old daughter was sitting on the floor, her knees tucked to her chest. “It’ll be alright, mom.” She said quietly. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her father was never the person he was meant to be. He worked twelve hours a day then spent his free time in the pub. He was never particularly loving toward his only child. After all, she was simply a mistake in his eyes. Young and reckless, he got Francis pregnant and his Catholic father guilted them into marriage.

            But Kate was still sad. She still loved him.

            “It won’t be alright!” Francis cried. “We’ll lose the apartment, we’ll lose everything!”

            “No, we won’t.” Kate stood up shakily and tried to comfort her mother. “I promise we’ll be alright.”

~~~~~ 

            “I worked to help pay the bills and to pay my neighbor for ballet lessons,” Kate explained. She sat down on the bed as she started to explain everything, she had lied to him about. “My mom worked too but my father brought in the most money.”

            Tommy wasn’t sure he expected the story to go so far back. In his experience, the farther back a story went, the more lies there were. But he tried to keep an open mind, she was being honest with him even if he was hesitant about it.

            “When my father died, we would’ve become homeless in a couple of months.”

            Tommy frowned. “You didn’t tell me your father died.” As far as the story went, or at least the one he was led to believe, Kate’s father was the reason for all of her troubles. Someone who was caught up in the American mafia, who placed all the burden on Kate.

            “Just, just listen.”

            He nodded and went to sit beside her on the bed. The last thing he wanted was for a confrontation so soon after reuniting with her. That’s why he had wanted to at least delay the truth. But he also didn’t want her to feel guilty either.

            “I’d known Frank Wallace and his brother Steve for a long time. They were already established as the Gustin Gang by that point and they controlled most of South Boston. I met Frank through my neighbor who taught me lessons. He had helped her rent and legal issues. So, I went to him after my father died.”

~~~ 

            “Girl like you shouldn’t be dealing in those sorta things, Katie,” Frank warned.

            They were at one of the bars the Wallace brothers owned. One of the places Kate’s father frequented. Kate looked around the place, wondering if this was the last place her father had been before he left and fell into the Harbor.

            “I don’t think I have a choice.” She replied quietly.

            “I’ll help you find a good job with better pay.” He assured her. “Don’t worry about your landlord either, I’ll pay him a visit if he gives you trouble ‘bout the rent.”

            To anyone else, it would’ve sounded like the perfect scenario. Having friends in gangs sometimes had its perks. But Kate shook her head. “I don’t want that, Frankie. You know how long I’ve been training to dance. I’m not going to give that up so I can work myself to death like…” She paused. “Whatever.”

            Frank tapped his knuckles on the table. “But to get into shit like bootlegging? You’re only gonna bring yourself more troubles.”

            “It’s what I want to do. I can do this and have enough money to take care of my mom. Meanwhile, I can hopefully get into a ballet company. Then over time, I might make more from dancing.”

            The older man sighed. “I know that I can’t fucking do anything to change your mind. But you need to know that this shit isn’t something you can walk away from. Not a little side job you can drop whenever you want.”

            “I know.”

~~~

            “I used my father’s identity to set it all up. I started to facilitate shipments from Europe to get liquor into Boston and then ship it all over the country. I put any debts in my father’s name and Frank helped me deal with anyone so nothing would be traced back to me.”

            Tommy wasn’t surprised that she had managed to create a bootlegging empire. Kate was certainly clever enough to get the job done. He was just unsure why she hadn’t confessed that to him when they initially met. But he wanted to hear her out so he nodded for her to continue.         

            “I was accepted into the Boston ballet company and began dancing. It became so much easier after that. I started to meet people who were higher up in the city. Rich people, people who wanted things done. Only the wealthiest knew who I really was. Everyone else thought it was my father in control.”

 ~~~

            “That was a beautiful performance, Miss Lynch.”

            “Oh, Mr. Weld,” Kate startled as she left the theatre through the backstage door. “I didn’t see you there.”

            The wealthy businessman was standing by his expensive, neatly polished car parked in the back alley. Mr. Weld was dressed in a tuxedo, demonstrating that he had seen the ballet performance that had just ended.

            “Let me drive you home.” He offered, opening the car door for her.

            “That would be kind, thank you.” Kate had no qualms about getting into his car. She was armed with a pistol and even then she doubted the man would attack her. She was far too valuable.

            “I do appreciate your work, Kathleen but I came here to voice some concerns.” Mr. Weld said as he got into the car and started it up.

            “By all means, tell me what you’re worried about.”

            The man sighed anxiously. “I understand you’ve been branching out to Chicago, selling to their bars. Word is you’ve gathered a few men there who act on your behalf.”

            “I don’t give out names of people I work with,” Kate replied calmly. “What I do in Chicago won’t affect my business with your bars, Mr. Weld. You’ll get shipments and protection as long as I’m paid.”

            “What I’m concerned about is the Chicago Outfit.” He ignored the mild threat. He’d been behind a few times with payments and had learned his lesson early on that it didn’t matter that Kate was a woman. She wasn’t someone to be messed with.

            Kate bit her tongue. The Chicago Outfit was frightening to anyone, but she didn’t show fear. “There’s no reason for concern.”

            “Pardon my insistence, but there’s been word that you’ve…you’ve been disregarding their territory lines. I would urge you to be careful or to even back out of Chicago entirely. The more you press…”

            “What?” She glanced over at him, still conveying that she wasn’t bothered even when her stomach was in knots.

            Mr. Weld’s fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel. “The more attention you’ll call to yourself. I don’t wish to have any ties to someone who upsets them.”

            “Then pay me what I’m due and our contract will be finished,” Kate replied with a tone of finality. “You can go over to the North End and ask the Italians for help. Because you won’t get any more help from any of my allies.”

            Mr. Weld swallowed. “Just please consider your actions a bit more carefully.” He parked outside of the Lynch’s apartment building.

            “I run my business how I see fit,” Kate said, stepping out of the car. “Let me know if you want to continue our business relationship.” She closed the car door firmly.

~~~            

            “I was making money but not enough to completely stay afloat. , I branched out further to Chicago and made mistakes. I was given a warning but I didn’t listen.”

            Tommy had been in the game long enough to know the consequences of ignoring warnings. “What did they do?”

            “They took a train to Boston and kidnapped my mother. They tortured her for days but she wouldn’t tell them where I was. They ended up throwing her in the river.” Kate tucked her knees to her chest as she stared at the floor with tears in her eyes. The sight of her mother’s body being hauled out of the river would always be etched into her brain. The guilt was so unbearable she tried to pawn it off to someone else. It was the Chicago Outfit’s fault. It was the fault of whoever gave them her mother’s address. It was her father’s fault for leaving them with no income. But in the end, there was no escaping it. Kate knew it was her fault.

            Tommy, although stunned into silence by her history, he instinctually wrapped an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. His actions had led to the death of others. He knew the weight of guilt that would always rest on his soul.

            “That same night I went to Santo. I wanted him to get revenge for me. I only knew him because he left me a letter after one of my performances. He hounded me for weeks about a business relationship and then something personal. I knew he was waiting for me after the news spread about my mother.”

 ~~~

            “My condolences, Miss Lynch.” Santo poured Kate a glass of wine. They were sat together in a secluded booth at one of the North End restaurants Santo owned.

            “Thank you.” She replied quietly. It still hadn’t quite hit that her mother was dead. Yet, there she was, willing to negotiate for revenge.

            “Why is it you wanted to come to see me so soon after your mother passed?” He asked even though there was a twinkle in his eye. A sort of knowing. There was no mystery as to why she was there.

            “Because I need the bastard who killed her to pay. I want him dead.”

            He raised his eyebrows as if he hadn’t even considered that. “And why should I help you? You’ve never proposed an alliance before, why would I risk any of my men to help you? You must know that the Chicago Outfit are dangerous.”

            “Because you’re the only one in Boston who has a feud with them, you would want an opportunity to raise hell, and I would pay you.” Kate knew that talking to gang leaders was never easy. She tended to get right to the bottom line to skip all the fanfare they were so fond of.

            “I’m a wealthy man, Kate, why would I need your money?” He adjusted his cufflinks almost as an example.

            “What else would you want?”

 ~~~

            “That’s where the deal came in. He killed the man who killed my mother. But when the deadline came, I didn’t have enough money. One of my shipments fell through and I lost a lot of money. I begged Santo to give me more time but he refused.”

            Tommy couldn’t help the instinctual anger he felt when Santo’s name was brought up. It only minorly distracted him from the bewildering story Kate was telling him.

            “I left before he could get me and ended up in France.”

            “And that’s where I come in,” Tommy mumbled quietly.

            “Yeah.” Her voice was almost at a whisper. Kate was terrified of what he would say to her.

            But he didn’t speak for a long while. He kept his arm around her, absent-mindedly rubbing her shoulder.

            “Say something, please.” She begged.

            “I don’t know what to say, Kate.” He finally spoke. “I just-I don’t know if it changes anything but I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me.”

            Kate felt like breaking down and just curling into a ball. Hardly anyone knew her true story. If she trusted anyone to hear it, Tommy would be high up on that list. But it was still agonizing to open up her old wounds. “Because when I went to France, I vowed to put it all behind me. I didn’t want to be that person again not after what happened to my mother. But then you came into my life and…” She put a hand to her face. “I don’t know I just thought you might be my ticket out.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “You made me feel safe. And if I had to go back to what I was doing before then I trusted you would be able to keep me safe. Especially if Santo ended up finding me.” She tried to explain as best she could. “But I still wanted to be rid of my past so that’s why I lied. Maybe I just didn’t want to admit what I’d done.”     

            Tommy wasn’t sure what else he could say. Perhaps she had a reason for lying to him. Maybe it was enough that she wanted to put her past behind her. Sometimes, Tommy wished he could just step away from it all and resume a new life. Start off on a clean slate without any debts. But the world didn’t work that way. Kate was now figuring that out.

            “I didn’t think I would fall in love with you. I didn’t even plan on staying in Birmingham that long. I had no problem lying because…your family was just another step in the road. But…then I-I fell in love with you and I just didn’t know how to tell you the truth. The longer I waited, the harder it got.” Weary from all the emotions she’d gone through in those past months, she slumped forward over her knees, holding her hands to her face. “I don’t want to be just another person who lied to you.”

            “C’mere.” He helped her sit upright so he could cradle her in his arms. “What we have is real, aye? It doesn’t have anything to do with what happened in America. The only thing I care about is what happens between us here.”

            Kate buried her face in the crook of his neck. She wanted him to push her away, to look at her with disgust and hatred. She wanted him to hate her for the things she’d done.

            But he held her close and kissed her hair. “It’s done, yeah? You’re coming home, you leave all of it behind.”

            “Tom, I lied to everyone. I put them at risk I-” She couldn’t say it, but she felt worse than Grace. She had lied for longer than Grace had. She had condemned Grace for lying, yet Kate had been lying all along as well.

            “Leave it behind, Kate.” He urged. “You can leave it behind.”

He looked over her shoulder, still processing everything she’d told him. Kate was right, he was blind when it came to the people, he was closest to. So distrustful of the world, but those who had his heart were above suspicion.

            They sat there for a long while, sitting with everything said and just getting used to being in each other’s company again.

            “How is the rest of the family?” Kate asked quietly, finally lifting her head, able to meet his eyes again. “Have they been alright?”

            He took a deep breath. Time for some of his own admission of guilt. “They’re all in prison and they’ve been sentenced to hang.”

//I hope this format was okay to follow. I just didn’t want it to be one huge text block of Kate explaining everything. 

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Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[queenofcats17]

Can we have a Norman x Sammy date?

Oh, absolutely.

—————————————————————

Norman was going to an opera.

He wasn’t really an opera kind of person, but Sammy had really wanted to see this performance, as Jack had so slyly mentioned.

“He’d be so excited if someone got him tickets to that performance.”

“Hm?” Norman snapped back to reality, looking over to where Jack was sitting. Jack had asked if he could hang out with Norman in the projection booth for a bit and Norman, consumed with trying to figure out something to do for his and Sammy’s first anniversary, had been distracted enough that he didn’t mind the company.

“I said that Sammy would be so excited if someone got him tickets to next month’s performance of The Magic Flute,” Jack repeated.

Norman stared at him for a moment or two, the wheels turning in his head.

“Tell me more,” he said, taking the pad of paper he kept on his desk to write down the details.

“It’s a performance of The Magic Flute by Mozart,” Jack explained. “This specific one is special because of some famous singers who’ll be performing.” He listed a few long Italian names that Norman recognized as singers Sammy admired for their range and technique. Although Norman had trouble remembering said names, he could recognize them.

He noted down the details of where the performance was being held and when so that he could get tickets.

“It’s not going to be too long, is it?” He asked, looking up at Jack. “I’m not usually much of an opera person.” He was willing to try if it was something Sammy was excited about, but he didn’t want to end up miserable. Sammy would end up feeling bad if that happened.

“It’s one of the shorter ones,” Jack reassured him. “Although, it is still 3 hours long.”

“Eh, that’s not too bad.” Norman shrugged, tucking the pad away. “Thanks for the suggestion.”

“You’re very welcome.” Jack nodded, then went back to his song-writing.

.

Getting the tickets proved to be a bit of an ordeal. Due to the famous performers, tickets were in high demand. When he arrived at the opera house to purchase the tickets, he found a veritable mob there, all after the same thing he was. He just barely managed to snag two tickets for him and Sammy.

The whole ordeal was worth it, though, when he presented the tickets to Sammy and got to see his boyfriend’s look of delight.

“How did you know?” Sammy asked, his whole face lighting up as he sprung to his feet and wrapped his arms around Norman.

“A little birdy told me you might like to go,” Norman replied.

“Jack?”

“Jack.”

They both shared a brief moment of laughter. Jack had been the one to push Norman to ask Sammy out in the first place, sick of watching the two of them pining after each other.

“I was honestly pulling a blank on what to do for our anniversary before he mentioned this,” Norman admitted. “I wanted it to be something special, but…”

“You weren’t sure what it could be?” Sammy gave him a knowing smirk.

“Yeah.” Norman laughed sheepishly.

Sammy laughed as well, pressing a kiss to Norman’s cheek. “Well, I’m happy for Jack’s meddling if it means I get to share this with you.”

“I’m sorry in advance if I don’t end up liking it,” Norman said as Sammy moved to sit down again. Sammy frowned, looking over at him in confusion.

“Why would you need to be sorry?” He asked.

“I don’t want to ruin your experience.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sammy scoffed, sitting down. “It’s alright if you don’t like it. Opera certainly isn’t for everyone, especially since it’s hardly ever in English. I’m just glad you want to go with me.” He glanced over at Norman again with a tender smile.

Norman felt his face beginning to get warm at the sight of Sammy’s gentle smile. He mumbled something and stumbled out. He didn’t want to distract Sammy for the whole day. They’d get yelled at by Joey for that.

.

As he’d predicted, Norman did not enjoy the opera. It was alright, but he didn’t really understand what was going on and couldn’t really get into it. It was worth it, though. Because Sammy spent the entire performance watching with wrapt attention. Every time he felt himself beginning to get bored or frustrated, he only needed to look over at Sammy to calm himself. He always felt so honored when he got to experience this fanboy side of Sammy, especially since most of the studio still thought of Sammy as some kind of ice king. It felt special that he got to see this adorably excitable side to him.

“What did you think?” Sammy asked him after the performance.

“I didn’t really understand what was going on,” Norman admitted sheepishly. “You were right about those singers, though. They’ve certainly got some serious range.”

“They do.” Sammy nodded sagely. “In any case, I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy it.” His smile fell a bit and he leaned against Norman’s shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Norman assured him, squeezing his hand. “I was just happy to spend time with you.”

Now it was Sammy’s turn to go red and mumble something. This only made Norman start to laugh. Sammy was so cute when he was flustered like this.

“It’s not funny!” Sammy sputtered, smacking Norman’s arm. Norman just laughed. Gods, he loved him.

[thecleverdame]

East of Nowhere - Year Three

Sam x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary:  You and Sam are strangers trapped in a desolate mountain town where you live alone, isolated from the outside world, for five years.

Warnings: language, violence, smut, talk of past trauma

Words: 7k

Beta:  ilikaicalie  

This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<<

-

Two Years, Three Weeks

Sex changes things.

You’ve forgotten what it feels like to bask in the glow of a new relationship. The two of you find yourselves in the golden hour when everything is new and exciting, all the previous mundane events of the day seem suddenly thrilling. Now that Sam feels free to touch you, he does so without abandon and his hands seem more present than they did before, squeezing your shoulders at the table before taking a seat across from you, grinning as he nudges your bare feet with his own under the table. It’s glorious, the way one night changed everything about the way you interact. You feel a tingle when he walks into the room, blushing when he catches you looking at him.

For a while everything else is forgotten, research and books and plants are shoved to the back of your brain because you can’t think about anything but Sam and the feeling is mutual. You fuck anywhere and everywhere you can because why the hell not? It’s one of the few perks of being Shadow Hill’s only two residents. This world is yours and yours alone so Sam eats you out as you’re spread over the counter in the hardware store and you suck on his cock in the Beatrice Thurman Memorial Rose Garden.

He can’t get enough of you, he loves the way you crawl into his lap mid day, setting his books aside as you paw at the zipper of his jeans. He watches you shimmy your panties down your legs, so eager to have him inside you that it feels like dream. He gets so hard watching you ride him, moving slowly up and down on his cock, squeezing your own nipples between your fingers and moaning his name. There’s nothing better than making love in the middle of the day when your face isn’t hidden in the dark of a nighttime bedroom and he gets to watch you come, shaking with your mouth twisted in pleasure as you pulse around him.

The two of you get lost in each other and for better or worse, nothing else matters.

Two Years, Four Months

Sam lays with his eyes closed, sprawled out on a blanket spilling out over the soft, green lawn of the library. One hand’s thoughtfully tucked under his head, the other resting with fingers spread across his chest. From the top of the hill, there’s a breathtaking view of the town, but right now he’s not concerned with sweeping scenery, but he’s enjoying a moment of levity where his mind drifts away from his normal thoughts and somewhere much more freeing. He lets himself imagine this could last, this content, warm feeling that seems to fit him surprisingly well.

You move beside him, the familiar sound of a turning book page as the sun slips from behind a cloud, warmth growing over his entire body. Your arm is touching the bend of his elbow and the small contact is immensely comforting as a constant reminder that you’re here, you’re his, and he’s not alone.

Cracking open one eye, he watches you twirl the stem of a sunflower while intensely focused on a worn copy of ‘Botany for Gardeners’ as if you haven’t already read it ten times over.

The two of you walked hand in hand from the house, taking your sweet time, making the long trek to your favorite spot just outside the library, the one you used to hate. Sam meanders with a bag full of blankets, wine and sandwiches slung over his shoulder, his other hand holding yours, fingers entwined, palm to palm.

You both see the summer flowers in full bloom. You see the popping colors as a life beginning, so robust to come back season after season. Sam sees them as beautiful, but transitory, soon to wither and die as the seasons change. As the sky turns blue and the sun shines down, you turn your face to the warmth, a happy smile glowing upward like a plant reaching for the sun. Sam comments that he should have put on sunscreen. He used to be the eternal optimist, but he’s not sure when he relinquished his title.

“You’ve got to learn to relax Sam, enjoy a moment every now and then without worrying about what could be,” you say quietly.

So here he is, belly up on the grass with his legs spread wide as he shuts his eyes again. For the first time, possibly in his life, Sam allows himself to be happy; for the happiness to sink right into his bones. He wants this feeling to last, to recall this moment when he’s old and gray. He tries to savor this, picturing your hand clasped around the flower and smiling at him, soft and easy. Sam’s body and mind relax in a way so foreign that, in this moment there are no expectations, no books or spells or research. No desperation to get out of this place.

The way he feels is something he never thought he’d find. Even with Jess, when things were good in the world and his old life was looming, there was always a threat of it spilling in at any moment and shattering the fragile world he created…but not now. At this moment, in this place, there is only sunshine and happiness and you. I don’t want to wait any longer, he thinks.

“I love you,” Sam murmurs, surprising himself. He opens his eyes, watching as you close your book and turn to him. For a moment, he can’t read your expression, but like clockwork, a wash a joy spreads across your face as your eyes dart to his. It could be the sun, but he thinks the pink flush in your cheeks is new.

You prop yourself up on an arm so that you’re hovering above him. He reaches up and tucks a piece of rogue hair behind your ear as you gaze over him. Sam could live for moments like this, the way you say so much with just your eyes.

“You make me so happy,” you whisper as if it’s a secret only meant for him. “I love you, too.”

Two Years, Six months, One Week

Sam needs control.

It starts with his fitness routine. As far as you know, he’s always maintained a healthy lifestyle. Eating well and working out are part of your daily lives, but over the last six months, he’s really become intensely regimented in a new routine.

“What else are we going to do?” he shrugs emerging from the basement, hair soaked in sweat.

Every morning like clockwork, he’s in that basement lifting weights, followed by push ups, pull ups, sit ups and any variation of ‘ups’ you can think of. Some days it’s an hour, other days more and that’s all before he rolls you out of bed for a run.

He says he likes it when you join him, but you’re not entirely convinced he would notice if you fell behind. Sam’s in a race with himself, everyday, pushing like he’s training for a marathon.

You’re not complaining, he’s becoming visibly more muscular as the days turn into months. His shoulders a little wider, his back flexing in a not-unpleasant way when you’re in the shower. His insistence on daily jogs has benefited you as well, you’ve dropped a couple dress sizes and your butt is looking pretty damn good, if you do say so yourself.

It’s not just the exercise, your weekly pasta consumption drops dramatically because he’s focused on a balanced diet, as he would say, “It’s all about fueling our bodies.”

It dawns on you one day as you watch him doing squats in the backyard from your bedroom window, that this is all about control; or lack thereof.

You think back on all the stories he’s told you, amazing tales of heroism mixed with family drama that all involve Sam having to put his own wants and needs aside. Things happen to Sam, but rarely has he had the privilege of being the master of his own destiny, least of all in Shadow Hill. This place must be such a contradiction for him, a world where he can do anything he wants, except leave.

Two Years, Seven Months

Before you met Sam, ‘Hell’ was a fierce word, but not much more than that. A word to threaten children if they were naughty, a word to send shivers down a spine. The fiery demons whose barbed tails coiled and snapped, their whips sharp, their horns like mighty rocks thrusting from their heads, wings reaching far and wide to swallow the man that dare stand before them.

As a child, your mother spun an elaborate tale. Hell was not for ordinary sins. It wasn’t for the parents who lost their tempers in frustration while struggling under the stresses of life. It was not for the mentally ill or those too damaged to know right from wrong. Hell was reserved for those who knew their actions were wrong and acted on them regardless, enjoying the anguish of others and taking what was not rightfully theirs. It was a shock for the elite bankers and weekly churchgoers of the world to be lined up with the psychopaths, though their victims were many times more numerous than the worst of the serial killers. Each one was lead to a rock and told to sit before the floor around them vanished entirely, as did the light, the air and sound. The only thing left was the rock, themselves and a journal with a pen. They were to write about their lives, and as they did so, the pain they had knowingly inflicted would travel up the pen and into their bodies. Most dropped their pen only for another to appear. There was only one way out of hell…

When you were little, this all seemed plausible to you. Even when you grew up and doubted the very existence of such a laughable idea, her words always lingered: There was only one way out of hell…

Sitting across from Sam as the sun sets behind the trees, you wish her version was the real one. You’re tucked into a window booth at the front of Anthony’s Italian Cafe, sipping whiskey and listening as Sam confess things that happen down there, things that make you want to crawl out of your own skin. You keep your poker face, not wanting him to know that it phases you. Sam needs to know you won’t see him as different now that he’s told you and you’re determined to be the person he needs, regardless of the nausea stirring in your gut.

“That wasn’t even the worst part,” Sam looks out the window, avoiding your stare. He swirls his glass and takes a stiff sip.

“How could it possibly get worse than that?” you ask, shaking your head in disbelief.

“When I got out of the pit…it’s a relief that I can’t put into words. I broke, I gave up and then suddenly I was given another chance.” He squints, examining his knuckles, then looks back to you, “I didn’t know what was real anymore. For a long time, I wasn’t sure if I really escaped or I was trapped there and it was all an illusion, like I would wake up at any moment and the pain and despair would be right there again. I couldn't enjoy anything because it was this looming threat, always there. That fear is what almost killed me; I don’t ever want to let it control me like that again.”

You slide a half melted cube of ice from your glass, crunching it as you muse aloud. “It’s not always bad. Fear is an important part of being human, Sam, it’s the precursor to bravery. We need it, it wakes us up to what needs to be done. I think keeping it inside is what gives it power.”

“I think you’re right,” he offers a tight smile and reaches across the table, squeezing your wrist with his long fingers.

“For the longest time, I was terrified of drowning, I hated going to the beach or to my cousin’s pool parties. When I was fifteen, maybe sixteen, my dad said it was time to conquer my fears. So, he made me take swimming lessons. It was a simple fix to something that controlled me for so long. He was right, too because once I knew I could swim, I could float, I wasn’t scared of the water anyone. Who knows, maybe it was the lessons or maybe I just grew up and figured out there were a lot of other, more significant things to be worried about.” You smile to yourself thinking of your father, the way he smelled when he rocked you to sleep as a kid. When you look up, Sam’s just watching you thoughtfully, “So Sam, tell me, what is your biggest fear?”

He blinks, chuckling to himself before resting his forearms on the table in front of him, as if he’s leaning in to tell you secret. He looks from his glass to you, scrunching his nose.“That I’ll never see Dean again,” he pauses, his lip curling up over his teeth, “or that one day I’m gonna wake up you’ll be gone and I’ll be alone. I ah….I’m petrified of both.”

“You’re gonna see your brother again and I’m not going anywhere,” you say firmly, as if your intent can make it so.

“What about you?” he sits back against the booth, “Come on, spill it. I told you mine.”

“My fear,” you hesitate, rocking on your hips. You’ve never said it out loud before. “I’m afraid that there’s nothing after this, no afterlife; that one day, I’ll close my eyes and everything will go dark…and that’s all she wrote. No memories of you, no pearly gates, just black nothingness.”  

“Well,” Sam clinks the bottle against his glass as he pours himself a refill, “I can tell you with absolute certainty that there is something. I don’t know what exactly, but it’s something.”

You push out your bottom lip, considering his confirmation, “I just wish I could make myself believe that.”

Two Years, Seven Months, Two Weeks

“I can’t find my sneakers, the grey ones,” Sam leans over and kisses your cheek from behind, grabbing an orange from the bowl on the counter as you turn to face him.

“They smelled like a locker room, I washed them and put them out on the patio to dry,” you gesture out the sliding glass door just off the dining area where Sam’s shoes are neatly lined up and visible through the glass.

“You’re the best,” Sam comments as he retrieves them and sits down at the table to put them on. “Out of all the women in this town, I’m lucky I ended up with you.”

He’s making a joke, but it doesn’t sit right with you from the instant the words leave his mouth. Forcing a smile, you go back to peeling apples, “Two runs in one day, someone’s ambitious.  Are they even dry?” you point to his Nike’s with the peeler.

“They’re fine, I just have a lot of energy. I figured I might as well put it to good use.”

Your gut reaction is to make a sly comment about saving that energy for the bedroom, but you swallow that urge. “Be careful.”

“I promise,” Sam leans in for another kiss, this one at your temple as he casually swats you on the butt. “I’ll be an hour, tops.”

His joke replays in your head as you knead the dough for the pie crust: “Out of all the women in this town, I’m lucky I ended up with you.” Sam didn’t mean anything when he said it, your logical mind knows that, but the idea plants itself somewhere deep in your brain and lies dormant, waiting to pop up again.

Doubt is a lot like hope in that it can build on itself; all it takes is for a single thought to worm it’s way inside and find a place to grow. You think of it as a weed, an unwanted growth that you find yourself incapable of pruning. Instead of holding it at bay, you let it take over, overshadowing the good and strangling it until the garden of your mind is completely consumed. The little sliver of doubt jets out at the most inopportune times, on a mission to poison each interaction just a little more. It bothers you for months, making you over analyze every conversation until one night you can’t hold it in anymore.

Two Years, Ten Months

You’ve been reading the same paragraph for thirty minutes, the words becoming an unrecognizable jumble. It’s midday on a Saturday (you’re pretty sure at least) and this is your routine.  Sam’s sitting beside you nose deep in a copy of IQ84.

“Sam,” you gently close your book, wedging it between the cushion and the arm of the couch.

“Yeah,” he responds without looking up.

“Can I ask you something?” You try to cover up the crack in your voice, but he knows. Sam’s eyes flicker from the pages to you.

“Or course, you can ask me anything,” he responds simply.

“Well,” you sit up a bit straighter, “I was just thinking, hypothetically, if we had met some other time and place, in the outside world, do you think we’d be together? And don’t just say yes, I want you to think about it.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, clearing his throat and setting the novel on the coffee table. He now understands, it’s going to be that kind of conversation.

“Why are you asking me this?” He leans back, his hand coming to rest on the back of the couch as if he’s settling in for the long haul.

“Because I just,” you stumble, “I’ve been thinking about it.”

Sam is quiet, trying to carefully select his next words because he’s not stupid. He’s well aware that this is a delicate moment. When he finally does speak, your heart drops. “No, I don’t think we’d be together.”

You’re unable to contain your expression, “What do you umm-”

“I’m not done, I’ve thought about this, too so you have to let me explain.” Sam places his hand on your knee reassuringly. “I don’t think, after all the shit I’ve been through, that I would have even given us the chance to work. I would like you, I knew I liked you immediately. Yeah, maybe we would have hooked up, if I was lucky, but in my life before this, I wouldn’t have had the time or the opportunity to fall in love.”

“So, you fell in with love me because we’re stuck here together, we’ve got all the time in the world, and I’m the only option?” you snip, your hackles raised as displeasure draws your lips into a pucker.

“That’s not what I said,” Sam bawks, now painfully aware that he’s stumbled into a minefield.

“I’m just clarifying. Before Shadow Hill, I wouldn’t have been an option, but since we might be the last two people on the fucking planet, you decided to give it the good old college try?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Sam backtracks, a hint of anger rising. “But, now that you mention it, I do think it’s a pretty natural impulse to want to be together, especially when we’re all there is.”

He makes the regretful mistake of giving into the part of him that wants to hurt you with logic. He’s not sure where this is coming from, but a large part of him resents your implications because he’s tried his best to open with you, probably more so than he’s ever been with anyone else, ever.

“So, if instead of me there was some other woman, let’s say….Amelia, and you were trapped here with her, you’d play house with her, too?” It’s not a fair question, the basic premise coupled with the fact that you brought up Amelia, but you say the words regardless.

“That is a totally ridiculous scenario,” Sam quips, running his hand over his face in frustration.

“Why? We ended up here. Answer my question, Sam.”

“In a version of reality where I never met you and I ended up stranded with Amelia for three years, then yes. We would probably be together.” Sam ticks his jaw, wishing he could take back his words. The look on your face is not one he’s seen before, the corners of your mouth falling as a hollow stare blinks back at him.

“Well,” you look at the palms of your hands, teeth biting at your bottom lip.

“Y/N, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay Sam, I asked,” you interrupt, avoiding eye contact as you stand.

“Baby, sit back down,” he tries to grab your arm, but you slink out of reach.

“It’s fine. I presented you with a ludicrous situation and you answered me honestly. We’re fine…I’m gonna go for a walk before I say or ask anything else…but for the record I never want to be your choice because I’m all there is.”

Sam lets you walk away, closing his eyes as the front door closes with a click. “Fuck,” he howls, picking up his book and throwing it across the room where it hits the wall and flutters to the ground.

Two Years, Ten Months, One Week

It’s strange and frightening how you can go from someone being a complete stranger, to being so utterly entwined with them that you wonder how it ever was that you were able to live without them, because you sure as hell couldn’t imagine being without Sam now.

The following week is difficult for you both. You find your confidence shaken and incapable of repairing it. Sam tiptoes around like you’re made of glass and it only serves to exacerbate the distance growing between you. You lay awake at night pretending to sleep, eat your meals in virtual silence, and wonder if this is exactly why you shouldn’t have given in to your attraction in the first place.

Coming back from an afternoon at the hot house, you proceed directly to the shower, letting warm water wash away your worries, if only for a moment. Stepping out onto the rug and reaching for a towel, you see a note taped to your foggy mirror, your name in  Sam’s distinct handwriting.

Naked and wet, you forgo the towel, peel the piece of paper off, and read the note written on the inside.

Meet me in front of the movie theater at eight.

-Sam

It’s a simple request and you suppose that you could simply not go, but in reality, you’re tired of letting this feeling of inadequacy control your life. Sam said something that hurt you, but if you’re honest with yourself, you know that he’s not the only one who’s used painful words. You’re not even really sure if you buy into this pet theory about Sam and the desperation of the human imperative, but you don’t care anymore.

You don’t want to be alone in this place. You don’t want to be without him, no matter what the circumstances. And you definitely don’t want to give into whatever self-sabotage your subconscious has planned.

–

You stand nervously under the overhang on the sidewalk in front of the cinema, waiting for a sign from Sam.  It’s not exactly raining, but more of a light drizzle falls as a light breeze picks at the hem of your floral dress and dances around your knees.

“You look beautiful,” Sam’s voice startles you, as you turn to find him standing before you in a suit, fingers smoothing his tie.

“I was afraid I might be overdressed, but… you look handsome,” you smile, gesturing toward him. “Sam I just wanna say that-”

“Stop, we can talk in a minute,” he steps forward, taking you by the hand and pulling you down the sidewalk into the adjacent building. He leads you inside and the door slams shut behind you and it’s pitch black. You walk carefully until he stops you with hands on your hips.

“Stay right here,” he whispers.

“What are we doing?” you question, stranded in the dark until Sam flips a switch. Lights that look like small stars illuminate the ceiling, giving the effect of being outside under the nighttime heavens. You realize you’re standing in the middle of the Shadow Hill Roller Rink, the hardwood floor beneath you bringing back childhood memories of painfully falling on your ass during many a skating party. You grin watching Sam jog from the lights to a small booth where he’s fiddling with something. “I hope we’re not skating because I’ve never been good on four wheels and in this dress…”

“Not tonight,” he grins, glancing up and quickly then back to whatever he’s doing. There’s a moment of static over the loudspeaker and then the first strains of Ella Fitzgerald singing ‘Moonlight Serenade’ fill the room. Sam saunters toward you, pleased with the look on your face. He takes you into his arms and you both begin to sway slowly.

“I had a whole thing planned, dinner in the park under the stars, but it’s raining so this will have to do.”

“This is my favorite song,” you sigh, resting your head on his shoulder as you dance slowly.

“I know,” he rests his chin on the top of your head.

You did tell him, but it takes you a moment to recall exactly when. You’d been here maybe three months and you were telling him about Jack. You’d been a little drunk and told him about how thoughtful Jack was and how he always made these grand romantic gestures that were amazing, but not really what you wanted. Sam had asked you then what is was you were hoping for. You sipped your beer and told him all you ever really wanted was to dance under the stars to Ella Fitzgerald…to this song.

That was almost three years ago.

You lift your head and meet Sam’s gaze, staring down at you with a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. There are tears suddenly pooling at the corners of your eyes as your heart swells in your chest, “You remembered.”

“How could I forget,” he continues to rock gently side to side as he tucks your hair behind your ear, “I remember everything you’ve ever said to me.”

“Sam-” you start, a fat tear rolling down your cheek.

He places a finger at your lips, “I’ve been in love with you since before we laid in the middle of main street and watched the stars.”

You feel dizzy, drunk on him in this perfect moment where Sam seems like the whole world. “I love you, too.” You’re not sure you actually said words until he smiles, dipping his head to kiss you softly, the press of his lips warm and fleeting as he pulls back.

“It’s not just this place, I’d love you anywhere, my heart would know. You’ll always be my first choice, there’s no one else.” He spins you around, his movements slowing, but not stopping as he cups your face with a hand, his other arm around your waist holding you close. “I’m going to spend in the rest of my life with you, whether it’s here or back in the real world, it doesn’t matter. I don’t have to wonder, because I already know how this ends. It ends with us together.”

“Sam, I…” there’s a million things you want to say, but in this moment, you can’t form coherent thoughts as another tear slides down you face, wiped away by his thumb as he cradles your jaw. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m not done, I might make you cry even more. I don’t want to wait any longer to start living.” He grins, a hint of nervous excitement pounding in his chest as he reaches down fishes in his pocket. He’s still holding you against him as he brings his hand between the two of you, a small diamond ring between his fingers. “All I want is to grow old with you.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?” You have to clarify because you brain is buzzing, unable to fully process.

“Yes,” he hums quietly, dropping his forehead to yours, closing his eyes as if he can’t stand to wait for the answer.

“It ends with us together,” you repeat his words back to him, letting the feeling sink in. “You and me no matter what, huh?”

“Always.” Your heart feels like it might explode as he slips the ring on your finger. Sam takes your hand, kissing your palm then your lips, just as soft as before, lingering as you slide your fingers through his hair.

The song on the speakers begins to play again as you place your head on his chest as you sway to the music, “How does this work?”

“It works however we want it to,” you feel him shrug, his cheek pressed into your temple, “we make our own rules now.”

Three Years

It seems like it’s always raining.

The storm has been brewing on the cold horizon, promising nothing but winds to level even the mightiest of trees to the ground. The noon darkness and damp-smelling air showed up hours before the actual storm. You don’t hate the thunderstorms as much as you used to, now it just seems like a good excuse to curl up in bed.

“What are you reading?” Sam intrudes, the bed dipping next to you.  

“It’s Agatha Christie, Murder at the Vicarage.”

“Is it good?” He plucks the book from your hands and bends the page before setting it on the nightstand.

“Hey, I was right at a good part!” You protest weakly, unable to hide a grin as he gets on his hand and knees on either side of your legs.

“I have something very important to discuss with you.” He slides his arms between you and the mattress, pulling you under his body with a quick flex of his arms.

“Oh yeah?” You reach up, tucking hair behind his ear as he hovers above you. Sam gazes down, eyes full of affection as he turns his head to the palm of your hand, your fingers playing at the line of his jaw. “This conversation requires you to be on top of me?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckles, settling his hips between your thighs. “You have a big decision to make…” his voice trails off as he runs his hands up the outside of your legs, starting at your knees until he find his way under your silk nightgown. You lift your butt off the bed, just enough to let him bunch the nightie up around your waist, leaving your gray lace panties exposed.

“A decision you say, do I get to know my choices?” Your breath hastens as he moves down your body, pressing a kiss at the edge of your panties, his lips half touching skin.

Sam looks at you, his eyes simmering behind half closed lids, “Maybe, it’s a hard choice. You’ll have to really think about it.” He hooks a finger in either side of your underwear and slides them down your legs, tossing them to the floor.

“I’m a smart girl, I can handle it,” you shimmy as he moves back up your body. He pauses for a moment to pull his own shirt over his head before removing your nightgown, where it joins the pile of clothes at the side of the bed. “And now I’m naked, I always think better when I’m naked.”

“You’ve always been an excellent problem solver.” He purrs as your legs fall apart, he’s still wearing sweatpants and you can feel his erection grinding through the material. Sam rests his weight over you, propping his elbows on either side of your head, while your hard nipples press up into his warm, welcome chest. “You ready for your options?”

“I’ve been training for this,” your comment elicits a full laugh, his shoulders shaking.

“Do you want me to fuck you, or eat you out, first?” He nips at your jaw, his words tugging at all the right corners of your mind. You feel the excitement shoot downward, coiling between your legs.

“While the latter is tempting, I think I want you to fuck me first.” His tongue darts out licking at the hollow of your throat, his hips rolling into you as his covered cock rubs over your naked sex.

“How do you want me to fuck you? Like this or maybe from behind?” His mouth trails up the other side of your neck, sucking your earlobe into his mouth.

You groan, wiggling under him, “I wanna be on top, I want to ride your cock.”

Sam pulls back, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he looking playfully over your face. “Tsk Tsk, it wasn’t a choice, but I’m flexible, so I’ll accept a write-in answer.”

He kisses you, soft and slow, his tongue pushing past your lips and twirling shallow inside your mouth. Tipping your head to the side, you moan, widening your jaw giving him full access. You slide a hand up his back cupping over his shoulders, pulling him down into you. Wedging his hands under you, he cups your ass, grinding over your now wet center.

His lips don’t leave yours as his fingers find your breast, rolling a hardened nipple before pinching with just the right amount of pressure that makes you buck under him.

You exhale, arching your neck as his mouth travels south until you feel his mouth close around your nipple, sucking hard again and again, just the way you like it. He’s had enough practice at this point, he knows how to touch you in subtle ways that elicit unconscious reactions.

His mouth pops off one breast and moves to the other, finding the pert bud and paying it the same attention.

That’s when you hear it, a soft sound that’s out of place. It registers somewhere in the back of your mind but you’re distracted as his large hard-on moves between your bodies, then brushes over your clit.

“Sam,” you hiss his name, grabbing his hair in a small fist. He strokes between your lips, finding you wet and eager as he pushes two fingers inside, his thumb pressing your sweet little bundle of nerves.

You hear it again, a shuffle and this time it plucks your mind from the erotic haze.

“Sam,” you whisper his name again, only this time it’s laced with apprehension. He feels your body go unnaturally stiff and his mouth releases your nipple with a wet pop as his finger stills where it’s been moving in little strokes over your clit.

“What’s wrong, did I hurt you?” he pants, concerned as he shifts his weight off of you and onto his arms.

“Listen,” you murmur, placing a finger to his lips.

He scrunches his forehead quizzically and pauses, this time you both hear it, a rustle coming from the hallway.

Now it’s time for his body to fall rigid, as he turns his head toward the doorway. “Don’t move,” he mouths silently.

There’s a sound like one of the other bedroom doors opening and then footsteps. Footsteps clear as day clicking across the hardwood floor. Your eyes go wide with fear, Sam rolls off you and the bed in a heartbeat. The footfalls pick up as whoever it is runs down the hallway, then begins descending the stairs to the first floor.

“Stay here,” Sam booms, sliding open the drawer of the nightstand and retrieving a handgun. He’s out of the room in a split second and you’re only a moment behind, stopping to pick up his discarded shirt and struggle to pull it over your head as you follow.

He stops momentarily at the bottom of the stairs where you catch up to him, placing a hand on his back as you peek around his body. The front door is wide open, sheets of heavy rain cascading down and now blowing into your living room.

“I told you to stay upstairs,” he hisses.

“I didn’t listen,” you shake your head adamantly.

He moves forward and so do you, jogging out of the house into the warm summer rain. The shirt you’re wearing is soaked through in seconds, clinging to the curves of your body. Sam jogs out to the middle of the street, standing shirtless in sweatpants.

“Come here,” Sam gestures, raising his arm and pulling you to his chest. His wet hair flops into his eyes and he lowers the gun, looking in every direction. “There was someone in the house, I saw-”

Your world goes black.

::

You wake up lying side by side on a neatly made bed. Sam first, confused and shaking, wearing nothing but a pair of rain soaked track pants. He panics for a moment, but all he needs to do is turn his head to find you.

“Hey Y/N,” he shakes your arm. He’s trying to reason why you’re naked except for his shirt that’s tangled around your torso leaving your lower half completely exposed with legs fallen open. “Baby, come on, wake up.”

You blink in the dark as your eyes adjust. The first sensations are cold and damp as Sam’s familiar hand grips the ball of your shoulder.

“What happened?” you rub your eyes, lifting the wet material away from your skin.

“I don’t know,” he looks just as confused as you are, “my head is throbbing.”

“Mine, too.” You press a hand at your temple, “Did we get drunk?”

“Maybe…I don’t think so. I can’t remember.” He runs a hand through his hair looking from side to side as if the answer might be hidden in the room.

Propping yourself up you gaze down at your own bare stomach, and below that your neatly trimmed strip of pubic hair. “Well, I don’t have any panties on, so maybe we got drunk and decided to have sex…in the spare bedroom.”

Sam looks bewildered, “Yeah, this isn’t even our room, huh….I have no idea.”

“Sam,” you start but don’t really have the words to finish. None of this feels right. Something happened, something neither of you have any recollection of, “why are we wet?”

He just shakes his head, unable to even begin to find answers with his head pounding. His eyes narrow with concern as you shiver. “Let’s get dressed.”

–

Ten minutes later you’re sitting in the kitchen as Sam pours you a cup of coffee. The clock on the stove is blinking back numbers that say it’s nearing 5 am.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” he questions, handing you two aspirin.

“We were eating lunch, then we took a walk downtown.” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to remember. There’s a frenzy building in your chest making it harder and harder to breathe. “Why can’t I remember? That’s fifteen hours completely unaccounted for.”

“Whatever it was, it happened to both of us.” His words are no comfort as you feel a full panic attack twitching to life. Your heart is beating fast, too fast. You try taking deeper breaths, but it feels like you can’t get enough air in your lungs. “

“I can’t breathe,” you sputter, your vision starting to blur at the edges.

“Hey, hey, hey. You’re okay, I’m right here,” Sam’s on his knees in front of you, a hand on each of your arms, “we’re gonna figure it out. I promise.”

-

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[hazelnmae]

Lies Travel Faster: Chapter Five

Summary: Sophia Murphy’s life seems to be on the upswing when she takes a job with Birmingham’s notorious Shelby Company Ltd. But when she falls for her boss, CEO and ruthless gangster, Tommy Shelby, she finds herself wrapped up in a tangled web of danger and deceit. After all, lies travel faster than the truth.

Tags: Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character; Tommy/Assistant Trope (it’s a hill I’ll die on)

Warnings: angst; smut (in future chapters); violence; language; rape/non-con; death

CHAPTER 5 (read Chapter 4 or start at the beginning with Chapter 1)

Tommy watched her rush out of the pub, but fought the urge to follow after her. Clearly she was escaping something.

He looked to the table where Sohpie had been sitting with his aunt and sister. Ada had already moved on to another conversation with some man standing in the corner, but Polly met his eyes when Tommy turned in her direction. She gave him a knowing look and just shrugged her shoulders.

Placing his drink on the bar and grabbing his jacket off the stool, Tommy headed out after her. Sophie shouldn’t be alone in a dark alley, even on their own turf, not with Changretta’s men lurking about. She could get her peace and quiet somewhere else.

“Where’d Sophie get to?” Arthur asked as he brushed passed, but Tommy just ignored him. A sickening feeling rose in his stomach as he hurried toward the door.

He pushed it open to find the alley deserted. No one, not even a lousy drunk from the pub, occupied the street. He saw no immediate sign of her. He called her name quietly and got no answer. But as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw it. A glint of something metal reflecting from a few feet away.

It was the revolver he’d given her.

He tried to control the terrible scenarios that began to play in his head. He pushed down the stories she'd told him, what'd happened to her before--Luca's cousins. He began to panic, turning in circles, looking for anything to ground him.

Then he spotted her cigarette case. Her purse, a few more feet away, it’s contents strewn about leading him down the alley and toward the road.

But no Sophie.

Sophie was gone

_______________

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, looking out of the window and hoping she’d have a chance to make a run for it.

“I told you, we’re going for a ride. I just want to have a little chat,” Luca answered, moving his hand to her thigh.

She recoiled at his touch, disgusted. Not again, she thought. Not another fucking Changretta. Not again. Bile rose in her throat and she felt herself on the verge of choking. She felt the blood drain from her face, fully prepared to faint.

“Tsk, tsk,” Luca responded, satisfied to put her in her place. “I don’t play with my food before a meal. Besides, I wouldn’t want Tommy Shelby’s leftovers.”

She opened her mouth to correct him but thought better of it. As long as he thinks I'm with Tommy, he won't touch me.

“So, what is it you want to chat about?” She asked, trying to control the tremble in her voice.

Luca just looked her over, that condescending smile growing on his lips.

“Do you know who I am?” He asked.

Sophie nodded, pushing back the thoughts of his cousins. He seemed larger, but had similar features--frighteningly familiar, but also different. More controlled. More resolute on revenge. More dangerous.

“Good, good.” He removed the toothpick from his mouth and flicked it out the window then he tapped the driver on the shoulder, prompting him to pull over. He and the other man who’d abducted her let themselves out and moved to wait outside, leaning against a wall in the dark, just far enough to keep the car in view, but not so close that they would look suspicious.

Luca began to outline his plan.

She carefully controlled her breathing as she kept her head turned from him. She tried to focus on the men outside of the car. They laughed. They playfully shoved one another, their voices rising and falling as they cut up. She couldn’t understand what they said, both because of they spoke Italian and because the windows muffled their conversation; but she was certain they hadn’t thought twice about having just abducted a woman. They were part of the Changretta organization--surely it wasn’t the worst thing they’d done.

“Do we understand one another?” Luca asked her, after a few moments.

She just nodded, turning her head back to face him, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

He whistled, a cue that brought the men to the car and set them on course back toward the pub.

“Good. And don’t forget who you work for.”

_______________

Sophie hit the cobbled street before she could process that she’d actually been thrown from the car. A deafening ring hit hear ears as soon as she made contact with the ground, followed by a pounding that she only later realized was her own heartbeat. For a moment she couldn’t hear anything else. She remained in the position in which she’d landed--on her side with her knees pulled to her chest and her head tucked between them--too afraid to move. Her hands had instinctively rose to cover her head, although it’d hit the bricks anyway, the pain flooding her mind and blood flooding her hair.

That’s when she heard someone calling her name.

It was Tommy, his voice growing louder as he approached her. He must have slid on the ground beside her, because before she could even register his footsteps he had pulled her hands from her head and was searching her eyes.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sophie,” he said. “Are you alright?” He looked her over, but couldn't tell where the blood was coming from. Instinctively, he pulled her into his chest but Sophie's muscles wouldn’t relax.

“Arthur!” Tommy yelled back down the alley. “Arthur, get Polly!”

Tommy stood, scooping Sophie into his arms as he rose. Only then did she move her hands from her head to hold him tight, burying her face in his neck--his familiar scent of tobacco and leather the only thing that seemed to relax her.

Arthur made way for Tommy as he returned through the backdoor of The Garrison, Sophie wrapped up in his arms. He marched straight to the snug and sat her on the booth. The commotion in the pub was white noise to her--all Sophie could hear was the beating of her own heart and Tommy’s gentle and deep brum, although she couldn’t be sure what he was saying. Polly appeared with a wet cloth and began to wipe her face, but Sophie could barely see her. It was as if her vision had blurred--it was impossible to focus. John was yelling in the main room, trying to rid the pub of its customers, while Tommy, Polly, and Arthur fussed over Sophie. She couldn’t find the words to answer their onslaught of questions and instead dropped her head in her hands trying to hold back the tears.

That’s when Polly stood and ordered everyone out. Sophie needed space. She needed to calm down, to process, and she couldn’t do that with everyone hovering over her.

The two women sat in silence and after a few minutes Sophie’s heart rate and hearing returned to normal. She lifted her head to make eye-contact with Polly, who’s own eyes welled with tears. She pushed them back in her throat as she took Sophie’s hand.

“Who was it, Sophie?”

She hesitated, wondering if she should be truthful.

“We can’t help you if we don’t know, love,” Polly added

Sophie shook her head, ever so slightly, a gesture Polly would have missed if she hadn’t been watching so carefully.

“It's too late,” Sophie whispered.

“Luca Changretta?” Polly asked. But she didn't need an answer. She knew. “Did he-- Did he force himself on you?”

Sophie shook her head.

“Oh thank god,” Polly whispered, making the sign of the cross in response.

Then, quickly, as if talking would make it better, she added, “We’ll get you cleaned up, dear. You’ll stay with me at the Watery Lane house tonight. We can talk this through tomorrow. You’re probably exhausted.”

Sophie said nothing as Polly cleaned up the mess on the table and gathered their things. She listened to Polly go on about what they’d do to make it right, knowing very well there was nothing to be done. Either way, she appreciated the kindness.

Polly opened the door and motioned for John to fetch their coats. As he did, Tommy moved quickly toward the door, but Polly stopped him. He just watched her from the door frame. His heart breaking to watch her anguish.

“Not now,” was all Polly said and he backed down, letting them leave the pub with Ada in tow.

_____________

Tommy closed the door behind them and turned to face his brothers. They exchanged looks across the awkward silence, each one, no doubt, with their own ideas of what had transpired.

As he moved to light the cigarette hanging from his lips, he realized his hands were shaking. He couldn’t let Arthur and John see, so he quickly extinguished the match and placed his hands in his pockets.

He'd promised her. Told her he wouldn't let this happen. Assured her she'd be safe as long as she wore that revolver and stayed within earshot of the Peaky Blinders at all times. And now he'd failed her. Just like he'd failed so many others. Just like he'd failed Grace.

“Changretta?" John asked.

Tommy just nodded, holding the cigarette in its place. He took a long drag, removed the cigarette from his lips and tilted his face upward, toward the ceiling, closing his eyes.

“Fuck!” Arthur exclaimed.

“Let me at him,” John said, nostrils flaring.

Tommy snapped his head forward and pointed at John with his cigarette.

“No. When it’s time to put a bullet between his eyes it will be me who does it.”

_________________

Chapter 6

A shorter one today! I hope you enjoy it!

As always, your feedback is very much appreciated!!

XOXO

[drxbbles]

This little drabble idea originally came from another of my blogs forever ago and I only just got around to polishing it all off. Just some sinful public teasing underneath a dinner table during season two/Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventures. 

***

At first glance, the restaurant seemed like any other he had passed by while travelling. A quaint spot with a checkered tablecloth or two, candles in old bottles and a tavern-style bar tucked away, around the corner from the dining.

But then Rapunzel had bumped into some nice old ladies while stocking up on fruits for the caravan. And after hearing all the good feedback she insisted on skipping a campfire meal and buying dinner for their party of four. (Five, if you count Shorty who made himself at home on a bar stool with the kids menu.)

After all that excitement, and seeing her features light up as she scanned the menu and made her choice, Eugene was certain he’d never been in a nicer restaurant. Anything that had Blondie’s seal of approval worked for him.

“I cannot wait to try their chicken dish!” Rapunzel’s shoulders rose and fell as she watched their meals being brought over towards their booth. “I hear they use breadcrumbs and an Italian paste, and some cheese, and it’s so experimental!”

“And really healthy,” Cassandra remarked dryly, jerking her thumb towards the kitchen. “I’ll enjoy my usual salad and eggs, thank you very much.”

“Wow - cold, damp and a little runny? I never would’ve guessed,” Eugene hummed, before his knee bashed underneath the table and he flinched. “Ow!” The only thing stopping him from reaching down and rubbing his poor shin where it had suddenly been kicked was the smug look on Cass’s face.

“Having trouble, Fitzherbert?” she asked, knife and fork in each hand, waiting as a bowl of colourful… plant-matter, if he had to guess, was placed in front of her.

“Not at all,” he ground out, but it was as much for show as anything. A plate of hot food was placed before him and he thanked the waiter. A heartbeat was all it took for Lance to reach over and steal half of a potato.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“Correction - it was yours,” Lance said with gravitas, pushing the whole half into his mouth and humming with delight. “And ish good!”

“Thrilled for you,” Eugene muttered, pulling his plate just a little closer before shooting a helpless look at his radiant little girlfriend. “Next time can we leave the ‘kids’ at home?”

Rapunzel finished thanking the waiter in earnest before smiling playfully back. “Oh, Eugene. Relax - it’s a nice evening out. And it smells so good! How do you pronounce the dish again?”

“I don’t think it has a name, yet, Blondie,” he murmured. “But if I had to guess…” He summoned a few words of Italian - basic phrases for chicken and sauce and cheese, swallowing a bite of his beef as he made a gesture. “Some combination of those words.”

“Well, it sounds as fascinating as it looks,” Rapunzel insisted, picking up her knife and fork and cutting a bite-sized piece for herself.

“Raps - you think that of everything,” Cass declared. Eugene guessed it was a full moon out - it was one of the times, usually once a month at best, when he found himself agreeing with her.

Until he felt something pressing against his shin and he lost his train of thought. His brow creased as he stayed still, assuming it was just someone’s leg stretching out.

“Well, I really think it of this,” Rapunzel said, and the gentle pressure and lift as she spoke made it clear who was touching him under the table.

Not that there was many other candidates - she was sitting opposite him instead of snuggled up beside him for a change, the pair of them on the inside of their little booth. And nobody else was as likely to slip out of their boot and press their foot against his shin. Obviously to sooth where her lady-in-waiting had kicked him, he figured.

“Ooh! Eugene - remind me how to say ‘very good’ in Italian?” He glanced up, quite certain that the grin on her face was as brilliant then as it had ever been. And with a little hand motion, he supplied:

“Molto bene.” Eugene was fairly sure she was clever enough to remember just fine and she just enjoyed hearing him say it, but who was he to deny her?

“That’s it,” she said happily. And underneath the table, he felt her foot suddenly move higher, until her sole was neatly resting on the bump of his knee. “Molto bene,” she practiced, applying gentle pressure against him. Eugene chewed his food quietly, a tilt of his head the closest he dared come to asking her about it in company.

And then she did ‘the look.’ A little ‘Smoulder’ all of her own, except that hers worked. A ducking of her head as she looked up through her thick lashes.

“I’m just interested,” she offered. “It’s such a pretty language. It’s so.. on point with everything.”

Eugene went ramrod still as he felt her tiny toes digging into his thigh. Ever since he had blurted out how badly she ‘turned him on’ during a heated, private moment, it had become Rapunzel’s little watchword. A sneaky, cute password that she used to tell him what kind of mood she was in. ‘This painting is so on,’ or ‘let me show you the book I’m reading - it’s on.’ It all came back to that evening when she rocked against him, giggling and purring and deciding ‘on’ was a very good word for describing how naughty and aroused she was.

“Aren’t all languages like that, Raps?” Cassandra asked, pushing more leaves and vegetables onto her fork. But Cass was (blessedly) unaware of the Princess’ leg under the table, stretched out and resting on her boyfriend’s lap as her foot brushed back and forth, higher and higher.

“I guess?” Rapunzel could have acted. She pushed another piece of her meal into her mouth and hummed, swallowing and looking for all the world like nothing more than a woman enjoying her dinner. Like a woman who wasn’t beginning to tease back and forth over Eugene’s privates with her toes. “But Italian is so pretty and everything has such a flourish! It’s like they make everything so… alight! So switched on.”

Eugene forced himself to eat as he felt himself reacting to it all. The slow, gentle teases. The coy remarks. The fact that she was doing it all in public while their friends were there. And judging from the coy, dazzling little look she gave him again from across the table, she knew very well what she was doing.

“Don’t you think, Eugene?” He was hard now. He was hard and she knew it because her sole was pressing flat against him.

“Well, Blondie, I’ll be sure to sit you down and teach you a few things if you’d like,” he managed to say, quietly patting himself on the back for doing it all without squeaking or moaning. Or from making some obvious scoot forwards to press against her.

“I’d love that - I think I’m a pretty fast learner,” Rapunzel grinned. It was so her. The sassy, confident girl who was willing to take on all challenges, royal or otherwise.

The girl who apparently knew how to lift her entire leg up and down without the table catching wind of it.

“Oh, I know you are,” Eugene answered back, forcing himself to look as innocent as possible. “You’re learning new things all the time, Blondie.”

In hindsight, he had watched her climb trees with nothing but her hair and her bare legs. ‘I’ve got strong feet!’ she had said with pride.

He really shouldn’t have been so shocked that she could turn around and climb him just as quickly and easily. But maybe it was just because she was Rapunzel - that cute girl who he was head over heels in love with and could turn him on at the drop of a hat.

Maybe it was the fact they were still in public.

“I’d tell you two to save it for the caravan, but I made it perfectly clear to the King and Queen that I’d keep an eye on you,” Cass remarked, swallowing another mouthful of salad. And then for good measure, she leaned across the table and gave Eugene a suspicious, squinted look. “No funny business from you.”

“Why am I getting the bad cop treatment over here?”

“Because I trust Raps. But you? You still have your moments.”

And Rapunzel giggled and smiled and looked for all the world like she was the most innocent person in it. “Sorry, Eugene. I guess you do have a little of that roguish reputation, still.”

And then she went ahead and slid her foot up and down along the length of his hardened cock, flexing her toes while she cut another piece of chicken and popped it into her mouth.

“Well, you are the innocent one,” Eugene said, schooling his face to remain as passive as possible. Forcing himself to carefully cut and eat his meal as Her Royal Mischief Maker kept stroking him up and down. Back and forth. Over and again in a slow, steady rhythm. It wasn’t bad. Heck, it was great, and anywhere else, Eugene would’ve been all for it. Underneath the dinner table, though, well…

He could handle the even stroke of her foot moving up and down. But because Rapunzel had magical mind-reading techniques (obviously), she would press harder or squeeze him whenever he was getting too relaxed.

“Mm!” he moaned when she pushed a certain way. “Oh, it’s.. good stuff. A little spicy, though,” Eugene tried to bluff as Lance gave him a sideways glance.

“Yeah - you’re looking a little flushed there. Whassamatter - comfy living making you soft?” Lance grinned, leaning over and nudging Eugene with a mighty elbow. But he was having none of it - even with the long, draping checkered tablecloth, he wasn’t about to risk anyone getting an accidental eyeful of what was going on underneath it.

“Thank you for your input,” Eugene ground out between clenched teeth, before lighting struck from on high. Slipping into a smooth, charming smile, he pointed off towards the polished bar that seemed to curve around a corner. “But you know what I’d really appreciate? Something nice and cold to drink. Go on, be a buddy. Think of it as payment for my poor potato.”

Lance rolled his eyes before moving to slide out of the booth. It was a tone of voice that Eugene broke out whenever he really wanted something, and was prepared to keep on needling him until it was done.

“Alright, alright, I’m off. Anyone want something else?”

They all did, and when it became clear that Lance was going to be balancing glasses and serving tins on top of his head, Rapunzel performed one of her little miracles.

“Cass, go with him and help? You’re almost done, right…?” There was a look of peaceful serenity on her face as she asked. A look that Cass returned with an arched eyebrow, pushing her very-empty plate away from her.

“Okay, I get it, my meal wasn’t very big,” she sniffed before lifting herself up as best as she could and wriggling off the bench. “Besides - without help he’s likely to drop the lot.”

“Take your time,” Eugene said, as teasingly as he always did.

“Shave your chin, Fitzherbert.”

He managed to wait until Cass’s bob of dark curls vanished around the corner before he let out a strangled whine. “Blondie! You’re killing me over here.”

“No, I’m not.” And all signs of Rapunzel the innocent, first of her name and well-known saint seemed to vanish. The hooded, playful bedroom eyes that gazed back at him seemed to grow more intense as her foot pressed firmly against his length. “I’m fairly sure I can feel your heart beating from here, Eugene.” She bit her lip and immediately giggled as, sure enough, the coy act did make him twitch that much harder.

“And if you keep going like that, we’re going to… I’ll have a mess to… we’re… Blondie.”

“Are you saying you want me to stop…?” Rapunzel ducked her head again. Her bottom lip stuck out just a little bit. The pressure beneath the table relaxed, her big toe slowly moving down his length. Eugene was fairly sure if she wasn’t royalty, he’d drop beneath the table, pull her under with him and kiss her until her pout vanished.

“Maybe a little bit…?” It came out as a pathetic squeak. He hated saying no to her - the times she was feeling so bold weren’t uncommon, but he loved encouraging them all the same.

“You once told me to have you checked by a doctor if you ever said you weren’t in the mood,” she countered, still pouting, but a little more of that familiar mischief crawling back into her voice. It was a discussion that had occurred one evening when he joked about it while they were helping each other undress. The look of horror on her face quickly smothered the mood that night.

It was a good talk. He made sure to go over all the basics so that they’d never again have another one like it.

“And we agreed that wasn’t serious, but Sunshine? Honey? This isn’t really the time or the pla-ce.” He was cut off again as she once again began to push against him.

“So you’re suggesting if this keeps going… you’d have to try very hard not to finish all over yourself? And then we’d have to worry about getting out of here without anyone noticing…?”

‘Finish all over your leg,’ Eugene wanted to say, but they both knew it was a bluff. He was still tucked inside his trousers, (mostly) comfortably. At best she would get the message, relax and he’d have a small wet stain to deal with later. At worst, with her pace and speed and surprise squeezes… yeah, there wouldn’t be any chance of hiding that.

“Yes, Rapunzel. You’re very, very good, and my briefs are getting a little too crowded, okay sweetie?”

Rapunzel’s eyebrows rose to her hairline, her eyes going saucer wide. ‘Finally,’ he thought, certain the message had gotten through…

… and then he watched with apprehension as gave him her little Smoulder. Like a cat, her gaze on him the whole time, she picked up Cass’s ignored knife and dropped it. Metal hit the stone tiles with a noisy clang!

“Oops. I’ll get that.” And with more flexibility and speed than a princess ought to have, Rapunzel vanished beneath the table. It was like watching her rappel down a cliff face with her hair all over again.

Eugene had a heartbeat to prepare before he felt her, hands flying over him in a rush. Expert flicks and practiced pulls that made him wonder just how good of a learner she was to loosen his belt and unbutton his fly so damned quickly and easily.

“Hn!” He hissed as suddenly he felt her. Warm, dainty little fingers reaching just inside and curling around his hot flesh. Lifting him up. Guiding him through the little escape passage she created. His hands curled into fists as he felt something moist press against this wet tip, and the muffled muah sound made it clear what had happened.

Rapunzel climbed back up from beneath the table, licking her lips and wiggling about in her seat. Looking for all the world like she had successfully picked up her dropped utensil and did not just pull her boyfriend’s cock out under the table and kissed the dripping head.

And neglected to tuck him back in again.

“Rapunzel…?” Eugene’s voice wavered somewhere between begging and disbelief. But she smiled and sighed and quickly turned her attention to her meal, pushing the last few mouthful’s of chicken through her sauce and popping them in her mouth. Stopping only to look up and smile wider as he felt a presence beside them.

His heart dropped as Lance strolled up with a sweaty glass of ale in each hand, followed by Cass holding a bottle of something and a pair of glasses.

“Okay - you two? You need to leave room afterwards, because their dessert menu is looking phenomenal,” Lance insisted, easing back into the booth and setting the glasses down. “Guaranteed some ice cream’ll cool that fire you’ve got going on, Eugene.”

“Gotta say - I can spare some extra calories too after my little dinner, Cass added, swinging herself back into the girl’s side of the booth. “How about you, Raps?”

Rapunzel grinned and speared her last bite with her fork. At the same moment, unseen beneath the tablecloth, her foot stretched back up and began rubbing Eugene’s hardness. Only instead of his trousers, she grinned as she felt every hot, solid inch.

“I could do with something sweet after this,” she said, swallowing her mouthful. “Maybe something with lots of cream all over it. Cream on it.”

Eugene swallowed another mouthful as she said her magic word. Small, strong toes curled around his sensitive tip and he swallowed to keep himself from moaning.

She was going to be the death of him, all over again.

[dimpled-gukkie]

Nights Like This

Gif by @i-am-today-we-will-survive ❤️

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff w a bit of angst, college au if you squint 

Warning: none 

Word Count: 3.8k 

Summary: Rain washes everything away. But can it really wash away the feelings you’ve harbored for your best friend? 

The rain patters on the roof, the sounds echoing around your apartment. The wind picks up speed outside, shaking the leaves from the trees lining the sidewalk. You can see students scurrying from their lectures back towards their dorms, probably hoping to spend the rest of the day bundled in blankets. Looking at your phone you bite your lip in contemplation, wondering if you should really bother Taehyung. Just last week you and him were stranded after you got a flat tire, and he had to spend more than an hour sitting on the side of the road with you. You really don’t want to bother him, but he is the person you always call first when inviting someone on an adventure. 

You must look at the black screen of your phone for at least five minutes before deciding the worst he can do is say no. Ringing his number, you place the phone to your ear, before pacing around your apartment. Maybe this was a bad idea. You didn’t want to face your best friend rejecting the idea of hanging out. Before you can hang up though, he answers the call, his baritone voice crackling through the speaker. “Y/N?” 

“Hey Tae. I have to go pick up some stuff from the store and I wanted to know if you would come with me?” Even though he’s not in the room with you, you focus your gaze on the ground while waiting for his answer. 

“Yeah sure. I’ll be there in ten.” When he ends the call, you head over to your closet, the urge to change your clothes strong. There is nothing wrong with your hoodie and sweatpants, it is comfortable and practicable for this weather, but you still choose to change into jeans and a fresh sweatshirt. Brushing through your hair again, you detangle it the best you can, disregarding the fact that it’ll get messed up by the storm outside anyways. You know he won’t really care about what you’re wearing, probably won’t even notice you put in effort. Knowing him for four years has erased any sort of self-consciousness, but you’re still trying to look good around him. It’s probably due to the fact you’re probably, most likely, in love with him.

The sound of a key fiddling with a lock alerts you that Taehyung is here and you spray on a few spritzes of perfume before meeting him at the door. When his frame is fully inside, you pull him into a hug and he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. You and Taehyung have always had a more touchy friendship but something about this feels more intimate. It’s almost like he’s holding you tighter than normal, like he doesn’t want to let go. Shaking your head you pull away, assuming he must just be cold. Walking back into your kitchen, you grab the two travel mugs off the counter and hand one to him. He looks at you skeptically with one eyebrow raised before opening the lid to peer inside. “Why are you acting like I’m trying to drug you?” You roll your eyes as you’re locking your apartment. 

“Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t coffee.” He pouts and you smile to yourself. He’s too cute for his own good. 

“I’ve known you for years now Tae, I know you don’t like coffee. Besides why would I give you it anyways? So you could spit it all over me like you did freshman year?” His pout intensifies and you brush off the urge to kiss it away.

“I said I was sorry!” Reaching down you give his hand a squeeze, a silent way of telling him you’re just teasing. You forgave him the second you saw his big brown eyes staring back at you, regret laced in his gaze. That was actually the first time the two of you had ever interacted. Ever since that day, he brought you a coffee to your shared class as an apology even though you told him it was really not a big deal. You could barely see the stains anyway. It wasn’t until a month’s worth of coffee later you finally got him to stop, but only with the promise that you had truly forgiven him and that you were friends. From there it snowballed into spending every free moment by his side, usually tucked under his arm, until you are where you are today. Pining after your best friend who definitely only sees you as just that, suffering silently as he holds you in a platonic manner. If only life wasn’t so cruel. 

You aren’t aware that you’re standing in the middle of the hallway, staring blankly at the staircase, until Taehyung tugs on your hand with a concerned gaze. “Sorry, just zoned out for a minute. Let’s go!” Grinning at him as best as you can you hurry out of the building and into the rain, taking refuge in the gloomy atmosphere. At least if you started crying you could feign that they’re raindrops. You’re walking in silence, hoods up and hands still clasped when Taehyung turns to you.  

“I think we should jump in a puddle.” You just blink at him a few times. “I mean, come on. When was the last time it rained? Besides, it’s customary to jump in a puddle when it’s raining.” 

It’s also customary to kiss in the rain, you think. “When we’re walking back we can. I don’t want to have squeaky shoes in the store.” He smiles in agreement before continuing on down the sidewalk.  

The store is practically empty when you arrive, only a few other patrons loitering about. The storm picks up intensity outside as thunder sounds from above and the cashiers shudder. “It’s a shame isn’t it?” Taehyung ponders when you both are safely tucked between the back aisles. You look at him quizzically but stay silent, waiting for him to continue. “People can’t see the beauty behind the rain. All they see is some inconvenience. They don’t notice how the world almost seems to regain its breath as the rain washes away the haze.” Tae has always been like this, hitting you with something really insightful when you least expect it, but this time you’re so caught off guard that you can’t respond. It takes you a few minutes to formulate an acceptable reply. 

“Yeah, sometimes people can’t see what’s right in front of them.” If he picks up on the underlying message, both from your words and your vulnerable eyes, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he bends down to pick up a cereal box and throws it into your basket. 

“We should’ve got a cart so I could push you around in it.” He grumbles before heading down towards the dairy to get milk. Just like that the atmosphere is broken and your heart gets put back on lockdown. At least you can say you tried, even if you weren’t exactly explicit. Surely someone who can create a whole monologue about rain can pick up on hidden cues? 

The rest of your shopping experience is silent, the only sounds being the scuffling of shoes and the rain hitting the pavement outside. You can’t help but be a little upset that he didn’t say anything. That he didn’t confess right then and there with a box of cereal in hand. But then you scold yourself because why were you expecting that? You’re his best friend. A friend. You’ll never mean more to him than that. That thought alone is more of a slap in the face than the cold rain that whips at you through the wind. 

With both of your heads down, Taehyung engulfs your hand in his own and pulls you into his side as you shuffle through the storm. Part of you wonders if you should’ve just stayed in the store. You’re only halfway back to your apartment, grip slipping on the bags from the rain, when Taehyung tugs you into a nearby building. A bell above you rings, the sound barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. He turns to you once the door is closed and places his palms on your cheeks, gently brushing away the rain. “You okay?” His voice is soft, his gaze tender, and you begin to melt despite the frigid temperature outside. 

“I’m fine. You?” He only nods, thumbs still rubbing against your cheekbones before a voice breaks you both from the bubble you’d created. 

“Can I help you?” The woman who approaches you is stout, her hair a soft grey tone, glasses hanging on the bridge of her nose. She looks like a stock photo of a grandmother suddenly came to life in front of you. Glancing around you finally take in your surroundings. The place appears to be a quaint Italian restaurant if the aroma of basil, oregano, and garlic is anything to go by. Taehyung’s stomach growls loudly next to you, your cheeks reddening in secondhand embarrassment. “Oh dear, you must be hungry. Here, have a seat.” Directing you towards a booth she sits you down in the near empty restaurant before leaving, only to return with a basket of breadsticks and two menus. “Let me know when you two are ready to order.” She smiles before heading over to another table. With her back turned, Taehyung promptly sticks nearly an entire breadstick in his mouth. 

“Tae!” You scold. In response he turns to give you his best puppy dog eyes and when paired with his bread cheeks your face softens. “Just be careful okay. I don’t want you to choke or anything.” Your voice is quiet and you wonder if he even hears you over his chewing. 

“Aww would you not be able to live without me?” He teases pulling you into his chest after he swallows his mouthful of bread. You gulp and give a small nod, trying to distract yourself from going through the rabbit hole of imagining life without Taehyung. Who would bring you coffees in the morning with a foam heart etched into them? Who would you be able to call in the middle of the night when you have a nightmare? Who would- you stop yourself mid-thought, eyes already getting teary. Pushing your face further into his chest you focus on the warmth he emits and the feeling of his arms around you to slow your breathing. “You alright?” He asks, rubbing up and down your back. Squeezing your eyes shut quickly, you pull away busying yourself by grabbing a breadstick from the basket. 

“Yeah I’m fine. Just tired.” If he suspects that you’re lying he doesn’t say anything. The woman from before returns back to your table. 

“You two ready?” Truthfully you haven’t even glanced at the menu.

“Yeah, I’ll just have um…spaghetti. Please.” You say.

“Make that with meatballs.” Glancing over, Taehyung just shrugs. “What? I wanted to try some.” You roll your eyes and look away to hide your small smile. “Then I’ll have Minestrone soup with rice please?” 

“Tae are you sure that’ll be enough?” You ask once the woman has walked away. He says it’ll be fine but something about the glint in his eye tells you differently. When the food arrives, you notice Taehyung eyeing your plate more than his own and already begin setting a portion aside. You both knew this would happen, that he’d steal some of yours, and yet he still chose to get something light instead of filling. You’re a quarter of the way through yours when you catch him picking up his fork out of the corner of your eye. “You’re already done?” Only ten minutes have seemed to pass and yet the bowl is scraped clean. 

“I was hungry. Speaking of which, can I have some of yours?” 

“Here, I already set some aside.” You gesture towards the large pile of noodles near the corner of the plate. Hungrily he digs in, haphazardly twisting noodles around his fork, most of which are not from the pile you created for him. 

“If you keep grabbing noodles from my side we’re going to end up like Lady and the Tramp.” You laugh while severing off the noodle that’s dangling out of Taehyung’s mouth onto your plate. He looks at you with stuffed cheeks and wide eyes before a shy smile graces his features. 

“Do you- do you want to recreate it?” Your cheeks burn bright but you can’t deny that your heart is begging for you to say yes. It may destroy you in the process, but this might be the only time you’ll be able to do something somewhat romantic with him. 

“Yeah sure.” Fiddling with your fork, you separate the pasta making sure to leave a strand that Taehyung can also loop around his own utensil. “Tae how is-“ He stops you mid sentence by gently placing his fork in your mouth, before stealing your own. 

“Figured you’d overthink it.” He mumbles, ears tinted red. Frozen, you watch as the fateful noodle ties you and Taehyung together, internally freaking out about what to do next. You want to kiss him, no you need to kiss him. You can feel yourself begin to lean in, your heart overpowering your mind, and his eyes dart down to your lips. Only a few more inches until your mouth presses against his, that is until the woman returns and you hastily bite the noodle, severing the link to Taehyung entirely. Anxiously you rub your palms against your jeans as they’ve suddenly turned clammy and push your plate towards Taehyung. 

“Here, you can have the rest.” You refuse to raise your eyes from your lap, missing Taehyung’s pout and the elder woman’s wink. 

“Are you two finished?” You nod and Taehyung sighs. 

“Yeah I guess so.” 

“Would you two be interested in dessert? They’re all homemade.” Biting your lip in contemplation, you glance out of the corner of your eye towards Taehyung, still too embarrassed to turn towards him. When he catches you looking he smirks and winks, seemingly unfazed by the fact that you two almost kissed. 

“Yeah, can we have the chocolate dessert salami to go? I remember seeing it advertised by the door.” You choke on your spit, surprised that such a thing even exists. 

“Oh! I’ll bring that with the check then, not that you two need to rush.” 

As soon as she’s out of earshot you turn back to Taehyung and whisper shout, “Why did you even get that?!” 

“I thought you would like meat covered in chocolate.” 

“Tae why would anyone-“ 

“Besides it got you to pay attention to me again.” Your mouth clamps shut. 

“Sorry I wasn’t ignoring you I was-“ 

“Here you go lovelies!” What is it with everyone and cutting you off suddenly? Smiling graciously at the woman, you take the packaged salami as well as the check before taking cash out of your purse. 

“What are you doing?” Taehyung’s brows are furrowed and he reaches out towards you. 

“I’m paying.” You say. 

“No. It was my idea to come so I’ll pay.” 

“I mean it’s not like this was a date or anything. It’s fine.” Shoving cash with the bill you abruptly stand up, the bitter feeling from the market coming back up. You’re not really sure what about Taehyung is irking you today, he’s acting the same as always. The weather must be making you irritable. Or maybe it’s the fact that if you close your eyes this almost feels like it could be a date but it’s not. Taehyung follows you out the door like a sad puppy, gripping your hand hesitantly when you step outside. The rain is softer now, a quiet drizzle, and you stick your free hand out to catch the droplets, your bags slipping down to your wrist. 

“Are you mad at me?” Taehyung’s voice is small and a part of you breaks. You didn’t mean for him to feel bad. Squeezing his hand tightly, you rub your thumb along his knuckles in a soothing motion. 

“No, I’m not. I’m sorry if I made it seem that way. I think the weather just made me grouchy.” 

“Do you know what would make you feel better?” A boxy smile is back on his face and you grin. “Jumping in a puddle.” Without warning, his large hands wrap around your waist, his laughter ringing through the air, as he tosses you in a large puddle a few feet away. You screech and try to latch onto him, to take him down with you, but he swerves out of your grasp leaving you to stand in the center of a deep puddle. Your shoes and socks are soaked but it’s worth it to watch him crouch down in laughter.  

“You know what, you’re right.” You smile deviously. “I do feel better. But do you know what will make me feel great? You jumping in too.” Before Taehyung can react you step forward and grab his arm, yanking him towards you. The only problem is that you pull a little too hard which sends Taehyung crashing into you, both of you toppling over ungraciously into the puddle. Taehyung hovers above you, his clothes barely wet, meanwhile your whole backside is drenched. Scrunching your face in annoyance you flop your arms down causing the water to splash up. “This isn’t fair. You were supposed to get wet not me.” You groan. Taehyung has yet to say anything and peering one eye open, he’s staring intensely down at you. “I know I look like a wet rat, you can stop staring.” Shoving his chest lightly he stands up, pulling you along with him. 

“Here.” He shrugs off his jacket before handing it to you, but you push it away. 

“You’ll get a cold Tae. Put your jacket back on.” 

“But if you don’t put it on you’ll get a cold.” 

“I think I’m already well on my way.” You gesture with your hand to the water dripping off you. “I don’t need you getting sick as well.”

“But we can be sick together.” He pouts. 

“No.” He looks at you with pursed lips before turning around and heading down the street towards your apartment. You rush to catch up with him, your groceries and chocolate salami long forgotten. “Why haven’t you put your jacket back on?” 

“I gave it to you to wear, but you won’t wear it, so neither will I.” You can only glare. 

“Kim. Taehyung. Put the jacket back on.” 

“No.” 

“Fine. I’ll wear the jacket. Happy?” 

“Yes. Especially because I can do this.” His grin is wide as he latches onto you from behind, making you both waddle awkwardly as you struggle to walk. “See? Much better.” He squeezes you again like you’re a teddy bear, laying his head down on your shoulder. 

“This is very conducive to walking.” You snicker but hold his hands in your own to keep him in place. 

“Hey do you remember that park we used to go to that’s a few blocks away?” He mumbles in your ear. His deep voice sends shivers down your spine, but you hide it by blaming it on the bite of the cold. 

“Yeah, what about it?” 

“We should go.” 

Just like that you’re both standing in the empty park, greeted by the sounds of rain hitting plastic. Taehyung lets go of you to run towards the swings, beckoning you to join him. You’re apprehensive to sit on the wet seat until you remember that your jeans are more water than material at this point. Once seated, Taehyung latches onto your hand and pulls you to join him in swinging as high as possible. The chains creak and groan, making you grip his hand tighter in fear that the swings will break and you’ll both fall off. “Tae, maybe we need to stop. I don’t think the swing can handle this right now.” Almost like they’re agreeing, the chains makes an awful sound and it feels like your seat has dropped a few inches. Panicking you plant your feet into the ground, successfully stopping yourself but nearly getting your arm ripped off in the process as it gets caught up in Taehyung’s momentum. The thunder rumbles back to life as the rain pounds down again, making you and Taehyung run into the tunnel on the playground for cover. This may not be the best idea as thunder typically brings lightening in tow but you’re too far away from your apartment to make it there without getting soaked to the bone. You’ll just have to wait until the weather lightens up to make a break for it. 

You can barely hear yourself think over the sounds of the harsh pings of the rain smacking the tunnel and the wind whipping through the trees, instinctively moving closer to Taehyung. He wraps his arms around you sensing your uneasiness, pulling you as far into him as possible. Taehyung attempts to hum to you in means of comfort, but the sound gets drowned out by the raging storm outside so he stops. You both sit in silence for a long while before he finally decides to try speaking when the wind seems to die down. “Do you want to hear a secret?” You begin to twist around to face him but he tightens his hold on you so you’ll remain facing forward. “I’m in love with you.” He whispers. The world seems to stop, the storm calmed by his confession, but you barely take notice over your mind and heart going into overdrive. Suddenly claustrophobic, you scurry out of the tunnel and into the rain. It’s merely a light drizzle now, but it mixes in well with your tears. Taehyung clambers out after you, almost like he’s tripping over his heart that he just gave to you. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He stammers, his voice trembling as his own tears surface. 

“No-It’s not. It’s not that. I just wasn’t expecting that. I’ve loved you for years now so for you to just suddenly say it.” The words die in your throat as Taehyung moves closer, trembling hands holding your cheeks. 

“I fell in love with you here. I thought it was only right to say it in the place I first realized.” His thumbs gently rub along your cheekbones and you smile a watery smile. 

“You’re quite the romantic huh? Professing your love in the rain.” You tease. 

“Purely coincidental. But you know what would make this even better?”

“I swear Tae, if you’re about to throw me in another puddle-“ Before you can truly ruin the moment, he stops you by gently placing his mouth on yours. The kiss is soft and slow, warm despite the fact that you’re both shivering from being outside for too long. You sigh into his mouth, happy now that the weight of a confession is lifted off your shoulders. 

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter nine - part two (midnight at denny’s)

⚠️ ...slight risqué content warning ⚠️ 

“Alright, good work, guys. Let’s call it a night and have some munch.”

We finished up later in the evening, well after the sun went down behind the forests on the far side of town. We had spent the first two hours at the rink without our knee pads, and then by lunch, Brick hurried back home real quick to fetch his. Meanwhile, the rest of us roamed about the slick ice surface with very little protection aside from our gloves and our masks. The rain and snow the past couple of days made the ice extra slick so we were able to almost glide about the surface like five ghosts.

But after the scare I had had with the apparition, specter, thing, whatever it was, of Maya before me, I roamed about the rink with my back erect for most of the afternoon: once the sun went down, I ducked low and gave my ass, my thighs, and my knees a strengthening. At one point during the middle of the afternoon, when no one was looking, I stuck the hockey stick in between my thighs and reached back for a feeling of my own ass.

Getting tighter, I can tell. Bigger? I can’t tell.

We played for quite a bit longer: now it’s almost ten at night. Now we’re all famished and now it’s dark.

Once we all had unlaced our skates and headed back to Spence’s car, I called shotgun and now here I am sinking down in the passenger seat next to the man himself. Brick, Barney, and Billy are crowded in the back behind us.

“I say we go to Denny’s up the road here,” he suggests once he shuts the door behind him.

“Works for me,” Brick says aloud.

But on the way there, all I can think about is seeing Maya there on the ice. How did she even get there? And what was going on with her skin and her hair? It made no sense, and I’m unsure if I’ll find the right answer for any aspect of it.

My heart hammers inside of my chest. It’s been a long day, but for good reason, though. Hockey is my other love after all.

I really, really want to touch myself right about now to rid of the extra adrenaline but it’s too close of a spot here with the boys and I don’t want to shoot all over the upholstery. It’s not worth it at the moment. And I’m not risking it back at my place, not with Maya there and Mrs. Snow manifesting in the mirror behind me. Maybe when I have a moment in the bathroom I can.

In fact, once we reach the Denny’s about a block from Black Orchid, the first thing I do is run to the men’s room. We’re a block away from the girls there. From Morgan, Lizzy, Cindy, the Jacksons, and Gwendolyn. Gimme a minute. Scratch that, gimme five minutes.

I take the stall closest to the door and unbutton my jeans. Down my hand goes into my underwear.

I sigh through my parted lips: at least I’m alone. Poking and stroking right there on my dick. I lean back against the cold metal for another shot of adrenaline.

I’ve got it now. At least I think I do. Every stroke of my thumb is like a shot of lightning right across my mind. I can think a lot clearer now.

I have to help Maya somehow, but I can’t if the slightest bit of adrenaline is enough to give me an erection. Maybe if I can have Lars assist me, we can uncover her past and her secrets. I hope I see him again because I don’t think I can do this solo.

I take my pants off all the way and once I have my belt around my knees, I reach over for some paper to clean up. Could be worse: one time at home, a few days following when I first moved into the complex, I came so hard, I had to mop up the kitchen floor and scrub part of my carpet. Ever since then I have secretly referred to myself as Chief Big Way: I’m that Indian boy with everything I could ever possibly need in the biggest way possible. It’s even funnier because Gwendolyn called me the Italian Stallion.

Too much. I’m too much even for myself at times.

When I step out of the stall, I head over to the sink to wash up, and for a split second, I swear I catch a glimpse of Maya and Mrs. Snow in the reflection of the mirror before me. I glance over my shoulder. Nothing there.

I shrug it off and proceed to clean off the little sticky bit that spilled over onto my fingers. I then cup my hands for a bit of water in my palm and run my fingers through my hair. Yeah, that’s a lot better.

Once I dry up with one of the paper towels, I head back out and make my way over to the booth tucked in the far corner of that front room. I have a seat on the end next to Brick, who’s next to Spence, who’s next to Barney and Billy; they’re eyeing me like they have something to tell me.

“What?”

“So do you like her?” Brick raises his eyebrows at me. I hesitate with my hands on the lapels of my coat.

“The fuck do you mean?”

“Do you like her?”

“Who?”

Spence shows me a smirk. And then it dawns on me.

“You told them?” I demand. He gives me a shrug.

“It is what it is. If our captain’s with a girl, we should know.”

I fetch up a sigh and that’s when the young blonde waitress steps over to our table. I don’t care if it’s getting late: I’m having coffee.

Once she makes the rounds of the table, the five of us are left alone with that hanging thought.

“Okay, first of all,” I begin, bowing my head even though the only other patrons are two truck driver looking guys about two tables away from us, “I have no romantic attachment to her--just gonna clear that up right now.”

“Are you sure?” Brick asks me with a chuckle.

“Positive. I’m not joking, man. I don’t even know how old she is--for all I know, she could still be a teenager.”

The smirks and smiles from the table; Barney and Billy even gape at each other.

“Two nights ago, I was taking a walk to get something to eat and I had an encounter with the Grim Reaper.”

“Again?” Barney’s stunned.

“Yeah. Dude, she’s only just to remind me of the fact there’s a piece of earth underneath me. Aside from that, I dunno what else she wanted me. But anyways, I looked across the street and I found her laying there in the storm drain--and you know, it was pouring rain the other night, too--and she had a rope around her ankles. For all I know, someone could’ve beaten the holy hell from her.”

The waitress returns with five glasses of crystal clear water accompanied with slivers of ice near the surface. I take a drink--God, I’m so thirsty!

“So what’d you do?” asks Billy, running the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass.

“I took her home. Well, not entirely. I was over by the strip club over here--”

“Black Orchid?” Brick fills in for me.

“Yeah. And it was the only place I could see offhand, and so I took her there.”

“I was wondering where you were yesterday morning,” Spence pipes up. “I was gonna take you over to Rochester to meet some lady friends of mine.”

“Lady friends?” I ask him, holding my glass at the base; the waitress returns again with our mugs of black coffee and a little white china dish filled with a pile of those stumps of creamer.

“Sonia and Marcia. They’re sisters from the magnificent Pacific Northwest, Oregon.”

“What’re they doing here upstate?”

“Marcia works at a bakery that apparently is trying to branch out over here. To get an idea of the area, she got a job at this upholstery place over in Rochester. Sonia’s an actress trying to bring her one woman show from the left coast to the right coast.”

“They’re sisters, you said?”

“Yeah. And they’re living in a pad a lot like yours, overlooking the lake. What’re you doin’--manana?”

“Manana? More than likely nada, unless my parents come back home early.”

“I’ll take you to meet them if you’d like.”

“I’d love to.” I take a sip of the coffee: perfectly beany and rich, just how I like it. “So at any rate, I guess all the girls there had just gotten off their shift because they all had their clothes on and they were extra nice to me and her. We spent the night and I told them it was birthday so they even threw a little party for me. But then I took her home and--” I shook my head as I hold the mug with both hands and rest my elbows on the table top.

“What?” Brick asks me.

“Whenever I ask her if she wants anything, like something to eat or whatever, she refuses. I mean, full on refuses. She will not eat anything. I don’t when the last time she ate was, so last night I was like ‘Jesus, she’s gotta be starving.’ You know, if I don’t eat for a while, I almost feel carsick. But she turns down any offer. She turned down offers over at the strip joint, and she turned it down from me. I don’t wanna force her to eat, but I also can’t do that to her. I can’t let her die.”

I bring the mug closer to my lips but I don’t take a sip.

“She’s got this weird scar on her forehead, too,” I recall, running my index finger along my forehead, underneath my bangs. “A perfect horizontal line, like a lobotomy scar. When I found her, I could even see it in the darkness. Very prominent, and very strange.”

“She wouldn’t tell you about that, either?” Billy frowns at that.

“What do you think you can do for her?” asks Spence, as he stirs in a packet of Sweet n’ Low into his coffee.

“No idea.”

“Well, I hope you can find something for her, dude. She sounds—interesting.”

“Interesting, yes. An unlikely wild card in my life, definitely for sure. But at the same time--and I can totally sense this, too--she needs help. You know, I got close to her face to check out the scar on her forehead and she acted like I just electrocuted her. She spent the rest of yesterday evening with her hands over her face. So she needs the help of professionals, but not me. I’m no pro at this sort of thing.”

The four of them glance at one another again.

“Well, in your defense, Joe, I wouldn’t know the first thing about that, either,” Barney confesses.

“If it were me, I would take her to the cops,” suggests Billy, “but other than that, I wouldn’t know what else to do.”

“Nah, the fuzz wouldn’t do her any justice,” Barney points out.

“They really wouldn’t, either,” I add to that before taking another sip of coffee, “I can barely get three words out of her, so I dunno if they’ll be the ones to pry answers out of her.”

“But that’s what I’d do, though,” Billy insists. “Or we can invite her home with us.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Barney scoffs at him.

“What? She’s obviously holding Joe back at the moment. We can probably take better care of her at the House of Grey.”

“We’ve got the Man in Black there, though.”

“Will ya stop with the Man in Black?”

“Hey, I saw Vera last night before I went to bed,” I wag my finger at Billy, “and I just about shit my pants. I can only imagine her scaring the hell out of Maya herself given how close Vera likes to get to me.”

“You’d rather she be staying in the realm of a malevolent ghost that causes nightmares?” Barney looks at me, appalled.

“I’d rather she be in the realm of just one ghost than many, a few of which are still freaking me out every time I see them, that is Vera and Mrs. Snow. The Boy With No Hands, too. And besides, it’s not like the Man in Black shows up all the time, either. At least, I hope not.”

I take another sip of my coffee before speaking again.

“Besides, you guys have a house,” Brick adds. “Joey just has his little bachelor pad.”

“Yeah, it’s just me there. She seemed pretty comfortable over at the strip joint because there was eight of us there surrounding her. Just from what I’ve seen anyways. She could use the extra company over at the House of Grey.”

Barney sighs through his nose and looks at Billy for a good long moment. Within time, he purses his lips and picks up his water glass for a big swig. And then he nods in affirmation.

“Alright,” he finally says. “We’ll swing by your place, Joe, and take her home with us.”

And right at that moment, the waitress arrives once again with our late night dinner. I have a feeling I’ll be eating more midnights at Denny’s like this from this point forth as I pick up a piping hot French fry and blow on it before dipping it into my ketchup.

“I should also add,” I start up again, holding the fry before my lips with my thumb and my index finger.

Billy lifts his gaze from his steak and Barney from his putting his napkin in his lap.

“--you guys want to convince her to take a bath or a shower, something. I don’t know when’s the last time she ate, nor do I know when’s the last time she bathed.”

“You found her in a storm drain, too,” Spence recalls, picking up his spoon.

“Yeah, when I got close to her face, she smelled--you guys know that nasty, earthy smell you get from wet leaves? Like during this time of year when the leaves are falling and they get wet from the first rains, and they have that smell to them? It’s like that.”

“Oh, God.” Billy almost gags at that.

“It’s pretty intense, too, like my eyes started watering when I got close to her face. So--yeah. I couldn’t convince her to eat but how she feels about cleaning up is a mystery.”

We fall back into momentary silence and then Spence starts talking about something completely different. We’re just five friends having dinner together, and that’s all I can ask for at the moment. But I still think about Maya and that apparition of her on the rink. Maybe she was trying to grab my attention from the fact she’s back at my place all alone with four ghosts? Who knows, and this fried chicken and French fries are too good to think about anything else.

Once our stomachs are full and slightly distended, and we all pitch in for the bill and the tip for the waitress, Spence takes all of us back home, starting with Brick’s house, and then to my place so Barney and Billy can take Maya back with them.

I left Maya alone for hours on end today. I hope she was able to find something to eat and something to do all day because I feel terrible about it now.

But when I unlock the front door, I find she had turned on the light and I can see the front room had been cleaned, the carpet vacuumed, the kitchen floor swept, the top of the table wiped off, all of it clean and smelling of lemons.

“Maya?” I call out. A brief moment of silence, followed by the sight of her stepping out of the bathroom, still wearing the same clothes as the night I found her but with rubber gloves on her hands. Barney and Billy congregate at the front door while I set down my things behind the couch. I then check out my chair and the couch itself, and I find she vacuumed and straightened both out for me. I then take a look at the phone: she even cleaned the spaces between the buttons on the keypad and the curls of the cord!

She enters the room as she peels off the gloves with a nonchalant look upon her face.

“Did--Did you clean my apartment?” I ask her, setting down the phone receiver.

“I did,” she replies, her expression never changing. “Top to bottom. I even vacuumed your mattress and cleaned the loo.”

“Thank you,” I can hardly speak from the feeling of my heart skipping a few beats. I shake my head and turn my attention to the two of them. “These are my friends, Barney and Billy. They wanna take you home with them.”

“I would love to,” she answers, the tone of her voice never changing from that gentle soft tone.

“We live just down the street, too,” Barney explains, gesturing out the door. “So if you wanna--you know, visit Joey--you can just mosey on over here.”

I swallow, feeling my face grow warm. I run my hand through my hair as she steps closer to them.

“You guys have a good night,” I tell the three of them as Billy coaxes her out of my apartment.

“Take care, Cup of Joey,” is the last thing Barney tells me with a wink and a smile.

“You, too, Barn-meister.”

With nothing more, the front door closes behind them, meaning I’m alone again. I sigh right then with the decision to turn in for the night. Maybe I should tell my parents about her.

[kazosa]

The Tall Man

Summary: for years, the reader had dreams about a man. Never really seeing his face, she didn’t know if he was a real person or just her “dream guy”. Taking a much needed vacation, she finally relaxes, not knowing where her next steps would take her.

Pairings: Dream guy x reader, eventually Jensen x reader

Warnings: none really, does searching for a dream guy count?

    You were with him again. The Tall Man, as you called him. There was something familiar about him that you could never quite put your finger on. It was always just out of reach. The man was at least six feet tall, lean and muscular but not bulky. His hair was cropped short, and though you only got small glimpses, impressions, of his face, you could see he had a bit of a beard.

    You never knew when he was going to come to you in a dream. What you did know what that when he did visit you, you felt like you found a long-lost piece of yourself. At first, you just passed it off as dream nonsense, but when it kept happening…

    Your favorite one was in what you assumed was Europe. The cobblestones were smooth under your feet. The road was narrow and the buildings’ white walls rose high above your head. Baskets of flowers hung near the windows and doors. The road sloped up and away from the sea. It was absolutely breathtaking.

    It was the one that always felt the most real. The stones, the warmth of the sun, the smells, they were all so vivid. You’re there walking up the hill to the next road, not paying attention to who is around and suddenly, he appears. He’s holding out a hand to you. As soon as you take it, you feel it, that connection, that completion.

    Sometimes his clothes were different. Sometimes the location was different. What remained the same was how you knew he was yours.

    Your best friend of ten years knew all about your dreamland mister perfect.

    “I had the dream again,” you told her on the phone.

    “The one where you see his tattoo?” she asked, hopeful.

    When you could see his tattoo, he shirt was off and that usually meant it was a steamy dream.

    “No. Not this time, unfortunately,” you admitted. “It was the one where he reaches out his hand to me.”

    “Oh, the weird one in the alley,” she teased.

    “Ha ha, Sara, super funny.” The loneliness you felt was so heavy. How could you miss someone from a dream and note even know who he is or what he looks like? All you’d ever caught were glimpses of his face. Over the years, you’d gotten a good idea of what he looked like, and he was quite handsome, you thought.

    “When does your vacation start?” she asked. “Are you sure about going by yourself? You better call me every day, I don’t give a shit about the time difference.”

    “I will, I promise,” you assured her. “I leave next Thursday and I’m going to Niece first, then down to Rome.”

    “You’ll call every day, right?” she asked again.

    “Sara! I promise!” you assured her.

    “Just don’t spend all of your time looking for a guy who isn’t real.”

       Jared sat in the back of the van with Jensen for the ride back to the hotel. It was late, and the convention was done for the day. For them it was 4pm Texas time but the jet-lag was kicking their butts.

    “Little grouchy up there today,” Jared hedged.

    “I know. It’s just hard to keep answering about why I’m not dating anyone,” he said.

    “Yeah. Kinda tough to explain your actual dream girl.” Jared knew about the woman that plagued his bed friend’s dreams, but now she was starting to cause real-life problems and he couldn’t have that.

    “You should come out with us. Maybe you can find some nice Italian hottie to take home…or for the night.”

    Jensen rolled his eyes and looked at his buddy.

    “Not interested,” he answered.

    “I know, man, but you gotta get out there. She’s just a dream no matter how real it seemed. You gotta quit looking for her every time we go somewhere,” he pleaded. “It’s not healthy.”

    “I already planned on going out to take pictures. You’ve seen this place, right?” Jensen wasn’t lying. He’d already planned on going out to explore and get some pictures, but part of him was hoping it would happen again. He couldn’t explain it. He’d told Jared it was dreams because the truth was too weird, even for them.

    The first time, it scared the hell out of him. A strange woman sat down on the bench next to him and struck up a conversation with him. He’d gotten used to people coming up to him out of the blue, but it was usually in the U.S., not a random village in Italy.

    “Hi, I got you a cannoli sampler. Lady assured me they were fresh,” she said handing him the small box. “Can you believe this view?”

    Not knowing if she realized who he was, or if she thought he was someone else, he figured he’d play along.

    “Do you speak Italian?” he asked.

    She got a confused look on her face then shrugged, “I guess I do today.”

    Leaning over, she pulled out a small cannoli and ate it. The conversation continued in a scattered way, going in whatever direction her mind took them. He was enjoying the weird conversation and she’d made him laugh more than once. It wasn’t always easy for him to carry on conversation with new people, but he’d liked her and no matter who she thought he was, she talked to him like an old friend.

    When he realized how much time had passed, he leaned down to check on his camera and bag. Behind him, he could hear strange music playing. Suddenly, she gasped and when he turned to check on her, she was gone.

    He looked all up and down the road and she was nowhere to be seen. No one running away, no cars speeding off, none of the other people around seemed to have noticed anything unusual, even the box of cannolis was gone.

    Sure he had lost his mind, he attributed it to falling asleep in the sun and the jet-lag. It took him a couple of months to even tell Jared and that was only because the second time he saw her, she disappeared right before his eyes.

    Jared convinced him to see a doctor, he even went a few times. The doc was under the impression that Jensen was having waking dreams and that he shouldn’t worry and try to get more rest when traveling. Since the occurrences had started out as infrequent, he was able to put it aside. He knew he wasn’t crazy. He knew she was real. She had to be real. No way his mind would be able to make up someone like her. Most of the women he met weren’t really interested in him. They often just wanted to get a taste of celebrity, or to use him to get their foot in the door.

       Over the years, you’d noticed that there were certain times of the year when you had your favorite dream. You tried to bullshit Sara that your impending vacation had nothing to do with your mystery man, but she easily saw through it.

    “If he means that much to you, then you should find him. Just, please, if you don’t find him there, you have got to stop letting it consume your life.”

    You would argue whether he ‘consumed’ your life, but there was the nagging feeling that he was the one you were meant to be with.

      You’d never been to France or Italy and you’d promised yourself that you would see them and their picturesque vistas in person. Beginning your trip in France, you spent a week and a half enjoying Niece and Caan before moving on to Italy and heading to Rome. On your way there, you’d spotted a pretty village on the outskirts of the city that you wanted to visit. Prior to your trip, you’d been learning phrases in Italian and could repeat just enough to embarrass yourself. Thankfully, a lot of the locals spoke English and helped you rent a Vespa for your excursion.

    The village was bustling with activity. In the town center was an outdoor market and vendors were set up everywhere. After you found a spot to park your Vespa, you began browsing the wares. The market was busy with people doing the same thing as you, though you noticed that you were the only tourist. Many people were carrying bundles of goods wrapped in paper and string, a few carried canvas bags. You looked into all the booths hoping to find something unique that you could easily carry, or to bring back for Sara.

    You found a few small items that fit in your purse and at the last stall, the vendor had handmade jewelry. The craftsman had made a delicate chain in an intricate design with precious stones interspersed. What you spent on the item, you vowed you would never tell Sara. Though, it was a piece in a small wood tray in the bottom left corner that caught your eye. It was a ring that was either made to look old or was old. It was big and it didn’t even fit your thumb when you slipped it on, but something compelled you to buy that ring. Tucking it safely inside your purse, you zipped the top closed and continued walking.

    European lifestyle was something you could get used to. Everything was within walking distance. The afternoon lunch breaks were amazing and you had take to regular naps. Having had one that day, you felt refreshed as you walked on. It was all so beautiful.

    Soon, you found yourself away from the market, admiring the architecture. The road you were on wouldn’t allow conventional vehicles to pass and there were a handful of people in the passage with you. You only noticed the man taking pictures because he was so tall and out of place for the area.

       It wasn’t that Jensen didn’t want to hang out with his friends and their families, he loved them all. He’d just already been on other excursions with them and he’d had a good time, but he still felt like a third wheel and wanted to get away for a bit. He’d thanked Jared or the invitation but had passed and decided on a little under the radar jaunt outside the city.

    He parked near a Vespa and only briefly browsed the market before he moved on as started looking for places to photograph. He had been walking around for a while and stopped on a narrow side-street, barely more than an alley. The view was amazing. The road sloped up and from his vantage point, he could just see the market and the sea beyond. He snapped a few more pictures then turned to get better light to check the photo gallery.

    On first glance, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary until he spotted a woman. She seemed somewhat out of place from the local people he’d been seeing all day. American, he thought. He zoomed in on the picture.

    Brown leather sandals. Olive green shorts that showed just enough leg to be flattering. The woman wore a black v-neck top that clung to her in all the right places, but not too tight so it would be cool. In the picture, she was in profile, but he would know her anywhere. The woman who invaded his waking dreams for the last several years had finally showed up in a picture. Before when he’d tried, it was always a blur, or she looked oddly opaque.

    His heart hammered in his chest. He almost didn’t want to look. It never seemed to matter, anyway. There were times he spent the whole day with her only to watch her disappear or be gone when he turned back to her. He was grateful for the time he got, he just wished she would stay.

       The Tall Man was hard to miss. You hadn’t realized you’d been staring at him until he suddenly turned back to look at you. He had his sunglasses perched on the top of his head and the look in his eyes was heartbreaking. There was a hint of excitement under the dread and fear you saw.

    As you approached him, you couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu. You knew this man, but how? You were drawn to him. You wanted to touch him. His hands held a camera and you suddenly wanted to knock it away. Instead, you reached up your hand and touched his shoulder.

    “Hi,” you sounded kind, soothing to your own ears. “Are you okay?”

    Alarm bells were ringing in your head, but this time, you knew it wasn’t your wakeup alarm.

    “Is it really you this time?” his gorgeous green eyes pleading with you to say yes.

    The man in front of you was quite attractive and you were dead certain you would have remembered those green eyes. Wait…what did he say?!

    He watched as her eyes went wide and he finally knew he hadn’t been crazy all this time.

    “Oh my god, this was real? This was all real?” you asked.

    He reached for your hand and you took it, desperate to feel that feeling you always got in your dreams. His fingers were warm as the glided across your palm, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers curled over yours. You couldn’t believe it. It was there. That feeling of being complete. HE was there. The man you’d been secretly searching for for years was there, right in front of you, just like you’d always seen him in your dreams, except he was real.

    The emotions ran across her face in a sprint. She had been looking for him, too, he could see. He’d finally found her, and she was real.

[wheezyboykaspbrak]

it’s 5am and i hope i don’t make this a bad habit

i was talking with my new bud and uhh wow so here’s some hcs about eddies first kiss (warning it’s Reddie Y’all)

 - eddie is in his senior year of hs and like. he doesn’t ever really think about dating that much? (maybe this one person ONCE in middle school but he gets way too embarrassed even thinking about it) and besides!! he loves his friends, and he always thought that was enough?

 - and he still does, it’s just beginning to bother him when he sees everyone (especially his friends!) pushing him into getting a date (even if they don’t really mean to push)

 - richie is the person who messes around and jokes about it the most, pinching at his sides and always asking when eddie was going to ‘fall in love’

 - (he’s already fallen in love with all of the other losers, he doesn’t need to love anyone else, he’s said this countless times! but he just gets the same ‘awww’s and grins no matter which loser he directs it towards, like maybe they don’t really believe him)

 - but one day richie just gives him the cheesiest grin he’s ever seen and bumps his side with too much force, saying maybe a bit too loudly, 'i know you couldn’t have fucked anyone- but come on, i bet you haven’t even kissed anyone either, eddie. maybe you’ll learn to love outside of the lucky seven if you finally just put on your big boy breeches and kiss someone!’

 - and that just. rubbed eddie the Wrong Way? like he was saying his platonic love with the losers would never be enough? like maybe he was saying eddie wouldn’t really be grown up until he found someone to kiss, and someone ELSE to love, and he got defensive, raising his hands up with a trademarked grimace

 - 'kissing is gross, richie, and-’

 - 'eddie, edster, you’re 18-’

 - 'yeah! well! im sure you’ve heard of mono, influenza, the plague-’ and he was sure getting tired of being interrupted, even if he sounded ‘ridiculous’

 - 'eddie really, the plague?’

 - 'YES! YES, RICHIE, THE PLAGUE. and besides, there is no one i would even want to kiss, so just shut your own damn infested mouth already.’

 - and then richie almost dies laughing, but drops the subject near immediately- alleviating the situation by grabbing eddie by his arm and squeezing, leading him and talking about the dinner plans they had made with the others for tonight- in the same, little place they could at least all agree on

 - eddie is still a little tense but he just knows richie was messing with him, so he falls back into the conversation, letting himself be led to the lunchroom with only a huff in protest

 - but now suddenly it’s around 630pm?

 - and the losers all have met up at the run down italian restaurant, having a hoot, sitting snug on a wrapped, big booth, with eddie sandwiched in between mike and richie- he’s having a good time, they all are

 - and of course, richie, being richie, tried to lady and tramp it with eddie, only to be shoved away and rejected (as he was being eddie)-

 - and richies knee jerk reaction is to roll his eyes, saying out loud that eddie is 'no fun’ that he 'would never make it to big screen productions’ if he ‘wouldn’t even have his first kiss! i mean has eddie even heard of a casting couch?’

 - and eddie gets so flustered at the mention of not being kissed yet that he just freezes, and eddie knows deep down that the losers don’t care, that they love him just as much he loves them, and wouldn’t think any less of him for it but- but the laugh that it gets out of them makes him feel awful. at least mike managed to sense eddie was tense and was able to 'beep’ richie before he could continue to ramble on.

 - the night went swimmingly afterwards, but eddie got a little bit colder after that, only finally warming back up at the end, laughing more comfortably with the others and melting into both richies and mikes sides (more mikes than richies).

 - they all pay and part their ways after that, with hugs and some goofs- but richie walks straight to eddie and just!! offers to walk home with him, even though it’s probably more convenient for richie to walk with bill

 - richie just felt like he really upset eddie, and had an idea on how to make it better!

 - so when they finally get to eddies house, after more jokes and silence (that at times felt comfortable, but this one felt a little tense?), richie follows him up to his bedroom and paces around a bit, before eddie glares and shushes at him, pointing downstairs (to where he knows his mother rests)

 - 'stop, you goddamn stampede of a string bean. if you want to stay and hang out just sit down, and read a comic book or som-’

 - 'eds, let me ask you something.’

 - and there’s a pause, and eddie begins to pick at the dirt underneath his fingernails, and then the pause is too long, and eddie holds his hands out, exasperated (and a little nervous)

 - 'christ- im going gray over here, richie-’

 - 'you love us, the gang, right? i mean of course you obviously love me, i’m your favorite- but you do love us? what if, and i’m a genius so tell me when you’re not following anymore, one of us kissed you? so you’re not so flustered about it anymore- you trust us enough, and maybe it will give you a little boost of confidence! we are all incredibly hot, too, which is just an added bonus.’

 - and now eddie is silent, and he’s stopped picking at his nails, and richie begins to laugh, and it’s painfully nervous, but he just doesn’t know how to stop-

 - 'i knew it was a master plan but jesus fuck, i didn’t know it was that stunning! come on, eddie, whaddya say?’ he stopped before quickly adding, 'if you want to pretend like this never happened let me know edster- and ill strut my ass out of here so quick even your mother won’t notice, and she’s always one to notice my sweet ass whenever i’m in the function.’ finger guns seemed like the only appropriate way to end that sentence, but richie could already feel himself dying inside, just a little bit

 - but then eddie finally mumbles out 'you want me to kiss one of our friends?’ and it only sounds a lttle off

 - 'i mean, i guess- and even if you wanted to kiss me, that would be fine! listen, eddie, i’m an expert. just say the words, i’m all lips, i got you, we got you.’

 - and for being so forward eddie can hear how nervous richie is in his voice, but eddie? himself? could feel his heart beating out of his chest. and he didn’t really know why

 - so. he just says okay, he nods, and he’s shaking and he still just- he doesn’t know why. but now richie looks visibly more relaxed, and he lets out such a heavy sigh eddie almost feels himself getting knocked back.

 - richie sits on the bed and then pats the space beside him, and eddie sinks down into his own sheets before turning towards richie and crossing his legs, fisting the fabric of his shorts

 - richie just wants eddie to relax because! he swears to eddie, he’s in good company! richie has kissed dozens of people before (he doesn’t say that though, he’d get an earful about germs), and he knows just how to make eddie feel right, and seeing eddie in front of him likes this makes him want eddie to feel loved- and woah, he doesn’t know where that’s coming from, but he doesn’t think about it too much now. and now, maybe too fast for eddie, richie turns to face eddie himself, his own legs crossed, and his hands now holding eddies jaw like he was made out of glass

 - 'eddie tell me when this is enough, when we have done enough.’

 - and eddie has been so quiet, and it makes richie a little hesitant, but he does nod in richies grip-

 - right before richie presses the softest kiss to eddies mouth, and it’s a dry one but richie instantly feels his heart go weak at the sigh eddie makes, one he must of been holding in

 - richie keeps on kissing at eddies lax lip, sometimes giving a kiss to his cheek, something familiar, rubbing their noses together just barely, softly, before he goes back to kissing him

 - it’s one of the gentlest kisses richie has ever had??? and he half expects eddie not to kiss back, do anything back at all, but then eddies hands are on richies knees, hooked near his thighs, and richie has to pull away and actually look at eddie, see if anything was wrong, because?? maybe this was his way of telling him to stop?

 - but eddies eyes were closed, and his mouth was only a little red, but his cheeks were vibrant, and now warm under richies thumbs and-

 - richie couldn’t help but go back in- he makes the kiss a little wetter, and eddie seems a little bit confused on what he was supposed to do, still, but richie just does his best to show eddie how- using that big mouth of his for something other than long strings of words-

 - and words?? weren’t really needed at this point, as the boys began to add more hands and tongues and even teeth and christ when richie started kissing down eddies neck eddie made such a heavenly gasp out of his name- 'richie, please’- that richie couldn’t stop himself before leaving a bright red mark, right under eddies ear, the keen his got in response making him want to kiss eddie, again and again and again and again-

 - it was overwhelming

 - but after a kiss to the mark and a few more pecks richie pulled away and got another good look at eddie and wow- that was a mistake, because if the way eddie looked before made richie need to kiss him again, the way eddie looked now made richie want to instantly give him the world

 - and fuck if he knew why

 - eddies lips were wet and this time they were actually swollen, his eyes had opened but they were so, so lidded, his pupils were blown wide, and his eyelashes fluttering with the few stuttering breaths he took and richie-

 - richie had to stand up, now, he should probably leave- but christ he didn’t know how or when it happened but he had a lap full of eddie, who was now slumping himself against richie and tucking his head on his shoulder, and he could hear the shaky sighs that came out of eddie before he heard a soft mumble

 - 'thanks.’

 - and with that eddie climbs out of richies lap, adjusting his shirt looking anywhere, everywhere but the boy beside him

 - richie can deal with that, but he was still just so shocked, at himself, at eddie, so he quickly responds with a 'no problem, happy to do it, make sure you rate your experience in the guestbook upfront- uhh, christ, come do it again, whenever you’re in the area.’ and he has to force himself to stop talking, biting on his tongue-

 - but eddie let’s out a laugh, something loud and genuine and richie still hasn’t resolved this, hasn’t resolved anything, but when eddie laughs he feels the haze clear and everything feels so light in that moment.

 - eddie is just surprised that richie might’ve been right about something- that kissing can help you learn that you love someone (a little bit more than he had previously thought)

srry if thhis is bad i need sleep

[itsallavengers]

Tenth Time Lucky

The first time Steve decided to ask Tony to marry him, he made sure to plan everything out perfectly.

A fancy restaurant- Tony’s favourite place, just a few minutes out from the Tower. It was small and no-nonsense and served the best Italian food Steve had ever tasted.  He’d set everything up- made sure to inform the restaurant owners and get them to keep away any paparazzi that happened to be lurking around the place, and told Tony to dress fancy. 

It was going to be perfect. Steve wanted it all to be perfect.

They’d eaten their desserts, and Tony had been laughing loudly at something Steve had said; his face creased with lines of happiness that Steve adored. The box in Steve’s jacket pocket felt heavy- and he knew that he had to do it tonight. Wanted to do it tonight. 

“Tony?” He grabbed at the hand that was resting on the table, mentally steeling himself. He knew that the question would undoubtedly illicit some sort of reaction from Tony- and that reaction would undoubtedly be an... interesting experience to deal with. But hell- Steve wasn’t expecting anything less, and it had been months since anything even vaguely resembling ‘normal’ had occurred in their lives anyway. Steve was used to it. 

Tony looked over to him, raising an eyebrow. “Mm?” He replied softly.

Steve opened his mouth, wondering what the hell he was actually going to say. He had planned it all out, yeah- but there was a difference between theorising all this shit and actually asking someone to spend the rest of their life with you.

“Tony,” he said again, and his throat felt dry with nerves.

“Steve,” Tony answered, equally serious, but with an eyebrow raised in amusement. Steve didn’t blame him- he probably looked like an idiot right now, with his mouth working up and down like some sort of stupid fish-

“Listen,” Steve said, “I have something I want to-”

Of course- that was when all the windows blew out.

The world shook and Steve automatically reached out for Tony, pulling him into his chest as they went flying across the room. There were screams heard outside on the streets, and Steve sighed in dismay and tiredness. 

Trust aliens to attack right now. If they hadn’t noticed, Steve was kind of fucking busy. Absolutely fucking typical.

They both landed on the floor with a thump, and Steve rolled them expertly under the cover of a booth. “You didn’t happen to bring your suit, did you?” He hissed into Tony’s hair.

Underneath him, he felt Tony grin against his collar, popping a quick kiss there absently. “Nope. You got your shield?”

“Where the fuck do you think I’d be storing a shield?”

Tony shrugged. “Fair enough. Looks like we’re just going to have to improvise then, aren’t we?” He asked, rolling up his sleeve and revealing his gauntlet watch from under the fabric.

Steve sighed. “Yep. Looks like it.”

Okay. Another time, then. He could wait.

For now, there were plenty of aliens to take out his anger on.

(read more, mobile users!)

The second time, they were away on vacation. 

The beach was glorious; white sand and crystal clear sea and the perfect company. Just him and Tony, on one of his private islands somewhere in the Atlantic. They rarely got to do this- far too much going on in their lives, after all, but somehow they’d both managed to wrangle a few days off, and damned if they weren’t going to take the utmost advantage of that. 

The little box was still tucked firmly in Steve’s jacket, waiting for its moment. 

“I hope Clint hasn’t burned down my tower,” Tony murmured into Steve’s chest, his fingers writing out what felt like equations into his skin, “I feel like there’s something intrinsically wrong with letting him roam New York without some form of supervision from either one of us.”

“He’ll be fine- don’t worry yourself,” Steve said, before grinning a little, “and if anyone’s gonna be burning down your tower, it’ll be Thor. Or Natasha. Depends on the day.”

Tony huffed, and then rolled off Steve’s chest, sitting back up again. “God, it’s been a while since I got to do this,” he murmured, closing his eyes and smiling against the gentle breeze that hit him.

Steve just watched him for a few moments, his own smile forming as he looked over at Tony. The man really was beautiful- in a way that Steve was sure he’d never seen, and would never see again. Every line and indent in his body was just...perfect. And maybe that was Steve’s own bias showing through, but he doubted it. Just in the way Tony could stun a room into silence, simply by stepping foot in it, showed exactly how much hold Tony had over everyone.

And it was all Steve’s.

He sat up, took Tony’s face in his hands and kissed him softly. He’d never get over the way Tony felt against him; soft skin and plump lips and a beard that he’d never have thought he’d find as attractive as he did. Tony was smiling a little against his mouth, and wrapped his hands around Steve’s neck delicately when he shuffled closer. They stayed like that for a few minutes, wrapped up in one another as the sun warmed their blood and the quiet hum of waves against the shore let them know exactly where they were.

When Tony broke off, it was to pull at his hand and scramble up, back to his feet. “Let’s go swim,” he said suddenly, “clothing optional. In fact, clothing prohibited. My island, my laws.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but stood up all the same. The words were on the tip of his tongue- marry me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, would you do me the honour of being my husband-

But Tony was springing down the beach, shucking off his shirt and turning around in order to wink over at Steve. His hair was falling into his eyes- already turning a little lighter and curlier from the saltwater and sun- and Steve decided to let it wait until at least the evening. 

For the time being, he just pulled his own shirt over his head and followed. Tony’s island, Tony’s rules, after all.

Rubbing Tony’s back whilst he vomited into the toilet was not exactly what Steve had been expecting when he’d said he was going to wait until the evening.

“God, must’ve been something in the fucking seafood...ugh,” Tony leaned his cheek against the bowl and shut his eyes, exhausted from the past twenty minutes he’d spent doing pretty much nothing but throw up.

“How is there even anything still in there,” Steve wondered absent-mindedly, fingers stroking through Tony’s bangs and sweeping them out of his face.

“Fuck if I know,” Tony grumbled- before leaning over the toilet and vomiting again.

Steve winced, restarting his gentle massaging of Tony’s back.

Looked like it was going to have to wait a little longer, then.

By the time the next opening came around, Steve was willing to admit that finding the perfect opportunity was going to be unlikely.

Five times. Five different occasions, he’d meticulously arranged in order to try and make it perfect. In order to make everything go as beautifully and perfect as Steve had wanted it to be in his head.

Five different fucking times that aliens or food poisoning or nosy teammates had interrupted him before he could even fucking begin.

He was getting annoyed. And he knew Tony knew something was going on by that point, because now every time they went on a damn date he started shuffling and looking expectant, like he knew Steve was going to do something big. He was a genius, after all- and it wasn’t exactly a massive fucking leap.

So the surprise was pretty much ruined.

It was annoying, but Steve could take it. It wasn’t the end of the world if he didn’t manage to get the setting right- it was the person and the answer that mattered the most, after all.

So the next time they were sat alone on the couch, Steve decided to take the leap and just ask.

Shuffling his butt a little so he was sat facing Tony, he crossed his legs and worked his fingers gently around the man’s hand, grabbing his attention. When Tony turned, Steve smiled down at him. “Can we talk? I need to-”

Of course, Steve should have been expecting the alarm to go off at that point. He really was just that lucky.

“Oh you gotta be fucking KIDDING ME-” Steve groaned over the sound of the blaring, slamming his arm angrily down against the cushions whilst Tony jumped to his feet. 

“What’s the situation, J,” Tony called over the noise, turning away from Steve and hurrying off in the direction of the elevator. Steve just stared up at the ceiling and contemplated his life for a few moments, before sighing deeply and following.

“It appears there’s been an explosion on the outskirts of Central Park,” JARVIS relayed back to them, “and reports coming in show signs of energy influxes that are affecting infrastructure of nearby buildings.”

Steve barely held back another groan. That sounded like a long job. “Great,” he muttered, yanking off his sweater and feeling it tear between his fingers, which only produced more frustration. 

Okay. Okay, Fine. Battle the aliens, propose tomorrow. It was fine. Fine.

The man’s hands crackled with blue energy as he began twirling it menacingly around the top of his head; creating patterns and spirals of whatever magic he’d managed to procure. “With my plan put in place, New York will be under the strict supervision of a man who can truly lead the community into a better place- you shall all kneel before m-”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Steve growled and threw his shield, slamming the edge into whatever crazy fucking helmet the guy was wearing and knocking him clean out. The energy cut off immediately, and silence filled the streets as the buzzing finally ceased.

Everyone turned, looking at him in surprise. Steve just shrugged and walked over, snatching up his shield irritably. “Fucking annoying wizards,” he muttered, “ruining my fucking morning-”

“Team,” Fury barked into their comms, “Debrief in five minutes. Stark, that means you too.”

Steve just sighed.

Holding the box between his fingers as he sat on the side of the bed, Steve turned it around a few times before lifting his head. “JARVIS, is there anyone else apart from Tony in the kitchen?” He asked.

He was just going to ask. No fancy stuff- maybe he wouldn’t even speak. Just throw the thing at him and run away before anything exploded or died or started an uprising-

“No, Captain Rogers- Miss Romanov and Barton are sparring in the gym, and Bruce and Thor are both down in the labs,” JARVIS informed him.

Steve nodded. Right. Okay. Showtime. He could do this. It was a Sunday. Nothing happened on Sundays, right? Villains were lazy on Sundays- it was their rest day too.

 “Cool,” he murmured, closing his fist around the box and standing up. “Cool cool cool. Let’s do this.”

He continued to encourage himself as he hopped down the stairs and slipped into the elevator. Smoothed out his hair in the reflective surface and sorted out his collar a little.

He could do this. 

He felt the elevator slow to a quick stop, and took a deep breath. His pulse felt slightly erratic, but it was to be expected. He was fucking terrified, after all.

The doors opened, and without another thought he stepped out, Tony’s name on the tip of his his tongue as he looked into the room. In fact, it wasn’t all that difficult to find the man- he was directly in front of him, sorting out the cuffs of his suit and clutching a Styrofoam coffee cup between his teeth.

“Tony-”

“Can’t stop, fuck, I think my company’s dying,” Tony cut in, slipping past Steve’s shoulder and then jumping into the elevator, his fingers pressing at ground floor. He looked harried and flustered, and when he pointed to the suitcase he’d left by the foot of the counter a few paces away, Steve reached out for it automatically, handing it over in confusion. “Tony, what do you m-”

“I’m sorry, I can’t stop and explain, I’ve got to get down to headquarters,” Tony took the case without looking, jumping up to his tiptoes in order to press a quick kiss to Steve’s mouth and then turning back around into the elevator again. “I might be gone a while, sorry baby, I’ll call you when I’m free, stay safe,” Tony babbled as the doors closed quickly- bobbing his head to the side in order to say the last words to Steve before the gap closed and Tony was gone.

Steve stared at the doors for a moment, a little baffled as to what had just happened. Barely five seconds had even passed since he’d stepped out of the elevator himself.

The universe seemed to really, really not want him to pop the question.

Maybe it was a sign, Steve thought a little hysterically as he dropped his head into his hands and groaned- maybe this was the universes’ way of telling him this was horrible, terrible idea and was trying to protect him from making a stupid mistake. Because really- every single time? Every single fucking time he decided to ask the question, and something interrupted him? There were some Higher Powers out there that were thoroughly enjoying fucking with him.

At some point, he heard Clint’s footsteps wandering through the doors and felt the man stare at him for a few seconds.

“Get fucked, Clint,” he said, without looking up.

Wisely, Clint slowly backed away, muttering something that sounded like ‘need coffee before this shit,’ as he went.

Steve was inclined to agree.

9 times.

9 separate occasions. 9 scenarios. 9 interruptions, happening milliseconds before the beginning of every last fucking conversation that attempted to bring the question to light.

Steve was seriously debating if he should just leave the damn box on a table and hope Tony saw it at some point. Although, with his luck- that might just end up getting the entire tower blown up, considering the fact that the universe was conspiring to make sure Tony never saw the fucking thing, apparently.

“Cap, on your six!” Thor called out to him from ahead, and Steve turned, shield raised as he hammered it home into the face of a doombot. He made sure to hit hard enough to remove the head- had to take out his frustration somehow, after all.

This had just been another occasion in which villainous activity had ruined his day. God- he and Tony had been at a damn theatre, for Christ’s sake- Steve was still in his civvies, and as much as he loved his leather jacket, it wasn’t exactly battle material. He was just glad the team had brought along his shield as they’d joined the party a few minutes ago, and that Tony, luckily, had summoned his suit a while back, and so was happily blasting at bots as they crawled over cars and buildings from behind the relative safety of his armour.

Anyway. To summarise- Steve was suitless, covered in ash, and thoroughly pissed.

Growling irritably, Steve spun on his heel and slammed the edge of his shield into the neck of a doombot that had been creeping up on Hawkeye’s left, decapitating it effectively. He used his momentum to leap onto the hood of a car and then throw himself into the middle of a bunch of them, raising the shield as Iron Man passed over so that he could reflect the repulsor off the surface and mow them all down.

Tony blew Steve a quick kiss in the air before turning away again, and Steve couldn’t help but grin a little fondly as he plucked mechanical guts off his shirt and continued down the street. Tony had picked up some worrying energy signatures down by one of the buildings on the corner, and so that was where he, Tony and Thor were headed, whilst Hawkeye and Black Widow attempted to keep the perimeter.

That, however, was becoming increasingly difficult, considering the fact that it seemed the doombots were growing in numbers every moment, and most of them were centred around the building Steve was currently barrelling toward.

Which was great.

He hissed in pain as something exploded to his right and sent shrapnel flying toward him. He blocked most of it with his arm, but felt the painful scratch as metal sliced open his forehead. Running a little faster, he slammed his shield down on the next bomb that had been set, trapping the explosion under his shield. It hurt like hell, and he was pretty sure something popped out of place for a second in his shoulder, but ultimately didn’t take much notice of it. He’d survived worse, after all.

The familiar sound of repulsors suddenly surrounded Steve, and he had barely a second to process it before Tony was grabbing his waist and hauling him upward, just as a particularly fearsome explosion ripped down the street and turned the space Steve had previously been occupying into a charred, boiling mess.

Well. That was lucky.

“You were being slow, old man,” Tony told him, turning the faceplate toward him, and Steve knew he smiling underneath it.

God, he loved that man.

“Drop me there, shellhead,” Steve pointed at an overturned bus a couple of meters away, and he felt Tony’s grip loosen on his waist in preparation, until a moment later when he suddenly tightened his hold once more and halted them in the air.

“Tony?” Steve asked, turning to watch him curiously. He guessed JARVIS had said something to him, but was curious as to-

Ah. It was probably because of the building that was currently falling onto the bus Steve had just pointed to.

“God, how many of them are there?” Steve asked incredulously, as a swarm of bots began crawling out of the rubble and firing up at Tony.

“Too fucking many, that’s for sure,” Tony muttered in response, swooping down low and putting Steve on the road, then landing with a clang at his back, hands raised defensively, “highest score picks the movie tonight?”

Steve grinned, wiping the blood from his eye. “Aw, sweetheart, nice of you to let me choose for once.”

Tony was probably rolling his eyes under the helmet. “Shut up and kill some bots, Steve.”

Grinning, Steve followed orders, shield working like an extension of his own body as he scythed through rows of doombots at once. In the corner of his eye, he could see Tony blasting through the wave with ease, making sure nothing managed to sneak up behind Steve whilst they worked.

Honestly? It was probably twisted and a bit fucked up- but there wasn’t anywhere else where Steve could say he’d rather have been at that point, than right there at Tony’s back. Fuck the universe. Fuck whatever it thought he should and shouldn’t do. 

He wanted this more than anything else in the world.

“Tony!” He called, stepping forward and tackling a doombot into a wall, and then ducking immediately after in order to avoid a spray of fire that went over his head in retaliation.

Briefly, he saw Tony turn, a missile launching from his shoulder and blowing up the area he’d just turned away from. “Yeah?” 

Steve had to take a moment to smash his fist through a bot’s chest and yank out his engine, but once that was done, he turned back around. “Marry me!”

If another explosion hadn’t ripped through the air to Steve’s left, there probably would have been a pretty shocked silence. As it was, he was too busy being thrown back by the shockwave and slammed into a car to listen out for it.

Curling the shield over himself until the remaining rubble had fallen, he sat back up, watching Tony do the same across the road. They turned to eachother immediately, and then, against all safety precautions, Steve watched Tony lift the faceplate so he was looking straight at Steve with his own eyes. “WHAT?” He called out loudly.

Steve grinned slightly manically, stumbling back up to his feet. He almost lost balance as a bot jumped onto his back, but he quickly rolled it off and got rid of it, and then turned back to Tony. “I want you to marry me!” He yelled through a laugh.

Tony jutted out his chin, a little incredulous, and then suddenly raised a palm to Steve and fired just over his shoulder. Behind him, he heard another doombot go down. “Steve, did you hit your head?”

“No!” Steve was still laughing, and he swung his shield around, taking out four different bots at once as he dragged himself through the rubble and ash toward Tony, “this is genuinely me, asking you, Tony Stark, to be my husband. I’ve been trying-” he paused, rolling away from a beam of deadly energy that shot out of one bot’s chest and then wincing as the cut already on his head was scuffed along the concrete. “I’ve been trying to ask you for months now, but I kept-” something punched him in the face, and he slammed his shield into it before continuing, “-kept getting fucking interrupted.”

Across the road, Tony was gaping at him. He made to walk forward, but turned his head and managed to throw himself out of the way of a piece of flying rubble just a moment before it smashed its way through the place his head had just been. “Are you serious? Is that was that was?” He yelled from the floor.

“Yes! I thought you knew!”

“I thought you were going to say something bad, Steve- I thought you were gearing up to break up with me or something!”

Steve actually stopped, at that- and of course, he was piled on by doombots a second later. Spinning his legs, he swept them all on to the floor with him, and then crushed them under his shield. “What the hell? Tony, no- I want to marry you! I want to spend the rest of my goddamn life with you! And I tried to ask, but then aliens invaded or you got food poisoning or Thor fell through the ceiling, and I was sure it was some sort of omen, the universe trying to stop me, but you know what- fuck the universe! I don’t care what it thinks, Tony, I love you! And just because we’re being attacked by robots doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop, so the universe can go suck on that!”

Tony paused, still staring at him in a mixture of shock and disbelief. “You... you want to marry me?” He said, eyes widening, “you- really?”

“I had a big speech planned out and everything,” Steve nodded, rolling over a bot and trying to make his way over to Tony, “about how much I love you and how you changed my life- made me smile when I never thought I would, how I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. It was very romantic. But then-” he stood on his shield, flipping it back up into his hand and then swinging around immediately to throw it it into a group of bots, “- I got attacked, or thrown out of windows, or on that one occasion last month, remember, when I got sent into the other dimension?”

Tony’s eyes widened in understanding. “That was what you’d been going to say before you disappeared?” 

Steve nodded, shuffling in his pocket before pulling out the box, now a little dirty and dented, but still mostly intact, so Steve counted it as a win. “Yep!”

Across the road, Tony laughed- those same lines of happiness lighting up his face just as they always did. He fired a burst of repulsors down the street, looking up and saluting Thor as he flew overhead and electrocuted a bunch of them over at the other side, and then turned back to Steve. When they locked eyes, Steve already knew what he was going to say. He’d never doubted it, not really.

“Alright then,” Tony’s smile looked as if it was about to split his face in half, it was that wide, “get over here and put that ring on my finger, Rogers.”

Feeling his heart beating wildly in his chest and his own grin stretch ecstatically across his face, Steve nodded, standing up and steeling himself. 

Showtime. All he had to do was get across the street. Easy, right?

Well. it would have been, had it not been for the dozens of doombots that kept trying to blow them up, of course.

Crawling over a pile of rubble, he grabbed a chunk of it and slammed it over his shoulder at the robot that had latched on. Tony’s faceplate was back down, and it was lucky, because a moment later he got a car thrown at him, effectively sending him flying down the street. Steve cursed, trying to protect the box still in his hand, which the bots seemed to be actively trying to destroy.

Seemed the universe still wasn’t done trying to fuck with him.

“Tony!” He called out in the end, leaping onto a streetlamp and waving over to his soon-to-be fiance, who turned immediately, “hold onto this until I get there!” He hauled the box out of his hand, sending it over to Tony, who grabbed it out of the air immediately. “And you’re not allowed to look at it!” He added.

Tony stopped, and Steve guessed he was pouting. Gearing up the repulsors in his boots, he leaped into the air, dodging fire expertly until he landed once more, now just a few feet from Steve. “Thor?” he said, this time into his comm, “I need you to watch our six, just for a couple of minutes.”

“Of course!” Came the reply, “I am thoroughly enjoying smiting these idiotic things.”

Tony chuckled, and then watched as Thor swooped around the corner and began throwing his hammer left right and centre. Steve was still up on the lamp, and he swung back to earth, kicking right through a bot as he went. “So- where were we?” He asked, a little out of breath.

Tony walked forward pulling back the faceplate again. “Uh, you were about to put that ring on my finger and declare yourself stuck with me for life?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Steve nodded stepping forward. He felt Tony yank at him suddenly, and lifted his shield instinctively, letting the beam of energy bounce off it rather than bury itself in his shoulder. “I’m gonna need my ring back, shellhead.”

Tony passed it over, and then glanced down at his left hand, which was currently covered in thick metal. “JARVIS, do something useful with that,” he muttered, and a second later, Steve watched it disassemble itself from the rest of the suit, flying over to a doombot headed toward them and punching straight through it.

“You should probably put your faceplate back up,” Steve frowned, covering him when another beam fired a little too close for his liking.

Tony scoffed. “Yeah, like I’m gonna do this with a visor up,” his face softened, and the hand that was now no longer covered with a gauntlet came up and wiped the stray blood from Steve’s forehead, “we’re getting as up close and personal as it gets, baby-”

There was a sudden blinding flash of light, and both of them ducked into one another as Thor swept past them. “Sorry!” He called out as he flew. 

“Right,” Steve murmured, passing his shield over to Tony for a moment as he fumbled with the ring, “cover me a second.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tony said, raising the shield to Steve’s left as he slowly got down on one knee.

“I know. Three o’clock,” he jerked his head, and Tony fired a repulsor blast without looking away from Steve’s face, his eyes impossibly soft and still just a little disbelieving as he watched Steve kneel in front of him.

“Not a joke, sweetheart,” he promised, wiping the blood out of his eye yet again, damn that stupid cut, “look-”

he opened the box, and Tony’s eyes widened as they fixed on the little silver band nestled inside it. “100% real. Cost an arm and a leg, mind, but-”

He was interrupted once more when Tony’s head jerked up and he got to his knees right next to Steve, putting the shield up and covering his back seconds before something that sounded sharp slammed into it.

“Right, okay, I should probably hurry up, fuck,” Steve laughed a little, and Tony copied him, leaning into his shoulder and burying his head there as he giggled. “Hey, this is a very serious occasion, Tony, I mean it, you shouldn’t be laughing when I’m trying to propose-”

“You’re proposing to Tony?” Thor tumbled out of the sky like a boulder, landing next to them and staring at them both incredulously. “Are you- right now? Seriously?”

“Thor, you’re on comms,” Tony gestured to his ear, “you’ve been listening in to the entire conversation.

Thor held up a finger, asking for a moment as he swung his hammer through a line of bots and then grabbing it as it returned to him. “Well, yes, but I just thought it was some sort of...midgardian thing.”

Steve opened his mouth, about to ask what the fuck that even meant, when suddenly Clint piped up down the line. “Yeah, to be fair, me and Nat were running along the same line- I mean, proposing to someone in the middle of a fight to the death is just stupid, even for you.”

“I thought you and Nat were on a private line!” Tony said in confusion, readjusting the shield so that Thor could bounce a pulse of electricity off it.

“We were,” Nat chimed in, “but then we got bored and wanted to hear what everyone else was doing.”

“We weren’t disappointed.”

“I am still confused as to whether or not you are jesting-”

“Can everyone just pipe the fuck down and let me fucking propose, Jesus fucking Christ!” Steve cut in irritably, “I have been interrupted enough fucking times by now, and I am at the end of my fucking r-”

He was interrupted- but in the best way, because it was from Tony’s mouth pressing against his, mixing the sweat and blood and dust in his mouth and still somehow managing to make it one of the best kisses of his life. “Steve, hate to break it to you, but if you don’t do this quick, we might die, so-”

“yep, yep, okay,” Steve broke off hurriedly, keeping their foreheads together as he beamed, “Tony Stark, you would make me the happiest I’ve ever been and ever will be if you m-”

There was a dull roar from above them, and they both looked up, watching in horror as what definitely looked like the Hulk started falling through the sky at an immense speed, face contorted angrily.

“ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?” Steve yelled, as Tony laughed and then tackled him by the waist, turning on the boot-repulsors and hauling them out of the way just before Hulk smashed onto the scene. They rolled together down the road a few times, before coming to a stop with Steve pinned underneath the Tony’s suit.

“Tony, give me your hand,” he bit out, trying desperately to remain straight-faced, but failing as Tony just continued to cackle, holding out his left hand as his face fell once more into Steve’s shoulder.

They both ended up close to tears with laughter as Steve’s shaking hands worked the ring onto Tony’s dirty fingers pretty much blindly, due to the flow of blood steadily dripping into his eye. Tony was hacking up dust from the rubble around them, and it should have been the least romantic thing on the planet, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t. It was perfect.

“Have they done it yet, or are they dead?” Natasha asked blandly, and Steve and Tony just continued to laugh, holding onto one another as they curled up in the road.

Thor peered over at them. “It seems so,” he said, “they’re currently having a wonderful time on the road.”

“Ugh, don’t need to know,” Clint gagged, and it just made Steve laugh harder, kissing Tony’s temple, his cheek, his nose, probably smearing blood everywhere, but it’s not like they weren’t used to it at that point, so neither of them cared.

“We did it!” Tony said happily, looking down at his ring and then up, hauling Steve’s shield over so it covered Steve’s head. “Only took eight million tires.”

Steve was sure he’d never been happier in his whole life. “Yeah,” he said, curling his hands around Tony’s waist and rolling, using the momentum to pull himself back up into a standing position, “yeah, we got there in the end.”

He held out a hand, and Tony took it, jumping to his feet. Once upright, Steve couldn’t resist pulling him in, kissing him soundly, kissing his fiance soundly, god, he couldn’t even believe it-

“We’re gonna die if we don’t concentrate,” Tony murmured, whilst making no effort to move away.

Steve just shrugged. “I’ll die happy,” he admitted, “anyway- I think Thor and the Hulk have it covered.”

They probably did. Hopefully did. Whatever. Steve had more important things on his mind right now. Like Tony’s mouth. And Tony’s left hand, that was wearing the ring he’d kept in his pocket for nearly half a year now. 

God. They were going to get married. They were actually going to get married. If they didn’t die in the next few minutes, of course. Which really should have been incentive to get back into fighting mode and help out their team, but-

Well. Tony’s mouth was right there, after all.

Yeah. Saving the world could wait a little longer. 

[imnotoikay]

IWAOI MOB AU Chapter 4

(I realized I never posted this because I’m the worst)

A King of A Different Kind: Mature (rating will go up)

Description: Iwaoi Mafia Au. Based off the Italian Mob structure not Yakuza. Iwa is the mob bosses son and he has some explaning to do. After being Oikawa’s childhood best friend and keeping his family’s buisness a secret Oikawa discovers the truth shortly after their college graduation. Oikawa decides an insane life with Iwaizumi is better than one without him and must now face the challenges of his life being turned completely upside as he dives head first into the world of criminals. 

Sample Chapter 4 Below:

“So you’re just never going to tell him?”

“No Kuroo I’m not.”

“And you’re just going to die alone.”

“Yep.”

Kuroo howled from the backseat and pulled a joint out of his suit pocket,

“What are you doing?”

“Oh Christ Iwa are you my parole officer?”

“Yeah I fucking am. You know you aren’t supposed to use anything it could set you back-“

“Dude chill, its one joint!”

“Marjuana is gateway drug,” Bokuto starred at him with a serious expression.

“Fuck okay god!” Kuroo rolled his window down and threw the joint to the wind, “If either of you tells the Boss about this your dead. Especially you daddy’s little girl.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and found himself speeding up as he drove down the long forest road. He normally enjoyed traveling for jobs, and under a normal circumstance being surrounded by nothing but forest and his best friends would have made him ecstatic.

But too much had changed in the past four years of college.

Bokuto had a boyfriend that was also probably one of the scariest mercenaries he had ever known.

Kuroo was sober. Or trying to be. God was he using again? Fuck.

And Iwaizumi and Oikawa were seeing each other.

But not dating.

It was complicated.

“You’re already at the sex part so why would he say no to a relationship?”

“Some people enjoy casual sex,” Kuroo sighed as he unbuckled his seat belt and spread out on the back seats.

“Yeah but…I don’t know I would not want to have casual sex with Iwa,” Bokuto frowned looking out the dashboard window.

A few seconds passed in silence because Kuroo erupted into screaming laughter. “HOLY SHIT BO! SAY IT RIGHT TO HIS FACE!”

“Yeah Jesus Bokuto,” Iwaizumi couldn’t help but chuckle at Kuroo’s intense howl from the backseat, “You don’t have to worry about it man I’ll stay way over here.”

Bokuto tried to hold his frown but it was nearly impossible when Kuroo got laughing the way he was now,

“That’s not what I meant! I just meant-“

“WAIT I’M SORRY NO!” Kuroo chocked out from the backseat. He was gripping his stomach and tears were streaming down his eyes, “GIVE ME A MINUTE!”

A minute turned into four hours of Kuroo snickering through the entire deal—which almost got them shot.

And then giggling through the secondary deal—which DID get them shot at.

In fact, it wasn’t until the sixth hour and they were about two blocks from Iwaizumi’s apartment that Kuroo was ready to finish the conversation.

“Can we get some pizza I’m DYING,” Kuroo groaned from the back seat.

“If you put your clothes back on we can consider it,” Iwaizumi grunted as he quickly changed lanes to head towards their favorite pizza place.

Kuroo groaned but found his black t-shirt and a pair of black sweat pants that definitely did not belong to him, but would work.

“I just wore those to the gym and they are not clean.”

“What the fuck ever,”

“I have Febreeze!” Bokuto practically leaped out of his seat and pulled a small travel spray of Febreeze out before presenting it to Kuroo.

Iwaizumi and Kuroo starred at the bottle that Bokuto had miraculously pulled out of his pocket as if it were the key to the universe.

“Dude,” Kuroo whispered,

“Why do you have that?” Iwaizumi asked quietly as he slowed to a stop outside the pizza parlor.

“Because Akaashi always wants to go out for dinner after work so I used to give him my clothes from the car but then he said those smell because most of the time they are dirty but don’t tell him that so I just started carrying Febreeze because then he doesn’t have an excuse and I get to see him in my clothing like 24/7.”

Iwaizumi and Kuroo starred at him in awe for a solid three minutes and Bokuto began to shuffle under their glances.

“Is that weird?” Bokuto asked.

“Extremely,”

“Oh yeah,”

“But genius,”

“INVENTIVE!”

They both clapped him on the back and Kuroo sprayed himself down with Febreeze.

And then Iwaizumi

And then Bokuto.

In fact they had invented and completed a full Febreeze ceremony which involved chanting, spraying, and carrying Bokuto into the pizza place over their heads with ceremonious grunting.

They sat at their usual table in the back and before long three pizzas were presented to them. They thanked their waiter, the owner, profusely and began diving in.

“Hey Bo,” Kuroo asked before shoveling two stacked slices in his mouth, “why won’t you have casual sex with Iwa?”

Bokuto and Iwaizumi chocked and before long Kuroo was laying across the booth holding his stomach tears streaming down his eyes.

“I’m going to explain!” Bokuto laughed,

“Please do!” Iwaizumi grunted taking a long sip of his orange soda.

“You being the son of a mob boss,” he whispered intensely which cause Kuroo and Iwaizumi to only laugh harder, “Stop Stop! I’m serious! If I knew that, I wouldn’t want anything casual! Too much risk! It’s all or nothing!”

Kuroo took a deep breath, regaining composure, “Yeah well Oikawa does not have that issue.”

Bokuto arched an eyebrow at him, “Whatcha mean?”

“He doesn’t know.”

Bokuto gaped at Kuroo and then at Iwaizumi,

“Shut up Bokuto it’s not like you can just say that to someone!”

“Especially when you’ve been lying about it for what fifteen years now?” Kuroo hummed into his next slice,

“Not by choice Kuroo.”

“Iwa that is so fucked up! First day out the gate Akaashi knew I was in the business!”

“That’s because you met him on a job dipshit!”  Iwaizumi grumbled and stood up, “Would you really have told him if he was a stranger? Would you really bring him into this?”

Kuroo and Bokuto stared at him in silence,

“Yes.” Bokuto said after a heated thirty seconds, “I love him, and you love Oikawa, and at the end of the day that love trumps all of this…I would walk away in a second for Akaashi, and so would Kuroo-“

“Yeah well I can’t do that! I’m his fucking son where am I going to go! Even if I left they would all find me. Kill me. Kill him! Where the fuck do I go if he doesn’t want this!” Iwaizumi growled throwing his chair into the table, “Find your own way home.”

. _ _ _ _ _

“If this is going to work I need you to be completely honest with me.”

That was the first thing Oikawa had said when he knocked on Iwaizumi’s apartment door.

And that was why they were doing this—well not literally this, Iwaizumi thought pulling on a pair of dark wash jeans, but why they were getting dressed and going to his father’s house.

His real, genuine, gigantic, remote, house.

Iwaizumi ran a nervous hand through his short hair.

“Is it that bad?” Oikawa asked with a smile from the other side of the room. He was wearing light jeans and a tucked in white button down. The contrast between his practically glowing figure and the black duvet cover made Iwaizumi think of a painting. Oikawa was breathtaking, remarkable. He inhaled sharply and sat on the other side of the bed. He heard Oikawa shift and smiled at the feeling of his long fingers slowly massaging his bare shoulders,

“It’s not you I’m worried about,”

The press of Oikawa’s tone frame pressed against his back was devastatingly distracting,

“Who are you worried about?” Oikawa whispered into his ear causing Iwaizumi to arch his eyebrow.

“What are you up to?”

He could feel Oikawa’s smirk burning into the back of his head as Oikawa placed a soft kiss on his ear lobe,

“What ever do you mean?”

“Ms. Robinson I think you’re trying to seduce me,” Iwaizumi smiled allowing Tooru to plant trailing kisses down his neck and onto his shoulders,

“No, I’m just trying to relax you,” Oikawa whispered in between kisses,

Iwaizumi laughed loudly, “You’re insatiable.”

“Maybe~” Oikawa lightly grabbed Iwaizumi’s chin turning his face to place a firm kiss on his lips. He pulled away slightly before returning. Iwaizumi’s smile making the kiss mostly Oikawa kissing and Iwaizumi giggling, “You’re not kissing me,” Oikawa sang teasingly,

“I’m just trying to relax you,” Iwaizumi laughed as Oikawa swatted at his shoulder playfully,

“Rude Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa’s complaint was cut off as Iwaizumi skillfully stood and tackled Oikawa backwards onto the king size.

Oikawa laughed as he peppered light kisses across Oikawa’s face, holding him steadily between his two hands.

“You’re so playful today Iwa!”Oikawa laughed causing Iwaizumi to freeze, shifting back so his weight was placed on his knees which were placed on either side of Oikawa’s hips.

“I’m happy.” He sighed heavily and lazily traced his hand across Oikawa’s shirt “I’m just really happy that you came back.”

Oikawa’s face scrunched, “I didn’t come back,” Iwaizumi looked back at him, his face looked desperate like Oikawa was holding his life in his hands. Oikawa sat up kissing Iwaizumi softly in one fluid motion, “I never left,” his fingers trailed down Iwaizumi’s bare chest slowly causing Iwaizumi to suck in a deep breath, “but I do think I made the right decision.” His fingers stopped above the button of Iwaizumi’s jeans causing the other man to grind into the touch subconsciously.

“You’re not worried?” Iwaizumi asked as he leaned forward to begin kissing and sucking on the exposed portion of Oikawa’s neck. His favorite.

“N-no. I know I’m safe with you.” Oikawa slid his hand slowly back up Iwaizumi’s chest, “And the dangerous aspect is a little sexy if I’m honest.”

Oikawa quickly dropped his hands down to pop open is lover’s jean button, but Iwaizumi swatted his hands away,

“We are going to be late.”

Oikawa frowned, “We can be quick.”

Iwaizumi arched his eyebrow at Oikawa but placed his hands back,

“Five minutes,” He mumbled into Oikawa’s neck.

Read the Rest on AO3

[abiteofnat]

OUT IN THE WILD, WILD WEST LOOP...

THERE’S A LOT OF GOLD TO BE FOUND. In the form of pizza, pasta, tacos, booze, and everything good that’s bad for you. The Randolph Street area west of the highway that runs next to Chicago is becoming ~the~ place for dinner plans and Friday night dates as it’s being transformed from warehouse valley to an up-and-coming Broadway of food, which is great news for the whole city. 

While I’m fairly certain not even the most extreme foodie has been able to eat at every single place in Chicago, it’s easy to find your favorites and settle into choosing from them versus really exploring a new section of the city. West Randolph has created a whole new division of restaurants and bars to float around and honestly they’re all hits; no where on this street is a flop and it’s such an aesthetically pretty area to be day or night. There’s the view of the entire skyline on one side, and then old, gorgeous brick building refurbished and repainted lining both sides of the street. Since this used to be a heavy factory/ storage area, there are still a lot of untouched lots which adds an old-Chicago vibe that O’Leary’s cow could probably fit right into, but with all the patios and twinkly lights spilling onto the sidewalks the restaurants really nailed the shabby-chic look. 

Over the past eight months or so I’ve eaten my way through Randolph Street because every restaurant looks better than the last, and I can honestly say I love nothing more than dressing up a little and getting an early dinner somewhere new and cute to sit in for hours, and if I’m with my best friends or my family?!? OVER THE MOON. A good 6 p.m. dinner followed by wandering around the city in search of a night cap or a verrryyyy chocolaty dessert? PAST THE MOON AND TO JUPITER. My life philosophy is that the best moments are spent around food and loved ones, and that happiness really is that simple... which is why every weekend I go home to my family where we all love to eat out in Evanston and then get ice cream anywhere because we don’t keep treats in the house (since we all entirely lack self control) and dessert is a nightly “congrats” for getting through the day. But sometimes they want to come into the city and that’s when it’s my turn to find the top-notch noshes! 

Should you need a date night idea or somewhere to bring your best friend/family for a birthday dinner, here are some golden nuggets along West Randy. 

1. Formento’s 

I came across Formento’s on Instagram one million times before ever making it there as they are one of the restaurants that caught onto the “cacio e pepe” pasta trend before the rest of the city did, and the boomerangs of a soft egg yolk breaking over thick, peppery noodles haunted my dreams for weeks. When my girl Luzi asked where we wanted to get dinner one night over the summer when it was a perfect, breezy evening I didn’t even hesitate to suggest Formento’s- with a beautiful and lush patio and a menu packed with drool-worthy food, and she was like “Yes, duh”, so off we went! The waiter was a quirky gal full of suggestions and more than willing to walk us through the menu which is somewhat tapas style and an “encouraged to share” type thing, which always makes me a little anxious but all my brain could think was “cacio e pepe cacio e pepe cacio e pepe” so somehow along the way we also ordered olives and a kale salad but I barely remember those. The olives were marinated and served slightly warm, and they brought us bread thick with rosemary and garlic and wowie it was good enough to be a meal on it’s own. I would love to go back and try the burrata and the lump crab toast, but this place is more of a treat-yourself night out place than a drop in for a casual $50 dinner place so I’m biding my time for an event to celebrate there! 

The pasta finally arrived after we had to move inside post surprise thunderstorm, and in the glow of candles and dim, sexytime lighting I met my love. A perfect swirl of al dente bucatini tossed in a light cream & cheese sauce spotted with freshly cracked pepper, and then an egg yolk perfectly contained and sitting on top like a fucking queen was almost too much to handle. I cracked the yolk and damn, this was one of those moments I wish my eyeballs had a camera built in because I was too engrossed in it to capture it on video. 

This pasta was exactly as good as I wanted it to be and how Instagram made it look, and we all know Instagram is a catfish playground and with all the fuckin gross food going viral because of it you can never quite trust it... but this was good, tried & true. I’m thinking graduation round 2 dinner might be here in the spring... hmmmm.

Oh and the wine menu is dope as well, any nice red would pair well with the spicy + flavorful appetizers and the freshness of the pasta selection. 

2. De Cero (slash) Hello Tacos! 

Ok so the name of this restaurant still confuses me as it used to be De Cero and then they changed it to Hello Tacos! but both show up if you Google it... I promise it’s the same place. This was sooo the shocker of my summer because I was taken against my will to get tacos with my family after a nine hour bus ride from Nashville back to Chicago, and I wanted to shower and curl up in a clean, controlled environment for like five hours before entering the world again but the parents were hungry. And they were kind enough to drive downtown to pick me up, so to turn down a nice dinner out would have just been rude and extremely stupid. So off we went in search of something tasty and my dad suggested De Cero, which we walked into and instantly fell in love with. Even though I smelled like an actual dumpster (the Megabus is not a glamorous way of transit, but I love it) I was instantly coated by the scent of fresh tortilla chips, smoky spices, and freshly sliced lime. We sat down in a cozy wooden booth under a wall of beautiful quilts and were immediately offered a drink (their flavored margaritas are DELICIOUS) and told to pick 3 (!!!) salsas from their list of options. As someone who believes in coating everything I eat in like sixteen sauces, getting to pick three salsas and receiving huge bowls of them was absolute heaven.  We got the Warm Chipotle which is for sure my favorite, imagine just a heavy, garlicky red salsa that’s delightfully toasty, the Tomatillo Lime Verde, and the Pico de Gallo. Later when I came back with a friend (legitimately one week later), I changed out the Pico for the Mango Habanero and it was incredible. I hate mango with every inch of my body, but in the way they marinated and treated the salsa it looses the tropical zing and is just really moist and sweet. All of these salsas? BOMB.COM. Exceptionally flavorful, and more than enough to bring home with you after. 

For dinner, my dad and I got the Grilled Mahi Mahi tacos and HOLY GUACAMOLE THEY WERE FAB. The most succulent, meaty fish fillets dripping with marinate and then topped with an asparagus compote and then doused in avocado puree, all in a corn tortilla that can barely support the weight. These tacos were some of the best fish tacos I’ve ever had, and when I went back with my friend I tested my “was it good or was I starving” test by getting the exact same thing, and loved them all over again. Go check this place out, it’s cozy and adorable and offers epic Mexican cuisine!! 

3. Bar Siena 

This might be my favorite spot on the street so far, but it also has the most options and isn’t too crazily priced so that could be a big factor! Bar Siena sits on a corner a little further down Randolph and is the perfect mix of upscale-bar and classy Italian, with a giant light-up tree in the middle growing up through the second floor that offers scenic seating of the skyline and the rest of Randy. With a menu bursting with wood fired pizza, pasta, antipasta, cheeses, and OF COURSE some fancy as heck cocktails, it’s really really really hard to decide what you want for dinner. Yet, because I’m me, both times I’ve been there I’ve ordered the same entree. Some highlights on the menu (a mix of mine and those I’ve dined with who eat meat) include: 

- Roasted Meatballs: IF I COULD EAT THESE, I WOULD. They come in a little dish of sauces, cheese, and with garlic bread on the side. Oh hellll yes. 

- Burrata: This is the best burrata I’ve ever had. On crispy toast with thick, creamy burrata and apricot jam, topped with sea salt and some crunchy nuts, it’s a 10/10 combo. Get it.

- Kale & Granny Smith Salad: It’s a good, simple salad that’s light and refreshing with so much hearty food. 

- The Prosciutto-Fig Pizza: IF I WAS A PIZZA, THIS WOULD BE ME. Even without the meat the spiced pistachio, truffle honey, and cheese on top of a perfectly baked white pizza is indulgently delicious. If I ever became a stripper, my name would be Truffle Honey in honor of this pizza. 

- Wild Mushroom & Garlic Pizza: Lots of mushrooms, lots of cream and cheese, very good. 

- SWEET CORN RAVIOLI: THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE PASTA OF MY DREAMS. CORN RAV STUFFED WITH MORE CORN, SAUCE, TRUFFLE BUTTER, MUSHROOMS, AND GOD’S LOVE. 

AND THE WINE LIST IS GREAT TOO. 

Y’all don’t skimp on dessert either; Bar Siena is attached to Bombo Bar, the small coffee shop and donut seller on the side with a walk-up window. They have the famed hot chocolate and matcha topped with a coordinating donut, biscotti or cookie, whipped cream, and sprinkles and toppings out the wazoo. They are absolutely crazy but soooo delicious and the hot coco is perfect for a cold winter day when you just want to get out of the house for a small adventure! 

Some other hits along this strip are Soho House, Kaiser Tiger, and Maude’s. Soho House is an ~elite~ club that’s in an ancient, elegant building tucked off on a side street that has a cafe and breakfast nook on the first floor which offers delicious coffee and perfect vibes for writing, reading, and girl’s talk on a rainy afternoon. Kaiser Tiger is a warehouse turned bar that’s open, loud, inviting, and has a unique menu of bratwurst and cheese plates. It’s great for a drink or to grab a nicer bite before heading to the United Center for a game! And Maude’s is somewhere that’s on my wish list- I am DYING to go get a drink in this blue & white dream! The outside is cute as a button and I imagine the inside is even better. I love having places I can’t wait to try out, it keeps this city so fresh! 

Until next time, Happy Eating!

-Natalie 

[theothercourse]

Down with Love - Chapter 4

TITLE:  Down With Love CHAPTER NUMBER: Chapter 4 AUTHOR: theothercourse WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: In the winter of 2011, Tom returns to New York City for the War Horse premiere and visit his Broadway singer ex-girlfriend, hoping to rekindle their flame. Deep in denial, she struggles with his reappearance in her life and his desire to overcome the obstacles that forced them apart more than once since they fell in love almost two years ago. These two ambitious and successful actors fight their families, careers and each other along the course of true love. And in the words of Shakespeare himself, the course of true love never did run smooth. RATING: Mature (NSFW chapter - reunion sex and a ton of angst) AUTHORS NOTES:  Sequel to The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth 

Book Cover - Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Down with Love

         New York City, December 5, 2011

The Taylor Family Bakery stood in between Wexler’s Stationary Store and Samson’s Photography on Main Street in Cold Spring, New York the last time I laid eyes on the place. The only bakery within a twenty mile radius served a few small towns for residents and weekend visitors a little over an hour by train from New York City. The brick face structure had been built in the 1800s, and looked like it. All the businesses on the block had been retrofitted from something else and now served to fulfill the needs of a community of around 2000 souls, the quintessential everyone knew everybody else’s lives kind of town.

 I attended school with the Wexler twins and the postmaster’s son and the grocery store manager’s daughter. My parents didn’t contribute much to the community or participate beyond the doors of the bakery, only if and when it served the good of the business. They were hands off people, and it translated to them as parents to me. All their efforts served the bottom line, and keeping the money in the black instead of the red. Those were constant phrases I heard as a child, red meant danger, black meant less stress and oppressive tension around the house.

Because my parents were absent from me as a child, I found people and places I fit in, even as a six year old until I found my voice, my love for the stage, and my desire for a round of applause. I didn’t wander far from the backroom of the bakery, where I was put with a coloring book or a toy, anything to entertain a small child without supervision. Instead I ventured out into the neighborhood, Main Street, and found myself in Cold Spring’s only pizzeria, owned and operated by an older Italian woman who traded her disco roller skating rink in New Jersey for tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese in the early ‘80s in Upstate New York.

Everyone called her ‘Mama Raina’ though the licenses for her restaurant had been issued to Julie Caruso. All her stories began with ‘When I cashed out in dirty Jerz…’ It was her catch phrase, and she’d been well settled in as the neighborhood hangout before the bold and bored six year old version of me found the place. I visited every day after school, attracted to the strange but colorful marriage of 70s disco glam and 80s electric pop music atmosphere that exuded from inside. Record album covers littered the walls, collages of top 10 singles decorated the cheap laminated tables, and music blared from a black boom box in the back corner. I learned early on not to touch the underside of the table, all sticky with abandoned pieces of pink and green chewing gum.

When the high school kids survived past the 3pm end of the day bell, the popular set all funneled in and crowded into Mama Raina’s for a slice and a soda, burning two or three hours before flitting off home to their white collar, working class parents for family dinner. Because it was such a small almost-tightknit community, at six years old, I became an honorary teenager, with Mama and the dozen or so teenagers watching after me. They all knew who I was and where I’d come from, and adopted me as little sister between the hours of 3pm to 6pm on weekday afternoons.

One particular afternoon remained burned into my memory. Seated in the back booth, I could still remember the smell of the garlic knots and the well-cooked tomato sauce and the Hawaiian punch from the teenagers’ snacks. As most afternoons went, everyone including Mama sang along with the boom box, cranked to 10, playing whichever popular song of the week. It was the regular activity to blow off steam and create a cohesive sound, singing along with the radio.

Whitney Houston’s Where Do Broken Hearts Go made the cut, and it was the first song that I remembered learning the lyrics to, after so many afternoons in Mama Raina’s sanctuary. The teenagers were so proud when I sang along, and they all shook my hand or ruffled my hair with affection. That was the day I felt included somewhere, with likeminded people, treated like an equal. I mattered.

Twenty years later, as I rested against the Marriott Marquis Hotel’s down pillow, folded in the arms of the man I loved, I mattered. To him. Starring into Tom’s eyes, our bare legs threaded through each other’s, I counted for something. My hands were tucked up under my head as I faced him. The smile upon my face pushed through the hesitancy of spending time with him, and being intimate with him again.

Straight white teeth peeked out from behind the ginger goatee as a matching gleeful expression met mine. “Did I really put a smile on your face?” The raspy bedroom pillow talk continued to be Tom’s strong point.

“You did,” the giddy bubbling inside me made that smile grow, and a truthful confirmation for him.

The afterglow of our lovemaking found us snuggled beneath the sheets with the bedside lamps on, so we could see our reunion glow.

“Where did you go just now?” he asked mimicking my relaxed pose.

“Mama Raina’s. Whitney Houston singing in the background.” In our time together, I rarely talked about my childhood. Not from shame or embarrassment, but simply, for me, my life began when I found theatre and the acceptance that I found within that community.

Tom acknowledged it with a silent nod, sensing that it was ancient history and he didn’t want to tread there unless I led the way. Instead he brushed locks of my hair behind my ear and behind my shoulder, baring my neck. His fingers lingered at my naked shoulder, an internal debate playing behind his eyes: to ask or to listen.

“My composer—the one who wrote Bonnie and Clyde—Frank, he wrote one of her songs, one of her hits. Whitney Houston, I mean. It actually went to number one here. It—I used to sing it as a kid with a bunch of older teenagers that, well… babysat me.” I avoided the topic of family since that was a sensitive subject between Tom and me, something that came between us more than once. “Can you imagine it? I get to sing his score, and I listened to his songs on the radio. Me!” I said with incredulity.

“Why not you?” His British pronunciation ticked my inner ear. If it were possible to fall in love with the sound of one single word, it was Tom’s ‘not.’ The nasally resonance made my heart pitter patter a quickstep. “You’re extraordinarily gifted.”

I giggled airily at his compliment and his subtle approach, closing the shallow gap between us. “Tom, thank you… but what I meant to say—it blows my mind! A composer, that one on the radio back then, wrote a song. For me. I get to perform his songs every night. They pay me to do that. And a room full of people, almost 1000 people, listen to me sing his songs.”

I mattered then as I mattered in the arms of this man. He made me feel that.

“You’ve been with this show… since… April was it?” He flattened his hand to the small of my back, maintaining our positions but eliminating the gap between us. The king-size bed nearly swallowed us up and the bedclothes glued us together.

“I’ve been attached as Bonnie since then- when Daddy Long Legs closed-when I saw you—“

He interrupted me with a kiss on the lips before I could rehash that painful part of our history. When we were apart…

Changing the subject, I explained how the past year had gone though he’d been there for some of it. “1776 was a limited run, and playing Martha was fun, a different pace from Bonnie. Peppy and lively, Martha was, and Bonnie is spirited and loyal. Martha gave me a reprieve from the darkness in Bonnie and Clyde.” I reached out and touched the bristles of his goatee. I was used to scruff on him, the day or two old stubble, but not the full on facial hair that Tom sported.

“I liked you in that one too,” he complimented evenly rolling me over onto my back. The aroused man positioned himself between my legs and propped himself over me. “Are you enjoying that?”

My fingers played and softly yanked at the brush of hair on his face, enchanted by the coarse yet ticklish feel of it.

*

Smirking into another pass of Kristiane’s fingers over my whiskers, I told her plainly, “Henry.”

Her eyes lifted to mine almost in surprise. With a coquettish grin, she reminded, “No, I’m Kristie. Expecting someone else?” Her foot grazed up the back of my leg inching her way to hook around my waist, her body language asking for physical affection. She wanted me again.

The gesture went straight to my groin with a jolt, the knowledge that this woman wanted another go of it excited the masculine and primal part of my being. Blood drained from my brain to my cock fueling my lust for her, but the need to talk with her stayed strong. “Clever that, but I meant the facial hair, the moustache and beard, they’re for Henry.”

Playing coy, she grinned wider, “And I thought it was for me.” She brought my face down to hers and licked the shell of my ear. “I’ve been enjoying the burn.”

Fuuuccckkk.

Maybe this wasn’t the time for talking. In our history, I had to break down her defenses and grant her patience to get her to honestly open up to me. I did want to revel in her, every bit of her, in the physical and philosophical sense. Her feminine and sexual side were a temptation, a best kept secret that she only shared with me, and I was blessed for it.

Brokenly, while laying claim to her neck, working my way down, I breathed, “The BBC—the… Hollow Crown—Henry the fifth…”

Her breath hitched and caught when my lips made contact with her breast, kisses and scrapes left along the path from her cheek southbound. “…Shakespeare,” she moaned, identifying and making the connection to our conversation. Another moan, and her meaning changed, “My Shakspeare.”

I was hers, from that first note I heard her sing at a friend’s birthday party before careers and family and friendships got in the way. The woman brazenly took to the stage with a karaoke microphone in hand and sung a song written for a man and made it her own. As confident as she was performing in front of a room full of people, she’d shown me her inquisitive and sensitive self, her vulnerability and her intelligence. She captured my heart and my imagination within a few short days and enriched my life.

Where I was confident in wanting her for the rest of my life, she needed convincing. I didn’t understand her aversion to marriage, but I was determined to bring her around. We were too good together, and we understood each other’s lives outside us as a couple. I rose above her, assuming a bruising kiss, anxious to change her mind about our future. It wouldn’t become just another night of sex, amazing mind-blowing, life-altering sex. I could get her to see beyond her fears and know that I’d be there to support her if she fell.

I kissed her until we were both out of breath and she smiled again for me. “I shouldn’t like this,” she touched my chin, tugging at the facial hair there, “as much as I do, but it’s sexy. You’re sexy and it’s rough and scratchy, but I want to feel it everywhere.” Kristiane had never been shy or ashamed of her sexual appetite, once we’d been together. Cautious with new positions or locations or experiences, she followed my lead, knowing she could trust me and I’d never abuse that trust. I’d been the first man to go down on her.

Hearing her desire to be devoured in sensation, the grounding and real pleasure-pain of tender worshiping kisses and the chaffing burn of prickly beard, spurned me into action like a race car when the flag drops. Kristiane applied pressure to the gas pedal and I took off with 900 horsepower behind me. Groaning at the strain in my cock, I gruffed, “Details, woman and I’ll do it. Every explicit detail.”

A flame of acceptance lit behind her eyes, a fierce loyalty and willingness to show me her choice. Her arms circled above her head into the folds of the pillows, her right hand holding her left wrist in a tight grip. “Pin me to this bed and make me squirm, make me feel it. Your tongue, your teeth, your lips, your skin, your hair, your scruff, your fingers, your hands, your cock—all of you on me.” Without shame and hesitation, she possessed all the beauty in the world, especially when she asked for sexual gratification.

My knuckles grazed along the inside of her thigh towards her sex and then teased away from her cleft. Like a siren, her heat called to me. “The first solo you sang tonight, what was it?”

The blush of arousal rose from her chest up her neck into her cheeks, her skin luminous with the color of a rose. Her hands splayed over my chest as if to push me away but it turned into a caress, her thumbs playing along the patch of hair in the middle, and her fingertips stroking my nipples. Her mouth opened slightly in invitation, the expression of heightened want. “Touch me.” An urgent plea. A pressing beg.

I licked her lower lip before dipping my tongue within her mouth swiftly, only a brief taste. “Sing for me and I’ll do everything you crave.” My hand slid back up her thigh and swiped a light caress over her center.

“How ‘Bout a Dance?” her tone light, following my question about her song… just barely. The provocative touch stealing her train of thought, focusing on my hand instead of the song she knew in her blood.

“Yes,” I encouraged, ghosting my facial hair across her cheek. “You sang it beautifully.” If the woman wasn’t naked beneath me, I might’ve been a bit more articulate but it took more than enough effort to say that. “Us—” I sunk my teeth into her shoulder, marking her as I had earlier. “I heard us in that song.”

The lyrics spoke to me while I watched her portray Bonnie Parker in Bonnie and Clyde, and her voice had been silvery and sweet, crisp and clean.

“How ‘bout a dance? What do you say? I’ve got some moves… that I’d love… to show… you. Let’s find a spot… and dance the night away,” she sang quietly just for me.

The attempt to sing through my enticement on her skin was impressive at first but descended into heavy breathing as I trailed down her body with my tongue from her neck to the crease between her legs. I scraped my goatee along her flesh as she asked me to, behind the moist path.

Her fingers combed into my hair and held me fast against her damp slit. Her thighs clamped against my cheeks, my beard undoubtedly prickling the sensitive flesh pressed around my face. I pushed the flat of my tongue against her, savoring the tang of her wetness.

*

New York City/London, August 22, 2010

“Tom, we haven’t been the same since Paris,” Kristiane’s voice lost some of her pep that I longed to hear. The tension between us, the strain of the distance and the stress of our last two days together ate away at her confidence in our relationship, and it tore me up. The time difference and the difficulty finding a slot for us, just to talk around dying mobile batteries and overheating phones.

She didn’t understand – couldn’t understand what was happening, how could she when I barely understood it myself? I inhaled slowly, taking in the oxygen, letting the fresh evening air fill my lungs. I swirled the last of my drink around the bottom of the glass. This vivacious woman felt even further away than the 3000 plus miles between us, and I loathed each and every emotional mile that separated us.

Solemnly, I replied, “I know.” The truth was I knew it wasn’t entirely her fault, and it certainly wasn’t mine. Neither one of us could’ve anticipated this when we got involved. I think I heard her heart break at the admission when she hissed as if in pain. Because if allowed myself to admit it, she was in pain. This wasn’t what I wanted for her, especially not so close to her birthday. She deserved all the happiness and all the smiles, but I kept the frown on her face.

She was quiet for a long time, looking for something concrete to hold onto while she felt like she was suffocating or drowning. I heard every splinter of her shattered heart when she finally spoke again. “Are we breaking up? Is that what this is?”

Under all the hurt, the feisty girl was fighting for her place in all of this, but I knew that her pain could bury her and leave her as the girl I met a year ago, broken, afraid, searching for a friend. “Kristie, I don’t want that. You know how much you mean to me.” I stood up, unable to sit still any longer, doing nothing but nursing my drink.

“Tom, please… tell me what’s going on. I’m losing you.”

I couldn’t deny it. Part of me disconnected from her and I despised that. I was utterly in love with her, and I wanted her in my life, but a small part of me wondered if we could survive.

“I’m sorry… unreservedly sorry. But I question where—Kristie, us… where we’re going…”

“Tom, you’ve got me as long as you want me. We’re together.”

I didn’t say anything as the issues swirled around my head in a jumbled mess. My feet beat a worn tread in the hotel carpeting from my pace back and forth. The walls seemed to close in on me as my heart seized in my chest. No words came, no denial, no confirmation, no comfort.

Instinctive Kristie picked up on the silence immediately. “We’re together, right?”

Again, I let the question stay there, fester like it had since Paris, since London, since my mother laid into Kristiane. I couldn’t answer for sure. I adored this woman, but she confounded me. Yes, we were dating, as much as two people could, living in two different countries with an ocean between us. But together? I wasn’t so sure.

Panic rose in her voice, “Tom, we’re together, right?”

I paced another lap in my hotel room, seeking sanctuary from the chill air, knowing that the cold came from the inside, not the August evening. “Kristie, I’m not certain…”

“What is happening?” Her vulnerability and apparent agony seared through me. “Why is this happening?” Her tears soaked her voice, the melody broken and disjointed in her torment.

I hated my doubt and I hated myself for putting her through this. “Kristie, my love, I’m having a rough go of it. I- this- I want… that- we’re moving towards something.”

The vision and memory of her crying at the airport taunted me, knowing from the shaky labored breaths she took that I’d put those tears in her eyes again. This sensible, composed woman was a shadow of who she was because of me.

“What are you saying, Tom? We’re working to be together in the same country.”

“To what end?”

“I’m uh- mmm- I don’t understand, Tom. Don’t you want that? Please… what is happening with us?”

I sighed into the phone, her belief in us rocked, the fallout of something in her inhale. “Kristie, I… what you said… to my mum… I don’t think we are.”