#best mens winter gear

[starlighttsv]

Paige Bueckers x reader going to a store and participating in Angel tree’s

Day 2

Angel Tree - p.b

Sum: adopting kids off the angel tree and giving them the best Christmas ever

Warnings: fluff

Pair: Paige x gf!reader

Wc: 1.2k

My masterlist

“Jacob, 5 years old likes Spider-Man, Batman, Iron Man, coloring books, books, and doing arts & crafts. Wants a basketball and basketball hoop. Needs all clothes and winter gear, + shower soaps, a toothbrush and toothpaste.” You read off to Paige “Alright let’s add him too, pick one more” Paige says taking the angel tag from you and putting it with the other four.

You look around the tree looking at all the tags wishing you could give all of them the Christmas they deserve but you know you can’t. Two tags stuck out to you the most so you grabbed them and walked back over to Paige.

“I can’t pick between these two so you need to choose.” You start making Paige nod “Lila, 4 years old likes Hello Kitty, Barbie, baby dolls, Disney princesses, drawing, and Stitch. Wants a baby doll and a stuffed animal. Needs shoes and clothes” you then put that tag behind the other one and start reading the second one “Taylor, 16 years old likes skincare, makeup, hair accessories, Taylor Swift, reading, listening to music, volleyball, and basketball. Wants either cds and a cd player or vinyls and a vinyl player. Needs clothes, walking shoes, basketball shoes, and all hygiene products” you then looked up at Paige “which one?” You ask

She just walks towards you and takes both tags and puts them in the cart with the others “wha-“ you cut yourself off “I thought we were only doing 6?” You say running up to Paige to catch up with her since she started pushing the cart in the direction of the clothes “and now we’re doing 7” she says with a cheeky smile that you shake your head fondly at “but I will say we didn’t think this far ahead, this carts not gonna be big enough for 7 kids” Paige continues

You look at her then the cart and before you can say anything she cuts in “you go start getting clothes for either the boys or the girls and I’m gonna go get another cart” she says passing off the cart to you and walking off all before you could say anything

You push the cart to the closest clothes area which happens to be girls and women’s. They all need coats so you grab the correct size and design you think matches each kid and decide to start with the teenagers then work your way to the kid section. Paige comes back with another cart while you’re making your way to the kid section after getting quite a bit of clothes for the 2 girl teenagers. “Is that all the girls or just the teenagers?” Paige asks walking up to you with the cart

“Just the teenagers, I’m making my way to the kid’s section now. Why?” You replied looking up at Paige, she shakes her head and says “nothing, I was just thinking we could split up for the clothes to make this go faster, I can do the boys while your getting the rest of the girls.” You nod “yeah that could work, I’ll come over to you if I get done before you.” Paige nods saying she’ll do the same and then started walking towards the boys and men section while you continue your way to the girls section.

After you and Paige both got a lot of clothes for the kids you both decided to get the other necessities next getting all sorts of soaps, hygiene products, shoes, socks, hats, scarfs, gloves, and ear muffs. “Alright I think we can start with the wish list and like list now” Paige says stopping the cart and looking at the boys wishlist items again, making you do the same “I need to get a basketball & hoop, headphones & either an iPad or iPhone, and a pair of basketball shoes & dunks” Paige reads off

“I need a baby doll & a stuffed animal, art supplies, cds & cd player or vinyls & vinyl player, and dystopian book’s & romance books” you read off “Were kinda all over the store with this one” Paige says chuckling a little making you giggle and nod “Do you wanna split up for this one too? Should we just get everything off their list separately and meet up somewhere?” You ask making Paige look at her lists “yeah probably I think there are only like 3 aisles that we both need stuff from off of all these lists.” Paige starts thinking about how you guys should do this “Alright yeah let’s split up and get everything off the lists and meet up in the candy aisle. If you need me call me.” She continues, you nod agreeing with her telling her to also call if needed.

After around a hour and a half you start making your way to the candy aisle. You got a lot of stuff and some extra things that you think they will really like - for the baby doll you also got accessories and baby furniture, for the Barbie’s you also got the dream house, you got Taylor a vinyl player with all Taylor Swift vinyls + some vinyls of artists you think she’ll like, SOOO many books, and that’s not even all of it, there is still a bunch more of what you got.

Finally making it to the candy aisle you see Paige with her cart just as full as yours “hey babe” you say walking up to her making her look up from her phone “hey princess, you ready to checkout?” You just nod and you guys start making your way to the only area that doesn’t have long lines currently and also surprisingly - self checkout.

You and Paige both go to the only open one, with Paige letting you go first and handing you stuff for you to scan to make it easier.

When it’s time to pay you grab your wallet and get your card ready to pay, then you hear the confirmation ding making you look at Paige - standing with her phone out and grabbing the receipt “seriously? P I was gonna pay, you didn’t have to do that.” You whine out

“I wanted to do it. “ she starts then continues before you could say anything “Just let me spoil you with no complaints PLEASE” she draws the please out making you roll your eyes with a small smile on your face “Technically you’re not spoiling me, your spoiling those girls.” You say smartly making Paige smack her lips together and side eye you while putting your shopping bags in your cart “Ok well technically I’m spoiling both you and those girls because now you still have 3,798 in your bank account and their getting everything on their Christmas lists. It’s a win-win-win situation” she says with a cheeky grin

“Win-win-win situation?” You mumble under your breath “yes a win-win-win situation, what about it?” Paige sasses starting to scan all her stuff, you just shake your head and put your hands up in mock surrender “nothing” Paige just side eyes you again. Once she was done scanning and you guys fought over who payed (she cheated and payed with Apple Pay while she was pushing you back from putting your card in) you and Paige turned the gifts and tags in to where you were supposed to and then exited the store “lunch on me?” Paige suddenly asks while you guys were walking to the car making you side eye her this time.

[piratesfromspace]

Just Like Old Times (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price (& Reader x 141) Rated: Mature Word count: 2.9k Summary: A cottage in the snow. A Captain you knew in another life. His rugged and attractive men. Will you let them into your life? Note: This is a fic I wrote for @literatecowboy for the Secret Santa event organized by @bunnyreaper! I tried to make something soft and sweet and it's taking place during the winter, it's not smutty but if you like it, I can make a part 2 with some action 👀

EDIT: we have a PART 2!!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, a little bit of angst but it’s mainly fluff, smoking, flirting, praise kink, sharing body heat

MASTERLIST // PART 2

It had been Laswell’s idea. 

The team needs to be ready for snow conditions, do whatever you think is best. You have 3 weeks. And I’m talking extreme weather, Price, not a little trip to your local ski resort.

Those had been the instructions Kate had delivered to an unphased Price.

He knew it was only a matter of time before this kind of mission would be required from them. Of course, the men of the 141 have already trained in the cold of England, have seen and tested the winter gear. But Laswell is about to send them somewhere at the very East of Europe, and there is a small difference between surviving winter in London and surviving winter in places where the cold could kill you in minutes if you didn't have the proper equipment or knowledge. Over there, more than usual, tiny mistakes could have big consequences. And Price would rather not have his team freeze to death because of a lack of training. 

It’s December and the month is cold already. But it’s nothing compared to the cold Soap feels when he steps out of the helicopter. It’s like Price has picked the coldest place he knows in America. He’s pretty sure they are somewhere in Wyoming or Montana, the only thing he can see are mountains all around them. Spruce and fir trees sprawl in dark patches contrasting with the stark white of the snow covering everything. He crosses the large glade to reach the tree line, as the helicopter takes off, sending the fresh snow flying in every direction. The sky is a light gray, and while the whole scene is stunning - makes his head spin with equal awe and wonder thinking about nature’s force and brutal beauty - it means there is no sun to warm his face. 

“Come on soldiers, let’s move, we still have a two-hour hike to reach our B&B!”

“You mean someone will be there to make us breakfast Captain?” Soap chimes, unbridled joy coming through his voice at the prospect of warm home-made meals instead of MREs.

Price has a hard time hiding a smile as he starts walking on the thin winding path, only recognisable for those who know it’s there. ”There will be someone, but I’m not sure they will cook for you, Sergeant.”

Ghost lets out a dry chuckle and follows the steps of their Captain, leaving Soap and Gaz a bit puzzled.

❄️

The sun is already setting when you hear loud voices outside, and soon after a series of knocks on your door. You’re a little stressed when you rise from the floor in front of your fireplace to go open the door. You have agreed to shelter those 4 soldiers for 3 entire weeks only as a favor to Price. An old acquaintance who saved your life, a decade earlier, before you left the field to heal your wounds - body and mind. The large wood cabin had been your home for a few years already. You keep it open for women like you, in need of time away from the world, although it’s pretty rare they come during winter time when the road is blocked by snow. It’s an old building, but well-kept and you made it as cozy as possible, all warm natural tones, plush carpets on dark wood floors, dark gray stones in the bathrooms. 

You welcome them with a soft smile, delighting in their surprise - seems like John had not told them he planned on using your cottage as a back-up base for this training expedition. John’s team members are not really what you expected: there is one Scott with a mohawk that seems simultaneously annoyed and happy to be there (he has terrific blue eyes), a young and calm brown-haired Brit (he’s really cute, like movie-star cute), and a behemoth with a literal skull mask (his size alone has your head spinning). You can’t complain about them though, as they are polite and friendly, praising your home - and for sure taking in the comfort and warmth one last time before heading off for days of rudimental camping in the icy woods. You don’t envy them, remembering that one mission you did in Siberia when you were still in active duty, that wasn’t really fun. They settle in their rooms easily and you all share a quick dinner you had cooked - except for the masked giant. The banter goes fast between them, especially after you offer them beers. You like being alone, but you have to admit they are fun to be around.

❄️

The living room is silent and dark, the only light coming from the fireplace across your couch. After dinner, you had trouble finding sleep in your room, so you went to read a bit in front of the fire. But you must have dozed off, because you wake up suddenly, gasping, arms flailing, sitting up immediately. Your frantic eyes, wide open, scan the room for the reason of your awakening, survival instinct going overdrive. Someone is standing in your living room, frozen in place on their way to the front door. It’s the behemoth with the skull mask - the scariest of them all, of course.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” he apologizes. In the darkness of the room, it looks like his jaw is not even moving beneath the dark fabric covering the lower half of his face, like the sound just pours out of him or like he’s speaking directly inside your head. He might actually, you’re not entirely convinced the giant is not some sort of supernatural being John brought back from a cursed battlefield. It’s unnerving to say the least. 

“I’m sorry, it- it happens sometimes, I can’t help it, my instinct thought you were a threat…” you blurt out before realizing you may have offended him in some way by implying he’s not worthy of your trust. But instead of scoffing, he lets out a thoughtful hum, lowering his head to look at his boots, almost sheepish. 

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” His voice is low, calm, and at the same time you can feel something else, sadness, maybe disappointment, in what or who, you’re not sure.

“Care for a smoke?” he offers after a beat of silence, nodding to the front door. You don’t smoke anymore, cut the nasty habit years ago. That’s why you don’t know what compels you to accept, but you’re not gonna be able to sleep now, so you follow him outside, grabbing your coat on the way. 

You half expect him to smoke through the mask, but he pushes the fabric up enough to reveal a strong jaw covered in light stubble, and plush lips. So he’s human after all. The slick and heavy storm lighter looks ridiculously small in his giant hand when he lights his cigarette. He takes a deep puff before handing it to you.

“Sorry, last one.”

Your fingers graze his, and you bring it to your lips to drag a small puff that immediately makes you cough.

“You ok?” he rasps, humor tilting the corner of his mouth upwards.

“Yeah, it’s been a while, that’s all” you provide. He hums in approval at your explanation. 

When you hand him the cigarette, you take a moment to look at his mouth, the way his throat works when he inhales, the way the silver smoke dances between his open lips and fades into the night sky. Something warms your gut when you realize his lips are set just where yours had been a few seconds ago. 

You don’t know what’s more attractive, this or the fact he doesn’t try to make conversation for the sake of it. He doesn’t bother to explain why he couldn’t sleep and felt the need to smoke at 3 in the morning. He knows you understand. You are just glad to bask in the soft noises of nature at night - wind in the threes, the hooting of an owl. Fuck, you’ve been alone up there for too long to thirst on John’s colleagues just like this, just a few hours after their arrival. You shake your head, driving out the thought, and take the cigarette again from his fingers.

❄️

The next morning, you wake up pretty early after a short night, only to find one of them - the pretty one, Gaz - is already fixing coffee in your kitchen like he belongs there. You honestly could get used to this. The thin long sleeves of his shirt are doing nothing to conceal the muscles underneath, rolling as he’s going about this mundane task of preparing breakfast. His kind eyes and soft voice when he asks for your choice of eggs makes your heart flutter with a yearning for this kind of intimate domesticity you had never really allowed yourself up until then. It’s kinda concerning, at this rate you’re gonna ask one - all? - of them to stay with you in your cottage instead of going back to whatever missions at the other end of the world. 

The rest of the day is not making you change your mind. Price had asked if anything needed their help around the house, and you gave them the tedious task of moving the gigantic pile of wood logs stocked at the other end of your garden closer to the house. It would have taken you days to do it by yourself. But by lunch time, the pile had dwindled to a fifth of what it was thanks to the hard work of the four men. The two younger ones were down to their long-sleeve compression shirts despite the cold, sleeves rolled up their elbows, showing off strong forearms, various scars slashing across the discreet swirls of black ink from old tattoos. Some disappear under the black gloves they are all sporting. Sweat plasters the fabric of their shirts to their shoulders and chests. You can’t deny they look fucking good. 

You had accepted Price’s demand without much after-thought, but now you couldn’t be more happy about it, ogling those four rugged men laboring away for you. Despite being older than his men, Price is far from looking bad. He’s built like a brick house, a healthy layer of fat covering muscles he’s been honing for two decades. Dark hair peaks from the open collar of his jacket, your eyes follow the line of the thin garment which is hugging his tapered waist, down to his thick thighs. Fuck. You remember what it was like to be close to him - literally and figuratively. He was your colleague, an equal, a couple years older than you but you shared the same rank. He was a mentor, a friend, a lover - only briefly, after that fateful mission where he saved your life on the field. You parted ways in good spirit after you announced that you wanted to retire, needed to get your head straight before committing to anything. Today, you ask yourself if maybe you could take this back from where you left it.

❄️

You want to train with us today, love? Just like old times.

Price had asked you the question the next morning and you had not been hard to convince. It was more about being able to look at them than to train your body, but they didn’t need to know that. Even if you keep a pretty healthy lifestyle, you can’t compete with elite soldiers, and by the fourth set of push-ups, your arms are giving out. You’re about to stop and reach for your water bottle, when Price notices. 

“Come on, you can do five more, I’m sure!”

You groan in response, but you go back in position.

“Breathe, love. Back a little more straight. Elbows in. That’s it… Good.” 

Price’s deep voice is calm as he’s encouraging you, gently correcting your posture.

“Don’t look down, chin up. Perfect, you’re doing good.” he goes on, and you cheeks warm under his praise, enough to make you forget the stinging cold. Your whole body is clenched with the effort, you’re letting out little cries with each push-up, your muscles are hurting, but you want nothing more than to make the captain proud.

“Just one more. Done! You did great darling, I’m impressed.” 

He helps you get up on shaking legs and when you almost stumble, he secures you upright against his chest, keeps you there for two seconds more than he should for it to not look intentional. When you raise your head, you’re suddenly so close to his face, blue eyes staring down at you with a glint in them you can’t ignore. You reluctantly part before reaching for your water bottle again, playing coy.

The three others are not oblivious to the little game between you and Price. You notice how they exchange knowing looks and little smiles whenever you both interact. Worst, they also seem to pick up on your love for being praised and soon enough they take every excuse to whisper how good your aim still is during target training, or how smart you are for knowing everything about the local fauna during your afternoon hike. It never sounds like they’re mocking you though, never feels like it’s not genuine. It’s not fair, really. At this rate, you don’t know how you’re gonna survive living under the same roof with four attractive men for three entire weeks. 

The answer to this torture of yours is revealed quickly. After a few days of acclimatization at your cottage, Price and his men are ready for a long expedition higher in the mountains, with just tents and even a short surviving-in-extreme-cold workshop. They will be gone for at least ten days. You watch them pack their gear and leave your place with a pinch in your heart you couldn’t expect when you first opened your door to them.

❄️

Days go by, pretty uneventful, until your heating system breaks down. It’s not the first time since you’re leaving up there, it’s not that scary but you’ll have to wait a few days for the repair team to come by. In the meantime, you resort to live and sleep in your living room, where the fireplace provides enough heat to keep you warm in the heart of the winter.

They come back the day after that, and when you see their silhouettes emerging from the treeline, just before the sun sets down, you can’t prevent your lips to form a smile so big it hurts your cheeks after a couple minutes standing in the biting cold. 

The fondness in Price’s eyes is not dulled by the news your heater is out of order, nor is the relief on Soap’s and Gaz’s faces at the promise of a solid roof and comfy beds after days of rudimentary accommodations.

You all work to prepare some food, and to bring a couple mattresses with all the duvets you can find in front of the fireplace - the only sane solution for you all to sleep without suffering too much from the freezing temperatures. It reminds you of your years of service, when you sometimes had to share a single room with your whole squad - you’re not missing the stress and the harsh living conditions, but you’re definitely missing the camaraderie, the jokes and fits of laughter, the bodies of trusted people around you. 

They leave you the couch - gentlemen that they are - the objectively most comfortable option, but once again you can’t find sleep. The piece of furniture is the farthest away from the fire, and you’re on your own, no one next to you to share body heat with you. 

It’s only because I’m cold. That’s the poor excuse you give yourself - and the one you whisper to Price - when you step down from your couch to seek a place under the cover next to John. He’s sleeping next to Gaz; Soap and Ghost are sharing the other mattress. You slide yourself against him, immediately melting into his chest, the man radiating heat like it’s his only purpose in life. He doesn’t even have to ask you if it’s okay to hold you against him because you plaster yourself to him and nuzzle against his chest, old habits taking over your sleepy brain. A sense of safety and comfort envelopes you at the same time his warmth does. You forgot how good it felt to be in his embrace, to be tucked against his broad chest, surrounded by his smell - manly, ambery wood, and the rich spice of his cigars. 

He chuckles silently as you settle at his side and let out a little content sigh. He missed that too, he won’t say it out loud, but having you like this, soft and pliant in his arms, it makes him wonder how he could be such a fool for not seeking you sooner. He suddenly wants to kiss you, to make you feel good, here and now, no matter the fact his men are sleeping just a few inches from you. Should he care? He’s not blind to the fact you spend a good amount of time leering at them since they’re here, and to the fact they are watching you back. He can not ignore the shameless flirting going on between all of you five actually. John has never really been in a situation like this, doesn’t know where this will lead him - where this could lead them. But he’s ready to follow you. He takes a deep breath before he talks. 

“Just like old times?” He asks, voice low, chest vibrating with it under your palm. 

Just like old times… The words echo in your head, echo in your heart. He gives you the opportunity to lead him - to lead them - wherever you wish.

“Just like old times.” You repeat back to him, before you capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

PART 2

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Ice Princess"

Ice Princess by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Erik "Killmonger" Stevens x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Murder, Mayhem, Blood, Violence, Action/Adventure, Thriller, All Dat Good Shit. Grown Folks Only.

Summary:

Portia Keith has it all. A rich boyfriend. An impressive sugar baby allowance. Shopping trips around the world on private jets and more. Every day is spent living in the lap of luxury. For a special holiday trip, her boyfriend gifts her with a private yacht cruise on the Aegean Sea to ring in the New Year with friends.

In order to keep the wealthy party-goers safe, private security is hired to protect the good times, and the spoiled diva encounters the gruff ex-Special Ops soldier, Erik Killmonger, who has no time to coddle a spoiled, coolheaded socialite. Chaos erupts when the yacht is hijacked by ruthless modern-day pirates, and Portia has to learn to leave her Ice Princess ways behind in order for Killmonger to get her back on land... alive.

Word count: 22.5K

"I'm so cold I'm dripping icicles

I go and take your man that nigga might miss you

Spent his whole commission on my neck and ear

To stand around me need to have ya winter gear

Pay me coats and benz's and that berg-ice

That's why I do not feel these bitches, frostbite

Grown money, ever since a youngin' made my own money

You broke honey, and they call me

Banks, cause I can loan money

Colder than December, my diamonds on

Anna WintourSo that's fly ice in my life"

Azealia Banks – "Ice Princess"

Erik Killmonger nearly turned down the job.

Floating around some Greek islands in and around the Aegean Sea for a week babysitting some rich bitches was not his dream gig. Some guns for hire might enjoy the laid-back assignment full of sunshine and sparkling azure waters, but he learned enough over the years that working for wealthy pampered civilians was a pain in the ass. They treated security like servant extensions, and he was not interested in an environment like that. He was accustomed to covert jobs that kept his blood pumping and his mind sharp. There were long-term goals that required him to be with a different mix around the Middle East and real action.

But his homeboy Clark wanted to keep the contract with James Quinton, the multi-millionaire from Silicon Valley who pioneered new bleeding-edge technology in computer processing. For about seven years, he had been a celebrated tech wiz, one of the few Black men successfully cashing out of the grind hustle culture. Killmonger kept up with the man's accomplishments and compared them with his own. As a graduate of M.I.T. and a certified genius with MENSA, the secret Wakandan prince would've probably become another James Quinton himself if his life hadn't been disrupted by trauma and loss. The chips fell where they did, and Killmonger bided his time searching for Ulysses Klaue and working as expensive hired security. Clark nagged at him.

"Man, I'm stretched thin. They want discretion and the best. That's you. I know you were supposed to start leave for a week to recuperate from that Lagos job, but there's some sketchy action happening around the Mediterranean, and your Navy SEAL experience is needed… just in case," Clark said on a satellite call.

Killmonger sat in his closet-sized studio that acted as a storage locker for his gear instead of a home. Constantly on the go, and on the grind, he listened to Clark reclining in his Lazy-Boy chair with a glass tumbler of prime whiskey in his hand.

"You'll ring the New Year in a beautiful atmosphere. Relaxed and peaceful. The bonus holiday pay is great. Please, I need this contract fulfilled. This man knows a lot of billionaires and I could use the referrals… new contacts. Plus, you're good-looking," Clark continued.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Killmonger said, sipping on his drink.

"Look over the file I sent you online. It gives details about the yacht you'll be protecting, and also the rest of the clientele."

"That still ain't got nothing to do with my looks," Killmonger grumbled.

"Pretty girls like good-looking men. That's all I'm saying. You might get lucky compared to the other goons I got," Clark said.

Killmonger closed his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. The studio apartment felt cramped and joyless.

"I'll throw in another bonus for the short notice," Clark insisted.

"How many people onboard?"

"It's a private New Year's party, eight guests, and the yacht staff of four. You'll have your own cabin. You'll lead everything with Sherman and Banks working under you. Giving you the best—"

"Just three men?"

Killmonger lifted his laptop from a small table next to his chair. He logged onto his dark web email account and scrolled images of the yacht. Looking at the dimensions and pictures, Killmonger put down his glass.

"I need at least three more men."

"I can pull at least one more for you—"

"Gotta have five total under me to make this work, especially with us going to a new hot spot."

"The Greek government and the Turkish government have been doing extra sea patrols. James Quinton hasn't mentioned going anywhere for the holidays and I urged him to place his social media engagement on pause for the week until they end their holiday. It'll be a vacation for you. In fact, you could just supervise and chill."

Killmonger knocked back the rest of his liquor.

"Okay, I'll do it. Get me five men."

He hung up and checked the files of James Quinton on his own cryptic software. Quinton liked to stunt his wealth. The man posted photos and corny quotes at least ten times a day on all of his social media platforms. It was the ones with his girlfriend that worried Killmonger.

Portia Keith.

Online, she was known as the Ice Princess. Her beauty and personality were so cold that she had a reputation for being a femme fatale with a rich man's wallet. She had been linked to a few celebrities in the past but had moved her pampered ways to men with deeper and consistent pockets. She rarely spoke in public and showed up to haute couture fashion shows all across the globe. Killmonger couldn't figure out exactly what she did to make men clamor for her and pop culture gossip blogs to want to follow her daily jaunts as a sugar baby with James Quinton.

He stared at a few pictures.

Ma definitely had a face card that would never decline. Medium height, a medium copper brown complexion that turned a pretty darker hue in the sun. Body looked all natural and not the cringy build-a-bitch looks women paid top dollar for. Portia had tits and a nice ass that matched her thighs. She liked provocative looks and expensive things. Quinton gave her everything and baby girl wasn't denied anything according to the photos he peeped on her platforms. There was a crew of girlfriends she jaunted around with, and in every picture, Portia was the center of attention. The face of a model on par with Naomi Campbell, and the body of a vixen bent on destroying hearts and dicks. She stayed dripped in diamonds every day from head to toe. Most men couldn't afford her and several tried to keep her until Quinton snatched her up with the bank account that kept her flaunting her beauty and body.

That face, though? Killmonger couldn't stop staring at it. Her eyes were cool dark windows that gave away nothing. The kind of eyes that cut niggas down if they weren't on point. Her round nose was slightly upturned in a natural haughtiness, but her lips were the deadliest weapons in her arsenal. Killmonger's lips parted as he licked his canine slugs that matched the bottom ones made of pure gold. Portia's lips looked like they could make a dick cry if she sucked on it. Her nickname fit the vibe she gave off, and he wondered what Quinton had besides money to keep that sophisticated sugar baby close.

Killmonger checked the gossip sites and scrolled pages and pages of rumors that Portia and Quinton were having issues and possibly on the outs. He guessed the private New Year's trip was Quinton's way of keeping her, especially with the gossipmongers bubbling with sightings of her having lunch with an Italian billionaire.

Killmonger poured himself a fresh drink, then checked flight schedules on Delta Airlines.

Portia Keith pouted all the way to Greece on her boyfriend's private Gulfstream jet. Scrolling her social media feeds while holding her apricot-colored Pomeranian Mimi, she fumed at the gossip page listing her and Quinton on a site that criticized the super-rich for ruining the climate with their wasteful private flights and hoarding of resources. Her bestie Jodie patted her thigh and told her to ignore the haters.

One thing Portia always did was cultivate a scandal-free reputation. She prided herself on being a carefree Black woman leading a luxury movement for other Black women that had them raising their standards against unqualified men. Accused of only promoting hypergamy and a sugar baby lifestyle, she let people talk their shit because it only brought luxury brands her way courting her favors to use and promote their goods for free. Her exquisite face launched products like no other, and the quiet mystique she crafted with razor precision could not tolerate slander with her image. It wasn't her jet. It was Quinton's. Rich people had to protect themselves and taking commercial airlines with the poors was so… gauche. Especially for bad bitches like herself. The income brackets she played in were fifty million and above, and the low bar of fifty million was just being polite. Not bad for a country girl with tidewater roots and access to an excellent finishing school that prepped her for the lifestyle she led.

Portia left Charleston, South Carolina, with a finance degree from Clemson University and never looked back. Landing a job working under the Director of Finance and Operations for Conde Nast, she labored around the folks who ran Vogue Magazine. A chance encounter during New York Fashion Week launched her new career as a pampered princess. The paparazzi snapped a candid shot of her walking near Anna Wintour wearing a layered sable Balenciaga romper. They both wore the same dark Chanel sunglasses, and a fashion mag begged the question, "Who wore it better?" Before his passing, André Leon Talley exalted her style sense and overnight, Portia became the new "It" girl, the mysterious fashionista who was too short to be a model, but too glamorous to be a simple finance department worker.

She jumped on the parasocial relationship with the New York fashion scene and made sure she appeared at big events. Using a lame-ass rapper who liked to rock oversized ice, she taught him how to dress better, and spent his money on a better investment… her. She put him on to better fashion, better food, and better jewelry. It helped broaden his brand and snag a movie role. She bounced from him to a Hollywood Executive who flaunted her at Oscar parties and she kept her mouth shut and her eyes wide open for new marks. Stacking other people's paper and collecting custom diamond jewelry that became her signature trademark was a lofty career in her early twenties. Portia was nearing the end of her roaring twenties and she had to upgrade her prospects to older men with healthy long-term portfolios. Hollywood and celebrity wealth were fleeting, often feast and famine. New prospects were needed and her finance education led her to San Francisco and tech Daddies. The trade-offs were dull, less attractive men, but fatter pockets.

Then Quinton appeared on a Forbes magazine cover.

Dollar signs flashed in her eyes. She called in favors to get invited to a tech gala and projected her icy exterior onto a man who was rich and above average. New money cleaned him up, but her looks, nimble fingers, and optimum sex magic snagged her a baller on the rise. If she drank enough liquor and squinted her eyes just so, he could almost pass as a poor man's skinny Trevante Rhodes. But that squint had to be hard and the liquor extra strong.

She glanced over at Quinton.

He bored her now.

Quinton was thirty, only four years older than her, but he acted like he was fifty, worrying about his declining fortune all the time. He got caught up in some bad cryptocurrency deals and took a hit on some poor stock market advice. The man pretended that everything was okay financially, but Portia could smell the oncoming of poverty one hundred miles away. Yet she still ran his pockets one last time with the trip she wanted for herself and her girls. She had a couple of boyfriend replacements already on deck and planned to jump ship after the New Year. Broke didn't look good on her and she wasn't built for struggle love or struggle pockets. A baddie always had a graceful contingency exit plan. She sighed loud enough for Quinton to notice her restlessness. Her gaze glossed over his hairline, which was beating a hasty retreat to the back of his neck. What had once been a full head of cropped waves had turned into phantom follicles that gave up on him faster than she did. He had aged so quickly in the two years she'd been with him that she could mistake him for his own father nowadays. Pity. Portia thought she'd stay with him for at least a few more years to see if he could stack his paper higher past the eighty million he was worth when she met him. Alas, that was not to be.

Quinton put down the computer tablet he had his nose buried in and clasped her hand. His eyes were already bloodshot from drinking and anxiousness. Things were probably going downhill faster.

"We're about to land, baby. Have patience," he said.

Her girlfriends giggled and drank martinis behind them. Portia ran a diamond-studded finger up his arm. Mimi whined on her lap.

"Will you give me anything special for New Year's Day?" she purred.

Quinton grinned.

"I have a lot planned for you," he winked.

At least he was going out with a bang, she thought. He was spoiling her one last time, unbeknownst to him. A part of her wondered if she should feel pity for milking him dry until he went belly up. It was the nature of the game, and he knew fully that to keep a woman like her, he had to keep his coins up. She kissed his cheek and her stomach dropped. They were descending.

Their landing was swift, and they were all transported to a launch dock where Quinton's brand-new custom yacht waited for them on tranquil turquoise waters. Seeing the ship, Portia couldn't help but get excited and jump about like a kid with her friends as she held Mimi in her personalized pink Fendi doggy purse. Quinton's three male friends ogled the women through their sheer beach cover-ups. Their teeny-weeny bikinis left little to the lascivious imagination. Portia patted her designer cornrows studded with pink diamond hair jewelry that matched Mimi's pink diamond collar. The ends of her jeweled braids extended past her back, and she flung her natural hair around and waited to board the yacht.

A staff member waited on the main deck of the ship with a tray of mixed drinks in a crisp eggshell white maritime uniform of a starched shirt and knee-length shorts. Portia grabbed the first glass and her gaze drifted over to the tall Black man wearing a hot as hell black military uniform holding a colt commando automatic weapon. His glossy locs framed a gruff, bearded face with a scowl on his thick lips.

"Ohmigod, Quinton. Is this really necessary? Mood killer," Portia complained.

She released Mimi to run around and handed her purse to another crew member. Quinton shook the security's hand. Scoping the yacht, Portia saw five more similar men spread behind the first one.

"Killmonger, correct?" Quinton said.

"Correct," Killmonger said.

"Just Killmonger?" Portia asked.

"Just Killmonger," he answered in a rough tone.

Quinton turned to all of his guests as they mingled and admired the surrounding luxury. The five other security team members dispersed to their stations. Only Killmonger remained. Quinton held out his hands to show off his big, shiny toy.

"As I told all of you, we'll be completely protected. I know there have been rumblings of issues in this region, but I hired some serious security. Enjoy yourselves! Wander around for a bit and they will place your luggage in your cabins. Lunch in an hour!" Quinton said.

"Hold up," Killmonger said.

Everyone stopped chatting and froze with their refreshing drinks.

"We need to go over a safety drill," Killmonger said.

Quinton glanced at his watch.

"Now? Can it wait until after lunch?"

"No," Killmonger said.

"Where would you like us to be?" Quinton asked.

"Head to the stern, please," Killmonger said, pointing to the back of the yacht.

The others headed in that direction. Portia sauntered past him in the opposite direction.

"I'm going to settle in," she said, rolling her eyes.

Killmonger snatched up her arm so quickly that it knocked the breath out of her. She didn't know a human could move that fast. He held her close to his chest as his other hand gripped his weapon.

"See, you're the type of woman who makes the job difficult by being a brat," he snapped.

"You can't talk to me like that!" she hissed, trying to jerk her arm away. It was like fighting an immobile mountain.

"I'm here to protect your good time. We practice drills for a reason."

She exhaled hard when she noticed his teeth. Sharp gold canine slugs on his top and bottom teeth.

"I could have my man sue you for assault," she bitched.

"Do it," he said.

Portia blinked fast several times.

"Do you know who James Quinton is? He could ruin you!" she bellowed, squirming in his grip.

"I'm here to make sure you rich people don't get bothered. I'm the best at that and I'd appreciate your cooperation with the safety drill. It'll only take twenty minutes of your precious spoiled time," he barked.

"Portia?"

Her friend Chelsea called for her.

Killmonger released her arm, and Portia looked up into his face. Narrow, heated eyes peered down at her.

"Let's go, princess," he said, swaggering past her and slinging his weapon over his shoulder.

Portia stared at his wide back and clenched her teeth. She threw her martini glass over the side of the yacht in anger and balled up her fists. Prepared to raise hell with Quinton over the manhandling, she huffed under her breath in anger and stomped her Gucci slides when Killmonger glanced back at her and… smiled, flashing those gold slugs.

Portia halted her steps. The fuck was he smiling at?

And why was she getting aroused by it?

She was a piece of work.

Killmonger knew from jump that Portia would be a problem needing an attitude adjustment. He checked her real quick the moment she mouthed off about not following safety rules that had to be enforced in case of an emergency. She gave him a glacial stare during his short introductory speech on how the trip would run among the security team, and he took them down the stairs that led to a sunbathing deck. There was an emergency escape door that led to an eleven meters long military rigid hull inflatable boat under the yacht that could hold three crew and eight passengers. It had an M60 7.62mm machine gun, an MK19 40mm, and an M2 .50 cal. machine gun armament attached to it. The boat could do forty knots with six in-line cylinder diesel engines. It was an extreme weather craft and Killmonger made them all jump inside of it to get a feel of how they would ride it in case of an emergency exit. He pointed out life vests and showed them the scuba gear his men had available to check for underwater threats.

Once Portia realized they were the real deal, she fixed her face to look less bitchy and bothered. Killmonger was concise and professional and he impressed all the guests with his background and training. He spoke to his team to go over work shifts, breaks, and overnight watch duty. Taking the first shift watch on the main deck, he kept his guard up while the yacht started its adventure away from the Greek port and out into the open sea. The captain of the ship introduced himself and his staff after lunch and their first port of call was Athens, and then they would head to Crete. They would spend the rest of their time tooling around on the open sea and shooting off fireworks on New Year's Eve.

The women wasted no time throwing off their bikini covers and rushing over to sunbathe topless on cushy recliners. An annoying little dog ran around barking and finally jumped on Portia's thighs to sleep until it got too hot and it hid under her chair. He didn't mind watching the sea with binoculars and occasionally looking down at tits. They weren't shy about showing them, so he would not pretend he didn't notice. Quinton and his male buddies grabbed a bottle of top-shelf bourbon and headed to the other side of the yacht to smoke cigars on padded deck chairs. They were torn up by dinner, and by then, he was done with his work shift and free to relax and eat a meal in his cabin. A private chef brought him moussaka and white wine for dinner and galaktoboureko for dessert. It filled him up, and he took a quick shower afterward, then rested on his bed.

The party crowd became raucous and rowdy the later it became, and he changed into light linen pants and a cotton shirt to join them and check in with the night shift team. Music blared from speakers on the starboard side and he eased around to observe and also check out the night waters. The yacht had spotlights that surrounded the bottom of the boat, so there was a beautiful glow to the calm aquamarine water. The rest of the ship was lit up too, which concerned Killmonger. Nothing like advertising a luxury yacht filled with rich people. He was correct in requesting five men to work with him. They had various firearms, rocket-propelled grenades, and enough ammo to start a war at sea if needed. He relaxed after talking to the two men on shift. All was well.

He went for a stroll around the upper decks while the civilians headed down to the lower deck to spread out for cocktails on the main deck. A cool breeze blew past and ruffled his locs. He closed his eyes and faced it fully, luxuriating in the sensation.

"Oh… so you can look normal."

Killmonger opened his eyes and found Portia and one of her friends sitting on white barrel chairs with their legs kicked up on an olive green ottoman. She wore a short pumpkin-colored shift dress and her skin looked amazing from being in the sun all day. Playing with the hem of her extra short dress, he admired the elaborate diamond chips that decorated her long fingernails. She stayed adorned, and he appreciated the effort she took to look feminine and soft. Portia's friend looked cute in a short polka-dotted sun dress. Her hair was lifted in a high ponytail of cascading auburn curls that fell down over her slender shoulder.

He took the open seat next to the friend with a short table between them. There was a half-empty glass of red wine and a fresh unopened bottle next to it with a cork opener conveniently placed on top of it if she needed more.

"I can dress down when I'm not working," he said.

She smiled. The wine had relaxed her and she appeared less uptight. Crossing a seductive leg, he glimpsed her sexy thighs. She didn't have any panties on, and her mound was clean-shaven. He glanced away to pretend he saw nothing, but the smirk on her face told him she meant for him to see her pussy.

"Why aren't you two down with the others?" he asked.

"Needed a break. When you're always the life of the party like me, you need a little time off. Plus, they're talking about work and stocks. Tiana and I are not interested."

"That's so snoozefest," Tiana said, her light skin splotchy with sunburn marks.

"Your other friends seem intrigued by it."

"Those heffas?" Portia snorted. "They just want to appear interested to get attention. Carlos is worth half a billion. Ben two billion. Oh, and that loud mouth you hear right now? That's Stieg. He's a Scandinavian trust fund baby worth five billion. My girls are here to party with me, but make no mistake, they're fishing for a big fish of their own to catch up with me. They're bored out of their minds, but…."

Portia rubbed her fingers together to indicate cash. She stood up and walked down the stairs, leaving Killmonger with Tiana. He sat in silence for a moment before standing up to leave.

"You sure you'll be okay up here by yourself?" he asked, glancing over at the balcony.

Tiana looked heavily inebriated.

"I can hold my liquor," Tiana said.

"Alright then, I'll leave you to your bottle and privacy—"

He glanced over the railing and watched Portia saunter to the front of the yacht. For someone who stayed rude to him while he was on shift, her lax behavior at night intrigued him. Showing off her pussy had to be an amusing game to her. Killmonger liked what he saw and slid his wet tongue across a gold fang.

The rest of his rounds were completed, and he gave one of his men a twenty-minute smoke break starboard side once the guests had turned in to sleep. He took over the watch temporarily and cast his glances out toward the tranquility of the sea. Heavy breathing brought forth curiosity, and he strolled down to a lower deck to investigate.

Portia was on her back naked, legs spread wide as Quinton exerted desperate dick strokes inside of her.

"You're so good, baby. Yes, that's it," Portia said with lukewarm enthusiasm.

Her eyes faced the sea, and she offered no effort to reciprocate affections or even movement as her man pounded her. The detachment on her expressionless face bothered Killmonger. Quinton gave her the world and she couldn't be bothered to give some passion? Even if it was a fake? A true pillow princess, Portia laid there with minimal effort to even wiggle her hips. She managed to push her breasts together and jiggle them, but she refused to look at Quinton's face. The man stared at the fat titties and pumped his way to a sad orgasm. When he collapsed on top of Portia, she took her expensive nails and raked them on the back of his neck and cooed phony words of praise. A smug look painted her face.

Killmonger gripped the railing, and a surge of anger sparked inside of him. He wanted to wipe that petty smirk off Portia's face. He knew fully well that her relationship with Quinton was a transactional one based on the rules of patriarchy. Men bought women as commodities and arm candy all the time. Killmonger knew what the game was, and Ma played it like the pro she appeared to be. However, it irked him that Quinton didn't fuck the shit out of her and make Portia earn all of her riches from him.

Quinton rolled off of her on the wide sectional couch and pulled off the condom that sheathed his average-sized dick. He balled it up and tossed it onto the table next to them. Within seconds, he was fast asleep, and Portia rested her head on a throw pillow. Her eyes squinted in surprise when she noticed Killmonger looking down at them. She slid a finger to her pussy lips, teasing Killmonger by opening her legs wider so he could see all the wet pink of her succulent entrance. His lips twisted up and there was a tightening in his pants. She traced a finger in a wide circle around her folds, then licked her fingers, dropping them onto her nipples to tweak the tips. He gripped the front of his pants to adjust his dick, thinking of all the ways he would fold her body if he had the chance to teach her a lesson about teasing a nigga like him. Her writhing body was doing all the things she should've been doing for Quinton if she hadn't been a lazy fuck. Portia dipped her fingers inside of her pussy and pursed her lush lips as she watched his face grow more aroused watching her display of ridiculous seduction right next to her snoring boyfriend. But he couldn't look away. Her fingers spun magic as they played in her slick folds. She flicked her clit and widened her legs for him until she raised her arm up and flipped him off with a moist finger. Portia cackled and clutched at her stomach, delighted at her teasing. She grabbed the shift dress she had on earlier and put it on, leaving Quinton behind by himself on the sectional. Tossing the used condom in the sea with the flick of a diamond nail, her laughter floated up to Killmonger as she headed to her cabin.

"Bitch," he grumbled.

She had him going, toying with him by using her physical blessings against him long enough to tell him to fuck off. Portia wanted to play cat and mouse, thinking he was the silly little mouse. Little did she know she had a vicious panther on her hands.

They docked in Crete at the crack of dawn.

Killmonger had two of his team stay behind to watch the yacht, and the others dressed in civilian clothing to blend in and trail the women who went shopping and out for lunch with the billionaires and Quinton. The blistering heat didn't let up. He wiped the back of his neck and under his chin several times while tracking Quinton. Portia stayed on the yacht to sleep in late. Her man seemed to find his balls again when he wasn't around her. The passive energy disappeared, and he took on a personality with bravado, impressing Tiana, who laughed at his corny jokes. Their lunch break was long and Killmonger took time to smoke a cigar near an open market. He played tourist watching the surrounding activity, checking the time on his watch constantly, and checking in with the yacht.

In his peripheral he caught Quinton slinking out of the high-end restaurant and entering the luxury hotel next to it. Killmonger stayed put hidden behind a marble statue of Athena, keeping his steady gaze on his client. Quinton checked his surroundings before dashing into the hotel. Killmonger entered the hotel and discreetly shielded his body from the other tourists. Moments later, Tiana walked into the lobby and headed toward Quinton. The tech wiz grabbed Tiana's hand and they entered an elevator together. Killmonger grinned and left the hotel.

The pillow princess's man was getting better pussy elsewhere with her bestie. Killmonger shook his head and checked on the people milling around the hotel lobby. He stayed put until the illicit couple came back down the elevator twenty-five minutes later, fixing their rumpled clothes to look presentable again.

"Quick ass," Killmonger mumbled, sticking a piece of gum in his mouth to chase away the taste of cigar on his tongue.

The trip back to the yacht was uneventful an hour later, and Portia's girlfriends carried plenty of gift bags to commemorate their visit. Portia stood on the top deck with a martini glass in her hand wearing an alabaster knit bikini. A giant floppy sun hat shaded her face. She pranced around on her chunky platforms, waiting for her friends to share their bounty with her.

"Fuck," Killmonger uttered, staring up at her.

Her body was insane. The bikini top only covered her nipples, and the bottoms barely shielded her vulva. He licked his lips again, staring at how fat her pussy looked up there. Tiana was nothing compared to Portia, but Killmonger knew that a lot of beautiful women had trash box and men fucked with women who made them feel good. Looks had nothing to do with keeping a man in the long run. Plenty of mid-looking and ugly women had snatched away prizes from bombshells. Perhaps Portia needed a man with good dick to turn her out correctly. There was no way all that body was going to waste because some rich dude couldn't handle her spunk.

Portia caught him checking her out, and she leaned over the railing to eye him back. Killmonger sauntered to his cabin to change back into his serious work clothes. He checked in with the mercs left behind on duty and all reports were good. The ship's captain updated him with a weather report and soon they were back out at sea for the rest of the trip.

Quinton and Portia threw a costume-themed dinner party and everyone wore Mardi Gras masks and sipped champagne before devouring salty caviar, Kobe steak, and lobsters. The yacht staff hustled to please, but Portia became a bitch when things didn't go as smoothly as she wanted. She reamed one female server so badly for stepping on her dog Mimi by accident that the woman slunk away in tears. Quinton said nothing about the bullying and everyone else was too drunk to comment on anything. Portia snapped at two mercs while moving into their next party area for charades and Killmonger had enough of the poor attitude. When Portia went for a restroom break in her cabin, he followed her. She caught him waiting for her in the narrow hall.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Her icy tone and polar stare made him want to flip her around and spank her ass like an insolent child being reprimanded by a fed-up parent.

"You need to check your tone with the staff and my men. These people are working hard—"

"Shut the fuck up, you simpin' bitch," she said.

Portia lifted the Mardi Gras mask onto her forehead and glared at him. Her little cat woman bikini costume showed off every curve, and he became distracted for a second by the veracity of her tone and demeanor. No woman had ever tried to come for him like that, especially one who didn't know him from Adam. Her breath smelled like the expensive French wine she had drank all night, and he considered her drunken state before speaking. He leaned in, and Portia leaned back until she was jammed against her cabin door. Killmonger bared his teeth at her and she acted as if he had snarled like a beast. Her eyes darted toward the stairs that led to the top deck, expecting someone to rescue her.

"Treat people who cater to you with respect. They don't get paid enough to take your verbal abuse," he demanded.

She looked away from his heated glare and gold canines. He caught the subtle tremble in her body, but then she turned her face back to him and smirked.

"Those people are paid well and competed to get this job—"

"You ain't paying 'em," he said.

"My man is. His money is my money—"

"You sure about him being your man?"

Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a tight grimace. Killmonger decided to blow up her spot and teach the brat a lesson. Every bully needed to be humbled in their life. There was no better time than the present for her.

Portia put a hand on her hip and waited for him to run his mouth some more.

"He had a little quickie with your homegirl Tiana at a hotel while everyone was having lunch."

He cocked his head and waited for the explosion and waterworks to begin. Portia stared at him hard, then started cackling.

"Think I'm joking? I followed them there," he said.

Portia snorted and grabbed her stomach to control her laughter. He waited for her to notice that he was serious. She patted his chest with her right hand and he rolled his eyes with impatience.

"The look on your face right now… as if you got me with something!" she heckled.

Portia wiped her almond eyes and touched her chest. Her diamond nails glittered and that cool exterior returned in full effect.

"I sent that bitch there myself," Portia said.

Killmonger's brow wrinkled, and Portia gave him a little twisted lip pout. Then she grinned.

"Aw, I'm sorry boo boo. You really thought this was a gotcha moment. Ever hear of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer? Tiana is a free-loading cunt… yeah, I said cunt like the white girls do. She's not my homegirl, just competition who has been trying to be me from day one. I let that heffa into my inner circle to keep her on a leash. Quinton is going broke and all of this…?"

She waved her hand above her head.

"All of this shit is about to disappear soon, so to teach her a lesson about coming for what I got, I'm letting her have that limp dick brokie. She thinks she's on the come-up sneaking around with him, but I fed her fake bread crumbs to that nigga. Lied, and told her we were having relationship problems, and that I was worried that he wanted someone else. That little worker hoe really thinks she's better than the queen bee. I stayed on the yacht on purpose so she could make her move on him. Now she knows shiny things aren't always diamonds with that weak peen. In her mind, she thinks she has him and his money. The reality is, she's with a broke faker. Checkmate, bitch."

Portia guffawed and pointed to Killmonger's face.

"I respect you for trying to break my heart to humble me, but you can't play a player," she said.

She shoved him out of her way and strutted up the stairs, tooting her ass out so he could see it jiggle as she walked. Stopping halfway, she looked back at him.

"I'll act nicer with the staff just to make you feel better," she said.

Killmonger chuckled and shook his head. Baby girl was cold-blooded. Respect. He eased his big body up the steps and did quick surveillance all around the ship. Portia acted better with the servers, but she was still icy with the other mercs.

The next few days were dull and humid.

Boredom set in with the women, as the men only drank, ate, and slept for hours on end. Killmonger observed how Portia maneuvered around Tiana. Deadly sweet. It was like watching a scorpion slowly poison a frog as it rode the weaker creature's back. The shine of being with Quinton wore off Tiana, and he caught her brushing off the advances of her secret lover when they thought no one else saw them around the yacht. Portia knew everything that went on between them, orchestrating their dismal affair right under the noses of everyone present.

New Year's Eve rolled around and the trip was nearly over. He had to admit that the assignment wasn't as troublesome as he thought it would be. Quinton hired a fireworks crew to meet them on a separate boat at a rendezvous point in the middle of the ocean. Killmonger sent his mercs over to check out the other smaller ship with metal detectors, heat sensor devices, and a thorough inspection of the crew while he scuba-dived under the boat to sweep for explosives and hidden weapons. They inspected the fireworks being used, too. When one of his team helped him out of the water, he pulled off his scuba gear, and Portia watched him undress. Her eyes grew enormous when his scars came into view. The shiny lumpy brown flesh decorated him with a deadly artistic beauty, displaying every life he had taken in his line of work. He walked across the deck, dripping in seawater and muscles. A hunger grew in her aroused eyes to see more under the wetsuit.

"All safe," he said, whisking past her, carrying his air tanks to a rack.

He took his time pulling off the rest of his wetsuit, shaking his thighs, and grabbing his dick through his tight trunks to adjust the weight there.

Quinton walked over, clapping his hands together.

"All good?" Quinton asked.

"You can have your show tonight," Killmonger said.

Portia flounced away, shaking those ass cheeks, and his dick jumped in his trunks. The last few days she'd been a lot more suggestive with her behavior toward him, teasing him with flirty glances, and tugging on her swimwear suggestively in front of him that had Killmonger undressing her in his mind at night. He jerked off on his bed after taking a shower from scuba diving, imagining himself bending her over a railing and spanking her ass, rubbing his dick tip against her while she glanced back at him with those spoiled eyes and luscious, pouty lips. She needed to be punished. Needed to be on her knees and sucking his dick. If she complained about his length choking her, he would slap her and train her to show some respect for the gift of having his length stretch her mouth.

His erection was harder than steel and he kept playing an image of her begging forgiveness for being such a bitch. Killmonger wanted to cum all over her face and mess up that illusion of perfection she had about herself. Knowing what he did about her for nearly a week, he already understood that she would try to break his resolve and manhood down to control him. She needed a strong Daddy to put her right, and the thought of her sucking his balls while she stared at him with insolent eyes sent him over the edge, and ribbons of hot cum shot all over his hand and midsection. His dick was still hard as he beat it again, thinking of her pussy contracting all over his erection. She just had a way about her that made him want to tame her. Break her down. Force her to submit and sit that plump ass on his face.

He rolled over, groaning into his pillow, angry that she had reduced him to playing with himself when he was supposed to be overseeing his men. Cleaning up quickly, he went topside to check on the action above. Quinton and his guests had all retired for late afternoon naps to prepare for the evening's festivities. A fancy seven-course Mediterranean meal was planned for the New Year's celebration and they invited all the mercs to join in the fun with their shifts.

Portia wore her alabaster bikini again with a coral beach wrap skirt. Diamond earrings decorated her ears and a huge blue diamond necklace sat on her neck worth more than Killmonger made in a year legally. She toned down her make-up, going for a natural look, and the switch-up was extraordinary. It softened her face more, and she became even more beautiful.

Killmonger ate his fill of the gourmet food and allowed himself one glass of champagne before changing shifts with another merc. He kept his dark clothes on and strolled alone along the uppermost deck. The ship captain ate from a plate and Erik glanced over at the fireworks ship. He lifted the work binoculars from his chest and stepped back outside to observe the water and sky. No moon. Just stars stretched across the heavens, sparkling the jewels all over Portia.

The fireworks show started at eleven-thirty for a slow countdown to midnight. Killmonger positioned himself on the deck overlooking the stern. Below him, the rich guests gathered with more champagne and small desserts to watch the show. It was spectacular. Fireworks had never impressed him before, but he found himself looking at the sophisticated light show over the sea. Dazzling shapes and styles of explosives brought a magical ambiance all around them. Portia squealed and clapped her hands like a child, often pushing her face against Quinton's shoulder whenever an explosive boomed too loud and scared her. She looked cute while enjoying herself and Killmonger wondered why she couldn't be like that all the time. A certain type of sweetness exuded from her, as if she had put away that mask of cool she always wore, just to be a regular woman having a good time.

A server approached Killmonger with a tray of champagne.

"Why not?" Killmonger said, lifting a glass.

He drank it down and kept his eye on Portia, enjoying the fireworks.

Portia gulped down another glass of champagne and watched a firework turn into a rose in the sky. She clapped and oohed and ahhed to her heart's content. It was a beautiful way to end a relationship. A part of her actually felt a little bad about dumping Quinton after the trip. He would find someone new with a lower income bracket, hopefully, someone who loved him for who he was and not his wallet. The poor schlep was the type of dude who used money to buy his way into the quality of woman he wanted, which was not who he needed. Perhaps if Portia had remained a small-town girl working finance at a bank or small business in her old hometown, Quinton would've been deemed, in her mind, the catch of a lifetime. Alas, that was not the ocean current she rolled in. His ego was big, and he felt entitled to beautiful women simply because he had a dick and some money. Cultivating a personality, hobbies, or real solid friendships was not in his wheelhouse. Trophy girlfriends would never bring him happiness.

The champagne bubbles in her flute tickled her nose. She glanced over at Tiana who looked seasick from too much liquor in her system. Maybe there was some hope for Quinton being with her enemy. Everyone deserved love.

Portia was about to go check on Mimi in her cabin before it hit midnight. She gave the Pomeranian a doggy sedative to keep her from anxiety with all the fireworks noise, and she worried her fur baby would be frightened without checking in with her. The crackle of a spectacularly loud firework drew her attention to the sky again. A chain of enormous fiery lights popped off, and she glanced at her dainty Patek Philippe watch. It wasn't midnight yet for any kind of grand finale. Unless something bigger was about to erupt in the sky after that volley of bright multi-colored lights. She clapped and heard a loud popping sound.

"Did a firework not go off?" she asked.

Her girlfriends shrugged before a gigantic explosion rocked the bow of the ship that was not part of the show. The yacht lurched, and Portia fell to her knees off-balance with her platform heels. Smoke and flames filled her shocked eyes. Everyone nervously headed toward the front to see what the hell happened and more popping sounds commenced from behind them. Tiana fell on top of her with Carlos. Portia's two other friends shrieked and ran, cut down by a hail of bullets through their backs. Portia pushed the limp and bloody woman off of her legs and shoved Carlos away too. The man's eyes looked up at her with a lifeless stare, and Portia screamed. She stayed on her hands and knees to keep low while looking up toward the higher decks. Killmonger had a modified M249 up and shot toward the sea targets. The fireworks ship exploded into a reddish-orange fireball, blazing the night sky with more flames and thick smoke. Parts of that ship flew over onto the deck of the yacht. One of Killmonger's men shot a grenade launcher from his weapon, aiming for some enemy Portia couldn't see on the dark water.

"Portia! Stay down!" Killmonger called out to her.

She did what he said and hid under Carlos and Tiana again, trying not to lose it as their warm blood dripped all down her legs and pooled at her feet. She swiped some of the cooling blood from her limbs and wiped it all over her throat to make herself look injured and played dead on the deck. Quinton ran toward the side of the yacht, and Portia wanted to follow, but the volley of intense bullets whizzed over her head. She covered her face, hearing loud splashes of water and yelling. The mercs around her scuffled with people who had climbed aboard. A powerful arm lifted her up by her waist.

"You been hit?" Killmonger asked.

"No!"

A merc near Killmonger took a shot between the eyes and dropped in front of her.

"Let's go!" Killmonger yelled, helping a server go with them.

The attackers cut the server down in mid-step and Portia realized with horror that all the guests except for her and Quinton were in a dead bloody heap all across the deck. She only lucked out because two bodies fell on her, shielding her from becoming human Swiss cheese. Another of Killmonger's team ran past them to fight, giving cover. Killmonger led her to the secret emergency door that held the military boat.

"Wait! I have to get Mimi!" she yelped.

"Fuck that dog!" Killmonger yelled.

Portia pushed back on the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her poor baby was locked inside her little travel kennel. She'd die all alone in her crate without her Mommy. The yacht tipped to the side, knocked by another explosive. Killmonger helped her into the emergency boat and made her put on a life vest.

"Wait here," he said.

"Don't leave me!" she shrieked, clutching his free hand with desperate fingers.

"I have to check for other survivors on the yacht's crew."

Her heart thudded in her chest so fast it made her gasp for air. She sat inside the boat and grabbed one of the gray emergency blankets and pulled it around her, hiding down low in the boat in case an armed pirate burst in. Portia was small enough to look like a lumpy seat. The odor of smoke crept down to where she was, and after some time, she worried Killmonger was dead. She wanted to wait another ten minutes for him, and then figure out a way to get the boat out onto the water by herself before the entire yacht sank into the sea.

It became hard to breathe under the blanket. She made a little breathing space for herself where she could still be covered up, but the smoke from the fires above seeped down to where she was. The sounds of shooting had stopped. Silence took over, and she debated about going out to see if the pirates had left. Time kept ticking, and the boat listed. Adrenaline had kept her going. But now the tears flowed.

The emergency door burst open, and Portia held her breath and stayed perfectly still. Mimi's woozy and weak bark yapped for her. She threw off the blanket and Killmonger was there, carrying Mimi's travel kennel and a backpack. He handed Portia the dog and tossed the backpack on the boat. Pressing a few buttons on a side wall of the yacht, a release ramp opened and slid down toward the water. He pushed the boat more, and it slid easily with a quiet splash. The yacht leaned further over and they would have to hurry to avoid being sucked down with it.

Killmonger untied ropes that secured the boat to the off-ramp. His face was full of concentration and determination to get them out of there. He put the safety on his weapon and leaned over to drop it in the boat when a masked man wearing dark clothing similar to Killmonger's uniform charged him, jamming his AK-47 under his throat and choking him.

Killmonger flipped the man over onto his back, punched him once and whipped out a Glock from his waist, and blasted the man's forehead. Blood and brain matter splattered, and Portia was too shocked to scream. Killmonger leaped into the boat and started the quiet motor, guiding them away from the yacht. She watched the burning luxury boat slowly sink as they bounced across the water. The pirate boat that attacked them sat on the other side and she thanked God there was no moon because the flames from both ships burning distracted their attackers from seeing them. Portia closed her eyes and let the cool sea breeze dry the sweat of fear all over her. The further away they were, the safer she felt. Her breathing returned to normal once the yacht and the surrounding madness became a tiny shiny speck on the horizon.

Killmonger checked some guidance apps on his military watch computer and took them toward some uninhabited Greek island chains. After about forty minutes, they hid their getaway boat on a small rocky isle inside an island littoral cave that made Killmonger feel secure staying there until he could contact help. Waves had eroded away an opening in the limestone, creating a sea cave that hid and protected them from the elements. He stuck a small headlamp on his head, giving them the only light source to look around. Killmonger handed her one too, and she placed it around her forehead. He dragged the boat once they hit soft sand. The cavern was dark and warm, like a womb. There were flares and a bulky charged satellite phone on the boat.

"I'll use the phone tomorrow and shoot off a flare for rescue when it's safe. We may have to stay out here a few days," he said.

"A few days? Why that long?" she said.

"That was a coordinated attack. They'll be looking for survivors all night and tomorrow. They knew exactly how many people were on that yacht, and you and I are no longer there. It was a hit… on everyone," he said. "There's also a storm moving in and that will hinder rescue efforts."

"Maybe they'll think we drowned and just go," she reasoned.

"They will sweep for floating bodies. Trust me."

He stopped and looked at her hard. She had opened Mimi's crate and held her frightened dog on her lap.

"Portia… Quinton set this whole thing up. I saw and heard him talking with the hit squad when I grabbed Mimi. He left with them on the attack boat."

Portia shook her head.

"No… that's not true… Quinton's a tech guy. He doesn't know pirates and shit…"

"He's going to disappear like he's dead, too. Collect on all the insurance he had on everyone there and that yacht. You told me he was going broke. He fixed his financial problem by getting money for you, your friends, and his billionaire buddies. The men he hired are going to make sure you and I are dead, so we don't snitch on what really happened."

Portia looked down at Mimi and felt the blood rush to her head like she was going to pass out.

"I can't believe this. He killed all those people to save his ass financially."

Killmonger pulled out a cold bottle of water from the backpack he brought and handed it to her.

"Can we last for three days out here?" she asked.

He nodded and showed her a wide variety of goods stored on the boat.

"There's enough food on her for several days that could last a week if needed. Since there are only two of us, we can eat as much as we want and stretch it out if we have to. We have fresh water… blankets. Toilet paper, sunblock, bug spray. We're good. Just have to keep hidden from the clean-up crew."

Killmonger sounded confident, and Portia inhaled deeply. He saved her life and would protect her on their…

New home. She looked around the boat again. There was plenty of room on one end for them both to stretch out and rest. The weapons attached to the hull could thwart a small army. Portia sipped a little water, gave some to Mimi with a cupped hand, then placed the dog back in her kennel. She prayed her fur baby didn't bark after the sedative wore off completely.

Killmonger made soft pallets of extra blankets for them to sleep on while she turned off her light and stepped out of the boat. She walked back to the water. After rinsing the blood off of her body and shoes, she returned to him, and they both stretched out in opposite directions. She felt him move around on his end. Lifting to see what he was doing, she caught him taking off his uniform. He stripped down to his black boxer briefs and huddled back up under his covers. Portia changed positions and crawled to his end when her body spasmed. She rested against his back, spooning him to capture some of his warmth, hoping the shaking in her limbs would stop. Her body moved with uncontrollable, jerky movements and she felt cold. Killmonger faced her quickly and put his arms around her.

"What's happening to me? My arms and legs keep shaking," she whispered.

"You're going through adrenaline withdrawal. Shit was crazy that you went through, and your body was all keyed up for action. It's trying to get back to equilibrium."

"How do you seem so calm? Shouldn't you be shaking too?"

"I'm used to it. Don't worry. It won't last long."

He opened up his blanket to her, and she eased her face against his wide chest. The keloid scars were smooth and slippery-feeling against her skin. His heartbeat was a steady drumming to her ears. Her shallow breathing eventually evened out to match his, and she could rest calmly next to him. The scent of his skin had a soothing musk odor, some cologne mixed with his own sweat, giving off an intoxicating smell. He adjusted his body to give her more room, and she closed her eyes to sleep.

Waking up hours later, she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with the softest brown eyes. For the entire yacht trip, he always wore a scowl on his face with narrow cruel eyes that held disdain for her. Now… she looked at another man completely. A roar of water drew her attention back toward the opening of the cave. The light pastel colors of dawn greeted them with shades of turquoise and honey yellow bleeding into a blood-orange tapestry. The rising tide rolled in, gently pushing their boat against the sand, rocking their bodies like a mother's hand tending to a cradle. Killmonger had the boat fastened to a stake that he pounded into the sand to keep them from floating out into the sea while they slept.

Sitting up, she admired the view. The clear, tranquil water sparkled as the sun rose higher and the colors in the sky changed into new brighter hues. It took Portia's breath away, bringing tears to her eyes. The rust color of the cave's roof seemed to glow. In the distance, she noticed other island chain formations that probably never had a human walk on them. She wondered if the awe she felt was the same awe that God had when the heavens and the earth were made complete. The scene before her looked like a painting. She spent most of her life drinking, partying all night, burning through rich men's money, and sleeping hungover until noon. When had she ever witnessed a sunrise like the one spread before her sober eyes? What a way to enter a new year.

Porta laid her head back down and noticed that her bikini top had fallen off in her sleep. She was topless in front of him. Throwing an arm over her chest, she glanced around for her knitted top.

"Don't trip," he said with a grin.

He reached above his head and handed her a small container of grape juice. She took it and drank down the sweetness.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She shook her head no, the fruit juice helping revive her blood sugar. Pushing the blanket away from her lower body, she luxuriated in the balmy comfort of the air. Tilting her head back, she noticed an opening at the top of the cave that dropped a beam of early morning light on her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the inside of her lids turn red from the sun bathing her more. A calloused finger stroked down the side of her cheek. Portia's eyes popped back open as Killmonger dragged his index finger against her skin. She lifted a finger and traced one of his keloid scars across his right pec. He was her hero. During the shootout and explosions, he had his eyes on her, making sure she was safe.

Killmonger dropped his head down and kissed her. She could taste toothpaste and fruit juice on his tongue. A static sound interrupted their joining, and he pulled away from her to pick up the satellite phone. He spoke in a rushed tone, giving coordinates and relaying a warning about the attack and Quinton's hand in it. There was a personal locator beacon with a strong GPS tracker he was going to keep on so they could find them. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her hands, letting Killmonger deal with everything. Soon after, he shut the phone off to save the battery. Turning to her, he stretched his arms and sighed.

"It's going to take time to reach us. The storm is sitting over Crete and moving slowly. Rough waves."

"But they are coming?" she asked.

"Yes."

Portia fell onto her back and stared up at the cave roof with relief. People knew where they were and would find them.

"I want to eat now," she said.

Killmonger pulled out MRE packages and small disposable plates. She dumped out a packet of southwest beef with black beans and tortillas. There was a chocolate banana nut muffin and apple slices mixed in a spice sauce, a cheese spread, and peanut butter. Portia made herself a burrito, and the food gave her the calories and energy she needed. Killmonger made them coffee over a small propane stove he put together and joined her with his own meal.

"Not bad," she said, stuffing the muffin in her mouth.

"We can have a white meat chicken salad with crackers and pasta for lunch," he said.

She wolfed down her burrito and wiped her lips. Finishing quickly, she let Mimi out of her cage and fed her from the packs of fancy dog food stored inside the kennel with her. She let the dog run around in the cave's interior to relieve herself. Mimi stayed away from the water and occupied her attention quietly by digging holes all in the back of the cave. Looking around, Portia was happy to see there was nothing inside the small cave with them except sand and the tiny beach made by the water lapping inside gently. Killmonger pulled out a large tan camouflage netting.

"Step out. Grab your top," he said.

Portia stunned herself by noticing she had stayed topless the entire time eating. She tied her titties up and draped her wrap skirt around her neck into a dress. She slipped on her platforms and picked up Mimi. Killmonger covered the boat up with the netting, blending it into the background of tan sand.

"Put the dog in its kennel so we can look around and I can plant this tracker up high," he said.

"She'll bark," she said.

Killmonger rolled his eyes.

"Then carry her," he said.

He pulled on his pants, and she eyed the bulge at his crotch. His flaccid state was bigger than Quinton's erect state. Portia checked herself for thinking sexy thoughts in their dire situation.

Dire?

It wasn't, really. They had all they needed and good people were coming for them. He placed several water bottles, a Glock, the satellite phone, and the beacon locator, inside a small pack and slung it around his shoulders. She followed him out of the cave, stepping on vast rock formations on the side to keep from getting her platforms wet. Climbing up the side of a hill, they made their way through brush and mostly barren land. There weren't very many trees and the ones that existed were small, or dead, and had fallen over. She kicked a few on the ground and they crumbled from contact, drier than the heat cooking their skin. Killmonger was already a shade darker, and it looked good on him. His biceps were beefy and darker brown. Her own dark skin took on a red tinge with her rich color. At a glance, they looked like tourists ambling about looking for t-shirts to buy for back home, not shipwrecked targets for death.

"Ow!"

Portia tripped on some sand and eroding rocks, bumping into Killmonger and almost knocking him over.

"Watch it," he barked.

"Sorry! I wasn't trying to bump into you—"

"Take those ridiculous shoes off so you can walk better—"

"It's too hot."

"No, it's not—"

"Yes, it is—"

They fussed like an old married couple all the way to the highest point of the island. He stuck the tracker in the ground and checked to make sure it was working properly. Gazing out at the sea around them, Killmonger lifted binoculars from his chest and peered out further.

"See anything?"

"No."

"That's a good sign, right?" she asked.

Portia put Mimi down so the dog could sniff around and urinate. Mimi happily sniffed and marked territory. When she padded over too close to a drop, Porta scooped her back up. There didn't seem to be any wildlife at all.

"Do you think there are a lot of snakes on this island?"

"Maybe. I haven't seen much scat or midden left behind," he said, searching the sea with the binoculars.

"What's that?"

"Scat is animal shit, and midden is their refuse… the food they've nibbled on and left behind. I only spotted some anthills and one bird so far. Not much to sustain a lot of snakes."

He glanced over at her.

"Just walk hard. Your vibration will scare them off. Keep that rat dog in sight, though."

"She's a Pomeranian."

"Looks like a rat dressed in a hot ass fur coat."

Portia looked at her baby. Mimi did pant. She grabbed a water bottle from Killmonger's pack and poured some on the dog.

"Whatchu doin'?! That's for drinking," Killmonger scolded.

"She's hot. I don't want her to get sunstroke."

He held his hand outstretched.

"We're surrounded by cool seawater. Dunk her rat ass in that. Stop wasting what we need to survive!"

Portia pouted.

"I wasn't thinking about that. I just wanted to help her."

"Let me do all the thinking then…" he grumbled.

They explored more, trekking around the entire island in under an hour. She dunked Mimi in a pool of water that came up from a natural aquifer of fresh water near the cave entrance. Killmonger grumbled again, so she walked her dog into the seawater and cooled them both off. He shut his mouth when she removed her beach wrap and frolicked with Mimi until a small wave knocked her poor pooch over. She walked out of the water dripping with her diamonds glittering, making her look like a Black Venus rising to the mortal world. He licked his thick lips, and she shuddered at the thought of that mouth on her body. Killmonger was bossy and so easily annoyed by her. However, he was also attracted to her and Portia played into that whenever he gave a tired sigh with her antics spoiling her fur baby. She made a little condo property for Mimi with her dog kennel. Moving it far back in the cave, she gave the dog a bowl of water and dried dog food with space to call her own to keep away from Killmonger. She decorated the front of the crate with pretty rocks and shells she collected and doted on her little one until Mimi fell asleep, farting from all the snack treats Portia gave her to help with the stress of a new environment.

He checked in with the rescue team on the phone and made them lunch. She sensed he felt more relaxed after finding fresh water on the island that they could use if they needed to. They ate in silence together, sitting on the sand and staring at the water. To be stranded on an island with a trained killer wasn't such an awful experience. Underneath the rough exterior was a man who held her hand to help her move around the island, and who also made sure she was hydrated. He pointed out natural formations of some of the island's geography around them and double-checked for snakes as they stepped over fallen trees. She gripped his arm when they moved into questionable areas, and at one point, she slipped her hand into his as he guided her back down toward the cave.

She took a nap on the sand and woke up to a crackling fire. Killmonger had gathered wood and dried brush, making a cozy glow that couldn't be seen from the narrow opening of the cave from the outside. They watched a new sliver of moon rise and a blanket of blue-black sky rest over the island for the night. She grinned and nibbled on chocolate chip cookies, humming and rocking on her backside as she ate. He laughed at her.

"What?" she said

"You look like a little kid on a girl scout campfire trip," he teased.

"Funny, because I used to be a girl scout."

"A girl scout… and you didn't know what scat and midden were?"

"I must've missed that part. I just looked good in the uniform," she said.

He smiled, and the bright, genuine light it brought to his face made him even more handsome. Killmonger was fine, no doubt, but there was something else deep within him that made him even more attractive. She thought of the way he lifted her up with one arm, shooting with the other as he rushed her to safety. His eyes always slid over to hers, even before the attack, when they were floating in tranquility. Portia had teased him sexually, doing things to get a rise out of him. It had started as a dismissive act, letting him see what he would never have in life, and it changed into active taunting, daring him to step up to the challenge so she could smack him down and belittle his audacity to think he was ever on her level.

Sitting in a cave with a peaceful campfire, her gaze on him brought clarity. She had been attracted to him the moment he put her in check on their first meeting. People always did what she wanted, and he had been the first man to push back on her attitude. She picked at him every time he showed up in her face.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said.

"You couldn't afford my thoughts," she said in a playful tone.

He smirked, then added more wood to the fire. Her eyes drifted up to watch the smoke go through the hole in the high roof.

"You think they're done looking for us? Should we even have a fire with the smoke floating… they could see it."

"By now, they should think we're dead. They never saw us leave on the boat and the yacht is at the bottom of the ocean by now, so they can't even check to see about the emergency escape, even if Quinton mentioned it. I won't have this going for long," he said.

"I like it," she said, holding her hands and feet up, warming her fingers and toes.

They didn't need the extra warmth. The cave was already cozy, but it brought comfort to their predicament.

"I'll sleep out here tonight and keep watch," he said. "I'll have to hike around a bit too, to check in other directions from the top."

She looked around for a blanket or pallet on the sand. There was nothing to lie on. Perhaps his soldier ways let him sleep cross-legged and upright. Her eyes became drowsy. Standing and stretching, she stared out at sea, admiring the sizeable chunk of island rock that faced across from their private paradise.

"I thought a storm was coming," she said.

"It is. Can't you feel the temperature drop? The sky is changing too. Won't hit until later tonight, and it won't be as bad out here. The sheer rock of that island over there is shielding us, and the tide doesn't get very high in here. We're good," he said.

She nodded.

"Night," she called.

"Night," he said.

She checked on Mimi, then snuggled inside the boat with the blankets. Killmonger went and grabbed the solar lights that he sat out in the sun all day and brought into the cave, jamming them down in the sand near the boat. He even posted two by Mimi's kennel because Portia told him the dog was nervous about being in the dark. Her mind tried to stay positive. She wondered how bad the storm could be if the hole at the top of the roof flooded with rainwater. Killmonger didn't appear concerned, so she let the thought drop.

After an hour, a soft splash of water forced her to lift and see what the noise was. Mimi hated water, so there were no worries there. Portia spotted Killmonger on the far side of the cave, splashing his naked feet into the liquid heaven.

"Lord," she whispered into her own mouth, watching him.

He was totally nude and moved his body with an assured grace that made him look like Poseidon returning to the sea. She could not stop staring at his taut glutes and powerful thighs. His keloid scars were all over his back, too. Killmonger walked in waist-deep before dunking his head underwater and wetting his locs. He ran a hand over his hair and shook them, stretching his arms out wide, traveling deeper into the sea until she could only see his head. Going under a few times, he moved closer to shore, and she noticed the small bottle of liquid soap in his hand. He washed all over, rubbing his muscles, and cleaning between his toes and elsewhere. Rinsing off, he dropped the bottle of soap on the sand for later and put on his pants without his boxer briefs. He padded back over to the dying fire and stopped when he saw Mimi sitting near his previous seat.

"Getcho ass back in that kennel," he ordered.

Mimi only sat and stared at him.

He sat down next to the pampered pooch and placed Mimi on his lap. Portia giggled and hid under the blankets.

Smoke and flashes of a blazing fire blinded her eyes. The shouts of fear and the odor of fresh blood grounded her back on the yacht. She had moved so slowly. Champagne and the thrill of fireworks put her in a loopy mood and the horror of the attack froze her and probably saved her life. Tiana and Carlos ran and Portia stood there like a statue, her mind trying to fathom what was wrong with the scenario before she was tackled by the running dead and free-falling onto her back.

"No!"

Portia shot up inside the boat, her heart jackhammering in her chest. Her throat clogged with a scream as she relived the attack. Staring at her shaking hands in front of her face, she expected to see blood and brain matter again as another scream ripped from her lips.

"Hey, it's okay… shhh… it's only a nightmare…"

Killmonger jumped into the boat with her and the fading dream had her beating his chest thinking he was an attacker. The lucidity made her claw at his face and he pulled her into his chest, rocking her, cooing soft words into her ear to bring her back to reality and the safety of the cave. Mimi whined behind her and the sound of the dog snapped her to the present. She fell apart then, wailing into Killmonger's chest, her mouth wide open and unable to close as if the terror she endured would crawl out of her throat. Quinton tried to kill her. Her body could've been at the bottom of the sea becoming fish food and no one would know the truth of what he did to her or all of their so-called friends. Portia moaned and jammed a hand against her mouth.

"You're good, Portia. I'm here and we're okay. Just a bad dream…"

She looked up at his face, then wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned back in the boat, letting her rest on top of him. He stroked her spine and his rough hands on her bare skin brought her back from the brink of totally losing all control of her emotions. She wiped her eyes and covered her face, weeping quietly against him.

"I was waiting for this. Some people take longer to process what happened to them. You tried your best to act like you were okay all day," he whispered.

Her breath shuddered as his soothing voice and hands brought her into a calm state.

"I was so scared," she said.

"I know."

"It was so fast and… I couldn't move…"

"You did well considering all that was happening at one time… even wiped blood on yourself to fool them. That's thinking on your toes, Ma. Most people just scream and holler, then get caught up in the shock. You ran and did what you had to do."

"Thank you for saving me," she whispered.

"That was my job."

His fingers dragged up and down her spine, making her skin feel tingly and warm. She crawled off of him and snuggled into his side, hiding her face in his chest. Portia enjoyed being there. It felt comfortable and safe. He stroked her arms and tried to leave her side to return to his post, but she gripped his arm and pulled him back next to her.

"Don't go," she said.

A soft sprinkle of rain fell on the water. The storm had arrived. The pleasant patter of droplets striking the sea eased her mind and body. Her nightmare faded, easily forgotten, while cozied up against him.

"Try to sleep," he said.

Killmonger rested his head on the makeshift pillow his work jacket made and she stared into his eyes. The solar lights gave her a soft ambiance to look at him with.

"By tomorrow evening, they should be near enough where I can shoot a flare so they can pick us up. Hang on to that thought," he said.

She nodded into his shoulder and released a final shudder that loosened all the tension in her body. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her fingers across the top of his naked chest, feeling the slick contours of his keloids against the pads of her fingertips. Tracing her fingers under his neck, she took a bold step and ran her finger across his full lips. Raising herself higher, Portia kissed him, enjoying the sensation of warm plush fullness outlining her own plump softness. His lips smothered hers as he took over the kissing. She expected a feral roughness with him, but he was buttery soft and so gentle with her mouth. Even his large tongue surprised her with how seductively slow it was exploring the inside of her mouth. Their kisses were languid and so unrushed that she could almost fool herself into thinking that they had been lovers in some other past life together. There was no clumsy fumbling newness as their tongues sought an understanding of their changed physical relationship.

She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, and he smiled. He kissed his own trail down her face and onto her neck where he buried those sharp gold teeth and nibbled on her throat, shooting sparks of pleasure down to her toes and back. Groaning out loud, she delighted in his fingers pinching her nipples through her bikini top. She untied it and freed her breasts. His hand palmed their fullness, and she glanced down at his crotch. His dick tented his pants. She helped unfasten them, releasing his erection. It was a hot, rigid thing in her hand and his head fell back, allowing a deep groan to release from his mouth.

"Stroke that shit," he huffed into her neck while untying the bottom of her bikini himself.

She moved over as he wiggled out of his pants and gasped when she saw his dick and balls together. Her pussy throbbed while looking at the heft and length. Pre-cum pearled at his tip and ran down the sides and she helped slicken that big dick in a hurry, eliciting more guttural moans from him. She liked the pleasurable sounds falling from his lips and squeezed her fingers around the bulbous tip. The hole there opened wider and clear fluid drizzled onto the gap of her thumb and index finger.

"Fuck, baby," he gasped when she twisted and tugged under the ridge.

His fingers found her clit and her pussy wasted no time becoming slick and wet, her folds opening up for him like a blooming rose. He stared between her legs, licked his lips, and flashed those gold slugs. She lost control of the tremors making her body weak for him. Slick sounds met his fingers, and he played with her pussy lips until she was begging for him to do more.

"Play with your pussy. Lemme see you do what you did on the boat when you were teasing me," he huffed.

Her diamond-crusted fingernails made her pussy so pretty for him. She could see his arousal grow in his glassy eyes. She rubbed her clit, then held her folds open. He licked his fingers and stuck them in her mouth. She sucked on them, showing him everything she could do for his dick. He closed his eyes and his lips parted. Panting, he played in her mouth. His big dick twitched and jumped against her thigh, spewing more pre-cum.

"Lemme play in this pussy," he begged.

She opened her legs, and he inserted two fingers inside of her opening, gently testing the limits of what she could take. Portia whimpered when he started tapping on the sides of her walls, flicking his fingers back and forth like a butterfly fluttering away. He knew how to stimulate pussy. Killmonger wasn't rough or jerky with his movements either. He watched her face to read what she could handle from him and kissed her often, slow and steady, binding Portia to him like he was kissing a magic spell into her mouth, conjuring more pleasure from the nerves that woke up all over her writhing body. He fingered her pussy and sucked on her nipples, turning her body into mush that the sea could wash away with the tide.

"Listen to that pussy… fuck… I knew this shit was good… fuck…" he moaned.

"Killmonger," she cried out as his fingers hit spots in her that hadn't been touched in so long.

"You loved showing this pussy to me. So fat in this bikini. Letting me see these pussy lips all the time… teasing me…"

He pulled his fingers out against the clenching she began doing around them. He sucked her juices from his fingers and admired the frothy wetness that glistened all over her puffy folds. Slapping her vulva, he stood up and forced her to her knees.

"Suck this dick," he commanded.

Portia obeyed, jumping to her knees and swallowing his dick head like it was her last meal in life. He pushed his dick in further and her mouth stretched around it. She pressed her hand on his stomach to control the depth, but he slapped her face. The shock of the sting aroused her, and she stared up at him with heated eyes and a throbbing pussy.

"You gon' take this dick how I feed it to you… spoiled bitch. Now suck on it… put those fucking hands away. I want all mouth, Portia."

Portia opened her mouth wider, and he went in deeper. She gagged while trying to suck and slurp, and her eyes watered, but Killmonger slapped the other side of her face, disappointed with her performance.

"I thought you were better than this. You can't handle this dick?"

Her forehead creased with anger. She always gave world-class head. No man had ever complained about her oral skills. She gripped the root of his dick and he slapped her hands away.

"I said all mouth, and I meant all mouth!"

He pushed her back, and the anger that sat on his face excited her. Killmonger wasn't pleased at all. She licked his balls and kissed her way back to his dick again to try better. Taking her time, she licked around the slit and under the head, coating her tongue with all the pre-cum that dripped from him. He dragged his tip across her lips, making them glossy, and nudged the seam of her lips back open.

"Let's see if you can do better," he said.

She adjusted her knees with the blankets and sucked on that dick tip, using her full concentration. Her suction with her lips improved, and she even grazed her teeth gently around him to switch up her performance. He treated her like a little puppet that needed her strings pulled when she didn't suck to his satisfaction. She worked her ass off to get a groan, a moan, or a "Good girl," to drip from his sexy lips. He patted her head and sometimes pulled her braids to force her lips to do better.

"How are you gonna pull that nut outta Daddy when you stay playin' like that? Huh? Is this your best?" he asked.

She popped his dick out of her mouth with a torrent of saliva falling onto her breasts and pouted.

"Not as good as you thought you were. Do better," he said, shoving his dick back in.

Portia wanted to cry. She gave him grade A head, and it still wasn't up to par. All the tricks she had used over the years to get men off failed her. There were moments when she thought she had made a breakthrough, but he grumbled and told her she was not even close to getting him off.

"Look up at me when you suck that dick," he said.

Frustrated, she gazed up at him as he deep-throated her neck. That gorgeous face and big ass lips had her pussy clenching on nothing but air. Her walls felt so swollen and ached for his dick to lay her out. A few tears streaked down her face as her frustration grew.

"That's a good girl. Now take some more of Daddy's dick. Show me you can follow directions," he said.

She wanted to please him so badly. He played with her nipples and breasts as she worked her neck, throating him down as best she could. Her loud gawking echoed throughout the cave.

"Jaws getting tired?" he teased in a mean tone.

He pulled his dick out and glared at her.

"Tell Daddy you're sorry for letting him down with that mouth," he demanded.

The gruff tone ignited the ache in her clit. He threaded the braids in the back of her head with the fingers of his left hand and tilted her head while fisting his dick. He gently yanked on her hair.

"What I say? Tell Daddy you're sorry for that trash sucking," he barked.

"I can do better," she pleaded.

"You had a long time to show me, and it didn't happen."

He grunted and stared at her ripe lips, his right hand working that length like he was ready to burst. Gripping her head with his hand, he bared his slugs.

"Sorry, Daddy—"

"For what?" he gasped, narrowing his eyes as he brought his tip closer to her whimpering mouth.

"—for not sucking your dick right. Please, I can suck your dick so good!"

Portia fondled her left breast and groped between her legs to flick her clit. Begging him for a chance to prove herself was the only goal she had in life. She needed him to cum… couldn't take her next breath until he was satisfied. Killmonger had scorn written all over his expression.

"Daddy, I'm sorry…" she whined.

"Oh fuck, dassit, dassit!" he shouted.

Hot cum shot out in thick ropes all over her cheeks and lips, accompanied by a roar from his throat that enhanced his release. She opened her mouth to catch the last drops of his orgasm and she came all over her own fingers while enjoying the pure ecstasy on his straining face.

"Damn, Portia… oh… baby… shit!"

Another streak of cum shot out, and he aimed it for the other side of her face. His ejaculate dripped down, and she rubbed it onto her chest, showing him how much it meant to have him all over her breasts. He gave a low laugh and stumbled back.

"Whew… damn, girl. I was tryna hold back for so long. Your head game is fucking superb."

She licked her fingers and then stared at him.

"You were playing with me?" she asked.

"Not at first. You're used to simps being satisfied with the bare minimum. I'm a grown-ass man who needs you to show and prove with this dick. It's not for the weak, and you showed the fuck out."

He lifted her up, and she didn't want him to do anything else until she had wiped her face and chest off with a wet wipe. Killmonger hugged and kissed her afterward. They stood in the boat, necking until she couldn't take any more. She climbed him like Santa Claus was bearing gifts and wrapped her legs around him.

"I want you sitting on my mouth," he said between desperate kisses from her lips.

She slid down his body and he situated himself comfortably on the blankets. Portia squatted over his face and planted her pussy on his lips. He let it rest there, feeling the wetness all over before humming and moaning into her flesh.

"Ooh," she moaned, scissoring her clit.

He slapped her fingers away, and she looked down at him. The glow from the lamps made his eyes a liquid brown dream, and he slathered that wide tongue up and down her folds, circling her clit with the tip. He held onto her ass cheeks and she mewled and bit her bottom lip to keep from hollering out his name. Killmonger slapped both of her ass cheeks before sliding his hands under and over her thighs to lock her down on his tongue. He made it stiff, and she lifted herself to let him insert it nice and snug inside of her. Cradling her breasts, Portia went up and down and he fucked her with tongue, lips, and groans that vibrated her folds.

"Killmonger!" she yelled, not caring if pirates, snakes, Mimi, the Coast Guard, or God heard her cries of pleasure.

His tongue was delectable on her pussy and inside of it. The strength of his hands supporting her, his burning gaze rooting her to his lips… everything about him gave her chills. The effort to cum was minimal. Her orgasm shattered her ability to think clearly anymore. She babbled something or other like she was talking in tongues at her old church back in South Carolina. Bucking and yelping made no difference. That man was going to turn her pussy out. She whimpered and fell forward, unable to move any limbs. His laughter at pleasing her bounced all over the cave and she joined him, reveling in the joy that their bodies could share with one another.

Killmonger held Portia carefully in his arms as they kissed.

The taste of the deepest part of her stayed on his tongue and he shared the gift of that with her. She clung to him as if she feared him disappearing into the wet, rainy night. He had to do a patrol and fished around for night vision goggles he found stashed in a sideboard on the boat. Putting on his pants and combat boots, he didn't bother to wear a t-shirt and just tossed on his black jacket. He stuffed the satellite phone into an inside pocket and strapped his Glock around his thigh.

Portia watched him under the blankets, staring up at him with so much lust that it tempted him to forego an island sweep to stay with her. Grabbing an unfinished water bottle, he knelt down next to her and pressed his warm lips against her forehead.

"Keep it hot for me," he said, winking at her.

He wasn't finished with her by a long shot. They only experienced oral sex, each taking turns to taste and learn the other's private parts intimately.

Killmonger trudged out of the cave with Portia's scent on his beard. He placed the night vision goggles on once he was out of her sight. He hiked around, searching the sea even as a light rain came down on him. Without Portia being with him, he could get around fast. He turned on the phone and checked for any missed calls from the Greek Coast Guard. They were operating under extreme weather conditions on their end, despite the mild display on their side. Killmonger was glad that they found a place to hide that shielded them. He hoped the bad weather stayed outside of Crete and didn't follow their rescue unit.

Nothing unusual appeared on the horizon. Confident that they were in the clear, he took a moment to let the soft rain bathe his face. He hiked back to Portia and rinsed himself off before getting back into their boat bed with her naked again. She threw her arms around him like she was his woman, greeting her man after a hard day's work.

Oh, how the tables had turned!

Hiding away turned her into a bubbly, humorous woman who sought beauty all around her. It mesmerized him, watching the glow on her face as the sunrise brought her to tears that morning. She was thankful for the plain food they had to eat, and she didn't complain too much about their situation or bug him about checking the phone more than he did. His leadership and take-charge attitude allowed her to fall back into a space of just living in the present. He liked that version of her and wondered if the ice princess persona would return once they were rescued. Killmonger hoped not.

He sank his tongue back in her eager mouth and they kissed for an hour, stopping to catch their breath and caress each other. Her eyes became dewy for him and she couldn't stop touching him or being hugged up next to him. He made her lay back and played with her clit, dipping his finger inside her pussy just to watch it contract around his fingers, trying to keep them inside.

His dick became a turgid beast and hung heavy between his thighs. There were no condoms available. He had some on the yacht where he thought he might need them if he found a babe to his liking, but the only woman who turned him on was Portia. On the ship, he knew there was no way they would ever hook up. He wanted to fuck the boldness out of her back then, just to wipe that bitch queen attitude off her face. It baffled him at how quickly she wanted to submit to his domination of her body with his. He had suspected she wanted to be dominated, but not that fast.

Killmonger could've busted a nut all over her from the first ten minutes of sucking she did, but he pushed her to the limit to see if she would fight his heckling of her throat game. How he was able to keep control over his release was a miracle. He was ready to blow his load when she spit on his dickhole and cradled his balls in her hand, staring up at him with those formerly insolent cat eyes. Killmonger kept pushing her until she broke and gave him what he wanted. Her apology made him cum so hard. All he could think about was her telling him to shut the fuck up when he told her about herself. That woman got on her knees and sucked the glory out of his dick. Begged to please him. That shit amped him up.

Portia held his dick in her capable hands. They both wanted to fuck.

God!

Nice tits. A dangerous ass. Mouth game beyond ridiculous. How was Quinton not in that woman twenty-four-seven the entire time on that yacht? Portia walked around with that prize pussy, advertised it to the world all week with skimpy swimsuits, and Killmonger regretted not throwing caution to the wind and just stepping to her. Game peeped game. They could fuck and fight afterward. She was most definitely throwing hints he could get it on the yacht, but he stayed professional.

He leaned down and sucked on her neck. She panted, squirming against him, and he fingered her pussy slowly until she squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth fell open in agony.

"Fuck… I wish I could give you what you need, girl," he groaned into her ear.

She touched his scars like they were precious to her.

"You can," she said in a hushed voice.

"Without a condom?" he said.

Her gaze didn't flinch, and she pouted those succulent lips.

"I almost got killed. I'm stranded on an island with a mercenary. A hurricane could blow through here and end us both tonight. I have nothing to lose," she said.

Shit.

Killmonger regarded her face to make sure she was serious.

"I'm checked for STIs every three months," he said.

"Six months for me. I've been with Quinton for a couple of years. We normally use condoms and have unprotected for special occasions only. He's a germaphobe and I'm pretty sure Tiana was his first outside fuck. I'm on the pill, and… well… like I said, tomorrow isn't promised. This entire trip taught me that."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Trust. I want to. Been wanting to."

She grinned and ran her hand over his locs, rolling the end of one between her fingers.

"I have, too. All that teasing was to get your attention."

"You had it the moment you walked on board that yacht. I didn't like you… but I liked your confidence," he said.

He played with the end of one of her braids and fondled a diamond hair jewel.

"Are you like this in private, when you aren't being theatrical with all the spotlights?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Unguarded. Open. Friendly."

"Sometimes. I run with a crowd that I have to have a protective shell with all the time."

"Sad life."

"What about you? You also put on an act. You're not mean all the time," she said.

"I'm direct. There's a difference. My job is life or death in precarious places with dangerous people."

"Have you ever lost an entire team before?"

"No. This was a major hit. Practically overkill. There were about ten men compared to my five, and they were using high-grade explosives. Most pirates want hostages or the ship itself. Those people came there for one thing. Do a wet job and bounce. You and I aren't supposed to be alive, Portia."

He cradled her in his arms. The scent of her hair was sugary sweet, like some exotic fruit and nutmeg. Their ardor cooled with their private thoughts and Killmonger listened to the rush of water lapping onto the cave shore. The wind picked up and howled down from the four-foot hole in the ceiling. He stayed awake and Portia slept deeply, the rise and fall of her chest soothing to him. If she had another nightmare, she'd wake up with him holding her. At two in the morning, he snuck away to patrol again. Heavier storm clouds accumulated in the distance and he expected stronger weather soon. A boom of thunder and spidery streaks of lightning zig-zagged across the sky. He popped the collar on his jacket and used his night vision goggles. A vast emptiness stretched out before him. For all he knew, they were the only people in the entire world. The cell phone had poor reception and the battery life was low. Hell, if no one showed up, they'd have to chance it back on the water. There were paddles and he'd get them to Crete one way or another with his own arm power once all the gas was used. He flipped on the locator beam's distress signal light. Survival was second nature to him. They would make it out.

Killmonger took his time going back to the cave. The darkness, the wind, and the rain comforted his mood.

No more civilian gigs.

He took the job as a favor to Clark, but he missed the offensive action of being in foreign countries. He'd give Clark a piece of his mind when he got back. The men he put together for Killmonger should not have allowed those killers to get that close. He had four men on water detail in all directions, and they allowed a boat to hit them swiftly and deadly. They were all executed, so he doubted they were in on the take. He would've caught on right away that it was a set-up when he first arrived. The attack crew had to have used a submersible to plant the explosives against the hull. It was something he would've done.

A heavier thunderstorm arrived, and he jogged back to the cave.

Portia was still asleep. Mimi was up, digging holes in the back of the cave, too distracted to bark or whine at him for attention. He took off his jacket and boots, climbing back beside Portia for warmth. She had curled into the fetal position under a blanket and looked so vulnerable. The cooler air and rain on his body made him shiver a bit, and he went to make another fire.

By early morning, the storm kicked up and the tide level in the cave increased. It wasn't enough to make them leave because the giant boulders and jagged smaller island formations surrounding the cave kept the larger waves from crashing to shore on them. The gigantic grayish-black clouds made the interior darker, adding to the dreary atmosphere as large raindrops showered their private beach.

Portia ate a cold-weather MRE of scrambled eggs, fruit bars, oatmeal, and a bland trail mix. He made them coffee again and ate his own meal before catching some sleep. With no phone reception and the bad weather making visibility terrible, he could afford to rest for an hour or two. He listened to Portia bathe on the other side of the cave. She hummed with a pleasant voice and spent some time by the fire alone with her dog.

The storm kept them quiet, and they became occupied with other things rather than each other until she found a kit of tiny board games inside a sealed bag. There were checkers, chess, Tic Tac Toe, and a deck of cards. They played speed with the cards and hunkered down to play checkers before lunch. Hunger and lunch skipped them as they got into a serious chess match. Later, they both played with Mimi, letting the dog chase them around the cave until Erik shouted bloody murder and flailed his arms around.

"What is it? What is it?" Porta shrieked, scared out of her wits.

"A spider dropped down on me!"

Portia blinked a few times, then burst out laughing. He swiped at his locs and a quarter-sized furry brown arachnid fell out of his hair and scurried on the sand. Mimi chased after it and they both beat pieces of wood on the ground trying to smash it. The dog gobbled it up and Portia grabbed her stomach from laughing so hard.

"Your big butt was scared of that little thing? I thought a tarantula fell on you!" she cackled.

"It's all the legs that creep me out, and they move real sneaky," he grumbled, embarrassed that he showed a weakness in front of her.

"Poor baby," Portia said, patting his back, "Mimi saved you."

He chased after Portia and lifted her over his shoulder, spanking her backside for teasing him. Another bigger spider dropped from the roof and landed on Portia. She damn near came out of her own skin trying to swipe it out of her hair. Killmonger let her run around like a chicken with its head cut off to teach her a lesson about making fun of him. She walked around with the heebie-jeebies afterward, terrified more spiders would come raining down on them like a horror movie. Rain, thunder, and spiders were forgotten when they crawled back into the boat together for a nap. She traced the shape of his scars with her fingers again, and he rested his chin on her head.

"I know this sounds crazy, but I really like it here with you," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She nodded against his chest.

"I thought I would go stir crazy, but I'm actually grateful to sit still. Weird, huh? No TV. Internet. People. Just peace. No distractions. No one to impress or look good for. It feels like we're Adam and Eve here."

"No apples or snakes, though," he joked.

"What do you do when you don't work?"

"I sit still. Like this."

"Where?"

"That's classified information."

"Really."

"The less you know about me, the better."

"Is Killmonger even your real name?"

"No."

She never asked for his name. He was glad. She took the hint.

"We'll never see each other again after this," she said.

"No, we won't," he said with finality.

"You make me laugh, and you're a skilled chess player."

"You're not too bad yourself."

Portia sat up and took off her bikini again. Her eyes were loving and drank in his face. She helped him undress, then kissed him all over his face, touching his chin, and giving her lips to him before kissing down his chest, following the trail of hairs below his belly button until she had his dick in her mouth. She bobbed her head, and he said her name softly, praising her for how good she made him feel. Pushing him back, she held his dick upright and aligned it with her opening. He held his breath as she sank down on him. She grunted when she reached the bottom. His dick had her folds stretched all around him tight, creating a snug suction as she went up and down, taking her time. They locked eyes, and the arousal overwhelmed him. He gazed at their connection like he was in a daze and her pussy made his thickness shiny and slick. Portia rode him so well that his back arched and he lifted to press her against his chest as he thrust into her. Up and down she went, caressing her nipples, those expensive, icy-looking fingernails highlighting the hidden treasure that she was beneath all the posturing.

He had looked down on Portia before meeting her, his disdain at her Sugar Baby ways clouding his judgment on who she really was as an individual sans the glitz. Fucking him like that in a hollow cave on a lone island proved to him she was worth pampering and spoiling. If he had the money, he'd spend it on her himself. The pussy taking care of his dick was priceless.

"Turn around," he gasped.

Portia lifted and swung her legs the other way, leaning forward as she wiggled her backside for him. He palmed a fat cheek and her pussy swallowed his dick. She rocked back on him and he was blessed to watch her ass jiggle and his dick stretch her out at the same time. He whimpered in his throat with his entire face scrunched up at the intense pleasure. She rode the tip of his dick, and then placed those diamond nails on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide so he could see her pussy work. He slipped his thumb in her ass, and Portia moaned. She drenched his dick and the gushy sounds harmonized with his groans.

She showed out.

Circling her waist, she twisted her pussy on his dick and he couldn't take it anymore. He slapped her ass and forced her onto her hands and knees. Clapping her cheeks was the goal, and he made Portia call out his name as he gave her what she needed. Her pussy became disrespectful, and he tamed her depths, gripping her waist and deep dicking her nice and slow.

"Killmonger… Killmonger… Killmonger…" she panted.

The need to dominate surged in his loins. Flipping her over, he forced her to take the dick she so richly deserved. The pillow princess vanished and in her place was an erotically in-tune woman with full-body engagement. He threw her legs over his shoulders and cursed at how satisfying her pussy felt all around him. She had to have diamonds on her walls because whatever amount of money rich men spent on her wasn't enough. Her grip on his dick had him moaning and choking up his curse words in his throat. She took him deeper and his glutes clenched tight, helping him pump death strokes into her. The cave was full of squelching and grunts, and he watched their shadows moving on the cave walls from the fire. Her hips wiggled seductively, and he hunched down low to kiss her lips and feel her breasts smashed against his chest. They were beyond fucking at that point, moving into the primal state like they were the first man and woman to ever make love.

Scooting to her side, he held her legs up and stroked her walls from a new angle that knocked the sense out of her. Those pouty lips stayed open and her eyes took on a glazed look as if she couldn't believe what was happening to her. Her breasts bounced with each thrust and she glanced down to watch his dick ruin her. She chewed on her lip when she saw what was happening to her pussy. He snaked his hips and hit another angle within her and she called out to God. He stayed working that spot, stroking it until his body became a stiff plank focused on only one task: making her cum hard on his dick.

She rubbed on her clit, and those pretty nails had his balls moving.

"Baby… I feel it… 'bout to cum…" he gasped.

"You wanna cum in my pretty pussy?"

The wantonness in her voice urged him on.

"Pussy so good… fucking me so good… dick so hard…" he chuffed with abandon

"You want to make a big mess in my pussy?"

Her voice electrified him. It pushed him to give her his best and yet it challenged him like she was internally comparing him to others and he was coming up short. It was arousing, but it irked him too.

"Take it… take Daddy's dick," he grunted.

Her eyes changed, became coquettish, and it threw him off. His skin was on fire and dripped with sweat, and the sound of her voice encouraged him to tame that pussy. She dared him to. Portia's face transformed into a woman who wanted some Daddy dick to control her. Her right hand fondled the nape of his neck and those long nails scraped there with seductive pressure.

"I don't know if I can take all this dick the way you want," she taunted. "So big…"

He groaned, and she latched on to that sign of weakness.

"You're taking it… all this dick," he grunted.

"Are you sure? I'm trying to make it all fit for you," she said, all breathy.

"Oh, fuck!"

What was she doing? Playing coy? She acted like some virgin who had never had dick before. Her tone was ultra-feminine. She tucked the nail of her index finger between her teeth and looked down at his dick stretching those sweet walls. Her eyes were wide with wonder at the sight, and that coquettish energy fed him what he needed. Dominance.

"Nobody fuck you like this?" he grunted.

She shook her head and kept her eyes on his dick, with that finger still in her mouth.

"Fuck my pussy," she said.

She looked at him with sweet, innocent eyes.

"Goddammit!" he cried out. "Spread those pussy lips!"

Portia widened those sticky folds and the sides of her fingers glided along his dick as he gave her all that he had left. She kept her finger in her mouth with her other hand and her beauty pushed him to the brink. He mounted her again in missionary and his sweat fell on her like the rain falling on the water. She kept her legs up, that pussy open, and that damn lone finger between her lips. Her reckless eyes gazed at him and his dick swelled.

"I'm cumming! Oh shiiitttttt, I'm cumminggggg," he yelled.

He shoved his hips forward and Portia pursed her lips. She squirmed and lost the battle to hold on.

"Ohmigod… Killmonger!" she shouted.

Her head fell back and her pussy contracted with strong clenches all along his erection. Their shouts of pleasure intertwined and became one with the back and forth of their bodies squeezing and throbbing together. He caught himself before collapsing on her, pulling out his dick and fisting the last of his cum all over her clit. She was a pool of sweat and satisfaction, and they gasped for air, staring at the cave ceiling. The rain continued to fall.

Portia curled against his chest.

Sleep came fast.

He woke up, and she was gone. So was Mimi.

Killmonger called to them before putting on his clothes and grabbing his pack. It was only early evening, and the rain had stopped. Fat gray clouds still squatted over their island, but the storm's driving power had moved on. He found Portia and Mimi at the peak near the beacon.

"Went for a walk," she said.

He sat down next to them and pet the dog on the head. Mimi licked his hand. Pulling out the binoculars, he checked the sea. A cool breeze ruffled his locs. The wind was still strong, and the water had a few whitecaps.

Wait…

There!

A ship.

Killmonger honed in for the telltale signs of Coast Guard markings. There was a Greek flag waving from the gray and white ship. Greek lettering in big white caps spelled out Hellenic Coast Guard. He watched it approach to make sure it was the real deal before pulling out the flare gun and shooting it. Dark orange smoke shot up high in the sky.

"It's them?" Portia squealed.

"Yep."

She hugged Mimi, and he turned on the emergency cell. The power went out, but he didn't care. He held Portia's hand, and they walked down to the cave. There was nothing to do but push their emergency boat into the water. It had just enough gas left to power them out into the open sea. Killmonger didn't want to wait for them to send a smaller boat. He needed Portia in a safe place fast with Greek government protection.

They sped out on the water, bouncing on the choppy waves. Porta kept looking behind her like she wanted to keep the image of their island in her mind. He gave her his outer shirt to wear on top of her bikini. She curled her legs under her wrap dress.

Killmonger aligned their boat against the large Coast Guard ship and the crew helped Portia up on a side ladder. He tied their boat to the larger one and knotted a rope around Mimi's dog crate so a crew member could help the dog get on board. Finally, he climbed up himself. The captain of the ship greeted them and gave them both blankets and hot coffee. Portia was damn near teary-eyed and she pressed herself against Killmonger, afraid to leave his side.

"Come inside," the captain said when the weather picked up outside.

They followed the man into a busy interior and sat down on cushioned seats that felt good after sitting on the sand and a hard boat bottom. A crew member handed them mugs filled with a thick Greek soup. They ate and Portia asked to use the head. She was led away further into the interior. The weathered-face captain asked him some questions and Killmonger's sixth sense kicked in.

Something was wrong.

There were too many men on the ship not dressed appropriately. Only the captain and a lieutenant had on a proper Greek Coast Guard uniform with their ranks on them. The others had dark clothing without rankings or insignias. The captain gave a weak smile and the perspiration on his forehead didn't go with the cool interior. Killmonger kept his tone normal.

"How soon can we make it back to the mainland?" he asked, thrusting his empty mug out for more hot coffee.

"It will take time. The weather has been tricky. We almost lost your signal," he said.

Killmonger nodded and moved over to a window. He counted the other men outside to get an accurate assessment of what he was up against and thanked his lucky stars that he opted to keep his Glock under his jacket. When he contacted the coast guard for help originally, he kept his identity vague, pretending to be a guest of Quinton. The attack team must've intercepted the Greek Coast Guard for their own nefarious use as a getaway ship. It had become a death trap for him and Portia.

Portia returned, all chipper. Her ice princess personality snapped back like a rubber band. She glanced at him and he pretended things were all good.

"Hey, baby, put Mimi back in her cage. We don't want her running around," Killmonger said.

The forced affection in front of the others surprised her. She walked over to the dog kennel near him and bent down to place Mimi inside it. After she locked the crate, Killmonger slipped an arm around Portia's waist and gently had her sit next to him.

"More soup?" The captain asked.

"No, thank you. When will we get back to Crete? Or is Athens where we're headed?" she asked.

Portia looked at Killmonger, and he sipped on his coffee to keep from answering right away.

"Would you like to rest, Miss Keith?"

The nervous lieutenant sensed the tension that had risen in the galley.

"There's an empty bunk you can sleep in until we reach port," the man said.

His name badge said Makris.

"You should go lay down. I'll check on you later. Take Mimi with you," Killmonger said.

Portia caught on that something was off. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"If there's a door, lock yourself in there," he whispered in her ear.

She kissed his lips and picked up Mimi. Portia showed no fear as she followed Makris. She played it cool and calm, like an iceberg. Good girl, he thought.

Killmonger had fourteen rounds in his Glock. He counted seven false crew members and only two regular ones. The rest of the original crew were dead somewhere on the ship or tossed overboard. He assumed Quinton had escaped on some other watercraft to separate himself from the killers. They wouldn't rush to kill them all until nightfall, with darkness as a cover. Something must've happened to their ship in order for them to risk hijacking a Coast Guard operation.

"She has heart medicine she needs. I forgot to bring it up from the boat we used," Killmonger said. The lie rang true to the men.

"We can have someone go down and get it for you," the captain said.

Vlachos. The captain's name badge gave Killmonger a second to look away from a bulky merc who sized him up.

"It's in a side slot in the back," Killmonger said, following the man out onto the deck again.

The bulky man climbed down the side of the ship and rooted around.

"The back," Killmonger called down.

The man held up his hands.

"Hold on," Killmonger said.

A few more killers came out to watch him as he climbed down. One in the boat. Six up top. Perfect.

"That boat has a lot of tricky compartments," Killmonger said.

A wave buoyed the boat, and they both lost their balance for a second. Killmonger pretended to dig into a slot near the side of the ship and unlatched the boat, letting it float away. He dropped low, pulled out his Glock, and shot the bulky man dead. The man fell over the side with a soft splash. Shots from above popped over his head, but he turned on the motor and glided around the other side. Once he reached the gap he needed, he slammed his hands around the front M60 7.62mm machine gun and blasted at the men. He ripped through four right away. One caught him slipping and clipped Killmonger in his shoulder. It wasn't enough to stop him, but the distraction gave Vlachos and Makris the opportunity to jump the last two killers and wrestle them. Killmonger zipped back toward the ladder again. He hooked the boat and hustled back to the top. Vlachos took a shot in the chest but apprehended one assailant. Makris knocked the gun out of another merc's hand and bashed his head against the deck floor, knocking him out.

Blood pooled and cooled all over the deck with the other dead men.

Portia ran out of seclusion and grabbed him so hard that it knocked the wind out of him.

"Your arm," she said, touching his bleeding wound.

Killmonger shrugged it off.

"We gotta help him," Killmonger said, nodding over to Vlachos.

Vlachos waved them away.

"Bullet passed right through," Vlachos said.

Makris helped the captain back into the galley and tended to both injured men with a first aid kit. They revealed to him the sordid story of how they ran into the armed men on their way to find them, coming across their distressed vessel that had stopped working because an engine fire left them stranded. The hijackers shot their initial crew of eight down to only two when they tried to fight back.

Killmonger was exhausted by the time he tried to rest on a bunk bed. Blood loss tired him out and so did Portia, who fussed over him with tears streaming down her face, thinking she had heard him being killed. She crawled on top of him despite his pain, too frightened to leave his side. He fell asleep to her soft humming and stroking of his locs.

Portia, Makris, and Vlachos arrived in Crete the next morning.

Killmonger had disappeared.

The military boat they escaped with was gone. She relayed the deadly adventure to the press and her photos were blasted worldwide. First came the press tours, then the exclusive paid interviews. A book deal followed along with a movie deal and three-part docuseries. She milked every opportunity to tell her story as the only survivor and was paid handsomely for it.

Returning to New York, she hid out in a penthouse for months, searching all over the internet for any trace of Killmonger. If it had not been for Makris and Vlachos corroborating that the man did indeed exist, she may have convinced herself that he was a figment of her overactive imagination. Two of the killers that survived the Coast Guard ship confessed to being hired by Quinton. A global manhunt seemed never-ending. When billionaires were murdered in cold blood, people cared. She attended memorials to all the victims, making sure she looked fabulous in Thom Browne and Prada fashion with her signature Chanel shades. Portia wasn't close to any of the people she partied with on the yacht, aside from Quinton. However, leaked photos from her private social media account showed merry faces prior to them leaving Athens on the first day of the New Year's trip. It brought comfort to the families, and they invited her to spend weeks in various billionaire enclaves where she spun stories about their rich sons being brave and attempting to save the women. All lies. But it gave the loved ones a sense of closure and peace.

After a year, her life returned to jet-setting and fashion weeks all over again. Her misadventure bolstered her popularity because of the glamorous photos of her being escorted from the Greek Coast Guard ship in her knitted alabaster bikini. For someone experiencing a traumatic event, Portia looked fashionable as fuck.

Media ate up the haunting tale of Quinton living a double life somewhere. Media blasted his life history around the world as the biggest true crime story to come along in years. Many speculated that he had drowned or killed himself because he couldn't be found anywhere. Portia guessed he lived in a country where he couldn't be extradited. The hoopla died down until her book came out. Then there was a buzz about the casting for the movie. Depression set in then.

Portia visited a few therapists, but none could help her cure the anger that sat in her spirit like venom that she couldn't spew out. She wanted Quinton's head on a plate. He needed to pay for what he had done. It didn't matter to her that the people he killed weren't her genuine friends. He ended human lives because of greed. She couldn't get over that he took the bitch route to jumpstart his fortunes. As smart as he was, he couldn't develop or create something new and amazing that made him rich in the first place. An existential dread lived in her gut. Portia couldn't free herself from the lack of justice. Jetting around the world with Mimi in tow didn't heal the pain. New diamonds, furs, and fancy cars lost their luster. Revenge burned in her soul.

She turned toward the dark web to search for Killmonger. Using some of her movie money, she hired the best ex-CIA and former Black Ops agents to help her find her mercenary lover. One former field agent told her the best that could happen was Killmonger would catch wind of her search, but no one could actually contact him. That was good enough.

The Swiss Alps looked like he imagined.

Cold, white, and jagged.

The job called for a remote location and this was as remote as it got. Killmonger rolled the late-model SUV into a long, isolated driveway that hadn't been plowed for a while. He parked when he couldn't drive any further, and dragged a large black duffel bag out of the trunk, along with an arsenal of small weapons in a backpack. The thick powdery snow cushioned and muffled his steps. All the lights were on in the mountain luxury chalet he came to. His target was inside. The cloudless night sky made the snow glittery with the moonlight and security lights surrounding the property.

Cold air made puffy clouds of his breath. His lungs burned from the exertion and altitude. He tapped his wrist computer and all the security cameras shut down within the chalet. The woman inside had a wineglass in her hand and talked on a cell phone, clueless that he was outside approaching with stealth. The lights in the interior winked out, then came back on suddenly. She turned her head and stared out through the large glass windows. Her eyes glossed over the valley below that was filled with snow that would have more dumped by midnight. Flakes had already fallen down on his way up a winding road.

He waited.

The front door opened, and the beauty stepped out in a long white fur coat reminding him of Goldie from the old Black flick, "The Mack". She still rocked expensive diamonds, and Ma carried herself like the ice princess she would always be.

Portia.

He stepped into the light and she grinned, relief creasing her brow and her lush lips spreading into the biggest smile. His heart dropped for a moment. She almost looked like she did back on their island.

"Killmonger," she said.

Her voice made him move toward her. She helped him with the small backpack and he hauled the duffel up the steps and into a cozy, warm interior. A fire burned in the fireplace and Mimi jumped around his legs.

"Hey rat dog," he teased.

He dropped the duffel near the door and lifted the dog. Portia took off her coat, revealing the slinky silver dress with the low-cut front he admired before he came in.

"Bring yourself over here," he said, dropping Mimi to the floor.

She sauntered to him, walking like a runway model, exaggerating her hips as she moved and draped her arms around his neck. He inhaled her lovely scent and memories rushed back of him and her alone… making love. Killmonger kissed her first, and she opened her mouth to envelop all the warmth of his tongue.

Two years.

They hadn't been in contact with each other in two years since he disappeared from her life. He went back to work for Clark and dropped off the radar soon after. The fame of their adventure dazzled his eyes when he went to a movie theater in Morocco and watched a film that was almost true. The actress that played Portia was gorgeous, but she lacked aloofness and sublime sensuality. Their sex scenes were amplified and gratuitous. There were long scenes of them fucking in water that never happened, and also one of them screwing on the Coast Guard ship. Also, untrue. The actor that was supposed to be him wasn't even a close approximation of Killmonger, but women loved him at the box office and the film became a blockbuster. The docuseries blew up, too. Portia became a media star and super-rich by doing nothing except being beautiful and caught up in some greedy foolishness. Some girls had all the luck with pretty privilege. The anomaly was her being a beautiful Black woman with an intriguing action-adventure-romance story. It did not shock him when Hollywood tried to white-wash the film by recasting Portia as a white blonde. That idea dropped, but they did cast a Black biracial British actress to play her. Think pieces blew up around that.

He got word of her searching for him.

It was only a matter of time. He thought of her often as he worked throughout the Middle East and West Africa. His notifications blew up during fashion weeks and he scrolled timelines to see what she had on and found out how her life was going. She dated often, but nothing serious. Her mystique intensified and everyone wanted her at their major events and parties.

He sensed her unhappiness.

Quinton, getting away with murder, rubbed too many white, rich people the wrong way. A Black man double-crossing billionaires and profiting from it... alive somewhere? Unheard of. Portia survived with the sting of betrayal hovering around her.

Killmonger smacked her ass, and she gave him the glass of wine in her hand. He drank it down, and she took it away, resting it on a side table.

The duffle moved.

Mimi growled and barked at the large black canvas bag and Killmonger knelt down, unzipping it. Stuffed inside was Quinton, tied and gagged. Portia picked up the smaller backpack she carried into the chalet for Killmonger. She opened it and he moved his hand around in it.

"Your choice of weapon, Ma," Killmonger said.

Portia lifted a modified Maxim 9 with a built-in silencer.

"What a way to ring in the New Year," she said, kissing him.

She dropped to one knee and peered at her prey.

"Hello, Quinton. Long time no see, baby," she said.

The iciness of her voice chilled Killmonger. Quinton's desperate eyes pleaded for mercy. She would give him none.

Portia zipped the bag up and stuffed the Maxim 9 back into the pack. She grabbed Killmonger's hand and pulled him toward some stairs.

"I'll save him for midnight when the fireworks go off. Right now, I want you," she purred.

Killmonger followed his ice princess. They had some reacquainting to do in the privacy of a luxury bedroom with fresh snow falling outside.

"Happy New Year," he whispered before kissing her all over.

A.N.:

Brought an oldie but goodie back! I first published this on here back on October 11, 2022, a month before "Wakanda Forever" came out. I thought I would expand this into a longer piece and indie publish it with some other stuff I took down from here, but I decided to put it up again because we need fun things to read in these daunting times with Cheeto dust back in office. Enjoy and please reblog!

[hottpinkpenguin]

Until My Bones Have Turned to Leaves

Joe Liebgott (BoB) X Fem!SoldierReader Part 1 of ? WC: 1772 Warnings: cursing, not proofread, canon-divergence A/N: omg it worked!! @redheadspark, TYSM for the BoB request. Also credit to one of my favorite singers, Lukas Nelson, for the title of this fic

First time Joe saw you, he’d laughed. Which earned him a prompt smack across the back of his head from Lip, and a glowering stare from Bull. Apparently Easy men weren’t supposed to laugh at the Experiment, as Joe had publicly dubbed you shortly after your arrival.

“I mean, c’mon guys, don’t fuckin’ sit there and pretend this shit is normal!” he’d insisted. At first, most of the men had agreed with him to some degree. None quite as vocally as him, but still, he saw it in their eyes. They knew it, he knew it too. A woman on the front was unnatural at best. Distracting at worst. 

Despite Joe’s best efforts, your presence in Easy Company settled in after a few weeks. The novelty wore off, and you’d shown yourself as more than just “some dame” who’d impressed the Brass. Steely under pressure, a decent marksman (even Shifty agreed), and a fearless courier. You were smaller and faster than most of the men, so Winters often tasked you with running commands back and forth from Command to Easy to the men in their foxholes and back. Joe would never say it out loud, but even he was impressed to see you out there in the bone-biting cold of Bastogne, dodging the Kraut artillery and artfully sprinting from one foxhole to the next. You’d barely been winded and your eyes were shining when you gave him the news: dig in, no reinforcements expected. 

Joe lost the few sympathetic ears he’d acquired during your first few weeks with Easy after you’d volunteered to take Malarkey’s place on the night patrol in Haguenau. For reasons that even mystified him, your selfless act made Joe angry. So. Fucking. Angry. 

“What are you playing at anyway, Ex?” he snarled in your direction. He’d shortened your moniker Experiment to something smaller and even less descriptive. Although he’d meant it to signify just how little time he had to waste on you, the men thought it sounded an awful lot like a pet-name. 

You ignored him and kept cleaning your rifle. You were one of eight preparing to head out for a nighttime patrol across the river to take a prisoner or two from the smattering of Germans still left in Haguenau, lobbing mortars and bullets across the river at a frequency just enough to pester the haggard regiment. The house you were in was one of the few homes on this side of the river still standing, although its interior was covered in a thick layer of dust and debris. The men had cleared off most of the usable surfaces, and were doing routine gear checks and prep for the patrol. Next to you, Bull raised a challenging eyebrow in Joe’s direction and popped the cigar out of his mouth. Unable to smoke on the front lines - “too much light and smoke” Major Winters informed them - Bull had picked up the habit of chewing off the butt ends of cigars. The nicotine made him feistier than Joe cared for, and doggedly protective of you. 

“Liebgott, what’re you on about?” Bull’s question sounded skeptical, as if he suspected Joe’s anger had deeper meaning. 

“Wasn’t talking to you, Bull,” Joe replied curtly, his eyes boring into the side of your skull. You swiped a few stray hairs out of your eyes and continued to ignore him. Joe felt his blood pressure creep upwards as his temper turned hot. 

“Malarkey doesn’t need you stepping in all guardian angel on his behalf.” Joe knew it made your blood boil whenever he pointedly addressed your sex in front of the men. For that reason, he made a point to do it every chance he could. He had his theories about why the others had stopped grumbling about having to share foxholes and K-Rations and morphine with a woman - sex starved, most likely, he told himself - but he wasn’t fooled. No amount of fearlessness, courage, or capability would ever change the fact that you were a woman. You shouldn’t be here. Joe felt that deep in his heart just like he knew his own name. It was a fact that was threaded into the center of his bones. 

The new lieutenant, fresh out of West Point with a clean shave and pristine uniform, stepped into the room and gave a few orders. He was one of two who’d actually volunteered for the patrol - you being the other - and he’d gotten it into his head that he was in some way responsible for leading the patrol. Liebgott nodded vaguely in his direction, like most of the others. Lt Jones grumbled something about lack of respect for chain of command but didn’t press the issue further, his eyes settling on you. He regarded you curiously and intently, although without surprise. Clearly one of the other officers had briefed him on your presence. He tracked your movements as you checked the sight on your rifle, wiping the lens clean with a rag until you were satisfied. He lingered in the doorway, his gaze appraising you with the smallest curve on his lips. Your eyes remained trained on the gun in front of you, although Joe had no doubt that you were aware of the extra set of eyes taking in your every move.

“Can we help you, Lieutenant?” Joe wasn’t sure why the words slipped out or why they sounded so much like a challenge. His snappy retort surprised even himself. He caught a few of the men exchanging looks around the room, their eyebrows raised as if to say ‘here we go’. A muffled hush fell over the room as the men waited for Lt. Jones’ reaction. 

“Excuse me, soldier?” Lt. Jones settled his dark eyes on Joe, his expression hard but patient. He clearly wasn’t going to settle for an offhanded dismissal from an enlisted man, nor was he going to let Joe rile him up. Joe squirmed, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable and surprised at himself. What the hell was he doing, putting himself in the proverbial crosshairs of a man who outranked him? And over you? He chewed his lip and looked down, hoping the Lieutenant would allow his demur behavior to suffice for an apology and shove off.

“Private Liebgott asked if we could help you, Lieutenant.” If the room was muffled before, it descended into complete silence as your icy words slapped the floor. You’d stopped fussing over your rifle, your eyes trained on Lt. Jones with a spark of challenge. Joe had to forcibly close his mouth to keep it from gaping open in surprise. Were you of all people really stepping into the quagmire alongside him?

“Oh, I heard Private Liebgott quite well,” Lt. Jones replied smartly. Joe had a feeling from the way the Lieutenant said his name that Lt. Jones wouldn’t forget it any time soon. “I was simply surprised to hear a Private addressing one of his superior officers with such a tone of blatant disrespect.” 

“And I’m sure Private Liebgott’s question was made out of surprise to see one of his superior officers regarding an enlisted soldier with such a look of blatant lustfulness.” 

One single moment of silence lingered after you finished speaking before the room softened with the sound of poorly suppressed laughter. Lt. Jones looked around desperately, as if searching for an ally, his face turning redder by the moment. He spluttered something, looking utterly chastised, before Bull offered him a gracious exit. 

“Just apologize to Private Y/L/N, Lieutenant, and be on your way. We were all a little knocked off our feet when she showed up. She’s a sight prettier than the rest of these mucks, that’s for sure.” The men hollered in appreciation and mock offense as Bull stuck a hand out towards Lieutenant Jones like an olive branch. Joe, for his part, was watching you watch the Lieutenant. The sharp edge of your temper was softened by the men’s camaraderie with you, but there was a wariness in your eyes that got sharper as he mumbled a weak apology and skittered out the door, tail between his legs. Your eyes followed him until he was out of eyesight, and even then they stared blankly into the distance. It wasn’t until Bull gently bumped your shoulder that you seemed to fully come back to the room. 

“You oughtta be careful there, Wings,” he murmured under his breath. Wings was the nickname some in the company had taken to calling you after seeing you fly through the woods of Bastogne, as they said. Joe for one thought it was ridiculous, and unsurprisingly he made sure everyone knew it. “A lieutenant’s a powerful enemy to make.”

“You don’t need to lecture me on the dangers of refusing a powerful man’s advances, Sergeant.” You ripped the rifle off the table in front of you and slung it over your shoulder with a quick, cold movement. Without looking up at either Bull or Joe standing on either side you like bookends, you left the house, stepping out into the gathering twilight. Joe saw you disappear around the corner of the street, walking in the direction opposite from where Lt. Jones was undoubtedly licking his wounds. There was a hard set to your jaw that he’d never seen before, and a tired expression in your eyes. His feet were moving before he knew what he was doing.

“Leave it, Liebgott.” Bull’s hamburger-bun of a hand grabbed Joe’s shoulder firmly but not unkindly. Joe couldn’t decipher the tone of Bull’s voice, but he thought it sounded a lot like pity. He bristled, shaking off the Staff Sergeant’s paw. 

“Where’s she off to?” Joe’s question sounded petulant and nosy. 

Bull shook his head. “To cool off, most likely. Patrol’s in a couple of hours. She’ll be needin’ coffee before then.” 

For the second time in as many minutes, Joe felt like Bull was talking to him as if he were in on some secret when it came to you, although he couldn’t hazard a guess as to what that might be. He fixed Bull with a flat stare. That seemed to make the blonde Sergeant chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Joe. I’ll take care of her for you.” 

Unable to make heads or tails of Bull’s obvious misread of Joe’s contempt for you, he stormed off to a quiet corner of the house and threw himself down on an armchair. As the sun set over the frozen horizon outside Haguenau, Joe gave himself over to a dark mood as he waited with the rest of Easy for news on the night patrol… 

**more to come!! stay tuned and let me know if you want to be tagged

[pfctipper]

Martin Taylor, ed. Lads: Love Poetry of the Trenches (1989) on the relationship between officers and their men during the First World War (+ HBO war extracts that I can't stop thinking about in relation under the cut)

Letter from Floyd Talbert, dated 1945: 'Dick that is the reason you are loved and will never be forgotten by any soldier that ever served under you, or I might say with you; because that is the way I felt ... you are the best friend I ever had and I only wish we could have been on a different basis. You were my ideal, and motor in combat ... Well you know now why I would follow you into hell.'

Bill Sloan, Brotherhood of Heroes: The Marines at Peleliu (2005): ‘[Dick] Higgins got back to the command post and saw Haldane’s gear piled where he’d hurriedly dumped it before going up on the ridge. Then, without warning, Higgins went to pieces. He fell to the ground, screaming, swearing, and sobbing uncontrollably. “All at once, it hit me, and I totally lost it. They sent me to sick bay for four days, and the doctors advised me not to go back on duty even then, but I insisted. It was better to be doing something than just sitting there.”

Eugene Sledge, With the Old Breed: At Peleliu and Okinawa (1981): 'As I struggled along feeling chilled and forlorn and trying to keep my balance in the mud, a big man came striding from the rear of the column. He walked with the ease of a pedestrian on a city sidewalk. As he pulled abreast of me, the man looked at me and said, “Lovely weather, isn’t it, son?” I grinned at Haldane and said, “Not exactly, sir" ... He wanted to know all about my family, home, and education. As we talked the gloom seemed to disappear, and I felt warm inside. Finally he told me it wouldn’t rain forever, and we could get dry soon. He moved along the column talking to other men as he had to me. His sincere interest in each of us as a human being helped to dispel the feeling that we were just animals training to fight.'

Larry Alexander, Biggest Brother: The Life Of Major Dick Winters (2005): Winters' philosophy of dealing with his men and keeping up morale and fighting spirit was to move among them. One damp, dreary morning he noticed Private Clarence S. Howell manning a machine gun outpost and looking thoroughly miserable. The men had been marching and fighting mock battles for twenty-four hours nonstop. Howell, like the rest, was tired, wet, cold and hungry. As Winters watched, Howell fished a photograph from a pocket and stared down at it. "How's it going, Shep?" Winters asked, kneeling next to the young soldier. "Fine, sir," he replied, still looking at the photo. "What's that?" Winters asked. "A picture from home?" "Yes, sir," Howell said, showing it to Winters. It was a young woman. "My girl," he added, as if he felt he had to explain. "She's very pretty, Shep," Winters said, examining the smiling young face. "You must miss her. Are you two planning to tie the knot?" "Yes, sir," he answered, studying the photo again. "I was just wondering how long it'll be until I can get back to her, or even if I'll ever see her again." "You will," Winters said, patting the man's shoulder. "Just keep your mind focused on your job. You're a good man, Shep. Hang tough."

[bzurk]

 zombie!au 141 x reader

dark content ahead! you've been warned.

It’d been hard at first. Women weren't treated well when people turned on each other, both healthy and infected. You were lucky when the virus started;

You were a dog trainer, surrounded by canines trained in personal protection. It was easy to scare people off. On your travels, your pack grew, a congregation of man’s best friends who were left behind. You had a whole arsenal, eventually; hunting, tracking, attacking.

This winter, though, was particularly difficult. Game was scarce, the ground frozen solid, the older dogs weakened by sore joints and aching limbs. You had run out of supplies weeks ago, trading your trained mutts for scraps and tools. Your only companions were your two remaining dogs, your only hope the compound in the distance, surrounded by wires and gates. The facility's noise, perhaps, was scaring off any nearby game. Maybe, it was already infected. Your doubts were alleviated when you saw little shadows moving about the tarmac.

You walked up to what you hoped was the front gate, arms raised and guns holstered, dogs plastered at each side.

“I come peacefully!” You bellowed, staring straight through the chain links towards the silhouetted figures. They grow closer, slowly, weapons raised and glinting blindingly under the sunlight. “I mean no harm. I would like to know if you have any food to spare. I can trade you for it.” You swung out an arm to gesture to your dogs.

The men wore fatigues and vests, packed with gear and weaponry. Well-equipped. They must have food, fresh game, stocks of MREs, dried rations.

“What you offerin’?” A man’s rough voice called back.

“Can take one of the dogs, if you’ve got enough of worth. I don’t part with them easily. Both trained, they are. Good at keeping out infected.”

It wasn’t long before Price’s three subordinates were staring at him with wide, pleading puppy-dog eyes. “Can we keep ‘em, Cap, please please please?”

Price had to admit you were a sight. Tousled, blood-stained, covered in tattered winter clothes that could barely keep out the cold. A hunting rifle strapped to your back, knives peaking from your pockets. A capable girl. Not many women out this far. He hadn’t come across one in months, not since venturing to trade with nearby settlements. Three or four months, at the least.

“Would you like to come in, love? Looks like you could do with a night of rest.”

They were nice, these four men, if not overly charming and kind. But they were nice enough to let you, and your dogs, in, even providing a tour of the premises – insisting guns were left at the door, of course. You were correct in assuming they were well-stocked. They confirmed they’d been residing in the base since outbreak day, though people came and went. They fed you, and even your two dogs. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the human company.

The base was a stark contrast to the wasteland outside. Boxes of food and warm blankets, running water, and electricity powered by a generator. The men showed you their hydroponic garden, where they grew fresh vegetables, and a storeroom stocked with preserved foods and medical supplies. It was a veritable haven.

They introduced themselves: Captain John Price, Lieutenant Ghost, Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and Sergeant Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick. They shared stories of their missions before the outbreak, their camaraderie evident in their banter and shared glances.

You felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you had found a place where you and your dogs could be safe, at least for a few nights. These men were skilled and seemed trustworthy enough, and their compound was secure. It was enough to put your tired mind at ease.

Perhaps too at ease. It didn’t take long for your body to slump in your chair, almost sliding out of it, if not for the hands that held you steady. Your eyes were fuzzy, your hearing diminished to a faint ringing. You could feel a wet snout nosing your limp hand, firm and warm palms divesting you of your coats and the weapons hidden in your pockets, strong arms wrapping around your waist, your tummy digging into a warm shoulder as you were thrown around like a sack of flour.

“Nice little pack of mutts we’ve found, aye, lads? Don’t you worry, we’ll take good care of you. Train you up well.”

if this gets enough interest ill turn it into a fic

[hughessdemon]

F1 x HOCKEY || did y’all see that ? . Y/N driver x Jack Hughes au

A/N : I might give Y/N her name soon so if y’all have recommendations send them now !!

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BREAKIG NEWS !!! y/n ex Jack Hughes center and alternate captain of the NJ devils hockey team spotted at the paddocks of Mclaren along with his two best friends Anaheim Duck , Trevor Zegras and Montreal Canadian , Cole Caufield . Jack in town to support Y/N today or here to watch the game for fun ?

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- when I heard Jack was at the paddocks of Mclaren with Z and C , my mind went blank as I walking the longer way to avoid the media and Mclaren pad . Why is he here was going wild in my head , he never showed interest in Motorsports really none of them did since you were kids - it seemed to bug but you noticed he got his tooth fixed , chuckling at the idea of him being there , you needed to put on your professional behavior and and get ready for qualifying today especially… against Mad Max even though he’s gonna get to p1 anyways .

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Location : MONTREAL,CANADA

yourusername :

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tagged : carlossainz , lewishamilton , charlesleclerc , maxverstappen

yourusername : qualitative analysis today …. I hope I beat the man on the floor today 😗🧎🏽‍♀️

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Lewishamilton : 😂😂 smooth operator

jarchives: omg isn’t Jack there to support her ? Are they back together omg ???

scuderiaferrari: that’s our girll 🚨🫶🏽

Zegrasxebras: 100% avoiding Lando today since her ex is at the paddocks today 💀💀

francisca.cgomes: come see me lovely ❤️

lilymhe: 😍😍

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“Hey you Ferrari girl !!” You heard Gasly calling you out as he was entering the Ferrari garage , giving you a head pat as you went in to give Kika a big hug welcoming her to the Ferrari pads ~ you might’ve been the youngest being born in 02 but they always treated you well and protected from the horrendous things on media days , enemies on tracks but family off track is a way you can describe it .

they’re always there especially Charles and Carlos and Pierre , you were most close to them you saw them as your brothers in cars. Your brothers were in NHL they had no idea what it was like being in Motorsport especially one that’s more dominated by men …. They never really cared about your passion growing up so you weren’t close to them at all . Quinn was friends with your older brother Bryan and Luke was your best friend in middle school but ever since you moved out to Miami for the tracks and traveling you got to barely speak to him , seeing him through his social media was a way . Not to mention you dated Jack from 8th grade up to 11th grade then again from 2020-2021 as you both reconnected… you broke up due to him not actually caring for you and schedules as you were never off season for summer like him . But to see him become the Center and Captain for his team suprised you despite his poor attitude and lack of understanding people .

— the qualification was postponed for a bit due to the heavy rain, they were preparing to change tires for the wet tires . Changing gears as well , as you were about to walk away to your car, you saw Jack standing up on the paddock looking down at your number 43 - his half number …. you carried that numbers as it was both good luck to you guys - getting situated in the car wasn’t hard like the first few times during winter test when the car was so bad , it was unexplainable painful to ride , Jack running through your mind still , he never was at your games like you were - you had show off today for once .

1.2.3 red lights off and go !!!

you were right behind max , you had no issues with max but with Hamilton trying to overtake you was pushing you to the point , you pass overtook max 💀- it just qualification you didn’t budge because you probably wouldn’t win against max after that 😗-

“Congratulations lil red !!” Riccardo patting up your back , smiling at you making it less terrifying to face Max right now , you might be not be racing him this year, but you were happy for him and his mental state he seemed much better . Talking a bit to Daniel you were being called back to the pads for interviews along with Charles strutting behind you - you saw Lance with Z and the hockey boys , it all made sense ofc they were friends with Lance … Lance mf stroll , rolling your eyes as Max greets you with a ball coming straight at you . Definitely a way to seek revenge max …. bet , so you chased him into the pads ..

few hours later …..

- you were back at the hotel with Lewis , yes Lewis , you heard me right . We both had an on and off relationship for the past two years … it’s complicated especially with our age gap but end of the day we both know we have each other and understandingly feel calm in the presence of each other’s arms . Tommorow is the big day , not wanting to do anything tonight more , you both ended up falling asleep early , with the bogus of being woken up at 6 am the next morning. ———-

authors note : if you want more like this please comment I literally need to know your opinions!!

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Heeeeey , thanks again for the two excellent fics you wrote for me for this beautiful event !💚

For my third resquest , I would like to send you this prompt : "I dreamed of you. I dreamed you were wandering in the dark, and so was I. We found each other. We found each other in the dark." It's from The Green Mile by Stephen King and I absolutely need to get te book , because I love the movie (I cry each time like a baby).

So I would like to ask this quote , with Maydayxreader , please and thank you💚💚💚

@griffedeloup I'm sorry love for taking so long to respond to the request. But I wanted to give Mayday the best. And I hope you like what I did.

Love oo

P.S. Don't worry I'm still working on the other ones.

We Found Each Other

Warnings: Fluff, kisses, anger at the Empire, lack of care for clones, anger, annoyance, reassurance, I think that's it. If I miss any please let me know.

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Mayday sat outside the base looking over the barren snow covered landscape. Why the hell the Empire needed them there guarding leftover crates, that everyone seemed to have forgotten, was beyond him. 

It made him question, why was he still there? After all he could’ve gone anywhere, but then that would’ve meant leaving his men … and you. He wasn’t about to abandon anyone. 

He took in a deep breath letting the fresh cold air wash away the fears that had begun learning in the corners of his mind. The fear that always seemed to be present now. A fear he hadn’t thought he’d have to actually face. It had become more prevalent ever since the Empire took over, an attitude amongst all the Imperial officers that were non-clones, that he and his brethren were considered less than human, if such a thing was even possible, even more so than before the end of the war. Truth was it was only a matter of time before they were all discarded. 

He kept his eyes on the horizon, feeling your arms wrap around his waist, the curve of your head pressing against his back. He closed his eyes smiling as he gently rubbed your hands.

“Cyar’ika, what are you doing up?”

You hummed as you pressed closer to him, smiling, “Well, I reached over to cuddle with you, cause I was cold and you weren’t there.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He tried to glance over his shoulder to look at you.

“It’s okay.” You gently pressed a kiss to his back, “Bad dream?”

“No.”

“Did something happen today that didn’t allow you to sleep?”

“No.”

“Hmm… okay. Well, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

He let out a sigh, turning to face you, the fingers of his right hand gently trailing up and down your neck, while the one on his left rested on your waist pulling you closer.

“Nothing’s wrong, love.”

“Okay fine, don’t tell me what’s wrong.” You pouted as you looked at him, giving him your best irritated face, even though in reality you could never be irritated by him. Especially since you loved him as strongly as you did.

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips as he looked at you, resting his forehead against yours, “Maker, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You gently caressed his sides, wrapping your arms around his back and holding him closer. “What happened?” You looked into his eyes, “Tell me.”

He closed his eyes and nodded against your forehead, “They won’t be sending us any new winter gear.”

You pulled back as indignation and anger filled you, “I’M SORRY, WHAT!” Your voice echoed and carried across the barren wasteland. You closed your eyes and waved your hands as you tried to understand what Mayday was telling you.

Despite the fact he kept calling your name over and over, trying to calm you down, the anger you felt only seemed to grow. 

Your eyes were full of fury when they opened again and looked at him, “You’re telling me… those …” you tried to think of the most appropriate term that didn’t involve cursing, “you’re telling me those mother-loving sister-marrying jackasses can’t even bother to send us some new gear. After looking after their piece of crap cargo!” You turned around and began to storm towards the communication room, “Oh. Just wait till I get on the comms with whoever made that decision. They’ll regret the day they were born.”

Mayday laughed as he reacted quickly, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you back holding you against him. “Calm down, my little fire-breathing krayt dragon.”

His nickname for you always managed to get you to at least listen, maybe not completely calm down, but stop you at the very least before you did something incredibly stupid. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. 

“You rushing over there and yelling at whoever answers the comm will only make things worse. Not better.”

You closed your eyes and nodded knowing he was right. Gods how you wished you could make everything better for him. For his brothers. For all of them. 

“I know. I know. But it just … it feels like it’s a constant darkness that we’re walking through. If it’s not one thing it’s another. And even though the war is technically ‘over,’ it feels like we have to work twice as hard just to survive. All because you and your brothers are clones, and I’m someone who fell in love with a clone.” You held on to his arms as they tightened around you, “It’s not fair. Not to you. Not to your brothers. Not to anyone.”

Mayday closed his eyes, breathing in your scent, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Did you know I had a dream?”

“Did you dream you killed whoever was in charge?”

He chuckled, “No. Although that would’ve been a good dream too.” He teased, “No. I dreamed of you. I dreamed you were wandering in the dark, and so was I. We found each other. We found each other in the dark. So it’s okay that we constantly are in the darkness, because we found each other and we’ll continue to find each other. So let them throw anything at us, let them try and break us, but we’re strong and we won’t give in. As long as I have you in my arms, I can weather any storm.”

You let out a defeated sigh, turning to look at him, “You deserve better. You all do.”

“And so do you, cyare.” He gently traced your cheek, “We’ll get through this, and we can try and figure out ways of keeping the cold out of my and the boys’ armour. We’ll survive this too.”

You nodded, threading your fingers through his as you held his hand and guided him back to the quarters you both shared.

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[todayontumblr]

Friday, June 16.

The Toad Who Never Made The Team

...and other important animal images.

Spare a thought for this poor little guy on this most Friday of Fridays, June 16ths. Because while most of us are winding down from school, university, or the workplace, and gearing up for a sunny weekend in June, others are not enjoying such a good time. Indeed, for some, they are heading into Saturday and Sunday left with no choice but two days to face one of life's hard truths, to ponder it—to look it square in its cold, uncompromising eyes. Take, for example, the tale of Toad who never made the team. This here poor fellow is one of a handful of stories from the rich tapestry of life to be explored in other @important-animal-images. 

We've all been there: you set your mind to something with the utmost strongest of determinations. This goal is fixed to your thoughts as if it were written on little bits of paper, and stapled to your eyelids. From the moment you wake, you are out of bed, like a Rocky montage or a LinkedIn hustler bro's post, and swigging eggnog, jogging, boxing the air, putting one step in front of the other in pursuit of that dream. That was the case for Toad, who wanted, more than anything, just to make the team.

There were obstacles, sure, but he didn't let them stand in his way. For Toad, being an amphibian meant he was not the obvious pick for a (human) men's 11-a-side soccer team. The fact he hibernates each winter was also not ideal for a side that would be playing on pitches up and down the nation during the cold, dark winter months. The fact he was smaller than the balls that the players would be kicking for 90 minutes was also not in his favor. As the main prey of snakes, including Toad on a soccer team would increase the risk of serpent attacks mid-match. And mid-match serpent attacks are the last thing coach needs when in pursuit of The Championship.

Unlike others in their family, toads are only capable of a slight hop, and not jump, which leaves them at a serious disadvantage when it comes to heading the ball, whether in attack or defense. They also have lovably short legs, which, while endearing, is not a good fit for a soccer player. The fact Toad eats his own skin is, while not unhelpful for a budding athlete, per se, really kind of gross—and unlikely to win friends in the dressing room and fans in the stadium. But for Toad, it mattered not. He was going to kick balls, and score goals, or die trying, dammit.

And try he did. He hopped with everything he had and kicked as hard as his comical legs would allow. But it, sadly, mattered not. When coach blew the whistle and gathered his squad around the team sheet for tomorrow's big match, eleven names were listed. Toad's was not among them. He was crushed, his dreams shattered in an instant, and as he went to ribbit a most forlorn of ribbits, he stopped, paused, and fell silent. Because, he remembered, he is a toad. And toads do not ribbit.

When you try your best and you don't succeed..., he hums to himself softly, consoling his broken spirit with the soothing lyrics of Fix You, by Coldplay. We can only hope he gets back to the training ground, gives it all he's got, and that we may see a change in his fortunes next year. Then, perhaps, we will see a happier sequel to this in later @important-animal-images. 

Better luck next year champ x

*P.S. It's not all so gloomy for our animal comrades, however. There's a rumour going around that this cat is having two kittens, and will need a hand or two in deciding on some baby names.

[allaboutyn]

seasons of you; arthur morgan × female reader

you are his spring, and he… he is your winter.

excerpt two:

“IS that your new neighbor?”  charles agreed to come help arthur with his horses, and harvest the vegetation, but all he’s done is stare at you as you’re tending to your garden in your old overalls.  arthur kinda wants to hit him. but all he does is hum in reply before turning to throw the hay into the barn.  “she’s pretty. does she live there by herself?” “i ain’t seen no one else goin’ in.” “damn. it’s such a big house.” arthur takes a moment to look over at you. he’ll admit — only to himself — how beautiful he truly believes you to be. gorgeous, even when you’re just in your overalls or running gear.  he sighs, leaning against the fork as he looks at charles, leaving the gate wide open without a second thought. “ya gonna help or jus stand there lookin’ pretty?”  before charles can laugh, and arthur makes a witty retort, one of his horses rushes past them and across the dirt road as she had done several times before. you can hear two men shouting over your headphones, and when you look up, you lock eyes with a large white and gray horse standing less than two feet away.  you hear arthur shout, the lasso swinging in his hands as he  “get over’ere, girl!”  arthur morgan is famous around town for his personality, and his wild horses. “grumpy ol’ arthur morgan” is what people call him. the local grocer warned you about him the moment the news got out that it was you who bought the house across the street. “arthur tends to scare off most of the people touring it so we never thought someone would buy it,” they had said and maybe that’s why you ended up buying it — because you never had a physical tour of it, only a video tour and the virtual ones they offer online. you couldn’t get out long enough for it to not look suspicious.  people constantly ask you about it when you’re at work, and it’s funny because the elderly people try to set the two of you up and you like to show them the renovation work you’ve done by showing them photos, but the gossipy women that come in just make it annoying by asking about him all the time. you don’t know how to tell them that you’ve only ever had one conversation with him, so you just nod and smile when they talk, hoping they go away.  at first, you weren’t even sure who they were talking about, since arthur never introduced himself, even after you brought him brownies, but eventually, it just got easier to figure it out. there’s only one man around town that wears a black, worn down leather cowboy hat that you’ve seen.  the horse gets closer. as fearful as you are of the majestic creatures, you try your best to keep yourself calm, holding your trembling hand out for her to sniff the apple before eating the apple, giving arthur the chance to lasso her neck.  “thank yew.” tipping his hat, he walks off with the filly, and the man who had been beside him also tips his hat to you before leaving.  “i think she’s scared of horses,” charles whispers as the two get closer to the cowboy’s home.

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

[...]at age thirty-five, Winters put in for a transfer to U.S. Army Ranger school.

The transfer was granted and Winters found himself in familiar surroundings: Fort Benning. He enjoyed the training and the challenge of the Rangers because they shared his philosophy of doing one’s best. Still, it didn’t take him long to get off on the wrong foot with some of the ranking officers. A few weeks after his arrival Winters was assigned to a bevy of field-grade officers, mostly majors and lieutenant colonels, to observe the Rangers as they undertook a three-day field problem that included a mock night attack. At first Winters was excited. He longed to get back out into the wilds and live in the field. So he was horrified when he discovered that the officers would simply observe the Rangers as they left for the training session, and be there when they got back. Winters sought out the colonel in command.

“Colonel, I’d like to go along on the exercise,” he said.

The colonel looked startled.

“No, no. That’s out,” he said. “That’s not the way we do it, Major. This is an extremely arduous exercise, and it’s hard enough on these younger men. This is a tough assignment.”

“Respectfully, sir, I understand that. But I’d like to go along,” he insisted. “I can’t see the point in observing them if I can’t see them in action.”

The colonel again tried to dissuade Winters, but failed to budge the insistent major. Obviously displeased, the colonel finally relented.

Back in combat gear and helmet, fully loaded backpack and clutching a rifle, Winters trudged into the North Carolina wilderness for three days of hard living, surrounded by men, most of whom were fifteen years his junior. The three-day training exercise gave Winters the exhilarating opportunity not only to observe, but to participate in everything from lengthy hikes to cliff scaling.

“I did the whole damned thing,” he later said.

In the wilds, men lived on field rations except for one day when providence provided unexpected, and far tastier, fare. Bivouacked by a roadside, Winters was beginning to shave, a holdover from the days when Colonel Sink ordered all officers to shave every morning, when a civilian truck carrying a load of chickens roared past. An improperly closed cage swung open and several chickens escaped, making themselves fair game for men living on K Rations. Winters caught one of the escapees, which was now destined to become his lunch. He restrained the flapping bird by tying it to his leg with a shoestring and returned to his shave. Winters lathered up his face, then scraped away the minuscule growth of whiskers with his razor. As he shaved, a movement on the ground caught his eye. Not far away, a copperhead snake was also anticipating a chicken dinner. Winters froze as the snake slithered quietly closer. Winters slowly reached down to his field pack, and withdrew his machete. With one quick, sure motion he killed the snake, giving the chicken a temporary reprieve. He resumed his shave.

With the coming of darkness, men donned combat gear and blackened their faces. Their assignment during the night attack maneuver was to seize an enemy command post. Winters accompanied the Rangers as they moved silently along a wooded trail. As the command center loomed ahead, Winters and the others spread out, dropped to the ground and began to creep forward.

Winters spotted one soldier at the command post, possibly a sentry, standing alone. Slinking through the underbrush as carefully, and as lethally, as the snake he had killed earlier, Winters stalked the man. He worked his way unseen behind the sentry, then leaped up. He wrapped an arm around the soldier’s neck, closing a hand over his mouth to stifle any sound, and drew his other hand to the man’s throat.

“You’re dead,” he whispered.

Winters was ecstatic. It was a sure kill. His training from ten years earlier had stayed with him. The sentry had never heard him approach. For Dick Winters, it was the high point of his entire military experience since his recall.

After the three-day exercise, the Rangers hiked back into civilization, and the thirty-five-year-old Winters marched right along. The younger men appreciated Winters’ abilities and endurance, and poured respect on him. He returned their respect. However, the glowering looks on the faces of the observing officers plainly showed their dissatisfaction.

“They didn’t appreciate me going out one damned bit,” he recalled years later. “Basically, I was showing them up.”

~ Larry Alexander

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Should've Been Born Later, Nix - Chapter 2: The Hospital

Easy Company x Fem!OCs

Chap. Synopsis: What will happen when Easy Company has to navigate the emergency room to help Malarkey?

Words: 3,732

Find the fic's navigation page here !!

Have a question/want to be on the taglist? Let me know !!

Author's Note: Hi y'all! Thank you all so much for reading Chap 1, I truly did not expect the fic to get the reception that it did 🥺💕 y'all are absolutely amazing and I can't wait to share more of the story with you!! (Link to picrew in collage)

The walk to the hospital was uneventful, unless you count the stares of passersby and Nixon struggling to understand how to cross the street. When it came time to cross the busy street to arrive at the hospital, the men were halted by a red hand shining across from them on a small, strange screen. When Nixon looked at the pole to his right, he noticed a button with the words "push to cross" written above it. Naturally, the man pressed the button. A deep, assertive voice sounded from the button, instructing the men to "WAIT." "Why is it telling us to wait?" Luz questioned indignantly, still rubbing the spot where Malarkey kicked him.

"So we don't get run over?" Guarnere posed to the group in his South Philly accent. Before anyone could affirm this, the red hand disappeared from the screen and was replaced by what appeared to be a person walking. Traffic was stopped, and the men were free to cross. As quickly as they could, the men made their journey across the street. Toye was the last one to complete the crossing, still being on the asphalt when the intimidating red hand reappeared. This earned the man a jarring "honk" from the driver closest to them. Toye whipped around in shock, instinctively reaching for his weapon before remembering where they were - or rather, where they were not.

Finally, the men made it to the entrance of the hospital. While Winters and Nixon tried to look for a handle to open the glass doors in front of them, they were astonished to see the doors slide open on their own as someone was walking past them, out of the hospital. Nixon shot Winters a look - one of bewilderment, wonder, and most visibly, exasperation. Winters simply replied with an amused smile before leading his men into the hospital lobby.

Dick and Easy Company didn't get far before a stocky man wearing a polo saying "Hospital Security" put his hand on Winters' chest, stopping the men from going further and making Dick rather uncomfortable. "Woah there buddy, you can't bring those in here, sick world war 2 replicas though," the man stated, more at Dick rather than to him. The man punctuated his sentence with a gesture towards the rifles carried by Toye, Guarnere, and Speirs. Each word the man said was more confusing than the last - you can't bring your weapons in? What is World War 2? And why was it "sick?"

"Um…what do we do with them?" Dick replied. It was not the best thing he could have said, but he was still trying to wrap his head around how a gun can have an illness.

"I don't care what you do with them, they just can't come in here," the man replied bluntly. Winters nodded and led his men back outside. They were alone again. 

"Sir, can we hide them behind these bushes?" Malarkey asked, pointing over Roe's shoulder to a line of thick, opaque bushes next to the hospital entrance. Checking to make sure no one was around, Winters nodded his head and started putting all his gear behind the bush.

"Nix, help me take their gear. Helmets and all weapons come off, men," Dick instructed the soldiers, Nixon assisting Malarkey and his supporters before getting rid of his own gear. The men felt naked without their supplies, but they needed to help Malarkey.

The men returned to the hospital lobby, the security guard from earlier giving them an approving nod before stepping aside. He outstretched his hand in the direction of the hospital front desk, quickly receiving a nod of thanks from each of the men as they walked past him.

"How can I help you?" The lady sitting behind the desk asked, continuing to stare at the papers littering her desk.

"My friend has a broken rib that needs to be tended to," Winters explained hesitantly, gesturing for Roe and Speirs to bring Malarkey up to the front.

"Name?" The receptionist asked, turning to a set of buttons that seemed to resemble a typewriter - next to the buttons seemed to be some kind of television, the boys deduced, even though the screen seemed extraordinarily flat.

"Donald Malarkey, ma'am," the redhead replied, wincing as Speirs adjusted his shoulder.

"Date of birth?"

"7/21/1921."

The receptionist gave him a look that could only convey the most intense form of irritation known to man. "Very funny, how old are you?" She continued, her tone indicating she was not the least bit amused.

Poor Malarkey, unsure of how he had said something wrong, simply winced in pain and replied, "I'm 23 ma'am." Making no indication that she heard Don answer her question, the receptionist clicked away on her buttons before a strand of glossy paper printed from a device connected to her television.

"Your wrist please," she instructed, holding out the paper like a bracelet. Looking at Winters for approval, Malarkey hesitantly unwrapped his arm from Speirs' shoulder and held out his wrist - the receptionist promptly wrapped the paper around him, sealing it with what seemed to be a sticky piece at the end. "Have a seat, they'll call you when they're ready," she told none of the men in particular as she went back to staring at the papers on her desk. Looking down at the paper band, Malarkey saw that it had his name and birthday beside a barcode. However, Don noticed a mistake - his birthday. Instead of 1921, the year read 2000. This just confirmed the thought all of the men were praying not to be true.

The injured redhead whispered a quiet "fuck" under his breath before being led to the waiting area by Roe and Speirs. With several seats around the large waiting room already occupied, the men agreed to have Roe and Malarkey take a seat while the rest stood next to them. Taking in his surroundings, Winters' eyes landed on a lady talking to the woman behind the desk. Her hair seemed to be…blue? As Dick unintentionally stared at the girl, trying to understand why she would have blue hair, the lady looked up, and their eyes met. The color of her eyes matched that of her hair - a deep, ultramarine blue. Dick only realized he was staring when he saw the shock and bewilderment in the girl's eyes - she quickly returned the way she came as Winters pondered how eyes could be so blue.

"Smooth," Nixon commented, leaning against the wall next to Winters. A choked chuckle came from the floor next to Eugene's seat, where Liebgott and Luz were trying everything not to laugh at their Captain's comment. Winters simply rolled his eyes at his men, of course they would think he was infatuated with the girl.

"I'm gonna go look around," Speirs said before wandering off on his own, not even giving Winters a second to approve the decision.

"Don't go far!" Nixon called out after the officer, sarcasm subtle but clear in his voice. Ron looked back with a nod of his head before disappearing around a corner. Ron Speirs was always one to do his own thing, and heaven help the person who stood in his way. The nine men tried their best to relax in the crowded waiting room, listening to the television in the far corner spout out words like "Google" and "wifi" before showing an advertisement for gadgets that felt entirely fake. The most impactful item was decidedly something called Bluetooth earbuds.

"I think it's real guys… I think we're really in 2023," Guarnere muttered helplessly - Nothing ever seemed to rattle the Italian American, but for the first time, the soldiers saw Guarnere be just that. Sitting on the floor, Guarnere’s back was back against the wall facing Roe and Malarkey. Luz and Liebgott were sitting next to the medic and redhead on the floor, George resting his head on the side of Roe’s seat. Toye could be found pacing in the corner next to the vending machines, Nixon needing to shift his position in order to avoid being run over. Bull was sitting next to Winters, his mountainous figure somehow becoming comfortable on the narrow window sill framing the glass displaying the vast parking lot.

"How could that have happened though? It doesn't make any fucking sense!" Liebgott spat out in frustration. This earned him several glares from his group, their eyes telling him to keep it down. Liebgott rolled his own eyes before continuing in a quieter tone, "One minute, we were dropping into a foxhole for cover, and the next, were 79 years into the fucking future? Tell me how that fucking works." The rifleman's tone became more irritated the more he realized how unreal this all was.

"Better yet, how the fuck do we get back to the rest of Easy?" Toye's tone matched the rifleman's in irritation, but the spitfire in Toye's tone caused the question to come across as venomous. Bull appeared to be the only enlisted man not about to lose his mind, once again chewing on his Emotional Support Cigar.

"Bull, how the fuck are you so calm?" Luz asked the mountain of a man, his nickname making sense without any verbal explanation.

"Just following orders, I know the captains will take care of us," Bull replied casually, nodding towards Captain Winters and Captain Nixon. The two officers smiled while Winters nodded in gratitude.

"I appreciate the trust, Bull," Dick replied, praying that he could live up to that trust and get his boys home safe.

"Malarkey!" A booming voice called at the front of the room, causing the named man to twirl around in his seat. He and the rest of the soldiers turned to see a man holding a clipboard, signaling for Malarkey to follow him. Eugene helped Don to his feet and all nine of them started walking over. "Woah woah, only one of y'all can go back with him," the man said, holding his hands up in protest. The men all exchanged glances of confusion and worry - their constant state since arriving here - before Winters instructed Roe to accompany his injured soldier. As the captain watched his two men disappear behind a door, a small voice in the back of his head prayed he would see them again.

While the men waited for Malarkey in the waiting room, Speirs had been wandering around the cavernous halls of the hospital. Unfortunately, his solo mission has proven to provide more questions than answers. All around himself, Ron was confronted with inventions, words, and people that seemed to be out of a moving picture. From men and women wearing strange clothes, to machines beeping as if to speak their own language, Speirs felt as if he were on another planet. The officer was snapped from his thoughts when he heard a hushed voice say names that he recognized - Winters, Nixon, Liebgott, Toye.

"I'm telling you Chrys, they look exactly like Easy Company! It has to be them!" The voice spoke emphatically. Speirs cautiously searched around the hallways, coming across a small alcove where a lady with bright blue hair was talking into what appeared to be a small rectangle. She was using it as a phone, Speirs assumed, but it looked nothing like any phone he had ever seen. Speirs ducked behind the wall, not daring to venture too close to the edge, lest he be caught by the woman. "Dude you need to get down here, I promise it's the guys," the lady said a bit louder, assuming she was alone. A brief pause occurred before Speirs heard her say, "Sweet! Text me when you get here! Love you!"

He suddenly heard footsteps coming in his direction, causing the man to glue himself to the wall, praying that she passed his hallway without a glance. His prayers were answered as he saw the mop of blue hair walk past him and turn down one of the labyrinthian hallways, paying the officer no mind. Speirs proceeded to dart back the way he came, bumping into doctors and patients alike before descending a familiar flight of stairs and returning to the waiting room. The officer drew every pair of eyes to him as he ran across to where his men were waiting on Malarkey and Roe.

"I think we have a problem sir," Ron said to Dick, his voice remained monotone, but the captain could see urgency in his eyes. Speirs recounted his experience in a hushed tone to his commanding officer.

"So she knows we're here sir?" Toye interjected after hearing the officer's story. His tone imitated the facial expressions of all the men - they were unsure whether to be relieved or terrified.

“Looks like it, I have no clue how, I highly doubt she’s from … our time,” Speirs replied, hesitant to say something that sounded like it could be from a fantasy story. “What do you want us to do, sir?” Ron asked, looking at the redheaded captain. Dick paused and thought for several moments, his men awaiting his response with bated breath.

“We need to find out what she knows. Best case scenario she can help us… worst case, she’s the reason we’re here,” Winters explained. “Speirs, Liebgott, go find her and figure out what she knows. If you can do it without arousing suspicion, try and bring her back here,” he instructed the two. The men nodded in understanding before the man with the clipboard reappeared.

“Malarkey family? He’s been admitted to a bed, you can come back now,” the man said, gesturing for Easy Company to follow him. Winters quickly leaned in to whisper to Speirs.

“Try and have her lead you to where we are, she probably works here and knows her way around,” the captain explained quickly before following his men back behind a mysterious door, the same one that Malarkey and Roe walked through earlier. As the door slowly swung shut, Speirs led Liebgott to where he overheard the conversation. The walls were decorated with bright colors and strange cartoon characters - maybe undersea animals? Except for one that looked like what the two could only describe as a squirrel in a spacesuit.

“What happened to the good cartoons?” Liebgott mused, processing all of the decorations - it was clear to the two that they were in the children’s wing of the hospital.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Ron replied to Joe, trying his best to be casual as he made his way around the corner. There was a big desk area in the center of the floor, with hallways splaying out like spokes on a wheel. Behind the desk were men and women wearing similar clothes with name badges attached at collars, pockets, and sleeves. On the wall behind the desk was a white message board appearing to have been written on with a marker. The board read:

Welcome to East Raleigh Hospital

Pediatrics Wing!

Date: Wednesday, August 23, 2023

Doctor: Damien Livingston, MD Ped.

Nurses: Dakota Brandt, RN

Reagan Morgan, RN

Azalea “Zay” Bennett, RN

“Zay! Room 303 needs you!” the man sitting behind the desk called behind him, typing away on what Liebgott and Speirs assumed was another weird typewriter.

“Coming!” Joe and Ron’s heads whipped around to see their target speed walking into a patient room with a sign on the wall reading “303.” Her azure hair was tied into a short but bouncy ponytail, black glasses framing her eyes that matched her hair in color. Her clothes were similar to the rest of the employees in the hospital - a shirt with a multitude of pockets and cuffed pants with cargo pockets. The girl’s look was finished with a stethoscope laying around her neck and a pair of scissors hanging off a loop on her pants. The pastel pink of her uniform was a prominent but pleasing contrast to the saturated color of her hair.

“There’s our girl,” Joe Liebgott mused, leaning against the wall, unable to stop a smile from growing on his face. “What do you wanna do, sir?” he asked Captain Speirs, turning his head to look at the superior officer. Speirs continued looking thoughtfully at the room, and Liebgott could see the wheels turning as he figured out what to do.

“Sublest thing to do would be to wait until she takes a break, but I’ve never known Doc, or any medic for that matter, to take a break of his own volition,” Speirs mused. Sure, Zay may not have been a doctor, but Speirs could still not remember a time where he saw anyone at an aid station choose to leave their patients.

“Would there be any other reason she’d leave the floor?” Joe responded, keeping an eye on room 303. Just then, a voice came over the hospital speakers calling “code blue, room 350.” In the blink of an eye, medical staff could be seen speeding down the hall past the boys, Zay along with them.

Speirs gave Liebgott a knowing look before both of them speedily followed the group. The pair passed a door with a small window, showing the room to be empty, save for a table with a couple of chairs. Testing the doorknob as they passed it, the door slowly creaked open. In a flurry of surprisingly silent motion, Speirs grabbed Zay around the waist, using his other hand to cover her mouth before whirling into the room. Liebgott quickly shut the door behind them and kept an eye out the window as Speirs shoved the nurse against the wall, his hand still covering her mouth.

Speirs’ eyes pierced into hers, shock and fright evident on the girl’s face. “No more hiding, blue,” Speirs whispered threateningly to Zay, her fear only intensifying. “I’m going to remove my hand, and when I do, you’re going to tell us what you know about Easy Company and how you know it. And don’t pretend you don’t know anything, we heard you say our names earlier. If you scream, try to fight, or try to run, this is going to end very badly for you, understand?” Zay nodded as best she could, Speirs’ hand limiting her head’s range of motion. Slowly, Ron took his hand off of her mouth, staring expectantly, and scarily, at the nurse.

Speirs and Liebgott were unsure what they expected Zay to say, but her answer to Speirs’ command was definitely not it. “You’re on TV,” she spoke in a low, shaky voice. “T-the show, there’s a show, it features Easy Company,” While the words themselves were difficult to believe, Ron saw honesty in her eyes.

“So you’re telling me that there’s a TV show about us, and it tells everyone everything about us,” he replied, once again hating how fantastical everything happening around him was. The nurse nodded her head, slowly becoming more confident.

“Why do you want to know?” She asked, confusion joining the fright still evident in her expression. Speirs scoffed at the question.

“You telling me us going through the foxhole isn’t on the show?” he challenged the nurse. The muscles in Zay’s face scrunched as she listened to the officer.

“What do you mean going through the foxhole?”

The officer thought for a moment, debating whether or not to share more information with the stranger. Grumbling in frustration, Ron decided it was worth the risk, “In Bastogne, a bunch of us jumped into a foxhole after we saw Doc Roe drop in and not come out.” Zay’s eyes grew wide as she listened to Speirs. After a moment, her expression changed to one of irritation. The adrenaline had subsided, and Zay’s common sense kicked in - there was no way the characters from Band of Brothers were here, holding her hostage in the patient-conference room.

“Look, your costumes are great, but I need to get back to my patients,” she said as she attempted to walk past Speirs. As Zay started to move, the officer forcibly shoved her shoulders back against the wall, effectively pinning her. His tall figure towered over her, and Zay could feel her fear rising once again.

“Why the fuck would we be lying about this?” he asked with agitation.

“Alright, prove to me you’re from the 1940s,” Zay instructed with as much courage as she could muster. Speirs thought for a moment before Liebgott spoke up.

“I think I got something that can prove it,” he explained before patting his pockets, searching for something. Zay and Speirs watched the soldier as he pulled out a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes and a dollar bill. Both, while appearing relatively new, showed the date. On the bottom of the Lucky Strikes, the year next to the copyright symbol read 1944. Likewise, the dollar bill displayed a print date of 1944. Zay gulped as she stared at the evidence - her favorite TV show has come to life right before her.

“Alright, I believe y’all,” she responded with a shaky voice. “H-how many of y’all are here?” Zay asked as Speirs’ grip on her shoulders relaxed.

“There’s ten of us - Winters, Nixon, Guarnere, Toye, Bull, Luz, Roe, Malarkey, Speirs, and me,” Liebgott explained, Zay nodding in understanding. Liebgott continued to explain how they fell into an alley, and how they made the trek to the hospital after Luz landed on Malarkey. Speirs wanted to reprimand Liebgott for giving away so much information, but the air of kindness and honesty around the blue-haired girl put the officer at ease.

“So y’all really have no clue where you are or how you got here…” Zay thought aloud after Joe explained everything to her. Ron and Joe shook their heads, indicating their lack of knowledge. “Would y’all be willing to take me to captain Winters? If it’s okay, I’d be happy to help you guys if I can,” Zay offered shyly, still rather intimidated by Speirs.

Speirs nodded before replying, “We’re not really sure where he is, the guy with the clipboard just said that Malarkey was admitted to a bed and then led the rest of the guys behind a door.” The nurse gave the soldiers a warmhearted smile as she responded.

“I know where he is, just follow me,” the blue-haired girl said, Speirs finally allowing her to slide past him. Liebgott politely opened the door for her as the two soldiers followed the nurse out and down the hall.

~~~~~

Chapter One | Chapter 3

Taglist: @b00ks1ut , @blueberry-ovaries , @bucky32557038ww2 , @claudycod , @dontirrigateme , @emilee1421 , @executethyself35 , @hanniewinnix , @ithinkabouttzu , @jump-wings , @love--persevering , @panzershrike-pretz , @stolen94 , @xxluckystrike

Thank you again for reading! Be on the lookout for Chapter 3 coming next week! ✨

[themultifandomgal]

Matt- Meeting Him

My first day as the new trauma surgeon and I'm already late. What a great first impression. I slide into the drivers seat of my car, placing my bag on the front seat I put on my seatbelt and pull off my driveway.

It's winter and so cold in Chicago that I go go turn the heating on, that's when I realise a car is heading straight towards me. Am I on the wrong side of the road? No. It's them. Swerving so I don't have a head on collision I end up rolling down a bank hitting a tree then I black out.

My head is pounding when I come to... not a good sign. I reach up to touch my head and see blood... great I've cut my head open and probably have a concussion. I go to open the car but the door won't budge. I lean over to try the other but I can't reach, my belt is in the way. I try to unbuckle my seat belt but it's stuck. My phone is on the floor where I can't reach. I'm stuck. All I can do is hope that help is on its way and soon, because I'm pretty sure I can smell gas now.

Thankfully I'm not waiting long when I hear sirens so I do the only thing I can think of to get their attention and that's honk my horn. I then see some men in fireman gear stood at the top of the bank. I can relax. I manage to roll down my window when one of the men arrive

"My seatbelt is stuck. I can't open the door" I tell the man

"Ok we're going to get you out of here. Capp get the spreaders. Can you tell me your name?"

"YN YLN. Today was meant to be my first day as the new trauma surgeon at Med"

"Well you sure are going to make one hell of a entrance YN" the fireman jokes with me

"I think I can smell gas"

"Ok. Hang in there. Capp the spreaders now!" He yells and a guy who I'm guessing is called Capp runs down the bank "let's get you out of here"

"What's your name?" I ask

"Severide. Kelly Severide"

That was 2 weeks ago. Im now back at work and feeling a lot better than I did that day so I've baked the firehouse cookies on my day off

"Hey can I help you?"

"Oh errm hi. Is Kelly here? I wanted to drop these off for him and the guys who helped me a few weeks ago"

"Yeah come with me" I follow the man to see Kelly sat at a table with Capp and Cruze who helped me

"Special delivery"

"I just wanted to say thank you for helping me. These are for you guys" I give Kelly the box of biscuits

"You didn't have to"

"Yeah I did. Anyway I best go. I have an appointment to go to"

"You got another car?"

"No" I say quickly "No I'm well it's kinda embarrassing really but..."

"I get it. Want a lift?"

"Oh no I couldn't..."

"It's ok. I'll take her. Gotta go fill up the truck" the man beside me say

"Well there you go. Don't be a stranger YN"

"I won't. Thank you again"

"If I'm giving you a lift I guess you best know who I am. Matt Casey, Lieutenant"

"It's good to meet you Matt. I'm YN. Trauma surgeon"

"Ahhh your YN. Severide was on about you when squad went out that day" Matt helps me into the truck. I take in a deep breath when he closes it the door. I'm ok, everything's ok. I tell myself. Matt opens the door his side and gets in

"You ok? You look pale"

"Yeah. Just since the accident I've struggled with cars and moving vehicles"

"You'll be ok in here. Don't worry" I give Matt a small smile, his presence seams to calm me for some reason

"So where shall I drop you off?"

"At Med"

"Is everything ok?"

"Oh errm yeah. It's with Dr Charles about the errrr the anxiety with driving"

"I see. Well if you ever need a lift anywhere you can call me"

"I don't have your number"

"Yet" Matt gives me a wide smile which makes me laugh

"Isn't it frowned upon to flirt with the people you save?"

"I didn't save you. Severide did"

"Fair enough"

Before I know it I'm outside of Med

"Here" Matt grabs a piece of paper and pen and scribbles something onto it "my number. Phone me if you want picking up"

"Thank you. Seriously thank you" I take his number making a mental note to add it into my phone later. I leave the truck and wave him goodbye before heading into Med for my appointment.

[http-paprika]

Bite the Hand / Phillip Graves

⋆★⋆ part seven - exile ⋆★⋆ masterlist ⋆★⋆ previous ⋆★⋆ next ⋆★⋆

summary after frost exiles herself back to wyoming, she must cope with the grief of her past and plan for the future.

werewolf!au / pairing phillip graves x female!reader / callsign frost / wc 1765 / warnings references to childhood abuse & parental death

notes you thought this was going to be the chapter where everything comes together? well, hate to break it to you but frost has commitment issues and graves kinda sucks at relationships. but who knows, maybe a change of scenery is all they need.

Bones aching as the truck pulled to a slow, Frost buried her face in her hands. The plains around her were vast, stretching to the snow-jagged peaks. Soon, the whole landscape would be blanketed in white snow and black ice. It was the season she dreaded most as a girl, every morning Frost would bundle up in her father’s old work jacket while he’d scrape the snow off the windshield swearing about taking her to school. 

 Wyoming was as lonely as it was vast, not even the mountains seemed to break up the endless sky. The wind blew against her truck, sheep bleating in the pastures as Frost tried not to recant why she’d returned. She’d wanted to blame it on everything and everyone but herself, but in the end, it was by her hands that she’d left Texas. Left the Shadow Company, and left the man she thought there was a future with. 

 Finally gathering what courage she had left, the soldier got out of her truck. Boots collecting dirt as she walks up the drive onto the creaking porch where her uncle sat. The graying man looks up at her, his face lined with wrinkles and age. It was hard to believe that sixteen years had passed since she’d left the farm. Frost hadn’t even bothered to return when sent the news that her father had passed.

 “I thought you wouldn’t come back.” Her uncle spoke up, sitting back in the old rocking chair. “Your father always swore you’d never come back. Wouldn’t have blamed you.”

 “Things change.” She responds, glancing back over to the pastures of woolly creatures. “I just need some time. Few weeks, and I’ll be out of your hair, Richard.”

 “I don’t mind. It’s just me and the ranch hand during the day. I could use the company.” Frost’s aunt had left when she was just a girl, only a winter after her mother had passed. It had left Frost to learn a lot on her own about becoming a woman, always too afraid to bring it up to the two men. “And the help.” 

 She nods, adjusting the duffle bag over her shoulder. “Right.” 

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“I’m leaving,” Frost tells him, her voice quivering with uncertainty as she stands in Graves’ office. The winter sun bleeds through the blind, casting a halo of light across his head. “For the best interest of the pack and you, I’m resigning.” 

That confidence she’d gained that night, after kissing that stranger, had quickly evaporated. Maybe it was sobriety, or maybe it was how quickly Phillip had become withdrawn in an attempt to shoulder the pain. There were no longer stolen glances during meetings, whispered approval as she geared up. And when he’d taken a bullet through the shoulder which was now hanging in a sling, it had been the end.

 Maybe Frost had hoped he would speak, argue back, and order her to stay. But he didn’t, his gaze dropped down to the desk as Graves nodded. There was a flicker of shame on his face as he ducked his head, guilt surging through her veins. It had been her fault, she’d pushed him away and he’d responded accordingly. He was getting older, he needed someone willing to mate, to commit. And despite her best efforts, she wasn’t ready.

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The kitchen was dimly lit as Frost sat back in her old chair, the smell of burnt beans and rice making her stomach twist with unease, her nose scrunched. Before her, the plate of mush steamed as she waited for her uncle to return with what Frost had asked for.

 “Here they are. A little faded, but still useful.” Her uncle announces, setting the moth-eaten map of the farm’s property lines down on the table. “Your father had always done a good job of going out and keeping them marked, I haven’t been able to due to my knees.” 

 Frost nods, pushing away the plate to get a better look at the markings. Cooking had always been her father’s job, he wouldn’t let her uncle in the kitchen except to clean up. It was the one thing he’d done lovingly, making sure bellies were full before sending them back to work. 

 “When was the last time someone marked them?” Frost needed to hunt, especially if the only food her uncle made was burnt. More so, Frost wanted to establish her scent over the property like her father used to do. There were no packs in the area, but she wanted to keep nomads away from the sheep.  

 “Oh, I sent the old ranch hand to do them in the spring after the last snow of the season,” He tells her, sitting down with his plate of beans and rice. It was no surprise to her that he dug into the food without a complaint, his taste buds were dying and his human nose didn’t pick up on the rancid smell like she did. 

 “And what about the upkeep of the farm, what is the new ranch hand actually doing?” She asks, worried about the state of the farm. As much as the place brought her grief, it was the home of her childhood, the place her mother had passed away. “Richard?” 

 Her uncle bawls up his fists, the silverware shaking in his hands. “He’s just here for the sheep, keeping them healthy and fed until the spring. It’s been since your father passed, he ran this place better than I ever can. 

 Frost lets out a scoff, shaking her head and feeling pity for the man. Despite being the eldest son, her uncle had let all responsibilities fall to her father. Long before he’d been bit and turned, her father had already been seen as a leader in the family. Broad-shouldered, thick skull. For all her father’s flaws, which were many, he was a hard worker and took care of his own.

 “You’ve got my work cut out for me, don’t you?” 

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 “I’ve worked my ass off my whole life for your little ungrateful wretch not to give a damn.” Her father snarls over the phone. Frost sits in the infirmary, the thick gauze wrapped around her ribs as she tries not to fall apart again. As if a bullet that should’ve killed her and a bitter betrayal by the man she once loved wasn’t enough, Frost had to listen to her father’s griping as he lay in a hospital, thousands of miles away on his deathbed. 

 “I’m not coming back.” She repeated to him, her grip on the phone tightening. “I don’t care if you’re about to die, I don’t fucking care if Richard can’t run the ranch on his own. I’m not going back to Wyoming.”

 Hadn’t he turned his back to her the day of Frost’s eighteenth birthday? Didn’t he vow not to call her again when she packed her bags to leave for the Marines? But in his most dire times, he’d realized he needed his daughter, and Frost had never hated him more. 

 When her uncle Richard had called the following day to tell her that her father had passed, she didn’t grieve. There was no weeping, not a single tear. His death was a comfort, the scars on her back didn’t seem to burn anymore. Even if she’d lost all else, Frost was free from him. 

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 A frustrated huff escapes her lips as she rubs the stained material of an old t-shirt of hers against the bark of a tree. The musk of her scent clings to the wood as she moves through the underbrush. Cowboy boots that belonged to who knows crunching against the drying winter grass. 

 Frost wipes her face as she pulls back out the property map, mentally marking where she is. Not too far from the river that created the southern border, the one Frost had fallen in one summer as a girl where she’d hastily learned to swim. If it weren’t for the bright sun, she would’ve had hypothermia as her mother bundled her up in an old, red flannel on the porch. 

 She turns back against the wind, returning to the house through pastures, past sheep who bleat and run. They were simple creatures, she couldn’t blame them for trying to stay away from the wolf in human’s skin. They’d only ever responded to her father out of fear, the man was a shrewd shepherd. 

 In the barn, Frost drops the rifle off her shoulder. The pile of logs for firewood beginning to bother her. She’d quickly learned the ranch hand wasn’t much help, barely an adult who never seemed to pay attention. A smirk crossed her face, she was certain her father was rolling over in his grave at the state of the ranch. 

 Finding the ax, and scraping it against the sharpening block; the noise made her teeth ache. She returns out into the winter morning, her thermal clinging to her stretching muscles as the ax swings. It cracks through the wood with one slice, the wood falling to the side as she grabs for the next log. 

 The ranch hand calls her name as the logs turn into fine slabs of wood for the furnace. With sweat clinging to her brow, Frost turns his attention to the boy. “What?” 

“Richard wants you up at the house, there’s someone for you.” The boy tells her. She groans, jamming the ax into the chopping log before waving him off. Anyone who’d traveled this farm out must’ve been determined, there wasn’t even a sign for the ranch on the road. It was far from the beaten trail, the way she liked it. 

 Jacket in hand, she slowly returns to the house. Freezing at the sight of a black, shiny truck with a Texas license plate parked next to her battered one. It was a coincidence, Frost tells herself as she mounts the stairs into the house. Her ears must’ve been deceiving Frost as she listened to the two voices in the house. The sweet, southern drawl made her throat tighten. 

 And when she turns the corner into the kitchen, Frost is certain she’s hallucinating. Blue eyes gleaming in the morning light, the stubble thicker with the cold, and a tantalizing look of guilt that makes her heart swell. 

 “Hello, Frost.” Her former commander greets her, standing taller and putting his best foot forward. But she couldn’t help but wonder if he was hurting more than she was. Gray hairs seemed to be caught in the light from the window, tired eyes drooping as they met her gaze.

“You came?”

“I had to.”

taglist (comment to be added or removed) @iamcautiouslyoptimistic @delusionally-loveless-by-choice @bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus @unicorngirly1 @pampanope

[hainethehero]

Stucky headcanon of Steve and Bucky meeting in the 21st century...

"The mission is simple, get in, get the containment, get out. Minimum casualties."

Steve nods at Fury's instruction, accepting the report he'd just been handed.

"Thought this was a one-man job?"

The sound of heavy, thick-soled boots echo throughout Fury's office. Steve turns to look at James Buchanan Barnes, otherwise known as The Winter Soldier. Natasha had given him the run-down on Barnes and according to her, he was the best assassin SHIELD had ever commissioned. With over two dozen assassinations, one being a U.S president and top World Court officials making up the rest, Steve had to admit that the guy's resumé was impressive.

He rises to his feet and holds out a hand, a gesture in greeting cos his Mama always taught him to be polite.

"Hello, I'm Steve," he says with one of his best smiles.

Barnes watches him, then his outstretched hand and then turn backs to Fury with a dry look of mild annoyance.

"I work better alone. You know that."

Steve's smile drops along with his hand and he returns to his seat a little put out by Barnes's hostility. He could feel his cheeks burn from embarrassment.

"Well, Captain Rogers has been added to the scheme. He is at your disposal. And when I say disposal, I mean, he's the reason why the mission is minimum-casualty-coded."

Barnes lets out a frustrated sound, a hand on his hip. Steve takes in his black combat gear, noting the probable location of several knives and guns. He's got a black hoodie on but only one hand is gloved. Steve assumes it's simply a training preference. Natasha never mentioned just how good-looking he was, though.

Steve usually kept his attraction to other people carefully hidden beneath a veneer of indifference. Barnes just shattered it. He was Steve's height, with dark, chocolate hair that was swept up into a lazy bun, strands framing his face fashionably. His eyes were a wolfish blue, deep and intimidating. He was thick and brawny where Steve was slim and agile. Steve found himself wondering how it would feel to be under all that muscle during training.

He blushes from the absurdity of his own thoughts and looks away while Barnes continues to plead his case.

"I don't need help-"

"These orders come from the top, so there's really nothing I can do, Barnes." Fury tells him tiredly. "Now, quit pestering me and help your newest teammate get acquainted with mission training. Goodbye."

Bucky rolls his eyes and stalks out of the room before halting at the doors. He doesn't even turn around to look at Steve, but grunts,

"You comin' or what, Spangles?"

Steve hesitantly follows, heart in his throat because it was obvious this Winter guy didn't like his guts. He assumes his rep as the legendary Captain America would have some of the top guys at SHIELD skeptical, hell, he wasn't even well-liked back in his day. He vividly remembers being attacked with fruit during the USO tours. Remembers the resentment on the faces of men like Hodge and Greg, and most of the unit he'd served with until he'd earned their respect when he brought back the 107th.

If he hadn't done that, he imagined he'd be a poster boy for war bonds for his entire miserable life. He'd been to the Smithsonian, seen his exhibit and how they emphasized his time in the military. It was almost as if they didn't know there was an actual Steve Rogers underneath it all. As if they just wanted the world to know that he was all gung-ho for the war. Like he hadn't joined because he'd just lost his mother and wanted to do his best to follow in her footsteps and protect people from bullies.

Suddenly all his nerves had gone out and he was left in a state of shocked despair and depression.

It made sense for Barnes to despise him. Everything he was screamed self-righteousness.

"You comin' or what?" Bucky asks gruffly, shaking him from his thoughts. The elevator had stopped, he realizes, onto a new floor. He follows Barnes, finding it suspiciously hard to keep up with the man's quick and powerful strides.

They enter a standardized training room that's already buzzing with what Steve guesses is Bucky's team. There are about ten men milling about, some doing weights while others are working on weaponry. Steve notices one guy he'd worked with during the New York invasion with the Avengers.

"Holy shit," the man cackles, approaching them covered in sweat.

"Rumlow," he greets with a more professional air. If Bucky's reaction to him was anything to go by, he figured it'd be smarter to be professional, rather than polite. He was used to people not liking him very much.

"Rogers, didn't expect them to bring you in already."

"You knew about this?" Bucky snipes in a pissy tone.

Brock shrugs, "Heard a rumor a couple weeks ago, didn't think of it til now."

"Great," Bucky mumbles while the other guys approach them. Steve takes a step back warily, feeling a bit like a specimen under a microscope.

Bucky glances at him, eyes narrowed for a second before he talks again. "Captain, this is my STRIKE team. I'm assuming you know Rumlow, he's second in command. After him, Rollins. Wilson is one of our newer recruits but we've worked with his team before. He's pararescue. And our two specialists, Lopez and Murdock."

Lopez signs "hello" at Steve and he signs back in greeting, offering her an easy smile. Then he glances at Bucky who's eyes seem to harden and his smile drops again. Great, now his team captain thinks he's flirting with the only woman on the team.

Keep it up, Rogers. You'll be kicked out within the week.

"We have roughly two weeks to prepare for this retrieval. And now, thanks to Fury, we also have to bring Spangles into the loop." Bucky announces, matter-of-factly. Steve winces at the nickname he can already see as a permanent moniker in the very near future.

"Let's get to work."

This is for @thebrooklynnway as per my last post about Marvel villains being absolutely enamoured with "the pretty blonde himbo with big tits and a nice ass."

Also, I feel like I should write a fic about this.

[crazyforkasey-blog]

When we met

So this is a story i wrote 11 years ago and posted it on FFN, the story is done, but undergoing its 3rd edit, whole chapters has been deleted and the story is totally changed.

Captain Katie Hendrick stepped out of the hospital at Camp Toccoa; she hoped to get a smoke, before her next patient came in. It was blistering hot for late fall.

She looked over at Easy Company; they were standing at attention waiting for their CO again, Herbert Sobel, resident douche.

Katie looked at her best friend from high school Dani who stood beside her, she was rolling her eyes, Sobel was late again, which was a common occurrence, this left his men standing out in the Georgia heat, unable to hydrate, and on more than one occasion soldiers from Easy had been brought into the hospital needing a drip.

Katie or Dr. Katherine Hendrick, from Charlotte, North Carolina, was a 5 foot 9 inches blond with blue eyes and a bright smile.

Her best friend Daniela “Dani” Hunt, a 23 year old fierce girl with green eyes and hair with the color deep auburn, had joined the Army Nursing Corps (ANC), and had been stationed with the 326th evac hospital. Katie had decided to follow Dani to Toccoa; they had tried to make her a nurse, but a convincing phone call from the head of Johns Hopkins Medical school and Katie using her high IQ, she was allowed to work as a doctor and given the rank of Captain.

At 23 Katie was a young surgeon, but one of the best if you asked her chief at Charlotte memorial. She had skipped a couple of grades and her booming IQ made her a perfect candidate for medical school.

Katie sighed when she saw lieutenant Sobel walk around the corner.

"You people are at the position of attention," Sobel screamed at the company.

Katie sighed and was about to turn around and go back into the hospital, when an intelligence officer from S2 walked up to her. Captain Lane Easterday 21 of age was a stunning brunette with curls down below her shoulder blades, hazel eyes and her IQ was almost as high as Katie's. She had a rare talent for causing trouble and loved to drive Lieutenant Nixon bat shit crazy. Together they looked over at Easy company, slightly shaking their heads, they knew that there would be a lot of grousing once he was finished gigging the company and possibly revoked weekend passes.

Dani’s attention wasn’t on Easy company, but rather on D.Company that was doing calisthenics, led by a certain Lieutenant, who looked mighty fine in PT uniform.

Sobel had reached Liebgott "You want to kill Germans?" Sobel asked Liebgott

"Yes sir" Liebgott replied

"Not with this" Sobel said and banged the bayonet he was holding against Liebgott's helmet,

"wouldn't take this rusty piece of shit to war and I wouldn't take you to war, in your condition, now thanks to these men and their infractions, all weekend passes have been revoked. Change into your PT gear we are running Currahee" Sobel stoked of and Lieutenant Winters turned around "Second platoon fallout"

Lane said goodbye to Katie and Dani and the two women went back into the hospital, Katie went to her office to catch up on charting, the rigorous training had taken its toll on the men and they were seeing a lot of minor injuries. 

Dani went to the supply closet and starting to do inventory, she was deep in thought when she heard someone yell “Nurse”

Dani walked out and saw two men from D.Company one was limping and the other man was supporting his poor injured friend. Both men were drenched in sweat.

“So what happened here?” she asked them.

“I think I sprained my ankle doing PT, lieutenant Speirs had us doing high jumpers and he kept pushing, because he thought we could do better, so he kept pushing until the company was too exhausted to focus on the exercise” The one not limping told her.

The man helped his buddy up on the table and Dani took a look at the ankle, she wasn't sure if it was sprained or broken and while she was examining the man she cursed lieutenant Speirs, this wasn’t the first time a man came in with an injury after PT with Speirs, he had reputation of pushing the men beyond their limits and she wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted them to do better or if he was just a sadistic asshole.

“I need to get the doctor” Dani told them and went in search of Katie

She found Katie talking to Captain Mckee, another doctor at the hospital Mckee was a doctor with deep compassion for the men.

“Katie, one of the men from D. company came in with an injured ankle. I need you to take a look at him.” Dani said, she nodded to Mckee and Katie motioned that she would be there in two minutes.

Dani walked back down to the examination room, and on the way there she tried to decide if she should talk to Speirs or if she let it go, she was afraid that if she confronted him it would end in an argument that no one would win. Two minutes later Katie was in the examination room, after a quick x-ray, Katie had to tell the poor private that his ankle was broken and he would be in a cast for six weeks.

So Dani and Katie went to work and Dani went to the supply closet to find what they needed to set the ankle and plaster it. She was bent down looking on the bottom shelf when she heard someone say “Is private Carver going to be alright?” She stood up so fast that she hit the back of her head on a shelf and everything went fuzzy black for a minute. She cursed under her breath and stood up looking at the man standing in the door to the closet

“Lieutenant Speirs, he will be, but no thanks to you, now that poor private is gonna be in a cast for six weeks laid up in the hospital, just because you can't…” Dani didn’t get any further because Katie had heard the commotion and knew that if she didn't intervene, Dani would go off on Speirs half cocked and get herself in trouble, hell she wouldn't put it past her friend to deck the D.Company lieutenant.

“Dani why don't you go ahead and get started and I will be right there” Katie dismissed Dani and Dani walked away from the two while mumbling something less nice under her breath.

“Lieutenant, you might want to 1) take it a little more easy on the men, if you want to have any left to take into combat 2) not piss of the nurse that one day have to take care of you and/or save your life out on the line” Katie scolded the lieutenant and dismissed him.

Katie hated to pull the Captain card, but the tension between Speirs and Dani was coming to a point, where it was unbearable, it had started a week after Dani and her had arrived at Toccoa. More men from D.Company than from any other company had come into the hospital with minor injuries, than from any other company and Dani finally had enough, after figuring out that it was while Speirs was doing the training, the men got injured, she had confronted the lieutenant and told him to please back of a little since she was pretty sure that the army would need men to actually fight the war and not them being laid up in her hospital ward.

Speirs had in turn told Dani that if the men weren't a bunch of mama’s boys they wouldn't need the strict training and that Dani should back off and let the grown ups take care of the training and she should go back to playing the nice little nurse at the hospital. Dani told him that he could stuff it and that he was a misogynist pig. Speirs had told her that gender had nothing to do with it, but since she insisted on acting like a child, he would be glad to discipline her and Dani had launch for Speirs, but lieutenant Nixon who had witnessed the scene had caught her and while Nixon carried Dani away, Speirs had looked after the two with smirk on his face, which had just pissed of Dani even more.

At the end of the day Dani and Katie left the care of their patients to the night shift, and the two of them walked back to their barrack. The two of them shared a barrack with Lane and a few of the WACs .

While Dani was changing out of her dirty uniform and into a fresh set of clothes, she cursed under breath she was till pissed of “I fucking hate him, hate him” she mumbled

Lane and Katie looked at each other "Are you sure you hate Speirs" Lane asked Dani and nudged her slightly.

"Yes he is a douche" Dani said

"Ok if you say so," Lane said

"So what are you dolls doing tonight," Dani laid down on her cot.

The three girls tried to decide what to do, but they couldn't agree on anything, finally Lane had enough "Well I am going to the officers club, and whatever trouble I can find there" Lane walked out of the barrack and headed towards the officers club, on her way there she heard a voice call out to her

"Captain Easterday"

Lane turned around and saw Luz walking towards her

"Lieutenant, what can I do for you?" Lane asked

"Is the doc at the barracks" Luz asked

"Yeah? Why?" Lane asked Luz.

"Liebgott and one of the men from Dog got into a fight and Liebgott needs stitches, the captain is the only one who won't report Liebgott to Sobel" Luz said

Katie had a soft spot for the rowdy boy from Frisco and the two of them went to great lengths to protect each other.

"Go find her, but Lieutenant Hunt is with her" Lane said

"It's ok the Lieutenant is cool, she is one of us," Luz said

"Well I am going to find my own trouble, see you around" Lane said

Luz started to walk of "Oh captain go easy on the lieutenant, he looked like he had a rough day" Luz said

Lane nodded and headed towards the officers club, she walked inside and looked around, the only one there was Nixon, looking angry and drunk, a mean, drunk Nixon was not a pleasant thing, Lane knew that from experience. Lane made the mistake of going at it with Nixon after he came back from a family visit.

"What's your poison soldier?" Lane asked, very well aware of the fact, that Nixon only drank Vat 69

Nixon turned his head and looked at Lane; she could tell Nixon was a mess.

"What's going on Lew?" Lane asked

Lane and Nixon had grown up in the same fancy circles, they even attended Yale at the same time, Lane's parents owned a chain of department stores and had more money than they knew what to do with.

They wanted Lane to marry well, but Lane had rebelled and joined the army, first as WAC, but Strayer being the smart man he was had promoted her to S2 almost on the spot.

"Cathy is divorcing me, she is taking the house, the kid, the dog, it's my goddamn dog, she hates that dog," Nixon almost yelled.

"Lew I am sorry, but did you honestly not see this happen? The two of you didn't want the same things," Lane said

"What are you getting at?" Nixon asked, what did Lane know and had she kept her knowledge from him, had his wife cheated on him?

"Lew come on, personally Cathy wasn't my first choice for you, I didn't like her when we were in school, she was just too preppy and she wanted to tie you down right away. Come on Nix, do you really want to be the CEO of Nixon Nitration in Nixon, New Jersey for the rest of your life? you would be dead before you were fifty, in my opinion you dodge a bullet" Lane said

"Yeah well, who asked you anyway, this is just one more thing my parents can be all disappointed in me about" Nixon said and turned around and motioned for another drink.

"Well no one, but come on Nix, don't be all pissy, let's go to the mess and get some grub, you need it, and I heard you guys have a grueling day tomorrow" Lane said.

"Don't tell me what to do, ok, Lane Easterday, you might be a Captain here, but back home at the play ground, you are still just little Laney, so get out of my fucking business and mind your own" Nixon said and slammed his glass down in the bar and walked out, slamming the door after him.

Well that went well, Lane thought to herself, she ordered a shot of whiskey and decided to see if any of the others was at E Company mess. E Company had a special place in Lane’s heart, it was the company Lewis was attached to, but it was also the company that paid the most attention when Lane had classroom instructions with them.

When Lane walked into the mess she saw, some of the Easy boys there, she noticed there was a vacant seat between Bull and Hoobler "hey boys can I sit here" she asked

"Go ahead, Captain" Hoobler said

"So what's up boys? find any trouble yet?" Lane asked

"No trouble yet Captain, you got something in mind," Bull asked

"Well not yet" Lane said

The door to the mess opened, Katie and Dani walked in with Luz and Liebgott, they joined Lane and the guys, they talked about this and that and mostly about ways to get rid of Sobel.

Luz turned around and looked at Lane, "so did you talk to Lieutenant Nixon?" He asked. " you were heading for the officers club" Luz continued

"Yeah, it wasn't pretty, you have to keep this under wraps ok, Cathy is divorcing him and she is taking everything" Lane said

"No shit, really?" Luz said

"Yes and I may have told him, I never liked Cathy and it blew up in my face" Lane said

"That might not have been a good idea…. Wait, how the hell do you know Nixon's wife?" Luz asked

"This is absolutely confidential, I grew up with Nix and went to Yale with him, My parents knew his parents etc. and that's why I am so mean to him, he was mean to me growing up" Lane said

"No shit really, well who would have figured, explains a lot though," Luz said

"Like what?" Lane asked him

"Well you always seemed different that the rest of them, you have class somehow" Luz said

The door opened again and Winters, Speirs and Nixon walked in, Lane looked up, she locked eyes with Nixon and quickly looked away, when she saw the anger in his eyes.

Bull noticed the look and leaned over to Lane "You sure we won't have to set Nixon straight" He asked her

"No, let's leave him alone for a bit" Lane said and continued to ask Bull about yesterday's field exercise.

Apparently, Sobel had fucked up the field problem and Lane was almost afraid of what that man would do with the Intel Lane collected, while in combat.

Katie was talking to Liebgott about a foot injury he acquired during yesterday's exercise. Liebgott wasn't one to complain, but his foot was still swollen and Katie urged him to ice it.

Katie could feel someone staring at her, she looked up and noticed Winters looking at her and she smiled at him, Winters smiled back at her and looked away when Nixon elbowed him.

………………………………

Camp Toccoa was quiet and dark at four in the morning.

Dani was walking around, she couldn't sleep. The thoughts were racing around in her head, she knew she lost her cool today with Speirs and if Katie hadn’t been there and Major Barfiels had witnessed the scene today she would have been sent packing and probably been sent to north africa.

 Dani sighed and started to walk towards the flagpole, as she neared she saw a shadow leaning up against it smoking a cigarette, when she approached the shadow turned its head, Dani had to swallow it was Speirs. She started to turn around, she wasn’t in the mood for his BS and she would rather be alone than listening to what he had to spew at her, but before she got far she heard his voice

"So you can't sleep either" Speirs asked Dani, in a surprisingly soft voice

Dani looked at Speirs for a moment, before answering "Nope, I have a lot on mind"

Speirs turned and motioned Dani to follow him "Follow me Hunt," He said.

Speirs led Dani towards the hospital, went around it and sat down on the ground, leaning against the wall of the hospital, he padded the ground next to him and Dani sat down beside him, far enough from him, so she wouldn't touch him.

They sat in silence for a moment, and looked towards the horizon, the ground behind the hospital was vacant, and the silence was comfortable, which surprised her; it seemed like that the darkness put a damper on the hostility between them.

Speirs had a hard time figuring out Dani, she was a pretty girl, but also annoying as hell, he just loved to yank her chain to get her going, but right now it seemed like she needed a friend.

"want to tell me what's bothering you," Speirs asked

"It's silly really" Dani said and pulled up some grass and twisted it around her fingers in a circular motion. She could feel herself tearing up. She didn't want Speirs to see her cry.

Dani sniffled and looked up at Speirs. He was looking at her with worry in his eyes.

"It’s just stuff, you know, I think the stress is getting to me, " Dani said and looked away.

She felt Speirs hand on her shoulder, "and today I added to that stress" Speirs said.

Dani pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her chin down on her knees and looked at Speis “Yeah you did”

They sat in silence for a while "why are you up at this hour" Dani asked her companion.

"I got a killer headache, so I decided to get some air, I was on my way back, when I met you," Speirs said.

Speirs got on his feet and held his hand out to Dani, he pulled her up and hugged her, at first Dani was really surprised, but then she hugged him back, it felt surprisingly good, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

Speirs let go of her and looked at her "I’ll do better" He said and turned away and walked towards the barracks.

Dani wandered around for a while, she knew she would never be able to go back to sleep, her encounter with Speirs had confused her even more, what the heck was that? Dani shook her head and decided to head back to get ready for the day.

Back at the barracks Lane and Katie were awake, Katie was wearing  her dress uniform and a lab coat and Dani found a white nurses dress and put it on. Twice a week the people who lived around the camp came to see the doctor if they needed to, Katie always complained she wasn't a GP, but it was a nice diversion from blisters and hurt soldiers.

They walked over to the mess and sat down, they were planning out the day, they were finishing up their cup of awful army coffee when Speirs walked in and Dani looked him right in the eyes, but he just stared at her with the same look he had been given her since she first met him, gone was the nice guy from this morning.

Dani couldn't help feeling a little disappointed, she thought they had made a connection, but as usual, she had imagined things.

Dani was in an examination room cleaning up after the last patient when she heard someone shout “Lieutenant Hunt, hey Lt.” 

She walked out into the hall and saw Penkala, malarkey and Muck with red stains down their shirts. Muck was limping and the others were paler than pale, there was a putrid smell of vomit and sweat surrounding them.

“What the heck happened to you” she asked

Malarkey told her how Sobel had told Winters that the company would have a light afternoon and to serve them spaghetti and after they had forked it down done a 180 and the company had run Currahee and  most of the spaghetti was now decorating the mountain, Muck had tripped on the way down and twisted his ankle.

“Lets get him on the table and have a look” Dani said 

Upon examination Dani could ascertain that the ankle was just sprained and Muck would be fit to fight another day.

While Katie and Dani were taking care of the casualties of the spaghetti incident, Lane was called to regimental headquarters, she walked into Sinks office and the secretary told her to take a seat.

Lane wondered what she had done? She had been good for a while, not getting into trouble, and she knew the next big step was coming and she had to be good, or as good as she could be anyway.

Sink yelled in from his office and Lane walked in, she stood at attention, "At ease" Sink said

"Captain Easterday, 2nd battalion  needs an additional intelligence officer, any suggestion?" Sink asked

"Sir, I would recommend Lieutenant Nixon, I know he is the man for the job," Lane said

"Ok I guess you earned the right to appoint the officer you want to work with, I will make it happen" Sink said

Lane stood and waited for Sink to dismiss her, Sink just kept looking through his paperwork, when he looked up and realized Lane was still standing there, he looked at her "You wanted something Captain" Sink said.

"No sir" Lane said

"Well go find Nixon and inform him about his new duties, dismiss Captain," Sink said and Lane saluted him, turned on her heel, and walked out the door.

She sighed and put her hat back on, now all she had to do was make up with Nixon and tell him she was his new friend.

Lane walked over to Winters and Nixon's barrack and knocked on the door, she opened the door and walked in.

Nixon was putting away his dress uniform, Lane looked at him and smiled.

"Nix I am sorry about what I said, I had no right to say something like that, I hope you can forgive me," Lane said

"You are forgiven, I was drunk and wasn't thinking clearly, but you are right it was probably for the best," Nixon said.

"Good because we are going to be working together, congrats and welcome to intelligence buddy" Lane said and threw Nixon a box with a second lieutenant bar in it.

Nixon opened it and Lane stepped up to him to pin it on him, she was quite close to him and after she pinned the pin on his collar, she looked into his eyes, their faces were only inches apart and for a moment, Lane thought he was going to kiss her.

The door opened and Winters stepped in, ruining the moment.

Nixon and Lane stepped away from each other and Winters looked between them with a smirk, "I miss anything," He asked

"No I was just giving Nix his new assignment, he is going to be working with me as an intelligence officer," Lane said

"Well and a promotion to congrats buddy" Winters said

"Yeah, well I am going to go," Lane said and hurried out the door.

When she came outside, she drew in a big breath, what was that?

Inside the barrack Nixon looked after Lane, not really sure what just went down, but he was curious to see how this whole them working together would play out.

Intelligence, well no more Sobel, Nixon thought to himself, but he felt like he switched one tormentor for another.

After Nixon left second platoon, the platoon got Harry Welsh straight out of OCS, Harry transferred in from the 82nd airborne.

Welsh enlisted in the paratroopers in 1942. He was assigned to Fort Benning as part of the 82nd airborne.

While an enlisted man, Welsh was reportedly made a Sergeant and then "busted" to private six times for fighting. Three of his commanding officers saw his potential and recommended him for Officer candidate school.

Now he was at Toccoa getting the last taste of Sobel and Currahee, before the battalion was moving out.

Welsh and Winters became good friends and together they led second Platoon.

Harry had a bad habit; he talked too much about his fiancé Kitty and Winters sometimes had to get away from Harry and his Kitty stories.

Winters found himself heading to the hospital one evening when he had enough of Harry.

He knew Katie was on call; he was looking forward to talking to her.

Winters liked the quiet doctor, she was extremely intelligent, and she was always one for good conversation and a quiet evening.

Katie was packing up supplies, she knew they would be heading out and she wasn't sure what kind of supplies they would have at Benning, Doc roe had offered to help, but Katie told him she needed a quiet evening.

She heard the door open and close, Katie saw Lieutenant Winters walk into the ward; Katie walked out from the supply room and greeted the lieutenant.

"Dick, want can I do you for" Katie asked and smiled

"Well I was hoping you had time to talk for a while and maybe a cup of coffee" he said

"Well go sit down in my office and I will be right there, I just have to check my patients" Katie said

"How are the two privates" Winters asked

"Good the fever is going down" Katie said

Two privates from Dog company had been brought in a few days ago, with high fever; Katie had managed to get their fever down, but had a hard time figuring out what was wrong with them.

Doc Roe had tried some of his Grandma Cajun medicine and it seemed to help the Privates.

Winters went to Katie's office, he sat down and enjoyed the quiet, he could see Katie was in the progress of packing down her office, she didn't have a lot, but he could see some box filled with medical supplies and instruments, he had a conversation with Katie a couple of nights before about her role in the war.

Katie hoped to see combat and she wanted to be in the front at the field hospital or at the nearest evac hospital, she would under no circumstances agree to stay in England and leave her friends.

Winters was impressed with her determination, and he hoped she would follow the battalion to wherever they were going, because with Katie near his men would be in good hands.

Katie stepped into the office, with a pot of coffee and she sat down, the two of them spent the night talking.

When Winters walked back to his barrack, he realized he would miss Katie if she stayed behind.

Lane walked in and headed for Katie and Dani

“I have intel” Lane said

"What?" do tell" Dani said

"We are getting out of here we are going to Fort Benning to get our wings, so get your supplies together, you are going to need them" Lane said

"There is one more thing, we are marching there," Lane said

"What you got to be fucking kidding me, who the hell came up with that?" Dani said

"Sink wants to break the Japanese marching record and get this 1st battalion, gets to go by rail and 3rd is going to Atlanta by train and marching from Atlanta to Benning and 2nd is Marching from here to Atlanta" Lane said

Dani shook her head, Sink had just had to show off, and Dani hoped he would march with them, so the men wouldn't suffer alone.

It was November, it was getting a bit chilly, and Dani imagined that the company would be bivouacking and was going to be damn cold.