#cal thresher x reader

[bullet-prooflove]

The Madness in the Genius: Cal Thresher x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

There’s an equation on the bathroom mirror. It’s written in the condensation from the shower that you’ve just taken together in Cal’s mansion in Tulsa. He winds a plush white towel around his hips as he stands there observing it.

Something to do with soil density ratios, he thinks as he studies the intricate detail of the math.

He doesn’t understand it, he never has but that’s not the point, you do and that’s all he really cares about because shit like this, it’s what makes him money.

That’s why he hired you in the first place, a botanist with an additional PhD in genetics to help with the cultivation of his product. You don’t just grow pot, you engineer it. An artist, he’d heard you described as before he lured you over to his company with the promise of a shiny new lab, extensive greenhouses and state of the art equipment. It had cost him millions to buy you out of your contract with the Bevilaqua Family and he’s reaped that money back tenfold in the time you’ve been working with him. Bill’s still pissed about it, it’s why the two of them parted ways.

“What is it?” He asks you, jerking his thumb back towards the bathroom mirror as he steps into the bedroom.

His gaze comes to rest on the bed you’ve recently vacated. The sheets are tussled from the evidence of your vigorous activities. Scattered across the nightstand are the expensive leather cuffs, the riding crop and a rose gold wand he’d used to edge you before he fucked you so thoroughly your voice is now raw from screaming his name.

“That is the solution to the issue I was having with the new strain.” You tell him as you stand in front of the bedroom mirror, already dressed, braiding your damp hair. “I had to check if the math works.”

“Does it?” He asks you as you use a hair tie to secure the placement of the strands.

“I’ll find out when I get back to my lab.” You tell him, your lips turning up into a small smile as your eyes meet his in the reflection. “A couple of hours of recreation was just what the doctor ordered.”

This is why you fuck him. Sex is an excellent mental stimulant and sometimes you need a change of pace. His deviances heighten your pleasure, deliver a more intense orgasm. He takes immense satisfaction in ruining you, in getting you to the point where ecstasy and euphoria blend and you lose every single one of those complicated thoughts that occupy your head.

The breakthrough always strikes in the aftermath and that suits Cal because he’s never been the type to wallow in the afterglow.

“I’m glad to have been of service.” He tells you, returning your smile as he picks up the black silk robe he was wearing before you made an appearance tonight and pulls it on over his shoulders. “You know where I am the next time you need some… relief.”

“Of course.” You murmur, your lips brushing over his cheek.

It’s a cursory gesture. Your mind is already elsewhere, back at the greenhouses on his weed plantation. He’s been thinking of building you a place there, something small. You spend all hours amongst those plants, caring for them, growing them, studying them. He’s often wondered when you go home to rest. Then he’d come across the camp bed you’d set up in one of the greenhouses and realised that most nights you don’t.

It's the madness in the genius, he supposes as the door clicks shut behind you. It’s the beauty in it too.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[the-hinky-panda]

War of the Roses: Part I

Title: War of the Roses

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Bill Bevilaqua x Reader

Summary: Married at nineteen to a man you didn't even know, forced to live in a marriage that neither one of you wanted has killed any hope of a happy life. That is until a mistake in a country club coat room brings that hope back to life.

The first time Bill Bevilaqua kisses you, it’s in the coat room at a country club in Kansas City. To his credit, he thought you were the bartender that had been flirting with him all evening, because why would Cal Thresher’s wife be retrieving her own coat? He had grabbed you from behind, his mouth covering yours when he spun you around. It takes you by surprise but not for the obvious reason. 

It’s the first time in six years that you’ve felt actual passion. 

It was your sister that was supposed to marry Cal. She was a few years older, closer to his thirty-two years of age. She was more materialistic, more into the glitter and gold, the cars and the mansion. But there was some other oil baron, more established and with a larger bank account that would allow her to stay in her home state of Texas. She eloped, marrying in a beach ceremony on his private Caribbean island. And you were left standing at the altar in your sister’s dress, holding her flowers, and marrying her fiance in a small, clapboard country church in Oklahoma. 

You were nineteen. 

The terms of the marriage had been simple. Cal needed an heir to leave his estate to and you would be provided a life of comfort. You were merely an extension of his wealth and persona. Coming from generational oil wealth, you were well trained to fill that role. An arm piece for social functions, hostess for fundraisers and Christmas parties just as your mother had been. And, of course, be the mother of children that would continue the Thresher legacy. You thought you could handle it, the vapid existence and shallowness of the other socialites. You held out hope that once you had children, you would find your joy in them and not the social functions. 

Three miscarriages later and your gilded cage is quickly becoming a smothering prison. Cal’s patience is running out but there’s nothing you can do about your faulty reproductive system, especially when the doctor’s can’t pinpoint a reason for the losses. It was just two weeks after your latest loss when Cal asked you to accompany him on a business trip to Kansas City. Bill Bevilaqua, a wealthy ranch owner, was throwing a party for his latest business: growing medical marajuana. Cal had struck a deal with him, wanting to obtain a corner on something that had the potential to be lucrative, and this was the celebration of what they hoped was going to be a long and successful partnership. 

There had been a couple that had struck up a conversation with you and Cal about horses, a subject you actually had genuine interest in. The wife had three prize thoroughbreds, all had run in the Kentucky Derby at one point over the last four years. During the course of the conversation, Cal had handed you and the wife wine glasses but she had declined. 

“Sorry, none for me,” she had smiled proudly, her hand resting on her flat stomach. “Just found out we’re expecting our sixth.” 

The look Cal had given you when the couple moved on would have frozen a cactus in the middle of a desert at the height of summer. It was a knife twist to your gut, like you had wanted to lose those three babies. You knew you couldn’t get any peace in the ladies room to cry your tears so you had gone to the coat closet instead to gather yourself. You had your face pressed against someone’s rabbit fur coat, soft against your face and smelling of Chanel No 5, your mother’s signature fragrance, when Bill had interrupted you with his broad, roving hands and warm lips. 

When he leaned back and recognized you, his tipsy grin immediately disappeared. “Fuck.”

Tears were still wet on your cheeks, grief still heavy in your chest when you grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him back towards you. You kissed him this time, tasting the whiskey that he had just recently drank, trying to memorize the way his mouth moved against yours. The way his hands returned to your ribcage, gently holding you against him. Eventually your senses returned to you, the fear of getting caught replacing the desire, and you slowly released him. 

“Fuck,” he repeats. “I’m sor-” 

You hold up your hand and smooth his jacket lapels. “I’m not.” 

“Look, I didn’t-” 

“I won’t tell Cal.” You grab your coat from the rack behind you and slip into it. “I suggest you don’t tell him either.” 

He says your name, shortly but with an edge of softness to it. It causes you to pause in your retreat from the coat room. 

“You know my name?” 

He gives you a confused look. “Of course I know your name.” 

It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone call you by your actual name. It’s always Mrs. Thresher or Ma’am. Even Cal calls you honey or sweetheart. To hear someone say your name, and only your name, reminds you that you’re still an individual. You reach out and gently lay your hand over his, your thumb moving over the large onyx and silver ring on his hand. “Please, call me that again the next time.” 

He raises his eyebrows slightly. “Next time, huh?” 

[bullet-prooflove]

7.30 in the morning, with your bedhead and my white sheets

For Cal Thresher

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @nu1freakshow @lazilynervoussong @mimi-8793

Companion piece to:

The Madness in the Genius - Cal and you have a special arrangement.

Poppy Seeds - You take care of a problem for Cal.

You Can Leave Your Hat On (NSFW) - Things change for you and Cal.

It’s seven thirty in the morning and you’re still tangled up in Cal’s sheets, your hair a bird’s nest from where he’d fucked you so thoroughly you hadn’t been able to move in the aftermath.

Cal doesn’t mind, if anything you’ve earned your rest after the events of yesterday. He thought that Ming’s death may weigh on you, give you fitful dreams but you sleep like a baby, your face pressed into his pillow, splayed out on your stomach.

He’s standing in front of the gilded gold mirror, fastening the last few buttons on his crisp white shirt when you begin to stir. The edges of his mouth tip up into a small smile as he watches you in the reflection. It does something to him seeing you in his bed, something he doesn’t expect, he’s had no problem sleeping alone since his divorce but waking up next to you it’s different, pleasant.

You prop your head up on the pillow when he turns to face you. His blue eyes drink in your bareness as he stalks towards you like a predator. His fingers thread through your hair, gripping it in his fist as he tugs it lightly. You moan at the sensation as his lips ghost over your jaw, seeking at that deviant little spot just underneath the hollow of your throat.

“I have business to attend to.” He tells you as you arch against him, his cock starting to throb within the confines of his jeans.

“Or you could come back to bed.” You tease, your breath hitching as his teeth graze your skin. “Ravage me a little more.”

“Hm, murder makes you amorous.” He murmurs as his palm slips down to your throat, fingers tightening as he pushes you back down into his pillow.

“No Cal, it’s you.” You whisper as his thumb traces over your parted lips, still swollen from last night’s kisses. “Just you.”

Love Cal? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bullet-prooflove]

Three things for Cal Thresher: silk, pen, glasses

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @nu1freakshow @lazilynervoussong @mimi-8793

Companion piece to:

The Madness in the Genius - Cal and you have a special arrangement.

Poppy Seeds - You take care of a problem for Cal.

You Can Leave Your Hat On (NSFW) - Things change for you and Cal.

You are a distraction, one that Cal is trying to valiantly ignore as he sits at the conference room table with the distributors of his weed business. They’re here to discuss the new strains that you’ve been producing this year, the potential revenue and their market placement.

You’re sitting on his right, wearing a burgundy silk shirt that clings to your curves in a way that makes his dick twitch and dark rimmed glasses that make you look every inch the beautiful scientist that you are.

He can tell you’d rather be back in your lab from the way you’re playing with your pen. Your fingertips run lightly over the tip before gliding down the length and then back up again. It’s exactly the way you stroke his cock when the two of you are together, and Cal can’t get the image out of his head as he listens to the man in front of him drone on about projections.

Out of the corner of his eye, you increase the pace of your motions, the pen sliding between your fingers, thumb tracing over the end. You did this exact same thing to him this morning, right before he blew his load in that sweet mouth of yours. He recalls how tight you felt around him, how wet as he fucked your throat. He grits his teeth as he shifts slightly, discreetly rearranging  himself and that’s when he hears you say the word ‘oh’.

He can’t help but turn his head towards you at the exclamation and when he does it’s to the sight of black ink smeared across your cleavage from where the tip of the pen has popped off. It drips down into the curve of your breasts the same way his come does when he fucks your tits and Cal’s cock starts to leak at the sheer debauchery of it.

“Adele.” He says purposefully, his heated blue eyes meeting yours. “Why don’t you clean yourself up and meet me in my office when you’re done.”

You push away from the table, raising to your feet and Cal can’t help but fixate on the sashay of your hips in that black pencil skirt of yours as you head to the door.

“Alright.” He says, turning his attention back to the remaining members of the group as he envisions bending you over his desk and spanking you until you’re glistening for him. “Let’s wrap this up quickly, I have other matters to attend to.”

Love Cal? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bullet-prooflove]

You Can Leave Your Hat On: Cal Thresher x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @nu1freakshow @lazilynervoussong @mimi-8793

Companion piece to:

The Madness in the Genius - Cal and you have a special arrangement.

When you ask Cal to leave the hat on, he laughs. He’s half undressed, balls deep inside of you and your request it’s just the stupidest damn thing but it makes you smile so the hat stays on.

This thing between the two of you it’s usually raw, intense, always taking place in his bedroom.

A lot of slap and just a little bit of tickle. You respond to his harshness with soaked panties and filthy moans and Cal he just eats that up because he gets off on the control and you get off on losing it.

Tonight though, tonight it’s different because you don’t make it to the bedroom, he ends up taking you on the dining room table, your flannel shirt falling over your bareness as he fucks you with his jeans down by his ankles and that cowboy hat perched on his head.

“Tell me the truth.” He murmurs against your lips, his palm gripping your throat, fingertips slowly squeezing. “You killed him for me didn’t you?”

You start to tighten and Cal can feel you both there, right on the edge of oblivion.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Yes I did.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Poppy Seeds: Cal Thresher x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @nu1freakshow @lazilynervoussong @mimi-8793

Companion piece to:

The Madness in the Genius - Cal and you have a special arrangement.

Jackie Ming is a problem. One that Cal doesn’t know how to solve.

You can sense his restlessness as he walks through the grow, see the tension in his jaw when he looks at the poppies flourishing in the central field. You feel his frustration when he fucks you, it’s raw, vengeful, passionate.

You know all of this stems from the fact Jackie put a gun to your head.

The fact he threatened to pull the trigger when you refused to engineer a stronger sample of poppies. You hate the fucking things, they’re too simple, too boring. You like the complexity of working marijuana, the adaptability of it, the challenge.

Cannabis, it’s holistic, it cleans the soil, draining it of chemicals and heavy metals, leaving it pure for the next batch. Poppies they strangle everything around them, depositing their seeds for the next round of germination.

“She’ll do it.” Cal had answered for you as Jackie’s thumb pulled back the hammer of the Glock. “She’ll cultivate whatever the fuck you want.”

No I fucking won’t, you’d thought but Cal had given you that look and you knew better than to argue the point.

Now you’re working in the lab that Cal pays for, bio engineering poppies that produce twice the opium than the ones already growing out in the field. The potency of the seeds you hold in your hand, it’s enough to kill an addict ten times over.

“Sit with me.” Jackie says after he summons you to his makeshift workspace at the edge of the grow. It’s a site office like the ones that people use in construction. There’s a beverage station tucked away in the corner, one with an authentic Chinese tea set resting upon the counter. It’s the only thing he still embraces from his hertiage, everything else about him from the tracksuits to the gold screams Americanisation.

You take the offered chair across from his desk, sitting in silence as you watch him decant the tea that's been brewing in the cast iron tea pot into a single cup. He doesn’t offer you one and you don’t ask.

You understand it for what it is. A powerplay, one you’re well acquainted with from your time working with corporations and the Bevilaqua Family. It’s meant to put you in your place, remind you whose in control here.

“There’s going to be a change of management today.” He tells you as the steam winds from the cup. There’s a nutty aroma in the air, more cloying that his usual brand.

“What happens to Cal?” You ask him and his eyes flicker up to meet yours as he lifts that cup to his lips.

There’s a soullessness in Jackie, one that you’ve never seen in another human being in all your time on this earth. You’ve worked with sociopaths before, even a few psychopaths but never with someone as ruthless or malevolent as this. Someone who gets off on pain, who enjoys it.

“He’ll be taken care of.” Jackie tells you, finally taking a sip of his poppy seed tea.

You know what that means, a bullet to the back of the head, a shallow grave in one of the fields so his body can be used for fertiliser. That’s what they’d done with the others they’d killed, you assume it’ll be no different.

“You know I can’t let that happen.” You tell him as you uncross and then recross your legs.

“You don’t really have a…” The tea kicks in then, the one brewed with the poppy seeds you’ve spend weeks cultivating in your lab. It’s a massive spike of opium straight to his nervous system, one strong enough to cause an OD.

It’s not like in the movies, there’s no seizure, no violence, just the sound of Jackie’s head striking the desk as he slumps forward in his seat. His breathing becomes, slow, erratic. A light rasp that echoes through the makeshift office as you remained seated, watching the raise and fall of his ribcage. When it finally stops, you push yourself to your feet, placing two fingers against his jugular, checking for a pulse.

Nothing.

As you look down at him you expect to feel something but there’s just this void because Jackie, he wasn’t human, not really. After the things you’ve seen him do, you doubt you’ll lose any sleep over his death.

It’s late when Cal comes to the greenhouse that night. He’s reviewing a couple of contracts when he glances outside of his window and realises the lights are on in the distance. You’re still up, working away diligently and it makes him smile because the two of you are both night owls. He raises to his feet , the vertebrae in his back popping before he decides to take a walk down there, see if you’ll join him at the house for a little wine, a little extracurricular activity to chase away the pressure he feels bearing down on him.

When he enters the glass structure, there you are with a shovel in your hand, patting down the soil in the new planting bed. There’s dirt smeared on your clothes, a streak of it on your cheek.

“I took care of the Jackie problem.” You tell him, using the back of your wrist to push your hair back away from your flushed features.

His eyebrows furrow into a frown at that statement because it can’t just be that simple, but then he  looks at the planting bed and then back at you and he realises maybe it is because Jackie he’s never understood you, the work you do here, your investment in it. To you this isn’t just growing weed, it’s a live study. The type of shit you do here is publishable in scientific journals, he should know he’s read the notes you’ve left lying around.

It’s the reason you left the Bevilaqua Family, you needed something more legit so you publish your work, so that you could experiment and create something that’s going to benefit people in the future. The models you’re using here, they could be applied to third world countries if you developed them enough, they could help with farming, agriculture. The potential of what you could do it’s boundless.

And that’s the other part of Cal’s business, the part that Jackie couldn’t grasp because he was too short sighted.

Cal could patent all of that, he could make billions off the work you’re developing and that’s why he invested so much in you, why he gave you a lab, and anything else you damn wanted.

“Did you do that for me or for the weed?” He asks you because he wants to understand the trajectory of your thinking.

He admits he’s gotten a little attached to you during your time together. He’s curious to know if this was purely clinical decision on your part or something a more personal.

“Both.” You tell him, setting the shovel down before stripping off your gardening gloves and tossing them onto the work bench. “He was going to kill you, double down on the poppies. I’d rather he didn’t.”

A simple honest explanation. One that makes something spark in Cal’s chest, something he’s never felt before.

“You should come up to the house.” He tells you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Let me reward you for… taking care of our problem.”

You smile then and it’s like seeing the sunrise for the very first time.

“Alright.” You say, picking up your keys so you can lock up the green house. “Let’s see that you have in mind.”

Love Cal? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bullet-prooflove]

Tulsa King Masterlist

Armand Truisi Masterlist

Bill Bevilaqua Masterlist

Bodhi Masterlist

Cal Thresher Masterlist

Dwight Manfredi Masterlist

Mitch Keller Masterlist

[bullet-prooflove]

14. Post a line of dialogue from one of your WIPs without context.

15. Post the last line you wrote without context

❤️

14. Post a line of dialogue from one of your WIPs without context.

“Tell me the truth.” He murmurs against your lips, his palm gripping your throat, fingertips slowly squeezing. “You killed him for me didn’t you?”

15. Post the last line you wrote without context

You start to tighten and Cal can feel you both there, right on the edge of oblivion.

[bullet-prooflove]

Thinking of writing for Cal Thresher (Tulsa King)

I don't know how this happened. I've seen this fella in so many things and never felt the pull but apparently if you slap a cowboy hat on a man and show a little chest hair I'm a goner...

[bullet-prooflove]

Cal Thresher Masterlist

The Madness in the Genius - Cal and you have a special arrangement.

Poppy Seeds - You take care of a problem for Cal.

You Can Leave Your Hat On (NSFW) - Things change for you and Cal.

In The Morning - Cal doesn't mind waking up next to you.

Distraction - You distract Cal during a meeting.

[the-hinky-panda]

Adele’s being naughty in a meeting…I love it!

Three things for Cal Thresher: silk, pen, glasses

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @nu1freakshow @lazilynervoussong @mimi-8793

Companion piece to:

The Madness in the Genius - Cal and you have a special arrangement.

Poppy Seeds - You take care of a problem for Cal.

You Can Leave Your Hat On (NSFW) - Things change for you and Cal.

You are a distraction, one that Cal is trying to valiantly ignore as he sits at the conference room table with the distributors of his weed business. They’re here to discuss the new strains that you’ve been producing this year, the potential revenue and their market placement.

You’re sitting on his right, wearing a burgundy silk shirt that clings to your curves in a way that makes his dick twitch and dark rimmed glasses that make you look every inch the beautiful scientist that you are.

He can tell you’d rather be back in your lab from the way you’re playing with your pen. Your fingertips run lightly over the tip before gliding down the length and then back up again. It’s exactly the way you stroke his cock when the two of you are together, and Cal can’t get the image out of his head as he listens to the man in front of him drone on about projections.

Out of the corner of his eye, you increase the pace of your motions, the pen sliding between your fingers, thumb tracing over the end. You did this exact same thing to him this morning, right before he blew his load in that sweet mouth of yours. He recalls how tight you felt around him, how wet as he fucked your throat. He grits his teeth as he shifts slightly, discreetly rearranging  himself and that’s when he hears you say the word ‘oh’.

He can’t help but turn his head towards you at the exclamation and when he does it’s to the sight of black ink smeared across your cleavage from where the tip of the pen has popped off. It drips down into the curve of your breasts the same way his come does when he fucks your tits and Cal’s cock starts to leak at the sheer debauchery of it.

“Adele.” He says purposefully, his heated blue eyes meeting yours. “Why don’t you clean yourself up and meet me in my office when you’re done.”

You push away from the table, raising to your feet and Cal can’t help but fixate on the sashay of your hips in that black pencil skirt of yours as you head to the door.

“Alright.” He says, turning his attention back to the remaining members of the group as he envisions bending you over his desk and spanking you until you’re glistening for him. “Let’s wrap this up quickly, I have other matters to attend to.”

Love Cal? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[the-hinky-panda]

Love this for them. Absolutely love this for them.

Poppy Seeds: Cal Thresher x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @nu1freakshow @lazilynervoussong @mimi-8793

Companion piece to:

The Madness in the Genius - Cal and you have a special arrangement.

Jackie Ming is a problem. One that Cal doesn’t know how to solve.

You can sense his restlessness as he walks through the grow, see the tension in his jaw when he looks at the poppies flourishing in the central field. You feel his frustration when he fucks you, it’s raw, vengeful, passionate.

You know all of this stems from the fact Jackie put a gun to your head.

The fact he threatened to pull the trigger when you refused to engineer a stronger sample of poppies. You hate the fucking things, they’re too simple, too boring. You like the complexity of working marijuana, the adaptability of it, the challenge.

Cannabis, it’s holistic, it cleans the soil, draining it of chemicals and heavy metals, leaving it pure for the next batch. Poppies they strangle everything around them, depositing their seeds for the next round of germination.

“She’ll do it.” Cal had answered for you as Jackie’s thumb pulled back the hammer of the Glock. “She’ll cultivate whatever the fuck you want.”

No I fucking won’t, you’d thought but Cal had given you that look and you knew better than to argue the point.

Now you’re working in the lab that Cal pays for, bio engineering poppies that produce twice the opium than the ones already growing out in the field. The potency of the seeds you hold in your hand, it’s enough to kill an addict ten times over.

“Sit with me.” Jackie says after he summons you to his makeshift workspace at the edge of the grow. It’s a site office like the ones that people use in construction. There’s a beverage station tucked away in the corner, one with an authentic Chinese tea set resting upon the counter. It’s the only thing he still embraces from his hertiage, everything else about him from the tracksuits to the gold screams Americanisation.

You take the offered chair across from his desk, sitting in silence as you watch him decant the tea that's been brewing in the cast iron tea pot into a single cup. He doesn’t offer you one and you don’t ask.

You understand it for what it is. A powerplay, one you’re well acquainted with from your time working with corporations and the Bevilaqua Family. It’s meant to put you in your place, remind you whose in control here.

“There’s going to be a change of management today.” He tells you as the steam winds from the cup. There’s a nutty aroma in the air, more cloying that his usual brand.

“What happens to Cal?” You ask him and his eyes flicker up to meet yours as he lifts that cup to his lips.

There’s a soullessness in Jackie, one that you’ve never seen in another human being in all your time on this earth. You’ve worked with sociopaths before, even a few psychopaths but never with someone as ruthless or malevolent as this. Someone who gets off on pain, who enjoys it.

“He’ll be taken care of.” Jackie tells you, finally taking a sip of his poppy seed tea.

You know what that means, a bullet to the back of the head, a shallow grave in one of the fields so his body can be used for fertiliser. That’s what they’d done with the others they’d killed, you assume it’ll be no different.

“You know I can’t let that happen.” You tell him as you uncross and then recross your legs.

“You don’t really have a…” The tea kicks in then, the one brewed with the poppy seeds you’ve spend weeks cultivating in your lab. It’s a massive spike of opium straight to his nervous system, one strong enough to cause an OD.

It’s not like in the movies, there’s no seizure, no violence, just the sound of Jackie’s head striking the desk as he slumps forward in his seat. His breathing becomes, slow, erratic. A light rasp that echoes through the makeshift office as you remained seated, watching the raise and fall of his ribcage. When it finally stops, you push yourself to your feet, placing two fingers against his jugular, checking for a pulse.

Nothing.

As you look down at him you expect to feel something but there’s just this void because Jackie, he wasn’t human, not really. After the things you’ve seen him do, you doubt you’ll lose any sleep over his death.

It’s late when Cal comes to the greenhouse that night. He’s reviewing a couple of contracts when he glances outside of his window and realises the lights are on in the distance. You’re still up, working away diligently and it makes him smile because the two of you are both night owls. He raises to his feet , the vertebrae in his back popping before he decides to take a walk down there, see if you’ll join him at the house for a little wine, a little extracurricular activity to chase away the pressure he feels bearing down on him.

When he enters the glass structure, there you are with a shovel in your hand, patting down the soil in the new planting bed. There’s dirt smeared on your clothes, a streak of it on your cheek.

“I took care of the Jackie problem.” You tell him, using the back of your wrist to push your hair back away from your flushed features.

His eyebrows furrow into a frown at that statement because it can’t just be that simple, but then he  looks at the planting bed and then back at you and he realises maybe it is because Jackie he’s never understood you, the work you do here, your investment in it. To you this isn’t just growing weed, it’s a live study. The type of shit you do here is publishable in scientific journals, he should know he’s read the notes you’ve left lying around.

It’s the reason you left the Bevilaqua Family, you needed something more legit so you publish your work, so that you could experiment and create something that’s going to benefit people in the future. The models you’re using here, they could be applied to third world countries if you developed them enough, they could help with farming, agriculture. The potential of what you could do it’s boundless.

And that’s the other part of Cal’s business, the part that Jackie couldn’t grasp because he was too short sighted.

Cal could patent all of that, he could make billions off the work you’re developing and that’s why he invested so much in you, why he gave you a lab, and anything else you damn wanted.

“Did you do that for me or for the weed?” He asks you because he wants to understand the trajectory of your thinking.

He admits he’s gotten a little attached to you during your time together. He’s curious to know if this was purely clinical decision on your part or something a more personal.

“Both.” You tell him, setting the shovel down before stripping off your gardening gloves and tossing them onto the work bench. “He was going to kill you, double down on the poppies. I’d rather he didn’t.”

A simple honest explanation. One that makes something spark in Cal’s chest, something he’s never felt before.

“You should come up to the house.” He tells you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Let me reward you for… taking care of our problem.”

You smile then and it’s like seeing the sunrise for the very first time.

“Alright.” You say, picking up your keys so you can lock up the green house. “Let’s see that you have in mind.”

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