#even though it’s been freezing cold. like there are coats and cashmere sweaters for that

[stuckinapril]

Counteracting the sun sinking down at 4 pm by standing in a patch of sunlight for at least 10 minutes every day

[noskova]

Though not one for such fits, there is a sort of sameness in the deep implications of Michewa's soul that sort of mirrored the one of Evren. Perhaps it was some unspoken notion of comradery, or at least something that felt like kin — a person displaced, unknown, untethered, and yet she herself had found love in the same way. She knew nothing really of the other woman, nor did she feel like there would be any knowledge of herself. It's not as if Michewa were famous for anything... though perhaps Evren did have a certain familiarity about her.

She hadn't intended to stare and, in fact, didn't feel she had been. It had been more a cursory glance over a woman literally freezing her taters off out in the cold and a deep-seated need to help people in Michewa's being that had caused her to even make the woman suffer more than a moment's passing glance, "I wasn't? Though, you have to admit the image of a woman in the cold looking like she could use about thirteen more coats and seemingly just sort of stranded will get some looks?" A pause, tongue darting across her lower lip, "Honestly I was just wondering if you needed help."

It wasn't a question, merely a statement of fact on Michewa's position. It meant that Evren could respond in whichever way she wished — positively, negatively, violently, not at all; totally her choice — and she'd do the same. Michewa's own form was draped in a large coat made for the winter, faux fur around the top and not seeming all that expensive, but still serviceable — Michael rarely let her leave the house without a coat and an umbrella, just in case — a pair of jeans and a loose cashmere sweater beneath (bought on thrift) completed an overall look of ease. She always kind of chose to walk home from work on nights like that and she wasn't sure why.

Maybe she just liked the cold...

location: could be anywhere ! ( 0 / 5 cap )

It was a relatively well-known fact that Evren Fawn had never been one to be daunted by embarrassment nor sheepishness when it came to what she did for a living—an assassin olden as time itself in the past, a pseudo-groupie splattered amidst smoke and filth along on-the-run voyages with the love of her life, hell, even an adult video star who brandished for the sake of a proper living place—however, it didn’t mean that she was entirely insusceptible to irksome situations and today seemed to be just her lucky day. Working as a Playboy bunny had its perks, yet calamities wouldn’t be exempted. When the establishment had to, unfortunately, house a horde of frat-laden celebrations, damages were bound to occur. A spilled drink and ruined clothes left the raven-haired with a ceaseless downturn whorl on her lips, because now, yes, she was dressed in the bunny costume out here when she was supposed to shove it in her bag hours ago and she was attracting attention that nearly caused an internal rampage.

There was, at the very least, a mousy coat to shelter her from the cold. Without the presence of wonted arms engulfing her, she was entirely frigid to the core and as if the peeks of the costume had not been insufferable enough, it showed that she was trembling from the wintry gust, her only comfort at that moment was a half-lit cigarette that was placed between her lips. Her home was not too far away, but she had to stop, rub her arms furiously when another wind blew. Oh, how pathetic she must look now, clattering teeth and a quivering torso. She couldn’t help but notice a pair of hues trailing, lingering, though—she was not concerned about strangers whom she, likely, could protect herself from, but the hovering curiosity could still prove to be quite bothersome. With a sharp gaze, she turned to address the person. 

“Are you going to keep staring?”

@anchoragestarters​

[lilpunkrock]

Black Silk

Status: One-Shot

Pairing: Jack Russell x Fem!Reader

Words: 4.8k+

AN: There is a heartwrenching lack of Jack Russell content on Tumblr, so I'm here to throw my hat in the ring. Enjoy a whole lot of fluff and, yes, sensual sniffing with everyone's favorite wolf boy.

Read my other Jack Russell works here and here.

Translations:

"Cautivante" — "captivating"

"Mi amada" — "my darling," "my love"

"Señorita" — equivalent of "miss"

"Lo siento" — "I'm sorry"

. . .

When you see the dark figure walking along the side of the bustling highway, you’re sure it’s for the first time. After all, you’ve been driving this route every day for years now; you know it like the back of your hand. In your swiftly moving car—hey, so what if you like driving six miles over the speed limit at all times, sue you—you aren’t able to catch many details. A dark outfit and mop of ruffled hair is all that your mind absorbs in the brief moment you have to gather information. As you fly past, your eyes linger on the figure in your rearview mirror.

Are they lost? Having car trouble? Homeless? Your heart clenches as you watch several other cars pass up stopping for the stranger in addition to your own. You’ve listened to enough true crime podcasts to know some core rules to live by. Sure, none of them explicitly stated, ‘Don’t pick up strangers off the side of the highway,’ but you felt you could gather as much from context clues. Still, as the figure’s form grows smaller in your mirror, you find yourself heaving a reluctant sigh. It’s unusually cold for late October—under forty currently, with a low of twenty-nine degrees expected tonight—and the sun will set in just a handful of hours. If you’re driving with your seat warmers on, you know the stranger must be freezing. You don’t think they were even wearing a coat. 

After you’ve pulled off the side of the road, you throw the gear in reverse to close the distance between yourself and your stranger. The figure stops in the glow of your red tail lights, anticipating your approach. When you’re several feet away, you throw the vehicle in park, grab your bottle of pepper spray, and slip out of the car before you can change your mind.

The face that greets you when you turn around is…endearing. Your stranger is a middle-aged man with warm-toned skin, a prominent nose, and a strong, square jaw. His salt-and-pepper hair looks like it’s been freshly touseled, complimenting the dark shadow of stubble along his jaw. His green eyes are wide as he stares at you, his pale pink lips parted in surprise.

Standing here with his startled eyes upon you, you suddenly feel incredibly awkward. Maybe he didn’t want to be helped. Maybe he was perfectly fine walking on the side of the highway. Then, a frigid wind whisks past you, cutting right through your cashmere sweater, and you decide no, there was no way. This guy was dressed in nothing more than a plain black crew neck sweater and dark jeans. It was impossible for him to not be freezing.

“Uh, hi,” you greet him awkwardly with a small, sheepish wave. “I’m sorry, I know this is really abrupt, but I just saw you walking on the side of the road and…aren’t you freezing?”

The stranger’s eyebrows jump upward in surprise. He looks down at his clothes as if wondering to himself, ‘Should I be cold?’ He lifts his head to look at you again. “Uh, no. I’m not, actually.” His voice is soft, lilting slightly with a distinct accent. He offers you a small smile. There’s something about the slight crook of his teeth on the upper left hand side of his mouth that melts the awkwardness from your bones. “I guess you could say I’m pretty warm blooded. I always run a little on the hot side.” 

You nod thoughtfully, though you really can’t fathom how he’s not freezing his ass off right now. “Okay. Well, why are you walking out here? Where are you coming from?”

“Ah, my friend and I recently moved here. I live just that way,” he explains with enthusiasm, pointing one hand toward the expansive forest sprawling off the side of the highway. 

Your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly. You’ve lived in this area all your life, have spent countless weekends walking the trails in those very woods. You know no one lives within them. Is he homeless, then? you wonder. Deeming it rude to pry, you instead respond, “Oh, okay. Well, is there anywhere you want me to take you?” 

The stranger’s eyebrows raise again, as if this thought had never occurred to him. “Actually, I was just walking to town to get coffee for my friend and I. Once a month we have a bit of…a, uh…a wild night, you could say. I was trying to get prepared before dark.”

You purse your lips, debating on how to give him the bad news. He definitely must be new to the area. “Well, I hate to tell you this, mystery man, but you’re moving away from town.” You point your finger in the opposite direction of where he was walking, back toward where you’d driven from. “Town is about twenty minutes that way.”

The stranger’s face falls at your words. Something about the tender disappointment in his expression reminds you of a kicked puppy. Your heart clenches at the sight. “Oh,” he says softly, seemingly at a loss for words. 

You offer him a friendly smile, seeking to lift his spirits. “I could drive you, if you wanted.” The words are out of your mouth before you even have time to contemplate them. What the fuck? the logical, true-crime-podcast-obsessed part of your mind hisses. Your pitiful heart pushes back, still insistent on helping this poor, coffee-needing, puppy-esque man. 

The stranger’s eyes brighten for a moment, glimmering a brilliant shade of grassy green. But then he lifts his hands, as if in apology. “That is very kind of you, señorita, but I must decline. I really need to be back before dark.” His voice is slightly anxious as he raises his hand to scratch behind one ear. 

Señorita. Your heart melts slightly at the word. Why were accents always so damn endearing? You shake your head at him. “Nonsense. If you need to be back before dark, that’s all the more reason for me to take you. You’ll never make it back in time on foot.” 

The stranger seems to weigh this hefty truth, nibbling his bottom lip in thought. The crook in his teeth peeks out at you adorably. Staring is rude, you chastise yourself, tearing your eyes from the sight. After a long moment of hesitation, he gives a slow nod. “Alright, you’ve got me. I thank you for your generosity.” 

You give him a wide, toothy grin, beckoning him back toward your vehicle. As he climbs into the passenger seat, you quirk an eyebrow at him expectantly. “No thanks needed, mystery man. I will, however, require payment in the form of your name.” 

The stranger gets to work making himself comfortable, burrowing his back into the warmth of the heated seat. He peers at you out of the corner of his eye at your question, watching you curiously. After a long moment, his lips draw into a slow smile. “Jack. Jack Russell,” he says quietly with a nod of affirmation. 

Your lips upturn slowly, mirroring his. “Well, Jack Russell, it’s nice to meet you. Now, let’s go get you that coffee.” 

. . .

The more you observe your new friend during your drive, the more convinced you are that his spirit animal would be a dog. Jack rides with his high cheekbone pressed against the window, his green eyes bright and curious. The radiant, warm-toned fall foliage passes by in a blur outside, along with birds, cars, and road signs. His eager eyes flicker about, taking in all of it in rapid succession. Your heart flutters at the earnesty in his gaze, the bone-deep contentment in his expression. If picking up this handsome, puppy-eyed stranger off the side of the highway was how you became the subject of one of your true crime podcasts…well, so be it. 

Several quiet minutes into your drive, you clear your throat quietly, seeking to break the silence. “So, Jack, where are you from?”

Jack’s gaze lingers on a small cluster of deer grazing beside the treeline before he draws his eyes to you. When he does, his gaze is all-consuming, attentive. Having grown up in a world with constant sources of distraction, the sheer intensity of his focus on you is startling. “I have lived in many places, actually. I typically do not stay in one space for too long. My work keeps me busy.” 

Your heart clenches slightly at his admission, and you mentally chastise yourself for it. Why be disappointed that he doesn’t stick around? It wasn’t as if you were liable to see him again, anyway. “Oh, I see. Well, what do you do for work?” 

A heavy pause. “I hunt monsters,” he says seriously. 

His words hang in the air for a long moment, suspended. Then, your abrupt laughter fills the car. Sure, the two of you might live in a world of spidermen, aliens, and tech genius superheroes, but you had never heard of any monsters. Jack gives you a cheeky grin, the quiet rumble of laughter in his throat joining in with yours. “Ah, a comedian, then,” you comment, shooting him a knowing glance. “And your friend? What do they do?” 

Jack’s eyes turn to the ceiling of your car, that warm grin still plastered on his face. “I suppose you could say we’re a traveling duo,” he says simply. 

You shake your head incredulously, a soft chuckle purring in your throat. You’re inclined to pry more, but think better of it. After all, you’d only asked for his name in payment for the ride, not his entire life story. “You said you had a wild night planned. What are you up to?” 

Jack’s olive green eyes turn to you again, dancing in the low light of the late-afternoon sun. His cheeks are flushed pink from the warmth of the car. “We’re going to…watch the moon,” he responds. 

Now, that one makes you deadpan. “Watch the moon,” you echo, eyebrows lifting in surprise. 

Jack only hums in response, affixing you with a closed-mouth smile and a self-satisfied gaze. His eyes twinkle in challenge, as if to say, ‘You don’t believe me?’ You pin him with a knowing look and a smirk of your own as you flick your blinker on, turning into the approaching Walmart parking lot. “Alright, mystery man, keep your secrets,” you say with a laugh. “We’re here. Let’s get you that coffee so you can get on to your…moon watching.” 

Pulling into the first parking spot you see, you turn off the car and exit it swiftly, Jack following quickly behind you. Though nightfall is a little over an hour off, you want to be conscientious of his need to get home before dark, especially if he was going to be trekking through the woods. As you walk toward the grocery entrance, Jack’s head moves on a swivel, taking in the sight of customers coming to and from the building like a kid in a candy store. Lost in thought, he nearly walks directly into an elderly woman pushing her cart toward her car. Jumping back just in time, he murmurs a sheepish, “Lo siento,” and bows his head in apology before shuffling after you. An amused chuckle rises up in your throat, and you trap it behind a smile. 

As the two of you approach the grocery entrance, you spy the familiar sight of a Girl Scout’s booth set up just outside. A young girl, likely not even ten-years-old, stands beside the booth, her scout’s sash displayed proudly over the thick coat she wears. She bravely steps forward as customers enter and exit the store to give her brief sales pitch. Your heart aches at the crestfallen expression on her face when customers respond with gentle denials. Your hand is dipping into your purse before you even realize it, your fingers clasping onto your wallet. 

“Hi,” you say kindly as you and Jack come to a stop beside her booth. She turns toward you quickly, all bouncy black curls and brown doe eyes. You give her a radiant smile as you hold out a handful of bills. “I’ll take a box of Tagalongs and Adventurefuls, please. And you can keep the change.” 

The girl positively beams at you as she accepts your money with tentative fingers. When she places the boxes in your hands moments later, you add with a wide smile, “Thank you so much. You have no idea how you just made my day.” 

Tagalongs and Adventurefuls in tow, you and Jack walk into the store with purpose in your step. As your eye searches for the aisle marker labeled ‘Coffee,’ you can’t help but notice Jack staring at you out of the corner of your eye. At first, you think it’s just a momentary glance, but when you still spy his face turned toward you after several seconds of walking, you turn to look at him fully. He’s pinning you with the same thoughtful gaze as he had in the car, all closed-lipped smiles and twinkling eyes. As if he’s collecting observations of you and bottling them up, studious impressions reserved for him and him alone. 

Suddenly acutely self-conscious, you give him a nervous smile. “What is it?” you ask, voice quiet with hesitation. 

Jack’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he dips his head to his chest, his eyes never straying from yours. “You are very kind, señorita. Helping strangers as you do.” His voice is soft and earnest, each word carefully crafted and caressed as they pass the curve of his pink lips. He seems to smile a little wider as he adds, “Myself included.” 

Your lips part slightly in surprise at his statement, heat flushing your cheeks in a rush. Was it hot in this Walmart or what? You’d need to tell a manager that the thermostat was a little off if you spotted one. “Well, I’m definitely not perfect, but the world desperately needs more kindness. I try to do what I can,” you say bashfully. Seeking to divert the focus of conversation from yourself, you fix him with a knowing gaze. “You seem like a pretty nice guy yourself.” 

Jack chuckles quietly at you, turning his olive green eyes to the aisle signs overhead. “You are too generous to this stranger, señorita. I try to be as kind as I can. I struggle once in a full moon, but I suppose we all do.” 

You giggle good-naturedly at his slip. “You mean once in a blue moon?”

Jack’s lips part slightly, his expression one of genuine surprise. However, it lasts only a moment. He quickly gives you a sheepish grin, raising a hand to scratch hastily behind his ear. A nervous tick, you supposed. “Uh, yes, right. Of course.” 

Within moments, you find yourself alongside the coffee aisle. You dip into it swiftly, Jack following only a step behind. You come to a stop in the center of the coffee section, a wide array of possibilities available before you. “So, what kind are you looking for?” you ask expectantly. 

Jack’s eyes rove over the options quickly, seemingly seeing everything and nothing at once. His dark brows knit inward as he admits, “I…I’m not sure. My friend, Ted, normally gets the coffee. I haven’t any idea what I am looking for.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise. If this man had no idea what type of coffee to get, there was only one way to proceed. “Black Silk,” you say matter-of-factly. 

Jack turns to you slowly, confusion pinching his handsome features. “Black silk?” he echoes, the words rolling off his tongue without recognition. 

You nod wholeheartedly, eyes imploring and earnest. If there was one way you could truly help this man today, it would be this. “Yes. Folgers’ Black Silk. The only option when it comes to purchasing coffee. Especially if you don’t know where to start.” You beckon him toward the shelves of familiar red containers. Your trained eye finds the black-labeled tub instantly, and you crouch down, grabbing the largest option with eager fingers. “Let me tell you, mystery man. This coffee right here? A life changer.” 

“Oh.” Jack’s eyes are wide as saucers as he looks from you, to the container in your hands, and back to you. One corner of his full lips creeps upward as he gazes at you in equal parts amusement and intrigue. “A life changer, you say?” 

You nod. 

“And you think I need the largest tub they have?” An adorable peekaboo from that crooked grin of his. If you didn’t stop staring, you’d be reduced to nothing but a puddle on the floor. Clean up in Aisle 20.

“Yes. You’ll thank me later. If you’re doubting me…” Your gaze sweeps the aisle on either side of you. It’s just the two of you here, alone. Your fingers make quick work of popping the lid from its place and peeling back a section of the Aromaseal within. “...then just smell it. I promise, all your doubts will be erased.” 

Jack’s eyes dance with amusement as his gaze flickers between you and the coffee. You hold your ground, a challenge portrayed in the slant of your smirk. As if to say, ‘Yes, this is a hill I will die on.’ After several moments of bated breath, Jack lowers his head to the lip of the container. Instead of drawing in a long inhale like most human beings, he sucks in several short, rapid sniffs in succession. In that moment, you’re signed, sealed, and delivered–this man’s spirit animal is undeniably a dog, without question. Shaking your head incredulously, you close your eyes and dip your chin to savor the aroma yourself. 

The first word that enters your mind as you draw in a deep inhale is ‘bold.’ The scent of the dark roast is rich and robust as it weaves through your senses, awakening them instantaneously. The aroma is intense, luxurious, alluring. Your mouth waters unbidden as you hold the scent in, savoring it, before exhaling slowly through your nose. You can practically taste the notes of dark chocolate and smoke on your tongue. 

Satisfied, you slowly open your eyes. When you do, you find yourself gazing into two pools of olive green. Jack stares at you over the container of Black Silk between you, his eyes thoughtful, watchful, attentive. There is a gentleness behind his soft gaze, something intangible in the supple curve of his lips and his vaguely knotted brow that is fond, affectionate. 

“Cautivante.” The endearment is spoken on a breath, so faint you’re unsure you truly heard it. Your eyes fall to Jack’s lips, now parted slightly with bated breath. Your heartbeat flutters rapidly in your chest, fast as hummingbird wings, making you dizzy. Your very flesh seems to sing under his enthralled gaze, your skin warm and flushed, your knees weak. Unable to pry your eyes from the softness of his lips, the dip of his Cupid’s Bow. Your own lips seem to hum under his watch, calling out to him, buzzing so intensely you’re certain he must be able to see it, to feel it. As if drawn together by an invisible thread, you see him inch imperceptibly closer, and you mirror him, the song in your bones growing louder and louder– 

Ca-thunk. The sound nearly startles you out of your skin, slicing clean through the tension of the moment. Jumping backward, you turn to look past Jack at a very uncomfortable-looking woman several paces away. It’s very clear that she had been aware of your little….moment and had been trying to grab her tub of coffee unnoticed. Sorry, she mouths with a pained grimace. She dips down to grab the container of French roast that she had dropped on the floor and scurries off without another word. 

Fuck, your mind groans as panic sets in. Your gaze reluctantly slides to Jack, expecting to find his face twisted in regret, mortification, or awkwardness. Instead, you find him still watching you intently, captivated, spellbound. His olive eyes drink in your features like a man starved of drink. The feeling steals your breath away. 

You watch as his lips part wider, as he draws in a breath to speak. A rush of white hot panic sends your heart leaping into your throat at the sight. What would he say? Nerves thoroughly fried, you weren’t sure you could handle it, good or bad. So you beat him to it, hastily blurting out, “So, did you like it?” 

For a long moment, Jack’s expression hangs suspended, still as stone. He scarcely breathes as his eyes rove over your features, searching. You give him an awkward half-smile, mentally loathing yourself and your painful awkwardness in matters of affection. Part of you wants to tuck tail and run as far away from here as possible, hoping to save some scrap of your dignity. A bigger part of you wants to take his handsome, stubbled face in your hands and press those blush pink lips to yours, throwing caution to the wind. 

But neither of those things happen. When Jack finally releases the breath he’s been holding, the sound is low, wistful. “Yes, I liked it very much,” he says quietly, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t place. 

You release a bated breath of your own. Regret fills the space it once occupied, cold and heavy. “Alright, then…Great. Let’s get you home to your friend.”

. . . 

The ride back from town is quiet. Well, quiet on the outside. The inside of your mind is utter turmoil, a cacophonous tirade of:

What the fuck were you thinking–

Damn that woman–

He’s still a stranger, you know. You never should have picked up a stranger–

His lips were so perfect, how the hell can he be so–

“Here will do.” 

Jack’s soft voice startles you out of your mental beratement so abruptly that you have to white-knuckle the steering wheel to keep from swerving. Your eyes flicker to the side of the road where you’re currently driving, a grassy hill leading down to the forest beyond. You look at him next, eyes settling on his clasped hands, the fingers that he’s been twiddling for the past twenty minutes. “Here?” you say, your voice quiet. “Are you sure?” 

Jack gazes at you out of the corner of his eye, his lips upturned in a small, sheepish smile. “Yes, I’m sure. I live just a couple miles from here. If I begin walking now, I can arrive home before dark.” 

Ah, yes, nightfall. Your eyes turn to the dipping sun, just barely visible over the treeline to your left. It paints the sky in gold and burnt orange, the clouds overhead dip dyed in radiant shades of pink and purple. Your heart clenches at the sight, at the thought that time is running out. You turn on your blinker and pull into the gravel off the side of the highway with a lump in your throat. 

The two of you sit in still silence for a moment as you shift the car into park. The air in the cab is thick with nerves, with words left unsaid, actions left undone. You nibble at your bottom lip anxiously, wondering what on earth you could say to cut the tension. 

Jack beats you to it. “It was lovely to make your acquaintance, señorita.” His voice is sweet and kind, his eyes wide and emphatic. He gives you a small smile. Your eyes drink in the sight greedily, committing it to memory. “Thank you for helping this poor stranger. You have a warm and generous heart. I will leave you to continue your night in peace.” 

Peace. Your heart knows no such feeling as his hand closes around the grocery bag between his legs, as his fingers clasp the car door handle. Your heart revolts as he pushes the door open and begins to step out of the car. Sure, this was all your fault. You’d known from the get-go that your mystery man wasn’t sticking around. He’d told you as much himself. But that didn’t change how outright wrong it felt to watch him go. It didn’t change how desperately you wanted him to stay, the lengths you’d go to see him again, just one more time. Moon watching be damned. 

“Jack,” you say suddenly, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. Your mystery man’s posture stiffens slightly, followed by a slow, agonizing turn as he shifts to look back within the car, back at you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, your eyes rove over his face, searching, imploring. “Will I see you again?” Your voice is small, fearful, hopeful. 

Jack’s eyes widen at the raw emotion in your voice, a wealth of words said and unsaid. His green eyes search your face, picking you apart, reading you like a cherished novel. Whatever he finds within your expression, it prompts him to crouch down, reaching the front half of his body into the passenger side of the car. His earnest eyes do not stray from yours as he gently takes your right hand from the steering wheel. His fingertips are warm and lightly calloused as he lifts the sleeve of your sweater ever so slightly. His breath is hot against your skin as he nestles his nose against the soft flesh of the inside of your wrist. Slowly, he draws in a deep, long inhale. He holds the breath in his lungs, savoring. Your heart stammers wildly in your chest as you transcend several levels of the multiverse in the length of his breath. 

“Cautivante.” His soft lips brush affectionately over the flesh of your wrist as he speaks the word. Turning your palm over, he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, his lips warm and plush. Dazed and flushed, you’re certain that your soul has left your body until he speaks softly, grounding you to the spot. “Do you wish to see me again?” His voice is small, fearful, hopeful. 

You don’t even hesitate. “Yes.” 

His olive eyes sparkle at your eagerness, mouth widening into a delighted grin, eyes smiling at their corners. Your heart melts at the crook in his teeth as he looks down at your hands, bashful, then back up at you again. His teeth tug at his bottom lip thoughtfully as he grins at you. “Well, if that is what you wish, mi amada, then that is what you shall receive.” 

And in the blink of an eye, he’s gone, with only the slightest lingering aroma of Black Silk remaining in his place. 

. . . 

Driving home from work the following day, you’re almost embarrassed to admit that you’ve spent more time searching the woods on the side of the road than looking at the road itself. But when you spot a familiar dark haired man standing off the side of the highway a half mile ahead, all sense of shame leaves your mind. You flick on your blinker in an instant, pulling over without hesitation. 

The first thing you notice about Jack is how bone-deep exhausted he looks. His salt-and-pepper hair is entirely unkempt, his eyes framed by dark, shadowy circles. You’re almost sure he’s wearing the exact same black sweater and jeans from the day before. Still, when he sees you approach, his face brightens like a man who’s just had his best sleep in years. Your heart swells three sizes at the sight. 

He throws the door open and dips into your passenger seat like it’s the only thing he’s thought of in the past twenty-four hours. “Hello,” he greets you adorably, face split with a wide, cheeky grin. 

You couldn’t hold back your laughter if you’d tried. “Hello,” you greet him in return. Your skin seems to sing in his very presence, heart fluttering with an intoxicating mix of nerves and anticipation. “Out of coffee already?” you joke. 

He gives you a knowing smile, eyes twinkling. “Sure, you could say that.” 

Your teeth pin down your bottom lip, trying to bite back a grin. “Well, that sounds like a serious problem,” you try to keep a straight face, to keep the bit rolling, but glee sneaks into your tone anyway. “We’d better fix that.” 

Jack’s hand slips over yours on the gear shift, his thumb kneading the backs of your knuckles affectionately. With his olive green eyes on you, you feel like you could do anything, go anywhere. His presence is a drug, so much more addictive than caffeine could ever be. “Indeed, mi amada.” His grin widens ever so slightly, giving you the perfect glimpse of that endearing crook in his teeth. Your lips hum in response, eager to kiss that sacred spot, to adore every inch of him. To keep that grin plastered on his face forevermore. “Lead the way.”

[stevesharrlngtons]

Snow being shoved down the back of your coat + Roman or Mickey

@screechingexpertpruneneck & @girlinthecorner also requested this prompt for roman

Tremors from ice and anger still vibrated through you as you made your way through the lobby. The snow that had been unceremoniously pushed down the back of your coat had long melted and left your sweater and undershirt wet and sticky with condensation and sweat. The water that your clothing had soaked in had begun to freeze against your clammy skin and you were beyond the meaning of uncomfortable.

You were uncomfortable with a thick helping of rage draped over the top.

All thanks to Roman fucking Godfrey.

Your family, along with his, were in Aspen for the holiday break. Your mother and Marie Godfrey had met in college as doe eyed sorority girls, and remained close through the years as they both went on to marry high level executives. Heartbroken that their executives chose to run their companies on opposite coasts, your mothers had insisted on bi-annual joint vacations -- one in the winter and one in the summer.

Two years into the extravagant vacations, Olivia Godfrey nosed her way into the festivities. Your mother and Marie were less than pleased, but Norman had insisted it was the right thing to welcome her with open arms on the vacations. It would be good for Olivia and her two small children to have some socialization. And so, Olivia, Roman and Shelley were added to the bunch (though, not without any reservations from the two matriarchs).

The destinations varied, but they were always somewhere festive and approatite. Winter: Sweden. Summer: Hawaii. Winter: Iceland. Summer: Puerto Rico.

This year it had been decided that you all would pack up and head to Colorado for two weeks of icy December fun.

While some of your peers dreaded family vacations and time spent away from their friends, you never minded. Your father kept you happy with a credit card in hand and your mother was too busy with Marie to provoke you. You were free to shop with Letha or swap novels with Shelley, or venture out on your own in whatever new and exciting landscape you were in.

And then there was Roman.

There was always Roman.

Over the years, Roman had morphed from reluctant player in your and Letha’s fantasy realms, to cruel preteen ready to insight chaos if looked at wrong, to outrageously charming and good looking young man who knew every trick and how to use them. He hadn’t lost the glint of wonder from his childhood, or his deep seated anger from his adolescence, he had just gained a sauve charisma that was dangerous when he used it correctly (and he always did).

You and Roman had a flirtation, one that sometimes blossomed in chaste touches and charged glances; or through amorous conversation and zealous foreplay.

Each and every vacation things were the same; you and Roman resumed wherever you had last left off, just to press pause the second you boarded separate airplanes.

Sometimes you would yearn for more, when he’d send you the occasional tender text or call in search for phone sex on the off season from your vacations. But, you shooed away any lingering warmth that he quelled in your stomach as soon as you recognized it. Roman Godfrey was no good for you, no matter how delicious he tasted and how blissful it was to surrender with him.

You could only indulge so much in a good thing before the repercussions reared their ugly heads. And Roman most certainly had repercussions, and pitfalls, and isms that you hated. And with enough time spent with him, you would see them all in spades.

His immaturity. His possessiveness. His stubbornness. His short temper. His inability to apologize.

Somehow all of your least favorite traits that he possessed came out one morning before he, Letha and yourself were set to go skiing.

Bundled in thick layers of wool and cashmere, down-feathers and ski bags slung off your shoulders, you three headed out to the slopes. You had spent two semesters at a private school in Whistler when your father was sent to Canada for work, and because of this, the only one out of your little group with any ski experience. You were excited to revel in your skill and teach Letha and Roman how to make it down the hills in one piece (lots of pizza and french fries to come…). But before you all headed to the chair lifts from the resort, Letha wanted to stop for something warm to drink and a bathroom break.

“I really think you’re going to appreciate all the expertise I can offer you,” you commented to Roman as you stood in line.

He blew an indigent puff out through his nose, “I don’t think I’ll need any help.”

A grin pulled at your lips, “Roman, with your long legs, you’re going to be like a baby deer out there. You are going to need my help.”

Roman glanced down at you with an amused expression, growing his own smile at the sight of yours.

“Yeah? You think I’m gonna go up there and eat shit? Fall on my ass so you girls can laugh at me? Fat chance.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll kiss all your bruises afterwards,” your grin smooths to a smirk and you can see his eyes light with the pictures of the after hours activities you two could yourselves into.

“Next!” the barastisa called out and you and Roman removed yourselves from your bubble long enough for you to order.

Your ordered Letha’s usual (a white mocha with a splash of peppermint) your usual, along with Roman’s (a black coffee with two sugars).

You hadn’t thought the barista was flirting with you. You hadn’t thought you were being overly friendly. You didn’t even think Roman had been paying any attention at all, he had been clicking away at his phone at the time. Though, after you paid and were waiting for your drinks to be made, it was clear that any and all banter that had begun in line would not continue.

Roman’s posture was ridged, as he stood two full paces away from you. His lips in a hard line and his hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets. You wanted to ask what had happened. You wanted to ask if he was ok, if something on his phone had upset him, if he was having second thoughts out the day you and Letha had planned? But you didn’t. Roman had angled himself away from you, and was looking over his shoulder every few seconds to search for Letha.

When she returned from the restroom, you silently handed her her mocha as she naively asked what she missed. You simply shrugged and you two shared a moment of knowing eye contact that Roman was in one of his trademark moods.

With linked arms and an effort to disregard Roman’s shift, you both clenched your paper cups, and headed toward the mountain in high spirits, ready to ski.

You were beginning to feel the pleasurable surge of adrenaline and the thrill of excitement the closer you got to the chair lifts. You were buzzing with anecdotes and tips and memories from your time abroad. Letha was playing along, nodding, oh-ing and ah-ing at the right moments, and thanking you for your know-how.

You and Letha were nearing the line for the lifts and you were about to pull her aside and help her onto her skis, when you were suddenly yanked backward.

Within the lapse of a blink, Roman had gripped the collar of your coat and jerked you back with such a power and haste, that your dwindling coffee was clamped in your fist and exploded onto your gloved hand and sleeve. When he had roped you closer by your protruding collar, he then continued to take a heap of snow and shove it down your back.

The snow shocked your senses, and your skin blistered from the cold and your muscles flinched and recoiled from the temperature change.

When it was all over, Letha was horrified, Roman was laughing and you were mortified. He had made such a spectacle of his antaic, that most of the line had turned to see what had happened. Not surprising by the decibel of Roman’s laughter and your scream.

“Roman!” Letha reprimanded as she fled to your side, doing her best to wick away some of the coffee from your sleeve and the snow from your neck, “What is wrong with you?”

“What? Never had that happen with any of your fancy french ski instructors?” he bit out maliciously, still laughing, but in a forced way. He was only laughing to continue your humiliation.

“You’re such an asshole!” you screeched.

“No, I’m funny. That was funny. It’s not my fault you can’t take a joke.”

“You’re not funny, Roman,” you whipped around, almost topoling a fretting Letha as you did, “you’re just a cruel little manchild who acts out when no one is giving his tantrum any attention!”

“Yep, see,” Roman gave a patronizing grin, “Can’t take a joke.”

He looked at you with condescending eyes, and he only seemed to grow happier the angier you became.

No matter how much you had been looking forward to the excursion, you refused to spend the day with him after this pathetic stunt. You picked up your discarded ski bag and let it hit Roman hard on the shoulder as you began back down the mountain.

“Aw, come on! Aren’t you the savant? Aren’t we getting ready to watch you show off your Olympic skill? Can’t do that if you throw a bitch fit and pout!” he called after you.

You could hear Letha’s frail calls as well, but at least she knew better than to come after you. You wanted to be alone and away from anything Godfrey.

When Letha and Roman came back later in the evening, he knocked on your suit door and was greeted with silence. He called your name, he dialed your number, he texted, but was left with no response. He was sure you were just enacting your silent revenge on him for the snow incident and he decided to let you. No matter how much he was looking forward to having his hands all over you (it’s all he had been thinking about for months).

But the next day, you were still nowhere to be found. Letha had been sworn to secrecy on your whereabouts, and even she was sticking her nose up in contempt when he entered a room.

He knew that you were serious about your indignation for him and what he had done, and he was becoming restless. He was only awarded fourteen days of your time twice a year, and he liked to make the most of the moments he was allotted. There was usually a day or two you would punish him for something he had said or done, but you always caved soon enough. Roman wished he knew what was so different about this time that had destroyed your usual refractory period for his bullshit.

“You embarrassed her in front of everyone,” Shelly’s automated voice informed him on the third day of silence.

Roman himself had taken to sitting in his suite, laying in bed with a scowl and an obligatory nasty bark when anyone commented on his new hibernation.

“You always teased her but this was different. You laughed at her and belittled her. She has every right to ignore you.”

Roman knew she was right, but only rolled onto his side so his back faced his sister. He didn’t want to admit that he was wrong, he didn’t want to have to tuck his tail and apologize. Because while he had embarrassed you, fessing up to his actions would embarrass him. He didn’t do well with putting his pride aside and accepting that what he did was wrong.

But as he spent the rest of the day holed up under hotel sheets and eating fresh potato chips from room service, Roman realized that maybe it would be worth it in the end. His moment of discomfort would pay off. Swallowing his ego and apologizing would be ok if it got him back in your good graces (which he so desperately craved).

That night, everyone gathered to have a nice dinner together. “Nice” entailed thousand dollar tabs, the highest quality champagne and whiskey, caviar and prime rib, and whatever anyone desired.

Roman had arrived before you, and made sure that the seat beside himself and your mother were the only two open by the time you joined them. As mad as you were at him, you would never willingly sit next to your mother, lest you want to spend the evening being picked apart by her freshly manicured fingers.

And sure enough, when you entered oh God, had you always been that beautiful? you spotted the seating arrangement and scowled. Your step faltered briefly in front of the open chair by your mother and Roman’s heart sank, before it slowly pushed its way back to the surface as you decided against your choice and rounded the table to take your place next to him.

“You look stunning this evening,” he whispered to you as you smoothed your napkin over your lap.

“You look like a kiss ass,” you replied, curtly thanking the waiter who was currently filling your glass with wine.

“Am I not allowed to compliment you now?”

“Stop talking to me. I don’t like you.”

Roman sucked in a breath and turned back to his appetizer. This was going to be a long evening.

Roman spent the rest of the dinner slowly chipping away at your resolve; with flirty jokes, jabs at your parents, reminiscing about your shared time together, and heaps of compliments and praise. He even pulled out his nickname for you at some point.

“I love when you run your fingers on the stem of the glass like that, sweet girl.”

Roman saw you put a strained pressure on the glass as he spoke.

Even after pulling out all the stops that he could, Roman didn’t seem to be making headway with you, which he despised. There was a flurry of fear in his chest.

Had he fucked up one of the very few good things in his life because of some stupid bout of jealousy?

As the night drew on, and all the parents were fat and happy with fine food and wine, they all drunkenly dismissed the four of you to do whatever you pleased.

Letha and Shelly, who had sat on the other end of the long table from you and Roman, fled away together. Maybe in hopes to avoid the tension between the two of you, or in hopes to force you both to reconcile. Either way, it left you and Roman to walk to the elevator alone.

Taunt, uncomfortable tension lay between you both on your path to the elevator. When you got to it and pressed the button for the upper levels, you tapped your foot impatiently for it to arrive.

Roman decided to strike.

“Are you going to be mad at me forever?”

Silence.

Roman frowned, “I’m sorry, alright? Is that what you want to hear?”

Silence.

“It was -- fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know what possessed me to do it. But yeah, I just, it was wrong. I’m sorry.”

More silence. You stepped forward to press the button again.

“Jesus Christ! I’m sorry! I said it, can we just put this behind us now? I was just tugging on your pigtails or whatever moms say. That and I don’t know, immaturity of something…”

“It was all immaturity.” you finally spoke.

So, Roman decided to steer into the skid. He told himself that he was only admitting to all of this so you would blow him later, but he secretly knew that everything he said was absolutely and undoubtedly true.

“Yeah, ok, it was immaturity and the old Godfrey gene of not knowing how to grapple with emotion.”

“Letha can express her emotions quite healthily,” you countered, still refusing to look at him.

He sighed, “I think only the men in my family got it… and my mother. But she’s a whole bag of fucked up, so…”

There was another bout of silence before Roman heard you let out a breath.

“You really hurt my feelings. You embarrassed me and stained my coat.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Roman replied, his face crestfallen.

“You tugged me back so hard that my neck was all red and rashy from the pressure and my clothes for the rest of the day.”

Roman felt despair bubble in his stomach, “Fuck, I’m so sorry sweet girl. I’m an asshole, I know that.”

“Yes, you are.”

The elevator at last opened it’s steel doors and you and Roman entered and pressed the number for your floor (Roman pressed the button before you could, in his search for forgiveness and to be gentlemanly).

As the elevator started up, Roman inched toward you until his hand rested on the hollow of your back. You didn’t flinch away, and after a moment you placed your temple to his shoulder.

He felt a feeling of overwhelming relief as he took the chance at creeping his nimble fingers toward your waist, to gain better traction to turn you into his chest. You went easily and willingly, and nuzzled your nose into the hollow of his throat in the way that he loved and longed for on lonely nights in Pennsylvania.

Roman held your waist tight with one hand and brush your hair away from your neck to trace tender lines up and down your vertebrae. He felt a tremor quake through your body and smiled. He continued his ministrations until the doors opened to reveal the floor you were both staying on.

You let Roman lead you to his suite with no hesitation and let him worship your body for a majority of the night. And later, you let him feed you ice cream in a hot tub and you let him snuggle your naked form so he could go to sleep.

Indulging in Roman Godfrey always had its bitterness, but as he laid sleepy kisses across the expanse of your skin, you thought made the sweetness was worth it.

[morethanaprincess-a]

@cadcnce​ said: 👐🏻: Wylan is having a hard time getting his hands to warm up. Sonia, ever the wiser of the two, had worn much warmer clothes for the weather which means there's an opportunity... snaking his hands underneath those layers and resting chilly fingers against her sides is an immediate source of relief. Or is it??

Cooler Weather Emoji Prompts

One thing, at least, still appeared in Tokyo just as they did in Novoselic’s capital to celebrate the season. It had been Sonia’s choice to stop in front of the large windows of Shinjuku’s Isetan department store, ignoring the array of products on display in favor of the holiday scenes: a North Pole scene with a working toy train and mechanical polar bears that roamed fake snowy hills, a European-style village dusted in snow and fairy lights with Santa and his sleigh in shadows, drifting from house to house, a candy factory producing all sorts of seasonal treats. Each design utilized light, sound, and robotics to help traditions come alive for shoppers and onlookers alike. Beneath the faux-fur collar of her coat, Sonia beamed at the decorations, barely able to keep herself from pressing both her gloved hands and her nose against the glass. “Look at them,” She cooed, chuckling as one of the mechanical polar bears roared to the tune of ‘Jingle Bells.’ “Every one of these is so charming and beautiful! If it wasn’t so miniature, it would be as if you could walk right into Christmas-”

That was about as much as she could manage. In her awe and distraction by the window displays, Wylan had been distracted by something else. Or rather, someone. Sonia wasn’t sure if she wanted to know how, by some miracle or talent, she wasn’t able to feel his hands unbutton the front of her pale blue coat, slide under the knit of her cashmere sweater, and find themselves set squarely on the delicate curves of the smallest part of her waist. No, the princess couldn’t even consider the how of the situation: she was far too embroiled with the immediate freezing touch of his fingers against her soft, almost equally cold skin.

It was Wylan’s mistake, if it had been his goal to warm up against the outdoor elements using Sonia’s body heat alone. Her heavy-duty cold weather attire was still packed away in Novoselic, leaving her with her lighter, more formal cold weather garments that weren’t as effective as what she’d wear high in the mountains. She was nearly as cold as he was, choosing to brave it in favor of immersing herself in the season. Sonia cried out, causing half a dozen people to turn and look. Though instead of offering help, they all seemed to be amused: “Look at that lively young couple!”

Lively was one word for it, as Sonia jumped nearly a foot in the air, enough to likely dislodge his hands from beneath her clothes. “That’s cold!” She yelped, smoothing down her sweater and refastening her coat’s buttons. “Wylan, do you not have any gloves?” 

His sheer amount of boldness and disregard for social etiquette was also remarkable, though something the princess couldn’t very well bring up in public without making a scene. Not that she wasn’t making one already, as more passersby turned to watch and chuckle at them. Her instinct wanted to correct them, that she and her friend were in no way a couple of any sort, and yet she couldn’t seem to voice them aloud.

[hanalwayssolo]

What We Owe To Each Other: Ch. 3 - Night

A/N: Here’s the angsty part of a fic literally no one asked for!!!

Morning | Noon | Night | Midnight | Nightmare | Dawn

[Link on AO3]

Sam did not want to admit it out loud, but he was starting to believe that he was truly and utterly lost.

He pulled out his phone and checked his current location. He was sure about the direction he had taken; he had passed the right landmarks, made no unnecessary turns from the main road. His destination was off the beaten path but thankfully, it had stopped raining and the fog had partly cleared that he managed to easily spot his way. He had been certain that he was in the right address. This had to be the right place.

What was bothering him now was that the house that loomed behind the massive iron-wrought gates was the exact opposite of a fucking cottage.

Sam pulled over next to a silver Sedan (another rental, he could tell by that same tacky sticker plastered on its windshield) hooded over by the blood-red foliage of maple trees on what appeared to be the lot’s designated parking space. In the discomfort of the Chevy’s front seat, he began to assess all his available options. He could check out the house, ask its occupants for proper directions. Or he could turn his way back around. He could find a decent lodging to spend the night somewhere in Westmore, or any nearby town perhaps, and craft another excuse to tell his brother as to why he didn’t make it.

Or, well, he could disregard his pride and simply call Nathan for help.

This is stupid. I’m being stupid.

Sam sighed. He fished his phone out again, scrolled through his list of contacts, hovered over Nathan’s name for a little too long. He has not even called him yet, but he can already hear his brother’s clever and punk-ass reaction.

Fine. Fuck this.

He took another deep breath. Just as he was about to press that Call button, a knock on his window startled him out of his wits.

“Holy Mother of God!” Sam hissed, accidentally slamming a hand over the car horn that it shrieked like a shameless cry for help. He turned, and by the window was a familiar face curiously watching him with an almost amused expression.

It was Elena.

“I’m so sorry,” she said as soon as he got out of the car. She was in a cozy-looking parka, sweatpants and running shoes, her cheeks a shade rosier from the cold. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. It was freezing as fuck. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I was out for a walk. Then I saw that there’s another car parked next to ours. Figured it would be you.”

“Oh.”

“And you were in there for a really long time, so. Yeah.”

“Well, I thought I was…” Sam trailed off. He looked at the house behind Elena, then back at her. “I’m in the right place, am I?”

“Yup.” Elena was smiling. “Trust me, that was our reaction when we first got here, too. Seriously, Sullivan needs to work on his definition of a cottage.”

Sam stared at her. “Christ, Victor owns this place?”

Elena nodded in response. “C’mon,” she said cheerily, nodding her head towards the gate, “Let’s get inside. I’ll let Sullivan explain everything to you and maybe get him to take you on his personal tour.”

Sam grabbed his duffel from the trunk and let Elena lead the way.  

The sun slowly plummeted over the horizon, simmering gold through the trees, scorching the sky like a third-degree burn. There was no noise except for the crunch of their shoes on the carpet of gravel and dried leaves, the whistle of the wind, the chorus of birdsong from somewhere up the canopies. The air was sharp and chilly. Not far away, the Mansard roof and the whitewashed façade of Sully’s estate began to reveal itself behind the veil of autumn foliage like an enigmatic bride.

“By the way,” Sam began as they climbed the front steps, “I heard from Nathan. Congratulations. Good job for making me an uncle.”

Elena laughed. “You’re welcome. Glad to be of service, I guess.”

“Now I hope you don’t mind if I teach your kid a thing or two about picking locks and—”

“Oh don’t even think about that.”

“Alright. I’ll simply bore them to death.”

“Now that’s impossible. Trouble makes you the least boring person I know.”

“Whoa, now I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment.”

“It is a compliment.” She turned to face him, smiled at him knowingly. “But y’know, I suppose I should thank you, too.”

“Really?” Sam quirked a curious brow. “For what?”

“Nate told me about your sage advice.”

“Oh. That.” Sam shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it sagely,” he said, “but more like a push in the right direction.”

“Of course. But I appreciate it, really. Anyway,” she said as she casually opened the mahogany doors before them, “After you.”

Elena ushered Sam inside the house. Walking into the foyer, he found himself taking a sharp inhale and stuttering to a halt: gilt mirrors and chandeliers, potted palms and porcelain vases, plaster-medallioned ceiling and ivory floors polished to saintly perfection. Down to the wide archway to his immediate right was a gallery exquisitely curated with the finest marble sculptures and Impressionist paintings (there were a couple from Monet and Cézanne and Renoir which he recognized almost immediately, like spotting a familiar face in a crowd of strangers, and he hated how he still knew this because this was Darcy’s thing and fuck he did not need to be reminded of her at this time of day), a couple of photographs and portraits lining the walls, and ancient pieces that would probably cost more than his life. Somewhere, the jazz music he had heard earlier from the phone echoed like a sickly sweet invitation. Even the room smelled nice and elegant: of roast beef, of roses, of cigars and big money. Also, it was comfortably warm.

Startled and half-dazed, not quite sure what he was seeing or where he was even, as if he had been suddenly jettisoned to outer space, Sam turned to Elena and said: “This is… are you positively sure this is Victor’s house?”

Elena huffed an amused laugh. “I know it’s a lot to take in but yeah.” She shouldered off her parka and hung it over a coat rack. She helped Sam out of his jacket, too. “Nate and Sully’s in the kitchen—”

“I’ll be goddamned—look who decided to show up.”

A rich and sonorous voice that Sam knew so well rang out and sauntered into the hall.

“Victor.” Sam offered a small nod as the one and only man of the house—nay, mansion—gave him a strong, parental hug which he returned rather sheepishly. Though he found it strange to be shown such an affectionate gesture, it was even stranger for him to see Victor outside his usual colourful Havana shirts; in his gray long-sleeved turtleneck and dark trousers, he almost seemed so foreign. Warm and snug, sure—but still painfully foreign. Despite that, he still carried that same slick and silvery charm as if he never aged a day.

“Well now.” Victor stepped back, clapping both hands on Sam’s broad shoulders. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t show up.”

“What can I say? I live to disappoint.” Sam shrugged. “But anyway,” he said, “be honest with me: who did you murder to afford this place, huh? We had all the time in Lisbon and you didn’t tell me about this!”

“I’m glad to let you know that I didn’t get my hands bloody to get this place. This belonged to my family for generations.” Victor extracted a pack from the back pocket of his jeans and lit a cigar. “This—“ he was gesturing a hand in the air, the curl of smoke rising between his fingers— “had been in tatters a couple of years back. Had to make sure this entire place was in its pristine condition before I had anyone come over and see it.”

“And that’s only half of the story,” Elena added. She crossed her arms and looked at Victor critically. “Wait until you hear about how he acquired a certain Rembrandt piece.”

Sam waved away Elena’s words with an incredulous hand. “Wait a fucking second.” He stared at Victor. “Did I hear that right? You have a goddamn Rembrandt? What the—”

“Elena? Sully? You guys left me in the kitchen and you all know how I’m accident-prone—oh, about time you got here!”

Sam turned and was welcomed by Nathan with a firm slap on his back as soon as he walked in. He was wearing a dark cashmere sweater, ripped jeans, and one of those aprons with an obscenely suggestive text that said May I suggest this sausage written in a terrible font face.

“Why hello there, little brother,” Sam said a shade too mockingly. “Don’t you look dashing.”

Nathan scowled. “Okay, before you even judge me,” he began to tell Sam defensively, “I have to say that this—” he gestured a hand over his apron— “belongs to Sully.”

“Not that I needed clarification, but okay,” Sam said smugly. They all laughed.

“Look, kid,” said Victor, turning to Nathan, “why don’t you take your brother to his room? Elena and I will take care of things down here.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Nathan peeled off the apron and handed it to Victor. “Can’t bear the thought of being the jackass to accidentally burn your mansion.”

Victor shook his head. “That’s why I’m effectively relieving you of kitchen duty. Now scoot.”

Sam followed Nathan down the hall, up a sweeping staircase, and then another hall with mahogany doors leading to more rooms. More photographs and more gilt-framed portraits hung on the walls. Everywhere smelled sweet and musty and oppressively opulent.

“Here we are,” said Nathan as he opened the last door at the end of the corridor.

Obviously, the room was nothing less lavish than what Sam had seen thus far from the entire house. Stepping inside, it was as if he had slipped into a different time period, some Gothic universe that distinctly reeked of that 19th-century grandeur: fancy carpets on hardwood floors, paneled walls of deep green, gray velvet curtains draped over large windows. A pair of armchairs and a lumpy sofa upholstered in rose-patterned fabric were primly arranged opposite a marble fireplace. Figurines and books occupied any available surface. In the middle of the room, an ornately carved four-poster bed covered in fluffy linens seduced Sam with the lure of much-needed sleep.

“Jesus,” he said, dropping his bag next to a rosewood desk. “This house is fucking nuts.”

Nathan laughed. “I know,” he said. “This is like one of those rooms in Hampton Court Palace. Remember—“

“Yeah, yeah—first heist with Cutter, I know.” And with Darcy, too. Sam winced an empty smile. “Don’t need to remind me,” he muttered almost to himself. “So—“ he paced across the room, looking around earnestly, decidedly eager to change the subject— “how did the talk go with the wife?”

“Oh.” Nathan sat at the edge of the bed. “It was okay. Got to sort things out. And…” He trailed off. “Well, you were right,” he said quietly.

Sam stopped and narrowed his eyes at Nathan, a snarky smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Come again? I didn’t quite catch that.”

Nathan snorted a derisive laugh. “You just want me to say it again, don’t you?”

“I really need you to say it again ‘cause I didn’t hear it the first time.”

“Well, I won’t.”

“Really? So that’s how it is?”

“Fine, fine. I said you were right.”

Sam beamed a triumphant smiled. “Why, thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

They did not say anything for a while. Then, Nathan got up and walked to the door. “Anyway,” he said, awkwardly clearing his throat, “I know you’re tired, so I’ll leave and give you time for a decent shut-eye. Dinner’s at eight, by the way.”

“Yeah, sure. Got it.”

Left to his own devices, Sam began to look around the room with a studied carefulness, examining every trinket and decor he could find like a detective dusting for fingerprints. He soon lost interest. He rarely got bored with things like these, but perhaps it was the exhaustion. Perhaps it was an exhaustion of an alien stranded in a different time, trying to phone home.

But there was no home. He never had one. And somehow, as he laid down on the bed in resignation, staring at the ceiling, he felt like he was not supposed to be here at all.

___

Sam is back in his prison cell in Panama.

He is supposed to be used to this by now—as one does, he guessed, if one had spent more than a decade incarcerated for a crime he did not commit—except the rush of terror that cuts him is a freshly sharpened blade. The trauma resurrects itself anew. It does not settle to be a memory so it replays itself like this:

Two men seize him by the arms, dragging him out and throwing him into the darkness. He is welcomed by a sharp embrace of a metal pipe, of many pairs of fists, and his knees, oh his knees are traitorous allies that buckles and trembles onto the cold, shit-stained floor. His bullet wounds have not fully recovered yet but the guards are his doctors believing that he will find his healing in the violence. This is his medicine. They watch him swallow and gag and retch. Get used to it, they say. This will make a better man out of you, says another. This is what your freedom looks like now, someone else spits out. The men restore his body with bruises. Paints him purple and pink and bloody. Split lip and swollen eyes. What is his body but a dishrag pulp of flesh? Pain is as sweet as morphine, a name that his body has memorized like an old lover’s kiss. So he takes and takes and takes. He does not scream. He does not beg them to stop. But he cries. His sobs echo without a sound. He lets his own voice choke him until they kill him for good.

___

Sam had meant to only sleep for a few hours, but he woke up sweating and with a heaving start to find the room bathed in silvery moonlight that made everything seem so startling and disarmingly unreal. Groggily, he looked around and the first one he saw was a woman sitting by the side of his bed.

And he was gripping her wrist like he was squeezing the life out of her.

It took him seconds to realize that it was Elena.

He let go of her, suddenly aflame with embarrassment.

“Shit, I—“ he stammered, running a hand over his hair, fumbling to turn on the bedside lamp— “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t—“

“Hey, it’s alright,” Elena said. She was looking at him with a pained and worried expression on her face that made his embarrassment even worse. “Bad dream?” she asked.

“Sort of.”

“For how long have you been going through this?”

Sam did not answer. He did not know what he should tell her. He could only avoid her gaze like a fretful child, and a part of him hated it.

Before the silence could stretch on for more uncomfortable minutes, Elena got up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” she said regretfully. “Anyway, Nate was supposed to be the one to wake you up, but Sully sent him for a quick errand but um, I’m here to let you know that dinner’s ready.”

Sam nodded weakly. “Right. Uh, Elena?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t tell Nathan about this.”

Elena stared at him with obvious admonishment, as if she was she was holding back the judgment she was trying to pass. “Okay, I won’t,” she said finally. “Because I trust that you’ll be the one to tell him about it.”

Sam said nothing. He watched Elena close the door behind her.

[anneedmonds]

Cashmere, Cold Snaps and The Squeezable Cat

The items in this post are #gifted items and links marked * are affiliate links. I have previously worked with Boden and have received samples and gifting from Boden, M&S, ME+EM and Next. Please click here for more info and my disclosure policy.

A cashmere round-up for you, if you were thinking of investing in some before the “big freeze”. (Where is this big freeze? It keeps faffing about and then disappearing. I like to know where I stand with the weather, I want to know exactly how many days I have left until the spring when I can throw open my sash windows and sleep without a hat and coat on. So if this big freeze is coming then I’d rather it just bloody well got on with it and snowed us in for a few days. Big freeze? Big tease, more like.)

Where was I? Yes. My edit of the best jazzed-up cashmere; stripes and prints and colour-block sleeves. No plain knits here. These are the jumpers you can throw on with jeans (as inevitably I do) and still look as though some effort has been made. The only thing you need to rootle in your cupboard for is a t-shirt of vest top to put on underneath, though all of these jumpers are soft enough to wear against skin if that’s your bag.

I personally worry about only wearing one layer – once I went to a meeting in a cashmere jumper and almost fainted because I got too hot. I couldn’t take the jumper off because I didn’t even have a bra on underneath – I think I must have been pregnant. I mean, imagine treating everyone to that sight in the boardroom. Saucer nipples and a sweaty torso.

Right, which lucky brand gets to follow up that visual image? Let’s start with Boden and their amazing Celia jumper. Boden are getting good at sneaking rainbow stripes into unexpected places; here on the shoulders they look bright and cheery without edging into the realms of “Children’s TV Presenter”. You can find the Celia online here* – it’s £140, but you can usually find quite a good Boden discount code online if you look. My Mum sends me them almost daily. It’s an issue.

The fit of the Celia is relaxed and flattering – perfect if you hate your jumpers fitted around the tummy area. The drop shoulders make it slightly sexy and cute, I think – it’s the ultimate wardrobe-cheerer. It also comes in grey, if pink isn’t your thing…

You’ve seen the cat pics, I know, but here he is again, Mr Bear giving his best faces for the camera. He is for hire, should anyone want him to advertise Sheba or what have you. I usually feed him on Royal Canin British Shorthair biscuits but – to be honest – he’s easily bought and probably dying for a bit of culinary variety.

The marvellous cashmere number I’m modelling is from Made East and is called the Tina. Those who snapped it up in the sale when I mentioned it recently will be feeling very smug because it’s now back up to usual price. I have to say, the quality is up there with the best I’ve ever seen (and worn); the knit is really dense but very soft. Find it online here.

I’ve featured this Mix/J.Won roll-neck sweater before, just in a different colour. The panelled, block-coloured arms are really different and add a nice flash of coral to what would otherwise be a plain (but very chic!) knit. I think that the colour contrast really makes it modern and fun.

This roll-neck is great with jeans – the coral sleeves look particularly nice with light denim, I think. Find this at Next here* – it’s £120.

And here I am seductively holding my cat. Doing “come hither” eyes whilst holding my fur baby. It’s all mildly inappropriate in a way…

You might think that Mr Bear looks desperate to escape, but don’t let appearances deceive you. He is, in fact, signalling for me to hold him tighter. “More!” he says, telepathically, “more squeezing! It’s what cats like!”

See? He loves it. So squished he’s almost flattened – it sometimes surprises me that he even has a skeletal system under all of that fluff.

This animal print jumper is from M&S (£99 here*) and is possibly the best high street example du jour when it comes to interesting, patterned cashmere. With a soft, fine knit it is relatively fitted, so could tuck into a pencil skirt or paperbag-waisted trousers if you fancied that sort of styling.

And the earrings were six quid from Topshop – I bought them a few weeks ago so I’m not sure whether or not they will have them now, but there are loads of OTT seventies-style hoops online. Which I seem to have a thing for at the moment.

Now will you just look at this absolute beauty of a top? The ME+EM Cashmere Zip Jumper is like the world’s most luxe version of the tracksuit tops I wore in my teens. Something this nostalgic and well-executed just cannot fail to be cool. I felt eighteen again as soon as I put it on. I even slung a gold chain on over the top (Chloe, I’ve had it for ages and never find the right time to wear it) to complete the Ruth Circa 1998 look.

It’s quite a saucy little top and very fitted at the bottom – not one of those comfort-zone jumpers that covers hips and keeps your kidneys warm! Although it’s not cropped, so don’t die of fright just yet. It looks amazing with wide-leg trousers (I’ll be back with more pics) but equally, if you want to go down the Flashiest PE Teacher In Britain route then zip it on over posh jogging bottoms.

If you a) live in Gucci (or Gucci-style) trainers, b) want to inject a serious flash of colour into your life and c) need something good to take you into spring then this is your jam. When spring actually arrives, you can wear it as a jacket!

The Cashmere Zip Jumper is £249 here*.

Tell me, incurable jumper-wearers/those living in cold houses/climes; how many days in the past week have you not worn a thick sweater? It occurred to me this morning that I hadn’t opened my wardrobe doors for over ten days, which means that all of my garments have come from a drawer, which in turn means that I have only worn jeans, pyjamas and jogging trousers on the bottom half and jumpers on the top. Not even a cardi! Talk about getting into a comfortable rut…

The post Cashmere, Cold Snaps and The Squeezable Cat appeared first on A Model Recommends.

Cashmere, Cold Snaps and The Squeezable Cat was first posted on January 31, 2019 at 7:55 am. ©2018 "A Model Recommends". Use of this feed is for personal non-commercial use only. If you are not reading this article in your feed reader, then the site is guilty of copyright infringement. Please contact me at contact@amodelrecommends.com Cashmere, Cold Snaps and The Squeezable Cat published first on https://medium.com/@SkinAlley

[pinstripemag]

Mens Winter Layering, Styling and Color Coordination

Winter layering, styling and accessories

  The winter season is when you can show off your true fashion skills. Layering while wearing your favorite boots and outerwear are some of the best parts of it. If you’re freezing though you won’t be able to fully enjoy it so staying warm is crucial. While you might have a big coat and all the right attire, some times the details matter the most. In this case, it’s the accessories you wear that will keep you warmed up and breezing through the cold weather. Today we are going to touch upon the ideal winter accessories to look and feel good this season.

The Ideal Winter Accessories

A Quality Scarf

Your neck is perhaps the most sensitive part on your body so it needs to be protected from the cold weather. The easiest way to do so is by sporting a scarf which is both functional and stylish. Scarves have been used for hundreds of years all across the world as a staple accessory. You should have some fun with yours too so try experimenting with different textures, patterns and colors. Some like to look at it like a pocketsquare, it’s a finishing touch to your outfit and adds some personality.

Scarves come in a variety of fabrics of course which all have their pros and cons. One of the most common is wool which is the king of winter materials. It’s thick, warm, and durable which is why it’s also crafted into so many winter items like coats and sweaters. Cashmere will be a bit more pricey but offers a smoother and softer feeling you may enjoy more. Finally, silk is a surprisingly good scarf fabric because it’s smooth and lightweight. At the end of the day, opt for a fabric that’s in your price range because they all do the job well.

Warm Gloves

Just like your neck, your hands are another very sensitive part of your body. If you’ve ever been caught outside in the winter without gloves then you understand the pain of frozen hands. You have some variety in terms of material and style including:

The mitten: A traditional option for winter. They help retain more heat in your hands and can be composed of wool, fleece, leather or synthetics. Some mittens may even feature an outer shell that further protects your hand from the elements.

Gloves with insulation: A fitted glove normally made up of leather with soft lining. It is common to see these worn with suits or formal attire since they are low-key and keep your hands warm.

Smartphone gloves: Many people love being on their phones these days so this shouldn’t be much of a surprise. These gloves feature finger tip pads that enable for heat to pass through meaning you can easily be doing things on your smartphone without hindrance.

Don’t Forget A Hat

Hats don’t have to be overly fancy as a simple one can look fashionable and keep your head warm. You lose most of your body heat from the top of your head so it only makes sense to wear something to stop that. One of the most versatile hats is the classic toque. In a black, gray or navy it matches the winter season while doing it’s job perfectly. If you like to have a bit more fun with your style, try out a ushanka or chullo. Newsboy caps are also a wise choice but your ears get exposed so toss on some earmuffs if you do. For any hat a quality wool or cashmere is a great fabric to choose from.

Socks

A true fashionable gentlemen appreciates the fine details in life and in style. Socks are a some times forgotten item in the menswear world but give more love to them this winter. Investing into a pair of quality socks will keep your feet feeling great all day. Along with a durable pair of boots, you won’t be bothered for a moment this winter. A good rule to follow is to keep your socks matching your pants which creates a streamlined appearance.

Avoid ankle socks or ones with short length and stick to mid calf styles. Merino wool and cashmere like other accessories are the ideal fabric but cotton can be good if the weather warms up a bit. Wool blends are a nice middle ground since they are more breathable and absorb moisture.

Underwear

You probably saw this coming but you need to be warm head to toe in the winter so that means good underwear. Specifically during the cold months, a pair of long johns will be one of your best friends. They cover your entire lower body down to your ankles and are designed to insulate warmth. Many will come with a thermal shirt you can wear as well if needed. Since you will be layering up a bunch it might be best to find a cotton polyester blend to avoid overheating.

If you want to be one of the best dressed guys around this winter, focus on your accessory game. A good scarf, pair of gloves, hat, socks and underwear are key. Stick to warm materials like wool, cashmere or even blends and you’ll never feel better.

The post Mens Winter Layering, Styling and Color Coordination appeared first on Pinstripe Magazine.

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[bookforwhatitsworth]

Chapter One: You’re My Favorite

“The more I think about, the more I want to let you know: That everything you do is super-duper cute…” ~ Nevershoutnever

Upon opening her eyes, Auralee noticed the snow outside her window. It was reflecting the bright winter sunlight and causing it to resonate across the yard. Slipping on some house shoes, she walked outside to embrace the magnificence of the first snowfall of the year. Snowflakes were still gingerly dropping from the sky onto her soft, pale skin. Giggling as one landed on her nose, she brushed a lock of her hair behind her shoulder, breathing in deeply. The cool air was so refreshing that it felt as though it was forming icicles in her throat. Closing her bright blue eyes, Aura fell backwards directly into the snow; a mess of dark brown hair falling around her. She lay there for what felt like hours, wishing it were possible to spend her day there daydreaming in the snow. Suddenly, a voice rang across the snowy yard, breaking her daydream as it hit her ears. Aura opened her eyes and sat up to see her mother motioning for her to come inside. She groaned and stood up, brushing the snow from her bony legs. Once again, her mom’s voice wafted across the yard, growing more and more irritated.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Aura yelled, frustrated by her mother’s impatience. As she approached the house, she cringed at her mom’s stance. She had her body cocked to the side, arms crossed in front of her, and her “fretful” look painted her face.

“Go get ready for school; you’re going to be late.”

She nodded and weaved past her, making her way to her bedroom to finish getting her books together. Outside her window, the snow was still delicately falling, coating everything with a glistening white. She sighed, desiring to go lie in it, letting it engulf her and freeze all of her cares away. Slipping on her warm cashmere sweater, Aura slipped out the door and into the kitchen where her mother was standing in front of a warm, freshly baked cinnamon roll and a cup of hot chocolate.

“Eat, you need to keep up your strength,” her mother chimed. Aura looked down at the food, grimacing at the smell. She opened her mouth to say ‘no, thank you’, but realized it wasn’t worth the argument.

“I’m already running late, mom. I’ll just eat it on the way,” she insisted, grabbing the food and walking out the door. As the door closed behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. She cautiously slid the food into the trash can and closed the lid, trying her best not to make any noise, and continued to her car that was waiting for her in the driveway. It had finally come to the point where she no longer felt guilty for throwing away the food her mother prepared for her. This was a necessary thing if she wanted to stay as thin and pretty as she always dreamed she would. The sweater was barely even keeping her warm. Yeah, she felt frozen solid almost constantly nowadays, but it never hurt to try. The car’s engine roared to life, and she backed out of the driveway. The snow was never much of an issue for the people around her town, especially when it came to driving. The first snow fall came around October and didn’t melt away until around April. Still, it came as no surprise when there were wrecks or skid marks on the snow covered roads on the way to the small private high school she and her friends attended.

Pulling into the parking lot, she noticed her boyfriend, Dante, standing beside his car, smoking a cigarette and waiting for her. As she pulled up, he threw the cigarette on the ground and put it out with his foot. She stepped out of her car, a beaming smile stretching across her thin face. Before she could say a word, Dante embraced her in a warm hug and kissed her forehead. Blushing, she looked up at him and ran her hands through his dark hair and grinned wildly.

“What?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around her small waist.

Aura shook her head and kissed his nose, “It’s nothing. I just love you and can’t wait to hang out with you this afternoon. Where do you want to go eat?” Dante rolled his eyes and grinned broadly.

“I don’t know why you ever ask. We both know where you want to go,” he said, lighting another cigarette from his pocket.

“And where do you think I want to go so badly?” She smirked; her voice saturated with happiness. He narrowed his eyes at her, jokingly.

“The Mexican Grille on the corner.” Aura giggled sweetly, making his heart melt.

“Awe, you know me so well!” She cried blissfully.

“Have faith in me, Aur. We’ve been dating forever. You’re my girl. Of course I know what you want.”

“Two years isn’t quite forever.” Dante flicked his Marlboro onto the ground.

“Come on; let’s get to class before we’re late.” He grabbed her cold hand and began to walk away, his touch warmed her numb fingers. Aura was in a state of complete delight. A perfect body, a perfect boyfriend, perfect friends, a perfect first snow. She couldn’t think of a reason not to be happy.

Once they arrived at her class, she unhappily kissed Dante goodbye. After promising to meet at their normal place after class, they departed. She quietly glided into her seat beside her best friend Remi, still tickled by the divine start of her day.

“Someone is in a good mood,” Remi chimed. “Looking thin, too! Have you lost more weight?” Aura smiled and nodded, glad that someone was noticing how fit she had become in the past two years. She loved the compliments, they made her feel accomplished.

“Another five pounds,” she responded proudly. She had never looked this good, or been this happy, in her entire life. Aura shifted happily in her chair and began to write a note to Dante as the teacher began to drone on and on about the skeletal system, the muscular system, and so on. Then, she started to daydream, thinking about the past two years with Dante; the day they met, their first date, their first kiss, going to the beach every summer. Everything was perfect, always had been. She felt another wave of happiness rush over her, barely able to pay attention.

“Aura Pinson, can you please tell the class what the fingers are also known as?” Aura’s head popped up, expelling her from her daydream.

“The phalanges,” she answered without skipping a beat. Her teacher, Mr. Amarno, slightly narrowed his eyes and smirked.

“Well, pay attention. Stop your fantasizing. If you ever want to gradu--” he began, cut off by the ringing of the bell. She quickly gathered her things, stood up and walked out of the door, blowing a kiss back to Mr. Amarno with a smug grin on her face. Dante was standing up against the lockers, waiting for her arrival so he could walk her to her next class. They both pulled little folded notes out of their pockets. It was their own little tradition, they wrote notes to each other in every class, so that they both have a note to read and write during every block. She felt really grateful that they had such an easy relationship; a few arguments, but nothing serious.

“Baby, do you think we will always be this in love?” she said suddenly. He stopped walking and held her face in his hands, looking straight into her eyes.

“Of course! You are, and always will be, my little doll. And I love you with every piece of my heart.” Dante leaned down and kissed her softly. “You’re my favorite.” She smiled, relishing in the sweet things he said. As they reached her class, they looked at each other sadly.

“I hate being away from you,” she whispered softly.

“I know, I do, too. I’ll see you after class,” he replied, walking away.